Skip to content
November 22, 2019 / Congau

Belief in Truth

If there is a truth, it is better to believe. What you believe may be the truth. You may have the truth.

If you don’t believe in anything, you have given up on the truth. It’s certain that you don’t have the truth.

There is a truth. Either x = y  or  x = not y. One of them must be true. Either Peter is human, or Peter is not human. One proposition must be true and the other must be false. I don’t know which, but looking at Peter I form a belief as to whether or not he is human and I treat him accordingly. If I think he is human I may talk to him, if a cat, I may stroke him. If you don’t believe in anything, what would you do? Run away from Peter? Run away from life?

Some might say they only pretend to believe. They treat Peter as human because that seems to work. Very well, but if the whole of reality is treated like that, we are in a sorry state.

We normally get pleasure from figuring things out, from trying to understand reality, from striving to achieve our small goals in this real world. If we thought nothing was real anyway, what would be the point? If we thought our life was nothing but a game or an illusion, why would we care? Why do we feel anger and resentment, joy and attraction? Because we believe we have a reason to.

We mostly believe in what we see and when something is slightly hidden from view, we make a reasonable guess what might be there. We do it because we believe there is a truth.

When something is far away or hidden behind a thick veil of mystery, it is more difficult to form an idea of what might be there, but it’s still a good thing to try. You may be wrong, but you may also be right, and if you don’t search you will not find.

November 21, 2019 / Congau

What Is Philosophy?

Philosophy is pure thought. All other sciences (except one) rely on some sort of observation of the world and the universe. They perform experiments and pursue physical evidence for their theories. That is the basic difference.

However, it is scarcely possible to draw a strict line between philosophy and the other sciences. It is also a matter of degree and somewhat arbitrary conventions.

In ancient times all sciences were counted as philosophy, even the most physical ones. Among the ancient Greeks everything was the subject of pure speculation rather than physical involvement, so it made no sense to separate anything out. As in the course of history (and especially after the renaissance) more fields of knowledge were to be targeted for concrete experimentation, the domain of philosophy became smaller, and what remains after all the science have been subtracted is now considered philosophy proper.

However, a great deal of philosophy remain in many sciences, especially the humanities, social sciences and psychology. And vice versa, within certain branches of philosophy there are strong elements of physical observation. Practical philosophy, that is ethics and political theory, is naturally based on some experience of the world, which makes the thought less “pure”.

The only pure and undeniable form of philosophy is metaphysics. It is not based on anything physical whatsoever, but exactly that has made some deny its entire relevance and express the wish to exclude the most philosophical branch from the realm of philosophy.

Still, although we cannot expect to find a full-proof denomination, we must retain the notion of purity of thought as the distinguishing factor. The point is not to designate an absolute label, but to give an idea about the subject matter.

One odd science escapes categorization within this scheme: That of mathematics. It is pure thought as it doesn’t rely on any observations of the world and there are indeed good reasons to include it in philosophy. But what makes mathematics special even in that field, is the possibility for absolute proof. Philosophy, on the other hand, though it is the search for truth can never yield certainty. Even after it has been stated that two plus two equals four, doubt remains and speculation persists.

November 20, 2019 / Congau

Normal Dirty Politics

A good man can’t be a politician. Politics is a dirty business, and whoever touches it will get his fingers soiled. It’s rather inevitable because there’s too much at stake.

It’s almost unfair to expect anything but lies and deception from those who are fighting for power. If that’s the only way to get into a position where they can have what they consider a good influence on society, it’s practically their duty to be crooks.

What is more important one may ask, to make the country a better place for all its citizens, or to go keep one’s own personal purity? Isn’t it supposed to be honorable to sacrifice yourself for your country?

If that was so, we would reach the contradictory conclusion that for a politician a bad person is a good person. Since basic logic makes that impossible, we must assume that there can’t be any good people among politicians.

The real fault is in the system that makes dishonesty a necessity. To get elected the candidates are required to slander their opponents and make shady deals to secure support. If they don’t do it, they will never get into a position where they can do all those wonderful things that they promise to do for society.

