Overly Scrupulous

When you sign up with Apple because you’ve got an iPod or an iPhone, or an iPad, or a host of other reasons, you get an Apple ID. The Apple ID password is really important; you end up using it fairly often.

And Apple has a new thing, where if you mistype your password too many times they tell you, “So sorry, you’ve entered the wrong password too many times; you’ll have to reset it.” This is intended to protect me, of course, from some bozo you steals my phone and wants to buy tunes or apps on my nickel, and as such I approve of it.

But today, I mistyped my password twice. That’s two times. T-W-O. And the second time it informed me that I was going to have to reset my password.

This goes beyond protecting me; this is just annoying.

Gai-Jin

James Clavell’s Shogun concerns the rise of the Tokugawa (in the novel, “Toranaga”) Shogunate in Japan around 1600 AD. The Tokugawa dominated Japan for over two-hundred and fifty years until the Meiji Restoration of 1868, an event that set the stage for the modernization of Japan (and ultimately for the Pacific theater of WWII). Fittingly, Gai-Jin, the last of James Clavell’s novels, is a sequel to both Shogun and Tai-pan, taking place in the European enclave of Yokohama in the early 1860’s.

There are two major threads. The first concerns Toranaga Yoshi, a descendant of the first Toranaga and member of the Council of Five that governs the Shogunate. (The current Shogun is a petulant, not terribly bright boy of sixteen who was chosen for the convenience of the Council of Five.) His goal is to abolish the Council of Five and become Shogun himself.

He is opposed not only by other members of the Council and a variety of daimyos (feudal lords) but also by the shishi, ronin samurai who have dedicated themselves to restoring the power of the Japanese Emperor and to the expulsion of the gai-jin, that is, the Westerners.

In fact, the presence of the gai-jin is the dominant political issue of the day, and the various powers in Japanese life are divided primarily about how to expel them and the extent to which it will be necessary to adopt Western ways and technology in order to do so.

The second major thread involves Malcolm Struan, grandson of Dirk Struan, the first tai-pan of the Noble House, and son of Culum and Tess Struan. As the book begins, Malcom is riding near Yokohama when he is attacked by a shishi and is nearly killed; his father dies, and he becomes the ostensible tai-pan of the Noble House; and he falls in love with a beautiful French girl, Angelique Richaud. Tess Struan opposes the marriage vehemently, and Tess usually gets what she wants. Naturally, the Brock family also has a presence in Yokohama, leading to additional conflict.

The two threads are woven intricately together, as both Europeans and Japanese struggle to learn about each other for their own benefit. The result is an entertaining if slow-paced novel; I enjoyed it more than Noble House, if less than Clavell’s other novels.

Profession

So today I renewed my profession as a Lay Dominican. Last year, I promised to live as a Lay Dominican for one year; today I promised to live as a Lay Dominican for the next two years. If all goes as planned, then in two years, I’ll make my Life Profession, and that will be that.

So this is a milestone of sorts; but it’s kind of like turning 45. 40 is a significant milestone; 50 is a significant milestone; 45 is 45.

Still, it’s good. It’s very, very good.

The Game

So over the last week I read the kids The Game, by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s copyrighted 2007, so it’s one of Jones’ final books; it’s not too long; and it was OK. Which is disappointing, because Jones is usually outstanding. Oh, the kids enjoyed it, and Jane enjoyed, and I enjoyed reading it. But we’ve been reading a lot of Diana Wynne Jones over the last couple of years, and it was OK.

It concerns a young girl named Hayley whose parents are apparently deceased. She lives with her kind (if distracted) grandfather, and her strict, stern, and thoroughly unpleasant grandmother, and as the book begins she has so entirely alienated her grandmother that she’s been sent off to live with cousins.

And what did she do to alienate her grandmother? Well, it has to do with the young huntsman and his dogs that were just starting to run through her bedroom when her grandmother looked in. They evaporated immediately, of course, but the damage was done.

It’s an entertaining little book; there’s more to Haley and her grandparents and her cousins than meets the eye. But there are many other and better books by Jones to get started with, if you’re not familiar with her.

