A theory then is the positive benefits of proof and evidence and is the proven outcome of the subject of the hypothesis. In accordance with this definition, in order for a theory to be scientific, it must be have the burden of proof behind it and must have the evidence that was gathered after the original hypothesis supporting it. In other words, to be scientific, a theory must be repeatedly provable in a controlled testing environment over the span of time with little room for doubt at the end of the process.

With the above definition in mind, theories are directly related to evidence and, in fact, could not even exist without ample evidence that can be reproduced by multiple testers. For a theory to be accepted, without tests that prove and give solid evidence to the original hypothesis that forms the basis of the theory, the theory is not scientifically valid and is thus reduced to being still in the stage of a hypothesis. Evidence is therefore the key element to the formulation of a proper theory as without it, there would be no way to prove or disprove a hypothesis. The reliability and validity of a theory hinges on the ability to produce repeatable and quantifiable evidence, as without it, there are no other ways to rationally and scientifically declare a theory valid.

Evaluating a theory is more than simply finding enough evidence to take an idea from the stage of hypothesis to theory, it is a complex and often time-consuming process called the scientific method. What the scientific method does is helps to develop a theory through stages, the first of which is the process of observation. During observation, generalizations are made about the idea in question and a series of limiters and known factors are delineated. An analysis of the observations yields the hypothesis, which will be the subject of rigorous tests (which is the next stage in the process) that set to offer evidence or show a lack thereof about the hypothesis. The results of these tests are recorded and offered for scientific review, often among peers in the same field of study or research and the hypothesis in question is then judged according the same scientific method in many places and contexts, and by many other researchers until it can be universally agreed upon or left in question due to a lack of evidence or evidence that is not repeatable or generally always the case. Again, the most important issue in evaluating a theory is the production of reliable evidence that can be supported by other researchers.

With these general statements about the formulation of a theory and issues related to what theories are and how they are supported apply across several fields of inquiry, they can be easily applied across in the spectrum in psychological research and clinical psychology contexts. Coming up theories is an important part of psychology as researchers and clinicians attempt to make useful generalizations about conditions, factors that influence mental illnesses or imbalances, for instance, or any other subset of psychological research. To be the most productive, psychology requires theories that are supported by many researchers and that can serve as a standard for treatment, further research, and the formulation of better policies, practices, and guidelines in both the psychology research and clinical contexts.

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Cruelty, writes Shklar, is “the deliberate infliction of physical, and secondarily emotional, pain upon a weaker person or group by stronger ones in order to achieve some end, tangible or intangible, of the latter” (11). Such a definition is straightforward enough, and it is one with which I would agree. I would also agree with the way in which Shklar expands the definition by examining it more profoundly, and the consequences of cruelty she identifies, both those that are tangible and obvious, as well as those that are psychological and philosophical. Although Shklar passed away in 1992, the reader cannot help but think of the prescience and relevance of her philosophical conceptualization of cruelty in the context of current events, especially the prison abuses at Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo.

What makes Shklar’s definition of cruelty so profound and resonant with meaning is that cruelty is not, according to Shklar, “an occasional personal inclination” (11) as some might suggest, and indeed, as some have suggested. Recall, for instance, that in the wake of the revelation of the prison abuse at Abu Ghraib that observers and commentators shook their heads and tried to explain the episode as the result of the inability of a handful of stressed out soldiers to sublimate their aggression or their sexual tensions. The general public was unwilling to consider the possibility that many more episodes of abuse, just as severe, had occurred and represented something entirely different from personal perversions of a couple of soldiers who got out of hand. Shklar’s definition of cruelty, however, explains the dynamic of what was actually happening, and what is always happening in the dynamics of cruelty. Cruelty is systemic and institutionalized, Shklar asserts; it is built into the political machine in order to prop up the powerful.

Shklar acknowledges that there are a variety of “sources of social oppression,” but she writes that “none has the deadly effect of those who, as the agents of the modern state, have unique resources of physical might and persuasion at their disposal” (3). Cruelty is physical and psychological, and by “invading…the private realm” (6) of one’s being, it provokes a fear that is paralyzing for the victim. The instillation of fear is what Shklar considers to be the most dire and devastating consequence of cruelty. Fear prevents citizens from engaging fully and responsibly in society, and it also prevents them from being able to exercise personal freedom, which is the aim of liberalism according to Shklar’s philosophy. “Every adult,” she writes, “should be able to make as many effective decisions without fear or favor about as many aspects of her or his life as is compatible with the like freedom of every other adult” (3). The responsibility of the liberal political doctrine and institution, then, is to draw the line between what is an appropriate degree of control and what constitutes cruelty. Once that line is drawn, writes Shklar, “it must under no circumstances be ignored or forgotten” (6).

The responsible individual, then, takes a stand against cruelty in all of its forms because to do otherwise would be to negate the value of freedom. Shklar calls for a “prohibition of cruelty” (11), which is, unfortunately, terribly naïve, though she herself acknowledges that “one cannot rest on this or any other naturalistic fallacy” (11). Shklar rejects the idea that humans are essentially good and morally intact, and indeed, contends that the natural order—at least of political and social life—will always tend towards the abuse and imbalance of power. As participants in the political and social systems, we must work to secure “the prevention of greater cruelties” (12), and we must avoid doing so only in verbal abstractions. Shklar also contends that we must condition ourselves against “trust[ing] unconditionally” the government that maintains an “overwhelming power to kill” and perpetrate all other manner of cruelties.

Shklar’s essay is powerful precisely because it engages some timeless political and social concerns, concerns that seem particularly relevant given recent events characterized by the abuse of power and exercise of cruelty by a highly resourced and powerful country against those less powerful, including its own citizens. She argues persuasively that cruelty is the worst form of human behavior, and posits convincingly the idea that cruel behavior is not some aberration, but rather part of the social system in which we live. While cruelty seems to be a given condition of political life from Shkalr’s perspective, she does not advocate that we remain morally neutral or passive in response. Rather, we must constantly fight against cruelty in order to maintain an acceptable balance in society that promotes individual and collective freedoms. We must also work continuously to create the conditions of living that combat fear by exposing cruelty for what it is, rather than trying to pawn it off as a strange and perverse personal predilection.

