PauloSalem.com

It is hard for us, modern men, to understand just how all religions and mystic systems came into being. We can understand, maybe, how a given set of dogmas manages to pass from one generation to another. But what about the first followers, the ones who were there and were responsible for all the mess? “How could those people,” we ask, “believe in such a non-sense if they were there to see that it was non-sense?” The belief that those who were there, in the beginning, could not be fooled is often used as a justification for the foundations of religions.

If this initial basis is accepted, the rest is easy. Once the first generation dies, the original miracles and words become indisputable matters of fact (e.g., with whom would you quarrel about Paul’s “revelations” if not with Paul himself?), and are thus crystallized forever. One can never disprove that this or that saint did not really have a revelation; one cannot submit him or her to a psychiatric examination (that would be interesting); one can only guess how things really happened.

But the funny thing about these sacred people is that, despite what previous prophets have said, it often happens that new, more enlightened, prophets come to instruct mankind! Christianism and Islam are both results of this process. However, these are already old events; too old to be seen for what they really are. Thankfully, a new prophet appeared a few years ago in Brazil, my home country. No, it is not me. His name is “Inri Cristo”, and he claims to be the reincarnation of Jesus himself! The new messiah has a church, followers, has written sacred texts and, apparently, has also performed miracles. You can check him out in his website, where plenty of English translations can be found (he came for all mankind, not just us Brazilians).

I’m not sure how well known he is outside Brazil. But trust me, the guy is worth your attention. For he holds all the basic qualities for a messiah, and hence is a very interesting subject of study. Of course, chances are he is not really anything of what he claims, and quite more resonable explanations can be found. Yet, to study such a person and the movements around him now may well shed some light into just how all other belief systems came about. Moreover, Inri Cristo has the added quality of being extremely open about his positions, and in Brazil he is almost a pop star, often appearing in television shows (the unbelievers also like him, for he is such a curious, entertaining and even nice person). I’m inclined to believe that he really means what he says.

Christians themselves, I suspect, scorn at Inri Cristo. What a self-defeating position! The “new incarnation”, as far as we can see, has very similar attributes and feats as the original one (including miracles). I wonder if his existence has caused some people to review their beliefs. And this leads me to my main point. For some years to come, revelation arguments will hold no water. For every time that someone points out the sainthood of his preferred prophet or messiah, we will always be able to point them to Inri Cristo’s website and ask what is the difference.

The available evidence shows that there is nothing miraculous or supernatural about prophets. Apparently, they don’t even need to be conspirators, manipulators or power seeking liars. It just turns out some men are very naive, others are rather crazy, and history is fundamentally blind.

I wonder just how the dictatorship of the majority is better than that of a minority (or even one). If anything, it is harder to fight off, since it is distributed and looks legitimate. For example, have we gained the right of true free speech in democracy? I hardly think so. We merely exchanged one set of prejudices for another (think about all the things you could say that could put you in jail). But people don’t think that way: it turns out that, to most, free speech is the right to say things that everyone finds acceptable; which of course is not what the concept is about. And, for the love of Apollo, this is the case even in France, the home of Voltaire!

Another example is taxation. One of the reasons for the American Revolution, for instance, was unfair taxation. But unreasonable taxes is often what you get when elected politicians try to extract the most of everyone and then redistribute it. It is not in vain that taxation authorities, such as USA’s IRS, are so feared and hated - they are as violent as any king of the past. And while it might be argued that this is fair, since it is for the general benefit, it must not be forgotten that there will always be a minority who by no means agree with the ends that the money will be put to. Why should they pay for the whims of others? The short answer is: because they have no choice; they are too few to change the laws, and too weak to fight the police. Nevertheless, they may well be right in their logic. I have the feeling that whoever imagines that the majority is always right in important matters has not looked at the world very attentively.

The funny thing is that some sort of traditional aristocracy, in the fashion of Plato’s philosopher kings, could perhaps make a much more “democratic” world. On the other hand, Plato’s Kallipolis’ system seems to be as arbitrary as any other form of government. In any case, I suspect that it is quite irrelevant whether we know the “correct” system to promote freedom, since there would be no guarantee of its implementation. Maybe our kind is destined to the eternal rule of one power or another. Freedom might be reserved for the gods only.

I know, it is almost a tautology to speak of theological fallacies, but I feel this one is special. Most believers are happy enough with whatever they read in their sacred books. So if it is written that up is down and that heavy is actually light, they’ll gladly accept such things for facts and move on with their lives. But there are those who cannot possibly accept that their faith be based solely on sacred texts; they want reason to be also a part of their belief system. These people, sometimes wrongfully called philosophers, make great efforts to try to prove that the existence of their God actually follows from self-evident truths. That is to say, to prove that God is actually somehow a logical truth, a metaphysical necessity.

