Dmitry Chernikov’s Blog

Level 1: freedom;
Level 2: happiness;
Level 3: self-diffusion.

On a separate page.

Allan Gibbard claims that while same-world identity need not be relative to a sortal, trans-world identities do need to be like that, that is, two things in different worlds cannot be the same simply but only the same “F.” “We speak and think of ‘the same person’ but not of ‘the same entity’.” (Metaphysics: An Anthology, 106) Are these claims true? Suppose I tell you that Qwerty is identical to Poiuyt, though Qwerty is a Ruritarian term, and Poiuyt is a Waldavian term. You say: “Interesting, I’ll keep that in mind; but to what single entity do both Qwerty and Poiuyt refer?” And I reply, “A computer keyboard.” The talk of entities leaves us wanting more information, but it is hardly meaningless.

Now consider the following questions: Could Richard Nixon have been a different

(1) entity
(2) man
(3) president
(4) Nixon

than what he in fact was?

Answers:

(1) Since every property is accidental to Nixon qua entity, yes. There is no reason why he could not be, say, a bottle of wine.
(2) Yes, if, e.g., he had been, contrary to fact, defeated by Humphrey in the 1968 presidential election.
(3) Yes, if he had not been implicated in Watergate, or if he had disliked poker, etc.
(4) No, because every property of Nixon is now essential to him.

So, sortals do change the outcome in questions of trans-world identity.

Kripke surely said something important in arguing that we don’t “discover” possible worlds as if examining through a telescope various actors on a distant planet. (Metaphysics: An Anthology, 78) Instead, possible worlds are posited, stipulated, conceived, and ultimately created in one’s imagination. Our dealings with possible worlds are games. Consider reading fiction or playing a game like World of Warcraft. You say: I am playing the role of such and such class, e.g., a mage. If you get tired of playing a mage, you delete the character and create another, say, warrior, and say that in the Warcraft universe you are that. Nothing unites you and the character: the Warcraft world is about as far away from the real world as a world could possibly be.

On Kripke’s theory we could simply stipulate that in a possible world I am currently considering that fat male sailor is Cleopatra. The possible worlds are ours to play with. But, someone who worries about trans-world identity might object: really, what would that accomplish? We have to figure out when identity is preserved through change and when it is not. What we are dealing with, then, is a perturbation problem: How much can we muck around with Cleopatra’s character before it would no longer be reasonable to call her by her actual-world name?

The main question regarding trans-world identity is, Which of your properties are essential and which are accidental to you? If is clear that Cleopatra can’t be a musical performance, because it is her essence to be human. The name Cleopatra is a rigid designator vis-a-vis her humanity: it picks out a human being in all possible worlds in which Cleopatra exists. On the other hand, it is probably not her essence to be blond, though who knows: if she had not been blonde, Mark Anthony might not have taken a liking to her. But what of a property like being female? I think that between essential and accidental properties we must situate something called “proper accidents.” A proper accident is not officially part of the essence of a thing, but it follows from its essence, such that to remove it would change the thing into a monster. One standard example is the capacity of laughing: a human being is not defined by it, but a creature who is incapable of laughter would scarcely be human. Cleopatra’s being female would seem to be her proper accident; it is arguable that she would be unrecognizable if she were put into the body of a male.

Thus, as Robert M. Adams puts it, we must engage in both “conceptual legislation” and “metaphysical discovery.” (182)

He writes:

Perhaps I can evoke the appropriate sense of bewilderment as follows. Mathematicians may conceivably be said to be necessarily rational and not necessarily two-legged; and cyclists necessarily two-legged and not necessarily rational. But what of an individual who counts amond his eccentricities both mathematics and cycling? Is this concrete individual necessarily rational and contingently two-legged or vice versa? (quoted in Metaphysics: An Anthology, 145)

This is a case of confusion of necessity of the consequent with necessity of the consequence. In order to conclude that

(30) Zwier is necessarily bipedal,

we need

(31) Cyclists are necessarily bipedal

and

(32) Zwier is a cyclist.

But (31) can be read as N(X is a cyclist → X is bipedal), in which case it’s true, yet (30) does not follow; or as (X is a cyclist → N(X is bipedal)), from which (30) would follow but which is unfortunately false.

In other words, we have the following 4 true statements:

(1) N(X is a mathematician → X is rational)
(2) ~N(X is a mathematician → X is bipedal)
(3) N(X is a cyclist → X is bipedal)
(4) ~N(X is a cyclist → X is rational).

Suppose in the actual world X is both a mathematician and a cyclist. Then he is both rational and bipedial. Suppose in some world W our X is a cyclist and is irrational. Then in that world he is not a mathematician. And so on. Whence the bewilderment?

The argument continues in Plantinga’s The Nature of Necessity, which I’ve yet to read.

1. Timothy thinks there is no evidence that Jefferson thought that the Congress could demand that a state comply with its laws or secede or leave the Union. Well, it is a very reasonable interpretation. My point is that secession is a double-edged sword. A state can threaten to secede, but the other states can, with the help of their agent, the federal government, threaten to kick a state out of the Union, unless it complies. It’s freedom of association in action. Jefferson lived in less PC times than we do, and that freedom was cherished throughout the realm.

