Dog Genius and Us

   There is a truly fascinating program that is shown periodically on NatGeoWild titled "Dog Genius."  It is intended to demonstrate the degree of canine intelligence, but it also says quite a bit about human thinking, too.

   One aspect about canine intelligence that is demonstrated on this program is that dogs are capable, not just of "trial and error" learning, but of true reasoning as well.  The show depicts an experiment where dogs are placed in "Skinner boxes" and shown two images, say a teacup and a box on a touch screen.  If the dog presses the "correct" image--say, in this case, the box--he is rewarded with a treat.  If he presses the wrong image, the screen flashes and he gets nothing.  Of course, the dog learns that he is rewarded for pressing the box rather than the tea cup--big deal!

  Ah, but it really is a big deal.  Say, on the next trial, the dog is shown a teacup and a chair.  Well, he doesn't apparently start from scratch.  He remembers that the teacup gives him nothing, so he presses the chair and, voila, he gets his treat.  The next time, say, he is shown a box and a table.  He remembers that the box image gets him the treat, so he ignores the table and chooses the box.  He doesn't experiment with trying the table to see what happens: he chooses the box because he knows that gets him a treat.  It goes further.  Now, he is shown a chair and a table, neither of which is the original image.  Which does he select?  The chair, because he remembers that the chair image provided a treat as well.  He has learned, ON HIS OWN, to make these kind of logical associations.  He is thinking, he is reasoning, although of course not at our level, but give him a break; he is, after all, still a dog.

   Dogs have learned to read our expressions, and it seems they are the only non-human animals to do so.  Say that you have taught your dog the "leave it" command; you place a treat on the floor, give the command, and the dog will learn NOT to pick up the treat until you give permission.  All right, everyone knows that, but...If you close your eyes, and the dog sees that you have closed your eyes, he will ignore the command and take the treat anyway!  Why not?  You can't tell that he took it, he wants it, so why not take it?  They have apparently learned that we process information through our eyes, while a dog processes most of his through his nose.  This dog is understanding--and thinks he is manipulating--a member of another species.  And, half the time, our dogs get away with it!!

   This is just one more batch of data demonstrating that those activities that make up thinking, that correspond to what we mistakenly call "the mind," are the result of cerebral development, not interaction with some disembodied intellect.  
 

Peer Approval

As I have said several times in my first book, anyone who has a serious wish to pursue the Stoic life style will soon discover that this entails far more than merely accepting some different philosophic propositions. It is not as if I am deciding that sense data theory is correct, that we do not perceive objects directly. If I did accept that theory—and I don't—what real difference would it make in my life? Would I live any differently, be any happier, if I accepted that I am perceiving sense-data of a pen and paper rather than the objects themselves? I think not. To seek to become a Stoic entails something far more difficult: it involves a change in the way we perceive and act in the world around us. If it is anything else, it is a waste of time.

Why is this so difficult? Simply for this reason: one of the most powerful influences on any person is the desire to please, and receive the approval of, our friends and acquaintances. We call this the desire for peer approval, and it works both ways. We crave approval by our associates, and we know that this approval must be reciprocated. From the Stoic perspective, the tricky part is that, in order to obtain this approval, we must act in ways that will elicit this approval, and we must demonstrate approval of others' actions. After all, how can we expect to receive approval when we will not grant it ourselves? If we reject our friends' actions, they will probably interpret this rejection as a rejection of them, personally, and there goes the friendship.¹ Furthermore, this pressure to conform to our friends' expectations is constant and reinforced by all types of pressure, from the most inane popular psychology to serious ethical dissertations.

Epictetus, however, along all the other Stoic teachers, pointed out that as seductive as this is, this desire is just as harmful to the Stoic ideal as the desire for wealth, fame or power. He was absolutely correct on this point. When we think about it, we realize that peer approval is just as much outside of our control as anything else we might desire. I can no more control a friend's or acquaintance's attitudes or opinions anymore than I can control a stranger's. Oh, I might be able to claim some small measure of influence, but ]certainly not control. Remember the basic principle: if I desire something that is not in my control but in another's, then I am, in reality, a slave to whomever does control what I desire. But how, when I am just learning to follow the Stoic principles, can I escape from this habit?

Epictetus actually taught his students to leave their family and friends and live at his school while they were still learning the basic principles, and many of the other teachers of philosophy felt the same way. This physical isolation from friends and family would help remove the new student from the daily temptations with which he was surrounded. Those temptations might take the form of acting in ways that while contrary to the Stoic life would elicit the approvals of friends and family, or they might be the temptation to abandon any serious adoption of Stoic life in favor of political or business advancement. Suppose his former friends made up a crowd dedicated to hard living and drinking after work; it would certainly be much harder to decline taking part in their revelries if one lived in the same town rather than hundreds of miles away! Epictetus felt that trying, on the one hand, to live by Stoic principles surrounded by friends who had no use for them made as much sense as trying to train to run a marathon while continuing to smoke cigarettes would today. How does one learn to despise external pleasures when constantly associating with people who pursue them?²

Remember this basic truth: why care at all about what others think, of what they approve or disapprove? Consider a hypothetical comment, from an acquaintance I will call “Tom.” Suppose he lets you know that he completely disapproves of the position that you have taken, that we should consider anything external to our own will as unimportant. Furthermore, he thinks that such an attitude is totally irresponsible: “How can one be a productive member of a modern society and refuse to care about what is happening around you?” No matter the nature of your relation to Tom, whether he is a casual acquaintance or a life-long friend, you have to ask yourself these questions: First, is Tom himself a serious student of philosophy, is his challenge coming from a trained intellect or is it a “gut reaction?” If the answer is “yes,” then these questions arise. Are his premises correct, and is his logic valid? If the answer to either of these is “no,” then you must consider his comments as simply erroneous. He has made a mistake, and you might want to correct the error.

Suppose the answer to the first question is “no,” that he has no training, or possibly even interest, in philosophy. If this is the case, you should consider the objection as meaningless. Assuming that you began the study of the Stoic perspective because you understood that it would have some value for your life, why should his disapproval mean anything to you? I am not saying that you need treat him with disdain; he might be a good friend for other reasons, but a good friend would not expect you to live according to his lights, anymore than you should expect him to adopt the Stoic life, simply because you have done so. Nonetheless, you have no moral obligation to accept his perspective, either, and every reason to refuse to do so. You may appreciate his friendship, but you also want to be able to look yourself in the mirror and approve of what you see. And consider this: Besides you own approval, whose would you rather have? Tom's, or Epictetus'? Tom's, or Cato of Utica's? Tom's, or Cicero's? That is, in fact, the choice you have to make.

Obviously, unlike the young men who studied with Epictetus and others, there are steps that we do not have the option of taking. How many of us are the children of millionaires who can take the time to dedicate ourselves to philosophy to the exclusion of all practical affairs? Most of us, me included, have to work in order to have food, shelter, clothing, support a family, and so on. We do not have the luxury of traveling hundreds of miles to study with a teacher in some bucolic setting, oblivious to the world around us, cleansing our minds of the erroneous habits of a lifetime. We have to work, care for our families, cook, clean, perhaps tend to our yards, in short, do all those things that everyone else has to do. How do we, how can we, take the time to learn and perfect those principles we need to learn?

