Professor Menzies von Hhoffmmann, the renowned amateur philosopher, takes us on an enlightening journey through some of the more fundamental questions posed by an often confusing world. Destined to become a benchmark in absurdity, if nothing else.
The author of this work would like to point out that any similarities in factual content to any other books on the subject of Philosophy (most notably the one on his bookshelf) is entirely coincidental.
Furthermore, formatting issues have led to the unfortunate disappearance of all italics from the text. Despite enormous effort, the author has not been able to face the arduous task of replacing them, and so apologises for any resulting lack of emphasis in key areas.
Pretentious author-type book dedication:
For Emily, Harry, and Sophie Jenkins, whose own philosophies of life,
although so different in many ways, make me smile, cry, and very proud.
PHILOSOPHICAL DISCUSSIONS
With Prof. Menzies von Hhoffmmann
The meaning of life is a concept often deliberated on and discussed by most human beings at some point in their life. Whether we are happy and fulfilled, or sad and despondent, it is only natural for us to ask why our lives are the way they are, and why for example some people seem to have all the fun whilst we ourselves are forever faced with problems. Take for example the good-looking young man who glides past us just as the traffic lights turn green in his shiny sports car, accompanied by a pretty young disciple. Is he happy? Certainly happier than us, as perhaps our 15 year-old rusty heap has just conked-out at the same lights, we’ve only got £15 to last us till pay day, and our wife has just run off with a fishmonger.
If we do stop to think about our existence and examine the reasoning behind some of our fundamental beliefs, it is possible that we as a person can become stronger, our minds more powerful, and our brains more able to decipher some sense out of some of life’s more confusing issues. Thinking about our friend speeding off in his fancy car into a seemingly rich and carefree future, does he realise his purpose in life, or have any concept of the power of thought? Probably not, especially if his windows are wound down on a cold day and the music pumping from his stereo sounds like a Dalek on LSD travelling down a flight of stairs. We may indeed be stood in despair at the side of the road ruing our luck, as our heavily relied-upon car sits smouldering in its newly-chosen state of retirement, but for the person who has a deep knowledge and understanding of his or herself in relation to the world around us, this apparent disaster can be put down to merely a “life experience.”
So, how do we attain this superior level of existence, you may ask? The answer is perhaps not as complicated as one might think. For thousands of years, man has lived his life according to certain principles and parameters that we are programmed to believe in and accept. If, however, these are questioned and examined in a philosophical way, we can open up our minds to a whole new world of meaning and enrichment, allowing us to ascend to a more fulfilling life – rather like a flower opening up for the first time to the sun and the awaiting bumble bee, although if insects too can analyse their existence, this can complicate matters somewhat.
In this brief study, we will discuss some of the more pertinent topics surrounding mankind and its relation to the surrounding world. These include God, Right or Wrong, The External World, Mind & Body and Art. As we progress, the reader is not only encouraged to ask Why, but also to question their own beliefs, as well as those around them, but not if they are watching television for example, or asleep.
PART ONE
GOD
The question of whether or not God exists is one that surely every human being has their own answer to. Yes, and we are provided with a worthwhile and moral time on earth, and even the prospect of eternal life (which as righteous do-gooding people can only result in lots of fun and invitations to parties). No, and we must seek our own purpose to life (perhaps self-interest, or caravanning), and also accept death as final. And of course there is the agnostic viewpoint, where there is not enough evidence to conclude either way, which can often result in the dilemma: Do I live my life as a believer in case God exists and I am punished for my sins, or can I get away with acts such as mugging old ladies, or listening to Country and Western music?
Many religions base their beliefs on the doctrine of Theism. This states that God is capable of anything (omnipotent), knows everything (omniscient) and is supremely benevolent (a generally nice guy). Theists believe that for their God to exist, he must possess and display all of the above attributes. Take one away, and he cannot be the true God. For example, if God knew everything, was capable of anything, but was a bit of a nasty piece of work, we’d all be looting, pillaging, and eating egg sandwiches in elevators in His name. Similarly, if God knew everything and was all-good, but wasn’t able to carry out all His intentions, we’d all surely be existing in a world without love, television, and Sunday morning lie-ins with a cup of tea. Finally, if God was all-good and could do anything but didn’t know everything, we as His followers on earth could potentially be living extravagant lives indulging in apparently joyous pursuits such as eating cake, drinking wine by the case, or holidaying with the in-laws blissfully unaware of the likely consequences of each.
The key question we must ask ourselves is: Can we prove whether or not God exists? How do we know He exists if we cannot see Him? Also, if there is a God, why does the author have such a bad tennis forehand? Several different arguments have been offered in support of God’s existence however, which we shall briefly examine below.
Design Argument
The Design Argument claims that everything on earth is perfectly suited to its purpose and the function it performs, and so must have actually been designed by something or someone to fulfil its role. This designer is claimed to have been God. Critics of the Design Argument may point to certain anomalies in an attempt to discredit the theory. For example, what was God thinking when He designed traffic wardens? However, believers of this argument state that many things are too complicated to have occurred by chance, and so must have been deliberately designed by a divine force, i.e. God. An example of such might be the interrelation between the parts of the human body; one could suggest that if God had been distracted for the slightest moment by an attractive angel flying by, or perhaps had sneezed at a crucial point, we might well have ended up looking like something from a low-budget sci-fi movie.
Another threat to the Design Argument comes from Charles Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. That is, the survival of the fittest, where the animal and plant species that adapted best to their environments lived to pass on their characteristics to their offspring, and so ensured their future survival in the challenging natural world. This theory doesn’t however account for the existence of species such as amoeba, lichens, or divorce solicitors, but supporters of the Design Argument would nonetheless claim that God invented Evolution itself, and so this theory cannot actually disprove God’s existence.
Fine-Tuning Argument
The Fine-Tuning Argument claims that the chances of the world having evolved to be conducive to human survival were so slim that there must have been some divine body controlling this evolution. Either that, or we just got lucky. God must have “fine-tuned” evolution to allow conditions to suit our existence. Critics of the argument point out that a little bit more fine-tuning would have been nice, for example, a four-day working week, or more time in bed in the mornings. A further objection states that although the chances of conditions evolving to support human existence must have been on the slim side, they still could have occurred by chance, and so the argument cannot be used to conclusively prove God’s existence. Supposing God had intended conditions to turn out differently to the way they have, but made a mistake somewhere, and so created this inhabitable earth by fluke? Anything could’ve happened, times were hard in those days. Who was there to look after God when He’d had a bad day at work creating everything?
First Cause Argument
The First Cause Argument uses as its basis the fact that the universe exists, rather than any details of what it may actually be like. This is a particularly comforting theory for anyone who has ever holidayed in Bognor Regis. It claims that everything that exists must have been caused by something else prior to it. If we trace these causal incidents back, it is claimed that the initial cause to get the ball rolling was God. Again, there are counter-arguments to this theory. For example, if everything has a cause, then why shouldn’t God have had a cause? Why should the regression stop at Him? Did He have parents? Who caused them? What did they do for a living if nothing existed? And perhaps more importantly, how did they find their way home? It’s hard enough finding your way around new places without a map, let alone without anything existing.
Ontological Argument
A further theory claiming to prove the existence of God, the Ontological Argument, states that God is defined as the most perfect being conceivable. And so it follows, that to be the most perfect being conceivable one would have to actually exist, as one can’t really claim to be perfect if one forgot to make oneself. So, God exists because He exists the theory goes. This over the years has led to much confusion amongst scholars, who have often claimed that if God were indeed perfect, He could have managed to create the universe from the comfort of non-existence, thereby saving Himself potential criticism from disgruntled non-believers, as well as cutting down on travel costs. In addition, this would have afforded Him more time to indulge in His hobbies of flood-creation, sea parting, and Chinese cookery.
However, if God is defined to exist by imagining the most perfect being, then it is in theory also possible to imagine anything into existence; for example, a white chocolate cheesecake on the desk in front of the author at the time of writing. Despite my best efforts, this has not materialised, which as well as being thoroughly disappointing, can only add weight to criticism of the Ontological Argument; it is surely absurd to say something exists just because it is perfect. What’s more, I’m hungry.
Evil
The above arguments have all been put forward in an attempt to prove that God exists. It is up to us to choose which, if any, we endorse. However, are there any theories that can categorically disprove the existence of God? By this we mean firm evidence, and not just the incidence of unfortunate events, such as unexpectedly sneezing with a mouthful of pasta in the midst of a dinner date. There is indeed a major argument intended to disprove the existence of God, namely the existence of evil in the world, or as it is known, the Problem of Evil.
No one can deny that evil exists in our world. Well, some people could, but the odds are they’ve been up to something they shouldn’t have. Evil is not only perpetrated by mankind, but also by nature, in the form of famine, earthquakes, or under-cooked seafood. The existence of such evil, it is claimed, shows us that God cannot exist, as He would as an all-good type of person never allow such things to happen. Okay, we all have our off days, but God would not allow evil things to happen if He was truly all-good. An all-knowing God would know that evil exists, and an all-powerful God would be able to prevent it from occurring. This shows how difficult things were for God, and can possibly account for certain things having slipped through the net, for example the existence of protuberant nasal hair, or commercial radio.
There is the possibility some say, that evil may in fact have been created on God’s rest day during the time He was busy creating the universe by someone filling in for Him. Opinion however is divided amongst scholars as to whether God created the seventh day as a rest day intending to take it off, or that He created it and subsequently came in on His day off to cover. Either way, several possible explanations have been offered to account for the Problem of Evil in an effort to justify God’s actions and get Him off the hook.
