Category: Fresno Bee Religion and Ethics Columns

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Politicians and the Truth

Unraveling the political art of the repeated lie

   Andrew Fiala

Fresno Bee 2012-09-22

Politicians are adept at exaggeration and obfuscation. They spin the truth, occasionally telling outright lies. Large numbers of people then repeat the latest political hogwash, forwarding it, posting it and replicating it in the media echo chamber. With enough reverberation, even obvious humbug can sound like truth.

It is not surprising that politicians stretch the truth. Five centuries ago, Machiavelli noted that a successful politician had to be as cunning as a fox. A sly political fox knows how to manipulate, ingratiate, provoke and inspire.

A good politician understands that social life is lubricated by white lies and insincere pleasantries. We say thank you when we don’t mean it. We give unwarranted compliments. And we smile and nod even when we disagree. Social life would be cold and hostile if we were unwilling or unable to dissemble.

It is interesting that we are so willing to go along with the fakery and deception. Machiavelli explained that “the one who deceives will always find those who allow themselves to be deceived.” Politicians know how to appeal to our basic credulity. We are social animals who respond to the moods of our fellows without much concern for truth. We like to repeat gossip and rumors. We tend to believe and trust those who are like us.

We prefer stories that reinforce our other ideas and beliefs, pleasant stories that are easy to understand. No politician is going to admit that public affairs are incredibly complex, that human behavior is difficult to control and that unpredictable events will disrupt even our best-laid plans. The politician tells us instead that he or she has a clear plan for success and confident knowledge of the situation. And we are glad to believe. We desire certainty in an uncertain world.

Psychological well-being may hinge upon our ability to deceive ourselves in the face of uncertainty and failure. When you make a mistake, suffer rejection, or embarrass yourself, you have to find ways to downplay and ignore the truth so you can move forward. Self-doubt and self-recrimination can be paralyzing. It is useful to fudge the truth about yourself and your own abilities.

There may be an evolutionary explanation of our ability to deceive and dissimulate. The struggle for prestige involves a large dose of bluff and bluster. Outright deception is useful in struggles for scarce resources and in battles for territory and mates.

Mating rituals are obviously colored by deception. We fix our hair, our faces, our clothes — putting on a show for potential mates. These embellishments work, even though we know that beauty is only skin deep. Our tendency to fall in love with images and appearances might explain our tendency to believe political bunkum.

In an interesting recent book, “The Folly of Fools,” Robert Trivers explains that you will be more effective at lying to others if you are able to believe the lies you tell. The best liars sincerely commit themselves to what they are saying, somehow concealing the truth, even from themselves. Trivers suggests that the ability to believe your own lies provides an evolutionary advantage. He even argues that good health involves the ability to deceive yourself about your own well-being. Self-doubters will not do very well in the struggle for existence. Confident fakers will tend to succeed in battle, in the bedroom and in the ballot box.

Of course, this raises another question: Is it really a “lie” if you sincerely believe it is true? Lying is usually thought to involve a deliberate intention to deceive. But the best liars are those who are so sure of themselves that they don’t even know they are lying.

This brings us back to the political echo chamber. The more a lie is repeated, the easier it is to believe. It is possible, then, that politicians don’t deliberately lie. They may believe the tales they tell, supported in this belief by the reverberations of partisan advisers and supporters. We have an instinctive need to believe our own stories and the stories of those like us. Although they may appear to be cunning foxes, politicians may in fact be like the rest of us, herd animals who can’t help believing what they hear and what they say.

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Adventure Sports, Religion, and Extraordinary Experience

Testing of limits isn’t just for the adventurous

   Andrew Fiala

Fresno Bee 2012-09-08

I watched a group of hang gliders launch from Glacier Point a few weeks ago. The gliders leapt into thin air and swooped majestically out across Yosemite Valley. Unfortunately, the last glider in the group clipped a tree just after taking off. The kite spun out of control and careened into the talus slope just above the precipice. The crowd of spectators let out a collective scream.

I scrambled down the rocks to the glider pilot. His face and body were smashed, hanging under the mangled kite. He was groaning, barely conscious. Later, in the meadow below, I chatted with the injured pilot’s friends, imagining the beauty and thrill of the flight, while also recalling the horror of the crash.

I concluded, at the time, that hang gliding was crazy. But just the other day I crashed my mountain bike, flipping head over heels in a boulder field. A dent in my helmet shows where my head hit a rock. My legs and ribs are still aching.