2. Suppose it’s true that “the people reconsidered their sovereignty, and created a new institution, wiping the slate clean, more or less, and instituting a sovereign federal government, while vesting other elements of their sovereignty in state governments.” This simple statement does not attempt to prove that those “other elements of their sovereignty” do not include the legal Constitutional right to secede. But we can say more. The Constitution enumerates certain particular limited powers that the federal government has. The Bill of Rights is in principle unnecessary, because the freedoms secured therein could be deduced from the text of the original Constitution. Where in that document does it say that the “more perfect Union” can only expand and never contract in territory, member states, or people? The Union was certainly not called “perpetual” or anything like that. So, where does the Constitution say that the feds can or must preserve the union by preventing any and all secessions?

Here is another argument. The Constitution had to be ratified by nine out of thirteen states, and any amendment must be agreed to by 3/4th of state legislatures. Before that 2/3rd of the Senate must also vote for it, Senators being chosen by state legislatures until the 17th amendment was passed in 1913. Speaking of Madison, he also wrote that “it appears, on one hand, that the Constitution is to be founded on the assent and ratification of the people of America, given by deputies elected for the special purpose; but, on the other, that this assent and ratification is to be given by the people, not as individuals composing one entire nation, but as composing the distinct and independent States to which they respectively belong. It is to be the assent and ratification of the several States, derived from the supreme authority in each State, the authority of the people themselves. The act, therefore, establishing the Constitution, will not be a NATIONAL, but a FEDERAL act.” (F #39) A clear case can be made that the Constitution is in part a creature of the people and a creature of states.

In other words, Timothy can point to the Preamble: “We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union…” But I can point to the Postscript: “Resolved, That the preceding Constitution… should afterwards be submitted to a Convention of Delegates, chosen in each State by the People thereof, under the Recommendation of its Legislature, for their Assent and Ratification… Resolved, That it is the Opinion of this Convention, that as soon as the Conventions of nine States shall have ratified this Constitution,” etc.

3. Timothy has misunderstood my point about individual secession. His argument is that the Constitution was not a compact between the states but between the people living on the territory to be overshadowed by the future federal government. Therefore, no state could lawfully secede. But if secession by states is to be considered illegal for that reason only, then secession of individuals should be perfectly legal, precisely because the federal government resulted from a compact between them. Any person who made a compact could break it; otherwise, he and his children would be slaves in perpetuity, and as Rothbard well demonstrated, one cannot alienate his will. Surely, then, I should be able to form my own nation where my house stands. But what if I am able to convince the majority of my fellow Ohioans to join forces with me in declaring independence of the United States, that is, forming a new country with themselves and their private properties ? If I can do it alone, then that majority can do it, too, without physically leaving the United States or being imprisoned for “treason.” There, you have your perfectly legal secession of a state.

4. If Timothy does not advocate massive wars to punish bribe-taking officials, then neither should he defend a military assault of the North on the South to punish slave-owners or to fight for the rights of slaves.

5. Sumter, Shmumter; there is evidence that Lincoln provoked the South into firing the first shot. At any rate, that’s just one of the many INUS causes (an insufficient but necessary component cause which is a part of an unnecessary but sufficient total cause) which sparked the war. There were a whole bunch of reasons for the Civil War, and both slavery and economics were still more INUSes.

Our author tries to understand when a lump of clay and a statue made from this lump are identical. There are situations in which they are not, if the clay and the statue are generated or corrupt at different times. But: “I make a clay statue of the infant Goliath in two pieces, one part above the waist and the other part below the waste. Once I finish the two halves, I stick them together, thereby bringing into existence simultaneously a new piece of clay and a new statue. A day later I smash the statue, thereby bringing to an end both statue and piece of clay. The statue and piece of clay persisted during exactly the same period of time.” (Metaphysics: An Anthology, 102) Gibbard in this part of the paper thinks of the statue as form-in-matter: “By a statue here, I do not mean a shape of which there could be more than one token, but a concrete particular thing… A clay statue consists of a piece of clay in a specific shape.” (101) And he thinks of the clay as matter-having-a-particular-form: “They began at the same time, and on any usual account, they had the same shape, location, color, and so forth at each instant in their history; everything that happened to the one happened to the other…” (102) Obviously, the two are one and the same thing, even if different aspects of them are emphasized in their definitions.

But later on Gibbard contradicts himself: “Take a possible world in which I squeeze Lumpl into a ball, and suppose all the molecules involved are clearly identified. There are still two distinct things in that world, the statue Goliath which I destroy by squeezing, and the piece of clay Lumpl which survives the squeezing.” (107) If Lumpl survives the squeezing, then its particular shape cannot be its essential but must inevitably be an accidental property. But the statue’s exact shape is essential to it. If it were remade into a statue of David, then the old statue would cease to exist and a new statue would come into being. What our author calls “persistence criteria” for the two things differ. Goliath’s persistence criteria are more stringent that Lumpl’s. Hence the two properties are not identical (the property “humanoid shape” of both Goliath and Lumpl itself has a property with different values, viz., its modality: for Goliath it is essential or necessary, for Lumpl, merely contingent), and so Lumpl and Goliath are numerically distinct.