Some people believe that the presence of evil can be justified as it allows some people to act in a saintly way to help those who have fallen victim to evil. Overall, this greater moral goodness outweighs the suffering caused by evil in general, and so was therefore a good idea on God’s part. Others dismiss this, claiming that there’s nothing worse than someone going round helping people all the time; for example, the unbearably-smug couple who come and cut an elderly neighbour’s grass and park their hatchback in your parking space. Similarly, why does there have to be so much suffering just to allow saintliness to exist? God could surely have toned down His distribution of evil somewhat from examples such as the agony of deliberately inflicted pain and torture. Why couldn’t the victims just be exposed to a few hours of daytime television, for example?
Another possible justification for evil in the world comes from those who draw a comparison between a world containing evil and a work of art. Paintings consist of areas of dark and shade to offset each other; music often contains discordant sounds as part of the collective piece, and many works of poetry don’t appear to make any sense at all. So, it is suggested that the world containing both good and evil in reasonable proportions is a thing of natural artistic balance. Critics of this theory would question how one can compare an act of supreme evil such as genocide, with a piece of art (unless of course, the piece of art we are referring to is one of those contemporary abstract sculptures such as a pile of cardboard boxes, or a recording by Right Said Fred).
A more plausible attempt to justify the presence of evil comes from what is known as the Free Will Defence. This states that it is preferable to have free will and therefore the potential to commit evil, rather than us all existing as pre-programmed robots with no way of displaying moral choices. However, couldn’t God have created us to think we had free will but in fact didn’t, and so had no potential to commit evil? Or how about creating us with free will but without the evil bit? Perhaps God just enjoys seeing us squabble over sticking points such as these, or indeed finds the resulting books on the subject interesting. After all, there can’t be much to do in heaven once you’ve made everything and you’re going to live forever; A Deity needs to find things to pass the time.
Miracles
The occurrence of miracles is often claimed by Christians to prove the existence of God. By miracles here, we mean acts of divine intervention that go against a given law of nature, rather than an event claimed as a miracle in astonishment; for example a hole-in-one on the golf course, or a pleasant evening spent in the company of an ex-wife. We have to accept that true miracles have actually occurred, given sources of historical evidence such as the Bible, even if we haven’t witnessed any ourselves, although it must be said that people do tend to exaggerate when regaling such tales. Take for example the case of the American-Midwest farmer Bubba Peterson, the subject of a heavily-reported modern-day miracle. He had in 1967 been sucked up inside a tornado from his ranch, and failed to materialise for a period of three days. Bubba was presumed lost forever, until he fell to the ground in his back garden with no recollection of any tornado, or even the fact that he had been missing for three days. His religious townsfolk claimed his safe return to be a miracle at the hands of God. As it transpired however, it was discovered that Bubba had been lying on the roof of his house unconscious since the day of the tornado, and had fallen off the edge upon awakening and rolling over to check the time on his nightstand. This shows us how potentially unreliable reports of miracles can be. The fact is, unless we personally witness a miracle, it is almost impossible to believe one has occurred, based only on another person’s account of it. Even such claims coming from people whose judgement we trust must be met with certain scepticism. For example, if my wife told me she had just turned water into wine, then although unlikely, I would have to believe her. If, however, she told me she was going to cook a sumptuous meal while I relaxed in a hot bath, followed by a candle-lit massage in front of The Godfather, I would confidently dismiss her claim, and assume that she had finally gone mad. To sum up, it is difficult to accept the supposed occurrence of miracles as absolute proof of God’s existence. How do we know for certain that they occurred? Were reports of the miracle exaggerated? How do we account for each religion’s God claiming credit for the one miracle? And also, surely after only a morsel of fish and a few scraps of bread, the five thousand must have snacked on something before they went to bed?
Faith
So far, we have looked at some of the arguments put forward to either prove or disprove God’s existence. Armed with some knowledge of the different theories, it is up to us to decide whether we think He exists. If we are not convinced either way, does that mean we should reject belief in God, as a rational person would similarly resist the urge to leap from a rooftop if he or she was not convinced of their ability to fly? An atheist might say we should reject belief, an agnostic might pace about and hope no one put them on the spot, whilst an anarchist might simply set fire to whoever asked the question, and not care either way.
However, a true believer might say that the existence of God is not a matter to be discussed by intellectual debate; it is a matter of having faith that He exists. It is a case of trusting that there is a God, and living one’s life accordingly, thereby ensuring a nice long afterlife in heaven with all our friends - much like a school reunion, except with angels bringing round the drinks. Take, for example, a rock climber who has to climb down a steep cliff face with only his rope to stop him if he were to fall. He has no way of knowing for sure it will hold his weight, and must trust that it will, even if the person who went down before him weighed 23 stone. He must also trust that our anarchist friend is not hiding behind a bush somewhere at the top of the cliff with a sharp penknife. Two things could happen here: He could slip, and the rope could save his life, or he could slip, and because he forgot to fasten his harness, fall to his death. The relevance of safety harnesses escapes me, but it does show us how extreme sports should be avoided by anybody who has never attended Sunday School. Incidentally, you may ask, “What if a miracle occurred, and the doomed rock climber landed on a sunbather who broke his fall, thus saving his life?” Referring to our previous discussion of miracles, we would have to decide whether an established law of nature had been broken; in this particular case, unless the victim bounced off the sunbather and landed back on top of the cliff, we can conclude that he just got lucky (although clearly unlucky for the sunbather).
Death
Generally, if we believe in God, we must also believe in the afterlife. Atheists typically don’t believe in life after death as we know it, although some believe in taking a long weekend abroad should we find ourselves dead. If we believe in God but not the afterlife, we cannot call ourselves a true believer. If we don’t believe in God but do believe in an afterlife, we can probably expect to be disappointed when we get there. If we can’t decide whether or not God exists, then don’t even bother asking us about an afterlife, you want to go and ask someone else? Death for those who do believe in God and the afterlife is not something to fear, always assuming that is, that the afterlife is a pleasant one, and doesn’t contain such things as reality television or see us socialising with the neighbours too much. It is however difficult not to fear death even if we hope to have a great time afterwards, as it is more than likely going to hurt, and will probably end up with us looking silly, or even dribbling on ourselves in front of people. The Ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus (341-271 BC) attempted to prove to us that we need not fear death, and therefore shouldn’t worry too much about not getting our five-a-day. He claimed that we fear death in the mistaken belief that we will be there afterwards to mourn our loss. In reality however, if we are alive, death is absent and cannot harm us, and if we’re dead, we don’t exist and so cannot be harmed by anything (although we may still receive some utility bills). His critics claimed he had been sitting in the sun too long without a hat on, and also pointed out that he was denying the possibility of an afterlife, even if much of it was to be spent talking nonsense. Epicurus also claimed that if we didn’t fear the eternity of non-existence before we were born, why should we fear it after death? He thus concluded that fear of death is irrational, whereas fear of dying whilst on the toilet is indeed extremely justified.
As well as living in fear of death, some people have argued that we should live in fear of the afterlife, if indeed it did exist. Most of us imagine immortality as a blissful state, without many of the inconveniences of our current existence, such as traffic jams or overdraft limits. However, we have no way of knowing if, for example, we might end up spending eternity at the mercy of a hoard of mindlessly sadistic goblins, or even in the company of a car mechanic. Furthermore, if we were to live forever, wouldn’t we get bored after a millennium or two? The tedium of immortality is a serious question for those who believe we will live forever, as well as for those who don’t get out too much. The fact that we know our time on earth is limited gives us meaning to the things we do. For example, “once in a lifetime” experiences, such as witnessing a relative pick up the tab in a restaurant would lose their significance if we knew they could ever happen again. Our mortality makes us value the present because we may not have a future. Or is it our future makes us value our mortality because the present is so bad? Either way, there will always be time to do everything, which at first may seem an attractive prospect, but in reality if we could actually find the time to Hoover behind the sofa, what would we possibly do with the rest of eternity? Perhaps we could argue that such an afterlife would merely be an extension of our mortal life, as we would fill our newly-found time by catching up on all those little jobs that we never seem to get round to at the weekend. However, if God was indeed supremely benevolent, He presumably wouldn’t want us to blow the opportunity for a bit of fun by doing things like ironing. Perhaps He would suggest more activities along the line of getting paralytic whilst playing Twister with a beach volleyball team.
In this section we have examined the evidence offered in support of the existence of God. It is clear that the Theists must answer several arguments and criticisms in order to maintain their belief in an all-good, all-knowing and all-powerful God, not to mention those aimed at their dress sense. Perhaps in light of these arguments we should accept that God may not quite be the perfect Being described, or at least that He made one or two small mistakes somewhere; after all, no one’s perfect. For example, He may not know absolutely everything, but He would still be a good person to have on your quiz team. True Theists would reject this claim, but for most people it is preferable to believe in a seemingly-human God than no God at all, and certainly preferable to dancing naked round bonfires chanting incantations in the middle of the night.
PART TWO
RIGHT OR WRONG?
What makes an action right or wrong? How should we live? How should we treat people? Should I be able to get a good night’s sleep after placing a traffic cone on the roof of someone’s car on the way home from a night out? Philosophers have discussed such questions for thousands of years, and many a long evening has been spent by two disagreeing parties not wanting to do wrong in upsetting the other too much by winning the argument. What right have we to try to prevent such things as murder, theft or the wearing of socks under open-toed sandals if we cannot say why they are wrong? Could we simply be mindless bigots with no justification in saying we shouldn’t do these things, and more intent perhaps on inflicting our prejudices on others who may just see things differently? Certainly, two people may have very different views on such contentious issues, but for the sake of winning the argument if nothing else, we must fully understand and be clear about our moral standing, as well as being proficient in talking over the other person.
Moral philosophy is a vast and complicated subject, and frankly to cover every aspect here would involve the drinking of sufficient coffee to support the Kenyan economy for a decade, not to mention the need for a frontal lobotomy afterwards. However, we shall attempt to tackle the subject by looking mainly at the three key theories involved, namely, Duty-based ethics, Consequentialism, and Virtue theory. There are several other aspects that could be explored, but in the hope that we will reach the end of the chapter without drifting off to sleep, these shall be saved for a later edition.