In the historical past power was gained at the point of a gun or the edge of a sword. At least there’s a certain honesty to brute force; whoever won the battle won the kingdom, and it wasn’t really possible to cheat.

Of course I’m not advocating a return to that way of choosing a government, our bloodless methods are much preferable, but politics is still not a gentleman’s sport, and it really shouldn’t be. Candidates are not fighting for honor like athletes in the field. They are (supposedly) fighting for what is best for the country, and if they are really convinced that they have the ultimate solution, it’s reasonable to expect them to use all dirty tools available. They are not doing it for their own sake, are they?

Well, I for one think they are, but who am I to say. Their followers believe in them and condone everything.

The ends don’t justify the means, but once someone has entered the battle, the means are already accepted.

November 18, 2019 / Congau

Distracted Art

It was once thought liberating when poets threw off the shackles of the meter, stopped rhyming and threw words into chaotic heaps and stirred them around until only the keenest interpreter could recognized the fraction of a meaning.

Painters and sculptors went even wilder, splashing colors without semblance of structure and producing images without any pretense of likeness. Freedom was in abstraction and in the abstraction of abstraction to the nth power. Meaning was a prison.

I’m exaggerating, of course. The advent of abstract art was not altogether a deviation from the proper course, it was also a valuable addition to the world of art. But the belief that it was a higher form of art because it had emancipated itself from the fetters of tradition and the restraining conformity of the past, was not only wrong, but a restricted understanding of the power of art.

Art certainly has the power to liberate, but not because it has to break loose from artistic conventions. Indeed, these formalities are of minor importance to the freedom it can attain.

Constrained by a conventional meter the poets of antiquity liberated themselves from the conventions of thought, creating novel ideas to the music of beautiful poetry. Breaking up the meter would have achieved nothing other than confusing the message and compromising the beauty.

 Artistic conventions are the grammar of art. They are usually irrelevant to the message and a great artist could probably have spoken any artistic language he had been trained to use.

An artist is always a rebel against conventions, but if he rebels against the formalities of his own trade, he risks weakening his own power to fight the structures he really cares to challenge.

Abstracting to the point where no one, including yourself, knows what you are talking about, is hardly the best way to get across a message of liberation.

November 17, 2019 / Congau

Harmony of the Spheres

The universe is in harmony. The celestial bodies, the sun, the moon and the planets move in perfect proportion emitting a sound of ideal music that guides life on earth.

Those tunes are always there, a constant melodious hum coming from the planets as they evolve around the sun. We just can’t hear it since what is constantly present disappears from consciousness.

At least that’s what some ancient Greeks believed.

I don’t believe it, and you neither, probably. It’s a lyrical fantasy dreamed up by poets and calculated with alluring accuracy by mystical mathematicians.

But true or not, it is a useful metaphor for how there might be a universal measure of what is musically acceptable. We can imagine how the sounds of the heavenly bodies provide a model for what sounds are perceived as harmonious to our ears.

And let us continue to imagine. If our ears are granted such a celestial ideal, why not our eyes too. Possibly all visual perception must conform to a certain demand for harmony if it is to function aesthetically. Any arbitrary splashing of colors will not make a great painting, only certain combinations can possibly work. Any shape cannot make an agreeable statue.

It’s difficult, or rather impossible, to lay out any rules for what makes a combination permissible. Any mathematical concept of proportion will fail to grasp the essence of an artistic mode of expression. A successful piece of art or a beautiful or effective vision may be seemingly disproportionate.

But some sort of harmony there must be. Whenever you noddingly confirm that “that works” or “that works for me”, you acknowledge that it is in harmony with something inside you. And if it works for other viewers or listeners too, which it probably does, it means that your internal harmony has a parallel outside of yourself – in other people. But even if no one else happens to be watching or listening the harmony is not only in you. We can imagine that it is out there somewhere – in the celestial spheres.