I still love mountain biking and will go again. Even the crash was exciting. Maybe those hang gliders aren’t crazy after all. Or maybe it’s normal to seek risk and to want to defy gravity. Somehow the rewards — the thrill, the challenge, the novelty — outweigh the risks. The same fact might explain why people use drugs and alcohol, and even why people explore religious experience.

Human beings appear to need something more than ordinary experience — more than working, eating, and sleeping. When Karl Marx described religion as the opium of the people, he meant that religion provided an escape and consolation from a world of suffering and injustice. Marx thought that the desire for transcendent experience was the “sigh of the oppressed creature.” The same explanation might be given for drug and alcohol abuse. Real opium can provide an escape from oppression and suffering.

But oppression is not the only explanation. Rather, it seems that human beings are fascinated by the strange, the thrilling, and the extraordinary. We are curious explorers of the world and of consciousness. By pushing the limits of ordinary experience, we hope to experience wonder, joy and meaning.

The link between religion and drug use was explained recently by the neurologist Oliver Sacks in an article in The New Yorker. Sacks explained that we seek “transports that make our consciousness of time and mortality easier to bear. We seek a holiday from our inner and outer restrictions, a more intense sense of the here and now, the beauty and value of the world we live in.”

Sacks’ adventures with drug-induced altered states of consciousness is a cautionary tale. The highs of his drug-fueled “holidays” were followed by a crash: unwanted hallucinations, addictive behavior and possible psychosis.

Is it ethical to pursue such experiences — whether leaping off a cliff, exploring religious experience, or ingesting psychoactive chemicals? Libertarians will argue that you should be free to experiment, so long as you are not harming anyone but yourself.

The question of harm is a vexing one. Risky sports do not seem to pose a harm to others, except when the rescuers have to pull you out of danger. Drug use appears to be a private matter, unless you take the wheel or your loved ones have to deal with addiction and decline. And exploring religious experience seems unproblematic, except for religious experiences that turn fanatical or religious disagreements that disrupt families.

It is important to acknowledge the social aspect of even private choices. We should carefully consider the impacts our choices have on others, especially the strangers and loved ones who pick up the pieces when we crash.

We also need to acknowledge our desire for the extraordinary. Human beings have an exploratory urge and a desire for meaning, euphoria, and value in a short, uncertain life. That urge cannot be denied.

It would be nice to find safe venues for exploring extraordinary experiences. But the thrill of the extraordinary comes from the danger of flouting conventional expectations, defying gravity, and making dangerous leaps of faith. Those who make these leaps help to expand our understanding of what is humanly possible. They also occasionally remind us that what goes up, must come down.

 

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Mathematics and Morality

Want to do the right thing? Do the math

   Andrew Fiala

Originally published 2012-08-25

As kids tune up their calculators and complain about their math homework, let’s consider the moral value of mathematics. It is widely known that American students struggle with math and are being outperformed by kids in other countries. In response, President Obama plans to contribute $1 billion to support expert math and science teachers.

Is this a wise investment? Why do we put children through the math wringer: hammering them with algebra, geometry, trigonometry and calculus? At least one pundit has claimed that all of this is cruel and unnecessary.

In a recent essay in The New York Times, Andrew Hacker — a professor at the City University of New York — questioned the need for advanced mathematics. Hacker claimed, “Algebra is an onerous stumbling block for all kinds of students.” He argued that the solution was to change our emphasis on higher mathematics, focusing less on algebra and more on applied quantitative skills.

While I smiled at Hacker’s claim that “poets and philosophers” do not really need to do calculus, I suspect that higher mathematics remains useful. This is not because we use algebra or trigonometry in daily life, but because training in mathematics, like training in music or a foreign language, helps us hone our mental skills. Most adults don’t play the French horn they practiced in middle school, or speak the French they learned in high school. But we are better for having studied these things. Mathematics, like music, is a new language. To learn it, you have to apply abstract rules, think creatively, problem solve, and practice and persevere.

Morality seems to require the same ability to apply abstract rules that we associate with mathematics. Morality involves problem solving, as we come to see how the rules ought to be applied in a variety of complex cases. Of course, ethics involves more than following rules. Moral acuity also involves an emotional and empathetic element. It is a bit more like music in this regard. But as in music, creative and emotional responses must be grounded in a basic understanding of the principles and rules of the art.

