Q&A 9, Second Answer

My question is: Are there any instances in which morality is subjective or relative?

 Only, I think, in the sense that in some cases there may be more than one moral or immoral option.  If there are multiple options which are equal in terms of morality, then the question of which is 'better' is up to the person making the choice - in other words, subjective.  I do not think that there are any instances in which one option can be genuinely better than another in some cases, but not in others wherein the circumstances are effectively identical.

Q&A 9, First Answer

My question is: Can thoughts or emotions be immoral?

I do not think they can.  Isolated from actions, which they may or may not lead to, thoughts and emotions harm no one but (in some cases) the person who is thinking or feeling them.  As such, they are not immoral, because they do not negatively affect others.  The actions resulting from those thoughts or emotions may be immoral, but that does not make the sources immoral.  Furthermore, to suggest that thoughts and emotions, even disconnected from actions, can be immoral renders a completely moral life basically impossible, because thoughts and emotions are sometimes impossible to control.  Even if one makes allowance for this, by invoking the 'ought-implies-can' concept, it still mandates that people attempt to repress natural thoughts and emotions in order to comply with morality - something which is almost universally severely damaging, and which can lead to people becoming unbalanced and therefore acting in immoral ways.  Lastly, in most cases, legal systems attempt to enforce morality by means of banning or regulation.  It is impossible to regulate the thoughts and emotions of others (and even if it were possible, I think it would be radically immoral).  This is yet another aspect which sets thoughts and emotions apart from actions in terms of moral value.

Guilt and Immorality

While guilt can in doubtless contribute to someone's deciding to act morally, in some cases I think that it can actually cause immoral acts.  In my opinion, guilt is not an innate guide to good and evil, but is primarily a product of the circumstances in which a person grows up and lives.  Therefore, it can be misguided, and not synchronised with actual morality.  In addition to the obvious cases of simply omission of moral principles (such as a person not feeling guilty for treating homosexual people badly), it can extend to causing people to feel guilty about things which are morally correct, and therefore decide not to do those things (for example, an individual seeing a homosexual person in need of assistance might consider helping that person but ultimately decide not to because they feel guilty about assisting an 'enemy').

Response: Religion as a Source of Ethics

In response to Kelsey Phifer's post "Religion and Moral Reasoning" (May 3, 2012):

I do think that religion, and particularly contemplation of a religious conception of guilt, can indeed lead people to adopt ethical ways of living.  However, I do not think that this is the only or even the best method of formulating a code of ethics.  The reliance of many religions on scripture can often lead to stagnation of the morals of religious followers - not a good thing, as I think that it is vital to continually question and re-evaluate moral codes in order to ensure that one has reached the correct moral conclusions.  If, however, some people find it nice, for some reason, to follow a religious code of morality, that is fine, provided that their code does not conflict in any major way with secular morality.

Q&A 8, Second Answer

The basic form of my question is: How should a teacher react if a student comes up with a theory more rational than the teacher's?

I think that, ideally, the teacher should accept the student's theory and perhaps incorporate it into their curriculum.  The only case wherein this could be a problem is if the student believes that, because one of their theories was more rational than their teacher's, all of their theories will be so.  In that case, the teacher may wish to incorporate the theory in after the student has left their class.

Q&A 8, First Answer

My question is: Does rational thinking ever lead to more than one equally valid, best conclusion?

I do not think so.  It may lead to a somewhat open conclusion, from which one can draw multiple possible conclusions.  For example, one may decide that rationality excludes the existence of a physical god, but leaves open the possibilities of a transcendent god or no god.  As such, some forms of theism, some forms of atheism, and agnosticism are all equally rational viewpoints.  However, if one does not add on the element of belief, then rationality alone leads only to one (possibly open) conclusion.

Response: Source of Conscience

In response to Andrew Bagley's post "Dostoevsky on Conscience" (April 28, 2012):

Relying on conscience to guide a society has more problems than simply the existence of psychopaths.  Conscience is, itself, largely a product of society; if one grows up in a society which condones cannibalism, for example, one is unlikely to find cannibalism ethically problematic unless one takes some time to think critically about the practice.  This may seem virtually irrelevant, as very few societies do support the idea of cannibalism (and therefore most people refrain from it due to their consciences), but subtler examples are far more widespread.  Many societies see no problem with homophobia, sexism, racism, torture, or child abuse.  As such, people who grow up in these cultures will not find these sorts of mindsets or practices unconscionable.  It may be true that humans are all born with the same innate rules of conscience; however, society bends and warps these rules far before humans mature enough to consciously decide to abide by these rules rather than those of their societies.

Response: Possible Pronouns

In response to Brandon Gaudet's post "He or She is Not Gender Neutral" (April 21, 2012):

In addition to the somewhat problematic singular 'they,' people have attempted to come up with various alternative pronouns which are gender neutral.  Perhaps the best known of these is the 'ze/zhe, zir/hir' system.  Unfortunately, in modern culture, people tend to use these pronouns only for those who do not fit into the gender binary, not to refer to a person of unknown gender (as in, 'the cloaked individual adjusted zir hood').  Furthermore, many find these pronouns rather awkward to use, as the letter 'z' is uncommon.  The pronouns are also rather annoyingly close to pre-existing gender-specific pronouns - 'ze' is basically 'he', 'hir' is almost indistinguishable from 'her.'  As such, I think it would be easier for people to adjust to singular, gender-neutral pronouns based off 'they' and 'their' - perhaps 'vey' and 'veir,' as the 'v' sound is not terribly dissimilar to the 'th' sound.  This way, one would be more likely to associate the new pronouns with the gender-neutral term 'they' than with the single-gender 'he' or 'she.'

Unemotional Reasoning

While, in an earlier post, I acknowledged the potential usefulness of felt reasons as a tool for appeal to the masses, I also think that felt reasons have some major flaws which non-felt reasons do not possess.  Most importantly, I think that basing one's actions on felt reasons can result in one neglecting certain morally obligatory actions because they fail to appeal to one's emotions.  As a personal example of this, I am a vegetarian for ethical reasons.  I made the decision to become a vegetarian due to non-felt reasons; if I had relied on felt reasons, I would likely only have eliminated some meats from my diet, because I dislike certain animals from which common meat products come, such as cows.  Thus, if I had relied on felt reasons, I would still eat beef.