What amazes me is not the fact that they try to do such demonstrations. It is somewhat silly, sure, but it is at least understandable (i.e., it is reasonable to try to look for justifications for one’s beliefs).  But  the real problem is that their “proofs”, even if correct, wouldn’t help them at all. And the reason is that all such proofs are based on general qualities of “god”, which do not imply their particular God. So, for instance, assume one has proved that an “infinite” and “perfect” being exists. Fine, but how exactly can you deduce from such a result that Jesus was born from a virgin woman and he happens to be God himself? Or how can the knowledge that the universe “must have a creator” lead you to conclude that you cannot eat porc? The fallacy, hence, is in deducing a particular entity from a very, very general specification. Using the fallacy, one could as well deduce that a pink unicorn created the universe; one could deduce any kind of creator. You see, the devil is in the details. And the details can hardly come from metaphysical “proofs”,which deal only with remote and ethereal notions.

The universe is surely full of mysteries. It seems to have order, and it is a remarkable fact that we can discover some of it. Therefore, it is an evident fact that powerful forces flow through it. There is no need of metaphysical non-sense to show us that the universe is a wonderful thing. But the truth behind the wonders of nature, where they came from, and for which reasons, may well be beyond our understanding capabilities. And surely it is even worse when one tries to ignore the little logic and understanding that we do have in order to justify one’s earthly prejudices.

It is a known psychological fact that we don’t look at the world’s details. The reason, it is said, is that if we did considered all possible details of everything we learn and feel, our minds would be overwhelmed by the amount of information. Thus, evolution has equipped us with mechanisms to discard and structure information; that is to say, we are capable of performing abstraction. For instance, when you talk to someone in a crowded space, you neglect almost every stimuli other than the voice of your interlocutor. In a conceptual level this also takes place. Programming languages are a good example of conceptual abstractions that are learned by humans in order to simplify their interaction with machines.

Another fact about such abstractions is that they change over time according to their use. An object that is examined often allows, I think, the development of ever more detailed abstractions to deal with such an object. Conversely, like most other human learning mechanisms, abstractions tend to get simplified if they are not often used. So, for example, take someone that once memorized the position of all the countries of Europe and later did not use this data. With time, such a person may forget the exact position of the countries, but still recall that they are there somewhere. Or he may preserve some sort of incomplete ordering. Some abstraction errors might also arise, such as the assignment of an European country to either Asia or Africa because of a suggestive geographical feature and the degradation of some geographical constraint that would have forbidden the assignment.

The interesting thing, though, is that this dynamics is not the same for every human being. This is a very important observation, because it suggests that there are different ways of using these capabilities, possibly with different results. Take, for instance, Isaac Newton, who managed to abstract much of the physical world in a few highly successful mathematical principles. His contribution was, above all, a new way to see. Whatever were the mechanisms that he used for dealing with conceptual abstractions, they probably were quite different from those of his contemporaries. This reasoning applies to many other scientific and artistic celebrities as well.

But such successes probably don’t come for free. Human beings, after all, are very limited creatures. This is the very reason why we do such abstractions. Hence, it is to be expected that progress in one area will cause problems in another. Or, at the very least, the things that one is concerned with will probably determine which conceptual abstractions will develop, and which will degrade. Among other things, it follows then that exceptional people will probably fail in some arguably trivial matters, for the simple reason that they either are not at all concerned with them or are focusing their attention elsewhere. It is important to understand what such failure means, since it is often surprising and disconcerting to the individual himself.

The basic problem, thus, is how one should go about in order to build a conceptual structure in such a way that it maximizes its explanatory powers for the things that are relevant to its bearer. This must account for all the possible changes that the future may bring, both in the form of new knowledge and in the form of gradual degeneration. Fundamentally, a computational matter.

I have come to think that it is probably a good thing to have very particular conceptual abstractions. It is a sign of a developed personality. On the other hand, the more particular  such abstractions are to an individual, the less he will be able to communicate properly with others. On his side, he will be amazed that they don’t see what to him is obvious. On their side, they will be impressed that he almost entirely ignores a detail that to them is very important. Clearly, this can cause all sorts of social problems.

On the other hand, this is actually good to a very large extent. If taken constructively, I think such confrontations can be useful in order to enrich the views of both sides. And to do so, it seems to me that understanding the whole problem of conceptual abstractions is quite important.

The love for life is quite possibly the most troublesome of emotions. First, because it is vain, we are all going to be dead very soon. Second, because it leads to fear of losing it, or of weakening it, before some metaphysically “inevitable” point. We are thus also led to calculate consequences, weight actions, consider the opinion of others. That is to say, to protect it, we actually harm it. Finally, because it is laughable; is this that much important? Look at everyone who came before, great or humble; all reduced to dust, to memory - and one day, not even memory.