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Work Cited

Shklar, Judith. “The Liberalism of Fear.” Ed. Stanley Hoffman. Political Thought and Political Thinkers. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998.

Although there are several important connections made between knowledge and justice and how the two operate together within both society and the individual soul, the most memorable and complex aspect of Books V-VI of The Republic (click here for a summary and analysis of The Republic) concerns story of the race of people who lived their lives in darkness until they are gradually exposed to the truth of their existence slowly and painfully until it becomes clear that all of the systems, functions, and awards they used to govern their society were based on false notions of knowledge.

What the people thought they knew were just shadows of a much larger truth, but one that was difficult to see and could only be recognized through a difficult process. Through the observations of one member of allegorical race of people—the one who turned his head to face the source of the light, “in every way then, such prisoners would recognize as reality nothing but the shadows of those artificial objects” (225). Plato is suggesting (through Socrates) that we are all prisoners to a fiction because it is difficult and painful to see the truth and that we have create false structures that are inadvertently hiding these deep truths.

Through this train of thought the reader is introduced to his concept of the “Forms” which dictate our understanding of essential notions such as goodness and knowledge and which are almost impossible to know without seeing beyond what life presents on the surface. As stated in The Republic, “In the world of knowledge, the last thing to be perceived and only with great difficulty is the essential Form of Goodness. Once it is perceived, the conclusion must follow that, for all things, this is the cause of whatever is right and good… Without having had a vision of this Form no one can act with wisdom, either in his own life or in matters of the state” (226).

Before moving on to discuss the focus of this analysis, which is the analogy of the race of people who lived in the darkness of the cave, there are some key points that should be established to place the work in context. In Plato’s Republic, the notion of justice and what defines it is the main issue and Socrates attempts to offer a working definition of justice that accounts for the various ways it is mishandled and acts as a tool of oppression as well as the ways in which it is beneficial. The only way that Socrates is able to provide his view of justice and its value is by describing an ideal republic which is idealized as being one in which every citizen specializes in some critical function in society and does not, due to a complex tradition based on lore, try to change his or her function or role in life, thus creating a stable class system. In Books V-VII these concepts are explored in the sense of where people fit into this paradigm of an idealized city designed to highlight the function of justice. Instead of using this society alone to point out his ideas, he breaks the idea down further and suggests that a person’s soul is much like all of the qualities of the citizens in a society, saying, , “if we are to be justified in attributing those same virtues to the individual, we shall expect to find that the individual soul contains the three elements and that they are affected in the same way as are the corresponding types of society” (198).

With these separate elements in place—the soul as a microcosm of the perfect society (and vice versa, actually) as well as the Forms as presented through his parable about the cave dwellers and their perception of truth, knowledge, and reality, Plato (through Socrates, of course) lays out an incredibly complex way to think about justice and a just society by showing how so many of us are flawed and are like the race of people in the cave. Although there are some who understand the Forms and see them for what they are, this poses a difficult problem as the majority of people, without “seeing” these higher truths themselves, will not be able to comprehend the higher modes of knowledge and justice. Only with those whose destiny it is to be philosophers—those schooled in the Forms—can we progress and understand what justice is through being ruled (or guided, more accurately) by those who recognize the Forms. What he is saying and what makes sense, even in modern times, is that we are a society comprised of specialists. We are made up of those who protect, who produce, and who consume, but we have little way of regulating that variance in ideals and desires. However, if there are those among who specialize in recognizing the higher truths (the forms he speaks of) we can live in harmony through the very act of being specialized as this is akin to balance.

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Introduction

In the era of massive and rapid globalization, a great deal of attention has been given to respecting the cultural differences of others while also trying to bring the best of all worlds together into one. It seems notable that so often our approach and most psychological and cultural approaches to resolving disputes is not so gregarious and understanding in terms of general approach. “Cultural influences can be pivotal in shaping an individual’s coping patterns. Although coping is a universal process, one’s cultural background and values may shape what coping patterns are appropriate and valued in a given society” (Lam and Zane, 2003, p. 447).

If coping is to be valued on a cultural level, it is critical that a culturally sensitive solution is derived that seeks to understand and accommodate cultural patterns of resolution, coping, and peace. Refusing to adapt one’s model for mediation to the local circumstances can be considered ethnocentric and can hinder progress toward a workable and sustainable solution.  In order to best achieve the positive goals that have spawned in the age of globalization, careful attention to cultural acceptance within the framework of the “one world” vision, mediators must have a balanced perspective and be open to non-Western solutions as they arise based on the needs of the conflicting parties.

Laying the Groundwork of Intercultural Mediation

Despite a dramatic increase in the number of sectors—public, private, non-profit, and otherwise—that have recognized the inherent value in respecting the cultures of those whom they work with, in terms of general scholarship on the issue, those in the field of conflict resolution have comparatively few resources to help them address this matter. Cross-cultural understanding when guiding disparate parties through a conflict, whether it is on a small, interpersonal scale or on the playing field of international politics, is crucial for positive and lasting outcomes, but without a solid base of information regarding best cultural practices, efforts can be wasted and misunderstandings based on relatively maneuverable stumbling blocks will continue. For several years, the critical nature of cross-cultural understanding and the importance of moving away from ethnocentrism have been an often-overlooked topic in the scholarship on mediation in the international context (Davidheiser, 2008) but as more work has been conducted, it has become clear that this is an essential component of conducting well-managed and effective acts of conciliation. The studies that do exist on this topic are finally looking backwards throughout history and seeing what effects a culturally one-sided plan for dispute resolution have had. For instance, as Leng and Regan (2003) found in their study based on several cases, the effects of a lack of cultural understanding can be dramatic.  “Analysis of 752 mediation attempts in militarized disputes occurring between 1945 and 1995 yields support for the hypothesis that mediation is more likely to succeed when the parties are from similar social cultures” (Leng and Regan, 2003, p. 463).