It is true that one can apply general felt reasons to specific categories - so, one can decide that cruelty to animals is wrong based on felt reasons, and then apply that to all individual animals despite dislike for some animals.  However, the sizes of categories and their relationships to one another are variable, and so hard to determine.  It would be very easy to claim that a general felt reason did not apply to some specific category or another.

Rejecting Solipsism

In class, we touched on the subject of solipsism and how many people choose to reject it because it 'feels wrong.'  I will not argue about the latter point; it seems likely that most people do find that it feels wrong.  However, I am not certain that this is a valid basis for rejecting it.  Saying that something cannot be so because it feels wrong leads very quickly down a slippery slope to invalid and illogical arguments.  For example, the applied-ethics theorist Michael Levin claims that homosexuality must be unnatural or immoral because, to him, it 'feels wrong' - specifically, he finds the idea of homosexual acts repulsive.

Of course, we may accept the possibility of solipsism but still choose to act as if we know that other people, and the world around us, exists.  Thus, we can build up metaphysical and ethical theories, discuss existentialism and the nature of humanity, and otherwise philosophise with the base assumption that empirical evidence is relatively reliable.  This is a kind of contained fallibilism, whereby one can interact with the world as it seems to be (due to granting a higher likelihood to this view of reality), yet not deny or even really dispute the possibility that absolutely nothing may be as it appears.

Response: Inspirational Literature

In response to Jacob Wheeler's post "Dissemination" (April 15, 2012):

I agree that literature can help disseminate information unrelated to ethics.  One particular use of this ability is inspiration.  A text utilising emotionally charged language to describe the exploits of scientists might inspire readers to pursue the study of science themselves.  Of course, they may find that it is not as thrilling as depicted in the text, but hopefully some of them would continue their studies regardless.

Such use of literature requires caution, however.  Inaccurate portrayals of certain careers, activities, or other aspects of life may at first inspire readers to take action based off the text, and then result in their eventual disillusionment because of the text's lack of accuracy.  This would actually cause more harm than good in terms of whatever the text's writer hoped to accomplish.

Response: Mass Appeal

In response to Kelsey Phifer's post "Felt Reasons and Caring" (April 20, 2012):

While I think that, ideally, people should take action based off reason alone, I do agree that in many (possibly most) cases, they require some sort of emotional impetus.  As such, while felt reasons may hold relatively little value for people who regularly engage in critical thinking, they may hold a great deal of value for the majority of humanity.  No matter how logical one's argument, one is unlikely to sway many others to one's cause without a dose of emotionally charged rhetoric.  As an example, comparatively few people choose to become vegetarian or vegan based solely off rational argumentation about the ethics of animal (and animal product) consumption.  A significantly higher portion of people become vegetarian or vegan after seeing graphic documentaries depicting animal abuse in the meat and dairy industries.  I think that this reliance on emotion to make ethical choices is both problematic and regrettable, but it may be part of human nature, or at least part of human society now and for some time in the future.  As such, I think that felt reasons do have merit.

Objective Emotion (or Lack Thereof)

According to Nussbaum, ethics are objective, but they stem from such things as emotion and personal world-view.  I think that this is not in fact possible.  Emotions, by their very nature, are subjective.  They may, in some situations, be objectively appropriate, or objectively understandable, or objectively justified, but they themselves are still subjective, because they differ from person to person.  In many (if not all) situations, there is not one single appropriate emotion - many different emotional responses are equally appropriate (and sometimes equally rational).  Even though certain emotions may be inappropriate, there is still an array of appropriate emotions.

As such, emotions are both subjective, variable, and frequently irrational.  While they may have a place in moral philosophy, using them as a basis for an ethical system is, I think, very ill-advised.  For example, basing one's justification for the moral necessity of vegetarianism or veganism on the idea that non-human animals are adorable (and as such, eating them is undesirable) will not help to convince many people of this moral necessity, because many people may think that certain animals are not adorable.  They can justify their continued meat consumption easily - "I think cows are ugly and smelly, so I shall continue to eat them."  An ethical system based on rationality is far less easy to dispute successfully.

Response: Morally Obligatory Information?

In response to Corey Sloane's post "The Moral Vehicle of Literature" (April 11, 2012):

I agree that literature is a useful medium through which minority groups can communicate their viewpoints.  However, due to the optional anonymity of authors, literature (about characters belonging to minority groups) can also be a way for members of majorities to inaccurately portray minority groups and thus actually contribute to their oppressive or marginalised situations.  As such, I wonder if one say that an author of books regarding a minority group, who actually belongs to that group, has a moral obligation to inform readers of their affiliation with the group, in order to help legitimatise their work and perhaps discredit the work of authors who portray the group badly.

On reflection, however, I do not think that such information is necessary.  Because of the flexibility of authorial personas, authors who wish to portray members of minority groups badly can simply pretend to belong to those groups, rendering the information useless.  Also, members of majority groups may sometimes be quite able to portray minority group members accurately, due to acquaintance or research, and invalidating their writings simply because they do not belong to a particular group is, I think, wrong.

Q&A 7, Second Answer

The basic form of my question is: Has literature ever contributed to other forms of human understanding?

I think so, yes.  Some of the greatest works of literature have also been brilliant studies in human nature, which may help sociologists and psychologists develop theories of behaviour at later dates.  Science fiction works have on more than one occasion provided inspiration for technological innovations.  Some books, such as religious texts, have certainly influenced human development to a huge degree, but I am less certain about whether or not they have contributed to human understanding - if the religions found in the texts are true, then I suppose they would have.

Q&A 7, First Answer

My question is: Should we consider religious texts literature?

