Reading Bertrand Russell

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Twelve

2012-02-11T15:35:00.000-08:00

“George Bernard Shaw,” pages 75-80

Bernard Shaw came to public notice first as a music critic, Fabian socialist, and novelist, then as a playwright, and finally “as a prophet demanding equal admiration for St. Joan of Orleans and St. Joseph of Moscow [p. 75].” Russell’s strong admiration for Shaw did not survive the Stalinist phase.

Russell and Shaw first met in 1896 at an International Socialist Congress, and they began to spend time together; Russell recounts one joint and slightly ill-fated bicycle trip, which worked out better for the vegetarian Shaw than for Russell. Bertie speaks highly of Shaw’s wife, who showed great solicitude towards her husband and (barely) tolerated his repetitive storytelling.

“Shaw’s attack on Victorian humbug and hypocrisy was as beneficent as it was delightful, and for this the English undoubtedly owe him a debt of gratitude [p. 77].” Part of Shaw’s attack involved indicating that the norm against showing more regard for oneself than for others was wearisome; he himself not only was willing to show self-regard, he seemed to have an excessive amount of it to show.

“Shaw, like many witty men, considered wit an adequate substitute for wisdom [p. 78].” Shaw was skilled at making the worse appear the better reason, leaving debate rivals in the dust. His contempt for science cannot be defended, but can be explained -- by his unwillingness to highly rate anything he couldn’t understand. In political controversy, Shaw excelled at exposing the silly parts of his opponents’ platforms. This admirable trait, though, was lost when he succumbed to Soviet applause. He was never as strong at presenting a positive case for his views as he was at criticizing the views of his opponents, though in old age, his embrace of the Marxian system lent coherence to his opinions.

Fearless, Shaw was willing to say unpopular things. His unrelenting attacks sometimes fell on targets who deserved better. “As an iconoclast he was admirable, but as an icon rather less so [p. 80].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Eleven

2012-01-29T09:03:00.000-08:00

“Some of My Contemporaries at Cambridge,” pages 67-74

“From the moment that I went up to Cambridge at the beginning of October 1890, everything went well with me [p. 67].” Russell quickly made the acquaintance of many people who became intimate friends. The opening paragraph of this chapter provides a sketch of Charles Sanger, whom Russell met that first week in Cambridge and with whom he remained close until Sanger’s demise in 1930. “I have never known anyone else with such a perfect combination of penetrating intellect and warm affection [p. 68].” The description of Sanger is followed by admiring stories of the brothers Theodore and Crompton Llewelyn Davies. (Russell doesn’t note it, but these brothers were uncles to the boys who served as the inspiration for Peter Pan.) Theodore, in the midst of a thriving career in government, died at the age of 34 in 1905. Crompton “was one of the wittiest men that I have ever known, with a great love of mankind combined with a contemptuous hatred for most individual men [p. 70].” Next up for Russell is J. M. E. McTaggart, whom we met in "Chapter" Two. McTaggart was a shy but respected Hegelian. McTaggart broke with Russell due to Bertie’s views on WWI, and worked (successfully) at revoking Russell’s lectureship. [Russell refers to Sanger and McTaggart, incidentally, only by their surnames.]

In his third year at Cambridge, Russell met the first-year student G. E. Moore, “and for some years he fulfilled my ideal of genius [p. 72].” Moore was purity personified, and was virtually incapable of lying. He would repeatedly burn his fingers trying to light a pipe, because he would be distracted by argumentation after he struck the match but before he lit the pipe.

Charles, Bob, and George Trevelyan became friends of Bertie’s, especially Bob. “Bob Trevelyan was, I think, the most bookish person that I have ever known [p. 73].” Bob preferred books to virtually all non-reading pursuits. Bertie names but says little about some other friends, including Roger Fry, and the somewhat younger E.M. Forster, Lytton Strachey, and Maynard Keynes. Life was fun and friend-filled. “It was a generation that I am glad to have belonged to [p. 74].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Ten

2012-01-22T11:26:00.000-08:00

“Some Cambridge Dons of the Nineties,” pages 60-66

Some of them were quite mad, it seems. Others were vain and obsessed with royalty. Many of the oddest characters existed only in university folklore by the time that Russell arrived at Cambridge, alas.

Despite the tradition of eccentricity, “The great majority of Dons did their work competently without being either laughable or interesting [p. 62].” They were generally esteemed by Russell and the other students.

Henry Sidgwick’s faith became shaky; he ceded his Cambridge fellowship that required, at its initiation, that he sign the standard Anglican oath – even though he was sincere at the time of his signing. His resignation helped speed the demise of the religious requirement. “In philosophical ability he [Sidgwick] was not quite in the first rank, but his intellectual integrity was absolute and undeviating [p. 63].” Russell also expresses gratitude to, and high regard for, his main philosophy teacher, James Ward, despite academic disagreements.

Many of the Dons, including those in the main administrative posts, lived to ripe old ages. One ancient Senior Fellow was a leftover from the system where you received a lifetime post at an early age – a post whose only duty was to collect your pay. “This duty he performed punctiliously, but otherwise he was not known to have done any work whatever since the age of twenty-two [p. 66].” The tenure system had these sorts of flaws, but also allowed intellectual freedom, even for those whose intellects were questionable. (Recall how refreshing Russell found Cambridge to be following his repressed upbringing.) “In spite of some lunacy and some laziness, Cambridge was a good place, where independence of mind could exist undeterred [p. 66].”

Portraits From Memory, End of the First Period

2012-01-20T21:29:00.001-08:00

Portraits From Memory lends itself, as did Education and the Good Life, to tripartite division, so we will adopt again the ice hockey approach of two intervals. The first period opens with an autobiographical essay, and “chapters” two through nine offer expansions on themes introduced in that initial chapter. These themes include Russell’s lonely existence as a youth in a repressive atmosphere, the liberating power of Cambridge and mathematics, a trio of turning points, constancy in many matters of opinion, and constancy, too, though at times wavering, in an optimistic outlook on humanity.

The three key moments seem to have been an intellectual epiphany in 1901, the onset of World War I, and a visit to Russia in 1920. We don’t learn anything about the precipitating events for the 1901 turnabout, but the others arise in part through Russell’s personal observations of a pathological public war lust and a hatred-motivated Bolshevik leadership. The common problem is dogmatism; Russell would prefer not to be a contrarian, but the global conditions often have demanded that he be out of step with public opinion. World War I cements Russell’s commitment to improving society through means of political activity, though he is also at an age (over 40) when most mathematicians have already seen a marked decline in their creative powers. (The Prospero-like abandonment of his mathematics books in the early twentieth century was perhaps a bit premature, though it didn’t prevent Russell from co-authoring Principia Mathematica.) The literary public intellectual side of Russell then takes center stage, though it had long been extant: his first book, published in 1896, was German Social Democracy.

Those elements of Russell’s political outlook that remained constant are ones that I still find admirable: the anti-dogmatism, the commitment to personal liberty, the unwillingness to bend to power. One must be realistic, facts cannot be ignored. “But it is also a bad thing to assume that whatever is in the ascendant must be right, that regard for fact demands subservience to evil [p. 47].” I also sympathize with his inability to align himself wholeheartedly with any of the standard political parties.

The fact that Russell laid out an intellectual work plan when he was nineteen, one that he essentially stuck to for the rest of his life, is pretty amazing. And those books that he feared would have no impact – well, they are still being read some seventy years later, alongside only a tiny percentage of the productions of his contemporaries. But we already knew he was remarkable.

Finally, Russell’s praise of Wittgenstein is such an encomium it makes me want to learn more about Russell’s student and colleague: “…at the time when I knew him well he was immensely impressive as he had fire and penetration and intellectual purity to a quite extraordinary degree [p. 24].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Nine

2012-01-04T11:31:00.000-08:00

“Reflections on My Eightieth Birthday,” pages 54-59

Russell’s long term goals have been to learn if anything can be known, and to make the world happier. His early life was primarily devoted to the first of these missions. As he noted in Chapter Two, he thought that mathematics might be the route to certainty, but when he tried to demonstrate this, he found himself constructing more foundational tortoises, all the way down. As he also noted in Chapter Two, the First World War diverted him into examining human folly, which he still harbors hope can be overcome before extinction ends the human experiment.

So Russell remains optimistic, but his optimism is not of the wild-eyed sort. We can see what have been, and remain, the causes of suffering; these causes include war and pestilence and poverty. “And there have been morbid miseries fostered by gloomy creeds, which have led men into profound inner discords that made all outward prosperity of no avail [p. 55].” But all of these root causes of suffering are avoidable.

Russell’s life after World War I broke out has been lived in an age when previous gains are being relinquished. The adjustment from Victorian optimism to facing Twentieth Century realities has been painful. “New thoughts, new hopes, new freedoms, and new restrictions upon freedom are needed if the world is to emerge from its present perilous state [p. 56].”

Russell’s Devil’s Advocate of Chapter Seven implicitly returns, questioning his influence on public affairs. People who adopt “a dogmatic and precise gospel [p. 56]” can influence society, but theirs is not a beneficent influence. Russell also eschews the fanatic’s panacea, whether it be improved institutions or better character. These elements are complementary, so progress has to be made on multiple fronts simultaneously, and diverse approaches must be nurtured.

Russell reveals that sixty-one years earlier, he had resolved, while walking in the Tiergarten, “to write two series of books: one abstract, growing gradually more concrete; the other concrete, growing gradually more abstract [p. 57].” He has now written those books, but has not produced the final synthesis of these two series that he then intended. The books have been a success, influential and praised. But this success is countered by failure, some outward, some inward. The outward failure is symbolized by the current (1956) plight of the Tiergarten itself, in divided (though not yet enwalled) Berlin; the ideals of the democratic victors in World War Two are being compromised in their battles with ideological opponents.

One inner failure has been Russell’s need to jettison his youthful belief in certainty and in the ability of mathematics to locate that certainty. The second concerns how someone who had such faith that love could lead to global progress “ended by supporting a bitter and terrible war [p. 58].”

Nonetheless, Russell ends on a characteristically optimistic note. He was right to seek truth, and he was right to try to work for a gentler world, one that lives in imagination yet, “where individuals grow freely, and where hate and greed and envy die because there is nothing to nourish them [p. 59].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Eight

2011-12-07T21:27:00.001-08:00

“How to Grow Old,” pages 50-53

Longevity depends on your genetic inheritance, so “choose your ancestors carefully [p. 50].” Russell’s ancestors in the previous few generations tended to be long-lived, though his parents were conspicuous exceptions to this rule. His maternal grandmother was too busy with promoting higher education for women and post-midnight reading of popular science to recognize that she was growing old. Hers is the proper attitude: Russell advocates, as always, broad interests as a antidote for brooding on aging.

Russell skirts the opportunity to endorse healthy living. “I never do anything on the ground that it is good for health, though in actual fact the things I like doing are mostly wholesome [p. 51].”

Two traps present themselves to the unwary elderly. One is the temptation to live in the past, and to think of one’s current mind and emotions as inferior to what once they were. A second temptation is to assume too large a role in the life of the young, to try to annex some of their vitality. Remember that animals lose interest in their offspring once the young ones become self-sufficient.

Those broad interests that help to ease old age should be impersonal, that is, not dependent on the enthusiastic participation of younger family members. You can aid, financially or materially, your children and grandkids, but “you must not expect that they will enjoy your company [p. 52].”

A bitterness in the face of death by the young, for whom an early demise robs them of an expected future, is not untoward. “But in an old man who has known human joys and sorrow, and has achieved whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat abject and ignoble [p. 52].” Russell recapitulates some of the ideas he expressed in The Conquest of Happiness, about how broad, impersonal interests connect a person with the stream of life, so that personal death becomes less consequential. “I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that the others will carry on what I can no longer do, and content in the thought that what was possible has been done [p. 53].”

A note at the conclusion of the chapter indicates that this “How to Grow Old” is reprinted from New Hopes for a Changing World, which, coincidentally, is next in line in the Reading Bertrand Russell plan.

