Chris asked:

What would drive a person to hurt another intentionally?

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

On the face of this, it seems a rather odd question. People hurt other people all the time, for a variety of reasons. One example would be if two people are competing for a resource. It might be food. That can be a zero sum game. If one person gets the food the other starves. Knowing this, and facing the prospect of starvation yourself, you might well act in your own self-interest, with the inevitable consequence that someone else suffers.

Of course, you might say, ‘Why not share’, and that’s a perfectly good question. But many people don’t, or won’t. Because they are selfish. The question to ask here is not, ‘Why be selfish’ but rather ‘Why be unselfish’. How does altruism arise? What is its motivation?

However, your question is different. There is a critical difference between doing an act, for whatever reason, that you know will result in hurt — your ‘second intention’ — and intentionally causing hurt. In the latter case, the reason is deliberately to cause harm, or hurt. But why would anyone want to do this?

One possible explanation would be along the lines proposed by the biologist Richard Dawkins, author of The Selfish Gene (1976). We hurt others in order to punish, and we punish as a means of adjusting the behaviour of the other person, a strategy that is built into our genes. He argues that between pure self-interest and pure altruism there is a more effective strategy in evolutionary terms, which he calls ‘the grudger’. If you don’t reciprocate my generous action towards you — for example, scratching your back — then I will look for a means to punish, pay you back for your selfishness.

Somehow, this leaves me cold. When you think of acts of terrible revenge, deliberately done to innocents, the rationale of ‘punishing’ somehow doesn’t cover it. Like the bombing of Dresden, the 75th anniversary of which occurred yesterday. Many people who had endured the Blitz cheered, despite knowing that thousands upon thousands of innocent children would have been amongst the dead, burned to a crisp in the fire storm.

— The horror of it.

An analytic psychotherapist that I know once recommeded a book to me, The Tyranny of Malice by Joseph Berke (1988). The author makes the case that there are deep reasons, accounted for by Kleinian psychoanalytic theory, why human beings like to hurt, why we sometimes act with malice. I don’t know whether the theory is true. I’m not a psychotherapist or a follower of Klein. But the very fact that a theory is needed here shows something: what it shows is simply that you have asked a very good question, the answer to which is very far from clear.

Another work which has had a considerable impact on psychoanalytic theory is Ian D. Suttie The Origins of Love and Hate published in 1935, after his death that same year. Over the years following the Great War, Suttie was involved in an ongoing debate with Freud, rejecting the latter’s theory of the ‘death drive’.

It may very well be the case that we need to look elsewhere than philosophy, to an empirically based theory of human nature. The philosophical point is in recognizing that gritty fact.

Abdullah asked:

Plato will argue that what is “outside the cave” are the true realities – Ideas which are eternal and unchanging, and that when we reflect we have access to these Forms, and that the Forms are therefore what we can know for certain, while the shadows in the cave are mere illusions, and con only yield opinion, a very low form of knowledge indeed.

What might you think of such a scheme?

Answer by Jürgen Lawrenz

I would first of all say to you, Abdullah, that in philosophy one must be extra careful with words, because we humans have only a few means of intercommunication possible to us. We can speak and sing, paint and sculpt. The best way is evidently, if we can use one means of expression helping to illuminate the same communication in different ways.

Therefore the parable of the cave — the literary type of Plato’s discourse in this instance — comprises the transplantation of a philosophical conception into the artistic (poetical) medium of story telling, with a view to rendering the conception more readily comprehensible to intuition. The story illustrates some philosophical proposition which is extremely difficult to render without a special apparatus of technical terms; and you must now bear in mind that Plato had to make do with a very limited resource of such terminology — meaning, that he still relied to a large extent on the vocabulary spoken in the streets and the theatres, on the farm and in the households of the people.

In such circumstances, the plasticity of his intellect, equally capable of rigorous forms of analysis and poetical expression, is still to us a marvel to behold. But also an invitation to avoid reading too much (or too little) into his stories. His allegory of the cave is therefore not an exposition to be intended as a precise articulation, but a device which enlists the visual imagination of the reader, to make an appropriate connection to the discursive faculty and thereby to compensate for the dry and brittle theoretical type of discourse in which philosophical ideas are normally couched. (I might in parentheses point to the parable of sour grapes as another specimen of the transplantation of observable human foibles from a moralistic discourse into a neat poetical capsule).

