AnalPhilosopher

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) has done real harm to nonhuman animals. Anyone who cares about animals should refuse to support this group. It has been co-opted by the establishment; it uses sexist imagery and methods; and, worst of all, it entrenches the view that animals are resources for human use. Read what law professor Gary L. Francione has to say about PETA in this wide-ranging interview. (His critique of PETA comes near the end.)

Peter Singer (born 1946) is a towering figure in animal ethics, so let's clear something up once and for all. I will direct people to this entry whenever they make the mistake I'm about to identify. In 1980, Singer began an essay with the following stirring words:

I am a utilitarian. I am also a vegetarian. I am a vegetarian because I am a utilitarian. I believe that applying the principle of utility to our present situation—especially the methods now used to rear animals for food and the variety of food available to us—leads to the conclusion that we ought to be vegetarian. (Peter Singer, "Utilitarianism and Vegetarianism," Philosophy & Public Affairs 9 [summer 1980]: 325-37, at 325)

Five years before this essay appeared in print, Singer published Animal Liberation (New York: Avon Books, 1975), which has been called "the bible of the animal-liberation movement." In this book, Singer argued against two "speciesist practices": (1) the raising and killing of animals for food and (2) the use of animals in scientific experiments and tests of consumer products.

So Singer is all of the following: (1) a utilitarian, (2) a vegetarian, and (3) the author of Animal Liberation, in which he makes a case for vegetarianism. Moreover, he is a vegetarian because he is a utilitarian. It does not follow from any of this that the argument of Animal Liberation is utilitarian. In fact, it is not, as Singer himself said in 1999. Responding to criticism by Robert C. Solomon, he wrote:

Solomon refers to my Animal Liberation, and suggests that the emotional impact of the photographs included in that book had more impact than the 'ethereally controversial utilitarian attack on "speciesism" that accompanied them'. But the text of Animal Liberation is not utilitarian. It was specifically intended to appeal to readers who were concerned about equality, or justice, or fairness, irrespective of the precise nature of their commitment. (Nor, for that matter, do I think there is anything in the least ethereal about it.) Significantly, the book succeeded in persuading thousands of people to change their diet and become involved in the animal movement. (Peter Singer, "A Response," chap. 13 in Singer and His Critics, ed. Dale Jamieson [Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1999], 269-335, at 283)

Singer is a smart man and a good philosopher. He knew in 1975 and knows now that not everyone is a utilitarian. Many people are, but many are not. If the argument of Animal Liberation presupposed utilitarianism, then he would be cutting off much of his audience. People who aren't utilitarians would say, "This argument doesn't apply to me; I reject its main premise." That would be self-defeating, since Singer wanted to persuade as many people as possible to change their beliefs and behavior. The premises of Animal Liberation can be accepted by people of any (or almost any) theoretical persuasion. This gives the book a wide audience.

Here is a handout that I distribute to my Ethics students when we discuss Singer's 1974 essay "All Animals Are Equal" (first published in Annual Proceedings of the Center for Philosophical Exchange 1 [summer 1974]: 103-11). This essay, published when Singer was twenty-eight, is the basis for the main argumentative chapter of Animal Liberation. I showed the handout to Singer a few months ago. He suggested some minor changes in wording but said it accurately reconstructs his argument. As he put it in e-mail correspondence, the argument is compatible with utilitarianism but does not presuppose it. In other words, it's a nonutilitarian argument but not an anti-utilitarian argument. You will note that the argument is entirely free of theoretical commitments.

Are moral considerations applicable to war?

No. This is positivistic political realism. "[M]orality has no application whatever to international relations" (page 56).

Yes. Should moral considerations be applied to war?

No. This is strong normative political realism. "[Moral] notions should [not] be appealed to in international relations" (57).

Yes. Should moral considerations be decisive?

No. This is weak normative political realism. "[M]oral considerations should [not] be decisive in the determination of [foreign] policy" (57).

Yes. This is idealism. "[S]tates ought always to act morally" (57). Is war ever morally justified?

No. I call this extreme pacifism.

Yes. Is war morally justified today, given the technology that exists?

No. I call this moderate pacifism. "[W]ar in the modern world is not morally justified" (14). Holmes is in this category.

Yes, provided certain requirements are satisfied. The just-war theory falls in this category. "[W]ar is sometimes morally permissible" (49).

This flowchart is based on Robert L. Holmes, On War and Morality (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989).

My sixteenth Tech Central Station column, "Dodging the Issue," has just appeared. Go here.

In a long, interesting comment on one of my posts over at Animal Ethics, Mary writes: "eat what you like and let the rest eat what they like." With all due respect, Mary, you make it sound as though I'm coercing you into giving up meat. No. I'm trying to persuade you to give up meat. There's a big difference between coercion and persuasion! The main difference, and it's a morally important one, is that only persuasion is respectful of the person.

How does persuasion work? By drawing out the implications of what your interlocutor already believes or values. Have you read Mylan Engel's essay "The Immorality of Eating Meat"? If not, please do. There's a link to it on the left side of the blog. Mylan tries to show you that you are already committed (without knowing it) to vegetarianism. There are three things you can do in response to his argument (assuming you want to avoid self-contradiction). First, deny that you have the beliefs and values he says you have. Second, show that even if you have those beliefs and values, they do not commit you to vegetarianism. (In other words, find fault with the structure—validity—of his argument.) Third, accept his conclusion and become a vegetarian. Please read (and think about) his essay. Nobody is trying to force or coerce you into anything. Law is coercive; morality is persuasive. And don't say that Mylan is imposing his values on you. He's imposing your values on you!

Addendum: Mylan's essay is on my university's server, which is down for maintenance for a few days. Please keep trying the link until it works.

Neighbor, n. One whom we are commanded to love as ourselves, and who does all he knows how to make us disobedient.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

I received a very nice letter from Scotland this morning:

Please do not feel obliged to read, reply to, or acknowledge this message. I am sure you receive all sorts of emails from people like me who want to witter on about something or other. I recently discovered your blog and have found it very stimulating. I teach philosophy in Scotland to high school pupils (11-18 year olds) and will be recommending your blog to my colleagues. A couple of thoughts about your recent entry on reason and faith. Firstly, like you I have never known anyone persuaded either way by the philosophical arguments for or against the existence of God. And that leaves me with a nagging doubt. There are clearly highly intelligent philosophers on both sides. If their assessments of the arguments are determined by something other that the actual arguments how can anyone be sure that their assessment of any philosophical argument is not being determined by something other than the argument. Such a conclusion would undermine any confidence we might have in the whole philosophical enterprise. Secondly, you say the main argument for the non-existence of god is the problem of evil. Indeed, it is often presented so but it has always seemed to me to be a rather weak argument. If it boils down to saying the existence of a loving God is incompatible with the existence of pointless suffering. It is always open to the believer to say that therefore suffering is not pointless. The fact that we have not or cannot work out the purpose of suffering does not mean that it has no purpose. Of course, you know all this. I find it much more convincing to attempt to show not that God is inconsistent with a feature of the world but that the concept of God is internally inconsistent. Starting from the Euthyphro dilemma if something is good because God makes it so then it is no longer possible to say that God is good for there is no standard with which to judge God. If God tells us that something is good because it is good then God is not all powerful. His power would be limited in at least this one important respect, he cannot change the nature of morality. If so, God cannot be all good and all powerful. I have never seen this last point written down before but my guess is that I would find it easily enough if only I read the right books (quite probably Plato!) All the best X

I replied as follows:

30 December 2003, 6:44 P.M. X: Thanks for writing and thanks for the kind words. You're my first (known) Scottish correspondent. Of course, I know many Scottish philosophers, such as David Archard and Leslie Stevenson at St Andrews, but not via my blog. I should tell you that I love Scotland and all things Scottish. My stepfather's family (the Rowbothams) came from the land of the Scots. I hope one day to visit, but in the meantime I'll have to settle for watching "Local Hero" and listening to Mark Knopfler's wonderful soundtrack (which I have on compact disc).