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Seven

2011-11-30T10:17:00.001-08:00

“Hopes: Realized and Disappointed,” pages 44-49

Russell opens this chapter describing those contours of the global political situation that, in his youth, were expected to remain stable: the great powers were both European and monarchies, with the then-recent half-exception of France; England itself was class-ridden and imperialist. Not all of the queen’s subjects supported Britain’s expansionist tendencies, but even these dissenters nevertheless took pride in British might. “I both hoped and expected to see throughout the world a gradual spread of parliamentary democracy, personal liberty, and freedom for the countries that were at that time subject to European Powers, including Britain [p. 45].” The institution of free trade and the erosion of nationalism were expected to diffuse globally, and young Russell followed his parents and godfather in supporting the emancipation of women.

Russell indicates that his evaluation of political conditions has not changed since he was young. “The things which I thought good in those days, I still think good [p. 45].” Britain’s domestic situation has improved, with voting rights for women, moderate socialism that still respects liberty, and greater tolerance of moral differences. Life expectancy is higher, people are healthier, living standards are up; Russell believes, as a consequence, that people are happier in Britain than they were when he was young. (Russell is writing long after the publication of his own The Conquest of Happiness, but before the Easterlin paradox was conceived.)

The international scene has darkened, however. The old repressive regimes in Russia and central Europe have been succeeded by a worse tyranny out of Moscow. “China, after a long period of go-as-you-please anarchy, is being wielded in a great crucible of suffering into an infinitely formidable weapon of military power [p. 46].” The United States is backtracking on liberalism, and the specter of nuclear catastrophe hangs over everyone. “Perhaps a well-ordered prison is all that the human race deserves – so at least the Devil whispers in moments of discouragement [p. 46].” But Russell will hew to his youthful view of what constitutes the good life, and will not revise it to reflect momentary, pessimistic assessments of what can be hoped for. Failure to accept reality is undesirable, of course. “But it is also a bad thing to assume that whatever is in the ascendant must be right, that regard for fact demands subservience to evil [p. 47].” Regimentation might win some victories, but that does not make it admirable.

As the youthful Russell hoped and expected that good outcomes would emerge with time, so does the mature Russell. The threat of a war of annihilation can be eliminated, poverty can be overcome, tolerance can grow, and the scope for personal initiative can expand. Surely people will grow tired of living amidst “a welter of organized hatreds and threats of mutual extermination [p. 47].” People could not live that way with their close neighbors, and states should not arrange their affairs in such a manner, either.

Russell balances two voices in his head, that of the Devil’s Advocate and that of the Earnest Publicist (p. 48). The Devil’s Advocate chastises him for (earnestly) meddling in public affairs, which will prove impervious to his ramblings. But maybe the Devil’s Advocate is mistaken, maybe public opinion can sway dictators – and at any rate, political commentary at least offers a benign occupation for Russell’s time. “And so I go on writing books, though whether any good will come of doing so, I do not know [p. 49].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Six

2011-11-27T12:54:00.001-08:00

“Beliefs: Discarded and Retained,” pages 38-43

With help from G. E. Moore, Russell discarded his early enchantment with Hegel, and Hegel’s “one”: “When I first threw over Hegel, I was delighted to be able to believe in the bizarre multiplicity of the world [p. 38].” Russell’s reaction to his dismissal of Hegel was, at first, to take as true all that Hegel disbelieved. So Russell accepted the multiplicity of truths, the atomistic nature of the world, and the reality of abstract mathematical concepts. “Pythagoras and Plato had let their views of the universe be shaped by mathematics, and I followed them gaily [p. 39].” Whitehead’s ability to adopt mathematical logic to make sense of, not a world of definite borders but a world of vague outlines, lent Russell a way out of conflating ideal forms with reality.

Over time, what first appears to be fundamental turns out to be mere superficial. Imagine existing on the surface of the sun, with its flux of swirling gasses. There would be no “things” to count, and hence you wouldn’t dream of counting. What we take as common sense on earth would be the most “fantastic metaphysical speculation [p. 40]” in such an environment.

Reality is imprecise, whereas mathematics is precise. There is no such thing as a rod that is exactly one yard long, and the notion of a yard is itself imprecise. Plato, at least, was correct in locating exactness outside of earth, as it has no reality here. Russell mourns the lack of precision, but takes solace in the fact that even in the real world (and hence outside of its domain of purity), mathematics is the useful, if blunt, tool for making progress.

In his reaction against Hegel, Russell’s atomistic view encompassed language: a word had to signify some thing. But logic’s interesting words, like “if” or “not,” do not readily admit to such an interpretation; Russell “came to think that many words and phrases have no significance in isolation, but only contribute to the significance of whole sentences [p. 42].”

“Nevertheless” – another problematic word! – Russell indicates that most of his beliefs about logic have survived for the fifty-five years since he jettisoned Hegel. The world is not limited to what is in our heads. “I still think that what we can know about the world outside the thoughts and feelings of living beings, we can know only through physical science [p. 42].” We must observe, and cannot just reason our way to truths. [In Unpopular Essays, Chapter 4, Russell chides philosophers like Descartes and Leibniz for believing that it is “possible to find out important things, such as the nature of God, by merely sitting still and thinking…”.]

Russell notes that his interest and activism in public issues, including the struggle for women’s suffrage, long pre-dated World War I. “But it was not until 1914 that social questions became my main preoccupation [p. 43].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Five

2011-11-21T10:19:00.001-08:00

“From Logic to Politics,” pages 32-37

World War I marked the transition of Russell’s intellectual activities towards political issues, and away, though not completely, from mathematical logic. The causes and prevention of war became Russell’s primary concern, one in which he lacked expertise, particularly in mastering the persuasion that is requisite when hoping to influence social questions.

Russell engaged in a youthful flirtation with imperialist ideas, but a new appreciation for the ubiquity of loneliness led, in 1901, to a conversion experience. “In the course of a few minutes I changed my mind about the Boer War, about harshness in education and in the criminal law, and about combativeness in private relations [p. 33].” [Hmmm, when was the last time I reversed my opinion on an important issue?] The conversion and its consequences were published by Russell in A Free Man’s Worship, but for the next decade, he was chiefly involved in the “Herculean task” of writing, with Whitehead, Principia Mathematica.

Russell, unaware of psychoanalysis, nonetheless adopted a psychoanalytic view towards the mass passions that grip people in wartime. He thought that it would require changes in the feelings in individuals, away from cruelty, for violence-reducing reforms to be sustainable. Feelings are generated through many channels, of course. Nevertheless, people, in general, “will be kindly or hostile in their feelings toward each other in proportion as they feel their lives successful or unsuccessful [pages 33-34].”

The Russia that Russell visited in 1920 was governed by a philosophy of hate. Moscow’s version of Marxism involved an error of theory and an error of feeling. The error in theory was to limit the concern with power relations among humans to that of economic power, and further, to equate economic power with ownership. The abolition of private ownership of the means of production, however, simply left individuals at the mercy of the power of state officials – a power even greater than that enjoyed by the titans of capitalism. The error in feeling was the belief that hate could serve as force for bringing forth good. “Those who had been inspired mainly by hatred of capitalists and landowners had acquired the habit of hating, and after achieving victory were impelled to look for new objects of detestation [p. 35].” Lenin and the early Bolsheviks had good intentions, but with hate as their motive force and with their selective distaste for power, they brought about a hell on earth. Right thinking and right feeling are both necessary for improving the human condition.

Following shortly upon his brief Russia visit, Russell visited China for almost a year. “China at that time was in a condition of anarchy; and, while Russia had too much government, China had too little [p. 35].” [Recall that Russell expressed a fairly positive opinion of anarchic political systems in Proposed Roads to Freedom.] Russell foresaw then, what he thinks we are in the process of seeing realized now (1956), a world of three major powers, those of the United States, Russia, and China – and in the process, China, forced to match its rivals militarily, sacrificed its traditional virtues.

Russell offers no panacea, and believes that we should beware the “dogmatic and fanatical belief in some doctrine for which there is no adequate evidence [p. 35].” [Here we see again the anti-dogmatism also expressed by Russell in Unpopular Essays and elsewhere.] Those who hold to isms, like the Bolsheviks, tend to be motivated by hatred.

Russell would have liked to be part of a like-thinking crowd, such as Liberals or Pacifists, but finds he can accept only slices of their creeds. As a result, he has led a lonely existence; nonetheless, his situation has improved since 1939, as his opinions have more nearly coincided with those commonly held by the British.

World history since 1914 has not unfolded in the direction Russell favored. “Nationalism has increased, militarism has increased, liberty has diminished [p. 36].” Civilization has, in many parts of the globe, lost ground, and victory in world wars has compromised the values of the victors. A war of annihilation threatens humanity. But as always, Russell expresses optimism. War and poverty are both problems that admit of solutions, and the solutions would be found if people could look more to their own happiness than to ensuring the misery of their enemies. “Hatred, folly, and mistaken beliefs alone stand between us and the millennium [p. 37].” Perhaps the enormous costs involved in not solving our problems will frighten humanity into enlightenment.

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Four

2011-11-14T09:57:00.001-08:00

“Experiences of a Pacifist in the First World War,” pages 26-31

As early as 1902 Russell dissented from a policy proposal that allied England with Russia and ensured a rift with Germany. He saw the damage to civilization that a great war would bring, and supported English neutrality. “Subsequent history has confirmed me in this opinion [p. 26].” He drafted, circulated, and published a petition favoring neutrality, but once war broke out, most of the signatories changed their stance. Russell noticed, and was surprised by, the significant public support for the war.

Russell regretted German battlefield successes, but he never had any doubt that he had to dissent against what then passed for English patriotism, by protesting the war. “I hardly supposed that much good would come of opposing the war, but I felt that for the honor of human nature those who were not swept off their feet should show that they stood firm [p. 28].” So speeches were delivered, and one gathering of pacifists at a church was attacked by an alcohol-fueled mob, where the courage of the women pacifists helped to limit the violence that was inflicted on everyone. Later, at the same church, the pulpit was burned before Russell could give a scheduled speech. “These were the only occasions on which I came across personal violence; all my other meetings were undisturbed [p. 29].”

Russell spent four and a half months in prison in 1918, with liberty to read and write, as long as he steered clear of pacifist propaganda. So he wrote and read steadily. “I found prison in many ways quite agreeable [p. 30].” The privilege to read and write only was extended to prisoners in the so-called first-division; Russell recognizes that for lower-division inmates, prison is an awful place.

After his release from prison, the end of the war was clearly on its way; nevertheless, the precise end of the war came quickly. When the armistice was announced at 11AM on November 11, Russell -- who had a few hours advance knowledge -- was in Tottenham Court Road. The shops emptied for revelry, and a man and a woman, unacquainted up to that point, kissed in the street. “The crowd rejoiced and I also rejoiced. But I remained as solitary as before [p. 31].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Three

2011-11-11T11:38:00.001-08:00

"Some Philosophical Contacts," pages 19-25

Russell admits to daydreaming as a child about receiving letters of praise from foreigners who had managed to read his work. Such letters eventually came his way, the first from the French philosopher Louis Couturat. They developed a friendship over a shared interest in Leibniz, but they moved apart as Couturat’s enthusiasm turned to the synthetic language of Ido.