The Mystery of Consciousness

Human consciousness is a mysterious thing. As you read this blog post, you’re thinking about the words, which you’re seeing on the screen. You’re conscious of both the meaning of the words, and of the experience of seeing them. You can feel your chair against your body (if you’re sitting down) and possibly a mouse or keyboard under your hand. Maybe you can hear music and smell dinner cooking.

Consciousness is a problem for the materialist types, because it’s not at all clear how our subjective experience of consciousness arises from the functioning of our brains. As John R. Searle points out in his book The Mystery of Consciousness, it’s clear that consciousness does arise from the workings of our brains, because damage to the brain has just a drastic effect on it. (See, for example, Oliver Sacks’ The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat.) But it’s not clear how. Searle is certain that nothing more than brain function is involved; he’s equally certain that none of the currently popular accounts of how it might work actually hold water. In fact, he’s certain that they don’t.

Searle has written a number of books on more or less this topic, I gather; this one looks at both Searle’s views and the views of the proponents of each of the leading accounts of the subject, including where Searle thinks they fall short. The chapter on Daniel Dennett is especially interesting; Dennett thinks that the subjective experience we all have of being conscious is an illusion. We’re simply meat machines who do what we do for reasons that have nothing to do with our conscious thoughts and experiences, which don’t really exist anyway. Searle points out that you can’t experience an illusion without being conscious of the illusion; and regards Dennett’s views as pathological (which in my view they are). Other thinkers that Searle discusses include Francis Crick and Roger Penrose.

In my view, Searle (like so many others, in so many areas of endeavour) is good at seeing the problem, and perhaps not so good at seeing the solution. He’s right, I think, that none of the theories he discusses really get at the problem; the majority of them, in fact, work more or less by denying that consciousness is real. (To which I reply, you might be an unconscious meat-machine, brother, but I’m not.) Others attribute consciousness to anything that deals with information in any form, including thermostats and automobiles.

But I think Searle’s own views are too limited. He claims, many and many a time, that it is simply a biological fact that consciousness arises from brain processes; that it is purely biological in nature. And when discussing consciousness as we experience it, he mingles perception, memory, imagination, and conceptualization all into the same stew; which is to say, he denies the Aristotelian and Thomist distinction between the Sense and the Intellect.

Now, he’s clearly right that the Sense (perception, memory, and imagination) is in some way physically based; animals have Sense, in the Aristotelian meaning of the word. But the Intellect is an aspect of Man’s immortal soul, and dogs haven’t got one of those. But the Sense is a large portion of what he terms “consciousness”, and a good explanation of how the brain plays into it would be interesting, so more power to him. The trouble is, the methods of modern science might not avail to figure even that much of it out. Aristotle recognized four causes, of which I’ve spoken elsewhere; and the methods of science don’t cover all of them. If there are more things in Heaven and on Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, there are even more that are undreamt of by the scientific method.

The book itself is both interesting and entertaining (I found it so, at least); and given that most of the chapters started life as book reviews in the New York Times Review of Books, it’s fairly accessible. Recommended.

Walls and Hobbits and Spock

I walked into our kitchen today, and we had walls! With panelling on them! (Well, OK, about six to eight linear feet of wall, but still! Walls! Wow!

In the meantime, I ran into this truly amazing video of Leonard Nimoy singing “The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins”. I’ve been familiar with the song for over thirty years, thanks to the Dr. Demento Show, but I don’t believe I’d seen this video before.

It is horribly ’60’s: Leonard Nimoy, with Spock hair, surrounded by a bunch of (admittedly very nice looking) ’60’s chicks with Vulcan ears who make bunny-hop-like wiggly motions as Nimoy sings the song. Strange, very strange.

And if you go to Youtube to watch, you find other interesting things, like Leonard Nimoy singing “Proud Mary”. And “I Walk The Line.”

And William Shatner singing “Bohemian Rhapsody”.

Please, make it stop!

Levon Helm, RIP

I just heard that Levon Helm, drummer and lead singer with The Band, passed away this last week. He was 71.