Gibbard’s case is that given that the two are identical in the actual world, and that both are rigid designatiors (relative to a sortal: one of them names the same Goliath in each possible world or the the same Lumpl in each possible world, but it is meaningless to say, Gibbard asserts, that they name the same thing in each world), they fail to be identical in the possible world in which the statue is squeezed into a ball. I, however, would describe the situation differently. We don’t need to invoke possible worlds and counterfactuals to show that this is so. Lumpl has the power to endure even if squeezed into a ball. Goliath does not have this power. Consequently, their essences differ. Therefore, this is not a case of contingent identity, because it is not a case of identity at all. The two things are not the same even in the actual world.

It may be objected that the meaning of the term “power” or “disposition” can only be understood in terms of possible worlds. I don’t think that’s true. Consider sentences of the form Sx → (Fx ↔ Bx), where S is an observation term describing a test condition, F is a theoretical term, and B is an observation term describing an outcome of the test. An example of this is defining the term “fragile.” One apparent possibility is to write Fx ↔ (Sx → Bx) or “something if fragile iff if you strike it, then it breaks.” But what if you never strike it? Then Fx will be true, since falsehood logically implies anything. Hence the original definition which reads “if you strike something, then it is fragile iff it breaks.” This avoids the problem of the first definition by making Fx undefined unless x is actually struck. Here we only have material conditionals. Second, it could be said that the modality of the form is a queer property and is precisely the reason for the contingency of identity between Goliath and Lumpl. For if Lumpl is matter-having-a-particular-form, then in the actual world Lumpl maintains that form. Maybe, but would we in ordinary language say after the statue is broken that Goliath and Lumpl were two names for the same thing?

Finally, a puzzle and a request for help. Gibbard distinguishes between individuals or concrete objects and “individual concepts.” At first glance this seems like a terminological refinement: concrete things exist only in the actual world (which is why he later says that concrete things have no de re properties nor dispositions, both of which might require them to exist in possible worlds, as well), while concepts exist in possible worlds. Is it because a thing cannot “exist” in a world that “does not exist”? But what does it have to do with the author’s main thesis?

In saying “A is the same as B” or “A is identical with B” must we always add a “sortal” or modifier: “the same F as” or “relative to F,” where F is a property? When we say that A = B, we need not necessarily know what A and B are — what their essence is. John Perry argues that “the role of the general term [F] is to identify the referents — not to identify the ‘kind of identity asserted’.” (Metaphysics: An Anthology, 92) The kind of identity means identity relative to something, such as F.

Let’s look at some examples. Consider the following list of words:

A. Bull
B. Bull
C. Cow

There are three “tokens” here of two “types.” Peter Geach, whom Perry criticizes, argues that “there are not two kinds of objects to be counted, but two different ways of counting the same object. And the reason there are two ways of counting the objects is that there are two different ‘criteria of relative identity’.” (93) So it seems that we can claim that

(1) A is the same word type as B, but A and B are different word tokens.

In addition, it is uninformative to say that A is the same as B simpliciter. Perry replies that “If ‘A’ and ‘B’ refer to the same objects throughout (1), the first conjunct of (1) is not an identity statement, and the counterexample fails. If both conjuncts are identity statements in the required sense, ‘A’ and ‘B’ must refer to word types in the first conjunct and word tokens in the second, and the counterexample fails.” (94) In other words, if A and B are taken to refer to tokens, then with respect to their type A is not numerically identical with B, but rather both share a property, “being of the same type” or “being equiform.”

And this will be our pattern. Having all their properties in common is at least a necessary condition for some two objects to be numerically one (or for two names to refer to the same object). (For a defense of insufficiency of this criterion see Max Black’s paper “The Identity of Indiscernibles,” 66) Now if A is identical with B, then for any property F that A has we can say, if we care to, that A is the same F as B. But if there exists a property which A has and B doesn’t or vice versa, then the two objects are guaranteed not to be the same, and so it may be valuable to find out which properties they do share. In this case we are justified in saying “A is the same F as B but not the same G as B.”

Geach’s worry is that we might conclude that A is identical with B prematurely. As we learn more about these things our “ideology” may well change and so may our judgment of identity between A and B, if, e.g., we discover new properties not shared by A and B. But identity relative to any particular property will never be challenged by new information. So, we would be well advised not to make rush decisions and speak only of kinds of identity rather than identity as such. It is an odd argument, to be sure. And I think it can be countered by saying that it is useful to take a risk and act with the belief that A and B are identical, if all evidence points to it. We may have to revise this claim as time goes by, but we can’t escape the imperative to make such judgments, more or less contingent though they may be.

Another example: let there be “a certain set of predicables that are true of men but do not discriminate between two men of the same surname. If the ideology of a theory T is restricted to such predicables, the ontology of T calls into being a universe of androids… who differ from men in just this respect, that two different ones cannot share the same surname. I call these androids surmen…” (96) Then two people, A and B, can be the same surman yet different men. Well, “being the same surman” can be cashed out as “having the same surname,” again sharing one property and failing to share another, “being the same man.” Thus our A and B are not numerically identical. It is not meaningless or dangerous or in any way improper to say so.

Continuing in this manner,

Suppose Smith offered Jones $5,000 for a clay statue of George Washington. Jones delivers a statue of Warren Harding he has since molded from the same clay, and demands payment, saying, “This is the same thing you bought last week.”