Kant served as Russell’s welcome entrée into the German philosophers, but Hegel also came highly recommended. Russell was so put off by Hegel’s comments on the philosophy of mathematics, that he rejected Hegel wholesale, and (for other reasons) also stepped away from Kant. German mathematicians, however, began to assume a large role in Russell’s thought: Weierstrass, Dedekind, and, especially, Cantor, were important influences. To ensure that he understood Cantor, Russell re-wrote Cantor’s work nearly verbatim, as the requisite slow pace enhanced comprehension. Cantor was eccentric, and committed to the proposition that Bacon wrote Shakespeare. Russell and Cantor corresponded, but never met.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, Russell’s mathematical motivator became Frege. A teacher gave Russell a copy of Frege’s 1879 book Begriffsschrift, which Russell belatedly read in 1901: “I rather suspect that I was its first reader [p. 22].” Frege was the first proponent of Russell’s view “that mathematics is a prolongation of logic… [p. 22].” Frege’s belief, early in the twentieth century, that he had managed to reduce all mathematics to logic came undone by Russell’s construction of a contradiction: Frege frankly acknowledged the problem. “To my lasting regret, I never met Frege, but I am glad to have done all that lay in my power to win him the recognition which he deserved [pp. 22-23].”

Russell then recounts his early acquaintance with Ludwig Wittgenstein, who sought out Bertrand at Cambridge. Bertie’s endorsement of Ludwig’s philosophical capabilities apparently put a stop to what might have been a career as an aeronaut. Wittgenstein was hard to get along with, and would visit Russell late at night and talk of committing suicide. Russell provides more details of Wittgenstein’s life, including his internment at the end of World War I, his release of his inherited fortune to avoid distraction from philosophy, and his unhappy existence as a village schoolmaster. Russell admits to being influenced by the early doctrines of Wittgenstein, though their views later diverged. Russell holds Wittgenstein in high regard: “…at the time when I knew him well he was immensely impressive as he had fire and penetration and intellectual purity to a quite extraordinary degree [p. 24].”

Russell ends this chapter with a description of the extreme commitment to philosophy of Branislav Petronievic, whom Russell met at the end of World War I, and “namechecks” two significant intellectual influences, “the Italian Peano, and my friend G. E. Moore [p. 25].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" Two

2011-11-08T08:50:00.000-08:00

“Why I Took to Philosophy,” pages 13-18

Greek skepticism of religion and sense data led to two strands of philosophy. One strand questions the validity of our common sense, and the other strand suggests that there is a deeper philosophical knowledge that comes closer to truth, and even a comfortable truth. “In almost all philosophy doubt has been the goad and certainty has been the goal [pp. 13-14].”

Russell’s interest in philosophy grew from the usual motives, with emphases on finding ineluctable truths and “some satisfaction for religious impulses [p. 14].” He found mathematics to his liking, despite his reluctance to have to accept unproven postulates before headway could be made; he hoped that human society could be put on the same mathematical footing as physics.

His concerns about the foundations of mathematics were sustained when he suspected (correctly) that his Cambridge professors were hawking incorrect proofs. As a result, he welcomed Kantian philosophy, which later he discarded. “I was encouraged,” writes Russell, “in my transition to philosophy by a certain disgust with mathematics, resulting from too much concentration and too much absorption in the sort of skill that is needed in examinations [p. 16].” After finishing his math exams at Cambridge, he sold his math books and devoted himself to philosophy.

Russell’s hope of overcoming his growing religious skepticism was bolstered by his temporary embrace of Hegelian philosophy, which he learned from his friend McTaggart. (Apparently McTaggart later was to play a role in expelling Russell from Trinity College.) Closer examination of Hegel’s own work, full of confusions, led Russell to renounce this approach. Platonic ideal forms, with mathematics as their representation, offered an alternative refuge. “But in the end I found myself obliged to abandon this doctrine also, and I have never since found religious satisfaction in any philosophical doctrine that I could accept [p. 18].”

Portraits From Memory, "Chapter" One

2011-10-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

“Adaptation: An Autobiographical Epitome,” pages 1-12

Portraits From Memory opens with a remarkable and lengthy paragraph, describing Russell’s background and the atmosphere in his home when he was a child. “My parents died before I can remember, and I was brought up by my grandparents [p. 1].” Granddad was the former British Prime Minister John Russell, the first in the line of Earls Russell (of which Bertie was the third), and himself the son of a major British political figure. (Later in Portraits From Memory, Russell will devote a chapter to his grandfather.) The political leanings in the Russell household promoted parliamentary supremacy with a grudging toleration for a benevolent monarch, while global progress towards democracy – a democracy tempered by the inclination of the masses to follow the lead of the aristocracy – was the assured future fate. British global supremacy also was part of the presumed path to come, though the supremacy would not involve the continuing domination of Asian and African subjects. “The atmosphere in the house was one of puritan piety and austerity [p. 3],” manifesting itself in the form of morning prayers, cold baths, plain food, and the acceptance of alcohol and tobacco only to the point that was requisite for sociability.

Young Bertie’s interest in mathematics and philosophy was not championed by his grandparents, whose exclusive attention to virtue implied some hostility to such questionable pursuits. Matriculating at Cambridge was a liberating experience after the repression of home. “I had been compelled to live in a morbid atmosphere where an unwholesome kind of morality was encouraged to such an extent as to paralyze intelligence [p. 4].” [Russell indicated the importance of finding a congenial setting for one’s beliefs in The Conquest of Happiness.] Cambridge, where he studied first mathematics and then philosophy, brought an end to young Bertrand’s agonizing loneliness. Bertrand hoped to find some certainty in the truths of mathematics – though he was unimpressed with what passed for the proofs that were offered. Over the next two decades he learned that his hopes for certainty were less than fully realizable.

Bertie’s genealogy ensured that there was a ready-made political career in the offing. Against family objections, he chose to pursue philosophy instead. Following the career-choice tempest, he had a period of personal calm up until World War I. His opposition to that conflict and British participation in it isolated him from many friends and from British society more generally. (He notes that he is not against all war, and that he viewed the Second World War as necessary.) WWI and its aftermath – including the conditions that engendered WWII – have brought untold horrors. These horrors, including Nazism and Bolshevism in power, would have been avoided if Britain had remained neutral in the conflict.

Russell’s isolation deepened after WWI, especially following a visit to Russia in 1920, when he emerged (in part from a meeting with Lenin) as an opponent of the liberty-trampling Bolshevik regime. “I came to the conclusion that everything that was being done and everything that was being intended was totally contrary to what any person of a liberal outlook would desire [p. 8].” So by and large, the few people who could still stomach Russell following his World War I stance were put off by his anti-Bolshevik views.

Russell’s proclaims the Russian visit to be a turning point in his life. “The country seemed to me one vast prison in which the jailers were cruel bigots [p. 8].” Yet Bertrand’s friends supported this vile regime, and Russell had to decide whether he was mad, or they were. Fortunately, he was used to trusting his own judgment, thanks to the crucible of WWI.

Russell spent a happy year in China, returning in 1921 and turning his attention to education – as Reading Bertrand Russell has already noted (along with his views on the Bolsheviks). Russell started his own school to try to address what he saw as the shortcomings of the existing models. “But a school is an administrative enterprise and I found myself deficient in skill as an administrator [p. 9].” The school failed.

Freedom has its limitations, and in education, it must be limited to ensure sufficient discipline to acquire knowledge. Russell follows his godfather on the main principle of individual liberty: “The broad rule is a simple one: that men should be free in what only concerns themselves, but that they should not be free when they are tempted to aggression against others [p. 11].” The specific applications of this rule are complex, of course.

Russell views himself as an abstract philosopher much given to precision in thought – for which he often is mistakenly considered unfeeling. And although philosophy has not answered all of Russell’s needs, during his lifetime much that used to be vague and a matter of opinion has become precise and scientific; his own efforts to effect this progress are a source of self-satisfaction.

Optimism, easily imbued within his youthful milieu, is harder to support now. “But I remain convinced, whatever dark times may lie before us, that mankind will emerge, that the habit of mutual forbearance, which now seems lost, will be recovered, and that the reign of brutal violence will not last forever [p. 12].” Kindness and clear thinking will help us find the right path, and the future for humanity, Russell contends, will be brighter than its past.

[I haven’t yet read Russell’s three volume Autobiography, published well after Portraits From Memory, but this chapter has reminded me, rather profoundly, that I need to do that.]

Next Up: Portraits From Memory

2011-10-15T18:26:00.000-07:00

The Reading Bertrand Russell plan, which now appears to be a more-than-five-year plan, beckons forth Portraits From Memory and Other Essays, henceforth to be referred to as Portraits From Memory. The book was published by Simon and Schuster in 1956. My copy is a hardback, “FIRST PRINTING,” which appears to be identical to the copy at scribd. The book is 246 pages, with vi pages of preliminary material and a one page “About the Author” entry at the end. Russell’s Wikipedia entry and the Bertrand Russell Society both indicate that Portraits From Memory was published in London in 1956 by George Allen and Unwin, so perhaps there were separate British and American editions, as we have seen before with Russell. Parts of Portraits From Memory reproduce addresses broadcast by Russell over the BBC in the mid-1950s. The detailed copyright notice in my version suggests that some of the material dates from as early as 1951.

Portraits From Memory opens with something entitled “Adaptation: an Autobiographical Epitome.” I will call this Chapter One, and number the rest sequentially, but this is for my own purposes; these “chapter numbers” will be placed in parentheses after the name of each essay. Russell’s “Adaptation” is followed by a section entitled “Six Autobiographical Essays;” these essays are:

I. Why I Took to Philosophy (“Chapter” 2)
II. Some Philosophical Contacts (3)
III. Experiences of a Pacifist in the First World War (4)
IV. From Logic to Politics (5)
V. Beliefs: Discarded and Retained (6)
VI. Hopes: Realized and Disappointed (7)

The autobiographical essays are followed by two short pieces, “How to Grow Old” (8) and “Reflections on My Eightieth Birthday.” (9) Then come the nine chapters of the section titled, like the book itself, “Portraits From Memory”:

I. Some Cambridge Dons of the Nineties (10)
II. Some of My Contemporaries at Cambridge (11)
III. George Bernard Shaw (12)
IV. H. G. Wells (13)
V. Joseph Conrad (14)
VI. George Santayana (15)
VII. Alfred North Whitehead (16)
VIII. Sidney and Beatrice Webb (17)
IX. D.H. Lawrence (18)

So much for memory. After these nine chapters are placed 14 essays, most of them rather short, on assorted topics. They are:

Lord John Russell (19)
John Stuart Mill (20)
Mind and Matter (21)
The Cult of “Common Usage” (22)
Knowledge and Wisdom (23)
A Philosophy for Our Time (24)
A Plea for Clear Thinking (25)
History As an Art (26)
How I Write (27)
The Road to Happiness (28)
Symptoms of Orwell’s 1984 (29)
Why I Am Not a Communist (30)
Man’s Peril (31)
Steps toward Peace (32)

Looks like fun to me. If things go according to plan, the large number of chapters suggests that the summentary of Portraits From Memory will involve more posts than any of our previous Russell books. Onward, then.

Education and the Good Life, Full Time

2011-09-20T15:40:00.000-07:00

PartOne (“Education and the Good Life”) and PartTwo (“Education of Character”) each received an end-of-period summentary.This one concentrates on Part Three (“Intellectual Education,”), but draws tosome extent on the entire book.

The six chapters comprising “Intellectual Education” cover a lot of ground,at least as measured in years of schooling: from the age of seven or so throughuniversity. Russell’s contention is that the basis of character is formed inthe first six years, and its refinement will take place automatically asintellectual learning proceeds. The intellectual virtues of “curiosity,open-mindedness, belief that knowledge is possible though difficult, patience,industry, concentration and exactness [p. 243]” themselves cannot be directlytaught, though they can be nourished, in part through encouraging activeengagement with interesting material and by keeping the practical use ofknowledge in view, even if such use is well down the road. Students need to bechallenged, but the challenges cannot be too difficult: as Russell’sgodfather noted, “It is even more fatal to exertion to have no hope ofsucceeding by it, than to be assured of succeeding without it [at V.11.45].”

Russell isn’t an educational traditionalist; rather, he embraces recentinnovations such as those of Madame Montessori, Margaret McMillan,and the Bedales School.He supports the use of new technologies, especially cinema, in teaching, andbelieves that dancing should be part of primary education. He doesn’t recommendthe old practice of “drilling,” but he does recognize that it promotedapplication. Russell thinks that kids should spend a lot of time outdoors, andbe taught about nature first hand. Curiosity in all directions must berewarded. “Sex must be treated from the first as natural, delightful and decent[p. 215].” Russell (unsurprisingly) embraces enlightenment values: "Sciencewielded by love" is what is needed to improve education.