It depends upon the specific texts in question.  Some religious texts are essentially lists of what one should or should not do, and I would not consider these literature.  Others, like the Dhammapada or the Quran, are undeniably poetic in style, and in fact often acknowledged by their own followers to be forms of art - many Muslims consider the Quran to showcase the most beautiful use of the Arabic language at any time, and in fact strive to emulate its style in other literary works.  Cases like the Bible are trickier; while some parts of the Bible are somewhat poetic, and (debatably) many of the stories therein are metaphorical, Christians often find the idea of referring to the Bible as literature insulting.  This may be because many people in contemporary times have come to think of the term 'literature' as referring only to fictional works.

Q&A 6, Second Answer

The basic form of my question is: Can certain (plausible) interpretations of texts be wrong for moral reasons, because they are in obvious opposition to the interpretation the author intended?  An example of this might be someone interpreting a clearly conservative piece of literature as highly liberal.

I do not think that such an interpretation would be actually immoral, so long as the interpreter recognised (and freely admitted) that the original author would disagree with the interpretation.  This way, the interpreter is making no false assertions about the true meaning of the text; they are merely suggesting alternate meanings, which are untrue but not ridiculous or contradictory.

Despite the above paragraph, I am not at all sure of my conclusion.  I can imagine many highly controversial examples of someone interpreting a text in such a manner - saying that the Bible could actually, in theory, support atheism would doubtless cause a huge outcry over much of the world.  While mass disagreement is not always enough to condemn a theory, it does hint that the theory may not be right; as such, I would welcome any comments on the above issue.

Response: Interpreting Out of Context

In response to Jacob Wheeler's post "Q&A 10 - Question 1: Interpretation" (April 8, 2012):

I agree that most interpretations of literary works only address parts or aspects of the works.  In addition to this, I was wondering about the possibility of, rather than simply focusing on one part or aspect of a work, intentionally isolating a particular section or chapter and interpreting it independently of the rest of the text.  If the chapter interpretation contradicted something found in the rest of the text, it would still be valid, because it was an interpretation of only that one chapter, set apart from the rest of the work.

This idea would certainly create a much wider range of possible interpretations, but I wonder if it actually has value; simply creating more interpretations has no worth if the interpretations are worthless.  Would interpreting individual chapters differently from in the context of a work taken as a whole actually be a  good thing?

I think that it could be.  Sometimes, a work contains chapters which seem at odds with the rest of the work, whether this is a result of the author making a stylistic choice or of mere bad writing.  These chapters, if taken alone as something like short stories in their own rights, may yield unique and valuable interpretations which could not exist in the context of the greater work.  While I do not think that interpreting separated pieces of a text is more valuable than interpreting the text as a whole, I do think that it can be useful in some situations.

Q&A 6, First Answer

The basic form of my question is: In the case of a work written by multiple authors, is one author's view ever more correct than another's?

As long as all the authors mutually agreed that they had equal rein over the fictional world within which their work takes place, I do not think so.  If the authors divided up a work, so that one had jurisdiction over character development, another over geographical descriptions, etc., then perhaps.  This would introduce a previously un-addressed idea into the discussion, however; the idea of permission to interpret.  While, by the view I support, all non-contradictory interpretations are valid, I still think that the interpretation of the original author overrides these; that is to say, if the author writes a sequel which contradicts someone else's interpretation, the sequel is more 'true' than the interpretation.  However, when one introduces the idea of multiple authors, the whole matter becomes much more complicated.  What if the authors have a disagreement, and two of them write (incompatible) sequels to the original work?  Possibly both sequels would be equally true interpretations, which overrode the interpretations of non-authors.  I am not certain about this, however, and as such I would welcome any input.

Answering All the Questions

According to Nehamas, the ideal interpretation of a text is one which can answer all questions related to the text.  He further states that no interpretation can in fact do this.  I am not certain that I agree.  While an interpreter may not initially formulate such answers, it seems quite possible that upon questioning they could come up with answers which did not contradict the earlier parts of their interpretation.  Certainly the writer of a text could probably do so, unless their text is flawed so that it inherently contradicts itself.

If, however, Nehamas means that an ideal interpretation would state answers to all possible questions related to the text in one draft, then I agree that such an interpretation cannot exist.  This is because one can raise a great deal, if not an infinite number, of questions about any given text; as such, any one interpreter would die before being able to answer all of them.  Even if a single interpreter could be immortal, if the number of questions is infinite, they would still never be able to answer all of them.

Style and Great Literature

Often, when listening to someone listing works of great literature, one may notice that almost all the works on the list are somewhat old; almost never is a work written in the last ten years, or even in contemporary, relatively informal English, included.  Why is this?  Did people simply stop writing works of great literature in the early 1990's?  I do not think so.  However, I think that the number of people writing in less formal English increased dramatically, and that society does not at the moment tend to consider works written this way as candidates for great literature.

Even the more recent works of great literature are not written in informal and straightforward styles.  They tend either to be in high style (formal English, typical of the early 1900's) or in a novel style, such as stream-of-consciousness or abstract metaphor.  I think that this discrimination against works written in less formal English is not at all justified; such works can still have great aesthetic merit (in imagery, or even in choice of words) and incredible depth in terms of character development, plot, world-building, insight into psychological states, and in fact all the areas which make great works of older literature great.

Response: Lost Literature

In response to Brandon Gaudet's post "Catechism and Documentation" (March 30, 2012):

As well as documenting religious beliefs, writing can document culture.  Codes of law, constitutions, instruction manuals, and other documents often describe many of the most important aspects of a culture.  This is one reason why the destruction of documents is such a tragedy in many cases - even if a culture is destroyed, it can be recreated from its documentation, but that is gone then the culture also is all too often gone forever.

Perhaps the best-known example of this is the Spanish destruction of a vast portion of the Aztec culture's written works.  While, after much effort, archaeologists have discovered a few remaining documents, as well as stone carvings which record part of Aztec culture, there are still many aspects of the culture which remain unknown to modern researchers, and will probably always remain so.

