Jonathan Glover defines death as the irreversible loss of consciousness. This, he thinks avoids a problem posed by a thought experiment: imagine a man’s heart stops and a doctor is poised to revive him fully expecting to get his heart going again. But the man’s heir plunges a knife into his chest before the doctor can do anything. Does the heir violate a corpse or take the life of an innocent human being? He violates a corpse only if death is defined by the cessation of pulmonary circulation. But that is very counterintuitive; what really matters is the irreversible loss of consciousness, something that could have been regained if the doctor had revived the patient.
Objection: suppose the heir doesn’t interfere and the doctor gets the man’s heart going again, but unfortunately the man never regains consciousness. After the doctor determines that the man’s consciousness has been irreversibly lost, the man’s heir plunges the knife into the man’s chest. Does he violate a corpse or kill an innocent human being? It seems clear that he doesn’t violate a corpse; therefore he kills an innocent human being, which means the definition of death has nothing to do with the irreversible loss of consciousness.
Rachel Held Evans has a nice Q & A with Greg Boyd where he is asked to explain features of his Open Theism. Among the parts that interested me is this excerpt.
Philosophers and theologians have often defined “divine omniscience” as “God’s knowledge of the truth value of all meaningful propositions.” I completely agree with this. Unfortunately, they typically assumed that propositions about what “will” and “will not” occur exhaust the field of meaningful propositions about the future. They thus concluded that God eternal knows all that will and will not take place and that there is nothing else for God to know.
This is a mistake, however, because propositions about what “might and might not” take place are also meaningful, and God must therefore know the truth value of these. Moreover, the opposite of “might” is “will not,” and the opposite of “might not” is “will.” So, if a “might and might not” proposition is true, then the corresponding propositions about what “will” and “will not” take place are both false. For example, if its true that “Greg might and might not buy a blue Honda in 2016,” then its false that “Greg will (certainly) buy a blue Honda in 2016” and false that “Greg will (certainly) not buy a blue Honda in 2016.” So too, if it ever becomes true that “Greg will (certainly) buy a blue Honda in 2016” or true that “Greg will (certainly) not buy a blue Honda in 2016,” then it will be false that “Greg might and might not buy a blue Honda in 2016.” And since God knows the truth value of all propositions, God would know precisely when it is true that I “might and might not” buy this car and when it becomes true that I either “will” or “will not.” God thus faces a partly open future.
This is controversial. Why assume that statements about what “might” happen contradict those about “will not”? It seems this sort of statement is meaningful too: “I could run through the streets naked in the next 5 minutes, but I will not. The “could” here expresses the possibility of those (terrible) states of affairs, and the “will not” expresses that they shall not come to pass, owing to my rational choice. There is nothing contradictory about saying this sort of thing, but the semantic analysis Boyd gives of “might” would make it so. Thus, we have reason to doubt his analysis. Continue reading
This is an especially vivid illustration from the third edition of Boolos and Jeffrey’s Computability and Logic:
If a set is enumerable, Zeus can enumerate it in one second by writing out an infinite list faster and faster. He spends 1/2 second writing the first entry in the list; 1/4 second writing the second entry; 1/8 second writing the third; and in general, he writes each entry in half the time he spent on its predecessor. At no point during the one second interval has he written out the whole list, but when one second has passed, the list is compete!
Here are some raves and rants pertaining to some of the books I read in 2013 (they may have been published some other year). Enjoy ~
Devil in the Grove: Thurgood Marshall, the Groveland Boys, and the Dawn of a New America by Gilbert King. It is a shame that the only thing I knew about Thurgood Marshall before I read this book was that he was the first African-American Justice on the SCOTUS and that he argued Brown v. Board of Eduation. His work on behalf of the civil rights movement is truly heroic. Nor had I any idea that Florida was second only to Mississippi in lynching. While good history rarely involves a plot framed in terms of good guys versus bad guys, this one truly does. My favorite book of the year. Kept me up late turning the proverbial digital pages.