To answer your questions, I think philosophical discussion of theism can be walled off from other domains. Belief in God is, for most theists, at the center of their doxastic web. It will be the last belief to be abandoned or revised. (Think Quine.) Because this belief is so central (or, to switch metaphors, entrenched), I don't think argument has much effect on it. As you say, the theist can explain away even the most horrendous of evils. Philosophical argument has much greater effect in other domains, where the beliefs in question aren't entrenched. Moral argument, for example, sometimes succeeds in changing people's views.

As for the Euthyphro dilemma, I don't view it as an argument against the existence of God but as an argument against the divine-command theory of morality. It supposedly shows that morality is independent of God's will, for the alternative is arbitrariness. But I think Robert Merrihew Adams has demolished this reasoning. God could command genocide (for example), but, being God, wouldn't. There's a sense in which God's commands are arbitrary (because rooted in God's will) but another in which they're not (because rooted in God's nature). I'm an atheist, as you know from reading my blog, but I have tremendous respect for thoughtful theists such as Adams, Richard Swinburne, and Alvin Plantinga. I'm what William Rowe calls a friendly atheist. That means I believe theism to be false; but I acknowledge that theism can be justified. An unfriendly atheist would deny that theism is (or can be) justified. How can both theism and atheism be justified? Easy. The world as we know it is compatible with both. Take care. kbj

Keep the letters coming!

Why does Fox News Channel persist in characterizing its product as "fair and balanced"? I've been reading newspapers and watching television news for more than three decades. I like Fox News, but it's not fair and balanced in any meaningful sense of those terms. It's slanted to the right. CNN, which I used to watch, is slanted to the left. I don't sense much of a slant on MSNBC or CNBC. I haven't watched network news in years, so I can't speak to their biases (if any). I keep hearing that Dan Rather and Peter Jennings are biased to the left, but I don't know; nor do I plan to take the time to find out.

What offends me is not slant (bias), but pretending not to be slanted or not knowing that one is slanted. The former is duplicitous and the latter delusional. Readers of this blog know that some entries are written in my capacity as philosopher and some in my capacity as citizen. I make no bones about my ideological predilections. I'm a proud conservative/libertarian. I used to be a proud liberal/socialist. If you're wondering how and why I changed, read my forthcoming column on Tech Central Station, "My Journey to Conservatism." When I speak to you as a philosopher, I speak with authority. If you are not a trained philosopher, you have reason to defer to my judgment. When I speak to you as a fellow citizen, I speak as your equal. You should not defer to me. If you transfer authority from one realm to another, without looking into the substance of the claims being made, you reason fallaciously. Authority in one realm does not necessarily translate to authority in another realm. Would you call a plumber for legal advice (or a lawyer for plumbing advice)? I didn't think so.

News operations make fools of themselves when they disclaim bias. Perhaps they think that bias consists in hewing to a party line. If this were the case, they might be on solid ground. But bias can be far more subtle than that. It can consist in using certain terms rather than others. Compare the following three terms:

1. Lazy
2. Unmotivated
3. Laid-back (or easygoing, or [my favorite] energy efficient)

These terms, like most terms in English, have both descriptive and emotive meaning. They convey information and express attitudes (or pass judgment). These three terms have the same (or roughly the same) descriptive meaning. But notice how different they are in emotive meaning. The first term is condemnatory, the second neutral, and the third commendatory. Which term would you use to describe yourself? Which term would you use to describe someone you dislike? Which term would you use to describe someone neutrally, without passing judgment?

The language used by Fox News is often emotive rather than neutral. That is the first journalistic sin. It is compounded by the slant. Liberals are described (not always, but usually) with derogatory terms, while conservatives are described (not always, but usually) with laudatory terms. Qua conservative, I like this; but qua philosopher, I find it unsettling, especially since Fox proclaims itself "fair and balanced." Start paying attention to the terminology used on various news channels. See whether you agree with me that they're slanted to the right or to the left.

Paul Krugman, in my opinion, is intellectually dishonest. He is a political hack masquerading as a disinterested social scientist (specifically, an economist). Thank goodness for people like Donald L. Luskin, who expose Krugman's duplicity within minutes of its occurrence. Krugman's New York Times columns appear on Tuesdays and Fridays. Luskin's dismantling of Krugman occurs shortly thereafter. If you don't have Luskin bookmarked, you're disengaged.

Many terrorists are nihilists, who wish to vent their disappointment by destroying the sham society by which they are surrounded. Such were the terrorists so brilliantly portrayed by Turgenev and Conrad, and whose murderous campaigns have been described by Anna Geifman. But nihilism is the other side of religion: it is the disappointed howl of the believer on discovering that God is dead. The true nihilist is incapable of settling for the world of compromise, toleration, and secular loyalties that the rest of us enjoy, since it is a world deprived of absolutes. The death of God leaves only one remaining absolute, which is Nothingness. The duty to annihilate is the last remaining glimpse of the transcendental in the heart of the one who has lost all belief in it and who cannot live with the loss. The "death-intoxicated" character of the Russian nihilists, and of the revolutionaries who trod in their footsteps, is therefore of a piece with the "God-intoxicated" frenzy of the Shi'ite martyr.

Globalization has plunged the Islamic world into crisis by offering the spectacle of a secular society maintained in being by man-made laws, and achieving equilibrium without the aid of God. It has also obliterated many of the customs and ways of life of the Muslim people, extinguishing ancient pastoral traditions and replacing them with a phony and humiliating economy of pure consumption, fed not by labor but by oil. At the same time it has re-awakened the age-old nostalgia for a reign of goodness, in which those who corrupted the Prophet's community will be finally destroyed, and the true order of the shari'a established on earth. The resulting psychological mixture is explosive, and is bound to prompt young Muslims to express their discontent with the regimes that govern them, with the global economy that finances those regimes, and with the impious way of life that is intruding everywhere into the dar al-islam.

In the Muslim territories themselves, however, possibilities for organized political action are limited or nonexistent. Only in the West, thanks to political freedoms that are the gift of a long tradition of political experiment and Christian self-denial, can opposition to the corrupt regimes that govern the dar al-islam be mounted. Almost all the plots of the Islamist terrorists—from the Shi'ite revolution in Iran to the September 11 attacks—have been hatched in the West by muhajiroun who live, frequently enjoying the protection of asylum, in seemingly harmless symbiosis with the settled communities that surround them. But, because no bond of membership can possibly join them to those communities, they fail to acquire the national loyalty of their hosts. Nor is any effort now made to integrate them or to offer such a national loyalty to their children. Unable either to organize opposition in their country of origin, or to join the society in which they live, they are therefore drawn to religious violence as the only proof of their identity. This alone enables them to rediscover the absolutes that they need, and to generate a form of membership and an 'asabiya untainted by the dar al-harb.

In the face of this we in the West must, I believe, do what we can to reinforce the nation-state, which has brought the great benefits that distinguish the West from the rest, including the benefits of personal government, citizenship under a territorial jurisdiction, and government answerable to the people. This means that we must constrain the process of globalization, so as to neutralize its perceived image as a threat from the West to the rest.

(Roger Scruton, The West and the Rest: Globalization and the Terrorist Threat [Wilmington, DE: Intercollegiate Studies Institute, 2002], 157-9 [italics in original; footnote omitted])

The following was posted as a comment on my Animal Ethics blog entry, "Becoming a Vegetarian (or Demi-Vegetarian)":

I happened upon your blog from the blogger main page and have been fascinated ever since. I very much enjoy the issues brought up and discussed. This post in particular has really gotten me to think. To be honest, I very much enjoy the taste of beef. I do not enjoy the way in which beef is a[c]quired—the farming or the slaughtering. But I find it interesting when people give up red-meat, but not other meats. Chickens and turkey[s] are raised in terrible environments and treated just as badly with practices such as debeaking and layering. Perhaps you can shed some light on why red-meat is usually the first meat to go from diets and not other meats. I can think of many reasons myself, but I enjoy your thoughts and writings and would love to hear what you have to say especially considering that you have the actual experience. Personally, I'm not a big fan of poultry and would give that up before beef, must [much] to the dismay of our fellow [?] bovine mammals.