It is precisely because we have these responsibilities, these cares, that we need to find a way to make the extra efforts. Physical withdrawal may not be an option, but psychic withdrawal is. The easiest way to accomplis that is to step back from any comment we receive, any compliment or criticism, and analyze it the same way we would analyze an external event. Just as we do with appearances, when someone make a comment, we must “turn the mask,” as Epictetus said, and see exactly what it means. Assume for a moment that a co-worker gave you a compliment at work. What you are going to have to do is analyze the comment by starting with these two questions: First, who gave me the compliment, and second, what behavior, what action, elicited this compliment. Is he or she a philosopher, conversant with Stoic principles? Probably not, true? And be honest with yourself. Wasn't the compliment something to do with matters that most people might value but which you have learned as something to regard as outside of your control, hence neither good nor bad in itself? Did you really get a compliment on how much progress you are making in learning how to regulate your desires and aversions, or what is something as mundane as a task at work or, even worse, your clothing or personal appearance?

“What if I receive a compliment at work, and it concerns how I have performed my job, and the compliment comes from a co-worker who is an expert in the work I do? Are you seriously saying that I should not be pleased, not be proud?” Of course not, nor am I saying that you should not offer a pleasant “Thank you” for such a comment. Being a Stoic is not the same thing as being rude; every Stoic teacher has taught that it is a virtue to perform any task to the best of one's ability. There is never a reason to act in a churlish of self-righteous manner and openly deprecate a sincere compliment. What is important is to refrain from internalizing the compliment; in other words, let it be as water of a duck's back, emotionally. It does not touch you as a person. Now, it may well speak a great deal about your value as an employee, and there is nothing wrong with that. However, it does say nothing about you as a human being, and it says nothing about your progress towards the Stoic ideal. THAT is what should be truly important to you.

Is it being hypocritical to accept a compliment from someone while, at the same time, telling yourself that you should disregard it? Not at all, unless you have chosen to elevate rudeness and self-righteousness to the status of virtues. How can anyone think that it would be a virtue to be deliberately unpleasant, or a vice to be agreeable, particularly when there are no moral considerations involved? If someone has told me that my tie coordinates perfectly with my shirt and suit, why not express my appreciation for the comment and move on? What is the moral issue involved here? There is no reason to believe that every inter-personal action will have an ethical aspect. If it does in a particular circumstance that is one thing, but it usually won't.

What if the comment is not a compliment, but a criticism? The same rules would apply. If the criticism is well informed and correct, then accept it and move on. If it does not pertain to your moral principles, it isn't really important, at least certainly not central to your life. What if it really does touch on your commitment to the Stoic life? As I said above, that is a different matter. There are, I think, two types of comments or criticisms that could have a moral or principled content. The first would be a case when we are accused, rightly or wrongly, of failing to live or act in accordance with the principles we have espoused. The second would involve a criticism of the principles themselves. Dealing with the first situation, I would have to ask myself, “Is the criticism valid? Did I, in fact, actually fail to live up to, act in accordance with, some principle I have advocated?” After all, since none of us are perfect, it is quite possible that the criticism is valid. If that is true, then there are two actions I have to take. The first would be to admit, in all humility, the correctness of the criticism, because this not only establishes that I am being honest, but it reinforces, psychologically, the validity of the principle we are accused of violating. Perhaps I allowed myself to become emotionally upset at some event that was outside of my control. The best thing to do in such a case is to admit the failing, analyze my mistake, and try to resume the proper attitude towards externals.³

Yeah, well, what if the criticisms are false? Let's assume that they are, indeed, totally false, and that the claim that they are false is, itself, correct, and not some rationalization. If I know that my action was proper to the moment, why concern myself? It might be nice to be able to convince my critic, but I am the most important person I have to convince, not others. This type of situation is one where we must summon the moral courage to act in accordance with our convictions, is it not? And it is here that each one of us must decide what we value more, that which we consider to be right and true, or the good will of those whom we consider our friends. The same applies if the criticism is directed towards our principles themselves. We can take this “to the bank”: since most people base their moral beliefs on grounds other than rigorous logic, your principles themselves will be challenged and even derided. In America, the common source for most ethical beliefs is either religious faith, emotional sentiment, or, usually, a mixture of both. An intellectually rigorous ethical system will alienate many people, and their responses are just as likely to be as emotional as their beliefs.

Ir would be hard to underestimate the importance of this fact: opposition to the principles of the Stoic life are usually based on emotion, not rational analysis. Our ideals fly in the face of most “normal” feelings. True, on some rare occasions you might meet someone whose ethical principles, while different, are based upon rational, intellectual philosophy, but not very often.⁴ Because it is true that, for most people, morality is based upon religious expression, this usually means that it must not be questioned. When that faith is reinforced by social approval as well, it tends to be even more rigid. We often tend to associate such reinforcement as being conservative or traditional, but that is certainly not always the case. There is no such thing, anymore, as a monolithic “society,” and this means that there no longer exists any monolithic moral standards. To a large extent, we are members of whatever sub-culture we choose to be, and these sub-cultures have wide ranging variations in moral expectations. For example, I live in the northern exurbs of Atlanta, not far from authentically rural areas, and it is a very traditional society. Not that far away, I could have chosen to live in the academic environment of the University of Georgia, which is almost as liberal as any eastern university society, or the moved just a few miles south and lived in urban Atlanta, and each of these three embodies a different set of values. In each situation, the dominant values are quite different, and in each we can expect pressure to conform to the differing mores.

How do we learn to resist such pressure to conform to the mores of whatever society in which we live? In short, we do it the same way we do any new skill: one step at a time. If I were to expect, after my first reading of Epictetus' Discourses, to have the ability and the strength of will to totally disregard the values of my social circle, I would be a fool. As I have said before, that would be a ridiculous as deciding, after watch a track and field meet, to immediate exchange a sedentary life for an athletic one by buying a pair of running shoes and attempting to run a marathon on my first day of training! Assuming that I did not die of a stroke or a heart attack, I would at least feel horribly disappointed when I fell on my face and failed miserably. So, let's pick a possible scenario and review how it should play out. While at work, let's say that I go on my afternoon break into the break room and see that a group of my co-workers are sitting around a table where one of them seems visibly upset. It is clear from the conversation that he is upset because he was denied a promotion which he, and most everyone else, including me, thought that he deserved. “That's it,” he says. “I am through busting my ass for this company. From now on I'm not doing anything more than I have to in order to keep my job!” Everyone at the table agrees with him: the company is run by idiots, you deserved the promotion, why not slack off as much as you can, and so on. My natural response, once I hear the topic of the conversation—this is, after all, someone I would have known for years and with whom I am on good terms—would be to say that I was also sorry that he didn't get the promotion, but not to join in with the “pity party.”

There is certainly no need for me to be some kind of jerk, to come across as a sanctimonious prig, so I leave it at that. Wallowing in that kind of misery is hardly conduct in keeping with the Stoic ideal. If I analyze the situation, if I “turn the mask,” I will see that clearly see that getting a promotion is not within any employee's power, but how he or she reacts to the event is. I do not mean to imply that it is my place to start preaching, to lecture my associates on the uselessness of complaining about his situation. In the first place, I doubt that he or any of his friends would care about my opinion. In the second place, I doubt he would be in the mood to listen to a lecture on the Stoic attitude towards life's circumstances. Later he might, perhaps, but not at this time, so it would be best to let it go. If I were to be asked my opinion, that would be a whole different matter. “Why didn't you sit down with us? Don't you think he deserved the promotion?” Here I could honestly say, “Yes, I do think he should have been promoted, and I said so quite clearly.” “Ok, but why did you walk off?” Having been asked that question, it is my duty to reply, “What good would it have done? All of you were sitting around complaining about things that were outside of your control, making yourselves bitter and accomplishing nothing. If you are denied a promotion, would you want to start doing only the bare minimum and guarantee that you will never get promoted in the future? And, on top of that, just end up making yourself feel miserable in the process?”