It is the same piece of clay, but a different statue. It seems that we can form the awkward but true conjunction “This is the same piece of clay as the one you bought last week, but this is a different statue from the one you bought last week.” (97)

The statue is form-in-matter or informed matter. We can look at it in its aspect of its material cause or in its aspect of its formal cause. The former is the same; the latter is different. So the two objects, the future and as yet unmade statue Smith bought and the actual statue that was delivered are not identical. They share a property of “having the same matter” or “being made of the same clay,” but they are different in the value of the property “what the statue is” or “of whom the statue is.” Similarly, suppose both the formal and material causes of the statue are the same, but Smith wanted it to be made by Jones, a famous sculptor, himself, whereas Jones had one of his apprentices make it. We see that the efficient cause is different, and therefore the statue ordered and the statue received are, once again, not identical. Lastly, let all three of the foregoing causes be the same; except that Smith intended to re-sell the statue at a profit but found out a few days after making his purchase that he could not do so. Now the final causes are different, and so are the statue’s temporal stages. (Update: in the last case Smith considered the statue to be equivalent to, via exchange of property titles, some amount of money, but events proved him wrong. Is it a change in the statue or in Smith or in what?)

Finally, let A and B be in genus G, though A is species S₁, and B is species S₂ within that genus. It will be correct to say that A and B are the same genus but different species. But again, it can be asserted that A is not the same as B, because they don’t share all of their properties.

As a consequence of A’s being identical with B, for any F that A has, A is the same F as B, and B is the same F as A. But “A is the same as B” asserts more than merely the convergence of all their properties, both known and unknown, as pointed out also by Black. It is a stronger statement, and for that reason it is true that we should be cautious in asserting it. But assert it we surely can. My final point is that our counterexamples are fairly contrived. If A and B are the same apple, penny, poem, etc., then we can safely conclude that they are identical simply.

Rigid designators are names which pick out the same object in every possible world in which that object exists. Whether RDs exist depends on whether things have essences. If they do, then in any possible world a thing is either identical to some corresponding thing in the actual world or not. Otherwise, things in possible worlds or counterfactual situations resemble the original object in the actual world more or less; they are mere “counterparts.” Even if by “Cicero” we mean “the man who wrote such and such works in Latin,” the description is of an accident, whereas the name refers to an essence. Therefore, in some possible world there may be a person called Cicero who, however, failed to write anything. An interesting question, discussed by Kripke, is whether Cicero is necessarily identical to Tully, whom we can define, again, by an accident of having denounced Cataline, if it so happens that in the actual world Cicero and Tully are one and the same person. Kripke argues that yes, both Cicero and Tully are rigid designators and are therefore identical in every possible world. Now if the only way we can identify Cicero is by the works he wrote, and in some possible world he did not write these works, then how can we possibly find him in that world? Thankfully, this is an epistemological rather than metaphysical question. If we knew Cicero in exhausting detail, e.g., as God knows him, then we could separate his essence from his accidents and find out quite easily whether any given possible world does or does not contain his essence.

What about the identity of heat and the motion of molecules? It is an a posteriori scientific claim. How can it possibly be necessary? Kripke imagines Martians who had a different neural structure from ourselves and felt heat when exposed to cold and felt cold when exposed to heat. “But still,” he writes, “heat would be heat, and cold would be cold.” It seems to me that he claims that we learn what heat is by feeling it. Then science tells us what heat is physically. Again, heat is contingently identified via “the fact that there happen to be creatures on this planet — (namely, ourselves) who are sensitive to it in a certain way.” But that’s not the essence of heat. The essence of heat is fast molecular motion. Hence “heat” and “fast molecular motion” are rigid designators, and so identity between them is necessary. Kripke’s analysis is misleading. Heat is a sensation, an experience that a creature feels; it is not “really” “the motion of molecules,” no more than an experience of, say, reaching a decision is “really” an excitation of C-fibers in the brain. He might want to define heat as “the sensation that would be felt by humans when exposed to fast molecular motion, if they lived on earth.” But then he could only argue that molecular motion causes or is correlated with the sensation of heat. But the Martians wouldn’t think that. Hence the identity is not necessary.

The pattern then is as follows. Let A = B, and let an accidental aspect of A be described by one contingent statement α, and of B, by another contingent statement β. But if both A and B referred to the same essence, then that essence must persist in every possible world regardless of what happens to α and β, and therefore A is identical with B necessarily.

Kenneth Konyndyk defines these two as follows: “Modality de re is modality thought of as applying to a thing (res), more precisely, as a way a thing possesses a property. For example, one thing might be said to possess a property necessarily, or something can be said to possibly have some given property, as in the claims that Socrates is necessarily rational or Socrates is possibly a sailor. Modality de dicto is the modality applied to a statement (dictum). It refers to the manner or mode of a statement’s being true. For example, it is necessarily true that all bachelors are unmarried. Here it is the statement (the dictum) that is said to be necessary. More exactly, it is the statement’s being true that is necessary.” (Introductory Modal Logic, 78ff)

Sometimes it is useful to interpret a proposition either de re or de dicto. For example, “The number of planets in the Solar system is 8,” when interpreted de re, means “It is true of the number which is equal to the number of planets in the Solar system that that number is 8.” Since the number of planets in the Solar system is, indeed, 8, the de re reading is a trivial “8 = 8.” In order to carry information, our proposition must be read de dicto. On the other hand, “Agatha believes that the tallest spy is a spy,” when considered de dicto, is analytic and self-evidently true. Of course, the tallest spy is a spy! He must be, necessarily. The de re reading, on the contrary, looks like this: “There is an object in the actual world, x, of which Agatha believes something, namely that he is a spy; in addition, perhaps unbeknownst to her, x also happens to be the tallest spy out there.” This is much more meaningful. Consider the statement, “George IV wondered whether the author of Waverley was such-and-such.” The de re reading is inappropriate, because it means: “George IV wondered of x which had the properties (1) of existing; (2) of being unique; (3) of having written Waverley, whether x was such-and-such.” He may not have realized that x had these properties, though if he did, the de re reading would be equivalent to the de dicto reading.