Let me say, first of all, that I appreciate the feedback. Mylan, Angus, Nathan, and I hope that our site becomes a worldwide forum for philosophical discussion of the moral status of nonhuman animals. This means give and take, not lecturing. Please spread the word about the blog. And please—all of you—keep the questions coming. We will do our best to respond to them. Right, guys? Guys? Are you there?

You say you enjoy the taste of beef but do not enjoy the farming or the slaughtering. Have you tried various soy-based beef substitutes? One common reaction to this suggestion is, "Yuck!" But seriously, I eat hamburgers, hot dogs, and lunch meat—all made with vegetables. They're delicious. The technology is amazing. Even the texture is mimicked. But suppose you conclude that these items aren't as tasty as the real thing; isn't that a reasonable price to pay to avoid contributing to the suffering and death that you say bothers you? I don't mean to be censorious, but you did ask me. Try the soy products. They're available even in traditional grocery stores such as Kroger and Albertson's. If you have specialty stores such as Whole Foods Market in your area, you will find an amazing assortment of vegetarian foods. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Perhaps other readers can make recommendations as to brand and so forth.

As for why some people "give up" red meat but not other meats, it probably varies by person. One reason that springs to mind is that beef is less healthy than, say, poultry. If you're wondering about me in particular, red meat (beef and pork) was just the first meat to go from my diet. I didn't want to go whole hog (or quit cold turkey). I was chicken, sheepish, cowed. I don't know why I started with red meat; maybe it was because cows and pigs are bigger and more humanlike. Have you ever looked into a cow's eyes? I don't think I saw any moral difference between the various meats (or animals); nor is there, in my judgment. One reader of the Animal Ethics blog pointed out a while back that, other things being equal, it's worse (morally) to eat chickens than cows or pigs. His reasoning was that the same amount eaten would require more deaths, and also that cows and pigs aren't (in general) treated as badly as chickens.

By the way, I have always considered pork red meat, despite the pork industry's slogan, "The other white meat." What do you suppose explains that slogan? Think like a rhetorician.

Moral philosophy has become as thoroughly professionalized as accounting. The modern moral philosopher is a lifetime academic: he never leaves school. (How odd it is to think that the people who have never left school should be society's moral preceptors.) He takes no professional risks until he gets tenure. After that he takes few professional risks; he never takes any serious personal risks. He lives a comfortable bourgeois life, with maybe a touch of the bohemian. He either thinks Left and lives Right, or he thinks Right and lives Right.

(Richard A. Posner, "The Problematics of Moral and Legal Theory," Harvard Law Review 111 [May 1998]: 1637-717, at 1688)

One of the unexpected joys of keeping this blog is receiving e-mail from all over the world. Most of it, I am pleased to report, is complimentary, and even the uncomplimentary mail is civil. I have never taken praise well. When a student tells me, years after taking my class, that it had a profound effect on him or her, I find it hard to believe. Me? Profound effect? Are you sure you haven't confused me with some other professor? I work my students hard, so I assume they hate me for it. I would rather they fear and loathe me than like me. Maybe it was the course material, and not me, that had the beneficial effect.

I would never assume that the e-mail I receive is representative. People who dislike me, based on what they read in my blog, are less likely to write to me than people who like me. So, for all I know, I alienate as many people as I touch. I have an uncanny ability to piss people off. It's an acquired skill. Come to think of it, Socrates pissed people off, too, so at least I'm in good company. I just hope I don't meet his fate.

The following letter came to me a few minutes ago. Instead of responding to its author directly, I will respond publicly and notify the author that I did so. I omit the author's name for reasons of confidentiality. Here goes:

Mr. Burgess-Jackson, I've been reading your website for the past month or so and find it wonderfully thought provoking. I especially appreciate the clarity of thought and lack of academic jargon in your writing. I was wondering if you could recommend to me (and maybe on your website) 10 books for the layman wanting to attain a solid grounding in basic philosophy and/or history of philosophy. regards, X

Thanks for writing, X, and thanks for the kind words! I am more than happy to recommend ten books. I hope others besides you find it useful. What follows are books that, in my judgment, are accessible to intelligent people who lack a formal philosophical education. Most of them contain bibliographies that will lead you deeper into their subjects. Ultimately, you should read primary sources rather than (just) secondary sources. If you find yourself interested in David Hume, for example, you should acquire and read works by Hume, of which there are many (on many topics). The word "introduction" means to draw in. These books will draw you in:

1. Simon Blackburn, The Oxford Dictionary of Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). It may seem strange for me to list a dictionary, but I think you will find this one riveting, as I did. (I wrote a favorable review of it in Teaching Philosophy.) Don't read it straight through. Read two pages per day. Let the ideas swim around in your mind. Blackburn is a wonderful writer; his wit and intelligence shine through on almost every page.

2. Richard Swinburne, Is There a God? (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). I use this book in my Philosophy of Religion course. I reviewed it for Metaphilosophy. It is short, well-written, and easy to understand. Although the book is argumentative (Swinburne argues for the existence of God), it will introduce you to many important concepts and distinctions, some of them peculiar to philosophy of religion and some of them of a more general nature.

3. Simon Blackburn, Think: A Compelling Introduction to Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). I reviewed this book in Teaching Philosophy but have yet to use it in a course. Blackburn covers many classic philosophical debates and introduces the reader to the central figures in the history of philosophy. He is very good at explaining difficult concepts and doctrines.

4. James Rachels, The Elements of Moral Philosophy, 4th ed. (Boston: McGraw-Hill, 2003). I use this book in my Ethics course. I reviewed it in Teaching Philosophy. Rachels, who died a few months ago, covers all the main normative ethical theories (such as utilitarianism and natural-law theory), plus some metaethical theories (such as subjectivism and relativism). It is very readable.

5. Julian Baggini and Peter S. Fosl, The Philosopher's Toolkit: A Compendium of Philosophical Concepts and Methods (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2003). I am about to use this book for the first time in my research-and-writing seminar. Like any other academic discipline, philosophy has its jargon and methods. This book introduces them. It is another book that should be read slowly, a few pages per day.

6. Irving M. Copi and Keith Burgess-Jackson, Informal Logic, 3d ed. (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1996). I know it's unseemly to recommend a book of my own, but I believe it's the best on the market. I was brought on as coauthor after the first edition. That I chose it for my classes well before I was associated with it shows that I thought highly of it. Naturally, having rewritten much of it, I think even more highly of it. The book is about reasoning in natural languages such as English. It has chapters on (a) how to recognize and evaluate arguments, (b) language, (c) fallacies, (d) definition, (e) analogy, (f) Mill's methods of experimental inquiry, and (g) scientific reasoning.

7. Richard H. Popkin, ed., The Columbia History of Western Philosophy (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). I reviewed this book for Teaching Philosophy. Some of it may be difficult for the novice, but it's well worth the effort. Like Blackburn's dictionary, it should be read slowly, at two or four pages per day.

8. Robert Nozick, The Examined Life: Philosophical Meditations (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1989). Nozick was one of the greatest philosophers of the second half of the twentieth century. I consider him truly brilliant. This book shows him at his best, bouncing from topic to topic.

9. Bertrand Russell, The Problems of Philosophy (London: Oxford University Press, 1959 [1912]). This is a classic. Nuff said.

10. W. V. Quine and J. S. Ullian, The Web of Belief, 2d ed. (New York: Random House, 1978). This will serve as an introduction to epistemology, which, with ethics and metaphysics, is one of the traditional branches of philosophy.

I hope this helps! I'm sure other philosophers would compile different lists, but you asked for mine. Thanks (again) for writing.