November 16, 2019 / Congau

The Musical Keys of Art

“Je ne sais quoi” is English. It’s a technical term indicating that something has “an indefinable quality that makes something distinctive or attractive” (Wictionary).  When you don’t know what to say about something because its nature somehow eludes you, but you still feel it has a very specific quality, you may employ those French words. It plainly means “I don’t know what” but saying it in a foreign language makes it sound important instead of exposing your ignorance.

But there is a chance that you are not all that ignorant, for certain things simply escape the grasp of ordinary spoken language. It may be expressed in the language of art only and then it just can’t be translated into plain prose. Yet there is something to it and you do somehow understand it, but only in its original artistic language. Therefore you say in English: Je ne sais quoi.

There must definitely be something there, because if there wasn’t, it would be bad art or just trash. But who is to tell which is which? Well, it’s hard to tell since the telling must be done in the spoken language or in another language that we have in common. Now, if art were just a subjective language, it would be impossible, but that can’t be the case since we are indeed able to enjoy what another person has created. What then is the common language of art? What is its grammar, so to speak?

In music there are keys; a certain necessary conformity of tones that cannot be violated lest the musical ear will be offended. Other arts may also have their subtle keys that constitute a necessary structure. Just anything won’t work, but when something works you know it has hit the right key, the universal harmony of that art, the Je ne sais quoi.

Maybe you know what it is after all…

November 15, 2019 / Congau

The Nazis Among Us

“That’s exactly how Nazi Germany started!” Mr. Fawlty’s famous claim in reference to his humble hotel guests was slightly overstated and so are many other such sweeping allegations that have little purpose except heaping words of abuse on the opponent. Nazi Germany and the Holocaust were unparalleled events in history, probably the most outrageous thing ever to have occurred, and it was certainly worse than the increase in the price of coffee at your local supermarket and other such injustice that people love to exaggerate out of proportion.

However, much as Nazi Germany went further in atrocities than any other regime, it wasn’t really unique in the kind of attitudes it displayed and even its basic ideology. There’s nothing mysterious about why so many people could be seduced into following Hitler. We see the same phenomena around us all the time; xenophobia is not something exclusively reserved for blatant racists and nationalism (although presented with the euphemisms “patriotism” and “national pride”) is very common. Political tough talk, the promise to be hard on one’s enemies and uncompromising against crime, is popular among voters, and even your peaceful neighbor across the fence can be heard complaining about youth delinquency and urging the need for law and order.

Some of our most ordinary fellow citizens would decidedly have been Nazi supporters if they had been Germans in the 1930s.

Therefore, it may not be out of place to draw a parallel to the Nazis when observing seemingly ordinary behavior. It shouldn’t be used as plain abuse and simplified rhetoric (Godwin’s law reminds us of that), but it’s still appropriate more often than one would think.

This is not to trivialize Nazism, quite the opposite, but some of the worst excesses of that ideology was caused by events getting out of anyone’s hand. If we could recognize this danger in what appears to be trivial occurrences in our time, we would understand the true lesson of Hitler’s Germany.

Most Nazis were not demons any more than most innocent looking supporters of certain ideologies are today.

November 14, 2019 / Congau

Philosophy of Food?

No, I’m sorry, you gourmets, you people of sophisticated palates and you who just enjoy your pepper steak. There is no such thing.

Much as one would like to grant the honorific label of philosophy to one’s favorite activity and maybe condone a slight weakness, an appetizing lunch is not a separate domain of philosophy.

Neither is there a philosophy of business, of race cars or of stamp collection. Sorry again.

But since no human activity can escape from human thought, and since food is rather essential for existence, it can’t hardly escape our conscious reflections. Moreover, the craft of cooking may indeed reach high levels of finesse, so much so that it could be elevated to a form of art, and in that case, we are approaching an area of philosophy known as aesthetics.

Food, like art, satisfies the senses, or at least it stimulates an emotional reaction from a sensual impulse. A delicious meal is pleasing to the sense of taste (and also to the sense of smell). Most other forms of art address the sense of vision (or hearing) and food, if it is an art, is quite lonely in appealing to the organ of taste.