At the same time as it does not disguise its limitations. And so the parable is not simply re-translatable back into the dry prose with which you describe it in your question. Not avoiding this danger, your description commits the fatal error of mis-stating the essence of the theory of forms and for thinking of it as a ‘scheme’. I consider it possible that you have not acquainted yourself with some other Platonic dialogues (e.g. Symposium, Phaedrus) that are indispensable for clarity on this subject matter. Therefore taking the three issues where you went wrong one by one, we have

“What is outside the cave are the true realities”. Outside there is the sunlight shining on the world of nature; but this is relevant only in the context that the cave is a place of shadows cast by the objects of nature. You forgot that this reality is already a world of secondary reality, i.e. the reality of the senses.

“When we reflect we have access to these forms”. This is altogether wrong. The whole point of forming a cast of guardians in this book (i.e. “philosopher-kings”) is that access to the reality of the forms is an exceptional state of mind, a momentary ecstasy of recognition ensuing upon deep study and resulting in an inspiration that can be made productive (e.g. by creating a new law to enhance justice in the state).

“Forms are therefore what we can know for certain”. We cannot know the forms at all, since as mentioned they are ecstatic visions. But we have the capacity of remembering such moments of insight and teaching the knowledge gained from it (source of Plato’s theory of recollection which resembles in some ways the theory of innate ideas that became fashionable in the early modern West).

In a word (to use another metaphor) with your assumptions are too quick off the block, like a sprinter starting to run before the umpire has fired his pistol. Or, in ordinary prose, you derived your conclusions from an illustrative metier and took it literally as a set of propositions. I hope you can see from the above why this leads to contradictions rather than a resolution!

Jose asked:

How likely is it that someone will solve philosophy as a whole within our lifetime?

Answer by Jürgen Lawrenz

Good question, Jose. I offer you four answers to choose from.

Number 1 is “unlikely”, for the simple reason that no-one could even attempt to describe such a solution or what it takes to accomplish it. Consider the related question you could have posed: “How likely is it that some scientist will write a cosmic equation in our lifetime that will fit on a T-shirt?” I suppose you know who expressed this sentiment, but the same limitations apply.

Number 2 is “maybe”, based on our knowledge of history, in which this sort of thing has already occurred several times. One could plausibly argue that Aristotle, Aquinas, Kant and maybe one or two others (e.g Descartes and Schopenhauer, who believed themselves to have accomplished it) are candidates for such honours, although obviously each only for a certain era. It’s just that at present the climate for the appearance of such a towering philosophical figure is singularly unpropitious. Check out Geoffrey Klempner’s response for a good account of the conditions that prevail today which work against the likelihood of an all-encompassing philosophy coming our way any time soon.

Number 3 is “no”, and alludes to the possibility that philosophy is already a living corpse and simply kept going on a life-support system provided by the academic establishment, who for reasons of their own don’t want to let go of a pretty good-looking history of achievement that seems to demand their continued engagement. This was more or less the opinion of Theodor Adorno, whose book Negative Dialectics begins with the sentence, “It seemed at one time [in the past] that philosophy was already obsolete; it was kept alive because we missed the appropriate moment for its actualisation”, i.e. making its continuation relevant. If we take this at face value, then philosophy is indeed a fossil now, which may be lovingly exhibited in a vitrine, but scarcely brought back to life again.

Finally Number 4, “no” again. If we are to believe Spengler, human cultural history goes through cycles, and we are near the end of one. But although the great philosophical syntheses tended to make their appearance on the declining slope of their civilisations, Spengler would argue that we’ve already been there and done it (and you don’t get two bites at the cherry).

And so, scoring a generous quarter point for No. 2, the chance is an arithmetically slim expectancy of about 6% – not enough, I venture to say, to wager your life insurance on it!

Derek asked:

I am 16 years old and teaching myself philosophy. I plan on becoming an cognitive experimental psychologist. I am currently developing my own philosophical thoughts and beliefs. I strongly believe that answering philosophical questions with logically sound, valid and truthful arguments that are without fallacies is most important. I got overwhelmed by attempting to answer a question of mine a few weeks back. Are human beings capable of knowing objective truth through our subjective experiences and if so, how much and what objective truth are we able to know? Any insight that you may have would be very appreciated because I do not even know how to begin to answer the question. I do not even know if it can be answered. Thank you for your time. It is much appreciated.