I've been teaching Philosophy of Religion since the fall of 1989, when I came to The University of Texas at Arlington, but I began teaching the arguments for and against the existence of God almost twenty years ago, in my first Introduction to Philosophy course at The University of Arizona. While I enjoy teaching these arguments very much, and always learn something new, I've never seen anyone persuaded by them.

Before proceeding, let me sketch these arguments. The ontological argument says (again, these are sketches) that God's nonexistence is impossible; therefore, God exists. The cosmological argument says that certain facts about the world, such as that there are contingent things, would be impossible without God. The teleological argument says that certain facts about the world, such as its complexity, make God's existence probable. The moral argument says that morality as we know it would be impossible or pointless without God.

The main argument for the nonexistence of God is the argument from evil. The weakest version of this argument says that the existence of evil is logically incompatible with God, and since evil exists, God doesn't. Stronger versions say only that the existence of evil makes God's existence unlikely. Lately, the emphasis has shifted from evil per se to certain types of evil, such as horrendous or seemingly gratuitous evil.

My sense, from long experience, is that no atheist has been persuaded by the arguments for God's existence and no theist has been dissuaded by the arguments for God's nonexistence. I think belief or disbelief in God is nonrational (which is not to say that it's irrational). People believe because they need or want to believe, or because they were taught to believe and never questioned it. A world without a creator appears empty and meaningless to them. People disbelieve because they can't wrap their minds around the idea of a disembodied person with supernatural powers.

If I'm right about this, then why are the classic arguments for and against the existence of God still taught and written about? Aren't they superfluous? Aren't they like the whistle of a locomotive? The whistle accompanies the locomotive but doesn't power it. Its constant presence might lead one to believe that it provides the power, but that's mistaken. It's an epiphenomenon, not a cause.

It might be replied that one purpose served by the arguments is to provide a rational basis (i.e., grounds) for belief or disbelief. Suppose S finds belief in God comforting. S might study the arguments for the existence of God and conclude that belief in God is intellectually respectable (after all). But by hypothesis, the arguments aren't doing any work. They rationalize belief; they don't support it. The belief, ex hypothesi, would remain without them.

The same is true for a certain type of atheist. Suppose S finds the existence of God preposterous. S might study the argument from evil and conclude that disbelief in God is intellectually respectable (after all). But by hypothesis, the argument isn't doing any work. It rationalizes disbelief; it doesn't support it. The disbelief, ex hypothesi, would remain without it.

It's starting to appear as though the classic arguments for the existence of God are worse than pointless. They're rationalizations! The only work they do is put a rational foundation under what would be believed or disbelieved anyway. In other contexts, we condemn this sort of result-oriented thinking. Suppose a judge intuits the outcome of a case and then constructs a legal argument for that conclusion. Is this legitimate? Shouldn't a judge examine the legal materials first, then reach a decision on the basis of what is discovered? If so, isn't that how one should approach religious belief or disbelief? Shouldn't one begin the investigation with an open mind and let the chips fall where they may?

I love teaching Philosophy of Religion, and I love the parts of the course in which we discuss the classic arguments. I consider Anselm's ontological argument one of the greatest intellectual achievements in human history. It is sheer genius (not to mention a thing of beauty). But I have to admit, I wonder about the relevance of the arguments. Perhaps, before examining them, I should discuss their relevance (or lack thereof) with the students. I wonder how many professors do this. If they don't, they may leave their students wondering about the point of it all. It may seem a mere intellectual exercise, interesting but unimportant. Those of you who wish to read further in this area might acquire Richard Messer, Does God's Existence Need Proof? (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993).

28 December 2003, 8:35 P.M. John [Ray]: I got a chuckle out of your post in which you say moral philosophy is not complex. It's the most complex of all subjects! It's far more complex than law (I'm a lawyer) and far more complex than politics, economics, psychology, or any other academic discipline. I wouldn't be interested in it if it weren't complex. Nor would Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Spinoza, Hobbes, Hume, Kant, Bentham, or Mill. The greatest thinkers in the history of the world were drawn to ethics and stumped by it. Please acquire and read Shelly Kagan's Normative Ethics (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1998). It'll blow your mind. By the way, Bertrand Russell finally gave up on ethics because it was too difficult for him. I'm serious. Let me know if you want citations. kbj P.S.: Outsiders to a field always see it as simple. Immerse yourself in ethics and you'll see how complex and difficult it is.

Addendum: Others I might have listed are Augustine, Descartes, Leibniz, Locke, Rousseau, Smith, Hegel, Nietzsche, Dewey, Sidgwick, Sartre, Hare, and Rawls. Great thinkers all, and multifaceted. And these are just the Westerners!

Religion, n. A daughter of Hope and Fear, explaining to Ignorance the nature of the Unknowable.

(Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary, c. 1911)

This afternoon I received a long, condescending (but otherwise polite) letter from a reader. He thought from reading my various websites that I'm crying out for conversion to Christianity. That brought a smile to my face. As I said in a previous entry, I'm tone-deaf to religion. It has never been a live option for me, as it is for so many others. But how do you explain this to someone for whom belief in a deity is the most important thing in his or her life? It's hard, if not impossible. I wrote back with a simple, "Thanks for writing."

The mistake people make is in thinking that everyone wants (or needs) to believe in a deity. When desire is present, the problem is merely technical. If your interlocutor wants to believe but finds it difficult to do so, you can advise such things as attending mass, "taking the holy water," and running with a new crowd. This is what Blaise Pascal (1623-1662) advised his imaginary interlocutor in Pensees. In effect, he advised going through the motions of faith. Pretending to believe may—if you are lucky—issue in belief, which, for Pascal, was beneficial. You should believe in God not because there is evidence for God's existence (Pascal thought human reason impotent on the question) but because it is in your interest to do so.

Helping someone who wants to believe, but can't, is like helping someone who wants to quit smoking, but can't. Only those who want to quit will succeed in quitting—and certainly not all will succeed. What if your interlocutor neither wants nor needs to believe in a deity? Your well-meaning attempts to proselytize will seem patronizing and, if persistent, disrespectful. The persistent proselytizer should apply the Golden Rule. How would you like it if an adherent of some other religion (or, god forbid, atheism) pestered you to change your beliefs? Wouldn't you be insulted? Wouldn't you say that you are happy with the beliefs you have?

It's an interesting question why I have no desire (or need) to believe. I am fortunate to have grown up in a nonreligious (but not anti-religious) household. This allowed me to think for myself from an early age and to come to grips with my mortality. (Religion is a denial of mortality.) I had every chance to attend church, but chose not to. It saddens me to see children with no critical faculties taught to believe in a deity. Someone might say that parents have a duty to instill values in their children. I'm not talking about values. I'm talking about belief. What's the worst thing that can happen if parents teach their children to be freethinkers? They reach adulthood and think things through for themselves. If, having done so, they form a belief in a deity, so be it. It will be a choice, not a foreordained result. One would think that if there were a god, god would like this. If I were God, I would not take kindly to people who believe in me out of self-interest (see Pascal) or because they were taught to believe in me as children and never questioned it.

So thank you, dear reader, for thinking of me. I know you meant well, despite your insulting tone. It's not that I want to believe but can't, but that I don't want to. And even if I wanted to, or needed to, I couldn't. I can no more believe in a disembodied person with supernatural powers than I can believe in the tooth fairy or Santa Claus. These beliefs are nonstarters for me. They are, in a word, preposterous. I mean no disrespect by this. I make the comparison only to show theists what theism would be like for me and would require of me. It would do real damage to my intellect and to my personal integrity.