It turns out that life is not so precious. To realize this is, perhaps, a first step towards enjoying it in some more appropriate manner. In the manner that nature intends. Not with tears, but with the same good humor that Socrates showed. To remember him. And Cato. And Seneca.

At last, since we are at it, here is another reason why Christians are worse off than us: they fear Hell.

I have the impression that people in Europe are very worried about preserving Earth’s natural resources. In practice, this means that I’ll often be exhorted to consume less water and electric energy. And not due to its financial cost, but because of “the children”,  a quasi-rhetoric argument that led me to put some thought on the matter.  Am I endangering the world because of, say, my water consumption? Should I really use less water?

To the first question I don’t have an answer. However, let us suppose the worst, and assume that my water consumption is indeed harmful and will cause the meltdown of civilization in X years. In that case, will the use of less water solve anything? Probably not. For let us assume that I and everyone else cut our water consumption by, say, 50%. Well, this will only delay the disaster by about one generation, after which the number of people on the planet will have raised to a level such that the total water consumption will be as it used to be. It doesn’t take mathematical genius to realize that this is not a scalable solution. It only pushes the problem for the (near!) future. Between such a pointless feel-good attitude and maintaining my high water consumption, I choose the later.  At least I’ll have enjoyed the fruits of civilization before it melts down! Some people are living as if the world had already ended… Saving water is only useful if we can be reasonably sure that in that little time gained, mankind will be able to develop some new technology to solve the problem (e.g., a cheap technique to generate endless amounts of potable water).

As the argument above itself shows, the crucial point has nothing to do with saving water.  The important thing is that human population keeps growing out of control. By simple calculation, it should be obvious that if the population keeps rising as it has been, quite soon we are likely to have all sorts of shortages. This, of course, is the old Malthusian discourse. And the usual response to it is that technology may improve over time so that production capabilities are not overwhelmed. This indeed has been more or less true up to now, but the exponential calculations behind Malthusian arguments should not be dismissed. As any computer scientist may tell you, exponentially growing functions are sure to eventually beat your best hacks around them. I am not, therefore, so quick to dismiss Malthusian positions, although I also believe that our technology will continue improving.

Therefore, it seems to me that the only sensible thing to do about such environmental problems is to promote the stabilization of the world’s population. The inconvenient thing about this solution, though, is that I think it would require a whole different economic philosophy. The idea of “economic growth”, for instance, would be somewhat meaningless in such a stable world.

What would a population-stable world look like? What can be done to achieve it? I think these are the true questions that should be asked if one sincerely believes that the Earth’s resources are endangered. On the other hand, it should also be clear that these are much more dangerous questions. For their answer imply in destabilizing such large-scale entities as the Catholic Church (i.e., for the contraception part of the thing) and pretty much every capitalist corporation in the world (i.e., for the part concerning the nonexistence of economic growth).

A good question contains in itself the elements of its own answer. Since I first formulated (or read?) this principle it has always felt true, and the more so since I learned about the Cut Elimination Theorem sometime ago. The idea, you see, is that a question which is not well formulated cannot be understood in the first place. The principle establishes that a meaningful  question has a number of essential features, such as a criterion of truth and the elements that somehow lead, or lead not, to such a truth. And it reminds one that even if the question is very relevant, it is not good if it cannot be answered, because it would be a waste of effort to pursue it. Unless, of course, we are not interested in an answer, but only in a general appreciation of the facts surrounding it.

I suppose, then, that to be a good problem solver is somewhat of a primitive state. From the perspective I outlined above, it is at worst a trivial task, and at best a mechanical one. A computer can be programmed to solve a well structured problem; if it fails, it is not because it can’t solve it, but because it lacks the computational resources to do it. But can we even consider what it would mean to conceive a program that creates meaningful problems? In any case, the later is certainly a harder enterprise.

The great thing really is to come up with the right questions. They set the direction of the winds, the minds of other men and, more importantly, our own perspective.  For if we don’t know where we wish to get, it is quite irrelevant whether we run fast. Alas, it is easy to forget this when we are in a hurry to get somewhere.

Tourists’ guides love to say how the Parisian coffee houses were able to gather the intellectual French elite in their golden years. Artists, writers and philosophers, so the legend goes, would regularly gather in great cafés in order to discuss their ideas, write their books and talk about the nature of things around a cup of coffee. Well, needless to say, I was very skeptical of such a blissful and romantic legend - until yesterday.

There I was, having a coffee at Les Deux Magots, trying to feel some of the inspiration that once reached Albert Camus in that very same spot, when a couple asked to sit in my table. The heating, you see, was better where I was. So I kindly allowed them. And it turned out that the monsieur was a very interesting person. Though an antique dealer and commodities trader by profession, he also happened to have a great interest in Philosophy. So we spent some productive time talking about Aristotle, the Stoics and the Epicureans. All this, notice, entirely by chance. Guess how many times I had a random talk about Stoic Philosophy with a completely unknown person? That’s right, never.