Taking the path of mediation in solving cross-cultural or international disputes is an increasingly favored mode of conflict resolution that is “far from the rigidities of legal procedures, from the risks implied by a military strategy, from the uncertainty to calling more powerful states to intervene…Mediation appears to be synonymous with the choices of pacifist conciliation and impartiality” (Tennnbaum, 2004). While this is an acceptable definition about the foundations for use of meditation over other practices, one must note that the idea of a pacifist approach (not the mention to the other components of this definition) is Western in nature and does not consider the cultural counter-probability that other forms of handling disputes that are not founded on the peace-based approach might be successful—perhaps even more so, depending on the cultures and conflicts involved. For all of its vagueness culture in the context of conflict resolution can be tricky to define. Leng and Regan (2003) suggest in societies, “culture encourages common patterns of interacting and reacting to the actions of others, by creating a set of imperfectly shared values and beliefs to guide individual behavior” (p. 432). It is only with these two definitions in place to temper one another, can one begin to see that culture is at the heart of any mediation attempt and that this is especially true when the scope of the conflict is international and distinctly intercultural.

Those constituent parts were its inhabitants, its citizens, who were bound together by aspects of shared identity and the agreement about their commonalities. Hobbes viewed this organism of the state as being unstable and highly vulnerable in its native state, however. “[C]ommonwealths,” he wrote, are “imperfect,” and even when they are stabilized, they are “apt to relapse into disorder….” (248). “[T]here may be principles of reason [to] be found out,” Hobbes continued, and he proposed some of these principles in his political philosophy, which retains relevance to contemporary society.

Societies, wrote Hobbes, are susceptible to internal chaos because of the competing and disparate needs of the individual organisms who are subject to the whims of their own passions and needs, whether actual or perceived. Among these passions and needs, Hobbes enumerated several, including the abstractions of “appetite, desire, love, aversion, hate, joy, and grief” (50). Individuals are also governed, Hobbes argued, by what he referred to as “the desire of ease” (81), which the reader may understand as individuals trying to make the realization of their passions and needs as easy as possible, exerting the least amount of effort necessary. In addition to these needs, Hobbes identified many others, including the basic material and tangible needs that every human being must fulfill in order to survive. Among these types of needs, Hobbes mentioned “food, air, medicine, or any other thing without which [an individual] cannot live” (164).

The pursuit of needs, Hobbes reasoned, inevitably creates conflicts among the constituents of a state or society. Either because of limited resources or the perception of limited resources, constituents fight to protect and advance their individual interests, even if reason and logic dictate that cooperation advances both individual and group survival, not the least reason being that the passion that propels one to pursue his or her own desires typically causes “a man [to] abandon the protection that might be hoped for from his own industry, and labor” (81). For these reasons, Hobbes proposed that “a common power” was necessary “to keep [the individuals] in awe” (130). That common power was a government, and the government, in turn, was headed—literally, in Hobbes’s metaphoric symbology of the Leviathan—by a single figure in who power was invested by tacit social agreement. In a democratic society, that social agreement would be forged by means of election. Whether all of the individual organisms voted for the commanding authority was an irrelevant consideration; the social contract was that the constituents would accept the individual as a representative endowed with special powers and the right to guide them.

Fast forward more than three hundred years to the work of contemporary philosopher Jean Hampton, who engages the same issues first posited by Hobbes in Leviathan. Hampton opens her essay “Should Political Philosophy Be Done Without Metaphysics?” by invoking the spirit of Plato. The excerpt from Meno quotes the ancient philosopher telling his audience that “[T]he belief in the duty of inquiring [about] what we do not know will make us better…braver and less helpless than…not… discovering what we do not know, nor [rejecting] any duty of inquiring after it….” (Hampton 791). Hampton, perhaps, becomes better, braver, and less helpless and helps the reader become the same by fulfilling the duty of the philosopher—and indeed, the citizen—by inquiring after the relationship between the state and the polis and the respective responsibilities of each.    To explore these relationships, Hampton embarks upon an ambitious recapitulation and analysis of the trajectory of Rawls’s political philosophy in his seminal works. Hampton’s proposition in writing this article is to explore the idea of a political philosophy as advanced by Rawls and, by extension, to do so in contrast to a metaphysical philosophy.

Her point of departure is Rawls’s contention that “political philosophers in modern pluralistic societies with constitutional democracies must make reference to our history and the shared experiences of our community to forge…an ‘overlapping consensus’ on a conception of justice” (792). While she acknowledges that Rawls’s ideas about the notion of consensus are fascinating and despite the fact that Hampton admits that she even offers a “partial endorsement” of his political philosophy as she has observed its evolution, she ultimately determines that “we should reject [Rawls’s] recommendation to do only political and not metaphysical theorizing about the structuring of our political institutions….” (792). Eventually, Hampton will advance her own argument and philosophy, which is distilled as follows: The duty of the philosopher is to do both political and metaphysical theorizing about the structuring of our political institutions and our social institutions as well.

It is hardly surprising that Hampton’s analysis of Rawls’s political philosophy, distinct from a metaphysical philosophy, eventually incorporates a consideration of Hobbes. After all, it is Hobbes upon whom Hampton confers the honor of being “the man who began modern political philosophy” (807), and rightfully so. Hobbes was, perhaps, the first philosopher to turn the academic gaze towards a consideration of how thought could—and furthermore, should—be applied to society and to action rather than the edification and expansion of conversation and its own contemplation. First, though, Hampton summarizes and explains Rawls’s concern and preoccupation with the role of the individuals who comprise society. The core concept of Rawls’s political philosophy is entirely democratic, as Hampton explains it. Rawls contends that the citizens of a society should strive to achieve a consensus, not only about their leader—as they would in a vote—but also about most, if not all, of the issues that concern them as a unit. While Rawls does not contest the importance of having an authoritative leader to guide the polis, he passionately argues that the leader should not replace or obscure the polis. His is a concrete philosophy, to be applied to the active construction and maintenance of the social experiment.