Duty-Based Ethics
Duty-based ethical practices are based on the belief that we all have a sense of duty to do things a certain way, regardless of the possible consequences. Acting morally consists simply of us doing our duty. For example, if we saw from our bedroom window a young man on the driveway vandalising our car with a screwdriver, we would be acting morally in dropping a large anvil on his head, as it would be our duty to do so. It is not quite as simple as this however; as always there are different ways of interpreting the subject, the two main versions being briefly described below.
Christian ethics are based on the teachings of God, Christ, or anyone else who claimed a major writing credit for the Bible. Put in their simplest form, acts can be deemed morally good or bad based on the rules set out in the Ten Commandments. So, the statement “Thou shalt not kill” must be applied in all instances, and therefore prohibits the killing of any human being regardless of what they might have done to upset you. Likewise, there is no Commandment along the lines of “Thou shalt not anoint thy neighbour with honey,” so acts in this vein cannot equally be classed as immoral, although they may still get us into trouble. Further to the Ten Commandments, the New Testament tells us to “Love Thy Neighbour.” Although some people base their moral acts on this further Christian ethic, most people however choose to overlook loving their neighbours, and subsequently see themselves as acting morally in lighting the barbecue just as next door have put out their washing.
As we have already seen in the chapter examining God, it cannot be taken for granted that He exists at all, and so some people might question how we can base our morals on what God has written, if indeed it turns out that He wasn’t employing a ghost writer. As a famous Russian novelist whose name escapes the author once said, “If God doesn’t exist, anything is permitted – even wearing silly hats.” This, however, is a separate issue, and for the purposes of clarity and getting to bed on time, we shall assume that God does exist (if only for this chapter), and move on to another view of Duty-based ethics, namely those employed by Immanuel Kant (1724-1804).
For Kant, the motive of an action was the most important thing, rather than the action itself, or the consequences of the action. So, if for example in attempting to remove a splinter from a friend’s thumb using a machete, I accidentally sever their arm at the elbow, they would have no way of complaining on moral grounds, although clapping may become a problem. Kant was interested in the question “What is a moral action?” We can learn from this that he probably had too much time on his hands, and also that we need to know a person’s intention before deciding if they were acting morally. Take the example of the Good Samaritan: We could argue that he wasn’t necessarily acting morally on several grounds. Firstly, he may have been walking in the area at the time in an act of self-interest, as he was fed up of people ringing up threatening to jump off bridges all the time, and just wanted to get out of the office for a while. He may have initially walked past the person in need, pretending not to have noticed them sprawled on the pavement, and only returned because he felt guilty. Perhaps, again acting out of self-interest, he thought that if he helped the beggar they might turn out to be some kind of rich eccentric who happened to enjoy lying about on pavements, and so might potentially bequeath him their entire fortune upon their demise. Finally, what if the Good Samaritan wasn’t telling the truth when he said he was giving all he had to the beggar? He may potentially have had a second home beside a lake somewhere, perhaps with a motorboat and private mooring (tax regulations for Samaritans were more lenient in those days). So, we can clearly see that we have no way of knowing for sure the motives behind the acts of the Good Samaritan, and can surmise that Kant might instead have described him as the “Seemingly-Good Samaritan.”
To sum up, Kant taught us that we must carefully consider our motives when faced with a moral dilemma. If our intentions are good, the odds are we’ll get away with it. If deep down we’re up to no good, we’ll probably get found out.
Consequentialism
So far, we have seen that Duty-based ethical theory judges an act morally on the intention behind the act, regardless of the consequences. As its name suggests, Consequentialism examines the possible consequences of an act in deciding whether it is morally good. For example, Kant would tell us that telling a lie is always wrong, even if it gets us out of trouble. A Consequentialist however, would assess whether the outcome of telling the lie justifies the act of lying itself, as well as if he or she can keep a straight face throughout. If telling the lie leads to a better situation, it is therefore morally justified, whereas if it causes a whole load of trouble, we must either rethink our actions, or make sure we can get away quickly, preferably by car.
The most common type of Consequentialist theory is known as Utilitarianism (I know there’s lots of big names in this, but hang on in there - Author). A Utilitarian would judge the outcome of an act on the amount of happiness it creates, based on the assumption that we all as human beings crave happiness, or at least enjoy dancing occasionally. The right action to take in any circumstance is decided by looking to see which one brings about the most happiness. This can mean happiness for us as the perpetrator, happiness for the subject of our act, or indeed happiness for any onlookers, family members or pets that may be present at the time. One of the main difficulties with Utilitarianism is in fact trying to predict the outcome of an act. For example, in general, insulting people makes them unhappy; but what if the person you are insulting happens to be a masochist who enjoys being insulted, or is listening to music and cannot hear us? A further criticism of this theory arises in attempting to calculate the potential pleasure experienced amongst totally different people. For example, how can we compare the happiness of an orchestral conductor conducting the world’s greatest orchestra with that of a mindless thug gleefully setting fire to a phone box? Although we may all seek happiness as a generic state, we equally may define it differently, which shows us how important it is to always have a good dictionary in the house.
There are (unsurprisingly) several variations of Utilitarianism, which we shall only briefly describe here, as there’s still so much to cover, and the author needs to do some shopping.
Negative Utilitarianism judges the goodness of an act not on how much happiness it could create, but on how much unhappiness it prevents. This is a popular theory amongst manic-depressives, and also for those types who can’t decide on which side to pass one another in the street.
A Rule Utilitarian typically adopts general rules about the kinds of acts that usually bring about the most happiness, thereby avoiding the aforementioned problems of differing definitions of happiness. For instance, it would generally be accepted that kissing someone would make them happy, poking them in the eye would make them unhappy, and smearing butter across their forehead would make them very angry. This is a useful theory for many people, as it makes calculating the outcome of an act much easier, thereby affording them more time for relaxing in the garden, or playing sports.
Finally, Utility-Rule Negativarianism is a relatively new theory developed by the author (just now, actually) that endorses the general practice of doing whatever seems right at the time, and being willing to accept a bit of a hard time should things go horribly wrong. A Utility-Rule Negativarianist typically would be about six-foot tall, have brown hair, and enjoy hobbies such as watersports, tennis and attending pub quizzes in second-hand clothing.
As we can see, assessing the moral value of an act on the intentions of the person about to commit it isn’t as straightforward as one may think. If we all put as much thought and consideration into such acts as is apparently required, we probably wouldn’t get much housework done, and would certainly always be late for appointments.
Virtue Theory
The final school of thought in moral philosophy we shall look at here is known as Virtue Theory (or sometimes Virtue theory). Virtue Theorists (or sometimes Virtue theorists, or virtue Theorists, or Aristolotean Nicomacheanists – but we shall ignore these titles for now), rather than looking at a particular act and the intentions or consequences surrounding it, are only interested in the lifestyle in general of us as perpetrators. The key question here is “How should I live?” Suggestions such as “by breathing,” “drinking plenty of water,” or “using your legs to move around a bit” are common; but it is our character we should be analysing here, and so our best possible response might be to cultivate our virtues. (This doesn’t necessarily mean that acts such as growing our own vegetables or bedding plants are to be ruled out however, as of course as virtuous people we could put in all the hard work, and then give them away to friends, family or elderly neighbours.)
What, then, is a virtue? In this case, it is a pattern of behaviour; the way we act, feel, and desire in everyday situations. As a virtuous person, we must make intelligent judgements about the appropriate responses to moral dilemmas, rather than behaving rashly, or even scuttling off in the hope that no one notices. Let us once more use the example of the Good Samaritan. As we have seen, the Samaritan could possibly have been acting out of self-interest, which obviously wouldn’t have been very nice of him faced as he was with a be-ragged heap of arms and legs lying on the floor who’d just had his wallet pinched. However, if the Samaritan had acted out of genuine compassion for the victim, this would indeed have been acting virtuously, and would certainly have increased his popularity. (Of course in displaying the further virtue of modesty, he may have told everybody to not be silly, and carried on his way.) Furthermore, had the Samaritan arrived as the victim was being assaulted and robbed, he might have displayed the virtue of courage, and laid into the gang with a large stick.
Virtues such as compassion and courage are examples of individual traits of behaviour that if adopted would clearly make us popular amongst friends. To be a truly virtuous person however, such traits must be interwoven into our personal fabric and displayed without pause for thought, and certainly without the need to go home and work it out on a piece of paper first.
Critics of Virtue Theory claim that it is difficult for everybody to agree on a universally-accepted list of virtues for us all to practice. One person’s idea of a virtue might be very different to another’s, particularly if one of them was French for example, and the other stored their loose change in sandwich bags. So, it is in theory possible for us as individuals to redefine our lives so that our good points become virtues and our bad points become vices, and therefore claim that we live a moral life. This can only lead to much confusion however, not to mention some very dull arguments over whose turn it is to buy the drinks.
As we have seen from this discussion of Moral Philosophy, it is an extremely complicated area, and any reader who is still awake at this point really should get up earlier in the mornings. Further discussion is invited on the subject, as many areas have been dealt with all-too briefly, and some left out completely on account of their being mind-numbingly tedious. However, it is an important area covering many modern day issues such as abortion, euthanasia, animal experiments, and the immoral flaunting in supermarkets of hairy, white legs sporting flip flops. At least having briefly covered the main arguments here, we hopefully now have a vague framework in which these issues can be (maybe) intelligently discussed.
PART THREE
THE EXTERNAL WORLD
In this section we will examine the world around us, or at least the world we think is around us, and the way we perceive things to exist, provided we ourselves exist at the centre of whatever it is that may be around us.