In the statement “Socrates is necessarily rational” the modal modifier “necessarily” is applied de re, and the statement is true (it is the essence of men to be rational); in the statement “It is necessary that Socrates is rational” the same modifier is applied de dicto, and the statement is false, because Socrates does not exist in all possible worlds. On the other hand, “Necessarily, what is seen sitting is sitting” is de dicto and true; “What is seen sitting is sitting necessarily” is de re and false.

Some more connections:

Asks William Dembski. Of course not, we are machine-like spirits!

I have mentioned before that in my view the judicial system of any administrative unit can without difficulty be privatized (unlike the executive branch). In what follows I consider five objections to this thesis.

1. Judges serve the abstract “justice” for the sake of the whole society rather than particular individuals; private judges will sell their services to the highest bidder.

Reply: Private judges will sell their services but to the highest bidders. Whenever two people come before a judge to settle a dispute, neither of them is convinced that he will lose. Both parties think their chances to win the legal battle are good. Hence it is in the interest of both the future winner and the future loser to present their cases. If one person knows he will lose and refuses to appear before a judge, he can be tried without his being present and lose even more certainly. As Rothbard writes, “In a libertarian society, the plaintiff would notify the defendant that the latter is being charged with a crime, and that a trial of the defendant will be underway. The defendant would be simply invited to appear. There would be no compulsion on him to appear. If he chose not to defend himself, then the trial would proceed in absentia, which of course would mean that the defendant’s chances would be by that much diminished. Compulsion could only be used against the defendant after his final conviction.” (The Ethics of Liberty, 84)

2. The monopoly executive branch will have to license judges somehow and supply a “rule of recognition” of who is a legitimate judge. Then law schools will have to licensed, etc. This will restrict supply, thereby leading to a cartel and diminished competition.

Reply: Privatizing dispute resolution will probably be accompanied by political decentralization, so there will be numerous communities and plenty of competition among their political systems. This competition will keep judges on their toes. Each community will allow judges with different qualifications to work there which will lead to a diversity of certifications, law school exams, significances of reputation, etc.

3. A judge will feel bound to his family/clan/race, etc. and will not judge impartially.

Reply: Judges can always be sued for incompetence or favoritism or fraud or taking bribes and, if found guilty, be punished like any other person. Not every judge will be crooked.

4. Roderick Long considers an objection (#5) that within the private judicial industry there will be no “final arbiter of disputes.”

His reply: “Now, it is true, that in the Platonic sense of an absolute guarantee of a final arbiter — in that sense, anarchy does not provide one. But neither does any other system. Take a minarchist constitutional republic of the sort that Bidinotto favors. Is there a final arbiter under that system, in the sense of something that absolutely guarantees ending the process of dispute forever? Well, I sue you, or I’ve been sued, or I am accused of something, whatever — I’m in some kind of court case. I lose. I appeal it. I appeal it to the Supreme Court. They go against me. I lobby the Congress to change the laws to favor me. They don’t do it. So then I try to get a movement for a Constitutional Amendment going. That fails, so I try and get people together to vote in new people in Congress who will vote for it. In some sense it can go on forever. The dispute isn’t over.”

5. What if what is a crime on one territory not a crime on another? How can a verdict be enforced if the defendant flees from the jurisdiction in which he is guilty to the jurisdiction in which he is not guilty?

Reply: This objection touches on enforcement of verdicts not on whether private judges can successfully do their job. Even today there are numerous jurisdictions with varying laws, yet chaos does not result.

They are sort of philosophical hypocrisy, in which the very act of arguing for something refutes your argument. For example,

1. Let propositions be the only things that can be true or false. Consider the statement (p) “There are no propositions.” If this claim itself is not expressed in a proposition, then it’s neither true nor false and therefore says nothing about whether there are, in fact, propositions. Otherwise, in the very act of presenting this argument you by necessity use a proposition, thereby contradicting yourself. The reason is that no argument can get off the ground without asserting propositions. It follows that (p) is itself a proposition and is therefore false.
2. Suppose you argue: “it is good for people to be dead.” Rothbard points out that “any person participating in any sort of discussion, including one on values, is, by virtue of so participating, alive and affirming life. For if he were really opposed to life, he would have no business in such a discussion, indeed he would have no business continuing to be alive. Hence, the supposed opponent of life is really affirming it in the very process of his discussion, and hence the preservation and furtherance of one’s life takes on the stature of an incontestable axiom.” (Ethics of Liberty, 32ff) In other words, if it really were true that as an imperative it is good for people to be dead, then instead of arguing for the truth of this proposition in a disputation, its defender should be out there committing suicide, thereby making indeed the best possible case for it. The fact that he is not doing that casts suspicion on the claim.
3. Let’s test Carnap’s thesis that it is meaningless to say: (m) “there exist material things in space” as an answer to a metaphysical question. Now the essence of a thing, if one exists, is the enumeration of its powers, and powers are manifested in acts. It cannot be doubted that acts are performed: by saying that (m) is meaningless you are executing an action, or at least are “in act,” i.e., something is going on. But therefore you are exercising a power, therefore having a essence, therefore being a thing. Your very act of arguing against existence of things speaks for their existence and against your argument.