When she introduces Hobbes into her analysis, Hampton observes that Rawls finds Hobbes’s “political theorizing…still too metaphysical,” though she herself does not (799-800). In fact, the bulk of her essay is devoted to advancing the idea that Rawls and Hobbes were talking about the same thing, namely, how to create a form of social order among groups of “people who are in conflict but desire [albeit unconsciously, perhaps] peace” (800). Furthermore, Hampton wishes to persuade the reader that Rawls’s and Hobbes’s political philosophies are not contradictory of conflicting in any way. Both are concerned, she insists “about the damage to societies which contestable human doctrines can cause” (800), and it is this concern that motivated Hobbes and Rawls. The fundamental difference in their philosophies about arresting and repairing the damage is that Hobbes believed “[s]tability…is something we pursue via polity and not via consensus on ideas,” while Rawls commits himself to the value of consensus (801).

Hampton, to her credit, explores both notions, polity and consensus, fully. What is more, she finds merit in each of them, and she respects each philosopher without any disparagement. She approaches their ideas with the spirit of critical inquiry. Hobbes, she explains, believed that “Only a ruler with the power to have the last word is able to forestall [the inevitable] conflict….” (801) that arises when individuals act to advance their own interests, while Rawls believes consensus must be attempted, faithful in the power of the polity to resolve many problems on its own (801). Because of her scholarly openness, Hampton is able to not only notice the overlap between the political philosophies of Rawls and Hobbes, but to go a step further, taking her student and reader into that space that is shared between two philosophers centuries apart.

Ultimately, Hampton argues that political philosophy should try to work towards consensus, as per Rawls’s philosophy, but should respect the literal and symbolic authority invested in the representative the polity has elected through a social contract. “I find myself moved enough,” Hampton writes, “to believe that whatever else political philosophy ought to involve, it should sometimes be political” (809; emphasis added). Herein lies the strength of Hampton’s essay; she has not only bridged the parallel divide between two philosophers, but she has also rendered a powerful observation and challenge about the very nature of philosophy and its rights and responsibilities. Rawls’s and Hobbes’s political philosophies are not mutually exclusive; on the contrary, they are complementary. As she concludes, “the activity of philosophy is itself based upon substantive metaphysical beliefs about the nature of human beings” (814), and those metaphysical beliefs should then lead to conscientious action, action that is taken by the collective that is the polis. To answer the question that she posited in the opening of her essay, no, political philosophy should not be “done” without metaphysics. Political philosophy, Hampton concludes in her incisive analysis of Rawls and Hobbes, should not be developed without a consideration of metaphysical ideas, nor should it be applied without a consideration of metaphysical ideas. Philosophy, as a discipline, Hampton contends, should be comprised of both thought and action; furthermore, it should be carried far beyond the realm of contemplation and activated in the actual world in which philosophers live as just another member of the polis.

Works Cited

Hampton, Jean. “Should Political Philosophy Be Done Without Metaphysics?” Ethics 99.4 (1989): 791-814.

Hobbes, Thomas. Leviathan. New York: Touchstone, 1962.

This distance from facts, as Aristotle argues here and in other texts he wrote, should not discourage human beings from attempts to understand the world in which they live, however, as well as the entire universe that exists beyond known consciousness. Rather, such distance should only serve as motivation for human beings to bridge the chasm between the mere awareness of an idea and the profound understanding of it.

In these chapters of On the Heavens, Aristotle tells the reader that “there are certain principles” which can be known and applied in order to understand the universe.[2] More importantly, if the reader can apply these principles that are, in Aristotle’s mind, indisputable and “sufficiently explained,” he or she can understand people’s place within the scheme and order of the universe.[3] While much of On the Heavens is densely theoretical and seemingly focused primarily on the astronomical and the cosmological, the careful reader can discern some essential advice for living in a complex world, advice that is both timeless and universal.

In Book Two of On the Heavens, Aristotle goes to great lengths to explain to the reader in painstaking detail how the universe works. In fact, in chapters four through fourteen, Aristotle devotes most of his attention to developing his articulation of his elaborate cosmological theory: how the matter of the universe is shaped, how it occupies space and time, and how its constituent objects relate to one another. This theory is dense and complex, especially for a lay reader, involving arithmetic considerations of shapes and the ways in which they correspond to numbers, the geometry of circumferences and radii, and the dimensional notions of planes. He also offers a treatment of the elements—water, air, earth, and fire—and proposes an explanation regarding how each of these is comprised and what types of effects one exerts over the other. In this section of On the Heavens, Aristotle also begins to insert the human figure into this complicated equation, considering how perceptions affect the act and outcome of observation.

Much of this part of Aristotle’s philosophy on the heavens and the universe at large is delivered carefully and logically, each idea building sequentially upon the one that preceded it. The words Aristotle chooses to explain complex constructs are deliberately repetitive, seemingly for the purpose of emphasis, as in “the bodies below the sphere of the planets are contiguous with the sphere above them. The sphere then will be spherical throughout; for every body within it is contiguous and continuous with spheres.”[4] It can be all too easy for the reader to be overwhelmed by both the content and the style of this particular book of On the Heavens, which is characteristic of most of Aristotle’s philosophical writing, but the persistent reader will be rewarded with a handful of vital life lessons that remain relevant across all times and places, regardless of whether one understands the mechanics of the universe’s functioning.