University is notfor everyone; it should be restricted to those who can make use of it andwho are making academic progress. No one should be barred from university byfinancial considerations, however. Tuition at university should be Oxbridge-style, with an emphasis not on lectures but on individualized learning.Teachers should be researchers, and these two activities would be naturalcomplements if university education were not pushed in extraneous directionsand involved “students” who will not make use of it.

The main oddity in Education and the Good Life, at least in terms ofbeing unexpected (based on the title alone), is that it includes a recurrentanti-war theme. Intellect, according to Russell, is sacrificed to the goal ofmaking good little government-supporting soldiers. War is not taught as itshould be, as the terrible result of bad decisions by foolish men. The love that must wield science for a successful education is limited by the failure toresist the wars that will kill those youths who once were under the care ofeducators. War comes up (repeatedly) in chapterone, where it is suggested that people who claim there is no time to teachchildren to appreciate poetry nevertheless “are prepared to set aside a greatdeal of time in order to teach young men how to kill each other scientifically[p. 33].” And war winds it way through to theconcluding chapter, too, where three sentences from the end we find: “Shallwe let [our children] be twisted and stunted and terrified in youth, to bekilled afterwards in futile wars which their intelligence was too cowed toprevent [pp. 318-319]?”

Russell’s educational ideas seem to have as much relevance today as they didin 1926. Russell’s emphasis on character and his intellectual virtues parallelwhat Angela Duckworthrefers to as “grit”. Grit is a willingness and ability to concentrateand to persevere against obstacles; in Russell’s terms, it involves “control ofattention by the will [p. 248].” In thisweek’s New York Times Magazine, Duckworth makes a Russellian observation:“True, learning is fun, exhilarating and gratifying — but it is also oftendaunting, exhausting and sometimes discouraging. . . . To help chronicallylow-performing but intelligent students, educators and parents must firstrecognize that character is at least as important as intellect.” Russellianprinciples, even today, would offer a large improvement over what I take to bethe educational status quo; they would be better at instillingappropriate character, and at stimulating the development of grit, withoutsacrificing happiness.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XIX

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Chapter XIX (pages 314-319), “Conclusion”

“Knowledge wielded by love is what the educator needs and what his pupils should acquire [p. 314].” For younger children, teachers should be familiar with some psychology as well as physiology and hygiene. Natural instincts, if guided at an early age, can be fashioned into harmonious character, though many people prefer to promote war. “If existing knowledge were used and tested methods applied, we could, in a generation, produce a population almost wholly free from disease, malevolence, and stupidity [p. 315].” For teachers of older children, love of the knowledge to be transmitted takes on a significant role in providing a good education.

Fear and punishment are the traditional methods used to inculcate virtue, but they don’t work well, and breed mental disease. Instilling good habits and skill can make virtuous behavior instinctual. Advances in psychology and learning from nursery school experiences render it easier to instill these good habits. We already have sufficient knowledge, but it is not now brought to bear with sufficient love. It is fear that leads to cruelty, and for this reason, among others, Russell has emphasized the importance of not implanting fear in children. The situation is improving: fewer Christians now hold that unbaptized babies are damned.

Children of professional-class parents already acquire sufficient knowledge through schooling; what is “important is the spirit of adventure and liberty, the sense of setting out upon a voyage of discovery [p. 318].” When educators teach in this spirit, good students need no further motivation. Antiquated fears and superstitions can give way to freedom of thought and inquiry, and a splendid new world can be erected.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XVIII

2011-09-11T10:38:00.000-07:00

Chapter XVIII (pages 301-313), “The University”

Everyone except the occasional Mozart-like genius should have the sort of education in character and knowledge outlined earlier, but not everyone can profit from a university education. “Certainly the idle rich who at present infest the older universities very often derive no benefit from them, but merely contract habits of dissipation [p. 301].” Students who can benefit from university should not be precluded from attending by economic considerations, however.

British universities thankfully are escaping their past of providing first a clerical, and later a gentlemanly, education, while becoming professional schools. Lawyers, doctors, engineers, high-ranking civil service workers: all of these professions now are dominated by university men. Russell is sorry to witness the demise of learning for its own sake, but the plutocrats who fund the schools do not tolerate an impractical approach. Disinterested education can be salvaged, however, if a democracy of educated people devotes public money to the cause. Learned educators who rely on state funding are more likely to be uncorrupted than those who depend on the benefactions of wealthy businessmen. At any rate, universities should both offer professional training, and pursue research that lacks immediate utility.

People should be allocated to professions and jobs by talent, but economic realities imply that the choices of young people are constrained by heredity, by their parents’ wherewithal. Many people who would make for the best doctors cannot afford the training, and many people who are well suited to farm effectively lack the capital to procure land: most farmers are sons of farmers. Efficient agriculture is so important that we could require anyone undertaking substantial farming to hold a degree in “scientific agriculture [p. 307].” The general notion for all significant professions is that only people with appropriate skills should be allowed to take part; further, any person of ability, irrespective of means, should have the opportunity to acquire the appropriate skills.

So universities should be open to all who are qualified, with public support for students without sufficient means, and continued enrollment should be contingent on academic progress. “The idea of the university as a place of leisure where rich young men loaf for three or four years is dying, but, like Charles II, it is an unconscionable time about it [p. 308].”

The evidence that students are applying themselves should not be their attendance at (often useless) lectures. The Montessori focus on individualized work is particularly appropriate for bright students of college age. But the business minds that fund university schooling need verifiable signs of progress, so too much attention is given to trivial matters such as lecture attendance. Teachers should start the term by assigning required and recommended texts, and setting paper topics. (Students could, with approval, set their own topics, provided they are equally challenging.) Individual meetings with students should take place after the papers are prepared, and their papers are the measure of their effective effort. Once a week or so, a teacher should be available for less formal discussions.

“Every university teacher should be himself engaged in research, and should have sufficient leisure and energy to know what is being done in his subject in all countries [p. 309].” Unlike teachers of younger children, college teachers don’t have to be skillful pedagogues; they do have to be knowledgeable in and committed to their discipline. Every seventh year should bring a sabbatical to study abroad or to otherwise acquire knowledge of global advances in the relevant field. Britain has been slow to adopt these measures. Russell notes that his own training in mathematics came from teachers who had fallen woefully behind the progress made in previous decades on the Continent. The tension that exists at universities between research and teaching largely is artificial, stoked by the presence of students who shouldn’t be in college and a mindset that college, like grade school, should provide a sort of moral education. “The only morality which can be profitably exacted is that of work; the rest belongs to earlier years [p. 311].”

In terms of the function of universities, research is central. Human progress, in the long-term, requires new knowledge, and this, in turn, requires a research investment independent of any tangible return. A creator needs to be motivated by something beyond immediate, practical rewards. “He should be occupied, rather, in the pursuit of a vision, in capturing and giving permanence to something which he has first seen dimly for a moment, which he has loved with such ardour that the joys of this world have grown pale by comparison [p. 312].” The greatness of humanity depends on nourishing such ardour.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XVII

2011-08-26T12:04:00.000-07:00

Chapter XVII (pages 292-300), “Day Schools and Boarding Schools”

Parents with sufficient means have to decide whether to send their children away to boarding school. Such schools can have trained medical professionals, and be located in the country or healthy neighborhoods, both of which are likely to conduce to the well-being of children. (Russell thinks the health situation in London “is steadily improving, and might be brought up to the standard of the country by the artificial use of ultra-violet light [p. 293].” He was writing before germicidal ultraviolet lamps were in use, as far as I can tell.) Boarding schools also greatly reduce the time involved in traveling to school every day – most people, especially country dwellers, do not live all that close to a good day school. (The low quality of near-at-hand day schools is one reason that boarding schools might be a better option for rural residents – p. 299.)

Experiments in education will only appeal to a small minority of parents. As a result, experiments cannot easily be undertaken by day schools that attract children exclusively from the neighborhood. But a boarding school can draw upon widely dispersed supporters, and so boarding schools are the locale where most innovations in teaching school-age children occur. (Educational innovation is less suppressed for very young children, and hence this is the group that Madame Montessori could service.)

Schools create an artificial environment, and one shortcoming of boarding schools is that children spend too much time in that unreal setting. Their short holidays at home do not do much to overcome the artificiality, as the scarcity of their domestic presence means that they are excessively fussed over. “Consequently they tend to become arrogant and hard, ignorant of the problems of adult life, and quite aloof from their parents [p. 295].” More time within the family teaches respect for the rights of others and generates compassion for the difficulties that others face. Of course, too much parental influence is as bad as too little. “Day school from an early age affords, to my mind, the right compromise between parental domination and parental insignificance [p. 296].”

Boys of twelve years old or so tend to be particularly barbarous, and sensitive types, non-conformists, and the academically serious can be bullied. There is thus something to be said for the French method of segregating the best students at schools of their own – a practice that also permits a faster pace of learning for these students. The intellectual children suffer from having reduced knowledge of average people, but this is better than the British method that results in good students who are not gifted in sports being tortured. Improved early training and co-education could reduce the cruelties of boarding-school boys. “At present, however, there are very few boarding schools to which I should venture to send a boy if he were above the average in intelligence, morals, or sensitiveness, or if he were not conservative in politics and orthodox in theology [p. 298].” Even day schools might be too brutal for children exceptional in intelligence and sensitivity.

There is no single best way in choosing between a day school and a boarding school: specific circumstances can tip the scales one way or the other. Most working-class families will have to choose day schools for economic reasons, and those choices cannot be said to be undesirable, as boarding schools are not a clearly better educational alternative. Just about everyone, however, should have a scholastic education up to the age of eighteen; at that point, but not before, full-time vocational training is an option for some students.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XVI

2011-08-24T08:07:00.000-07:00

Chapter XVI (pages 278-291), “Last School Years”

For brighter students, some degree of specialization should take place at about age fourteen, while slower children should continue with general or vocational studies. (Russell explicitly renounces any further discussion of vocational education, though he notes that even for those older than 14, it should not form their exclusive study.) This guideline admits exceptions, however, and perhaps some students can specialize earlier.

Classics, science and math, and modern humanities (languages, history, literature) should constitute the three divisions within schools. Students in each of these divisions might want to specialize more narrowly, too. Information needful for successful day-to-day living, such as anatomy and hygiene, should be taught to all students. The basics of sex education should be provided before puberty, with more detail covered later in concert with health education. Some knowledge of political functioning must be communicated, with attention paid to avoiding propaganda.

Teaching methods should concentrate on exacting, detailed study, relieved and enlivened by more popular books or lectures. The less formal treatments are meant to stimulate and refresh, but certainly not to substitute for, the more concentrated work. Reaction against traditional drills has led to too much superficiality in education. “The mental work involved in the drill was good; what was bad was the killing of intellectual interests [p. 281].” America affords many examples of lazy undergraduates becoming committed law or medical students. The lesson is that if the school work is important to students, they will meet the challenge. Work that is too easy conveys the message that the material isn’t really worth anything. “With good teaching and the elimination of fear, very many boys and girls would be clever who now seem stupid and lethargic [p. 282].” Each student’s own initiative can direct much of his or her personal curriculum, with written accounts (sort of like this blog!) helping to cement what is learned, while allowing the teacher to supervise and intervene – with suggestions, not commands – where necessary.

Looking at all sides of current controversies, and conducting even-handed debates, are useful disciplines. “By such means, the pupils could learn discussion as a means of ascertaining truth, not as a contest for rhetorical victory [p. 283].” The purpose of discussing controversies and even deeply-held beliefs is to serve thought, not orthodoxy or non-conformity (p. 287). Students also can see that their schooling has some applicability to the common concerns of the day.