Eller admits that relativism, understood as the claim that “all judgments and values come from some particular point of view,” is a “danger,” because “this awareness is inimical to believing in your own man-made environment: if we know that we just made it up ourselves, it has no special or exclusive claim to our credulity or affection. ‘Why this and not that?’ is the perpetual response of relativism to any specific nonrational appeal to our attention and commitment.” (Natural Atheism, 328) How much like Robert Nozick’s ruminations on the meaning of life this is! (I comment on him here and here.) This is exactly what happens when the divine “I am,” whose Being and Light are everywhere and which calls for our “attention and commitment” from no matter which perspective we find ourselves in, is done away with (or replaced, at best, with “I think, therefore I am.”). I don’t envy Eller. But I let him be as he prefers matters.

For the intellect it offers unmitigated and infinite perfection, never to be actually comprehended, providing untold riches for the eternal life. Atheism, as best, considers man to be the measure of all things, and what a poor measure it is! Atheism forces one to cling to the temporal and transient which never seem adequate. “Don’t look up,” atheism says.

For action and striving it offers optimism, a lively hope that good will triumph. For, as I have suggested, either good or evil wins in the end. Christianity says good is the victor. Atheism must honestly recognize that it is a defeatist doctrine. It entails the destruction of life’s work and body and soul and human race and life. And if it is human nature to side with the winner, then atheism inclines one towards evil, such as deception and violence, in hopes that it will help one to stay alive.

For the will it offers joy and rest from the exhaustion of the worldly struggles.

Why wouldn’t you choose it?

Eller’s analysis of agnosticism claims that it denies that one can have any knowledge of God. But in that case one is automatically and essentially an atheist. For why bother considering the existence of that which is totally unknown or unknowable? What are we showing the existence of? “If you said that you have no idea what a zorg is or what it does or wants but that you believe that there is such a thing as zorg — and even worse, that you center your life around the existence and wishes of a zorg — I would think you were either pulling my leg or talking crazy.” (Natural Atheism, 170) But of course agnosticism is nothing of the sort. An agnostic says: “I accept your concept of God in all its richness as coherent; it is possible that this God exists; moreover, the probability that God exists is high enough to make me uncomfortable with atheism, which is why I am not an atheist; however, I still have doubts that this idea of God is instantiated.” An agnostic then knows what God is; he just does not know that He is.

Our author’s main point is that immersion into the study of anthropology leads one to accept cultural relativism, and that, in turn, makes one into a freethinker. In what follows I will try to discern the connections, if any, between these three things.

Cultural relativism, in Eller’s understanding, “does not maintain that ‘anything goes’ but merely reports that this goes here and that goes there.” If that were all, then cultural relativism would be a science describing different individuals and cultures. Relativism would be anthropology. But that is a strange definition of relativism. And, of course, Eller thinks nothing of contradicting himself in the next paragraph: “we must abandon the notion of absolute morality” (Natural Atheism, 109), getting closer to the dictionary definition of this term: “the view that ethical and moral standards are relative to what a particular society or culture believes to be good/bad, right/wrong.” In his example of the debate within the Catholic church on the status of Indians soon after the discovery of America, Eller writes that neither those who considered them subhuman nor those who considered them fully human but cared only about converting them to Christianity “considered the relativistic option — to learn from and about them, to tolerate their difference, and to leave them alone.” (116) Our author does not take his own doctrine seriously. It was part of the Western culture at that time to be imperialistic. Who is he to judge that culture? If a culture is intent upon razing and pillaging, that is just its peculiar feature and our response should be “to learn from and about them.” (Learn what? How better to raze and pillage?)

And what does it mean, “to leave them alone”? Is our author against miscegenation, whether of blood or ideas? Must no culture influence another? Must there be no intercourse, whether of commerce, travel, science, etc., between cultures? But if this idea is absurd, then why is it wrong for a person to become a missionary and work within foreign cultures to convert folks there to Christianity? It seems like an eminently peaceful occupation. Eller objects: “Few if any American missionaries ever arranged debates with Indian tribal leaders; instead they threatened them with hell, rewarded or punished them with material goods, and coerced them with military power.” (126) Has it occurred to our author that Indian tribes were unprepared for formal disputations? How many professors even today in the academia are so prepared? And anyway, this is an objection to the means by which conversion was effected, not to the end of conversion itself.