Answer by Björn Freter

I think — as my esteemed colleagues have also pointed out — it is not surprising that you are overwhelmed by those questions you discovered. They are indeed overwhelming. Being overwhelmed might even be a part of the human condition of a lot of human beings. Just consider of what Kant explains in the Preface to the first edition of the Critique of Pure Reason:

“Human reason has the peculiar fate in one species of its cognitions that it is burdened with questions which it cannot dismiss, since they are given to it as problems by the nature of reason itself, but which it also cannot answer, since they transcend every capacity of human reason. Reason falls into this perplexity through no fault of its own. It begins from principles whose use is unavoidable in the course of experience and at the same time sufficiently warranted by it. With these principles it rises (as its nature also requires) ever higher, to more remote conditions. But since it becomes aware in this way that its business must always remain incomplete because the questions never cease, reason sees itself necessitated to take refuge in principles that overstep all possible use in experience, and yet seem so unsuspicious that even ordinary common sense agrees with them. But it thereby falls into obscurity and contradictions, from which it can indeed surmise that it must somewhere be proceeding on the ground of hidden errors; but it cannot discover them, for the principles on which it is proceeding, since they surpass the bounds of all experience, no longer recognize any touchstone of experience. The battlefield of these endless controversies is called metaphysics.” (Critique of Pure Reason A vii sq.)

Kant points out that the human reason by its very own nature desires more than it can achieve. According to Kant the foundational problem is a self-misunderstanding of the human reason. It tries to solve its practical problems with its theoretical capacities, but these theoretical capacities are unable to answer the inevitable human questions. This is why Kant wrote a Critique of Pure (which means here: Theoretical) Reason: It is a book that wants to discipline the theoretical reason, it is a call to order, an attempt to discipline to human reason using human reason. That was Kant’s approach to react to pretty much the same feeling you have described. I think, it might be helpful, it may even be a relief, to understand that you came across a foundational problem of philosophy — at least within the Western philosophical tradition.

The Critique of Pure Reason is, within the Western philosophical canon, one of the most influential works; its influence is still distinctly noticeable in contemporary discussions of cognitive capabilities, be it in the philosophical, the psychological or neurological approaches. I would strongly recommend to get familiar with this book. As much as you might disagree with its results, as much it might offer you a great opportunity to get a profound introduction into the foundations of Western epistemology. (It is important to add that Kant is a highly problematic thinker, who has made many many racist, sexist, antisemitic, homophobic and more superiorist remarks and, so far, not enough research has been conducted to determine the influence of these superiorist thoughts on Kant’s philosophical thinking, including his epistemological thinking.)

I would like to add that another, additional question could be important for your further philosophical undertakings. Why do you think “that answering philosophical questions with logically sound, valid and truthful arguments that are without fallacies is most important”? What kind of security, infallibility, certainty are you looking for and, again, why? There might be — surprisingly — deeply existential motive to be found here, the desire to find calmness within all the insecurity of the world. It seems important to be aware of this existential basis, it might make you biased to find a result if there is an unknown strong desire to have to find a result!

Within Western philosophical tradition, to my understanding, this desire was mostly openly discussed in the schools of Hellenism, most of all in Epicurus. His clear goal of philosophy was to reduce fear, and, if I may simplify somewhat, according to him, that could be regard true which would help to reduce fear. Here we can find an example where the existential problem of being lost in the insecurities of the world started to dominate epistemological issues. Epicurus seemed to care little about what can be known or not, it was more important that a piece of knowledge has had a certain existential, in or, other words, a calming effect. There might be nothing wrong with that concept of truth, but it also might be important to be aware of our human existential desires lurking in the background. And, I guess, it is a good thing, even should one not know what to do with these desires, to be aware of them!

I wish you all the best for your philosophical journey!

Jose asked:

How likely is it that someone will solve philosophy as a whole within our lifetime?

Answer by Geoffrey Klempner

I have a distinct memory of being told by a fellow Oxford graduate student some time around the late 70s that no less a philosopher than David Wiggins — later to become Wykeham Professor of Logic and Fellow of New College, Oxford as well as Fellow of the British Academy — had expressed to him the view that most of the problems of philosophy had been solved through the application of analytic techniques. All that remained was mopping up a few details or side issues.

This is strongly reminiscent of the statement by a noted physicist Albert A. Michelson, famous for the Michelson-Morley experiment that led to Einstein’s discovery of the Theory of Relativity, that,

“The more important fundamental laws and facts of physical science have all been discovered, and these are now so firmly established that the possibility of their ever being supplanted in consequence of new discoveries is exceedingly remote… Our future discoveries must be looked for in the sixth place of decimals.”