Political questions usually are not looked at objectively, as passions run high and distort the understanding. But objective, academic approaches can destroy the passion to solve political problems. We need both the passion, and the objectivity. Myths about nationalism or religion show how common it is that people believe what they want to believe, not what the facts demand. We are all like Don Quixote, constructing a mythological reality that we find congenial. This is fine for young children, who lack the power to shape the world, but as children near adulthood, they should recognize that dreams only have value if they can be achieved by action. Schools often promote myths, about the superiority of a country, social class, or even the school itself; the result is intellectual laziness.

Many myths are driven by fear, and they can paralyze us when danger strikes. Better that we face dangers head-on, reducing risks where we can and mitigating the damages associated with those risks that remain.

It is a commonplace that promoting morality or our political or religious views necessitates teaching falsehoods or refusing to look at issues objectively. We even try to ensure adults are ignorant, and in England, plays cannot be true to life, as the censor “holds that the public can only be cajoled into virtue by deceit [p. 288].” “In the virtue that I desire, the pursuit of knowledge, without fear and without limitation, is an essential element, in the absence of which the rest has little value [pp. 288-9].” We need to make the scientific spirit apply to all matters. We must want to know the truth and seek means of finding it out, while questioning our preconceptions and recognizing that our conclusions are tentative. Improvements in knowledge of physics and child psychology over time both have come from “substituting observation for preconceptions and passions [p. 289].” Hucksters, political as well as commercial, are always trying to sell us something, and we must inure ourselves against the temptation to believe whatever assertions are sufficiently repeated.

Again, we must instill curiosity, and make sure that academic requirements are not so encompassing that they do not leave time for the pursuit of understanding desired by the student. “Knowledge which is felt to be boring is of little use, but knowledge which is assimilated eagerly becomes a permanent possession [p. 290].” With the utility of knowledge in helping to change the world made palpable, and with teachers serving as allies, most students will take great delight in learning.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XV

2011-08-14T08:49:00.000-07:00

Chapter XV (pages 261-277), “The School Curriculum Before Fourteen”

Some elements of knowledge should be familiar to every person, whereas much specialized knowledge needs to be understood – but not by everyone. “Some should know how to play the trombone, but mercifully it is not necessary that every school-child should practise this instrument [pp. 262-2].” For the most part, what is taught up to age fourteen should be that knowledge which everyone should possess. Early ages can be used to identify individual talents, however, to guide later specialization. For this reason, an introduction to a broad range of studies is important for everyone. Easier material generally should precede difficult material, too, and nothing “involving severe mental effort should be undertaken before the age of seven…[p. 263].” Arithmetic is tricky, as it requires precise skills and memorization that cannot be mastered solely through engaging with interesting material. The fact that arithmetic entails objectively right and wrong answers is a disciplining device that has value more generally.

Geography and history were taught in a deplorable manner to Russell in his youth, but proper teaching – including use of the cinema – can animate children’s natural curiosity about these subjects. Learning about other people and places makes it easier to fully absorb the notion that different people and places really exist, countering our tendency to be parochial. An overview of world history, something akin to that provided by H.G. Wells, is appropriate for children as young as six. [I read Wells’s The Outline of History with great relish when I was in junior high school, and Russell’s approval of the two volumes revives some of that pleasure. – RBR] Russell provides rather precise guidelines on London museums: a six-year old will profit from the creatures in the Natural History Museum, but the British Museum should wait until children are ten. Younger children will find the British Museum to be boring, and a visit might put them off the study of history. The arc of human history that children should be taught is how, with many setbacks, humans have managed to use reason to progress out of ignorance. “The conception is that of the human race as a whole, fighting against chaos without and darkness within, the little tiny lamp of reason growing gradually into a great light by which the night is dispelled [p. 267].” The differences of race, creed, and nationality are foolish distractions from our shared climb. But for teaching, historical examples must come before presenting the general features of the human journey. The real champions of history are not the military conquerors, but the philosophers and scientists “who have helped to give us mastery over ourselves or over nature [p. 268].”

Dancing should be part of early education. It is beneficial for physical health and fun, while group dances reward cooperation. Singing should come later, and for older children, should be voluntary, not a requirement.

The facts of literature, such as names and dates, are useless. “What is valuable is great familiarity with certain examples of good literature – such familiarity as will influence the style, not only of writing, but of thought [p. 269].” Memorization of great literature is valuable not for building up memory more generally, but for improving grace in speaking and writing. Simply requiring memorization will not engage children, however – better that it be part of dramatic performances, as children love to act. The best literature for the purpose is not literature written for children – much of which is foolishly sentimental – but (for the most part) literature written for adults that happens to be suitable for children, too.

As it is easy to acquire languages when young, and multiple languages can be learned without confusion (providing different languages are spoken to appropriate people, like foreign governesses), schools should have a French (and if possible, a German) mistress on staff. She would converse and play games with the children in her native language, and they would pick it up in a fun way, and for the most part without express lessons.

Formal mathematics (beyond arithmetic) and science can only be taught profitably to children of about twelve or older, though earlier ages will have lots of exposure to interesting parts of sciences, such as astronomy and dinosaurs. Most boys and girls do not care for formal mathematics, and this lack of interest cannot be laid at the feet of poor teachers. “A sense for mathematics, like musical capacity, is mainly a gift of the gods, and I believe it to be quite rare, even in a moderate degree [p. 274].” But all should be exposed to math and science, to identify those possessing the gift, and for a sort of general understanding among everyone that such fields exist. By the age of fourteen, those with aptitude typically have identified themselves, and after that point, the others needn’t engage themselves further in math or science studies. A similar process, and timeline, applies to the study of Latin. At the age of fourteen, more specialized studies should commence, based on revealed talents and interests – so it is important that training in the years just before fourteen encourage this revelation of information to take place.

Throughout childhood, outdoor topics such as gardening and knowledge of plants and animals should feature in schooling. Townspeople understand less about nature than do livestock. (Russell speculates that perhaps this ignorance contributes to the unpopularity of the Labour Party in rural areas.) Children need to be outdoors for health, and in the process, can learn about these fundamental matters. “The seasons and the weather, sowing and harvest, crops and flocks and herds, have a certain human importance, and ought to be intimate and familiar to everybody if the divorce from mother earth is not to be too complete [p. 276].”

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XIV

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Part III, Intellectual Education

Chapter XIV (pages 239-260), “General Principles”

Providing the basis for a good character should be the work of the first six years of a child’s life. After that point, a well-positioned child will develop the rest of his or her character as a side effect of intellectual learning. School administrators, therefore, should focus on intellectual development. Indeed, they should not try to imbue their teaching with moral precepts, or suggest that some forms of curiosity or knowledge are incompatible with good morals. Any censorship along these lines likely will spur more curiosity. Even an interest in obscenity would fade if information about sex were treated like any other sort of information.

Russell recommends medical therapy for a boy who shows an (over-?)interest in pornography. (Could the NHS handle this flood of new patients?) The idea is basically to make sex so boring that the boy loses interest in pornography. “When he felt that there was nothing more to know, and that what he did know was uninteresting, he would be cured [p. 242].” Knowledge is better than censorship and moral outrage.

There are intellectual virtues, but they must not be pursued directly. Rather, they develop as tools for learning. These virtues include: “curiosity, open-mindedness, belief that knowledge is possible though difficult, patience, industry, concentration and exactness [p. 243].” Curiosity should (for the most part) have some larger goal in mind, or at least lurking in the background; knowledge itself is a means, not an end, even if the acquisition of knowledge must, during schooling, be to some extent divorced from the larger goal. Nonetheless, the mathematician in Russell recognizes the value of pure knowledge, apart from any immediate practical utility. As a result, he pushes back against so-called dynamic education (especially when imposed at higher levels), which insists on mixing learning with doing. In passing, Russell suggests that the possession of culture necessitates “a certain freedom from parochialism, both in space and time, and that this involves a respect for excellence even if it is found in another country or another age [p. 245].”

Open-mindedness comes naturally to the young, because they are not invested in prior beliefs. Russell, like his contemporary Upton Sinclair, notes how the occupational or financial situation of adults makes them resistant to ideas that challenge their situation. The natural open-mindedness of youth should be nurtured, even if it cannot be matched by an endorsement of open actions: it is OK to think that a pirate’s life is best, especially after serious consideration of all the alternatives, but not to run off to be a pirate.

As children age, they can concentrate for longer periods, but the ability to focus attention over an extended duration must be developed. Perfect concentration must be “intense, prolonged, and voluntary [p. 248].” Some tasks that require such attention are enjoyable, but many are not – it is the job of education to make students willing to concentrate on boring matters, when there is adequate future compensation. “I think it is above all the control of attention by the will that is conferred by higher education [p. 248].”

Patience, industry, and the belief that knowledge is possible though difficult to acquire are next in Russell’s list of intellectual virtues. These can be inculcated through exercises that start off relatively easy – thereby giving an early taste of success – but become progressively harder. Exactness is not so well taught as it was in the past, but it is an admirable academic discipline. Exactness often involves boredom, but voluntarily submitted to for the purpose of achieving a significant goal, it is valuable and requisite for excellence. Many dimensions of exactness exist; aesthetic precision can be taught with lessons in acting, singing, and dance. Geography and history are perhaps best taught, at first, with films; the litany of facts (often unimportant ones) is too boring to tackle directly. Mathematics can help to teach logical accuracy, but only if the rationale for mathematical rules is explained.

Montessori-style approaches that make learning uniformly interesting cannot be maintained for older children, but the underlying principle that “the impulse to education should come from the pupil can be continued up to any age [p. 256].” Children who are well-taught in their early years later will prosper under the tutelage of any able teacher, and with a minimum of compulsion. Indeed, Russell suggests that students who cannot be self-motivated, nor understand the necessity to grapple with dull material, might “have to be classified as stupid, and taught separately from children of normal intelligence, though care must be taken not to let this appear as a punishment [p. 258].”

After the age of four or so, parents should not be the primary teachers. They lack the specialized skills needed for successful teaching, and their family connection hinders the development of an appropriate student-teacher relationship. Doctors don’t treat family members because of similar conflicts-of-interest.

The wonderful adventure of learning should be recognized and celebrated throughout education. Much joy comes from developing a fresh understanding, one achieved through personal initiative and discovery. Active engagement dominates passive reception of knowledge. “This is one of the secrets of making education a happiness rather than a torment [p. 260].”

Education and the Good Life, End of the Second Period

2011-07-15T13:07:00.000-07:00

We have completed two of the three periods in Education and the Good Life, so it is time to smooth the ice. The middle section that we have just put to rest, “The Education of Character” (Chapters III through XIII), is sufficiently coherent (and long) to have appeared in standalone format. As the section title suggests, the chapters are not so much concerned with the transmission of knowledge to the young as they are with raising happy, kind, and psychologically sound children. To my eye, untutored through first-hand experience with parenting, the guidance provided in “The Education of Character” is likely to succeed.

What are the chief elements of that guidance? Do not lie to children, they will (eventually) see through lies and distrust you. The admonition to avoid lying applies to the most sensitive subjects, too, including religion, death, and sex. (A respect for truth will lead to psychological soundness, but will not necessarily make children [or the adults they become] more popular.) Overcome irrational fears by promoting understanding of how strange processes work; treat real dangers matter-of-factly, as difficulties to be managed but not obsessed over. Do not try to instill virtue through ignorance. Carefully ration praise and, especially, blame. Praise should be offered for any accomplishment that requires extraordinary effort. Do not praise children simply for doing their duty – they are expert strategists, and will realize that they can wield power over you by failing to do their duty. Limit threats, and make sure they are credible but not severe; they must be followed through on when the undesired behavior arises – as it will. Physical punishment must be eschewed, as it sends improper messages and poisons adult-child relationships. Protect children, but don’t coddle them. Don’t demand reciprocal love from children: the parent-child relationship is naturally one-sided. Make sure children frequently are among their peers, as it is only in this setting that a sense of justice can be instilled. Play and fantasy are welcome and important, but organized, competitive games should only be a small part of a child’s life. Emphasize the acquisition of skills, particularly those that allow mastery over nature, as opposed to dominance over other people. Foster a constructive attitude by allowing risks to be taken, and mistakes made.