In contrast, cultures which conquered other cultures but retained the conquered cultures' written documentation are often responsible for greatly improving modern society's knowledge of the past.  Cultures are intertwined, so preserving the documents of one culture frequently affects later knowledge of others.

Response: Correctness

In response to Jacob Wheeler's post "The Correct Interpretation" (March 31, 2012):

What, exactly, does the term 'correct interpretation' mean?  Surely it does not mean the only interpretation with merit; if interpreting a work correctly means interpreting it according to the author's intentions, that would imply that other interpretations are worthless.  This is clearly not the case, as stated in the post above.  Alternate interpretations, particularly if they follow easily from the work and as such become popular amongst readers and society in general, can have great value.

Perhaps 'correct' means 'best.'  In this case, one must wonder why precisely the author's interpretation is the best.  Possibly it is the most valid or truthful, but I am not certain why this would be the case either.

Personas

On Monday this week, we considered the possibility of improving accuracy of interpretations of a work of literature by learning about the work's author.  By knowing the context in which the author lived, one might be able to discover additional or alternate meanings in a work besides those immediately apparent.  However, I think that this might not hold true for all works of literature and all authors.

In fact, in certain circumstances it might lead to a severe misinterpretation of a work.  This is because not all authors write books which actually reflect their viewpoints.  I am not referring to satire, in which the author may parody a viewpoint they dislike by pretending to support it with faulty reasoning.  For satire, knowing the author's context might help a reader identify the satirical nature of the work.  The works I am referring to, however, are those written by authors who simply find it amusing or helpful to write from points of view quite different from their own, but not necessarily in direct opposition.  The divergence in views might not be immediately apparent to readers, and so they might interpret the work wrongly, acting on the assumption that the author was seriously advocating the point of view showcased in the work.

This does not invalidate the initial theory, as such authors are quite rare, and often upon further investigation a reader may realise their error.  However, it is an interesting possibility to keep in mind if attempting to incorporate authorial context into one's interpretation of a work of literature.

Response: Inverted Viewpoints

In response to Corey Sloane's post "Where Are You From?" (March 22, 2012):

The idea that people in situations of poverty or other unpleasantness sometimes have more optimistic views on humanity is, I think, quite accurate.  Furthermore, I think that the opposite can often be true of rich or otherwise prosperous people.  Perhaps this is because people in bad situations tend to either maintain an optimistic attitude, or give in to their circumstances and either numb their emotions with alcohol, drugs, or other addictions, or kill themselves.  The number of people in bad situations who have a pessimistic outlook, yet persevere in spite of it, seems likely to be relatively small.  In contrast, people who are well-off do not need such faith in their fellow humans.  Of course, prosperous people can still take pessimism to the point where they give up, and perhaps that is why a surprising number of rich people are alcoholic or addicted to drugs.

Schopenhauer and Melville, as literary and philosophical men from relatively prosperous families, fell closer to the latter type of person.  While of course being rich or prosperous is hardly a foolproof indicator of pessimism, it seems possible that Schopenhauer's and Melville's backgrounds could have contributed to their rather negative views of humanity.

Only the Negative

That a great deal of human (and non-human; but for the purposes of this post I will focus on humanity alone) suffering exists is, I think, undeniable.  However, this does not by any means lead to the conclusion that suffering is the default state of humanity.  While it is true that if one looks, one will detect many negative aspects of the human condition, one can also find many positive aspects - but only if one looks for these as well.

Even the claim that the sun will eventually explode and kill all humans does not invalidate this.  Firstly, if people do not automatically accept this statement, there is a possibility that we will be able to develop technology enabling us to move to other solar systems when this even finally occurs, or to create other solutions which mean that the sun's destruction does not necessarily result in the destruction of humanity.  Secondly, even if the sun does eventually explode and kill everyone, that does not mean that everyone is ultimately suffering; according to virtually all belief systems, death does not necessarily (or even probably) equate to suffering.  If one believes in an afterlife, death may even lead to eternal reward; if one does not believe in an afterlife, then death is a neutral state in which no one either suffers or is happy.  Thirdly, even in the exceedingly rare circumstance that one believes death leads to an afterlife of eternal suffering, this does not invalidate the happiness one (hopefully) experienced prior to dying.  Ends are not inherently more significant than beginnings or middles.

Lack vs. Absence - Unmet Expectations

During Monday's class, we touched briefly on the subject of expectations and their effects on world-views.  Primarily, we referred to positive expectations and the reaction of disappointment when those expectations remained unmet.  For example, if someone grew up believing that they were going to learn to fly when they turned eighteen, they would be gravely disappointed when they reached the aforementioned age and yet remained firmly earthbound.  However, if that person grew up in the knowledge that turning eighteen does not automatically enable one to fly, they would not be disappointed when they did not gain the ability of flight at that age.

This, I think, may have had a large effect on both Melville's and Schopenhauer's world-views.  They lived in a society which seems to have encouraged optimistic views of nature, humanity, and religion.  Upon reflection, they likely discovered that these views were largely unfounded, and were as a result highly disappointed, and able to focus only on the unexpected, negative aspects of these various areas.  If they had not held such high expectations in the first place, they might never have felt this way at all.

Lastly, this idea of reality failing to meet expectations continues to affect many people today.  Disillusionment regarding one's religion, a friend, a role model, or even oneself can cause people to become bitter or to feel badly about whatever it is which appears to have let them down.  The key to avoiding this, I think, is to ensure that one's expectations are at least relatively well-founded to begin with.  It is unreasonable to expect oneself to, for example, become a master in a martial arts style in a few weeks; thus, one should not hold this expectation, or else one will, almost without exception, be disappointed.

Response: Intelligence and Isolation

In response to Stacy Fisher's post "Sociability and Intelligence" (March 18, 2012):

I agree that the degree of sociability one exhibits is not by any means an accurate indication of one's intelligence.  However, the stereotype of the antisocial genius does have some basis in reality.  If this is not (as I believe it is not) due to the connection of sociability and intellect or lack thereof, then what does cause it?