The ancient Greeks thought that there was a connection between mathematics (and music) and morality. Plato’s school — the Academy in Athens — was said to have a sign on the door that read, “Let no one ignorant of geometry enter.” The path to enlightenment, for Plato, was prepared by mathematical insight. Mathematics provides rigorous discipline for the mind, which leads to higher wisdom.

There is a parallel between the orderly procedures of mathematical reasoning and the orderliness of a virtuous life. The Greeks thought that a good life was properly proportioned, with each part in its place. Aristotle taught that virtue was a “golden mean,” the middle or average amount: not too much, not too little. He defined justice as giving “equal to equals.” In order to distribute things fairly, you need to understand math.

There is also an analogy between mathematical and moral knowledge. Everyone agrees that 2+2=4. You don’t have to test this claim against the world. Rather, it is true for everyone, at all times, known with certainty. Plato thought moral knowledge was like that: universal and innate.

Unfortunately, people often disagree about morality. Some people don’t eat meat; others do. Some get abortions; others don’t. And so on. Moral principles appear to be quite different from mathematical truths, insofar as people vigorously debate them, even killing one another over them. This leads some people to skepticism about morality. It might be that there are no universally valid moral principles.

But someone like Plato might respond by saying that just as we can make mistakes in “doing the math,” we can also make mistakes in “doing morality.” Disagreement does not prove there is no right answer. If a child adds 2 and 2 and ends up with 5, we don’t give up on mathematics. Instead, we teach him or her how to do it right. And when children have good teachers and do their homework, their math skills improve.

Morality may be similar. We need good teachers who correct our mistakes and teach us how to do better. And, of course, we all need to keep practicing our instruments and doing our homework.

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Sport, Morality, and Trying your best

In life, morality requires a determined effort

   Andrew Fiala

Fresno Bee 2012-08-11

It is often good strategy not to try your best. Several athletes in the London Olympics have reminded us of this. The most notorious case involved badminton players who tried to lose their games, hoping to draw preferred opponents later. The players were officially reprimanded.

Another athlete, Taoufik Makhloufi from Algeria, was disqualified for not trying hard enough in an 800 meter race. He had stopped running because of pain in his knee, which he didn’t want to interfere with a later race. After an appeal, he was reinstated.

We don’t like to admit it, but it is often good strategy not to try your hardest. In swimming and track, sometimes it is wise for an athlete to ease off in qualifying heats in order to save energy for later races. Even worse, sometimes it is good strategy to try to fail. During one of the Olympic cycling races, a British cyclist crashed on purpose in order to get a restart on the race that would benefit his team. His team went on to win the gold medal.

A variety of sports have rules that allow for strategically valuable failures. In baseball, pitchers walk some batters intentionally, rather than trying to pitch to them. In football, quarterbacks throw the ball out of bounds rather than trying to force a completion. In basketball, players try to commit fouls in the waning seconds of a half. Sometimes it is better not to try at all. In sports like gymnastics, trying and failing can leave you with a broken neck.

Knowing when to give up trying is also a good skill in business. Bankruptcy filings can reflect smart decisions about giving up. Successful people have a knack for knowing when to try, how hard to try and when to walk away from things that are not working.

Even though it is sometimes wise not to try your hardest, “not trying” runs counter to a basic moral intuition. We like to think that you should always try your hardest. We tell our children this. The Cub Scout motto is: “Try your best.”

One version of morality focuses entirely on effort. Since we do not have direct control over consequences and outcomes, it seems reasonable to focus on effort and will. This view is associated with the German philosopher Kant. Kant explained that even if you suffered misfortunes, your good will would remain: “Like a jewel, it would still shine by its own light, as a thing which has its whole value in itself.”

The problem is, however, that it is difficult to measure “trying.” How do we know how hard we tried? There is a lot of self-deception and rationalization involved in assessing effort. How do we know how hard an athlete or a co-worker is trying?

Furthermore, the notion that you “tried your best” is often a consolation when you have lost. “Well, at least I tried,” you tell yourself as you stumble across the finish line in the back of the pack. It is often deflationary to tell someone to “go out there and try your best.” That’s the sort of thing we say to people when we expect them to lose.

There is a humane spirit behind praising people for “trying their best.” Sometimes people give up too easily in the face of small obstacles or minor inconveniences. Perseverance is admirable.