Here my friends or associates may agree with me, or they may disagree. In fact, whether or not I am right or wrong on this specific issue is not much to the point. What does matter is that we have disagree on a point, and I have to make a choice: do I follow the principles that I believe to be true, or do I fall in with my friends? This particular example may not seem very earthshaking, but that makes no difference. We have all seen friendships end over very trivial matters, and have also seen them survive disagreements about core values. Like with any other activity, we analyze the situation, see what it really entails, and act on that knowledge. Forgetting the irrelevant specifics, I saw a friend upset by a situation that is outside of his control, in this case being passed over for a promotion. I offered my sympathy—nothing wrong with that—but I do not, by my own actions or comments, validate his emotions. I refrain, because to do so would violate the basic principle of the Stoic life: learn to desire only that which is within your own control.

If this attitude, this response, offers no quick or easy solution, so be it. My friend may accept my offer of sympathy and move on, or he may become offended that I did not seem to agree with his attitude. Isn't his reaction also outside of my control? It is, and all I can do is manage my own reaction to his emotions, and this could end up in a fractured relationship. It was not for nothing that the Stoic teachers emphasized the importance of moral courage. For those of us embracing a rationalist rather than mystical Stoicism, this virtue is central. We have no Divine Providence assuring us that Pangloss was right, that this is the best of all possible worlds. We must accept what comes, having learned to desire only that we act accordingly.

1Anyone who doubts the temptation to grant apparent approval, even when our “better natures” tell us we should not, should just look with brutal honesty over the last time one of our friends did something that did not meet with our approval, particularly if the action only transgressed our own beliefs in a minor way. Did you never overlook a less than sterling action simply in order to be accepted as part of the group?

2 As I was writing these lines it struck me that this whole arrangement could seem, from a 21^st Century perspective, as frighteningly similar to the practices of modern religious cults. They, too, often try to isolate their followers in order to maximize the influence of the cult leader, saying that they want to protect the student from the “contagion” of his or her former life. This might have a superficially familiar tone, but the motivation is quite different. True enough, Nicopolis, where Epictetus taught, may have been a great distance from Rome, or even Athens. However, by the time Epictetus was teaching it had become a reasonably large city in its own right, and his students were not cut off from contact with family and friends, except for the constraints of distance. Furthermore the Stoics, unlike the Cynics, did not constitute some Hellenistic, quasi-monastic order. These young men were being trained simply to improve their character in preparation for the time when they would return to public life. By the time they finished their training, hopefully they would be capable, productive citizens of the Empire, as well as grounded in the principles that would help them live satisfying lives. They were not being trained to live in barrels and avoid the world, as were the Cynics, but to engage it.

3I think this is important, considering humanity's tendencies to engage in some form of cognitive dissonance, wherein we change our beliefs in order to match our behavior. Admitting that the criticism is genuine helps forestall, I think, such patterns of thinking.

4I certainly do not mean to imply, by any means, that the Stoic approach is the only rational one. There have certainly been others, such as Epicureanism in the ancient world. However, it is still true that most objections to our path will be emotional in nature, not rational.

Living in Pain

I have been living with chronic pain since May of 1995 when, dummy that I was, I crossed a street without a light and went flying over the hood of a car.  My right leg was shattered, and healed with my right foot sticking out at a funny angle.  This means that I walk on the foot the wrong way, and the bones have become quite deformed.  I had corrective surgery, but since I did not have the leg re-broken and reset, the condition returned.  Every step is painful, and I joke that my foot looks like a dragon's claw!  On bad days I limp as badly as Chester on the old "Gunsmoke" series, and on good days I still walk funny.

Well, so what?  As I have said to others, I don't have a time machine, do I?  I can't go back in time and change what happened.  External events are, after all, outside of our control.  What I DO control is how I react to events.  I have a choice: I can paint myself as a "victim" and annoy everyone with my complaints about how I feel, or I can simply choose to go on living.  Is a funny story any less funny because my foot hurts?  Is a beautiful song any less beautiful because of how my foot feels?  I don't think so.  Should I not appreciate the story or the song because of some pain?   The Redskins still beat Dallas last night, didn't they?  (I am a native of Washington, DC, so Hail to the Redskins!)

We can learn, if we make the effort, to treat external events in this way.  It is not "natural," I grant, at least not at first.  We can learn, however, to adopt this attitude towards what happens to us, if we choose to do so.  What do we gain?  Oh, nothing more than peace of mind, a pleasant attitude, and an ability to face life as if the "problem" never happened.  Or, we can choose to go on about what a "victim" we are, but nothing changes, does it? 

The Message is Always Important; the Messenger is Never Important

   I see what seems to me to be an increasing trend, and it is a sign of a weak intellect: judging a message by the character of the messenger.  To put it bluntly: If a statement is true, it doesn't matter if the person making the statement is morally bankrupt or personally degenerate.  If a statement is false, it doesn't matter how morally admirable he or she might be, or how personally admirable.  For this reason, I often do not give the citations of who said what when I am writing an opinion piece.  Now, if I am making a statement of fact, I would want to quote the source of the "fact," but not for an opinion.

  Here is a historical example.  During the Second World War, when the Germans were invading the Soviet Union, they came across a mass grave of Polish soldiers.  Goebbels, the German Propaganda Minister, blamed the massacre on the Soviet government, which of course denied any involvement.  The Germans, they said, murdered the Poles and tried to blame the Soviets.  No one believed Goebbels.  As it turned out, however, he was correct; the Soviet archives that were opened after the fall of the USSR confirmed that the Soviet government had, in fact, ordered the massacre of captured Polish officers and soldiers. 

   What could be the possible relationship of the moral character of an observer with a piece of observed data?  Simply nothing whatsoever.  Oh, it is absolutely true that people do, in fact, often judge a conclusion by the character of the person stating the conclusion, but that simply shows that they have a poor grasp of logical principles.  If Einstein had been a child molester, for example, would not E=mc2 anyway?  (Please forgive the fact that the "2" is not written as a superscript!)  If Gandhi made the statement that the sun orbited the earth, would it not be just as wrong if anyone else made the same statement? 

   This applies to any field of endeavor, any subject of discussion, without exception.  

 

The Brain and the Lamp

   I was sitting out on my back porch the other night while my little dog was outside for his evening sniffs of the yard, when an image about the nature of the brain and thought became perfectly clear.  I was sitting at my table looking at my oil lamp burning on the table--yes, you read it correctly, my oil lamp--and it struck me that the lamp was an almost perfect metaphor for how we think, for the relationship between the brain, "mind," and our thoughts.  Its an even better metaphor than the one I used in my book.

   The lamp itself-the body and the wick-represents the brain.  Alone, it has the potential, but only the potential, to produce light.  It is not, obviously, the light itself.  The brain has the potential to produce thought, but it is not thought itself.  Unless the lamp is filled with oil and lit, it does nothing but sit there.  Unless the brain is fed nutrients to keep it alive and functioning, it does nothing.  It takes some kind of stimulus to make it active as well.  The brain is an object that could be used to produce thought, in the same way that the lamp is an object that could be used to produce light.