Many of the papers [collected in this volume] were written before 'non-sexist' language (so called) became 'politically correct'. I have not altered them in this respect, although more recently I have found a way of conforming which is stylistically just tolerable. The contortions which would have been necessary to make the older papers conform illustrate very well what the feminists are doing to our style. I do not think in fact that the current fashion does much for the welfare of women in general, pleasing as it may be to a few intellectuals; and it certainly makes good clear writing more difficult. The Germans and others, the structure of whose languages makes it well nigh impossible to follow this fashion, are perhaps fortunate. And sometimes I feel like abandoning any attempt to do so, as a protest against the tyranny of 'political correctness'.

(R. M. Hare, Essays on Bioethics [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993], vi-vii)

I stopped eating red meat (i.e., all animal products except turkey, chicken, fish, and eggs) on 11 February 1981, when I was twenty-three years old. I was in law school at the time, hence cooking my own meals. Something happened while I was reading Peter Singer's 1975 book Animal Liberation. I can't say that Singer persuaded me, rationally. It was more like he emboldened me or gave me permission to change my diet. I had always loved animals and felt uncomfortable about eating their flesh, but I didn't know anyone who was a vegetarian and thought I'd be viewed by my family and friends as a crank. My family had always eaten meat, and still does.

As I read Singer, I kept thinking, "Here's someone who is extremely intelligent and who thinks it's wrong to eat meat." I also liked the fact that Singer made no appeal to emotion or sentiment. He was a hard-headed, factually grounded philosopher. Singer became my model and my inspiration. However much I was mocked by family and friends for giving up red meat, I would know that Singer, at least, was on my side. This may seem silly to some, but it's hard for young people (I consider twenty-three young) to take moral stands by themselves. Young people are herd animals. I knew that becoming a vegetarian would require vast changes in my life. I would have to learn how to cook. I would have to learn about nutrition. I would have to adjust my social life. How do you say to a host, without seeming rude or boastful, that you don't eat meat?

As I explain to my students when I lecture on Singer, a decision to become a vegetarian doesn't change one's tastes or desires all of a sudden. For some time prior to giving up red meat, I had stopped at a Burger King outside Flint, Michigan, on my way home from college classes. I always bought a hamburger and a cup of coffee for the long drive to Vassar. It was part of my routine. Once I stopped eating red meat, I had no reason to stop at Burger King. For a long time thereafter, I missed stopping there and missed the taste of the hamburger. Driving by was a forlorn event. Meanwhile, my mother continued cooking meat for my family. I enjoyed the smell and secretly wished I could eat what she cooked. The point is, I still craved meat after I gave it up. This must be counted as a cost of becoming a vegetarian.

But eventually, to my surprise, my affect caught up with my will. I found, as time went by, that I no longer craved meat. I became indifferent to it. And then, miracle of miracles, I came to be disgusted by it. To this day, I cannot watch television advertisements showing frying or broiling hamburgers, with grease dripping from them. It sickens me. Nor can I look at raw meat being sliced. It's interesting how the various parts of the self strive for integration. My moral beliefs (cognition), my volition, my affect, and my conative or desiring side have reintegrated themselves. I assume this happens to others and not just to me. So if you're contemplating becoming a vegetarian, or just giving up red meat (as I initially did), don't fear that you'll be gustatorily frustrated for the rest of your life. You'll probably be frustrated for a while, and may even curse your decision from time to time, but eventually you'll feel integrated again. It's a wonderful, liberating feeling.

Andrew Sullivan is handing out awards. See here. My favorite so far is Margaret Drabble's drivel about the United States. I laughed so hard the coffee dribbled down my chin.

In some quarters, Paul Krugman is worshipped as a deity. The worship, in my judgment, is ludicrously misplaced, as you would know if you read Donald Luskin's blog on a regular basis. Check it out.

Learning to think: our schools no longer have any idea what this means. Even in our universities, even among students of philosophy themselves, the theory, the practice, the vocation of logic is beginning to die out. Read German books: no longer the remotest recollection that a technique, a plan of instruction, a will to mastery is required for thinking—that thinking has to be learned in the way dancing has to be learned, as a form of dancing. . . . Who among Germans still knows from experience that subtle thrill which the possession of intellectual light feet communicates to all the muscles!—A stiffly awkward air in intellectual matters, a clumsy hand in grasping—this is in so great a degree German that foreigners take it for the German nature in general. The German has no fingers for nuances. . . . That the Germans have so much as endured their philosophers, above all that most deformed conceptual cripple there has ever been, the great Kant, offers a good idea of German amenableness.—For dancing in any form cannot be divorced from a noble education, being able to dance with the feet, with concepts, with words: do I still have to say that one has to be able to dance with the pen—that writing has to be learned?—But at this point I should become a complete enigma to German readers . . .

(Friedrich Nietzsche, "What the Germans Lack," in his Twilight of the Idols, or How to Philosophize with a Hammer, in Twilight of the Idols and The Anti-Christ, trans. R. J. Hollingdale [London: Penguin Books, 1990 (1889)], 75-6, aph. 7 [italics and ellipses in original])

Instructions: Making abundant use of course materials, compose a closely reasoned essay answering the following question bearing on one of the course's central themes (ethics and technology). Limit: 6 bluebook sides. Consider the following case: On Twin Earth, a brain in a vat is at the wheel of a runaway trolley. There are only two options that the brain can take: the right side of the fork in the track or the left side of the fork. There is no way in sight of derailing or stopping the trolley and the brain is aware of this, for the brain—unlike Bo—knows trolleys. The brain is causally hooked up to the trolley such that the brain can determine the trolley's course. On the right side of the track there is a single railroad worker, Jones, who will be killed if the brain steers the trolley to the right. If Jones lives, he will go on to kill five men for the sake of killing them, but in doing so will inadvertently save the lives of thirty orphans (one of the five men he will kill is planning to destroy a bridge that the orphan's bus will be crossing later that night). One of the orphans that will be killed would grow up to become a tyrant who would make good, utilitarian men do bad things, another would grow up to become John Sununu, while a third would invent the pop-top can. If the brain in the vat chooses the left fork of the track, the trolley will hit and kill a worker on the left side of the track, "Leftie," and will hit and destroy ten beating hearts on the track that could (and would) have been transplanted into ten patients in the local hospital who will die without donor hearts. These are the only hearts available, and the brain is aware of this, for the brain knows hearts. If the worker on the left fork of the track lives, he too will kill five men, in fact the same five that the worker on the right would kill. However, "Leftie" will kill the five as an unintended consequence of saving ten men: He will inadvertently kill the five men rushing the ten hearts to the local hospital for transplantation. A further result of "Leftie's" act would be that the busload of orphans will be spared. Among the five men killed by "Leftie" are both the man responsible for putting the brain at the controls of the trolley, and the author of this exam question. If the ten hearts and "Leftie" are killed by the trolley, the ten prospective heart-transplant patients will die and their kidneys will be used to save the lives of twenty kidney-transplant patients, one of whom will grow up to cure cancer and one of whom will grow up to be Hitler. There are other kidneys and dialysis machines available, however the brain does not know kidneys, and this is not a factor. Assume that the brain's choice, whatever it turns out to be, will serve as an example to other brains in vats and so the effects of its decision will be amplified. Also assume that if the brain chooses the right side of the fork, an unjust war free of war crimes will ensue, while if the brain chooses the left fork, a just war fraught with war crimes will result. Furthermore, there is an intermittently active Cartesian demon deceiving the brain such that the brain is never sure whether it is being deceived.

Question: What should the brain do? Justify your answer.