We know there is something else that exists from the evidence of the five senses, in particular our sense of sight. I can see the glass of wine on the desk in front of me, and if I close my eyes, I can reach out and touch it (although owing to the several glasses perceived before it, I may well knock it over). I can smell it, taste it, and sometimes even hear it talking to me, so I am absolutely certain that it exists. Is it that simple however? (Having got this far in the book, I’m sure you know it isn’t going to be.) What exactly is the relationship between what I think I can see in front of me, and what is actually there? Could the two things be different? Do the things I see cease to exist when I’m not looking at them? Could I be dreaming? And if I am dreaming, why can’t I go and look at myself being asleep, just to see what I look like? (Provided, that is, that I’m not dreaming that I’m dreaming, or am only pretending to be asleep, or am not in fact stood by the fridge in my underwear snacking on some roast chicken having gone sleepwalking.)
These are what are known as epistemological questions, and here we shall explore them in some detail, concentrating on our powers of perception.
Common Sense Realism
This is a view held by most people whereby we accept that the world around us exists on account of what our senses tell us. We have good reason to believe that things like glasses of wine, motor cars, birds, pogo-sticks and body-odour exist, because we can see, hear, touch, taste, or smell them (hopefully in the right order). Furthermore, we can be pretty certain that we are getting a reasonably accurate interpretation of these things; i.e. the sun is yellow, the sky is blue, or one of my socks is green and the other brown. (Damn my colour-blindness – Author.)
The majority of people will progress through life without questioning such general perceptions, which is perfectly acceptable, and can indeed often lead to an increased circle of friends. However, our perception of the world through the senses is perhaps not totally reliable, and can be called into question by numerous arguments and suggestions. If we can suspend disbelief in this work for long enough to read the next page or two, we will examine some of the more interesting ones below, before progressing onto some worryingly sophisticated theories of perception (should I indeed be the person I perceive myself to be sat here writing this, and not in reality someone who is having a bizarre dream having fallen asleep on their lunch hour somewhere).
The Illusion Argument
This is a sceptical argument that questions the reliability of the senses. We can all recall instances of apparent illusions: A stick appears bent when immersed in water, railway tracks appear to converge in the distance, or my Great Aunt Olwyn isn’t a dead-ringer for Walter Matthau. Such examples suggest that the world around us may not be exactly as we perceive it, which calls into question the reliability of the senses, not to mention the decision to wear a Hawaiian shirt and favourite straw hat to do some shopping at Tesco. How can we be certain our senses are not misleading us at this precise moment, especially if that’s a Ferrari I can see through the window outside my house? What’s more, I think Stephanie Beecham may be roller skating up the driveway (or is it the postman? No, it’s the cat - I’m sure you get the point). So, it appears we cannot be certain that we are not being misled at any given moment, which challenges our everyday beliefs, as in Common Sense Realism, that our senses reliably provide us with an accurate picture of the world around us.
Critics of the Illusion Argument might suggest that although I may be mistaken in some instances, there are other times when I can be certain that I am not being deceived. For example, yesterday in the midst of a session of DIY, the author managed to strike his thumb forcibly with a large hammer. I can fully attest to the fact that I was not in any way mistaken that it hurt mightily, nor can my next door neighbour realistically dispute the fact that he was witness to a stream of obscenities emanating through the privet hedge he happened to be trimming at the time.
Furthermore, I personally often have extremely vivid dreams. As already alluded to, can I be sure that I’m not dreaming that I’m sitting here writing this?
Could I Be Dreaming?
Is there anything that can possibly distinguish what we experience in a dream from what is happening in real life? If we are dreaming, how can we know? Maybe it would be advisable to go and check in the bedroom right now, to make sure we’re not lying in bed, fast asleep. If you are, perhaps give yourself a good shake, or yell, “Boo!” down your ear – if after doing this you’re still sat here reading this, then maybe you aren’t dreaming after all, although it may well be a good idea to apologise to whoever you’ve just scared witless in your bed (it may also be a good idea to establish exactly who they are, just in case they’re still there at bedtime). What if, you may ask, I’m not at home and so can’t check to see if I’m dreaming in bed? In this instance, we can either make our way home, preferably without driving just in case we are asleep, or we can ask the Chinaman who is in the room with us to climb on the back of the chicken he is dancing with and fly to Rio de Janeiro and back within ten minutes. If he returns within this time, we can be sure that we are in fact having a particularly silly dream, and maybe should refrain in future from eating cheese sandwiches before bedtime.
Surely though, my whole life cannot be a dream? If it were, I would have no concept of what a dream was, because I would never have been awake to be able to know that I had been dreaming. After all, a dream is only a dream because we know when we aren’t dreaming, although if we were in fact dreaming, we could perhaps claim that we had had a dream that we were awake. (This is getting silly – Author.)
A further objection to the idea that I may be dreaming is that dreams are different to real life. It may indeed be part of the dream itself, but we are often aware of the fact that what’s happening is part of a dream, particularly if we’re flying, for example, or being seduced by a film star, or for that matter, being seduced by our husband or wife. Although it is a fact that some people have more bizarre dreams than others, even the more run-of-the-mill dreams usually have some give-away aspect, even if we only realise it upon awakening. Similarly, if we were under the influence of drink or drugs, or had been dining in a Mexican restaurant, our woken state can also appear somewhat dream-like, and so distinguishing dreams from reality in this case perhaps is not as straightforward as it seems.
The experience of “false awakenings” is also common. This is the experience of dreaming that we have woken up, showered, dressed, eaten breakfast, and gone out to work, before awakening in reality only to realise that the whole thing had been a dream. Not so common are experiences where we have woken up, showered, dressed, eaten breakfast, decided not to go to work, undressed, gone back to bed, and fallen asleep again only to have had a dream that we’d gone back to bed, but somehow woken up at work anyway. Either way, when we are having a dream, we don’t normally question whether this is waking life or not; it is only upon awakening for real that we ask, “Have I been dreaming?”
From this brief discussion of dreams and how we can distinguish them from waking life, we can clearly see how complex the subject can become. It is nonetheless a very interesting discussion point, which is perhaps the idea behind raising it here; but it is however recommended afterwards to retire to a darkened room for a lie down, preferably without falling asleep and dreaming-up the previous page of text.
Perceiving the world around us inaccurately through the dreaming process is one way we can question the evidence of our senses, but there is also a similar argument to be made for wrongly interpreting the world from a conscious state.
Hallucination
Even if I am not dreaming, it is possible that I may be hallucinating. Or I may be hallucinating that I’m dreaming, or hallucinating that I’m hallucinating, or dreaming that I’m hallucinating that I’m Robert Redford. Either way, it’s important not to mix drinks with medication, particularly on an empty stomach. Perhaps I’m not sitting in this chair in front of my laptop next to the window writing this; perhaps in reality I’m sprawled on a crowded dance floor surrounded by high heels and handbags having had my lime and soda spiked with some mind-altering drug, and am hallucinating what I see before me now. (I should be so lucky – Author.) It is equally possible in fact, that no-one has spiked my drink with drugs, and that I may simply be slumped here in my chair having suffered some kind of stroke, and I’m merely hallucinating the fact that I’m sitting here slumped in my chair. If this were the case, and the chair I’m slumped in is a product of my addled imagination, then what exactly am I sitting on? And does it match the colour scheme of my apartment? Although all these things may indeed be possible, it is however highly unlikely that I am hallucinating such things as the chair I’m sitting on.
To take the whole hallucinatory concept to extremes, one can perhaps argue that I may possess no body at all, that all I may be is a brain in a jar on the shelf of some mad professor’s laboratory. This disembodied brain could be being kept alive by chemicals, and all the things I am experiencing may simply be the result of electrical impulses passed through the brain as part of some kind of experiment. (It should be pointed out that if we lack the mental dexterity to take in this concept, it could mean that we are instead only a leg in a jar, and are situated on a different shelf somewhere at the back of the laboratory as part of an entirely different experiment.)
I Think, Therefore I Am, I Think
Whilst the idea that I may only be a brain in a jar, or a leg, or any other bodily part for that matter may appear somewhat far-fetched, could it be the case that I cannot rely on a single assumption about my existence? Is there nothing about which I can be certain? Descartes famously tackled this sceptical question by claiming that even if I am being deceived by some mad scientist, evil demon or vacuum cleaner salesman, the fact that I am being deceived at all proves that I must exist. After all, if I didn’t exist, there would be nothing to deceive, unless of course I was just good at hiding. This became known as the “I think, therefore I am” principle. One could argue, however, that the “I” in “I think” is presumptuous of the fact that we exist in the first place to know that we are thinking something. Descartes might have avoided some probably highly irritating criticism by instead using the words “There are thoughts, therefore I am.” This would then imply that because there are thoughts, there must be a thinker to think them, although those same irritating people might well suggest that it may be possible for thoughts to exist independently of thinkers. Such unrelenting criticism of his theories troubled Descartes profoundly, and for several years of his life he was unable to enter a room without first looking in through the window to make sure it contained something other than nothingness.
Given the complexity of some of the above concepts, we shall now thankfully only briefly examine some of the lesser-known sceptical arguments in the hope that we can reach the end of the chapter without the need for oxygen, or indeed our heads exploding.
Representative Realism
The theories outlined above have illustrated the limitations of the claims of Common Sense Realism that what we perceive from our senses provides us with firm evidence of the nature of the world around us. As can be seen, there are numerous ways in which our senses can potentially be tricked into perceiving things inaccurately, which proves how important it is to always use a good mouthwash. Representative Realism is a modification of Common Sense Realism, which rather than accepting evidence from the senses as unquestionably reliable, interprets what we gather from our senses as merely a representation of the true nature of the world. For example, I might think that the jumper I am wearing is blue. Someone else in the room might say that it is green, depending on how the light hits it. A colour-blind person might say that it is purple with orange stripes, which is how their senses represent it to them, whereas my wife might just say that it is grubby and needs a wash. No one is necessarily wrong; we can all only describe the jumper as we see or feel (or smell) it. To take the example further, if we were to examine the fibres of the jumper under a microscope, we might find that it is made up of many different colours. How it is perceived depends on the viewer, light conditions and texture etc, all of which are representations of the jumper to the person perceiving it.