But “trying your best” is often not enough. Perseverance without accomplishment is nothing to brag about. We don’t have much patience with people who use “trying their best” as an excuse for poor performance or as a rationalization for moral failure.

There is some truth to the old saying that the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And apparently, the road to Olympic victory is paved with strategic effort: knowing when to try and when to ease up.

But life is not sports. Living well involves more than strategic effort. Morality requires determined effort. We value love, loyalty, fidelity, fortitude and resolve because we know that it is often too easy to give up trying. And we tend to reserve moral praise for those who try their hardest, even when good strategy might point in the other direction.

 

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The Morality of Cockfighting

Should eaters of chicken decry cockfighting?

Andrew Fiala

Originally published Fresno Bee 2012-07-14

Human relations with animals are complex and laden with cultural significance. Americans dote upon our pets. We also like to eat meat. Many of us enjoy hunting. But public opinion has turned against animal blood sports, which were once forms of popular entertainment.

The most obvious case of our changing view of animals is the crackdown on cockfighting. Last week, for example, in Tulare County, police arrested the people who sell the sharp knives that are attached to the fighting roosters. Later that week, the police busted five people at a cockfight — again in Tulare County. At the beginning of July, the state Assembly unanimously agreed to double the fine for cockfighting and other animal fighting. The U.S. Senate has included an anti-animal fighting provision as part of this year’s national Farm Bill. Even Michael Vick, the former dogfighter, has called for stiffer cockfighting penalties.

So what’s so bad about cockfighting? Well, it can be dangerous to humans. A Bakersfield man bled to death last year after he was cut by a rooster’s knife. Cockfighting is also linked to other illicit activities: gambling, gangs, and drugs.

But defenders of cockfighting argue that the cockfight is an important part of some cultures. Cockfighting is a popular in Asia, some Pacific islands, and in parts of Latin America. On one interpretation, the sport is a celebration of masculine values: courage, fierceness, strength, and pride.

The ancient Greeks trained fighting birds. American Presidents — Washington, Jefferson, and Lincoln — were supposedly involved in the sport. Lincoln is supposed to have defended cockfighting by saying, “As long as the Almighty has permitted intelligent men, created in his likeness to fight in public and kill each other while the world looks on approvingly, it’s not for me to deprive the chickens of the same privilege.”

This apocryphal quote makes you wonder whether there is much difference between watching a cockfight and a human fight. It is socially acceptable to cheer at human boxing matches and cage fights. But why then is it not acceptable to cheer on fighting roosters?

Perhaps the problem with cockfighting is that, unlike human fighting, the roosters fight to the death. But chicken killing does not bother most of us. According to the National Chicken Council, Americans consume 9 billion chickens per year — 83 pounds of chicken per capita every year. Hundreds of birds are killed every second to feed our appetite for chicken. So why should we worry about cockfighting?

I talked about these points with Andrew Fenton, an expert on animal ethics who is also my colleague in the Philosophy Department at Fresno State. Professor Fenton reminded me of the need to be sensitive to the values of the communities involved in the sport. Cockfighting is associated with minority and immigrant subcultures living in rural communities. Fenton suggested that there may be ways to help those in animal fighting subcultures see — on their own terms — that animal cruelty is wrong. But at the end of the day, cultural sensitivity is no excuse for cruelty.

Fenton is critical of both cockfighting and intensive animal agriculture. Both practices involve manipulating animals in unnatural ways for human enjoyment. He claims that a more “agrarian ethic” would care for the natural needs of animals.

Fenton pointed out similarities between the way that cockfighters breed and train ferocious roosters and the way that the poultry industry breeds delicious and fast-growing broilers. Fenton concluded, “Intensive animal farming is not any less cruel than cockfighting.”

Fenton further pointed out that while it is appropriate to be outraged by the visible cruelty of the cockfight, there is quite a bit of cruelty that remains invisible to us. Those who will suffer most from the crackdown on cockfighting will be the invisible among us: immigrants and others for whom animal blood sports are culturally significant.

Humans are thrilled by fighting sports and spilled blood. We also like to eat meat. Our food choices and sporting preferences have deep cultural significance for us. Perhaps eliminating cockfighting is a step in the right direction. But we still need more critical insight into our appetite for meat, our fascination with blood sports, and the cultural traditions that influence our thinking about these things.