How does Russell’s advice compare with what might be written today? Here, my ignorance of modern parenting norms betrays me, but for what it is worth, Russell’s views, progressive, no doubt, for their time, seem to have aged well. He recognizes successful pedagogical models like that of Madame Montessori, he sees the value and the shortcomings of Freud, and he understands the fundamental importance of very early education. Russell thinks that misbehaving children should be viewed almost as ill (as opposed to bad) – a position he elsewhere adopts for adult criminals. In his own parenting, he employs the “time out” strategy, which seems to have caught on a lot, and his prohibition on physical punishment likewise has spread.

Russell sees how challenges that stretch but do not break are the key to human development; here, as in his book on happiness, he endorses what in the happiness literature is known as flow. And what is human development, for Russell? He does not want to straitjacket it; rather, society is like a tree, one that can grow in many different, and unplanned, directions. Once again, I am reminded of Russell’s godfather, John Stuart Mill, whose embrace of individual liberty is not based on any intrinsic value to freedom, but rather, derives from the notion that liberty is the best means to promote “the permanent interests of man as a progressive being.”

One, perhaps surprising, sub-text in "The Education of Character" is the stupidity of war. The destruction of resources and lives that war represents is noted (often, as it were, in passing), in many different chapters, and Russell believes that children should be taught to understand how wasteful war is. The allusion that comes to mind here is Shakespearean, from Hamlet:

HAMLET

Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,
Or for some frontier?

Captain

Truly to speak, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground
That hath in it no profit but the name.
To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.

HAMLET

Why, then the Polack never will defend it.

Captain

Yes, it is already garrison'd.

HAMLET

Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats
Will not debate the question of this straw:
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace,
That inward breaks, and shows no cause without
Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir.

Russell’s own summary of "The Education of Character," perhaps, comes at the end of Chapter XIII: “There is only one road to progress, in education as in other human affairs, and that is: Science wielded by love [p. 234].”

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XIII

2011-06-22T21:39:00.000-07:00

Chapter XIII (pages 224-236), “The Nursery-School”

The training identified as desirable in the earlier parts of the book: should it come from parents, or within schools? Nursery-schools are clearly preferred for both the rich and poor, at least among non-rural families; Russell has kind words (on page 224, and with more detail on pages 228 and 229) for the nursery school operated by Margaret McMillan – which still exists . Nursery schools provide peer companionship and space in ways that families cannot; Russell recommends (page 227) that parents send children to nursery schools at least part-time from the age of two.

Russell believes that medical and psychological issues interact for very young children: fear leads to bad breathing leads to illness, for example. “Such interrelations are so numerous that no one can hope to succeed with a child’s character without some medical knowledge, or with its health without some psychology [p. 225].” Kids thrive in more or less constant exposure to fresh air, without the need for heavy clothes; nevertheless, judiciousness is required to recognize exceptional circumstances and to avoid sudden chills. Parents do not come by this knowledge naturally, and Russell accuses his neighbors (in West Sussex, I presume) of harming their children by poor choices with respect to food, outdoor play, and bedtimes. Parents, he thinks, will not be convinced when informed of better methods.

Ms. McMillan’s school for poor children runs from eight in the morning until six at night, with the ideal being that the students should attend school from the ages of one through seven. They eat all of their meals at school, and get lots of outdoor exercise and fresh air when indoors. Russell endorses Ms. McMillan’s claim about the impressive intellectual and social achievements of her students. Universal access to nursery schools would greatly reduce intellectual and physical inequality. It could be achieved, except the government has indefensible spending priorities.

Progress in the education of young children has been achieved chiefly through studying older people who are mentally deficient. “I believe the reason for the necessity of this detour was that the stupidities of mental patients were not regarded as blameworthy, or as curable by chastisement; no one thought that Dr. Arnold’s recipe of flogging would cure their “laziness [p. 233].” Had a scientific approach, and not a moralistic one, been taken towards educating children, progress could have been made earlier. The whole concept of “moral responsibility” is misguided. The stupidities of both the rich and poor are products of their circumstances and their inappropriate educations.

“There is only one road to progress, in education as in other human affairs, and that is: Science wielded by love [p. 234].” Advances stem from those who love children and know the requisite science – and much better circumstances to achieve those advances have emerged with improved access for women to higher education. The application of science to education, without love for the children and the wish to make them loving, could produce monsters – and produce them efficiently. Alas, the love that generally is bestowed upon children does not extend to resistance to insane wars that will see many of them killed off in later years. Love must be prolonged from the child to the adult he will become, though hate will be marketed with the trappings of honor.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XII

2011-05-14T21:27:00.000-07:00

Chapter XII (pages 209-223), “Sex Education”

Readers, sympathetic so far to the message of instilling a sense of freedom and courageousness in children, might be tempted to revert to “slavery and terror [p. 209]” in the sex realm. Russell says he will stay true to his principles, and treat the sex instinct like any other – though in its mature form, the sex drive is later developing than most other desires. Discussions with children still at the prepubescent stage will be the primary focus of this chapter. The Freudians are right in that bad handling of sexual issues at early ages can lead to harms later in life. Obscenity laws have contributed to poor sex education, as valuable ideas have to be couched in euphemism to escape the censors.

Apparently masturbation by two and three year old children is common – and it is commonly met with horror from adults. The threats of caregivers do not stop the practice, but they do instill apprehension which, though eventually repressed, expresses itself in nightmares or other psychic disorders. The practice of masturbation by young children in itself typically involves no physical or moral harm; it is the anti-masturbation policy that produces trouble. Subtle nudges away from masturbation, such as ensuring that children are quite tired when they go to bed, are unobjectionable, but any direct attention to the practice will likely prove counterproductive.

Children are curious, and that natural curiosity extends to gender differences. Their curiosity can be intensified, however, by the adult practice of shrouding sexual matters in mystery. Kids can see their family naked when such nakedness is, as it were, naturally occurring. The approach towards sex education should be the same as with other types of education: questions must be answered truthfully, and with the same fullness, interest, and matter-of-factness that questions about steam engines would be met with. Children will pick up on any subtle messages that sex is somehow dirty, to the detriment of their future happiness.

Learning about sex from the gossip of school children is likely to instill unhealthy attitudes. Most boys of Russell’s years who were exposed to sex education in that fashion “continued through life to think sex comic and nasty, with the result that they could not respect a woman with whom they had intercourse, even though she were the mother of their children [p. 215].” Nevertheless, many parents seek the cowardly approach of silence on sexual matters – which among other effects, ensures that children will think badly of their parents when the kids realize that their parents had sex. It is cruel to let a child reach puberty without preparation for what lies ahead. Girls and boys both need truthful information. “Sex must be treated from the first as natural, delightful and decent [p. 215].” (Much in this chapter, incidentally, is echoed by Russell later in Marriage and Morals and in The Conquest of Happiness.)

Parents of different religious or ethical persuasions will wish to give their children different guidance on sexual morality. All children, though, should be told about sexually-transmitted diseases, without exaggeration, and about prevention as well as treatment or cure. “It is a mistake to give only such instruction as is needed by the perfectly virtuous, and to regard the misfortunes which happen to others as a just punishment of sin [p. 218].” People should be warned about the seriousness of the decision to have children, and the necessity that babies only be conceived if they are likely to be sufficiently provided for. [Russell's godfather might even have been willing to forbid marriages if the couple could not demonstrate sufficient means to raise a child; see paragraph 15 of Chapter V of On Liberty.] The old, cruel notion that children within marriage are always a blessing is a view that “is now only maintained by heartless dogmatists, who think that everything disgraceful to humanity redounds to the glory of God [p. 219].”

Children must be instructed that they are likely to be future parents, and that they cannot remain ignorant about how to be good parents: their untutored instincts will not be enough to serve well the interests of their children. The idea that motherhood is fully instinctual is wrong and damaging, turning intelligent women away from having children.

“Jealousy must not be regarded as a justifiable insistence upon rights, but as a misfortune to the one who feels it and a wrong towards its object [p. 220].” (Again, Russell echoes (or rather, presages) Marriage and Morals.) Love without possessiveness is uplifting, fulfilling; love with possessiveness is diminishing, enervating. “Love cannot be a duty, because it is not subject to the will [p. 220].” Russell anticipates (or mimics?) that old “If you love something set it free…” line: “Those who shut [love] up in a cage destroy the beauty and joy which it can only display while it is free and spontaneous [p. 220].” The fear of loss creates the loss; be courageous.

Some open-minded adults nevertheless teach their children the traditional morality, with the belief that later, when the children are mature, they can shrug it off. Russell believes this is an error, because our inherited traditions involve directly harmful elements – including the notion that jealousy is justifiable, or that lifelong sexual fidelity to a spouse is the sine qua non of marital bliss. The teaching of sex should be undertaken with a scientific, not a dogmatic, approach, and without any special reverence.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter XI

2011-05-07T20:04:00.000-07:00

Chapter XI (pages 187-208), “Affection and Sympathy”

Affection is central to good character, but the development of proper affection arises naturally from appropriate training. “Throughout youth, there is less occasion for sympathy than in adult life, both because there is less power of giving effective expression to it, and because a young person has to think of his or her own training for life, largely to the exclusion of other people’s interests [pp. 187-8].” Love of family cannot be imposed as a duty – it must be inculcated through loving behavior. Parental love should not seek reciprocation.

Parents and teachers have to guard against being too intellectually or emotionally influential. Significant influence is unavoidable – look at how religious beliefs are transmitted from generation to generation. There is a danger that the dependence of a child is a source of pleasure, so that parental self-interest could lead to a prolongation of dependence. (For girls, this was often seen as a benefit, as the goal was to keep them dependent, transferring that dependence from their parents to their husbands at marriage.) Emotionally starved parents (like many women in monogamous relationships) might seek unfitting emotional satisfaction from their children. The children have a right to warm affection, but it should not be contingent upon reciprocation. “Psychologically, parents should be a background, and the child should not be made to act with a view to giving his parents pleasure [p. 195].” It is the child’s flourishing that should provide the parental satisfaction.

Women who are not sexually satisfied are not the best teachers, as they will have a tendency to seek emotional connections with their students. (These include the “unhappy spinsters” that Russell warned us about in Marriage and Morals.) Sexually starved men have the same problem, except that there are fewer of them, and their parental inclinations are more muted. Children will respond to the right kind of parental love optimally, with an implicit confidence that they are protected, with a willingness to turn to their parents for guidance, and with affection – but not the same type of affection that children have for their friends. “The parent must act with reference to the child, but the child must act with reference to himself and the outer world [p. 197].” Different relationships imply that appropriate types of affection differ, too, though the Freudian reading wrongly implies that any affection between a child and a parent is suspect. [Russell tells (pages 198-199) a heartwarming tale of some of his then-recent affectionate relations with his own son when the child was less than four years old. He follows up (pages 199-200) with more affecting stories of the instinctual sympathy of children when their relations are in distress; I am reminded of the opening to Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments. But children, Russell notes, can learn to mimic the cruelty of adults.]

“It is a difficult question how and when to make a child aware of the evil in the world [p. 200].” Nevertheless, the temptation to keep them pure by keeping them ignorant – a variant on an outdated approach to promoting female chastity – must be resisted. “A truly robust morality can only be strengthened by the fullest knowledge of what really happens in the world [p. 201].” The facts of cruelty must be made known, lest there be no inoculation for its allure. But the defenselessness of children makes them psychologically vulnerable to too earlier exposure to brutality. The dreadful activity in some fairy tales is not risky, however, as it is so assuredly part of a fantasy world. When children are first exposed to the actual existence of cruelty, it should be so in a way that directs their sympathies towards the victims, not the perpetrators. The usual gloss on the Abraham/Isaac story, that Abraham somehow was a holy and honorable man, is horrifying to children, as a child is the victim and his own father is the evildoer; this story should be told as a fictionalized example of man’s barbaric past. Wars should be presented as what they are, the harmful progeny of quarrels among silly men. Cruel people should be viewed as suffering from ignorance and a lack of self-control. A full accounting of the facts of war and cruelty should point a child in the proper moral direction without any explicit moralizing.