A major objection to Representative Realism is that it makes the real world unknowable, which is a distressing thought for anyone who has recently invested in a Sat-Nav system. All that we ever see, it is claimed, is only a representation of the real thing. If this is the case, how can we compare what we see with the real world, bearing in mind that we have never seen the real world? It is like being trapped inside our own private cinema, where we watch various films showing the outside world (as well as some of our old favourites, one would hope). In this case, we can’t just nip outside to compare them to the real world, and so cannot know that what we are seeing is actually realistic. Furthermore, buying an ice cream in the interval may prove somewhat tricky, unless we smuggled the ice cream seller in without anyone noticing. This could potentially equate to endless free ice creams, but in reality (that’s the one in our own private cinema, as opposed to the unknown one outside on the pavement) would probably only result in disagreements between the two of us over which films to watch first.
So, we can see that although it is a good theory at first glance in that it attempts to solve the shortcomings of Common Sense Realism, Representative Realism itself does have its weaknesses. If we have no way of checking to see if the way we perceive things is true, how can we believe anything we see, particularly if we wear vari-focals?
Idealism
Idealism goes one step further than Representative Realism, which if you remember, went one step further than Common Sense Realism. (I can’t take many more ism’s – Author.) An Idealist again bases their perception of the world on the senses, but claims that we needn’t worry about the unknowable world around us. We don’t need to know about the world beyond what we experience, since all we will ever know is what we experience anyway. Going back to our cinema analogy, where we are sitting in our private cinemas watching on the screen our perceptions of the world, it doesn’t matter if nothing exists outside, because we would never see it anyway owing to being trapped inside (albeit with an attractive ice cream seller for company).
A theoretical consequence of Idealism would be that if things only exist because I perceive them, then this would mean that equally they would cease to exist when I do not perceive them. Bishop Berkeley (1685-1753), one of the first to endorse the theory of Idealism, declared from his padded cell “To exist is to be perceived.” So, if I leave the room, it must in theory cease to exist, or if I close my eyes, the world disappears, or if I blink, what is in front of me is not there, unless of course someone else is perceiving it at the same time and we are not somehow blinking in unison. This is indeed a common problem for Idealists, who have often been known to quarrel over which one of them is actually perceiving an object at any given moment.
Phenomenalism
Again, Phenomenalism states that all we ever have access to is sense experience, rather than the outside world. (I think I can feel an embolism coming on – Author.) Whereas an Idealist states that things stop existing when they are not being perceived, a Phenomenalist would claim that even though they aren’t being perceived at that moment, they probably are still there. This theory is very popular amongst those people who are always forgetting where they’ve put things. A Phenomenalist sitting in our private cinema, rather than thinking everything had ceased to exist if the screen went off, would believe in the probability of it still existing somewhere. Perhaps there was a power cut, or a problem with the projector, for example.
One major criticism of both Idealism and Phenomenalism is that it can potentially lead to Solipsism. (Yes, I was right – I need a doctor quickly - Author.) That is, if all that I perceive is purely a product of my mind, this must mean that no physical objects exist, and so therefore no other person can exist. I must be the only person that exists. Although solipsism could at best be described as a form of megalomania, and at worst a form of mental illness, it is nonetheless a valid point, and one which Idealists and Phenomenalists must endeavour to answer should they wish to be taken seriously, and not giggled and pointed at by people behind them who they may have momentarily ceased to perceive.
Causal Realism
Causal Realism is the most satisfying theory of perception to date. (I hope this means no more ism’s, I am rapidly losing the will to perceive life – Author.) Bringing some much-needed sense to the subject, Causal Realism states that when we see something, it is a simple physical process whereby light bounces from an object onto our retina, and is then transmitted to our brain to tell us “There is my tennis racquet,” or “My bed is on fire.” As we have evolved as human beings, our senses have developed primarily to help us find our way around, and also, amongst other things, to enable us to avoid people whom we don’t want to talk to. So, we can assume following this process that what they tell us is reasonably accurate, and therefore that we are right to presume the physical world does indeed exist independently to those who perceive it.
Well, it looks like we finally made it to the end of the chapter. In this section we have examined some philosophical theories about the external world and our relationship to it. If, having reached this point, the reader feels the need to re-visit certain points to help understand some rather leftfield ideas, haven’t you been concentrating? Nonetheless, it may indeed be a good idea to re-read one or two areas, even if only in the hope that it will make some kind of sense second time round. Perhaps though, it would be an idea to set the alarm clock first, just in case.
PART FOUR
MIND & BODY
What is the mind? Whereabouts is it? And what does it look like, just in case I do come across it somewhere? Do we have a soul? Do thoughts physically exist as particles of brain tissue stimulated by nerves, or are they simply imaginary images floating in air? If we knew the answers to such questions, we probably wouldn’t need to read this book. However, for the sake of creating another chapter if nothing else, let us examine this area, known as Philosophy of the Mind, and arm ourselves with some interesting arguments and observations with which to fascinate friends, family and colleagues the next time (if ever) the subject crops up in conversation.
It is important to distinguish a philosopher of the mind from a psychologist, just in case we are ever mistaken for the latter, and subsequently asked any awkward questions. Whereas a psychologist would study human behaviour and thought in a scientific way, a philosopher of the mind might ask more abstract questions, such as “What is the mind anyway?” or “Should these electrodes be attached to my nipples?” It should be noted that a philosopher would not normally be permitted inside a laboratory, as they are prone to bumping into things and knocking over apparatus. However, they may in some cases be allowed to wear a white coat, provided they agree not to touch anything and only to ask questions.
A neuro-psychologist studying human thought might, for example, observe patterns of nerve stimulation in the brain to establish the nature of a thought. A philosopher in this case, would question whether this nerve activity indeed amounts to thought, or if there is a property of thought which means it cannot simply be reduced to a physical occurrence. This raises the question: Do we have minds distinct from our bodies? And furthermore, if we do, what is the best thing to do with our body in the event of the mind wandering off somewhere?
Below we shall examine some common debates relating to the mind, including the question of whether a purely physical explanation of the mind is adequate, as well as the possibility of knowing other people’s minds. If indeed we are not certain we know our own minds at this point, it is suggested that the reader moves straight onto the next chapter, entitled “Rubber Wallpaper as a Means to Dealing with Self-Harm.”
The Mind/Body Problem
If we were to describe ourselves in a generic way, we would perhaps distinguish between mental and physical aspects of us as human beings. Mental aspects might include thoughts, dreams, decisions or imagination; physical aspects might include arms, legs, brains, or wobbly parts just above the waistline. Is there however, a real division between the two, or is it just a convenient way to describe ourselves (in the unlikely event necessitating the describing of a brain as being different to a leg – but, you never know). The difficulty explaining the true relationship between the two is known as the Mind/Body Problem.
Those who believe that the mind exists separately from the body are known as Dualists. Those who believe that the mental is the same as the physical, that we are nothing more than flesh and blood, are known as Physicalists. Those who believe that physicality is a relative state, and that the mind is purely a transcendent modality, have probably recently been on a course studying the medicinal qualities of rare mushrooms.
Imagine for one moment that it was possible to create an exact replica of oneself, molecule for molecule (even the wobbly parts just above the waistline, I’m afraid). A physicalist would have to say that the replica would experience exactly the same consciousness as you do - even the guilty part about stealing that latte glass from Starbucks. In contrast, a dualist might say that although there may be no physical differences between me and my new twin, there must be mental ones. For example, how could my zombie-like replica know that I am currently suppressing an urge for a slice of quiche from the fridge, or for that matter, that I’m considering enrolling in yoga classes? (I must point out that the latter example is purely hypothetical – Author.) It is surely impossible to know what I am thinking (and, should a certain fortuitously-agglomerated colleague of mine ever find herself in a position to read my mind, a good job), so even if an exact replica of myself existed, how could they attempt to replicate my “mind?” And so, we can see the fundamental differences between dualists and physicalists. For dualists, mind and body exist as two separate entities, although this doesn’t necessarily mean that the two will always agree on certain issues, like the concept of dieting for example. For physicalists, the mind is part of the body, and so any hypothetical zombie-like replica would be just that, although it may well choose to dress differently.
Dualism
As we have already seen, a dualist believes that the mind and the body are distinct substances that interact with each other, but nonetheless remain separate. Thoughts that occur to us are not a result of brain cells firing, but rather are formed via non-physical representations presented to us usually just above our heads, although some thoughts can sometimes be found concealed beneath clothing or behind furniture.
Dualism is a theory endorsed particularly by those who believe that it is possible to survive our bodily death, either by going on to exist in some kind of spirit world, or by our minds deserting our bodies at the last minute to embark on a new life within someone else’s body that they’ve had their eye on. This concept of a non-physical being somehow surrounding our mortal body is usually referred to in religious circles as our “soul.” A dualist would say that it is only our soul that can appreciate things such as true heartbreak, an artist’s masterpiece, or the music of Emerson, Lake & Palmer.
So, we have up to this point a reasonably sound argument in support of the theory of dualism, but as I’m sure you have guessed, some clever people somewhere have thought of some good points with which to question the concept.
It has been pointed out that it is impossible to scientifically investigate the Dualist’s thought, as by definition it does not physically exist, and even if it did, what type of microscope would we use? There is no way of proving its existence through science, as science relies on the observation of physical effects and processes. So, it seems we must rely on the dualist’s own description of their thoughts and imagination, which is probably a rather disconcerting thought in itself – this particular thought being about 12 inches across by 8 inches down, sort of “wibbly” in shape, and floating just in front of the author’s forehead at the time of writing. On the bright side however, having non-physical thoughts is an excellent way of surviving the death of our body, although it is not advisable to die wearing a hat for example, or ear-muffs, just in case our mind can’t get away in time. Our “soul” can then go on either to live alone (a popular choice for some due to reduced stress levels and cheaper food bills), or share someone else’s body with that body’s current soul. This can often lead to disagreements between the two souls however, causing no end of confusion for the body they are sharing. Conversely, the only way a Physicalist can claim to survive their bodily death is either to fake it, or to resurrect themselves from the grave afterward, which let’s face it, is going to be rather tricky.