The reader must be patient in order to discern these lessons. He or she must also be able to link the lessons together into a larger context, in much the same way that Aristotle has done in linking together the concepts that form his cosmology. This process need not be as complex as it might appear at first, however. Hidden within the dense lines heavy with redundancy, Aristotle has placed three lessons. The first explains how human beings face difficulties in achieving their goals because there are some matters that are simply beyond their control. The second lesson teaches that despite uncontrollable aspects of our beings, humans are the supreme species because of a hyper-developed cognitive capacity relative to other species. The third lesson, though, offers a thoughtful warning. With great capacities also come equivalent responsibilities, and we must always think about the means and the ends of our actions, and how each will affect other people. The universe depends upon striking a balance among all of the movers and all of their disparate movements.
The first lesson is delivered directly and in language that is fairly unadorned, considering Aristotle’s penchant for repetition and, at times, the unnecessary elaboration he offers that merely reasserts a point that has already been made. In Chapter 12, Aristotle says plainly to his reader: “To succeed often or in many things is difficult.”[5] At the most basic level, this lesson tells humans to understand and accept that failure is a part of a well-lived life; it is impossible, even when one exerts his or her best efforts, to succeed at every action or on every occasion. Aristotle links this teaching to two other lessons. Prior to delivering this pithy kernel of wisdom, he alludes to the fact that at least a portion of our actions are not—nor can they be—reflective of our own best efforts. Rather, they are a condition and outcome of luck and circumstance. To reinforce this point, Aristotle offers a metaphor that continues to resonate today. One man, he says, will have a healthy body without having to exercise it; another will require constant “hard training”[6] to achieve and maintain a healthy body, while a third man will work hard and never achieve the health he desires. Some things, Aristotle suggests, are left to the luck of the draw. The second lesson to which Aristotle links the teaching of the challenges of success is that which may be referred to as exponential difficulty. The more complex and demanding a task is, Aristotle explains, the more that will be required not only of the individual, but also of luck and circumstance, in order to fulfill the task and achieve a successful outcome. In his typical algebraic prose, Aristotle develops this idea in the following way: “In action, again, when A has to be done to get B, B to get C, and C to get D, one step or two present little difficulty, but as the series extends the difficulty grows.”[7]

A community, which can reside within a state, has many intangible qualities that distinguish it from the formality of the state; the abstractness of these qualities and the sheer number of them can make the task of defining community challenging. Popple and Quinney, citing Bell and Newby, indicated that there are at least 98 different definitions of community in the sociological literature alone (71), but they emphasize that one of the threads that unites all of the definitions is that “the term [community] is rarely used disparagingly” (71). On the contrary, while a state can have a negative charge that affects its relationships with other nations in significant ways, a community is generally considered to be a group of people who are united through positive affective and relational ties. In contrast with the state, whose benefits and characteristics of membership are conferred through the circumstances of their citizenship, the community tends to be chosen by an individual, who seeks to belong in the group. Indeed, a person can belong to more than one community simultaneously. Popple and Quinney define at least three types of communities: “One is defined in terms of locality or territory [such as a tribal community]; another as…an interest group; and thirdly… people sharing a common condition or problem…or a common bond” (71).

Using these definitions, then, one sees that the state is not inherently antithetical to community. Although the state may be hostile to communities, and may even threaten or attempt to restrict the development of communities, a brief examination of the world’s states substantiates the contention that communities can thrive even under the most inhospitable of conditions. In fact, in those states that are most opposed to the development of communities, such groups often flourish, having constructed their identity around their very right to exist. Many communities exist within all sorts of states, whether democratic or totalitarian. Clearly, the state itself is organized differently than a community, but the two can co-exist in harmony. According to Mason, the highest expression of humans’ ability for social relationships and organization is found in those nations where the “citizens share a national identity” that has led to the formation of a “national community” (115). In such situations, Mason contends, the state provides the guidance and safety of a formal organizational and regulating structure that governs day-to-day life, while the community supports the state by providing a sense of cohesive national identity and enthusiasm for the shared identity.

While one can certainly understand how Johnson might have considered the state antithetical to community—after all, they are very different—a return to the conceptual definitions of state and community explain that the two are not naturally antithetical. Although there are some states that are intolerant of communities, communities remain an important feature of human societies, and maintain dynamic relationships with the state.

Works Cited

Appiah, Kwame Anthony. Thinking It Through: An Introduction to Contemporary Philosophy. New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.

Mason, Andrew. Community, Solidarity, and Belonging: Levels of Community and Their Normative Significance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000

Popple, Keith, and Anne Quinney. “Theory and Practice of Community Development: A Case Study from the United Kingdom.” Journal of the Community Development Society 33.1 (2002): 71.

What I have begun to come to understand is that the answers to these most profound and preoccupying questions of life are rarely, if ever, answered satisfactorily, and certainly not once and for all. Because we are constantly evolving, and because our societies and the environments in which we live are dynamic, changing all the time, we must necessarily develop self-schemas and personal cosmologies or philosophy structures that are open to change themselves. Otherwise, we will find life very unsatisfying and frustrating indeed. While I am not advocating that we come up with a set of answers to these deep and perplexing questions that we can believe in fully or declare as absolute philosophy, it is helpful and important in life to have some basic understanding of how we feel about the answers—even if we don’t claim to know the answers directly. In other words, a flexible set of answers to life’s most profound existential questions does not signify that one is ambivalent or indecisive. On the contrary, a flexible set of answers to the questions articulated above signifies that one is mature enough to recognize that rigid, static responses will only limit one’s own experiences of himself or herself and of the world because such responses are, quite simply, unrealistic. Furthermore, it is important to signal that having flexible answers in place of rigid philosophy does not mean that one lacks a belief system. Again, the opposite is true. One builds one’s answers upon a foundation of core beliefs. While the answers themselves may—and should—change over time, it is unlikely that the core beliefs will, for they are the guiding values of an individual’s life.

In my own case, I have established my belief system so that it orients itself towards a single core value, and that is my belief in the basic goodness of human beings, in true atheist, humanist form. Obviously, there is plenty of evidence, both domestically and abroad, broadcast on our televisions and published in our newspapers every day, to contest the philosophy that people are essentially good, that they want the best and most peaceful life for themselves and for others. To believe in the essential goodness of human beings is not to live in a fantasy world that denies the horrors that we perpetrate against one another, evidence that we rarely learn the lessons that previous generations tried to pass down to us as the result of their own struggles. Rather, believing in human goodness is a position that permits possibility. In other words, I believe that the opposite of a fervent trust in the goodness of human beings requires accepting the dim and desolate view that human beings are essentially evil, and I find still more evidence to contest that belief. Believing in human goodness posits that people become distracted by desire—be it for land, religious dominance, money, or any other number of indicators of status of a social, political, or economic nature—and their efforts to express the best within themselves becomes obscured. However, the seed of goodness remains, and in other circumstances, under the right conditions, goodness can blossom again.