Today's New York Times has a story (see here) about overrated and underrated ideas. Here is Peter Singer's take on what's overrated:

What Americans overrate most is—America. They imagine that they live in the most democratic nation on earth, but in the United States, to a far greater extent than in many other democracies, electorates are shamelessly gerrymandered, the voting system squeezes out minor parties, Wyoming has as many senators as California, and money gives the rich a wildly disproportionate share of power and influence. Americans think they are the freest people on earth, but the president keeps American citizens in detention for nearly two years without even allowing them to talk to a lawyer, let alone putting them on trial. And no one in America has the freedom of the Dutch to choose how they die, should they become incurably ill. Americans also favor "American pre-eminence"—the Hobbesian view that the United States ought to rule the world, simply because it has the military muscle to do so. (Peter Singer, professor of bioethics at Princeton University)

Where to begin? First, there are many types of democracy, as Singer (author of Democracy and Disobedience [Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1973]) well knows. We in the United States have a constitutional, representative democracy, not a majoritarian democracy. Our system of government is designed to slow the pace of change by providing checks and balances, both among branches of the federal government and between the federal and state governments. (One wonders whether Singer has read The Federalist Papers.) We also believe in the liberty of citizens to spend money (within limits) in behalf of their political candidates and parties. This is a form of freedom of expression, which is enshrined in our Constitution (and which Americans take very seriously). Wyoming has as many senators as California because it is a sovereign state with interests of its own.

Second, I don't know how "the voting system squeezes out minor parties." There are lots of minor parties (Green, Libertarian, &c) and nothing—except lack of support by the citizenry—stopping them becoming major parties. Parties are not mentioned in our Constitution. What is Singer advocating, that minor parties be funded by government? But this is coercive; and then he would criticize the system for infringing individual liberty.

Third, while Americans value liberty a great deal (it gets pride of place in all our founding documents), they also value such things as security. We are not anarchists. If we're not the freest people on earth, then why are people clamoring to come here? Why is Singer here? I don't see people leaving this country for greener pastures elsewhere. As for the freedom to die, everyone has it. Just kill yourself. What you don't have is a right to an institutionalized, subsidized death.

Finally, I don't know of anyone who believes that the United States ought to rule the world. A fortiori, I don't know of anyone who believes that the United States ought to rule the world "simply because it has the military muscle to do so." Do you know of anyone who believes these things? I admire and respect Singer, but sometimes he writes before he thinks. When he does this, he disgraces himself and makes other philosophers look bad. Stop it, Peter. Think before you write.

Philosophy is a record of great debates, which is why the history of philosophy is considered a branch of, and not something apart from, philosophy. One of the greatest philosophical debates is that between rationalists and empiricists. Everyone, even nonphilosophers, should understand this debate, for only then can one understand the problems, controversies, and debates that have grown out of it. Here is how I explain the debate to my students.

Let's begin with the concept of a proposition. A proposition is what one asserts or denies when one makes an assertion or denial. Propositions can be believed or disbelieved. Belief in proposition p is belief that p is true. Disbelief in proposition p is belief that p is false. One can also take an attitude of nonbelief toward a proposition. Agnostics, for example (in one common use of the term), neither believe nor disbelieve the proposition that God exists. The most important fact about propositions is that they have truth values. Every proposition is either true or false (this is called the law of the excluded middle), and no proposition is both true and false (this is called the law of noncontradiction).

There are two types of true proposition. Some are true extrinsically or contingently, because they correctly represent (depict, portray) how things are. The proposition that the Florida Marlins won the 2003 World Series is true, but it needn't be. We can imagine it being false. It is not self-contradictory to assert that the Florida Marlins did not win the 2003 World Series. Other true propositions are true intrinsically or necessarily, either because of their form (e.g., "It is raining or it is not raining") or because of the concepts they contain. The proposition that all puppies are dogs is true not because things happened to work out that way, but because the concept of a puppy has "dog" built into it (as every competent speaker of English knows).

Everything I just said about true propositions is true, mutatis mutandis, of false propositions. Some are extrinsically or contingently false, e.g., that the New York Yankees won the 2003 World Series, while others are intrinsically or necessarily false, e.g., that some puppies are not dogs. So there are four types of proposition: contingently true, contingently false, necessarily true, and necessarily false. Every proposition is in one of these four categories and no proposition is in more than one category.

The traditional name for necessarily true propositions is "analytic." To analyze a thing is to break it down into its components. If you break the concept of a puppy down into its components, you get "young dog." So the proposition that all puppies are dogs says the same thing as (i.e., is synonymous with) the proposition that all young dogs are dogs. Once the substitution is made, the necessity is obvious. This will not work with the proposition that the Florida Marlins won the 2003 World Series. The concept of the Florida Marlins does not contain the predicate "winner of the 2003 World Series." Propositions that are not analytic are said to be synthetic. So every true proposition is either analytic or synthetic, depending on whether it is necessarily or contingently true. Every false proposition is either analytic or synthetic, depending on whether it is necessarily or contingently false.

Now let's introduce another distinction. There are two ways to know something: a priori and a posteriori. A priori knowledge is knowledge that is prior to, before, or independent of experience. It is knowledge that can be had merely through reflection (in or out of one's armchair). A priori knowledge does not require use of the senses (sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing). A posteriori knowledge, in contrast, is knowledge that is posterior to, after, or dependent on experience. It is knowledge that cannot be had through reflection. It requires going out into the world and making observations, by means of the senses.

Strictly speaking, the terms "a priori" and "a posteriori" apply to knowledge, but we can apply them to propositions. Let us call a proposition that can be known to be true independently of experience an a priori proposition. Let us call a proposition that can be known to be true only via experience an a posteriori proposition. So every proposition is either a priori or a posteriori and no proposition is both.

The two distinctions I've made—between analytic and synthetic propositions and between a priori and a posteriori propositions—cut across one another, creating four categories of proposition: analytic a priori; analytic a posteriori; synthetic a priori; and synthetic a posteriori. I can't draw a two-by-two box diagram here in the blog, but you can. Please do, for it will help you visualize what I am about to say.

The debate between rationalists and empiricists concerns which sorts of proposition there are. Rationalism is the view that the category of the synthetic a priori is not empty, i.e., that it has at least one member. Empiricism is the view that it is empty. In other words, rationalists believe that there are propositions that are capable of being known independently of experience but whose truth is not a function of the concepts they contain. An example might be "Every event has a cause." Empiricists believe that there are no such propositions. Among history's great rationalists are Descartes, Leibniz, Spinoza, and Kant. (It was Kant who first used the various terms I've employed, such as "analytic" and "synthetic.") Among history's great empiricists are Locke, Berkeley, Hume, and Mill. Given how the terms have been defined, everybody is either a rationalist or an empiricist and nobody is both. (People can change, of course.)

Note that there is no difference between rationalists and empiricists with respect to the other three categories in the chart. Both believe that there are analytic a priori and synthetic a posteriori propositions. Thus, it is a mistake to say that empiricists reject a priori knowledge or deny that there are analytic propositions, just as it is a mistake to say that rationalists reject a posteriori knowledge or deny that there are synthetic propositions. Moreover, neither rationalists nor empiricists believe that there are analytic a posteriori propositions. The category of the synthetic a priori is the bone of contention.

Like most of you (or at least those who haven't been out shopping), I've been reading a lot (see here, for example) about mad-cow disease. It's interesting on many levels: epidemiologically, agriculturally, economically, politically, and morally. One thing is clear: The cost of beef and beef products will increase, perhaps significantly. Consumers will demand, and government will require, a more stringent inspection regime, the cost of which will be passed on to consumers by producers. Some consumers will switch to other, comparatively cheaper meats, such as pork, turkey, and chicken; but others will eliminate beef from their diet without replacing it. I can't but think that mad-cow disease will be a good thing for farm animals generally.

While I'm on the subject, is anyone besides me dumbfounded by the fact that otherwise intelligent, reasonable, even sensitive people eat beef? Have you been reading the stories about how it is produced? Cows live in filthy, stinking conditions. They walk about in their own feces and urine, with flies thick on their bodies. The slaughterhouse is covered in blood, guts, and gore. Either beef-eaters don't know about these conditions or they know and don't care. I can't believe they don't care. So maybe reading stories about where their neatly wrapped hamburger and steak comes from will make a difference to their behavior. You are what you eat.