  There are several factors that will determine the quality of the lamp, and thus of the light it produces.  Is the lamp itself built correctly with the proper size opening?  Is the wick of the right material?  Is the oil the best oil for that lamp?  We can ask the same questions about the brain.  Did it grow properly, or is it sick or injured?  Does it get the proper nourishment?  We know that without the proper nutrition the brain will not function properly,  If all of these questions are answered affirmatively, we will get a good light from the lamp, and clear thoughts from the brain.

  The light itself produced by the lamp is analogous to the thoughts produced by the brain.  As long as the lamp is working, as long as the wick remains and there is oil, the lamp will produce the flame, and hence the light.  When the wick is burned, or the oil runs out, the lamp goes out, and darkness returns.  When the brain cells die, the thoughts die with them.   Yes, the light that was produced continues on, as do our thoughts in the minds of those to whom they were shared.  But the light dissipates, eventually, and the memories die out as well.

  Notice that we do not even need an analogy for the entity we call "mind." 

The Nature of the Sacred to a Naturalist

   The subject of “sacredness” can be confusing, subject to serious misunderstandings, particularly when trying to understand it from a totally naturalistic perspective.  To start with a repetition: a religious Weltanschauung divides the world into the secular, or day to day, and the sacred.  The secular includes most, if not all, of what we consider daily life: work, family, recreation, and so forth.  The sacred deals with the “other,” the source or center, as you will, of secular life.

   The sacred is, as I mentioned earlier, generally divided into sacred time and sacred space.  Sacred time can consist of holy days—or parts of days—based upon the seasons, historical events, or personal passages in life such as birth, marriage, death, or reaching adulthood.  Sacred space has consisted of temples, shrines, churches, synagogues, groves, mountains, rivers or even the sky.  Sacred space certainly does not need to be man made, although it certainly has been in most cultures.

   Within the sacred, man has the ability to set aside daily life, at least in its more routine aspects, and focus on what is truly central.  Theistic cultures might focus on worship of the deities or deity: thanksgiving, praise, or petitions for this or that favor.[1]   The forms of worship might be largely, or even totally, contemplative, if either the cultural traditions or the personal interest of the worshiper tended in that direction.  Usually, of course, worship was a combination of all of these, since most religions have both an esoteric and exoteric aspect, the former appealing to the intellectual or the mystic, and the latter appealing to the masses of the people.[2]  Religions that tended to be non-theistic, at least in the Western sense, would focus more on contemplation rather than prayer or sacrifice, and this works even when one’s beliefs are totally naturalist.

   What, one might ask, is the real difference between sacred time and simply time off from work?  After all, an honest examination of past cultures clearly shows that for most of human history people had to work at their occupation every day, unless the day was dedicated to religious matters.  The phenomenon of having purely secular or profane days off from work is a relatively recent one in human history.

   The biggest difference, of course, is that secular activities are usually about hobbies, sports, home improvement, social gatherings, or any other pleasurable activities that are not a part of our normal occupations, and that negative feature is precisely what they have in common: they are not work!  Even national holidays are now being co-opted into the culture of recreation.[3] They generally lack introspective, contemplative or commemorative qualities.  Now, this is not a criticism in any way; there is nothing at all improper about play itself.   We need it for healthy living, and that is justification enough.  On a personal note, I take a great deal of pleasure in certain forms of work on my yard.  My current project involves building borders of landscaping bricks around garden plots that my wife has planted.  There is absolutely nothing commemorative, introspective or contemplative about this activity, but I enjoy it and my wife—not to speak of my neighbors--approve of the physical improvement.

   Is this kind of activity rational?  Strictly speaking, it is not, but far more importantly, neither is it irrational.  An activity can be non-rational without being irrational, without being something to be avoided.  We call something irrational when it violates the rules of logic and evidence, whereas something that is non-rational simply has no relationship to such rules.  Strictly speaking, it is not rational for me to be devoted to my little dog, but neither is it irrational.  It is a perfectly natural, non-rational feeling.  On the other hand, if I were to become convinced that not only could my dog respond with affection, but that he could also discuss the finer points of Stoic doctrine with me, I would be not only irrational, but delusional as well.  We should embrace the non-rational aspects of our life at the same time that we reject the irrational.

   Since our perceptions of both sacred space and sacred time are subjective—and to a degree non-rational—either can be whatever we want them to be, whatever makes us feel comfortable.  When it comes to sacred space one person might prefer a scene natural beauty, while another might prefer a dedicated piece of architecture.  Or, for that matter, it might not even be solely dedicated to the sacred.  It need only be sacred when we wish it to be.  A Roman home might have, in its atrium, a small shrine to the household gods, the Lares and Penates, and these gods would receive offerings at every meal.  That did not mean that one was expected to treat the atrium with the reverence that one does a temple or church; the atrium was also the center of all household life.[4] 

   The origins of sacred time are also varied, and usually fall into one of two classifications.  A religious tradition could be primarily historical like those of the Semitic traditions.  Sacred times derived from events that were believed to have happened in real, not mythical, time; they were historical occurrences.  The exodus from Egypt happened once, the giving of the Torah happened once, the birth, crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus happened once, and the recitation of the Quran happened once.  To the extent that the faithful commemorate these events, their participation is virtual and symbolic, although it may also be sacramental, protestations to the contrary notwithstanding.

   Pagan religions, on the other hand, are usually cyclical, often following recurring events in nature rather than history.[5]  The recurring nature of these events cannot be stressed too much.  Trees lose their leaves every year, and the days get shorter and colder, not because Demeter is remembering what once happened to her daughter Persephone, but because she must now, once again, return to her husband Hades.  The sun was believed to be literally reborn at the winter solstice, and the worshipers participated in these cosmic events.  If the women of Republican Rome did not awaken Bona Dea from her winter sleep each spring, they believed that winter would not end.  Taking part in these ceremonies was more than virtual participation, and certainly far more than a commemoration of an important event.

   To a naturalist, it really does not matter whether we find our sense of the sacred in the historical or in the cyclic, or if we blatantly combine both views.  What does matter is that it is sacred, distinguished from the secular.  Naturally, the sacred and the secular do intersect; they always did.  When ancient people honored the planting of the crops, offered sacrifices for growing, and celebrated the harvest, they were clearly aware that a successful crop meant that they had averted famine, at least for one more year.  Paradoxically, by recognizing the difference between the sacred and the secular, we are choosing to infuse the secular with the sacred throughout our lives.

    We may choose to contemplate a secular issue that has a moral component, but in the sacred we are thinking about it in a different way, or at least from a different perspective.  Suppose I wish to consider a public issue that has a moral aspect.  On the one hand, I can think about it in a totally secular, totally mundane, way.  I can consider what I can do to support my own position on the issue, with whom I should speak, how much my activities will cost, and so forth.  On the other hand, I can examine the moral aspects of the issue and their relative merits, leaving aside the more mundane considerations.  Having a sense of the sacred, of the special, serves to shield me, for a time, from the more routine aspects of my life, such as what I will do at work tomorrow, what flowers I should plant in the garden, what new electronic device I should purchase, or what to have for supper.  And, in doing so, it allows me to concentrate on what is truly central, to that which gives life meaning.        

         

                                         

    

  

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[1] It need not include all three; Roman gods, for example, were worshiped in a form that is more accurately described as magic rather than prayer.  The god had to grant the favor of the worshipper, if the request was made in the proper format, and the proper offering made.  Conveniently, if the favor was not granted, then clearly the ritual had been done improperly.  Their worship was largely of the “I do for you so that you will do for me” variety.

[2] What ancient religion usually did not include is what in Semitic traditions includes the Sermon or homily; religious education was either the function of the family, or took place outside of the normal acts of worship.