Furthermore, it is generally accepted that human beings evolved from simpler life forms, or professional footballers, or possibly a combination of the two. If a Dualist believes in this evolution, does this mean that each life form we can trace back to the start of evolution also had a seperate mind? Take the example of an amoeba: A Dualist would have to say that they would have a mind of their own, although in exceptional circumstances, they would be permitted to share. Where then, would we draw the line? Could we now say, for example, that such things as trees have minds, as they are also a living thing (and surely more clever than an amoeba)? Or how about inanimate objects such as stones, or the author’s Sister-in-law? (This particular view is known as Panpsychism, which as well as being at first glance totally unpronounceable, is also far too-silly-a concept to cover in a serious book such as this one.)
The most powerful criticism of Dualism, however, is the question of how exactly the mind and the body interact with each other. The mind, we are told, is a floaty thing existing somewhere near to our body, or at least hopefully in the same room. Our body, on the other hand, is the physical mass of protoplasm that hangs around waiting for instructions from the mind, as well as to be fed such things as hamburgers or cheesecake. For example, if my mind comes up with the thought to scratch my nose, my hand will rise to my nose and scratch it. What, precisely, is the link between the mental thought and the resulting physical action? Some Dualists have indeed been known to experience incidences of their body and mind not getting on with each other, or in other words, their mind and body becoming out of sync. Examples of this phenomenon in the aforementioned case of the mind instructing the body to scratch its nose might be the body scratching someone else’s nose, or the body simply rising to the centre of the room and performing a Charleston. Such cases are considered rare, however.
Physicalism
As we have seen, Physicalism is the view that mental events can be explained in terms of physical ones, usually events in the brain, but sometimes events occurring around one’s midriff. According to the Physicalist, there is only one sort of substance: the physical. (Having seen my wife’s cooking, I beg to differ – Author.) In theory, any mental event can be described in purely physical terms, and can therefore be investigated scientifically. Thankfully, as I’m sure that if you’ve made it this far you must by now be drooling like a lycanthrope, we won’t be dealing with how particular brain states can be interpreted as thoughts here. Such topics can be found in any good book on Neuropsychology, usually filed in the “Mind-bendingly Complicated” section of the local library.
There are several variants of Physicalism (you guessed it), which, in attempting to prohibit any further stimulation of our salivary glands, we shall only very briefly examine below.
Type-Identity Theory and Token-Identity Theory are somewhat similar in their approach to Physicalism, at least in so far as they don’t seem to make much sense. Put basically, they claim that thoughts are simply direct manifestations of physical brain states. So, something occurs in the brain to create the thought “it’s raining,” and hey presto, we think exactly the same thought, and will have to cancel the barbecue. The distinction between Type and Token is somewhat blurry; suffice it to say that we often have token manifestations of a certain type, but we can never be certain what types of token will typically manifest themselves, if indeed they are at all of a token type, particularly if it’s raining.
A much more interesting theory is that of Behaviourism, which offers a rather different attempt at dealing with the Mind/Body Problem than the explanations suggested by Dualism and Physicalism.
A Behaviourist denies altogether the existence of the mind, and so would probably be a bad choice to bring home to meet the parents. There is no mental state; every action can be explained in purely physical terms. A Behaviourist differs from a Physicalist in that whereas a Physicalist describes thought as a physical process, a Behaviourist denies the existence of thought itself, claiming that we don’t need a “mind” to exist as human beings. Behaviourism is therefore a theory endorsed by many groups in today’s society, including taxi drivers and football fans, although having no mind, they would probably not be aware of it. To illustrate, if I as a Behaviourist was struck on the shin with a cricket bat, I wouldn’t first think, “Ow, that hurts, I think I’ll demonstrate the universally-recognised signs of being in pain,” – I would move straight onto the act of hopping about clutching my leg whilst screaming and wailing. This would be a natural bodily function that would not require the involvement of thought or a mind at all. Therefore, for the Behaviourist, there is no Mind/Body Problem to solve in the first place; everything is pre-programmed into our mindless body.
As I’m sure you must be thinking, there have to be several criticisms of Behaviourism, as at first glance it appears somewhat shaky as a theory. Firstly, in the example of someone who is apparently in pain, how could we distinguish between someone who is genuinely in pain and someone who is merely pretending? “Hit them on the other leg with the cricket bat,” one might say. This doesn’t allow for the possibility that the victim may be an extremely convincing actor, not to mention the fact that they may well take the bat off you and hit you back.
Also, there is no universal index indicating the way to behave in any chosen physical condition. How can we reduce all mental thought to behavioural tendencies, as, surely, different people will react in different ways to various situations? Equally, if I were the only person on earth and had never seen other people reacting to pain for example, I would not know the way to behave if, say, I dropped a dumbbell on my big toe. I may instead choose to dance about in celebration, declaring, “Hey-nonny-no, oh how I do love to be in pain…”
So, it is clear that Behaviourism has its limitations as a serious theory attempting to explain the relationship between mind and body, or body and body, or anything at all, really. It does raise some interesting points however, such as how we generally all behave in the same way in certain situations, although, of course, there are exceptions in all circumstances.
Other Minds
So far in this section, we have briefly examined most of the major attempts to explain the Mind/Body Problem. As we have seen, none are totally satisfactory explanations, so clearly there is much scope for further discussion and theorising. In the meantime, one thing we can be certain of is there probably are thoughts of some description, it’s just where they are, and if we should be thinking them in the first place that we should be most concerned about.
Although the last thing we need at this stage is another problem, there is one more key area in the Philosophy of Mind we should look at here, namely, the Problem of Other Minds. How do I know that other people think, feel, and are conscious in the same way that I am? (After a recent trip to Ikea, I would suggest that many indeed are not – Author.) Can I know that other people are comparable beings, with the ability to experience the same feelings and emotions as I do? Could it in theory be possible that other people are highly-sophisticated, soulless robots, capable of responding as if they had an inner life programmed into them to appear real? (These are known as Automata – not to be confused with Automats, or indeed anything to do with cars.)
Although this last suggestion may appear a trifle far-fetched (there is at this point no need to start dashing about with a large magnet to see who sticks to it), we shall nonetheless look at how we can attempt to prove that other minds do exist, even if we’re not entirely sure where, or even what, our own is.
The Argument from Analogy
This argument is based on a comparison between two similar things. It claims that if one thing is like the other in some respects, it can be assumed it will be the same in others too. Take for example two young children, one of whom likes ice cream. We could confidently give them both an ice cream, as the odds are that the other one will also like ice cream. If the second one was dairy-intolerant however, the result of the analogy would be affected in a way I can’t quite figure out, and we would certainly be in a spot of bother. We, as members of the human race, all look reasonably similar, behave in a similar way, and have similar emotions. (I presume we’re leaving my ex-wife out of this particular analogy? – Author.) We normally react in the same way to things such as happiness, pain, despair, or mouldy cheese we’ve found at the back of the fridge. In relation to consciousness, it is reasonable to expect that if we bear all these similarities to other people, we can equally assume that they all have a similar consciousness to our own.
However, one would be extremely justified in saying that this is far from providing proof that other people have minds like our own. Although there may indeed be many similarities between us, there are probably also many differences too. How can we know that the mind is not one of these differences? Take the example of my Aunt Maureen and Uncle Bob: They both like to sleep on their stomachs. Uncle Bob however, doesn’t like to sleep on Aunt Maureen’s stomach, because she often sings in her sleep. Aunt Maureen, on the other hand, doesn’t even like sleeping in the same room as Uncle Bob, because he snores like a mountain gorilla. However, they have in common a fondness for corned beef. So, although the relevance of corned beef is probably unclear, we can see in this case how different two apparently similar things can be – or is it how similar two different things can be - either way, it does show what 40 years and processed meat can do to a marriage.
Getting back to the point, at very best the Argument from Analogy only shows that other people almost certainly do have minds, but it is not an indisputable proof. Then again, we have no indisputable proof that the sun will rise tomorrow, but we are pretty certain that it will. However, in the interests of avoiding yet another long and confusing argument, we will not go down that route at this point, particularly as it’s forecast cloudy for tomorrow.
In summary, the question of whether or not other people possess minds similar to our own is not as easy to answer as one might at first think, particularly if the person being asked the question doesn’t have a similar mind to the person asking it. In this case, it is best just to talk about favourite television programmes. Nonetheless, it does provoke us once more to question something that we normally take for granted, provided, that is, that we are confident our own mind is capable of scrabbling about for a passable answer.
In this section we have concentrated on the main aspects of Philosophy of Mind, namely, Dualism, Physicalism, and Other Minds. Since philosophy is very much concerned with the nature of thought, many philosophers have seen the questions raised here as central to their work, and at the heart of almost any philosophical question. For this reason, philosophers very rarely phone each other up for a chat, as they find it impossible to get off the phone that same day. There has been an extraordinary amount of literature produced on this particular subject, much of which is of an extremely complex nature. The reader is therefore advised to avoid this like the plague, as a foray into such works at this relatively early stage is likely to induce paranoid delusion, or at the very least a nervous twitch.
PART FIVE
ART
The key question when studying the philosophy of art is, “What is art?” Most of us have probably at some point read a novel, or listened to music, or visited the cinema, theatre or ballet, and thought to ourselves, “What was all that about?” We may also have thought that whatever we had witnessed was a load of pretentious old nonsense and wished we’d gone to the pub instead, but this is beside the point. Further, what is it that makes a work of art good? In earlier times, the boundaries of what was classed as art were more defined; perhaps cavemen art critics would have pondered the artistic value of mud daubed on a cave wall. Today however, one can place a lobster on top of a telephone and be revered the world over as an artistic genius. Clearly then, there is much scope for discussion about what it is that makes one thing over another worthy of being called a work of art.