Eller finally cannot completely divorce himself from the natural law. Traditional cultures range “from the happy to the miserable, from the peaceful to the warlike.” (118) Could it be that those cultures are happy because they are in some sense better than those cultures that are miserable? Mises clearly has done his homework on this issue:

The Asiatics and the Africans no less than the peoples of European descent have been eager to struggle successfully for survival and to use reason as the foremost weapon in these endeavors. They have sought to get rid of the beasts of prey and of disease, to prevent famines and to raise the productivity of labor. There can be no doubt that in the pursuit of these aims they have been less successful than the whites. The proof is that they are eager to profit from all achievements of the West. Those ethnologists would be right, if Mongols or Africans, tormented by a painful disease, were to renounce the aid of a European doctor because their mentality or their world view led them to believe that it is better to suffer than to be relieved of pain. Mahatma Gandhi disavowed his whole philosophy when he entered a modern hospital to be treated for appendicitis.

The North American Indians lacked the ingenuity to invent the wheel. The inhabitants of the Alps were not keen enough to construct skis which would have rendered their hard life much more agreeable. Such shortcomings were not due to a mentality different from those of the races which had long since used wheels and skis; they were failures, even when judged from the point of view of the Indians and the Alpine mountaineers. (Human Action, 84ff)

There have been spiritual failures, as well, to come up with a half-decent religion. Even if we assume for the sake of argument that relativism is true, religion is far more than morality. It is a set of articles of faith; it is theocentric work; it is many other things. It can co-exist with a variety of moral theories, intuitions, and rules. Eller reports that he spent two years among Australian aboriginals, “trying to speak their language, eat their food, practice their culture, and enter their universe of meaning and action.” What he failed to grasp, unfortunately, was that his own ideals of unbiased scholarly work were part of his own Western culture and were not shared by his subjects. Even if he was genuinely attempting to try their “cultural glasses” on and “’see’ or think or understand as those others do,” (111) it was he who was studying them; they did not study him, a fact which demonstrates his own superiority as clearly as day.

It is true that every person is born into some family, community, and state. These affect his development from child to adult. But they do not determine his development. Eller writes of religious experiences: “even for the subject, the experience is mere raw data; if I hear a voice, how do I know that it is the voice of God? It could be the voice of Allah, Vishnu, Buddha, Satan, or my cat; each is equally (un)likely.” (43) Cultural influences are, too, mere raw data. Everyone, according to the principle of methodological individualism, once he attains the age of reason, decides for himself which culture he wants to belong to. Logically then, we must speak of individual relativism; indeed, culture always changes in response to new ideas and actions of individual human beings. Culture is not an independent unit of analysis; the individual is. Finally, if individual relativism is taken to mean that happiness is subjective, then no doubt, it’s true. If it’s taken to mean that there is no such thing as objective glory or shame, then it is false.

Eller knows that, of course. When he writes that he wishes religion would go away, is he thinking of eliminating it from his own culture or from every culture? Being a skilled anthropologist, he may not have his own culture at all. He may instead think of himself not only as an anthropological scholar but also as a doctor, a healer of cultures in the manner, perhaps, of Richard Weaver. Religion is a mass delusion, his diagnosis must run, and so every culture will benefit from its destruction. But if that’s not (individual) imperialism, I don’t know what is. Whatever happened to choosing “the relativistic option”? Again, his idea is that meeting the Other, “those who differ yet still deserve their humanity,” (128) will lead you to a more objective view of various cultures. That’s all to the good. But I fail to see why encountering other religions must convince you of the falsity of your own, and if it does so convince you, why it is contrary to reason to choose for yourself the best religion from among those you have studied rather than atheism. Just as Eller is unmoved in his beliefs by the existence of theistic cultures, neither need a Christian or a believer of any other faith be moved by the existence of Eller’s own atheistic culture.

In other words, Eller gives no evidence for his corollary claim that all religions are created equal. The idea that religions and, in particular, Christianity have no methodology to adjudicate their claims is equally unfounded. The methodologies are as diverse as God’s influence in the world: in nature — metaphysics, ethics, psychology, praxeology, cosmology; in grace — biology, religious experience, history, archeology, Biblical interpretation; in glory — the testimonies of saints and Jesus Himself. And I’ve omitted a whole lot of other disciplines studying which can lead one to God. In principle, there are as many paths to God as there are human beings, though paths obviously intersect.

Let me further quote from an old article of mine: “I want to mention the common atheistic idea that the Christian God is equivalent to pagan gods. There is a likeness, according to Barnett, between ‘Ganesh, Jah, Yahweh, Allah, Zeus or any of the thousands of others.’ Nothing could be further from the truth. Pagan gods were within nature; they were a part of the world; the Christian God transcends the created universe. Pagan gods were subject to the same passions that humans were; the Christian God has no passions at all. Pagan gods did wicked things; the Christian God is supremely good. Pagan gods had bodies; the Christian God is a spirit. Pagan gods were not simple nor One nor perfect not timeless nor immutable nor infinite nor loving nor just nor merciful nor omniscient nor omnipotent. The Christian God is all these and more. Pagan gods were not their own existence; the Christian God is His existence. In short, there is no comparison between Yahweh and, say, Zeus. And the evidence of science and philosophy points to the Christian God and not to the gods of the Greek mythology.” Thus, at least these “gods” can be eliminated from consideration from the start, leaving monotheism as the only contender.

Thus, on the contrary, exposure to different cultures will likely result in objective improvements of one’s own. Even hardcore anthropologists need not abandon their own culture. But they may suggest and implement solutions of which other societies were a source. As both a cause and effect of that (i.e., of doing good to one’s own kin, clan, country), one’s attachment to his own culture may increase.