[3] If anyone would doubt this, simply ask this question: Last Memorial Day, did you go to a cemetery to leave some tribute to a deceased soldier, visit a Veteran’s Hospital, or engage in some related activity, or did you use the day off for shopping, or fishing, or some other private enjoyment?  For most people, we all know what the answer would be.

[4] The practical Romans also treated their temples in the same way; records of  state might be kept at the temple, as well as the state treasury.ce that one does a temple or church; the atrium was

[5] Of course I am speaking of two poles on a continuum rather than a rigid classification of only one or the other.

Admitting That We Are What We Are

  The "nature vs nurture" argument has been around for millenia in one form of the other, and this is one point on which I break with most of the ancient Stoics.  They tended to hold to the belief that, if we were taught properly, we could transcend our nature.  If a person acts immorally, he is simply mistaken, and needs to be taught how to act in the larger society.  The came down firmly on what we now call the "nurture" side of the debate, at least to the extent that they saw human nature as very malleable.

  I think, however, that what we have learned from the sciences compels us, if we are honest and follow the data rather than a priori ethical principles, to admit that while we might be able to control human behavior with the social unit, we cannot significantly change it.  First, the evidence tells us that we evolved from omnivorous and would-be carnivorous ancestors.  There were herbivorous hominids, yes, but they are not in our line of descent.  In fact, they were evolutionary failures. Secondly, animals that eat meat, even as only part of their diet, tend to be aggressive.  After all, the prey does not voluntarily agree to be killed for our nourishment.  it must be hunted, and the kill must be guarded from other, opportunistic predators.  A meek, peaceful animal will not make a successful hunter.

  We can look at living examples of these types of animals among the modern primates.  The gorilla, despite his size and the almost slanderous "King Kong" movies, is a relatively peaceful herbivore.  True, a silver-back male will respond quite aggressively to threats to his group, but they rarely exhibit aggressive behavior unless provoked.  By contrast, the chimpanzee, our closest genetic relative, is an aggressive omnivore.  Meat and insects are a normal part of their diet, and they exhibit the type of behavior one expects from a predator.  They even initiate raids on other groups' territories in order to capture better food resources, and their raids are not gentle and the fighting not ritualistic.http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/22/science/22chimp.html?_r=0

  Ok, so our ancestors and our closest relative behave aggressively; what does that say about us?  I suggest that we consider one other factor.  As Sagan pointed out in his work Gardens of Eden,  as we evolved we did not lose those parts of the brain possessed by our genetic ancestors.  They are still there, along with the drives and instincts they needed to survive.  What happened is that we developed new layers of brain, capable of turning hard-wired instincts into conscious behavior.  We can direct our drives, we can focus them, yes, but they are still quite present and an inescapable part of our heritage. We are apes, just more intelligent than any of the others currently on the planet. 

   The relevance of this to philosophy is that we have to stop dreaming about ethical or social systems that attempt to remake humanity; we are what we are, the descendent of an aggressive hominid who has learned how to control, to a limited extent, those aggressive tendencies.  Classical thought, unlike early Christian and also unlike Marxist thought, did not try to change man or reform him.  Certain behaviors might be against the law and the social contract, yes, and they would be forbidden.  The ethical and legal focus was purely on behavior, however, not on character.  No classical Roman would have had any concept, for example, of thinking in terms "committing adultery in the heart."  It would have been perfectly natural for a Roman man to look at an attractive woman and think, "I'd like to sleep with her."  As long as he refrained from committing the act, he had done nothing wrong, and the same understanding would apply to a woman as well.  There was no thought of denying normal human nature or trying to change it. 

  
  

 

"Truth" is the Enemy of Wisdom

   “With or without religion, you would have good people doing good things and evil people doing evil things. But for good people to do evil things, that takes religion.” ― Steven Weinberg.    This is a common and popular quote among those who consider themselves humanists or rationalists.   It is, however, misguided, in that it is incomplete.  Yes, any form of superstition is inimical to rational, empirical philosophy; I would have no argument on that point.  However, I would posit this: the ultimate rival for rational thought is not religion, but the belief that we have, or even can have, the “Truth.”

    Let me state right up front that I am certainly not saying that no statement is ever true; that would be a form of insanity.  If I am holding a penny in my hand, it would be a true statement, at least at this time and place, to say “I am holding a penny in my hand.”  That statement would be true.  It’s verifiable, assuming that I am not alone.  You can look and see that in fact I am holding a penny.  We can make true statements about indirect empirical observations, as long as we are clear about the context: If I step off the side of this 10 story building, I will fall.  This statement is true, albeit only on a body with sufficient gravity.  We can affirm certain statements as true in logic and mathematics; I can say, “If two lines are intersected by a third line and the opposite interior angles are equal, then the lines are parallel.”  This statement is true, at least within the framework of Euclidean geometry.

   The problem arises when we try to make absolutely true general statements about the nature of society and the universe, statements that go beyond the immediate circumstances.  There are two problems with such statements, actually.  The first is the epistemological one: do we have sufficient evidence to make a particular statement?  For example, was Tyrannosaurus Rex a scavenger or a predator?  It does appear that an adult T-Rex was too large, too slow, to hunt down prey, at least as a solitary hunter.  The prey all seem to be fleeter than he was, so how could he hunt?  He certainly did have the bulk and the power to steal a meal brought down by faster, more agile predators; a dromeosaurus certainly could not defend his kill from a hungry T-Rex.  On the other hand, perhaps he was a predator; a juvenile T-Rex was certainly faster than the adults, and perhaps they hunted in packs, not alone.  I read that a ceratopian—I think a Triceratops, if I remember correctly—was found with T-Rex bite marks that were in the process of healing when he died, so he was bitten while still alive.  The fact is, we don’t know, do we?  This is one of those situations when we have to admit that the information is insufficient for us to make a general claim of truth about a proposition, and let it go at that.

   The other, much more sinister problem with making broad absolute statements is that they tend to assume a moral aspect, particularly when they concern social issues.  To take the above example about the T-Rex: if I believe that he was, at least in part, a predator, and you accept the proposition that he was a scavenger, what is the significance of these contradictory statements?  In reality, not very much, is there?  Most people could not possibly care less about the eating style of a T-Rex or any other dinosaur; they are extinct, and the interest is only academic.  This is certainly not true when we come to social and political statements, because these can have significance for our daily lives.  If we are not careful, we can fall into the tendency to treat opinions, and even carefully reasoned judgments as if they wear the mantle of Truth.  When we become emotionally engaged in an issue, we forget that any statement we make about the external world is incomplete, because it is based only upon the data that are presently available.

    When we think that we have the Truth, then it becomes easy to treat those who disagree with us, not as having another opinion, or not even as being wrong, but as being evil.  Those who hold a different opinion are on the side of the forces of darkness, while our side is allied with the forces of light and reason.  When someone who differs from us is not just wrong but evil, it becomes permissible, or even obligatory, to engage in conduct that could only be considered as falling into the category of good people doing evil things.  This attitude certainly does not require religion in order to thrive.

      

          

A Citizen's Duties

    If there was any single term that could serve as a "watchword" for Stoic values, it would have been the word "duty."  Stoic writers and teachers used it constantly, albeit in different contexts.  Since here in the United States we are coming up on a presidential election, it would certainly be appropriate to discuss this matter: Is there a "duty" for the Stoic to take part in such elections?  We live in a free Republic, and one of the aspects of that circumstance is the fact that we can participate in choosing who our executives and legislators will be, and how long they will serve--at least within the law.  We do not required citizens to vote, unlike some nations, and voter turnout is sometimes very low.  I would see this as a way in which we are shirking both our duty and our power, giving it, in fact, to other people.