Perhaps such a world view may be considered naïve, and I concede that it does carry a note of optimism and hopefulness which can be chipped away at daily if one focuses on the bad news of the world. However, I firmly believe that the narratives we rarely, or never, hear are signals that overall, the world is a pretty good place. When we permit ourselves to express the best within ourselves, and when we recognize that what is best within ourselves may not be the same tomorrow as it is today, then we promote an environment of supportive mutuality and begin to foster the qualities that are needed for healthy communities. What is my place within this community? The answer is not immediately clear. First of all, each human being is a member of many communities: the community of one’s family, one’s school, one’s religious institution, one’s geographical region, and, in some areas, one’s cultural group. Some of these identities are conflicting, and in such cases, we are called to make difficult decisions about bringing the disparate parts of ourselves into harmony. Sometimes, we are even called upon to eschew one aspect of our identity because it creates such a degree of conflict within the other communities to which we belong. These negotiations with the self, though, are never static (though we often believe, or would like to believe, that they are); we renegotiate our contracts with ourselves and our various communities all the time.

There are numerous factors that affect these negotiations with the self and with community, and which directly impact our responses to the existential questions mentioned earlier in this paper. The fact that we are living in the twenty-first century, in particular, requires that we marshal our greatest personal resources and attempt to be flexible human beings. Perhaps at no other time in history has culture, society, and the notion of what community means and how it is constituted been so utterly dynamic. Those of us living in this watershed moment have observed the emergence of technologies that were not even a seed in an inventor’s imagination just ten years ago. The accelerated pace of all kinds of development demands that we incorporate information about ourselves, others, and our possibilities quickly, while still making thoughtful and conscientious choices. That is no small, nor easy, task.

If we look back over just the course of our own brief lifetimes, we see how much our society has changed, and yet how it has retained a basic infrastructure, both tangible and intangible. We acknowledge that we are not the same people that we were two, five, or ten years ago. How could it possibly be otherwise? The answers that we held to the existential questions at earlier points in our lives may no longer be relevant in many cases, as new possibilities have emerged. It seems more life-giving to me to be willing to suspend one’s future plans, which are based on notions constructed by present realities, and practice living in the moment. Living in the moment does not mean that you do not have future plans. Rather, it means that you are willing to devote your concentrated attention and effort to the present moment and, furthermore, to be attentive to the influence that this moment will have throughout the remainder of your life course.

A simple example from contemporary life may explain how this philosophical posture and pragmatic engagement with life is an effective approach to living life’s questions in the moment. Imagine, for instance, that you were a technological industry employee during the dot.com boom. You were riding high on profits that astonished every other professional field, you were having fun on the job, where a new work paradigm was being explored and established, and you loved what you did. You imagined yourself in this position forever. You were good at what you did and thought “This is my place in the world! This is what I am meant to do!” Suddenly, though, the market plummeted, and the job and any prospects for its future recovery evaporated. A job that seemed could and would last forever disappeared, leaving plenty of people in existential despair. Such kinds of experiences occur every single day, to more and less dramatic degrees. When we are attached to a particular vision of ourselves or to the answers that we believe are permanents responses to the most profound philosophical questions, then we find ourselves lost and bereft when the answers can no longer satisfy the questions.

In the world, a complex and dynamic organism, there is far too much unpredictability and far too many factors beyond our control. The Great German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke, realized the value of this flexible approach to life when he wrote his famous lines to a young writer who sought his counsel. The young man was troubled because he wanted to be a poet but felt frustrated in his attempts. He wrote Rilke in search of comfort, encouragement, and practical advice that would help him answer life’s biggest and most pressing questions. Rilke, as much a philosopher as a poet, wrote a moving response to the young man, a response which we may take as relevant counsel today: “I want to beg you…to be patient toward all that is unsolved…and to try to love the questions themselves….Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them…. Live the questions now” (34-35). Rilke continued, “[T]ake whatever comes with great trust, and if only it comes out of your own will, out of some need of your inmost being, take it upon yourself and hate nothing” (35).

Rilke’s advice is perhaps the most useful as any I have ever encountered, and it helps me learn to live the questions. His injunction to live in the moment transcends platitudes; Rilke explains why we should love the questions and why we should live them. The most effective engagement of life’s questions can only occur when one approaches answering those questions assertively yet understanding that any set of answers can only ever be tentative. The world is a beautiful and dynamic place, and our lives can only be the same. Developing flexible cognitive and psychological schemas about ourselves, others, and our place in the world will help us to live more meaningful and fulfilling lives, both for ourselves and for the greater good.

Works Cited

Bulfinch, Thomas. “Prometheus and Pandora.”

Oliver, Mary. “The Summer Day.” Retrieved on July 16, 2007 from http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/133.html

Rilke, Rainer Maria. Letters to a Young Poet. New York: W.W. Norton, 1934.

Slater, Philip. The Pursuit of Loneliness: American Culture at the Breaking Point. Boston: Beacon Press.

The theory of creationism is a belief based in religious ideology which holds that “God created things in their present form” (Scott & Branch 16). People who defend creationist arguments contend that the Bible’s Old Testament account of the world’s coming into being is not a metaphor, but is, instead, a historical account of fact (Scott & Branch 7). In other words, whereas proponents of evolution base their claims upon physically-based evidence, creationists base their ideology on historically-based literary and spiritual evidence. Instead of relying upon the physical evidenced touted by evolutionary scientists, creationists accept as truth the narrative that “God formed man of the dust of the ground” (Genesis 2:7), and that He also set man into a physical world that was entirely of His imagination and creation. Those who support the theory of evolution, on the other hand, believe that while the biblical story of creation may be a moving metaphor, the hard and incontrovertible scientific facts of how life came to be cannot be explained by religion, but only by the observations and experiments of science (Barker 214). As Darwin, the father of evolutionary theory, explained, evidence clearly substantiates the argument that creation is not a one-time event that occurred at some fixed point in the historical record (18). Instead, he argued, observations confirm that creation operates according to a “law of progressive development” (18), and that law makes provisions for constant mutability over the course of time (28). In other words, from the very basis of ideologies, these two theories of how the earth came into being could not be more diametrically opposed to one another as they are based not only on a completely different standard of “proof” (faith versus science) but because they argue that the same thing happened in two enormously different time periods.