Conclusion. Close familiarity with other cultures and individuals need not make one into a cultural relativist, nor cause one to abandon one’s own religion or religion in general. It is certainly helpful in “freeing one’s mind” and should be required therapy for American self-absorption which has led to so many wars, but one ought not to forget what is true and false and what works and what doesn’t.

In dismissing the argument for the existence of God from “personal experience” Eller relies on two tricks. First, he argues, “If I hear a voice in my head or have a mystical feeling or see a beautiful sunset and call that a religious experience, I have imposed a meaning on it and prejudiced the evaluation of it as an experience.” It is harder to misconstrue the argument more crassly. Every experience is interpreted, that is, “imposed a meaning” on. When our author sees the sunset, etc., he, too, interprets this experience, though as non-religious. Does he thereby “prejudice the evaluation of it as an experience,” too? Not necessarily. A new experience tries to fit into the picture of the world that we already have. Sometime the fit is perfect; other times the experience is to a greater or lesser extent discounted, because it does not cohere with what we already think we know; still other times, we adjust even our fundamental and most cherished beliefs in order to accommodate the experience. This procedure is followed whether one is a religious man or not. Now what is the right way of interpreting any experience that provokes an inkling, whether weak or strong, to consider it “religious”? Our first point is that genuine religious experiences are self-authenticating — if you hear God’s voice, you simply know with absolute certainty that it is God speaking to you. You feel no doubt: God’s grace comes with a guarantee that it is from God. Second, Peter Kreeft proposes three criteria for evaluating the truth of claims of communion with God: “(1) the consistency of these claims (are they self-consistent as well as consistent with what we know otherwise to be true?); (2) the character of those who make these claims (do these persons seem honest, decent, trustworthy?); and (3) the effects these experiences have had in their own lives and the lives of others (have these persons become more loving as a result of what they experienced? More genuinely edifying? Or, alternatively, have they become vain and self-absorbed?).” (Handbook of Christian Apologetics, 82) So, we have to do the hard work of verifying each religious experience on its own merits, which means that the easy and brisk dismissal of them just won’t do.

Let’s consider the second argument Eller employs, namely that the experiences of various religions contradict each other: “Third, religious experiences are so different for different people that it serves as a red flag for us; the occurrence and interpretation of such experiences seems closely related to personality and culture, so much so that we can explain and dismiss them as culture-bound. In other words, if Christians have personal experiences of God, Jesus, and Mary, and Muslims have personal experiences of Allah, and Hindus have personal experiences of Brahma or Shiva or Vishnu, then either an awful lot of gods exist (to take the experiences seriously) or people just experience what they want or expect to.” (Natural Atheism, 43ff)

Now the varieties of religious experiences would seem to validate the admittedly very general notion that there is “something beyond,” rather than falsify it. The question then is, what is beyond? There is no universal agreement. But which reasonably sophisticated branch of human knowledge enjoys universal agreement? That economists disagree with each other does not mean there is no truth of the matter, nor that there is not a basic core doctrine that enjoys the support of all economists. Same with religions: all true religious experiences awaken us to a higher humanity and even deiformity. In Kreeft’s words, “many people understand their experience this way: they are ‘united with’ or ‘taken up into’ a boundless and overwhelming Knowledge and Love, a Love that fills them with itself but infinitely exceeds their capacity to receive.” (82) And Love by any other name… And, as can be proved independently, Christian religious experiences have more truth to them than experiences of the adherent of any other religion, because the Christian concept of ultimate reality is superior to any other. Further, that religious experiences are “culture-bound” is a pseudo-explanation: what is culture but mutual influence of individuals on each other? Perhaps the culture in which religious experiences are given respectful consideration has been formed by numerous people’s having genuine religious experiences in the past and describing what they had gone through to the public. The variety in experiences is due not only to different personalities of the folks but also to the fact that God is infinite, and religious experiences may perceive different aspects of Him. Instead of throwing our hands in air, helpless against this diversity, we should put all the experiences together, study them as any other phenomenon, and see what they tell us about God, life, the universe, and everything.

Finally, Eller owes us an account of what experience would convince him that God exists. Victor Reppert relates that atheist philosopher Keith Parsons told him that if the stars in the Virgo cluster were to spell out the words “Turn Or Burn This Means You Parsons,” then he would turn. Eller needs something analogous, lest his atheism be unfalsifiable.

To Mises the state is epitomized in its executive branch:

An anarchistic society would be exposed to the mercy of every individual. Society cannot exist if the majority is not ready to hinder, by the application or threat of violent action, minorities from destroying the social order. This power is vested in the state or government.

He even uses the same word I do: “crush”:

State or government is the social apparatus of compulsion and coercion. It has the monopoly of violent action. No individual is free to use violence or the threat of violence if the government has not accorded this right to him. The state is essentially an institution for the preservation of peaceful interhuman relations. However, for the preservation of peace it must be prepared to crush the onslaughts of peace-breakers. (Human Action, 149)

Again, “the old Romans were more realistic in symbolizing the state by a bundle of rods with an ax in the middle,” (719) clearly denoting the executive branch of the government. Neither in these passages nor, to my knowledge, anywhere else does Mises explicitly assign the tasks of law-making and arbitration of disputes to the government.