Now, art endeavors to search for the truth in its own particular way and that’s how it finds its way into the field of philosophy. A beautiful painting or a sublime piece of music may give us some sense of higher understanding. But can we get anything from food except the comfortable drowsiness of a full stomach? Sure, we can. We don’t have to limit our diet to chicken sandwiches and the language of praise that are showered on recipients of Michelin stars, bear witness to the kind of elevated feelings a connoisseur seems to be able to reach.

But still, the sense of taste is more limited than the sense of vision, and if cooking is an art, it can only cover a small corner of artistic possibility. It can’t be a branch of philosophy in its own right.

But never mind: Bon appétit!

November 13, 2019 / Congau

The Lost Cause of Hong Kong

Idealists are habitually laughed at. The poor fellows are well-meaning, of course, good-hearted many of them are too, but they are so utterly devoid of realism. They are sorry knights fighting windmills and some of them even sacrifice their life in the process – all in vain.

They might have noble ideas, you admit, but Utopia can never be realized. So in the end, when they bite the dust and their work is in shambles, you shrug your shoulder and say: I told you so.

Why would we feel any different about the idealists of Hong Kong? Their struggle is as hopeless as a struggle can be. There is no way China will allow the civil unrest to go on. It will soon be crushed and then Beijing will take a tighter grip on the city than it ever had before. This scenario is so overwhelmingly likely that it makes the demonstrators look as much as Utopian dreamers as anyone there ever was. Then why don’t they get the laugh?

Because they want a society like the ones we have in the West; they want to be like us, so of course we support them. We are watching their suicidal fight and approve of it. No one is telling them to stop in the name of realism. When their ideals are our ideals, we are content to see them engaged in a lost struggle and destroy themselves for the sake of sheer principles.

It’s a thoroughly unethical combat on both sides. Sure, Beijing is being oppressive, but nothing else can be expected from that corner. The demonstrators are not forced to act like they do, they are taking a risk that is completely disproportionate to any likely outcome. Sometimes we have to take risks, but then there should be a reasonable chance of winning. If the effect of an action is fully predictable, the actor is to be blamed, regardless of motives.

Don’t cheer the doomed gladiators.

November 12, 2019 / Congau

No Philosophical Progress

There can be no progress in philosophy. The accumulation of scientific knowledge, the increased understanding of the physical world, can contribute nothing significant to the pure thought of philosophy. Science may certainly inspire free thinking, just as art and any other social phenomenon can do, but nothing could conceivable be discovered that would fundamentally prove or disprove any philosophical system.

Philosophy proper is pure thought, and as such it is not dependent on any physical basis. The physical structure of the brain can provide no clue about what it really means to think and a deeper knowledge about biology and chemistry gives us no idea about the true identity of life.

No discovery could ever prove Plato wrong (or any other of the great philosophers). One may certainly disagree with him and use the instruments of logic to refute his ideas, but we are in no better position to do that now than we would have been in 400 BC.

Sure, as time has passed the corpus of philosophers has increased and simply the added numbers may make it more likely that one of them has hit upon the great Truth, but there’s no reason to believe that a later philosopher is more likely to be right than his predecessors.

It’s even possible to make the argument that there has been a deterioration of sound ideas since ancient time as modern thinkers may have allowed themselves to be confused by the increasing volume of less relevant noise.

However it may be, philosophical systems don’t rely on their forerunners in the same sense as science does. The history of ideas recounts the story of the ebb and flow of influencing theories, but they don’t build on each other. The history of science, although it too has its detours and dead ends, is quite linear since there is a relative acceptance of what might count as a proof.

Philosophy has no standard outside of itself; there’s no practical experimentation that could measure the likelihood of a theory’s truth value. It is free to speculate away from past achievements or failures with no independent arbiter to correct its mistakes.

We can only strive for the Truth without knowing if we have gotten closer to it.