(Speech given in 1894 at the dedication of Ryerson Physics Lab, University of Chicago, quote taken from an answer on Quora)

How wrong he was! Ironic indeed that he was responsible for one of the experiments — the Michelson-Morley experiment disproving the existence of an ‘ether’ — that overthrew the classical understanding of physics and mechanics bequeathed by Isaac Newton.

The time is ripe for a paradigm shift in philosophy, but I fear that such a change will not come for a while yet. Academic philosophy, for all its seeming variety, has found itself entrenched in ever more well-worn paths and now seems incapable of even addressing the really fundamental questions.

As I’ve noted before, academic philosophers are ‘busy, busy, busy’. You’d never guess that they were in reality stumbling in the dark, blindfold. Their arrogance is truly astonishing.

No, Jose, it is not likely that philosophy will be ‘solved as a whole’, now, or indeed ever. Unless, of course, you mean that human beings will get over their impulse to ask philosophical questions, be ‘cured’ of the impulse to philosophize. That’s still an all-too present danger.

Why is there anything at all? And, given that something exists, why am I here, experiencing it (whatever ‘it’ is)? You’ll find those two questions on the first page of my book Naive Metaphysics. The first question is well known, the second — the one I call the ‘idiotic conundrum’ — is the controversial one. Someone ever-so like me would not be me. ‘I might not have existed but someone exactly like me might have existed in my place.’ (Not a lot of people have seen this — yet. I keep trying. And that was a quarter of a century ago!)

Sometimes I like to watch detective programs on TV or NetFlix. One I quite liked from over 20 years ago is ‘Jonathan Creek’. Locked door murder mysteries. The cupboard was carried up three flights of stairs and it was empty. Then how come five minutes later it had a dead body in it?! You drive yourself mad trying to think of a plausible explanation. And then, when the explanation comes, you say, ‘Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?!’

Hard as I try, I cannot imagine what an answer to my conundrum would be. It’s just impossible. But I know myself, and my limitations (following the advice of Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry). I could be wrong and probably am.

Meanwhile, there’s nothing to do but keep thinking, keep looking — keep hoping, maybe, that light will come.

Derek asked:

I am 16 years old and teaching myself philosophy. I plan on becoming an cognitive experimental psychologist. I am currently developing my own philosophical thoughts and beliefs. I strongly believe that answering philosophical questions with logically sound, valid and truthful arguments that are without fallacies is most important. I got overwhelmed by attempting to answer a question of mine a few weeks back. Are human beings capable of knowing objective truth through our subjective experiences and if so, how much and what objective truth are we able to know? Any insight that you may have would be very appreciated because I do not even know how to begin to answer the question. I do not even know if it can be answered. Thank you for your time. It is much appreciated.

Answer by Jürgen Lawrenz

Let us suppose that in 10 years time you have become a cadet of cognitive experimental psychology. By that stage you will have read a great deal of the literature on the subject matter, including many opinions on the question of objective truth.

Now take note of the words I just used: “many opinions”. This should already tell you something of vital importance to your quest. First, that truth is the opposite of lies; second that truth doubles up for ‘fact’; and third that scientific and philosophical proofs (aka ‘truths’) depend on the presuppositions (i.e. unquestioned principles) from which a demonstration starts. Having outlined this much, however, you also need to deal with certain psychological aspects of truth — e.g. the ‘revealed truths’ of religion are firmly believed by millions of people, including many deep thinkers who would not take kindly to a criticism that they hold kindergarten beliefs. Further, in your designated field, there are opportunities for delving into the truth about oneself, which is often a question of how much truth a person can sustain in themselves about themselves.

Finally, the etymology of the word tells us something interesting as well — it comes from the old German ‘treu’, for which the Latin-derived synonym is ‘loyal’, as in a bond of trust. This, ultimately, reveals the wisdom of language which I would like to put into a neat capsule for you: All truth is subjective. Otherwise truth would be an objective condition that permits universal verification. Therefore, also: all truth is intersubjective, as the concept of truth is not solipsistic, but ultimately the expression of a judgement which concerns persons and their relations to each other. Hence “Pontius Pilatus said, ‘What is truth?’ and would not wait for answer.” Truth, like justice and beauty, is in the eye of the beholders.

This is why many thinkers who have wrestled with the concept of truth eventually come around to substituting ‘wisdom’ for it. This is not what a young person wants to hear, because wisdom is the result (if at all) of much experience and deep insight into the human condition. So it seems to me that I must preach patience to a 16-year-old bent on intellectual conquest! Nevertheless I hope that the above is a useful guide on the point of your departure into a huge and largely unknown terrain.