I think that the most likely cause is the relative rarity of genius, at least genius on the scale of Melville's and Schopenhauer's.  On a whole, intelligence distribution seems to follow a bell-curve shape; as such, those at the far right end of the curve are few and far between.  It is the far-between-ness, I think, that is most relevant here; people with the intellectual abilities of Melville or Schopenhauer might go their entire lives without meeting anyone else of comparable intelligence or educational level.  Such people might feel surrounded by individuals who are simply incapable of or unwilling to comprehend the thoughts that they themselves entertain on a daily basis.  As a result, they might feel isolated even when in company, and so choose to avoid socialisation as a rule, because it fails to bring them any sort of happiness and only annoys them.  This might also help explain why so many people of high intellect tend to suffer from depression; out of all the people acknowledged today as geniuses, a fairly large percentage were very unhappy throughout much of their lives.  This could be because humans are naturally social beings, and so in general when a human is (through their own actions or through circumstances beyond their control) deprived of socialisation, they tend to become unhappy.

Response: Viewpoints

In response to Stacy Fisher's post "Moby-Dick: Madness" (March 11, 2012):

It is certainly true that in modern-day America, any sort of mental abnormality is generally viewed in a negative light.  Moby-Dick does offer a different perspective on what most people would indeed consider genuine madness; it also raises questions about the possibility that mental abnormality is not necessarily a bad thing.  If such extremely different viewpoints on life as Ahab's and Pip's have some validity, then what of viewpoints which are closer to, although not entirely in sync with, what is 'normal?'

Certain types of mindset which are currently classified as disorders are indisputably useful in some settings - examples of this can be found in many autism-spectrum disorders, particularly those which cause people to develop extremely impressive capacities in other areas - in other words, those which result in savants.  Perhaps, rather than classifying these conditions as disorders, it would be better to simply consider them different, but equally valid, ways of viewing the world.

Response: Visual Cues

In response to Andrew Bagley's post "What if Moby Dick was Not White?" (March 14, 2012):

I agree with the idea that white has certain connotations (death, purity, and so on), but I also think that Moby-Dick's whiteness is the result of a broader issue - that of visual uniqueness indicating other sorts of uniqueness in literature.  Particularly in older literature,, but also continuing in modern literary works, major characters often possess distinctive physical features to act as cues, so to speak, for the importance of the character.  For example, if one compares the ratio of green-eyed protagonists to brown-eyed people in literature (as protagonists or other major characters) versus in reality, one will find that in literature there is a far larger portion of green-eyed people.  Moby-Dick's whiteness is a unique physical feature which sets him apart from all of the other sperm whales, making him 'special' in an obvious, observable way which can then serve to emphasise his other unique qualities.

Heroes and Antiheroes

In contemporary literature, the figure of the antihero has become increasingly common, and in fact has begun to completely replace that of the flawless hero typical of past literary traditions.  Some critics have claimed that this trend is bad, in that if people view flawed characters as heroes they will be more likely to emulate flawed or immoral behaviour.  I do not agree with this, because I do not think that fascination with a certain kind of character necessarily extends to admiration/emulation of such characters' behaviour.  I think that the current popularity of antiheroes illustrates an increased fascination, perhaps, with the negative side of human nature, but fascination alone is not a bad thing.

What is a bad thing, I think, is the literary community's recent tendency to condemn 'classical' flawless (or only slightly flawed) heroes as flat, two-dimensional, or unrealistic.  This is not necessarily the case; some real people exist who actually possess very few negative features and who act in almost invariably admirable ways.  Furthermore, even unrealistic characters can be interesting, complex, and (to go along with the first type of critic) inspirational.

There does not have to be only one ideal type of character or protagonist in literature.  Different characters have different types of value.

Response: Types of Guilt

In response to Andrew Bagley's post "Tension in Life" (March 8, 2012):

The examples of tension in this post were interesting to me, because they were all subjective in nature.  Knowing that exercise is 'good' and playing video games is 'bad' is not in fact knowledge, but opinion.  There are people in existence who believe that the only point of life is to have fun, and as such would say that playing video games is in fact the 'better' option.  In short, if one fails to exercise or do some other 'good' thing, then they have not really failed in an objective sense.

There are, however, examples of tension between objectively good and objectively bad things as well.  For example, the tension between choosing to punch someone with whom one is angry and choosing not to punch them is composed of choices with objective moral value.  A more severe one, which is the cause of a great deal of debate, is the choice between vegetarianism and meat consumption.  While few if any people can formulate a watertight argument for meat consumption, many people place their personal preferences above their moral obligations.

Such morally loaded tension is often found in literature, often in the choice between resisting an evil, oppressive force and taking the risk to stand up against it.  While tension without moral value can of course still add interest to a narrative, tension with moral value tends to create more intense conflict.

Dramatic Paradox

One reason for which an author might choose to use seemingly paradoxical language in their works is that paradoxes often have a dramatic air.  Because they seem to be impossible by definition, invoking them focuses a reader's interest.  It also can heighten dramatic effect by creating a conflict - something that is impossible is apparently the case.

While writers of fiction can of course describe paradoxes and say that they exist, they can also create paradoxical effects without creating actual paradoxes.  Saying that someone is both ungodly and god-like creates a seeming paradox, but it is actually not paradoxical at all.  In addition, saying someone is a 'god-like man' is not paradoxical, because it makes no claim that the man in question is literally a god - he simply resembles a god.  Even if it did claim that he was a god, it might not be using the literal meaning of is, but rather the 'is' of metaphor: 'Richard is a lion.'

Response: Only Option?

In response to Kyle DeCarolis' post "Q&A #5: Question 2" (February 27, 2012):

In general, I agree with the conclusion that extended metaphors, while they may have aesthetic value, are not typically the best choice for explanatory purposes.  However, in some cases, a concept may be so complex or obscure that the only way for most people to understand it is by metaphor.  Similarly, a concept may be difficult to analyse without dragging in other related, though irrelevant, factors, and in such cases metaphor may again be the best option, as it can isolate the single factor or limited set of factors which one must analyse.