Early in 1986, Jane and I went to see the reunited Crosby, Stills and Nash perform in Orange County. Originally there wasn’t going to be any warm-up act; but we’d heard on the radio that The Band was going to be playing with them, and so the show was going to be starting an hour earlier. Neither of us knew much about The Band; we’d heard “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down,” and probably a few others that we couldn’t have put names to. We had low expectations. Still, The Band was part of music history, so we made it a point to get there in time.

And after The Band was done, CS&N was a major anti-climax. We could have gone home after hearing The Band, and been happy. Never have I heard a rock band playing with so much delight. And a large amount of that delight emanated from Levon Helm, sitting at his drum kit in the back, his head turned to the mike, singing songs like “Up On Cripple Creek” with joyous abandon.

We were hooked.

We were also in one of the last audiences to hear The Band in all its glory; because a month or so later, Richard Manuel, the group’s other lead singer, committed suicide.

And now Levon Helm is dead, too; it’s the end of an era. Bill Vallicella, the Maverick Philosopher, has a list of links to songs by The Band, headed up with (you guessed it) “Up On Cripple Creek.” Go over and give ’em a listen.

Christian Philosophy?

 

I’ve just started reading Etienne Gilson’s The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy, a thick book based on a series of Gifford Lectures he gave around the 1930’s. I usually have trouble writing about this kind of book, because there are so many ideas in it; and by the time I get to the end I’m so tired and so unable to summarize the mass of them that I don’t usually say much more than, “Oh, I liked this one,” or “Oh, I was disappointed.” That is, if I say anything at all. But my previous posts of philosophy have been reasonably popular, and so I hate to say nothing.

Consequently, I’m going to say something about the two chapters I’ve read. That way, I’ve said something, even if I say nothing else. (And by the time I’m done, perhaps the coffee will have kicked in, and I can get on with working on the novel.)

One of Gilson’s big topics was the notion of “Christian Philosophy”; and at the time he gave the lectures he was swimming against the tide, for most people thought that there was no such thing. The argument against “Christian Philosophy” is fairly simple:

  • If you’re dealing with truths that can only be known by divine revelation, then you aren’t doing philosophy (even if you’re using the methods of philosophy); rather, you’re doing theology.
  • If you’re dealing with truths that can be known by pure reason, then these truths are accessible to anyone, and hence aren’t specifically Christian (except in the sense that, God being Truth, all truths are Christian).

This argument presumes that truths are divided into two distinct, non-overlapping categories: truths known by divine revelation, and truths known by pure reason. Theology deals with the first, philosophy with the second.

Gilson’s counter-argument is also simple: these categories overlap. There are truths that God has made known by divine revelation that can also be known by pure reason. St. Thomas Aquinas says that God has revealed many truths needed for salvation that can also be known by philosophical methods, because relatively few men have the time to do the philosophical work needed to discover them, and because men are inclined to make mistakes.

Because of this overlap, the Christian Philosopher is inspired to seek the rational foundation for revealed truths, and so comes to understand the purely philosophical in a deeper way. For example, says Gilson, Aristotle understood the Unmoved Mover as Truth but not as Being itself; that was a truth revealed by God, who told Moses “I Am”. But if the Unmoved Mover is Being itself, then all other being flows from it; we have a Creator. From this comes St. Anselm’s Ontological Argument, and St. Thomas’ Five Ways. These are truths accessible to reason, but which reason did not attain until Christianity pointed the way.

 

The Four Elements

Everyone these days knows about the Four Elements of Air, Earth, Fire, and Water; heck, you can’t play your average fantasy-themed video game without running into them, from Pokémon right on up. Those foolish medievals, thinking things were made up of only four elements.

It turns out that what we think of when we hear Air, Earth, Fire, and Water, is not at all what the medieval philosophers meant by those terms. They were technical terms, as were their primary qualities; Fire, for example, is Hot and Dry, and those terms don’t mean what you’d think, either.

If you’re at all curious what they really did mean by them, Brandon has got you covered.

Overheard

Just overheard a small altercation coming from the girls’ room:

All right, you keep her. She’s no longer friends with any of my toys.