It is hoped by the author that this will generate sufficient text to send the book over the 30-page mark, a minimum stipulation demanded from the publishers to render the work worthy of print.
Can Art be Defined?
Many philosophers have claimed that it is indeed impossible to define art (some have also struggled to spell it). When faced with such a variety of forms as literature, music, paintings, sculpture, film, dance and hardcore drum ‘n’ bass techno- house, it is somewhat difficult to establish a common denominator between them all on which they can be fairly evaluated. The philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein famously suggested a method to solve this apparent problem from the midst of a 13-hour session with his psychiatrist Dr Hans Popov, namely, the Family Resemblance View.
The Family Resemblance View
The basis of this suggestion is as follows: One can often resemble one’s father. One’s father can vaguely resemble one’s father’s sister. It is highly probable (and hopefully the case), that one looks nothing like one’s father’s sister. Also, if one’s mother resembles one’s father, or one’s brother resembles the milkman, then never mind reading this, one has some rather difficult questions to ask. Anyway, the point here is that there may be overlapping resemblances between different family members without there being one common feature that they all share (although some may have a big nose or teeth resembling a beaver).
So, it could be that resemblances between different art forms are of this type; although there are obvious similarities between some, there is no one common characteristic that they all share. Perhaps then, Wittgenstein had a good point, and wasn’t such a crackpot after all, although his views on the psychosexual connotations of yodelling in public places were universally accepted as the first signs of his fragmenting mental state. Getting back to art, it seems that we can be thankful to at least have clear definitions of various art forms, if nothing else.
Whilst Wittgenstein was busy calling on his long-lost aunts and uncles to see what they looked like, other philosophers were wondering whether it was indeed impossible to define art, or whether there could be some kind of characteristic common to all art forms. Clearly, if we were to find such a characteristic, the criticism of art would become something we could all aspire to, rather than simply being left to a bunch of Radio 4-type people sitting round a table backstage at the Barbican. We will examine below three attempted definitions of art, before we can claim ourselves worthy of penning a column for publication in next month’s Stage magazine.
Significant Form Theory
This attempted definition is based on the assumption that any genuine work of art produces an aesthetic emotion in the observer, listener or reader. This emotion is markedly different to those we experience in everyday life (although some people who work in art galleries often complain of over-exposure to aesthetic emotion). Care should be taken in establishing the reason for the displaying of emotion when subjected to a potential work of art. For example, someone sitting next to you at the Rossini opera may display the commonly-recognised signs of aesthetic emotion – crying, sobbing etc, when, in reality, they are upset because they thought they were coming to see the Ken Dodd Laughter Show. (Of course, one could argue that this would be an art form in itself, although one would probably lose the argument.) Significant form is a certain relationship between parts – the colours and textures of a painting for example, rather than the subject matter itself that sensitive critics can intuitively recognise in a work of art. Anything that fails to stir the emotions of such critics, or indeed that sends insensitive critics scouring the Internet for downloadable Turner Prize application forms, cannot be defined as art, and so usually finds itself adorning the pages of the latest Argos catalogue.
It could be argued however, that the Significant Form theory is somewhat self-contradictory, in that it refers to the properties of a piece of art that give rise to aesthetic emotion. However, this emotion is only felt in the presence of significant form, so, one property seems to define the other. It is like yes in a dictionary being defined as the opposite of no, and no being defined as the opposite of yes. (If we’ve got the dictionary out, wouldn’t it be quicker just to look up the definition of “Art,” so we can move on to the next bit? – Author.)
Also, surely there is no one state of aesthetic emotion that we could all potentially display when observing a work of art. Different people display such emotions in their own way. When confronted by a genuine van Gogh masterpiece for example, some people may simply gaze in pleasure without displaying any outward signs of emotion, whilst others may fall to the floor and sob hysterically before being asked to leave the gallery. Both could claim to have been emotionally moved by the work of art, although the latter may also claim back some of their admission price. The point is, it is very difficult to decipher those who are genuinely displaying aesthetic emotion caused by an art form from those who are just pretending, when in reality they haven’t got a clue what they’re talking about. Many philosophers would therefore claim that a theory displaying such vagaries could only be dismissed as meaningless, and that whoever came up with the idea should think about a career change.
Finally, if we highlighted a certain piece of art and claimed it as such, and that same piece failed to stir the aesthetic emotions of a sensitive critic, a Significant Form theorist would as a result deny that the piece was worthy of being classed as a work of art. There is no possible way either person could be proved wrong, as what stirs one’s emotions is entirely subjective. Therefore, we have every right to claim our piece of art as worthy of the definition, and can confidently dismiss the opinion of our stuffy art critic friend – what the hell do they know?
Idealist Theory
This attempt at defining art uses as its basis the idea that the true work of art is non-physical – it is solely the idea or emotion in the artist’s mind, regardless of what he or she actually physically creates. The artist then applies their physical imaginative expression to the idea to create the finished work through their chosen medium, be it in the form of a ballet score, oil painting, or plastocine model. The work of art itself, it is claimed, remains in the artist’s mind throughout the whole process.
This may at first glance seem somewhat strange. In theory, a visual artist could therefore produce a painting that was clearly abysmal, and subsequently say, “Er, well, it wasn’t actually supposed to look like a man strangling a blind bassoonist - I imagined it to turn out more like a vase of sunflowers,” and hence declare it as a masterpiece. Similarly, the same artist could come up with what was deemed to be one of the true great paintings, when in fact all they had been trying to do was remove an annoyingly persistent fly from the canvas with violent swats of their brush. It is therefore very difficult to establish what exactly is in the mind of the creator, especially given that so many visual artists throughout history have been one bristle short of a paintbrush.
The Idealist theory must therefore be taken with a considerable pinch of salt as a means of defining what art actually is. It is too ambiguous a claim that art itself can only exist in the mind of the creator, and presumably would also mean that art lovers and critics wouldn’t know what they were talking about when analysing art (although this may be true in many cases). Perhaps then, we need a more feasible and vaguely useful way of defining what art actually is, before we move on to working out how we can decide if whatever it is was any good anyway.
Well, at the time of writing, no one seems to have come up with one, so for now we’ll just have to settle for the Institutional Theory, which as we will see, is even worse than the Idealist Theory.
Institutional Theory
The Institutional Theory is a recent attempt at explaining how such diverse forms as poetry, dance, drama, literature, music and visual art can all be lumped under one umbrella, no doubt sporting a Radio 3 logo. There are two things they all must have in common.
Firstly, the theory states that they must all have been worked on by a human being. This, however, can mean something as simple as picking up a crisp packet off the pavement and placing it on display in an art gallery, so obviously isn’t much use on its own as a concept of what art is. Secondly, they must all have been given the status of a “work of art” by an appropriate authority in the art world; for example, a conductor, gallery owner or theatre producer. (How such people gain this authority is not clear, although it is thought by some that secret meetings are held in art gallery cupboards where specially-made badges are passed around.) This is clearly nonsensical, as how can we define a work of art as “Something that someone tells us is a work of art?” What precisely is it that defines these people as an “authority?” It is surely not possible for such authorities to know what art is, whilst the rest of us are left arguing amongst ourselves as to how best to define it. Why can’t they just tell us, and even then, should we take their word for it? (Probably not, given the way these people dress.)
The Institutional Theory of art is extremely limited in that it allows the potential for anything to be classed as a work of art. Using the above example of the crisp packet on display in a gallery, a cigar-smoking, bow-tied member of the art world could indeed declare it as a work of art, whilst in the same breath dismissing a finely-crafted three act opera packed with drama and musical virtuosity as “drivel.” The opera’s composer in this case would certainly be within his rights to fling the critic from his box at the opera into the stalls below, but would nonetheless still be left with an opera unworthy of classification as “art.” Put simply, the theory doesn’t allow for “good” or “bad” art. It only provides the classification for anything to potentially become a work of art. Indeed, it is hoped by the author that in the highly unlikely event of any member of the art world ever stumbling upon this book, it will be hailed as an artistic masterpiece, provided of course that it’s not by the same person who thought the crisp packet was any good.
So, we have now briefly examined three attempted definitions of art. Whichever one we choose to agree with, we should now be in a position to move on to discussing what makes our piece of art a good piece of art, and what makes it worthy only of inclusion in one of those junk-mail catalogues that keep landing on the doormat. In reality however, given the somewhat hazy substance of the above theories, we are probably now even more confused than before. Nonetheless, we shall move on to the world of art criticism in the hope that our fragmented understanding will somehow coagulate, thus bringing new meaning (or at least some) to the world of art that surrounds us.
Art Criticism
Much has been debated about the various ways of interpreting art, and the justifications of what is actually written about it. It is a rather complex area, and so is probably a good subject with which to round off this book, as further stimulation of the reader’s mind beyond this section would seem unlikely, not to mention potentially damaging to one’s mental state. One key question is the extent to which the artist’s intentions are relevant to critical interpretation of the work, which, if we can remain sane for a little longer, we shall very briefly discuss below.
Anti-Intentionalism
An Anti-Intentionalist would claim that in criticising a work of art, we should only pay attention to the intentions embodied in the work itself. Anything subsequently learned about the work from the artist, media or indeed any past works by the artist would be deemed irrelevant. (Shouldn’t they be called Intentionalists then, or Anti-Anti Intentionalsits? – Author.) This effectively means that once a work is completed and handed over to the art world, the artist has no more control over its interpretation than anybody else. Therefore, the artist must ensure that their work is pretty good, as there will be no chance to defend it once a rabid critic gets hold of it and rips it to shreds.