Response: Neutral Rationality

In response to Stacy Fisher's post "Half-Beliefs" (February 19, 2012):

It seems possible that someone could hold a half-belief which is rational if their conscious choice of belief is not rational.  For example, if someone believed that evolution was a myth, they might still hold a half-belief that it was not, due to the arguments of others who accepted the reality of evolution.

Regarding rational half-beliefs which do not depend on irrationality of other beliefs to exist, I cannot think of any.  However, I can think of some which are not totally irrational.  Belief in a deity, for example, is often neither rational nor irrational.  Many deities have undisprovability built into their very definitions, in the sense that they are said to be unknowable.  As such, their existence is purely a matter of conjecture.  If a person was not certain whether or not they believed in such a deity, the might be considered to hold a non-irrational half-belief.

Q&A 5, Second Answer

The basic form of my question is: Do metaphors which make obscure references have value?

In certain specific settings, I think so.  Settings wherein one can assume that any readers of the metaphors will be familiar with all or at least most of the references might work here.  Also, setting where readers will likely know some of the references and would be interested in the ones they do not know (such as making references to many science fiction books at a science fiction conference) might provide options as well.

Q&A 5, First Answer

My question is: Is there such a thing as a visual metaphor?

This would depend heavily on one's exact definition of metaphor.  However, if one defines a metaphor as "one thing used or considered to represent another" (which is one of the dictionary definitions of metaphor) then I think there is.  A painting, for example, which shows an eagle holding on to a red arrow might be a metaphor for the possibility of the United States adopting communist policies.

Simile might also be usable in visual form, although all the definitions of simile that I have seen do say that it must be a figure of speech.  A modified form of simile might be possible however - showing a man (perhaps named Richard) alongside a lion, with the two figures in similar poses with similar expressions, could possibly be a visual representation of the simile "Richard is like a lion."

Metaphor in Philosophical Works

In Wednesday's class, we discussed the pros and cons of using metaphors in philosophical works.  The most significant negative aspect of the idea was the vagueness inherent in metaphorical language; the most significant positive aspects were the brevity, potency or vividness, and attention-drawing aesthetic value of such language.  One aspect we did not address, however, is the emotionally evocative nature of metaphors.

The way in which metaphors tend to create emotional reactions in those to whom they are addressed makes them very useful in persuasive contexts, such as political speeches, persuasive articles, and religious scripture.  All of these contexts freely make use of emotion to convince their addressees to change or strengthen their views to match those of the person or people using the metaphor.  Philosophical essays, on the other hand, are typically supposed to convince their readers of the validity of their point through rational argument, not appeal to emotions or intuitions.  Using metaphors to persuade others in a philosophical context is, I think, a misuse of metaphor.  Using metaphors for other purposes (clarification, example, aesthetic value) in such a context, however, is not inadvisable.

Q&A 4, Second Answer

The basic form of my question is: Can the intensity of one's emotional response to a fictional situation exceed the intensity of one's emotional response to a similar real situation?

I think so, yes.  It is probably more common to react in a stronger manner to a real life situation, as one knows that real people are affected therein, but there are also many exceptions.  For example, one might react with stronger emotion to the fictional death of a beloved character than to the death of a relative one only met once.

Q&A 4, First Answer

The basic form of my question is: Is an emotional reaction to an incorrect perception of a real person essentially the same as an emotional reaction to a fictional character?

I do not think so.  When one reacts emotionally to events involving a fictional character, one is always aware that the character does not exist in reality; thus, even if the events are (purportedly) taking place in the present, one will not attempt to affect them.  When the events one reacts to involve a real person, even if one's perception of the person is flawed, one may still act to affect the events.  This may lead to unanticipated consequences, due to one's lack of accurate knowledge about the person, but it will still have an effect.  If a person attempts to affect fictional events or characters, no matter how hard they try, they will be unsuccessful.

Response: Confused Emotions

In response to Kelsey Phifer's post "Genuine Emotion and Fiction as a Game" (February 14, 2012):
In this post, the statement that people can become upset if an author is inconsistent in portraying a character caused me to think about why that might be.  I think that a lot of it may be due to the fact that inconsistency in a character can confuse readers, because they no longer know how to react to that character's behaviour; if a character had at one point been portrayed as having a problematic aversion to water due to their almost drowning as a child, and then later that incident disappears from canon but the aversion remains, reader might not know whether to feel annoyed at the character for their now apparently irrational phobia, or understanding towards the character because of their (now nonexistent) past.

This is actually a bit similar to how people sometimes react to confusion in real life.  If something happens and people are not certain why, or what the event's consequences are exactly, or even if those consequences are merely unfamiliar, they may feel confused and fluctuate between different emotional states.

As such, I don't think that people's abiding by certain conventions set by an author, or feeling upset when the author violates those conventions, invalidates the reality of the emotional reactions they have to fiction.

Imaginary Emotion

Imagination, I think, can lead to people's experiencing real emotions just as reality can.  This is because when people react emotionally to something, they are not really reacting to that thing - they are reacting to their perception of the thing.  If my roommate breaks his arm and informs me of it, I will feel bad not for him directly, but for my perception of him as having broken his arm and being in pain.  If I misinterpret his reaction as being a practical joke, I will not feel bad for him, because although he has still broken his arm I have not perceived it.

People can perceive imaginary objects, worlds and characters in a way similar to how they perceive the real world.  It is true that there is a difference in the manner of perception, but I do not think it is significant enough to warrant creation of a separate, lesser class of emotions for imaginary perceptions.  As an example, let me present four similar scenarios: 1. A child is beating up their younger sibling in your presence.  This causes a strong emotional reaction on your part, and you step in to interfere.  2. You read an autobiography, and at one point the author recounts how their older sibling used to beat them up as a child.  You still have an emotional reaction, but you do not attempt to interfere because you cannot affect the past.  3. You are watching the news on television, and see some live footage of a child beating up their younger sibling.  You have an emotional reaction, but do not attempt to interfere because you cannot reach the children in time to do anything.  4. You read a story about a fictional child beating up their fictional younger sibling.  You have an emotional reaction, but do not attempt to interfere because you cannot affect fictional realities.