It was a small event, sure, but very significant. It turns out that there is some truth in all the romance surrounding Paris’ intellectual life. So yes, I was very impressed and pleased. Later I went to see a theater adaptation of Camus’ La Peste. An excelent monologue, provided that you have already read the book and liked it. It was a great day.

Nihilists and pessimists of all kinds usually point out to wars and general human aggressiveness in order to argue that mankind is hopeless. Men, they say, despise and kill their own kind. These are facts, of course. But they ignore the even more fundamental observation that men are by no means equal. And as the elementary substances have different powers of interaction, so do the several types of human beings. Some are bound by their common ignorance, others by their common wisdom. The interesting thing, though, is in the opposite direction: antagonism too has a reason to be. Can you picture a world consisting only of perfectly altruist saints? And, conversely, can a world of pure selfishness survive? Of course not, for each has its role. You might prefer one over the other, but you cannot deny neither. Or, rather, you can, but that will make no difference whatsoever - nature will have its way, no matter what you think or do.

Moral has nothing to do with “changing the world” for “the better.” How could it? One cannot change what is forever fixed, namely, human nature. And what is “better” anyway? All that we can know, all that makes sense here, is this: one must be in harmony with one’s nature. That, if anything, is the purpose of moral reasoning.

Who came up with the silly idea that moral should create bounds between men who would otherwise despise each other? What a pointless endeavour! Those who are destined to be together will do so naturally; they will recognize their peers and with them will create bounds. The others will merely drift away - and, like smoke, vanish in plain sight.

Much of what is called art today is also called conceptual. That is to say, it is supposed to have value not because of its aesthetic qualities, but because of the concepts it conveys. These concepts, however, are often obscure, which give rise to harsh criticism. Let us suppose, for instance, that an artist produces a painting which is nothing but a blank canvas. Surely someone will ask what value it has, since anyone could do that. But the artist can then give a clever explanation. He may say that what matters is the idea of a blank space, the notion that there is nothing more pure than a white canvas. He can go on by emphasizing that the fact that he framed this and called the attention to emptiness itself is by no means a trivial enterprise, since it is not enough to hang a blank canvas; one must also understand its meaning. And he can finish by saying that, in any case, his work is testing the limits of art, and is therefore transgressive and avant-garde.

Now, this justification is of course phony. Yet, this kind of “smart” argument is  what we hear in many cases. The intelligent observer will often see through this deception, but will not be able to pinpoint exactly what is wrong. After all, don’t we want art to be free? Is it not dangerous to say what is good or bad art, since past claims have been proven very wrong? If he is even considering the matter it is because he cares about art. That makes the baffled observer think that, maybe, it is he who cannot see the greatness of the underlying concept that the work brought to light.

But the fundamental problem, I think, is that concepts are not the traditional subject of artists. Philosophers, scientists, writers: these are the people who deal with concepts and ideas. Obviously, any conceptual artist that is not acting in his capacities as, say, a philosopher, will not produce good conceptual art. When considering a piece of so called conceptual art, then, I think the best approach is to consider it as a philosophical artifact. One should ask, “is this philosophically interesting?” If it is, the artist managed to successfully act as a philosopher, and this is great. If not, it is worthless. By this method, it will be easier to spot what really matters among the endless sea of irrelevancy.  Provided, that is, that one has a philosophical background.

To me, this often reduces to the analysis of whether the work of art allows me to see some concept more clearly. If it does, then it is valuable. It works as an amplifier that allows an idea to more easily come in contact with us. But if it does not, it simply is not conceptual at all. Or, if conceptual, a very poorly developed one. The blank canvas, for instance, is totally void to me. Nothing of interesting is gained by interacting with it. There is simply no good idea there.

Considering the kind of arguments I have been reading, it feels like a great many deal of artists simply have no training whatsoever in philosophy, literature or science. Of course, in principle, one may be both an artist and, say, a philosopher, although I have the impression that this is seldom the case. In such a context, is it so surprising that so much of what they do is extremely suspicious? Apparently, many curators and private collector also have no training in these areas, since they pay fortunes for essentially nothing. In fact, these are the ones truly responsible for this state of affairs, since if it were not for them we wouldn’t even have to think about it.

On the other hand, maybe this inflated art market is itself the conceptual work. Think about it: the artist consciously produces an obviously piece of junk, manages to sell it for a million dollars and have it displayed as a great achievement of mankind! Well, now that is a good one! I can imagine a bunch of successful artists laughing in private and secretive meetings as they drink and discuss about their conceptual endeavor. However, I think fraud is the traditional word to describe this activity.