Affection between children cannot be produced by fiat, but it can be nurtured through providing a safe, kind, and happy setting. Children will then be spontaneously friendly, and they will draw friendly feeling from others. “A trustful affectionate disposition justifies itself, because it gives irresistible charm, and creates the response which it expects [pages 207-208].”

Education and the Good Life, Chapter X

2011-04-23T10:37:00.000-07:00

Chapter X (pages 178-186), “Importance of Other Children”

Peer groups and slightly older children do much to build character in the young. Contemporaries are better analogues for children than are adults, so they can more easily be emulated. Younger children like to play with older children, but this is true throughout the age spectrum. As a result, where there is free choice, the social groups become segregated by age. Age mixing occurs primarily within families, where only the eldest child lacks the advantage of having slightly older examples at hand. “Small families are in some ways a disadvantage to children, unless supplemented by nursery schools [p. 179].” Slightly older children naturally assume an authority when they play with younger kids, an authority to which the younger kids readily submit. Older children provide the templates and the prods for the reasonable ambitions of younger kids. Dealings with younger kids also provide opportunities for the moral education of the older children, who must learn to share and to accept the depredations that the clumsiness of the tots will generate.

Despite the utility of keeping company with children of different ages, it is contemporaries who are most important, at least for kids of age four or older. “Behaviour to equals is what most needs to be learnt [p. 183]” – because people of all situations are indeed your equals as adults. For this reason, schools, at least if they are good, provide a better environment for training children than within the family. Further, kids need a lot of play, and to meet this need, the company of their schoolfellows is desirable.

[Russell then notes that his godfather, John Stuart Mill, had little play in his childhood, though he did have an amazingly rigorous education starting at a very young age. (Mill detailed his unusual upbringing in his Autobiography.) “From the mere standpoint of acquiring knowledge, the results may be good, but taken all round I cannot admire them [p. 184].” Mill’s difficulty in accepting reasoning that led away from his father’s views constrained his creativity (Russell returns to this theme in Chapter XI, on page 191), and he had a hard time enjoying life. Russell then reveals that he himself had a sort of Mill-lite education, with the same result of adolescent thoughts of suicide. “When I began to associate with contemporaries, I found myself an angular prig. How far I have remained so, it is not for me to say [p. 185].”]

Not all children should be subjected to education with schoolfellows. People with exceptional capabilities but incurable social awkwardness can be bullied mercilessly, so they can be homeschooled – though proper upbringing during infancy would go a long way towards limiting excessive nervousness or social awkwardness.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter IX

2011-04-22T08:54:00.000-07:00

Chapter IX (pages 166-177), “Punishment”

Tradition calls for chastisement of children, but the extremes of yesteryear have fallen out of favor, “even in Tennessee [p. 167].” Sharp reproof has a role to play in education, but severe punishment does not; severity should peak at the “natural spontaneous expression of indignation [p. 167].”

After the blandishments of reason have failed, Russell and his wife employ a sort of time out system; their son can rejoin them when he is good, and he understands that to return is to commit to proper behavior. “I believe that reasonable parents create reasonable children [168].” Let the small risks go, though the result will be occasional bruises and cuts – these harms will convince children of the necessity underlying parental prohibition of extremely risky behavior.

Children who persistently ruin the play of other children must be banished; do not try to induce guilt, but focus on missed pleasures. Russell quotes at length Madame Montessori, who relies on the behavior of the other children to provide a model for naughty children. The miscreants themselves, isolated but comfortable and able to see all the proceedings, are addressed almost as if they are ill, while the others are treated as quasi-adults. Peer opinion is against the badly behaving student. Don’t punish a child with schoolwork which is meant to be something he enjoys and profits from, for he will cease to see its value.

Praise and blame are part of the requisite incentive structure, but they have to be used sparingly – especially blame. Don’t compare one child with another in distributing praise and blame, and don’t offer praise for what should be quotidian accomplishments. “All through education, any unusually good piece of work should be praised [p. 173].”

Boys have a seemingly natural tendency towards treating animals with cruelty, but don’t wait until it happens, and then treat the boy with cruelty. Rather, promote a respect for life, and don’t even let a child see you kill a dangerous pest. Mild unkindness of an older towards a younger child should be met with an equivalent unkindness from the adult towards the older child – with an explanation that he should recognize that his hurt feelings are paralleled by those in the younger, mistreated child. General maxims have little impact on the young: “All moral instruction must be immediate and concrete… [p. 174].”

Serious cruelty by older children must be met with isolation, for the safety of others. The miscreant should be viewed Montessori-like, almost as if he were unwell – not as if he were evil. “He should be made to feel that a great misfortune had befallen him in the shape of an impulse to cruelty, and that his elders were endeavouring to shield him from a similar misfortune in the future [p. 175].”

Physical punishment can play no positive role, and inculcates the belief that authority is rightly maintained by force. It undermines open, pleasant relations between children and adults. “To win the genuine affection of children is a joy as great as any that life has to offer [p. 176].” Commands to love your parents as a duty, in an environment of physical punishment, are self-defeating. Fortunately, more enlightened views towards the relationships between parents and adults are taking hold, and it would be well if they could spread to other arenas of human interaction.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter VIII

2011-03-11T20:20:00.000-08:00

Chapter VIII (pages 157-165), “Truthfulness”

Truthfulness, both inward and outward, is of prime importance, with the inward variety, an aversion to self-deceit, paramount. Appropriate behavior sometimes (though rarely) requires an outward lie, and trying to disguise that fact itself leads to self-deceit. Harmful uses of power are the occasions most likely to merit untruthful responses.

Children typically lie out of fear, so a fearless child will not develop a habit of lying. They can learn to lie through adult example, or by seeing that truths told to adults can be dangerous. Small children can tell unintentional untruths through their faulty memory and misunderstanding of time, and their confusion of fantasy and reality. “When a child does lie [intentionally], parents should take themselves to task rather than him; they should deal with it by removing its causes, and by explaining gently and reasonably why it is better not to lie [p. 160].” If your child sees that you lie, your moral authority is instantly undermined. It is desirable not to assume an air of infallibility with children, who will see through it.

One way parents lie to children – to the detriment of the children – is to threaten punishments without intending to follow through on them. Don’t be insistent except when necessary, but when necessary, insist, knowing that it is likely you will have to follow through with the threatened punishment. Children quickly learn that your threats are credible, and then you won’t be called upon to follow through.

“Lies about sex are sanctioned by time-honoured usage [p. 163].” Russell is opposed to such lies, but will deal with them in a later chapter.

Answer truthfully the innumerable questions children ask, even about sensitive topics like religion and death. Err on the side of telling them more than they can understand rather than less – in this manner, their curiosity will be aroused, they will seek to learn more. Your unswerving devotion to truthful answers will be rewarded with the child’s trust.

Since the world is addicted to humbug, an insistence upon truth will lead a child to hold in contempt what generally are considered to be respectable things. Truth does not smooth one’s progress through a fallen world; rather, it can be personally and financially costly. But better to live (and even fail) with self-respect and candor than to “succeed by the arts of the slave [p. 165].”

Education and the Good Life, Chapter VII

2011-02-22T07:41:00.000-08:00

Chapter VII (pages 147-156), “Selfishness and Property”

It is natural for humans to be selfish, and we can’t just wish that it were otherwise. “A human ego, like a gas, will always expand unless restrained by external pressure [p. 147].” But the external pressure can be internalized, by instilling the idea of justice within a child’s mind. Justice, and not self-sacrifice, should be the ruling principle, as self-sacrifice can lead to unjustified feelings of sin and be taken to excessive extremes. Not everyone simultaneously can engage in self-sacrifice, so it cannot be a proper code of conduct. When people see that the principle of self-sacrifice is flawed, they can lose the virtue that it was meant to instill. Justice does not suffer from a similar defect.

An only child among adults can be taught manners and good behavior, but not justice, as his desires are so different from those of the grown-ups, and the tribunal so obviously biased, that justice does not seem to be part of the equation: “the real education in justice can only come where there are other children [p. 149].” Parents of only children, therefore, must endeavor to put their offspring in the company of other children, even at considerable sacrifice. Nursery schools are a boon to this process.

Russell continues under the assumption that there are at least two children about – and they are children of similar ages. They quickly see the justice in taking turns, when they all desire the same thing but only one at a time can be accommodated. Be quite impartial, parents, even if you have a favorite child!

Property is a tricky area of education. It is best if people tie their happiness to creativity, and not to defending possessions. But belief in property rights runs strong, and ownership helps to spur respect for the property of others. “Especially useful is property in anything that the child has made himself; if this is not permitted, his constructive impulses are checked [p. 153].” Some toys should be private property, and others, such as a rocking horse, communal property – though sharing of personal toys should be encouraged and in some cases required. A toy broken out of negligence should not immediately be replaced, at least if the child is older than two: “it is just as well that the loss is felt for a while [p. 154].” Non-interference with the constructive play of other children should be inculcated, so that a sort of temporary property right, one that revolves through all the children, is enjoyed for toys that cannot be used by multiple kids simultaneously. Unkindness of an older child towards a younger one can be met with similar (though not severe) unkindness from a parent to the older child – along with an explanation for the unpleasantness.

To encourage reading, ownership of books – good literature, not pulp – should be permitted at an early age; the pulp that children desire can be common property. [Russell (p. 156) cites Lewis Carroll and Tanglewood Tales as examples of worthy children’s literature.]

Personal property should be deeded to children if that ownership leads to constructive behavior and attentive care. Children who are not starved of pleasures will be generous with their property; children with few pleasures will hoard the pleasurable objects they possess. “It is not through suffering that children learn virtue, but through happiness and health [p. 156].”

Education and the Good Life, Chapter VI

2011-02-11T22:09:00.000-08:00

Chapter VI (pages 136-146), “Constructiveness”

The natural instincts of children are rather formless, and can be channeled into either good or bad directions. The sculptor of virtuous character is skill of the appropriate type.

Everyone likes power, likes to have an impact – though we are less concerned with precisely what we impact. We enjoy more those accomplishments that involve a higher degree of difficulty. “What we can do easily no longer gives us a sense of power; it is the newly-acquired skill, or the skill about which we are doubtful, that gives us the thrill of success [p. 137].” As it is easier to destroy than to build, constructive action is more satisfying. But the ease of destruction makes it the first type of activity a child pursues. Eventually the child will want to have his own constructions preserved, lending the possibility of bringing home the point that he should respect the constructions of others. (Making a child the cultivator and steward of a corner of a garden similarly teaches respect for the flowers that bloom out of the diligence of other gardeners; a child with a pet develops reverence for animal life.) The incentive to build greater things inculcates patience and persistence.

Developing the interest in construction helps to overcome the initial instinct towards destruction. The English upper classes often receive education in continued destruction, such as in hunting. “They can make pheasants die and tenants suffer; when occasion arises, they can shoot a rhinoceros or a German [p. 140].” They aren’t naturally stupid – it is their education that makes them so. For adults, parenting often helps to instill the desire for construction, but as the upper classes outsource their parenting duties, they lose this opportunity to amend their own characters. People whose sense of constructive behavior has been nurtured through education are better at being affectionate parents, too.

Intellectual work comes in constructive and destructive varieties. Classical languages do not admit to change, so people learn only to criticize errors (while disliking people who make them). Science throws out old ideas and builds new ones. Education must aim at more than the avoidance of mistakes.