The emotional reaction is not identical, but it is similar.  I think that people, while recognizing that fiction is in fact fictional, can still perceive it as real in a way - real emotionally, but not literally.

Q&A 3, Second Answer

The basic form of my question is: Is writing which is untrue, but which the writer believed to be true, fiction or nonfiction?

I am not sure, but I think I would call such writing nonfictional.  I think that writing which is untrue and intended to be believed is deception or lying, writing which is untrue and intended to be disbelieved is fiction, and writing which is untrue, but intended to be true, is nonfictional (and the product of a mistaken author).  Unless the intent for a work to be fictional is there, I do not think the work can be fiction.

Q&A 3, First Answer

The basic form of my question is: Are descriptions of fictional characters or worlds forms of reference?

Yes, I would say so.  No matter how indirect the syntax, one cannot describe something unless that thing exists in some sense or another.  Even if whatever work of fiction one is drawing the thing from has never mentioned the thing before the description, by describing it the work is actually creating it.  For example: "The goat's hooves clattered on the cobblestone street as he ran after the cart."  By writing this scene, I've created three fictional things: the goat, the street, and the cart - despite the fact that nowhere in the sentence did I actually assert that any of those things existed.

Response: Semi-fiction and the Impressionistic

In response to Kelsey Phifer's post "Truth and Fiction" (February 6, 2012):
I do think that truth plays a vital role; in fact, I think it is the primary feature distinguishing fiction from non-fiction.  Non-fiction corresponds basically completely to the way the world is; fiction does not.  Works such as Frey's memoir are, I believe, typically classed under the term 'semi-fiction' - that is, fiction with a high amount of non-fiction included.  The matter becomes somewhat more difficult with abstract, impressionistic works, which some might say correspond more closely to reality than strictly non-fictional works due to their describing the essence of things rather than merely the material reality, and others might say correspond less closely.  Personally I think I would still classify such works as fiction, if only because it is possible to interpret them in many different ways, most of which do not closely correspond to reality.

Changing Quality of Literature

Several times in the past weeks' classes, someone or other has brought up Beowulf as an example of something which was literature by the standards of the past, and continues to be literature only because of Steker's third point (that something which was considered literature by the standards of its day will continue to be literature despite the existence of different standards).  I would not agree with this view, as I think that Beowulf still meets the qualifications to be literature, even if those qualifications are different in modern times as opposed to when the tale was written.  In fact, I cannot think of even one instance wherein a work which was considered literature would not be considered as such if it were written now.  Beowulf, and many other ancient works of literature, would likely be considered bad literature if they were written now, certainly; but they would still be literature.

Q&A 2, Second Answer

The basic form of my question is: If a piece of writing produces unpleasant impressions, but nonetheless stimulates the imagination and sense of the aesthetic, would Steker still consider it literature?

I think that (after a little consideration at least) he would.  He might refine his view to remove the parts which seem to state that reading literature must produce pleasant stimulation of the imagination, and replace them with something more neutral - he might say that works of literature should simply be able to stimulate the imagination to some extent in some way.  Thus, works with vivid but highly unpleasant imagery would still fall under the banner of literature.

Q&A 2, First Answer

The basic form of my question is: Could including aesthetic value as a requirement for something to be literature lead to a subjective uncertainty about whether given works are non-literature or bad literature?

I do not think so.  The idea of aesthetic value is not qualitative; saying that a work has aesthetic value is, I think, like saying that a work costs money.  Saying how much aesthetic value a work has (how much money it costs) is qualitative, but that is a secondary judgement, and leads only to a work being considered good or bad literature - not literature or non-literature.

Response: Bad Literature

In response to Andrew Bagley's post "Perks of Being Literature" (February 2, 2012):
I would agree that the designation of something as literature should not automatically bestow upon it some sort of 'specialness' which sets it above other forms of writing.  Literature is not, in my view, a qualitative term; it is simply a word referring to a certain type of writing, just as the words 'short story' and 'autobiography' refer to certain types of writing.  If we include only works of good quality under the general banner of literature, the whole idea of literature becomes very shaky at best; whether or not a work is good enough to be called literature would be a matter of subjective opinion, which I do not think is the best way of judging in this situation.

That bad literature can and does exist is something which I consider entirely true.  For example, novels such as Stephanie Meyer's 'Twilight', while containing all the features which I consider to be necessary and sufficient for a work to be literature, are definitively not of good quality.  However, I would not attempt to deny that they are nevertheless literature.  They are merely bad literature.

There is certainly room for qualitative judgements within the category of literature itself, but I do not think they should use the standards of 'less literary' and 'more literary'; they could use common terms like 'good' and 'bad' instead.

Categories: How Far Back Should One Go?

During Wednesday's class, we discussed the existence of mimesis in literature.  While all the participants in the discussion appeared to agree that at least some mimesis is present in every literary work, the question of degree caused some disagreement.  Some of the participants argued that literature is entirely mimesis, because every concept expressed in it has been expressed before, or stems from real life, with very little variation.  However, if this is true of literature, why should it not be true of everything else as well?  If variation and combination of concepts has no impact on originality, then how can one distinguish between, well, anything?  Let me attempt to illustrate the problems with this theory:

There are two mugs, one blue and one indigo.  Apart from that they are identical.  Does the color distinction count?  Not according to the theory above.  We can group both the mugs into the category "mugs with colors in the cool side of the spectrum."  But now let us remove the indigo mug and introduce a new, red mug.  This category is no longer valid!  Does that mean that one of the mugs is categorically different from the other?  No it does not - the problem is easily remedied.  We shall simply expand the category to "mugs".