Advocates of each creationism or evolutionary argument contend that the veracity of the other side’s opinions is mutually exclusive and lacking in convincing substance. For example, creationists cite the “inability of evolution to explain the origin and diversity of living things,” focused, as evolutionary theory primarily is, on how species evolve over time as the result of natural selection (Morris viii; Scott & Branch 17). Creationists feel bothered by a theoretical position that makes no room for God or for the biblical accounts of the earliest days of the living world (Scott & Branch 17). Evolutionists, on the other hand, attack creationists as being overly sentimental and attached to metaphorical fantasies, unwilling to consider the evidence science provides because it is threatening to their religious beliefs (Morris 94). Many people refuse to consider the possibility of evolution. According to Morris, 45% of Americans do not believe in evolution (viii). The debate between these two groups has become so intense that even the U.S. Supreme Court has been called upon to intervene, ruling in favor either of a creationist or evolutionist perspective to determine which model should be taught in American schools (Morris 248). In 2005 alone, the legislatures of more than a dozen states were asked to review anti-evolution proposals, also known as intelligent design (Scott & Branch viii). Again, this debate is so hotly contested because it proposes two incredibly radically different theories that are believed in with equal fervor and, more importantly, neither can move beyond the classification of “theory” officially.

The story of creation as it is told in Genesis is indeed moving, beautiful and on a grand scale with the weight of history invoked. Furthermore, the story of creation as expressed in the Old Testament has profound spiritual significance for religious believers, and is one of the foundations of the entirety of the Christian faith. The power of the creation story is also incredibly psychological; as readers and, especially, as Christians, we want—and almost need—to believe that the “earth was without form and void” (Genesis1:2), that God was lonely, and that He desired the companionship that only human beings could provide. By extension, we want and need to believe that God exercised His generative powers to create us, and moreover, that He believed us so special that He made us in His “image [and] likeness” and “let [us] have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth” (Genesis 1: 26). The beauty and symbolic meaning of the story need not be reduced in any way by evolutionary theory, though this has often been the case and is, in fact, the source of conflict between the two competing beliefs.

What evolution suggests, and what Darwin proposed as the theory of evolution, is that all living creatures “cannot have been separately created in their present forms, but must have evolved from earlier forms by slow transformation” (11). The transformation, Darwin further argued, occurred as the result of natural selection, which he defined as “the preservation of favorable individual differences and variations, and the destruction of those which are injurious” (89). Evolution explains how new species have evolved over time, how mutations occur, and how some species die out as the environment and other variables change (Darwin 89). In On the Origin of Species, Darwin provided a catalog of initial findings to substantiate his emerging theory. Further evidence to support the initial theories of Darwin have, since the publication of On the Origin of Species been offered to lend an increasing amount of credence to the theory and with each new discovery, it becomes clear that the idea of evolution based on observable natural phenomena makes the most sense, at least from a strictly empirical and rational standpoint.

In addition to Darwin’s own evidence, which he derived through observation as a naturalist while on an expedition in the Galapagos Islands, the scientific evidence that has accumulated over the century and a half since the publication of On the Origin of Species has further supported Darwin’s theory of evolution. In fact, the advances made in scientific knowledge in the years since Darwin’s expedition on the HMS Beagle help us to understand much more about life, not only how human beings came into existence, but also how the Earth and even the universe came to be, how old they are, and what changes they have undergone over the millennia (Scott & Branch 38). As Scott and Branch indicated, the fields of paleontology and archaeology alone have provided a “massive record” of compelling evidence that must be taken into consideration when one thinks about the creation and history of the world (38). More recent discoveries and developments in genetic research, especially the ability of scientists to code genes with exacting precision, also provide insight and evidence for the correctness of evolutionary theory (Scott & Branch 42).

Despite the increasing body of scientific evidence that is available for the public’s review and consideration, creationists hold fast to their arguments, for they fear that to do otherwise will require them to either relinquish or negate their religious beliefs. Unfortunately, creationists fail to consider scientific evidence, considering it threatening to the creation narrative established in Genesis. As Scott and Branch concluded, “No matter how credible the scientific evidence…, no matter how clear the constitutional arguments; no matter how well-crafted the explanations that evolution and religious faith are not in conflict—this is not a battle that will go away soon” (viii).

Works Cited

Barker, Ellen. “Does It Matter How We Got Here?: Dangers Perceived in Literalism and Evolutionism.” Zygon: Journal of Religion and Science 22.2 (1987): 213-225.

Darwin, Charles. The Origin of Species. New York: Penguin, 2003.

Morris, Richard. The Evolutionists: The Struggle for Darwin’s Soul. New York: Macmillan.

The Official Scriptures of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. 1 March 2008. <http://scriptures.lds.org/en/gen/>

Scott, Eugenie Carol, and Glenn Branch. Not in Our Classrooms: Why Intelligent Design is Wrong for Our Schools. New York: Beacon.

This first chapter of “Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels begins by attempting to define morality. This is a difficult task since so many possible and rival definitions exist, therefore the common ground can be defined as only the “minimum conception” and although it is not immediately defined, the reader of “Elements of Moral Philosophy” is given examples involving handicapped children to illustrate. The first example employed in “Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels discussed “Baby Theresa” who was born without the auxiliary functions of her brain—aside from those which assisted with breathing. Even though most of these pregnancies in the case of such a massive defect require termination, especially since many of the children are born stillborn or die immediately after birth, the parents decided to have Baby Theresa in the hopes that her organs could be used to help other children in need. This sparked a great deal of controversy and ethicists raised a number of questions. On the one hand, the benefits argument declared that her organs would do her no good and that she would not lead a normal life. This side made the argument  that life is worthless without the ability to interact with others and the world and that mere biological existence is useless. The other side argued that it was wrong to use a human life in order to fulfill the needs of another human life and that Baby Theresa’s autonomy must be preserved—even if she cannot think or act for herself. Two more examples, one of conjoined twins and another involved a father’s murder of his daughter who was barely functioning because of cerebral palsy. What these stories highlight is that moral judgments must be backed by sound reasoning and that morality requires the impartial consideration of all parties involved. This leads to the complete “minimum conception” of morality which brings together these two aspects of moral decision making.

“Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels Chapter 2 Summary

As expressed in “Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels, different cultures have unique customs and ways of thinking. It may be difficult for someone of one culture to comprehend these differences, and this defines cultural relativism—different cultures have different moral codes. It would not be correct to judge one culture’s way of living as better than another as they are all just different and every standard is bound to the particular culture. This also means that there are no universal truths in ethics, everyone’s culture is different and it can be only be understood within the context of that particular culture. In order to highlight this definition, the Greek idea of burying the father versus the Callatians’ ritual of eating the father at are odds, just as are common perceptions about the righteousness or crime of infanticide practiced by the Eskimos. The problem with cultural relativism is that as an argument it does not make sense. In “Elements of Moral Philosophy” James Rachels also points out that there are two sides to the issue and taking it too seriously could lead to negative results. For instance, if another culture was committing genocide, for instance, under the idea of cultural relativism we would just understand it as not something wrong, but just something culturally diverse. This could obvious pose serious problems. Despite some of the problems with the cultural relativism argument, there are some considerations to be made. For instance, all cultures generally share some of the same moral and ethical values in common. For instance, we care for our young, do not condone murder, and place value on telling the truth. Such universal rules are necessary for society to exist. The difficult part of this is not placing judgments based on our own cultural assumptions of right and wrong. When we turn this into an argument, however, it is clear that there are both positive and negative aspects to seeing things in a more culturally-open way.

“Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels Chapter 3 Summary

Chapter Three of “Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels deals specifically with the definition and evolution of the term and meaning of ethical subjectivism. In general, ethical subjectivism states that everyone has an opinion, but these are just thoughts and feelings rather than facts thus no one is right. In general, this theory states that our opinions about moral issues are based on feelings and because of this there is no general statement we can make that expresses an opinion that will every be verifiable or true. “Elements of Moral Philosophy” makes use of the debate about homosexuality and carries it through until the end of the chapter showing how certain statements one could make about the issue are all moral opinions, rather than straight facts thus no one can be right. Ethical subjectivism has undergone a number of changes. As James Rachels states in “Elements of Moral Philosophy” the first evolution of the theory was developed by Hume who stated that morality is merely sentiment and is not fact. This is called Simple Subjectivism, but it is not a perfect theory. For instance, if it were correct, it states that we are all incapable of being incorrect thus it does not make sense since not everyone can be right. Also, it cannot account that there is disagreement in ethics and to account for this it evolved even further into what Stevenson calls “Emotivism.” In general, emotivism looks at the same issues on the level of language. When we state a moral opinion, it is just an opinion and is not fact. While we may want to persuade with our language and try to make someone feel our point, this is still maintaining that all of these statements are still just feelings. This invokes the question of whether or not there are any moral facts and we find that they only exist when facts are present to support them. We must make decisions and think about moral issues on grounds that are more substantial than feeling, they must also be provable and backed up by solid fact rather than varied opinions.

“Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels : Summary of Chapter 4

This chapter of “Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels finally addresses one of the most overriding concerns in any discussion about morality and ethics in general—religion. It takes issue with the fact that much of our American concept of ethics and morality is based upon what the clergy and religious officials think and this makes our country rather unique. In “Elements of Moral Philosophy” James Rachels questions this process of gleaning moral information from religion solely and takes this almost automatic assumption to task in the several sections of the chapter. This “divine command theory” means that ethics decisions should be based on God’s law far more than any set of personal feelings, but as the author mentions, what about atheists? Furthermore, as “Elements of Moral Philosophy” suggests, what if these are simply arbitrary commandments—what if God had commanded that we all accept murder, for example? In this way the commandments set forth by God can be seen as arbitrary, even if we do not believe they are. When we examine morality based on religious doctrine, there are an infinite number of obstacles to overcome in reasoning. In many ways, according to some of the conjecture put forth in “Elements of Moral Philosophy”, when we really stop to consider what is being said, it does not seem reasonable to base our opinions on moral issues simply upon religious teachings. By doing so, we leave ourselves open to a lack of reasoning, which is what ancient Greek authors such as Socrates point out. The theory of natural law seems to be more based in reason but there are still problems inherent to it. It seems as though it is difficult for many to think about morality in terms of nature and science and for this reason the theory has gone by the wayside. Personally, when thinking of rationality in moral decision-making, this seems like the most reasonable choice. It takes into account human nature and is not based on what could possibly a random or arbitrary set of commandments.

“Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels Chapter 5

This chapter of “Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels poses an interesting question about our motivations and our willingness to commit unselfish acts. It begins with a heroic story of the Swedish official who helped many Jewish people escape the Nazi death camps and for a moment, it seems as though this chapter will deal our innate ability and desire to help our fellow human beings. The definition at the end of the first section of “Elements of Moral Philosophy”, however, is that of psychological egoism, which states that we are perhaps not as altruistic as we may seem—that many of our seemingly unselfish acts are actually for our better and selfish interest. As the chapter from “Elements of Moral Philosophy” by James Rachels continues, we find that the Swedish official and even Mother Theresa—the epitome of altruism—had selfish motivations for what they did. These revelations completely break down what we thought we knew about heroic deeds and it becomes apparent that generally, the theory of psychological egoism is actually quite a feasible idea. As stated in “Elements of Moral Philosophy” it is rare that we do anything without some self-interest—even if we do not fully realize that it is present. We may, like the Swedish official, want to make ourselves feel as though we’re leading a more significant and meaningful life so we in turn volunteer at homeless shelter or do some other random act of kindness because it makes us feel better about who we are. Even pity cannot be left out of this equation since as Hobbes mentions, pity is so powerful because we “feel” another person’s pain—that is, we think of ourselves and how we would feel in such a situation. Again, the ego is never absent and even when we may think we are being altruistic, it must always be considered. It is difficult to agree with the point James Rachels makes in “Elements of Moral Philosophy”  about the problem with this theory. He suggests that it is flawed because we think it is irrefutable and we then turn everything around to make it seem as though it is provable. I’m not sure I agree with this, as there are always counterarguments to be made.