   Now, I know that we hear, all the time, how "one vote" doesn't make any difference, that the politicians do not "listen" to the people who elected them.  There are just two points that should be made to that useless objection.  The first is that no one ever claimed that any one particular vote should have the privilege of being the decisive vote.  Yes, I am one of millions, but every single candidate who won an election did so by earning more of the "meaningless" votes that the other guy.  Votes certainly make a difference; in 2008 the Democrats won the White House, solidified their control of the House, and got a filibuster-proof majority in the Senate.  What happened in 2010?  They lost control of the House completely, lost their super-majority in the Senate, and were faced with the--for them--unpleasant task of either making serious, principled compromises with the Republicans, or seeing none of their agenda enacted.  This change was the result of millions of unimportant "one votes."

  We also hear the complaint that the parties aren't any different, that all politicians are the same, and so forth.  I wonder why I seem to hear that from the most uninformed segments of society, those who are either so far right, or so far left, that they do not have the mental apparatus to comprehend nuances?  They are either stupid or so egotistical that they think that it is THEIR opinion that should be the one that counts, that all candidates should reflect their own narrow perspectives.  I am 63 years old; I have not yet seen any candidate to whom I would grant an unqualified endorsement.  So what?  Only children say that if you won't play MY way I'll take my ball and go home! 

That's Just the Way I Am!

   “That’s just the way I am!”  How many times have we heard that when someone we know or have met tries to justify acting in a way that is thoroughly obnoxious and unacceptable?  We might here this variation: “That’s the way I was brought up” or something similar.  We are supposed to accept this person’s behavior, no matter how much it violates social norms, because we should presume that he or she cannot help but act this way.  After all, we would not criticize someone with a disability because he could not do something with the same ease as a person without the disability, would we?  We have an obligation, we are told, to be non-judgmental and accept this person, warts and all, because it is a part of his genetic or environmental make-up. 

   Do we really have such an obligation?  More importantly, are we merely the captive puppets of our genetic or our environmental heritage?  To what extent, if any, are we free to modify our attitudes and behavior?  These questions go to the heart of our social order, to our very concept of right and wrong.  The notion of correction or punishment presumes that we are, at least at some level, responsible for our own behavior.  So, for that matter, does the belief that the object of the justice system should be reform or rehabilitation.  If a person is responsible for his actions, then he can change.  If he can change, then he is responsible.  At some level all of us believe that people are responsible for what they do.  We may talk about how we should consider mitigating circumstances and so forth, but that is usually when we have no personal interest in the behavior in question.  It usually becomes a completely different matter when we are the object of some objectionable behavior.

   A pundit once described a conservative as a liberal who has been mugged, and there is some real truth to this observation.  It is, according to the implication, one thing to express an opinion about criminal behavior when we are only disinterested observers.  It can matter much more to us when we are the victims, and it usually does.  We might read in the newspaper about a young man who has robbed a convenience store.  If he is from a poor home, or was raised by a single mother, or fits into one of any number of politically correct categories, you can be sure that he will have many people who will come to his defense because of these circumstances.  They may not argue that he should be acquitted entirely because of them—although some will—but they will insist that the courts consider them when it comes to the matter of punishment.

   Watch what happens, however, when this same fountain of compassion and understanding becomes the victim of a crime.  Now, everything is different.  Now, we must uphold the law.  Now, the criminal must be punished!  This is natural because we all really do, beneath it all, believe that we are responsible for what we say and do.  When I become the victim instead of being an observer, that elemental feeling comes out.  Here is a common example of this phenomenon.  In many African-American communities, the people have no trust or confidence in the agents of law enforcement.  This may stem from any number of reasons, but it is nonetheless true.  Many commentators and pundits have complained about the fact that the penalties for the sale or possession of powder cocaine are less that those for the same offenses involving crack cocaine.  There should be no surprise here: powder cocaine tends to be used by whites, and crack by African-Americans.  A disinterested observer might feel justified in labeling this as just another example discriminatory law enforcement.  Is it mere coincidence that the crime more likely to be committed by African-Americans carries a harsher penalty than the similar crime more likely to be committed by whites?

   Here is the surprise.  The penalties for both forms of cocaine used to be the same, but the demand for harsher penalties came, not from people in law enforcement, or from the white community, but from people in the African-American communities that were being ravaged by crack use.  Powder cocaine was far too expensive to be in common use among members of the African-American community, which tends to be poorer than the average white community.  However, the crystal form of the drug delivered a more powerful reaction for much less money, and its social effects were horrendous.  The members of the community demanded action and the government responded.  Was the response right or wrong?  For the purpose of this essay that question is completely irrelevant.  What matters is this: when its interests were involved, the African-American community became as much a law and order community as any suburban white community.  We see two significant phenomena here.  Those who demanded harsh penalties for crack use were making a 180 degree shift in their attitude towards law enforcement.  They also showed that, at least on this issue, they were unwilling to accept any touchy-feely excuses for criminal behavior.

   So, we can all be put into situations where we demonstrate our belief that people are responsible for their actions, notwithstanding any mitigating factors.  However, to be honest we must ask one question.  Are we merely, when faced with matters that touch us personally, reverting to a more primitive emotion?  Perhaps our reactions when we are truly disinterested are more accurate.  After all, many times this is the case.  This may be true, but what is important is the underlying principle: we can, given sufficient encouragement, change our opinions and attitudes about different things.

   How so?  I’ll give you an example from my own life, one that I have used elsewhere.  I have always been terrified of heights, even to this day.  My wife and I owned a condominium apartment on the 10^th floor of our building.  I had to go out on to the balcony if I wanted to have a cigarette.  As long as I sat or stood away from the rail I was alright, but if I even thought about going near the edge, my knees would buckle.  I mean that literally; I could be sitting inside our unit and, if I just imagined leaning over the edge, my knees would get weak.  So, with this image clear in you mind, imagine this.  When I was at my ROTC summer camp, I was faced with this task.  We had to climb to the top of a fifty foot tower that had a metal cable stretched out over a rather deep creek.  The cable ran down to a ten foot pole at the other end.  From the top of the tower, we were required to grab a sliding bar and slide down the cable to the other end.  Ten feet before the end, we had to let go and drop into the water, while moving about 20 miles per hour.  If you didn’t let go, you would slam into the pole and be rather seriously injured.

   That was not all.  As soon as we were finished we had to jog over to a second tower.  This was on the edge of one side of the creek, and there was a matching tower on the other side.  Stretched between the two towers was a thick rope about twenty to twenty-five feet above the water.  We had to crawl out onto the rope, let go with one hand, salute, and ask permission to drop in the water.  When that was granted, we let go and dropped into the creek.  For someone with a previously debilitating fear of heights, these events looked like they would be almost as much fun as catching the bubonic plague.  In short, I was terrified of the prospect of having to complete these events.  What motivated me to do them was a conflicting emotion: pride.  I was about seven years older than most of the other ROTC cadets.  They had only completed their third year of college, while I was in graduate school.  In addition, I had already served three years in the Army, rising to the specialist equivalent of sergeant.  The cadre and the younger cadets expected me to set an example for them, and I was determined not to let them down.  So, I charged up the towers, all the while yelling with my best imitation of a Viking berserker.  To be honest, I think that I was trying to convince myself to go through with these events.  Anyway, I fooled the cadre and the other cadets; they were astounded to find out later just how scared I had been.  This is, however, the definition of courage, to do something in spite of your fear.  The point is that I was motivated by another emotion that was stronger than my fear, and it demonstrates that even deep-seated emotions can be overcome.