In the 1990s 'conflict resolution' was a good phrase. With the ending of what had then seemed the conflict, the really big conflict, all the little conflicts could be resolved by the techniques of conflict resolution. (Never mind that in the last days of the Soviet empire far more people were being killed in little conflicts than by the big one.) All that was to be needed for the 'new world order['] was a modicum of goodwill, some international peace-keepers and negotiators trained in 'conflict resolution'. The fact that it would have been hard to point to a single conflict which had actually been solved by the methods of conflict resolution (and certainly the big one had not been) was taken to be carping and beside the point.

Conflicts are sometimes resolved, sometimes by force, sometimes by old believers dying out, sometimes by the parties getting richer and less interested in conflict, sometimes just by the parties getting tired or even forgetting whatever it was they had actually been fighting about, and sometimes by the onset of a grudging respect for enemies one never really hated and with whom one finds one can, after all, live. Sometimes they just stop for no ostensible reason at all.

But that there is a technique for conflict resolution looks like a rationalist mirage, a characteristic piece of the third-wayism of which it was a small but significant element. For what underlies such a belief is the premise that parties to a conflict typically share enough beliefs and principles to enable them to lay down their arms and agree among themselves by the application of appeals to reason and mutual self-interest. This surely is to misunderstand the nature of conflict, for most of the cases of conflict in the modern world which readily come to mind are cases where the protagonists have fundamental disagreements of principle or claim, and where violence has been resorted to precisely because there are feelings of great strength on both sides and no common ground of principle. Being lectured to by professional conciliators is hardly likely to do the trick, particularly where the conciliators are from a background which finds it hard to conceive of real differences of principle among reasonable people.

Well, maybe the protagonists in life and death conflict or in a battle between rival faiths are not, in that sense, reasonable. But it is patronising and, in the end, dangerous to have so attenuated a sense [of] reasonableness that one is unable to envisage people willing to die—and kill—for their beliefs, without thereby being insane.

("Editorial: Conflict Resolution," Philosophy: The Journal of the Royal Institute of Philosophy 78 [October 2003]: 441 [italics in original])

Here is another take on Paul Krugman's rules—by professional Krugman-watcher Donald Luskin.

Paul Krugman, the economist-cum-journalist, lists six rules for political reporters in today's New York Times (see here), then admits not only that he doesn't expect them to be followed but that he himself "will break one or more of them." Let's examine the rules:

1. Don't talk about clothes. Al Gore's endorsement of Howard Dean was a momentous event: the man who won the popular vote in 2000 threw his support to a candidate who accuses the president of wrongfully taking the nation to war. So what did some prominent commentators write about? Why, the fact that both men wore blue suits. This was not, alas, unusual. I don't know why some journalists seem so concerned about politicians' clothes as opposed to, say, their policy proposals. But unless you're a fashion reporter, obsessing about clothes is an insult to your readers' intelligence.

This is a good rule. But I'm the opposite of clothes-conscious (I wear only denim jeans, for example), so perhaps clothes signify something of which I'm unaware. A respected colleague at another university insists that what a professor wears in the classroom matters. He says that wearing a suit jacket and tie shows "respect" for the students, who are, after all, paying good money for their education. And of course every lawyer knows (via controlled experiments) that differently colored suits have different effects on jurors. Perhaps clothes shouldn't matter, but they do; and if they do, isn't it legitimate for political reporters to cover it? Of course, every rule should be consistently applied. If a reporter comments on what the Democrat candidate wears, he or she should comment on what President Bush wears. People who don't care about clothes should ignore such comments.

2. Actually look at the candidates' policy proposals. One key proposal in the State of the Union address will, we hear, be the creation of new types of tax-exempt savings accounts. The proposal will come wrapped in fine phrases about an "ownership society." But serious journalists should tell us how the plan would work, who would benefit and who would lose. An early version of the plan was floated almost a year ago, and carefully analyzed in the journal Tax Notes. So there's no excuse for failing to report that the plan would probably reduce, not increase, national savings; that it would have large long-run budget costs; and that its benefits would go mainly to the wealthiest few percent of the population.

I like this rule, too. Policy proposals should be carefully analyzed by reporters. If Howard Dean is the Democrat nominee, as appears likely, his policies concerning health care, military preparedness, foreign affairs, homosexual marriage, and taxation (among other things) should be carefully scrutinized and analyzed. For example, reporters should ask what effect his tax policy will have on (1) incentives to produce, (2) the self-respect and self-sufficiency of those who receive tax monies from the government, (3) the budget deficit, and (4) bureaucratic waste.

3. Beware of personal anecdotes. Anecdotes that supposedly reveal a candidate's character are a staple of political reporting, but they should carry warning labels. For one thing, there are lots of anecdotes, and it's much too easy to report only those that reinforce the reporter's prejudices. The approved story line about Mr. Bush is that he's a bluff, honest, plain-spoken guy, and anecdotes that fit that story get reported. But if the conventional wisdom were instead that he's a phony, a silver-spoon baby who pretends to be a cowboy, journalists would have plenty of material to work with. If a reporter must use anecdotes, they'd better be true. After the Dean endorsement, innumerable reporters cracked jokes about Al Gore's inventing the Internet. Guys, he never said that: it's a malicious distortion of a true statement, and no self-respecting journalist would repeat it.

President Bush is what he is. He's not a journalistic invention. Krugman seems convinced that he's a fraud, which is his right. But he should not take Americans for fools. If, after four years of close scrutiny, they conclude that President Bush is "honest" and "plain-spoken," then they should act on that judgment. They don't need academic ideologues such as Krugman to tell them they're mistaken. This is a condescending rule. As for Al Gore, I think the American people got a good hard look at him for eight years and decided they didn't like what they saw. The people who knew him best, Tennesseans, rejected him. That he received more overall votes than President Bush is irrelevant. We don't elect presidents by popular vote. Al Gore won a moral victory, but moral victories don't put you in the White House.

4. Look at the candidates' records. A close look at Mr. Bush's record as governor would have revealed that, the approved story line notwithstanding, he was no moderate. A close look at Mr. Dean's record in Vermont reveals that, the emerging story line notwithstanding, he is no radical: he was a fiscally conservative leader whose biggest policy achievement—nearly universal health insurance for children—was the result of incremental steps.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, President Bush is what he is. Forget about labels. President Bush's values and policies are well-known to the American people. If voters think he's too far to the right, they'll let him know in November. What needs scrutiny are the values and policies of Howard Dean, who has taken steps to obscure or hide his gubernatorial record. Journalists should demand access to all of his records so voters can decide for themselves whether he's left, center, or right. I assume Krugman supports such access, since otherwise we really don't know whether Dean is a radical, do we?

5. Don't fall for political histrionics. I couldn't believe how much ink was spilled after the Gore-Dean event over Joe Lieberman's hurt feelings. Folks, we're talking about war, peace and the future of U.S. democracy—not about who takes whom to the prom. Political operatives have become experts at manufacturing the appearance of outrage. In the last few weeks the usual suspects have been trying to paint Howard Dean's obviously heartfelt comments about his brother's death in Laos as some sort of insult to the military. We owe it to our readers not to fall for these tricks.

Krugman underestimates the personal element in politics. We elect people, not policies. We want people with character and judgment. President Bush has demonstrated his character and judgment in many ways during the past three years (not counting the period in which he campaigned). Howard Dean's character and judgment are only now emerging. The American people will decide, in the end, which candidate they trust to lead the nation, domestically and internationally. If Krugman is suggesting that personal character is irrelevant, he knows less about typical Americans than I previously thought.

6. It's not about you. We learn from The Washington Post that reporters covering Mr. Dean are surprised—and, it's implied, miffed—that "he never asks a single question about them." The mind reels.

I like this rule. Journalists are not the story. They should be invisible. But if Howard Dean treats anyone, even reporters, with aloofness or disdain, that bears on his character and should be reported.

Some of Krugman's rules are good and some bad. Whichever rules are adopted by journalists, they should be applied consistently to all candidates, including the incumbent president. I'm sure Krugman agrees with that. Let's hold him—qua journalist—to the rules he has proposed.