One could say that this is a rather narrow view to take, as surely, a good critic would want to take as much into consideration as possible before broadcasting their opinion. There may be hidden meaning in the work that would only become clear when armed with all the relevant information; a critic who “misses the point” may risk looking silly if he or she overlooked such information. However, the critic may reply that they were simply interpreting what was in front of them and so shouldn’t need to know any inherent themes or significance, and that therefore it was the criticism of the critic that was silly. Either way, there would no doubt be a big argument, with neither side willing to back down; but alas, this is the essence of art criticism, and provided no physical violence was involved, such behaviour must be openly encouraged.
Performance Art
When it comes to the performing arts, questions are often raised regarding the interpretation of the work in a similar way to the visual arts. A common example would be the present day performance of classical music, often composed centuries ago. Many critics and philosophers of art believe that such pieces are of more artistic value if they are performed on the instruments used at the time the piece was composed. Clearly there are limits to this suggestion; in the example of an Early Music recital, no one is expecting the performers to dance around a bonfire at the Royal Albert Hall demanding such things as the burning of the witch. However, the aims of such a performance would be to replicate as much as possible the sounds, atmosphere and background originally experienced at the time of composing. Orchestras have often been known to dress in authentic clothes worn at the time for their performance, and in one famous case, a conductor once deliberately contracted syphilis before his concert, just to add that certain authenticity to the work. In this particular case, the conductor unfortunately died of the disease before the performance, but it nonetheless went down a storm with the critics, who applauded the authenticity of his death.
Of course, the other side to this argument would state that just because a piece of historical music is played on modern day instruments, doesn’t mean that it becomes inauthentic, or inaccurate to the original. Indeed, sound quality would certainly be much greater if the piece were played on today’s instruments. Clearly, if an historical rendition played on authentic instruments sounded more like a primary school ensemble tuning up, the object would be somewhat defeated.
Perhaps then, we should merely be aware of the historical significance of the music we are attempting to play, but not consider this the most important aspect when interpreting a performance. If we concentrate too much on this area, it is possible that some of the performer’s creativity can be stifled, as surely they would ideally strive for fresh and challenging interpretations of the music, rather than sticking to the same boring old versions just to retain its authenticity. Therefore, it seems our modern day performers have every artistic justification in turning up for their recital of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons wearing next to no clothes, and performing through a PA system considered unworthy of a Status Quo concert whilst flying across the stage on a trapeze wire à la Peter Pan.
Forgeries and their Artistic Value
The subject of forgeries and their artistic value is really quite interesting, and although we have now sailed past the 30-page mark and the publishers are therefore contractually obliged to not only print the work, but also pay the author’s expenses (£21.37 towards an outstanding electricity bill), we shall nonetheless cover this area. It is hoped by the author that any extra interest generated as a result may help secure an equally-lucrative follow-up book deal.
We will mainly discuss forgeries of paintings here, although forgeries of other art forms do occur. Forgers not only imitate the style of the original artist’s work; they have also been known to imitate the way they live, and sometimes even legally take the name of the original. This can make criticism of their work mightily confusing, with some artists in the past having been mistaken for their fake, and as a result refused entry to their own exhibitions.
There are two types of forgery that we shall discuss here. Firstly, there is the exact replica of the original. Secondly, there is the copy created in the style of the artist’s body of work. Forgeries of other art forms are commonly of this type; for example, a piece of music written in the style of a certain composer, or a novel written in the style of a certain author. It is even possible to suggest at this point that this very book is written in the style of Prof. Menzies von Hhoffmmann by an imitator; perhaps I as the imitator have kidnapped Prof. von Hhoffmmann, and am hoping to take on his identity and accept the plaudits for the work. (Don’t worry, I haven’t been kidnapped, I’m okay – just hypothesising – Author… or actually, hold on, I could be the impostor writing this… I’m confused – Author/Impostor Author.)
In the case of either type of forgery, if the forger is capable of producing work of equal standard to the original artist and thus fooling the experts, then surely he or she is in theory as skilled as the original, and should be treated as their equal. At the very least, one could suggest that they should be allowed to work weekends as a tribute act. Similarly, should forgeries be treated as significant works of art in their own right? This is a particularly cloudy area, and has often been known throughout history to create some rather volatile disagreements between artists and forgers over who painted their identical picture first.
There is probably a financial factor at work here; if there is only the original copy of a much-coveted painting in existence, then it becomes extremely valuable to the art world. However, if there were several versions, albeit identical in nature, their financial value would decrease significantly, as obviously there are more to go round amongst the world’s art collectors. This highlights one reason why the world of art is often thought of as rather paradoxical (or a load of pretentious twaddle) – if everybody wanted a certain painting, then why not let loads of skilled forgers copy it so we can all have an “original” but at a fraction of the price? Surely this would be better than a rich snob snuffling up the true original, whilst we all have to settle for what is essentially a photocopy? (This is probably a rather dubious point, but we have to bring it up for the sake of covering every argument, no matter how flimsy – Author.) This leads us quite well onto the next point.
Perhaps it is the snobbery of art collectors which leads to such importance being attached to original paintings. These collectors enjoy owning a unique object, or maybe it is the case that they get more enjoyment out of the fact that someone else doesn’t own such an object. Either way, these people probably have far too much money and very little taste anyway, so why should it bother us that they get to own all these masterpieces in the first place? After all, these are the same people who think that a crisp packet sitting on display in an art gallery is the best thing since da Vinci.
Another reason why originals are so desirable and therefore valuable is their significance as relics to the past. An original van Gogh for example, would have been touched by the great artist, deliberated over, and even possibly thrown in the back of the garage because he thought it was rubbish. This fascinating historical interest obviously generates enormous appeal to all collectors of art, even if the painting itself by the time it was found was covered in dust and had had an old tin of Dulux Magnolia Silk Emulsion spilt down its front.
So, we have seen that price, snob value, and value as an historical relic dictate the worth of a painting to the art world. However, it seems these things have little to do with actual artistic merit; going by these terms, perhaps our perfect forgery does hold as much artistic significance as the original. Although it would be nice to confirm this as the case, alas there are some arguments that do support the artistic superiority of the original over the fake, and so the author must suspend his celebratory end-of-book glass of wine in the bath for just a little while longer.
Perfect Fakes
So, imagine we have before us two identical paintings, one of which is an original, and the other a perfect fake. The point being made is that the fake should be given equal artistic merit to the original, as it displays evidence of equal artistic talent to the original artist. It has been suggested that we can never be absolutely certain that our perfect fake is indeed perfect. Studied with the technology available today, it may seem perfect, but who is to say that technology of the future may not find some minuscule fault with it, thus rendering it imperfect? A perfect fake may fool the experts today, but we can never rule out future discovery of the painting’s true nature. Incidentally, one could therefore also argue that the same could happen to a painting considered today as an original – would it not be conceivable that future technology in analysis of the painting might detect some feature in the painting that would render it actually a fake? This is frankly rather confusing and perhaps we should move on to the next paragraph, but the key point is that any difference between the fake and original discovered in the future is likely to be so minor as to not detract any artistic worth from the painting. (Come on, give the forger some credit here…)
Originality of the Original
Another important point might be the fact that when the original artist created his painting, no one else had done so before him, so surely he should be praised for the originality of his work. Even if a forger managed to replicate the painting, his achievement would be far less than the original artist’s, as his style was simply to mechanically copy the original.
In the case of the second type of fake discussed earlier (if the reader’s by now curdled brain can think back that far) where a particular style is copied, credit must be given to the original artist for actually creating that particular style in the first place. As in the case of a single painting, all a forger can ever do is copy something that has already been created, and let’s face it, creativity is very much a definitive aspect of artistic merit (as well, of course, as a bohemian lifestyle and questionable sanity).
Moral Issues
A final point worth mentioning here is that by their nature forgeries are an attempt at deceiving the viewer about the origins of the painting before them. Even if the forger subsequently felt guilty and tried to wriggle out of it by claiming they produced a perfect copy by mistake, a fake is in essence the artistic equivalent to a lie. As we have seen in Part 2 of this discussion, this is another extremely sticky area, and perhaps it would be a mistake to combine two such issues here where things are already complicated enough. Having said that, there are clearly moral issues raised by producing forgeries which can only be another potential argument in support of an original painting’s artistic superiority over its forged equivalent.
Well, that finally brings us to the end of this chapter and our look at some of the philosophical issues encountered in the world of art. Much talk about art by artists, critics and observers alike can be confused, illogical and involve much waving of arms and swatting of programmes, but the employment of philosophical clarity to such arguments can surely only help matters. As in other areas, there is no final answer to such difficult questions, but at least we’ve hopefully come across as vaguely intelligent along the way.
CONCLUSIONS
In this book we have discussed a wide range of philosophical issues that, living as intelligent, sensitive people we come across in our everyday lives. For those readers who don’t quite fit into this category, a few blank pages have been included at the back of the book for the drawing of pictures. With a greater understanding of important subjects that we would not normally think twice about, we may now be more capable of surviving many of life’s traumas, or at least getting through a difficult day without the need for quite so many tantrums or sulks.
Due to space limitations (and limited patience and mental endurance), several other subjects have unfortunately been omitted, including politics, science and the meta-physical implications of oneness and its negative aspect to sociological pathology.
It is hoped that we may now have a different approach to analysing many more general topics, as in this book we have used a pattern of valid arguments both for and against the issues raised. Perhaps now when faced with philosophical dilemmas or opposing pressures, we will be more able to calmly correlate the relevant information to help us reach a logical conclusion, rather than just leaping down the throat of the person opposite with a torrent of abuse.
With a solid grasp of our physical and meta-physical make up and its relation to God, the external world, ethics and our knowledge and understanding of such a broad spectrum as the arts, perhaps the reader may now consider him or herself an improved person having read this book.
If not, then either the reader has not been concentrating, or is simply far too intelligent to have picked up a book like this in the first place.
Or perhaps the author has just missed the point.
Probably the latter, I’d say.
Menzies von Hhoffmmann.
© Matthew Jenkins 2010
mattofjenko@yahoo.co.uk
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