Fateful Lightning: A New History of the Civil War and Reconstruction by Allen C. Guelzo. Anyone who can tell the story of the how the Civil War began, how it progressed, and how it ended, including the nightmare of Reconstruction, under 600 pages is to be commended. By one of my favorite historians to boot.
It’s that time of year again—the time whenI put together a list of my favorite songs of the year. Two observations: (1) this was the year of the woman—lots of good female vocalists this year; (2) I tend to really like music that is slow and relaxing. I suppose that makes me a thoroughly lame adult now (sorry sixteen-year-old self, you were a person who hated this kind of stuff). The best explanation for this change, I think, is this: when I was sixteen, I thought my life was boring and I felt less bored when I listened to grunge era rock and roll. Now as a graduate student, I feel busier than ever, so I take comfort in tunes that slow things down. Well, whatever. The order by which they are arranged is incidental only to flow of the playlist—no rankings here.
Listen to it on Grooveshark.
1. Drive Darling [acoustic] by Boy. This one is for the long road trip my wife and I made from California to South Carolina. Very fitting for the new adventure.
What exactly is the problem that Roger Olson has with Molinism? Answer: it collapses into determinism. But it isn’t clear what he means by “determinism.” His concept is ambiguous, and he seems to acknowledge this when he says, “if middle knowledge does not imply determinism, it does convey that [our] lives are predetermined.” So there seems to be two senses of what he means for something to be (pre)determined: one is with respect to being causally necessitated to act; the second is with respect to being fated to act according to some preordained plan. In Olson’s mind, the distinction makes no difference, because both senses are sufficient for what he finds problematic with middle knowledge: God is able to use it to render our actions certain. Once God does that, he says, “then determinism is at the door if not in the living room and that is inconsistent with Arminianism’s basic impulses.”
How should Molinists reply? First, they should deny that middle knowledge entails both causal determinism and theological fatalism. Second, they should argue that the property of being rendered certain is not problematic if the objects of God’s knowledge, that is, the propositions about what free creatures would do in various worlds, are grounded by what free creatures would do. Third, they should maintain that God’s use of middle knowledge is benevolent, because God is benevolent. Let us turn to the first matter.
One can be an environmentalist and an animal liberationist (premise for reductio).
If animals ought to be protected from being killed (because they can feel pain, ect.) then the natural environments in which their lives are at risk ought to be reformed or eliminated (from liberationism).
The natural environments in which their lives are at risk ought to not be reformed nor eliminated (from environmentalism).
Therefore, it is not the case that one can be both an environmentalist and an animal liberationist (from 1, 2, 3).
- Therefore, one can only be an an environmentalist or only an animal liberationist (or neither) (from 4).
This sort of argument was spelled out in greater detail by Mark Sagoff, and it is an interesting one. Given their criteria of value (the ability to feel pain gives one moral status), animal liberationists ought to intervene in ecologies where sentient creatures are naturally harmed. That is to say, there is no good reason for letting such animals die in their natural habitats; indeed, one seems required to act for the same reason that requires one to protect children from grizzly bears–suffering ought to be prevented. Conversely, an environmentalists, who primarily values things like wilderness or biodiversity, has reasons not to protect animals in the wild (unless they are endangered): these environmental goods take precedence over the interests and welfare of animals. Thus, it seems environmentalists are interested in preserving states of affairs that, for many animals, are nasty, brutish, and short.
It’s not clear to me if Sagoff personally believes this, but he seems aware that this sort of argument constitutes a reductio of the animal liberationists position. I tend to agree with this… what does Peter Singer think of lions, tigers, and bears? If anything, premise two seems to be the most vulnerable, and it would be prudent to revise it to say “animals under our care ought to be protected from being killed…” But some justification for circumscribing the animal kingdom this way needs to be given, and it isn’t obvious that it will be compatible with the primary values of animal liberationism.