Whereas, on or about the night prior to Christmas, there did occur at a certain improved piece of real property (hereinafter "the House") a general lack of stirring by all creatures therein, including, but not limited to, a mouse. A variety of foot apparel, e.g., stockings, socks, etc., had been affixed by and around the chimney in said House in the hope and/or belief that St. Nick a/k/a/ St. Nicholas a/k/a/ Santa Claus (hereinafter "Claus") would arrive at some time thereafter. The minor residents, i.e., the children, of the aforementioned House were located in their individual sleeping compartments, i.e., beds, and were engaged in nocturnal hallucinations, i.e., dreams, wherein visions of confectionery treats, including, but not limited to, candies, nuts, and/or sugarplums, did dance, cavort, and otherwise appear in said dreams. Whereupon the party of the first part (sometimes hereinafter referred to as "I"), being the joint owner in fee simple of the House with the party of the second part (hereinafter "Mama"), and said Mama had retired for a sustained period of sleep. (At such time, the parties were clad in various forms of headgear, viz., kerchief and cap.) Suddenly, and without prior notice or warning, there did occur upon the unimproved real property adjacent and appurtenant to said House, i.e., the lawn, a certain disruption of unknown nature, cause, and/or circumstance. The party of the first part did immediately rush to a window in the House to investigate the cause of such disturbance. At that time, the party of the first part did observe, with some degree of wonder and/or disbelief, a miniature sleigh (hereinafter "the Vehicle") being pulled and/or drawn very rapidly through the air by approximately eight (8) reindeer. The driver of the Vehicle appeared to be, and in fact was, the previously referenced Claus. Said Claus was providing specific direction, instruction, and guidance to the approximately eight (8) reindeer and specifically identified the animal co-conspirators by name: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen (hereinafter "the Deer"). (Upon information and belief, it is further asserted that an additional co-conspirator named "Rudolph" may have been involved.) The party of the first part witnessed Claus, the Vehicle, and the Deer intentionally and willfully adjacent to and in the vicinity of the House, and noted that the Vehicle was heavily laden with packages, toys, and other items of unknown origin or nature. Suddenly, without prior invitation or permission, either express or implied, the Vehicle arrived at the House, and Claus entered said House via the chimney. Said Claus was clad in a red fur suit, which was partially covered with residue from the chimney, and he carried a large sack containing a portion of the aforementioned packages, toys, and other unknown items. He was smoking what appeared to be tobacco in a small pipe in blatant violation of local ordinances and health regulations. Claus did not speak, but immediately began to fill the stockings of the minor children, which hung adjacent to the chimney, with toys and other small gifts. (Said items did not, however, constitute "gifts" to said minors pursuant to the applicable provisions of the U.S. Tax Code.) Upon completion of such task, Claus touched the side of his nose and flew, rose, and/or ascended up the chimney of the House to the roof where the Vehicle and Deer waited and/or served as "lookouts." Claus immediately departed for an unknown destination. However, prior to the departure of the Vehicle, Deer, and Claus from said House, the party of the first part did hear Claus state and/or exclaim: "Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!" Or words to that effect. Respectfully Submitted, /s/

In politics, in entertainment, in religion, everywhere, we find the language connected with Nietzsche's value revolution, a language necessitated by a new perspective on the things of most concern to us. Words such as "charisma," "life-style," "commitment," "identity" and many others, all of which can easily be traced to Nietzsche, are now practically American slang, although they, and the things to which they refer, would have been incomprehensible to our fathers, not to speak of our Founding Fathers. A few years ago I chatted with a taxi driver in Atlanta who told me he had just gotten out of prison, where he served time for peddling dope. Happily he had undergone "therapy." I asked him what kind. He responded, "All kinds—depth-psychology, transactional analysis, but what I liked best was Gestalt." Some of the German ideas did not even require English words to become the language of the people. What an extraordinary thing it is that high-class talk from what was the peak of Western intellectual life, in Germany, has become as natural as chewing gum on American streets. It indeed had its effect on this taxi driver. He said that he had found his identity and learned to like himself. A generation earlier he would have found God and learned to despise himself as a sinner. The problem lay with his sense of self, not with any original sin or devils in him. We have here the peculiarly American way of digesting Continental despair. It is nihilism with a happy ending.

(Allan Bloom, The Closing of the American Mind: How Higher Education Has Failed Democracy and Impoverished the Souls of Today's Students [New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987], 146-7 [italics in original])

Ultimately, each of us is responsible for his or her safety. This is true of eating, flying, and everything else. After the horrific attacks of 11 September 2001, each of us had (and still has) to decide whether to fly. Now that mad-cow disease has been documented in a United States herd, each of us has to decide whether to eat beef. (Many of us don't eat it anyway; I'm referring to those who do.)

Do you trust statements emanating from the beef industry? Do you trust statements emanating from the United States Department of Agriculture, which is in the pocket of the beef industry? We know that the beef industry is aggressive to the point of dishonesty in marketing its products. Think of all the slogans over the years designed to make people think beef is essential to health: "Real Men Eat Beef"; "Beef: It's What's for Dinner"; and so on. Lately, the beef industry has been trying to persuade women (how's that for sexism?) that cooking beef is quick and easy. Why, in just thirty minutes you can have beef on the table for your husband and children. The not-so-subtle implication is that if you don't feed your family beef, you're not a good wife and mother.

I wouldn't trust the beef industry with a nickel of my money, much less with my life and health. This is cynical, but I think cynicism is warranted in this case, given the industry's duplicity and demonstrated lack of concern for consumer health. I say the same thing about the airline industry after 9-11. It got to the point where airline representatives were calling Americans weenies for not flying. "Fraidy cat!" "Wuss!"

As most readers of this blog know (but some may not), the beef industry is so sensitive to lost profits that it uses the law to attack critics. Here in Texas, there is a "disparagement" law that allows the industry to sue those who disparage its products. That is an abuse of legal processes. But the industry, at least in Texas, is powerful. It is almost a separate branch of government. At least the airline industry isn't built on deprivation, suffering, and death, like the beef industry.

I hope Americans stop eating beef. It won't be for the right reason (which is concern for the animals whose flesh is consumed), but doing the right thing for the wrong reason is better than doing the wrong thing. What's the industry going to do, sue mad-cow disease? Pass a law requiring that every citizen eat beef? Ha!

Thank goodness this man didn't become president. See here. After reading this, I understand why even his fellow Tennesseans rejected him. They know him best.

[T]he most profound and precise work is done by scholars who both find their subject matter exciting or glamorous and who are anxious to make rational sense of it in an accurate and scholarly manner—that is, who invest their emotions in it in the ways that objective criteria demand.

(John Wilson, A Preface to Morality [Totowa, NJ: Barnes & Noble Books, 1988], 97 [first published in 1987])

If you're not reading John Ray's blog every day, you're not living an examined life. Socrates would not be pleased.

The word "speciesism" was coined not by Peter Singer, as one might expect, but by Richard D. Ryder. Singer credits (blames?) Ryder for the term in note 4 of chapter 1 of Animal Liberation (New York: Avon Books, 1975). Here is the expanded note from the second edition (New York: The New York Review of Books, 1990):

I owe the term "speciesism" to Richard Ryder. It has become accepted in general use since the first edition of this book, and now appears in The Oxford English Dictionary, second edition (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989).

I happen to have the OED2e on my hard drive. Here is the entry. As you can see, the term was first used by Ryder in his 1975 book Victims of Science: The Use of Animals in Research. Fourteen years later, Ryder published Animal Revolution: Changing Attitudes Towards Speciesism (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1989). Early in that book (see here), he discussed speciesist language and explained how he proposed to avoid it.

Not everyone likes the term "speciesism." In fact, Singer's own teacher, R. M. Hare, had this to say about it:

I use the term 'specist', formed by analogy with 'racist', instead of the intolerabl