   This clearly means that we are not the prisoners of our past.  Here are two more personal examples.  My wife is from Guatemala; she was born and grew up there.  One of her parents was Asian, and the other was German.  She, however, is thoroughly Latina in her outlook and attitudes, because that was the common culture of her society.  After years in the United States, she took me to visit her family.  They told her that she had become too American!  She had, of course, absorbed much of American ways of living.  My own heritage is a mix of Scottish, English and Swedish, but except for my admiration of the English legal heritage, I don’t identify with any of those cultures.  My house looks like a Greek or Roman temple; as I write this I have votive candles burning to images of Apollo, the Lares and Penates, and Fortuna Primigenia.  As far as I know, I have no Greek or Italian ancestry, but I admire these cultures for the foundations they laid down for modern Western humanist civilization.

    It seems to me that, ultimately, we are what we want to be, not what we inherited through our genes or absorbed through our environment.  We become that which we admire, that which we want to emulate.  We see this phenomenon in cases of religious conversion.  Augustine was a libertine who had dabbled in Manichean religion and Neo-Platonist philosophy; he had refused any dealing with his mother’s Christianity.  After his conversion he became one of the most important figures in Christian theology, at least up until Thomas Aquinas.  This effect can be found in converts to many religions, not just Christianity.  We know of the case of Malcolm X, who turned from a criminal life when he joined the Nation of Islam.  Drug addicts have kicked their habits because they started worshipping Krishna.  These events are perfectly genuine; these converts truly internalize new values and beliefs.

   This does not imply, nor should the reader infer, that the objects of such religious devotion are real in any objective sense.  As a secular philosopher I would be skeptical of any such claims, but that is not what is important.  What matters is that the convert believes that the claims are real.  He or she could have decided to worship Marduk or the snake god of the Marsi people of pre-Roman Italy.  It is the sincerity of the conversion and the intensity of the belief that matter.  As long as the believer is sincere, the personality or behavior change required by his or her new faith will occur.  It is the motivation that matters, not the reality behind that motivation.

  This does not address the original issue, however.  Yes, our beliefs, actions and attitudes can change, given sufficient motivation, but to say that they can change is not the same as to say that they should be expected to change.  The ability to change does not imply the obligation to do so.  To clarify the issue, let’s create a hypothetical scenario.  Our protagonist, John, has an attitude that society owes him a comfortable standard of living. Furthermore, he tends to express this attitude in ways that interfere with holding a good job and making friends; he has “a chip on his shoulder.”  How did he come by this attitude?  That really doesn’t matter.  Perhaps he grew up in an upper class home where he could have the best of everything, and he has become so used to this that he thinks it is some kind of birthright.  His parents may have had to work for their prosperity, but since that is all he knows, he thinks of it as something he should just have.  Or, perhaps he grew up in a very poor family and has come to think that the larger society owes some kind of debt to him.  In his situation, it is clear that something is going to have to change; either John is going to have to adapt to the expectations of others, or they are going to have to adapt to him.

   Of course, there is a third option: nobody makes any changes, and John remains miserable.  Let’s assume that this is not an option, because John is not happy in his current state.  We may ask, why does he have any obligation to change his behavior?  Why does no one have to adapt to him?  If what I have argued previously is true, that we have no positive obligations to others unless we are in some sort of special, personal relationship, why is there this obligation on John’s part?  It is simply this: none of the rest of us—those who comprise the “general society” that John resents—have any positive obligations that would require us to alter our own attitudes towards John.  As long as we leave him alone in a kind of benign neglect—in short, as long as we do him no harm—we have fulfilled our only obligations.  We have no positive duties to alter our attitudes or expectations to suit his needs.  We can simply go about our daily lives as we wish, even if that action leaves him in the same rut he was in to begin with.

   So, if John does not want to remain miserable, and if we have no obligation to accommodate him, what is left but for him to make whatever changes to his attitude and behavior that are necessary to change his external situation?  Epictetus gave an example in his Discourses about a man who came to him complaining about how his brother was treating him; he asked Epictetus for his advice.  Epictetus replied that he could help the man behave properly towards his estranged brother, but there was nothing he could say to the man about changing the brother’s behavior.  For that, he replied, bring your brother to me, and I will speak with him.  As to his behavior, however, I have nothing to say to you.  In short, Epictetus was teaching, in true Stoic fashion, that while we control our own thoughts and behavior, we cannot control another’s behavior.  John can alter his own behavior and attitudes, but there is nothing he can do about the external world.  If there is something about his life that he does not like, it is up to John to make the necessary changes.

   In this example we have talked about a man whose personality, for whatever reason, contained a serious flaw.  Here is the politically incorrect ramification of this argument.  Suppose that John’s problem is not a personality flaw, but that he is from a different country and culture.  In this case John’s problem is that behavior that would have been totally acceptable in his own country is considered completely inappropriate in his new home.  Does this new circumstance make any difference in our conclusion?  I think that logic forces us to conclude that it does not do any such thing.  Let’s give the example some specific details.  John is now an American businessman working at his company’s office in Germany.  He speaks very little German, just enough to get by on the street.  He doesn’t think that he needs to, since they use English at the office since it is only a branch of an American firm.  He finds out, to his chagrin, that he has alienated some of his German neighbors, who think that he is rude.  What could have happened?

   Well, if we look at the German language, we will notice something interesting.  In English we have only one word for the second person pronoun, “you,” and we use it for all circumstances.  German, on the other hand, has two forms, “du” and “Sie.”  The first form is used with children, family members and very close personal friends.  “Sie” is used in all other circumstances.  In English we would say “you” when referring to our spouse, boss or total stranger.  In German, no one would ever use “du” when speaking to a boss or stranger.  It would be considered insulting, and inappropriately familiar.  German society is much more formal than American society, and the language reflects that formality.

   In John’s case, it turns out that he has been using the word “du” rather than “Sie” to his neighbors.  Furthermore, he has been behaving with typical American casualness, addressing his neighbors by their first name rather than has “Herr” or “Frau.”  This was, when I was there anyway, considered gauche.  So, what should our friend John do?  I think we all know that his neighbors are going to expect him to be the one who has to make any cultural adaptations.  They are not going to remake German society simply to make an American business executive happy.  It is simply the old saying, “When in Rome, do as the Romans.”  Again, it is going to be the responsibility of the individual to make any adjustments that have to be made.  This principle applies just as strongly to an immigrant to America as it does to an American who lives elsewhere.

   Here is an example of an event that happened several years ago in Washington, D.C.  A young man who was an immigrant from one of the Latin American countries was arrested for public intoxication and for resisting arrest.  The second charge was filed after he fought the policewoman who responded to the complaint.  After the arrest, some members of the community tried to excuse the young man’s actions.  First, they defended his conduct on the grounds that drinking in front of one’s house—even in public—with one’s friends was not a serious matter in the young man’s home country.  Second, they complained that the police department had been “insensitive” in sending an African-American female to arrest him.  They should have sent a male officer, according to the protestors, because a young Hispanic male would have been humiliated to be arrested by a woman.

   It is quite clear that this young man, not the police force or any of the other agencies of government, is the one who was wrong, and he was wrong on two counts.  First, it may be true that drinking in public with his friends might have been acceptable behavior in his home country, or it might not be true.  Either way, that argument is meaningless.  He was not in his home country, he was in the capital of the United States of America, and different rules apply in different countries.  Second, in would be absurd to expect our government to reinforce prejudices just because they were acceptable overseas.  It was the young man’s responsibility to change his behavior because it was in his power to do so.  It was not in his power to change the rules here.