Now let us take away the red mug and bring in a wine bottle.  The "mug" category no longer applies, but that is no problem, we can just expand the category to "liquid-holding vessels."  Next, we will change the wine bottle to a chair.  Now the category is "inanimate objects made by and used by humans."  The chair is gone and we bring in a rock - it and the blue mug are both "inanimate objects."  We can get rid of the rock and replace it with a porcupine - an "material object."  The porcupine is replaced by a thought.  "Thing" is the category.

There is no limit to how far we can expand categories.  We can even create nonsensical compound categories like "broose" if we so choose.  Where do we draw the line?  Unless we wish to call absolutely everything in or out of existence a "thing", we will always be making some kind of possible arbitrary distinction.  Why should literary concepts be exempt from this?

Q&A 1, Second Answer

The basic form of my question is: As people feel emotions differently, how can the use of literary style communicate emotion consistently to all readers?

The answer to this appears fairly straightforward - it cannot do so.  While literary style can indeed communicate emotion, no matter what form of literary style is chosen there will always be at least some people who are not able to identify with the emotional content.  This is especially true, I think, in regards to contemporary novels with radical, controversial styles; even critically acclaimed works of this types, such as Khaled Hosseini's Kite Runner, William Faulkner's The Sound and the Fury, or Tony Morrison's Sula, can still present emotions in ways which do not speak equally to every reader.

However, this is not to imply that literary style is useless in communicating emotion.  If one takes one's audience into mind when writing, one can at least increase the percentage of readers who are able to identify with the emotions contained in one's works.  Of course, some works are undoubtedly intended for a general audience, and it is in cases such as these that one is probably best off using a less literary style.

Q&A 1, First Answer

The basic form of my question is: What sort of love does Nussbaum refer to in her text?

Nussbaum does make some effort to distinguish between types of love before going on the use the term in her thesis.  She states that she will be focusing on 'erotic/romantic love'.  Unfortunately I can't say that I found this especially helpful.  The term 'erotic' has definitively sexual connotations; 'romantic' less so.  While some people define romance as being inarguably sexual in nature, others set it apart from this, either as a particularly strong sort of platonic attachment, or as the platonic elements in a sexual relationship.  The fact that, by some people's definitions, romance can exist without any sort of sexual connotations is evidenced by the fact that asexuals exist and that many of them define their relationships as romantic.

While obviously I have no way of determining this for certain, I would suggest that Nussbaum may not have distinguished between the two quite different types of love because for her (and, indeed, for many people) they are never present without one another.  Alternately, she may personally define romance as being inextricable from sexual feelings, and simply failed to address the fact that not all people associate the two to that extent.

Response: Dialogue Format in Philosophy

In response to Corey Sloane's post "On Love and Knowledge" (January 24, 2012):
In this post, Corey Sloane suggested that the dialogue format which Plato utilised in his writings is a less-than-perfect format for conveying this sort of information.  He proposed the possibility that a more straightforward, premise-premise-conclusion type format might be easier to understand.  While I understand his point, I still find myself in disagreement.  Plato's dialogues are wonderful examples of the dialectic method of instruction in action - a method which I think is one of the best ways of imparting information so that the student will actually understand it.  By presenting his theories (or the theories of Socrates) in this format, Plato brings the reader as close as possible under the circumstances to actually partaking in a philosophical discussion with his characters, and by extension himself.  As one character asks a question of another, the reader has a chance to contemplate that question and draw their own conclusions before going on to read the views Plato presents.  In a sense, Plato is instructing the reader by means of dialectic instruction (or, perhaps more appropriately in this context, the Socratic method).  This style of writing invites the reader to think independently about the subject matter, rather than simply attempting to absorb the views of the writer without first considering them and understanding the reasoning behind them.

Response: What is Literature?

In response to Jacob Wheeler's post "Degrees of Literature" (January 25, 2012):
The technical definition of literature is 'written works with artistic value'.  While at first glance I thought that this was so vague as to be almost useless, on second thought I decided that, while as an independently-standing definition it really is vague, when taken in the context of Nussbaum's text it is actually quite helpful.  Many philosophical treatises are focused on one goal only - to present, explain, and support an idea as accurately and in as straightforward a manner as possible.  They typically omit flowery or metaphorical language because such language tends to obscure meaning.  However, in some cases they may include such language, because it actually helps to explain a concept (for example, a text on aesthetics might use vivid imagery).  This is problematic, because invoking emotion (which, in this context, is the goal of flowery language) relies on the subjective perceptions of the reader.

Regardless - the difference, I think, between literature and philosophical or scientific writing is the reason for using flowery language.  While philosophical writing might occasionally utilise such language, the purpose of doing so is to clarify whatever it is they are trying to explain.  In literature, flowery language is used for aesthetic value.  It does not have to help the reader understand anything; it does not even have to evoke emotion (although in many cases this may be its purpose in literature as well); all it has to do is be aesthetically pleasing.  Thus, defining literature as 'written works with artistic value' actually seems to aid in distinguishing it from other forms of writing.

Humour in Informative Writing

In class on Monday, we discussed the use of literary style in informative writing, such as philosophical essays.  One particular type of literary style which I think can be especially helpful when incorporated into such settings is humour.  While it may not help explain the content or communicate it emotionally, as beautifully crafted prose might do, it does help to keep a reader's attention and interest focused on what they are reading.  Humour and wit can aid in making an otherwise dry or pedantic text dynamic and engaging.  Furthermore, unlike metaphors or similes, humour rarely necessitates obscuring the meaning of the writing in which it appears.  It may, admittedly, extend the length of a text by adding in additional sentences or words which pertain solely to the humour rather than to the informative content of the text, but I think this is a fair trade-off considering the increased level of interest that it will likely produce in a reader.

Humour can also help readers by making a text less intimidating.  While serious students of philosophy, logic, science, or other subjects which typically require a lot of technical reading may not hesitate when faced with an intellectual, possibly tedious text, other students who have no experience with such reading may find this sort of task daunting.  A text which includes humour, which addresses the reader conversationally rather than in a more lecture-like format, may seem friendlier and easier to tackle than a purely academic work of writing.