   We should note that we are always free to refuse to alter our behavior in order to fit in with others, but then we cannot expect to be listened to if we complain that we are being ostracized.  That would be as foolish as expecting to lose excess weight on a diet of cheeseburgers and french fries.  It would simply not happen.  It is not a matter of morality, but one of practicality.  If I am not willing to spend the time practicing, I will never learn to play the piano, at least much beyond “Chopsticks.”  If I do not exercise, I will never become much of an athlete.  It is a simple, practical matter of cause and effect.  If fitting in with others is my goal, then I must do what it takes to accomplish that goal.  This does not mean, however, that adapting to others is always the right thing to do.

   As a Stoic, I would caution the reader that popularity, or being liked, is never a worthy goal.  It might even be an immoral goal, depending upon the circumstances.  The Stoic goal is to achieve peace of mind by conforming one’s desires to nature, by desiring only those things that are under our control.  “Being liked by others” is simply not something that is within our control.  We can do what we can to be likeable, but that doesn’t mean that others will like us.  What if everyone in your neighborhood is a jerk?  We can certainly prefer to be liked rather than disliked.  If the gods came down to me and said, “It is in your hands.  You can be liked or disliked, with no changes or effort on your part.  Which do you prefer?”  Well, duh…What do you think I would choose?  The problem is that, last time I checked, the gods have not offered me that choice. 

   There are times and circumstances in which adapting to the local cultural norms would actually be immoral, not just futile.  If the local customs are in some way evil, then it would be a wrong act even to make the effort to fit in.  We must never forget that our highest values are to be faithful to what is true and to do what we see as right.  We should consider Socrates’ example.  He did not choose to “fit in” with all of the customs in Athens.  In fact, he chose instead to be loyal to what he saw as the truth, even though it cost him his life.  He could have chosen to blend in with the rest of the Athenian citizens, but if he had, who would have remembered him?  He was purple stripe on the toga praetexta, the mark of dignity, not the white of the bulk of the garment.

   The focus of this essay is not to encourage the reader to sacrifice his moral purpose in order to be popular.  That would be as immoral as it would be stupid.  It would be immoral because we should never sacrifice our values for transient gain.  It would be stupid because we do not control other peoples’ beliefs or opinions, so why compromise a goal that is within our power for one that is not?  We might choose to sacrifice our principles in order to become popular, only to find that not only did we not become popular, but now we can’t stand to look at ourselves in the mirror.  Having said that, we can certainly admit that when there are no moral issues involved, there is nothing at all wrong with wanting to be a good neighbor.  Much of what constitutes neighborliness has little or no real moral content; it is simply a matter of accepting and respecting local customs.  I am a native of Northern Virginia, a suburb of Washington D.C. that has become quite cosmopolitan.  I recently moved to a semi-rural area north of Atlanta, Georgia.  There are certainly some differences between life in these two areas, but none of them, at least as far as I can tell, involve any moral issues.  Life certainly is more casual here, but casualness is neither a vice nor a virtue.  That being the case, there is certainly no reason for me to try to avoid blending in as much as possible.

   For example, the first day we moved in I made a point of raking the yard and gathering up the leaves.  Our new house had been vacant for several months, so we wanted to get the yard looking as nice as we could.  We planted some flowers and two crepe myrtles.  We did this right away so that the neighbors could see that the new owners had every intention of being responsible, constructive members of our new community.  If there was any moral issue involved, it was that every member of a community should be productive and useful.  On the other hand, if we had moved to an area whose customs required that I violate one or more deeply held principles, then it would have been my duty to refuse to cooperate.  Suppose that I had moved here 60 years ago, and the local custom demanded that everyone who is eligible join the Ku Klux Klan.  That would have been an immoral act, and it would have been a right act to refuse to join.  However, that is certainly no longer the case.  As you could guess, this is a more religious region than Northern Virginia, at least in terms of church membership and attendance, but it is not some American version of Taliban Afghanistan.  We may have businesses that refuse to open on Sunday for religious reasons, but no one is forced to attend any church. 

   There are some obvious limits to accommodating local customs.  My accent gives me away every time I open my mouth.  I happen to think that Jeff Foxworthy is one of the funniest comedians in America—now I am even living in his home state—but I can guarantee you that I sound nothing like him.  If I were to say “y’all” instead of “you” it would sound phony.  It would sound so phony that it would probably come across as condescending.  I like country music, but I never wear a baseball cap.  I like to fish—even though I’m not that good at it—but forget hunting.  There is no way that I could pass as a native of Georgia, so it is better not even to try. 

   These are only surface differences; the conservative attitudes here still evoke a sense of patriotism and duty that are missing farther north, and I find these appealing.  Farther north you are likely to find people who seem to be ashamed of being American.  The people here seem prouder of being American, and they are more likely to share traditional values.  The important point is that I don’t expect anybody to make any adjustments for me.  I do expect to be left alone on those matters where we differ, but I have no right to expect people to adapt to my customs, no matter where I live.  I lived in Germany for four years during the time I was in the Army.  Even though we were there as a part of NATO, and defending Germany from the Soviet Union was a part of our mission, we were taught that we were expected to learn and respect German customs; they were not expected to learn ours.

   Obviously some solders were better at this than others.  We would have soldiers who would walk in a German Gasthaus and be told that the establishment was full, even though they could see a free table.  These soldiers would complain that the local merchants were discriminating against them, but they would be wrong.  Invariably, the table that they thought was “free” was the Stammtisch, a table reserved for regular customers.  One could only sit at this table by invitation, and this rule applied to Germans as much as it did Americans.  If the proprietor were, in fact, discriminating against some American soldiers because of race or religion, then the commander would have had the option of placing the establishment “off-limits.”  This would have meant that no military personnel would be permitted to patronize the business, and this was a threat that was often quite effective.  If, however, the soldiers had been turned away for a legitimate reason, such as rowdy behavior or if the Stammtisch was the only available space, then nothing would be done.  Actually, the soldiers would probably be counseled on their need to learn and understand the local customs!  Eventually most soldiers learned to respect the local practices, because there were really only two choices: adapt and enjoy one’s tour in Germany, or refuse to adapt and spend the entire time complaining about life overseas.

   In all of life this is really the ultimate choice, isn’t it?  The Stoic message has always been that our happiness is in our own hands.  If we are in a crowd, we can complain that everything is noise and commotion, or we can act as if we were in the middle of a celebration and enjoy the party.  If we are alone, we can complain that we have nothing to do, no one to talk to, or we can regard it as peace and solitude, and enjoy the opportunity to read and think.  In all our dealings with others we must react the same way.  As long as we do not have to compromise our ethical beliefs, we can adapt to the local mores and participate in the local life.  The option is to complain that “they” are strange, or backwards, or whatever, and live miserable, crabbed lives.

   It is really both simple and logical.  If we want others to accept us, we must be the ones who are willing to make the effort.  We will never have any control over the actions of others, especially of their opinions of us.  If we live our lives in accordance with our principles—assuming our principles are admirable—we may induce other people to respect us, but that does not mean that they will like us.  No matter what the reason that we may find ourselves alienated from our neighbors, whether that reason be our personality, our cultural heritage, or whatever, we must make the effort to be “likeable.”  If, in a given situation that is our desire, then we, not they, must make the effort.