The education of older children should seek to imbue a sense of constructiveness for society, how to help the public move in a desirable direction. The reading of classics should be undertaken with a view of how the lessons can be applied today. The ability to be discerning in these matters depends upon one’s conception of the social system. There are three archetypes. Some people think of society as providing a static mold, into which human nature is poured. Others, more progressive, think of society as a machine, usually a machine whose goal is to maximize output. For these people, humans must be fitted to that end, but when messy human nature balks, the machinists revert to the mold approach, trying to force humanity into slots. Some people think of society as a tree, one whose health depends on nurturing and whose growth can occur in many different directions. Young people should be taught constructiveness with living matter – animals and plants – as well as with inert material. The respect that physics garnered tended to instill the machinist viewpoint; biology can provide the “tree” lens, except that the dominance of natural selection within biology is distracting. Russell wants to overcome natural selection for humans, “by eugenics, birth-control, and education [p. 146].” [Education and the Good Life, published in 1926, lies in the midst of Russell’s pro-eugenics phase; RBR ran across this before in Marriage and Morals, published in 1929.]

Despite its advantages, thinking of society as a tree has shortcomings, too: psychological constructiveness must be part of the conception. Education and the Good Life is aimed at showing how psychological constructiveness differs from machine-like constructiveness. A broader understanding of psychological constructiveness could help us develop outstanding individuals.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter V

2011-02-04T08:33:00.000-08:00

Chapter V (pages 123-135), “Play and Fancy”

Young animals, including humans, love play; human children especially love play of the make-believe variety. Play is necessary for a happy childhood, even if amusement has no (other) instrumental value. But play seems to possess non-hedonic utility, too, by providing rehearsal for activities that later will have to be undertaken in actuality. Play is one means for children – who are weak relative to adults – to fantasize about having greater powers. Joy in play is like the joy that adults take from drama. Children don’t really believe that their fantasizing is real – nor should we be assiduous in pointing out the unreality. “I cannot sympathize with the ascetics of truth, any more than with ascetics of other kinds [pp. 127-128].”

Excessive daydreaming in adults is a fault if it serves as a substitute for taking actions that can fulfill dreams. But in children, this substitutability is not yet manifest, so fantasies co-exist with incentives to eventually realize them. “To kill fancy in childhood is to make a slave to what exists, a creature tethered to earth and therefore unable to create heaven [p. 129].”

Don’t despair if your child uses his fancy to create sadistic giants or revengeful pirates. The instinct for power that these fancies represent should be nurtured, not suppressed. The development of useful skills like scientific or artistic dexterity will be one way to pursue power, and will serve humankind. “Thus the secret of instruction, in so far as it bears upon character, is to give a man such kinds of skill as shall lead to his employing his instincts usefully [p. 130].”

Very young children engage in solitary play – they may be too undeveloped even to play with their older siblings. But as they age, competition becomes a predominant element in play. There is merit to the team sports that occupy such a large role in British upper-class education – though such merit typically is exaggerated. Games should neither be suppressed nor made a central component of the educational program.

Games in which the opponent is uncaring nature – as opposed to other humans – have much to recommend them. Sailing, driving, flying, experimenting – all of these are skills that usefully can be taught to children. They instill courage without encouraging brutality. The promotion of athletics, in contrast, seems to come at the cost of underemphasizing academics. “Great Britain is losing her industrial position, and will perhaps lose her empire, through stupidity, and through the fact that the authorities do not value or promote intelligence [p. 134].”

The esprit de corps built by games is considered a feature, not a bug, by those who want to employ such spirit to promote actions that they desire. It has the unfortunate property, however, of crowding out other motives for behavior, so that there is little encouragement for actions which are not competitive. “Nothing is done to promote constructiveness for its own sake, or to make people take an interest in doing their job efficiently even if no one is to be injured thereby [p. 135].”

Education and the Good Life, Chapter IV

2011-01-26T20:20:00.000-08:00

Chapter IV (pages 101-122), “Fear”

“By the time the child is six years old, moral education ought to be nearly complete; that is to say, the further virtues which will be required in later years ought to be developed by the boy or girl spontaneously, as a result of good habits already existing and ambitions already stimulated [p. 101].” Healthy two-year olds are well poised for a happy existence, as their powers and freedom of movement increase. They show curiosity and take delight in all new sensations. They can develop new fears, however. Surely some of these fears are acquired from mimicking the fears of the adults they see; others, though, arise out of instinct, including (probably) the fear of some unfamiliar things. [Russell quotes at some length William Stern, the developer of the concept of IQ, on the innate fear of the unfamiliar.] Herds of cows or horses have such fears -- for example, of mechanical toys, as I (Russell) have witnessed firsthand. I (again, Russell) cured my son’s fears of quickly moving shadows and mechanical toys by demonstrating the mechanism that led to these phenomena. This curative process took longer when the feared object was a whoopee cushion. [OK, Russell describes the dreadful item as “a cushion which emitted a long melancholy whine after being sat upon or pressed [p. 107].”] All such fears should slowly be confronted and overcome.

Real dangers, such as falls from heights, should be explained rationally, but the adults should do so with calm reason, and not in a fearful vein. “A grown-up person in charge of a child should never feel fear [p. 109].” Russell describes his own rather uncompromising approach to getting his toddler son to no longer fear the (very cold!) sea, and relates (footnote, page 111) his own even less compromising education on that score. There is something to be said for forceful methods of education if they are employed to overcome irrational fears. The boy who succeeds will be happy and proud of his triumph. As children get older, it is other children (including older siblings) who teach physical courage – and girls need as strong a dose of courage as boys. Instilling the habit of acting with courage reduces the need to call on willpower.

Russell endorses the advice of Dr. Rivers on overcoming fear by acquiring skills to manipulate matter, such as learning to ride a bike. Developing a talent for managing a boat in poor weather, for instance, is a better way of engendering courage than are physical battles among children, even of the organized sports variety. Children, both boys and girls, should be taught to endure small harms without much ado.

Courage in the non-physical realm is more important than physical courage, but bodily bravery might be a pre-requisite for building the higher species of courage. Superstitions around eclipses or earthquakes, for instance, derive from fears of the mysterious. Acquainting children with the scientific explanation of some mysteries will allow them to generalize, to think that there also are non-superstitious explanations for mysteries that they still cannot understand. At that point, mysteries can spur exploration and study.

One mystery children are faced with at an early age is death, and eventually they understand that their parents’ deaths are inevitable, as is their own. Belief in an afterlife can ease the pain of such understanding. Nevertheless, parents whom themselves hold no such belief should not try to instill it in their children just for the sake of comfort: “no consideration on earth justifies a parent in telling lies to his child. It is best to explain that death is a sleep from which people do not wake [p. 119].” Nor should parents impart this information in a dramatic fashion. There is little to be said for anyone to get to brooding about death.

Children should be made comfortable around strangers, in part by not pressing manners too aggressively upon them. They will respond positively to manners when they are at an age where they can appreciate that parents (and others) have rights that must be respected: children have a knack for understanding justice.

Don’t show fear yourself if you would keep your child from being fearful. “Life is full of perils, but the wise man ignores those that are inevitable, and acts prudently but without emotion as regards those that can be avoided [p. 121].” Instill wide and strong interests so that your child does not later dwell upon the possibilities for ill fortune.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter III

2010-12-22T21:14:00.000-08:00

Part II, “Education of Character”

Chapter III (pages 87-100), “The First Year”

The chapter title refers to the first year of life, not the first year of formal education. Formerly the standard was to believe that mothers and nurses possess instinctual knowledge of the best methods of bringing up infants – but they do not. Many children are harmed irremediably through the poor choices of well-intentioned caregivers. Science can provide the tools, for those parents who will take the instruction, to decrease infant mortality and to improve the prospects for enhanced physical and intellectual health as children grow.

Most of the life of a newborn “is passed in a vague bewilderment, from which relief is found by sleeping most of the twenty-four hours [pp. 88-89].” Within a few weeks, though, infants acquire habits, to which they are most passionately attached: infants are natural conservatives. So it is of primary importance that initial habits be good ones, not bad ones. Fortunately, the habits that will promote health also are those that will promote a desirable character. A regular schedule of feeding – not one that habitually responds to cries – is good for digestion and avoids reinforcing complaining by rewarding it. Those who develop the habit of getting what they want by fussing will later be disappointed in the world, at least to the extent that they are not sufficiently powerful to induce adults to continue to placate them. So for infants, caregivers must negotiate a tricky region “between neglect and indulgence [p. 91].” Real physical discomfort must be alleviated for health, but fussing for attention cannot be reinforced, lest the child “quickly develop into a tyrant [p. 91].” [Later (page 99), Russell notes that carers must mask their fears for a child’s health, to prevent the transmission of anxiety.] Infants should be viewed as serious humans, as adults in training. They should not therefore be given an exaggerated sense of their importance.

[Russell is advocating what now is known as controlled crying or controlled comforting ; this technique seems to be controversial, particularly when applied to very young infants. Russell indicates (a bit later, on page 94) that crying both is an indicator of pain in infants and (eventually) a strategy to pursue pleasure. The development of this strategy is sort of an initial birth of reason in the young. While I am interrupting, I can’t resist appending a little Adam Smith, on the anxiety of a mother fearing for her child’s health, from the opening pages of The Theory of Moral Sentiments: “What are the pangs of a mother, when she hears the moanings of her infant that during the agony of disease cannot express what it feels? In her idea of what it suffers, she joins, to its real helplessness, her own consciousness of that helplessness, and her own terrors for the unknown consequences of its disorder; and out of all these, forms, for her own sorrow, the most complete image of misery and distress. The infant, however, feels only the uneasiness of the present instant, which can never be great. With regard to the future, it is perfectly secure, and in its thoughtlessness and want of foresight, possesses an antidote against fear and anxiety, the great tormentors of the human breast, from which reason and philosophy will, in vain, attempt to defend it, when it grows up to a man.”]

Russell continues to pound this limited-coddling theme, which seems to accord with a British upper class and stiff-upper-lip mentality: “…parents should be breezy and cheerful and rather matter-of-fact where the child’s possible ailments are concerned [p. 92].” Babies should spend most of their non-feeding time asleep. Raise children to minimize their trouble for the grown-ups. “The right rule is: encourage spontaneous activities, but discourage demands upon others [p. 92].” Inculcating self-discipline, even in the first year, will allow future education to be conducted with minimal external discipline. Swaddling, however, prevents the spontaneous fun that babies can generate for themselves – even though bound babies are less trouble to manage. Rattles and wind-propelled toys, along with their own fingers and toes, can be an endless source of amusement and instruction for the very young. Nonetheless, the first few months of life are boring, but trying to overcome the boredom with external stimulation will interfere with an infant’s necessary sleep. The regular routine that is so important for very young children is complemented by familiar surroundings, which promote feelings of safety.

Within a few months, infants can develop social relationships with people, and a desire for approval manifests itself. Praise and blame then become tools that teachers can manipulate. Nonetheless, blame should be avoided in the first year, and used quite sparingly later. Praise, too, must be rationed, to maintain its value; it is always proper to praise, though, when a child succeeds through extensive effort. “The great incentive to effort, all through life, is experience of success after initial difficulties [p. 98].” We learn by doing ourselves, not by watching or listening to others. If the barriers to success are too great, however, they will lead to discouragement. Praise should not be used when a child does something regular and expected, such as eating or sleeping, as the child will now see its ability to displease you by not performing as expected to be a source of power. Children have some limitations, but a lack of either intelligence or the potential to behave strategically are not among them.

Education and the Good Life, End of the First Period

2010-11-28T21:15:00.000-08:00

The organization of Education and the Good Life suggests a hockey-like two intervals, as opposed to Reading Bertrand Russell’s traditional halftime recess.

Russell believes that new knowledge is available, knowledge that can inform us of appropriate educational practices. That knowledge comes from psychology and from pedagogy, and the pedagogical advances have demonstrated their effectiveness through the Montessori method. Clear standards and a few simple rules will minimize the need for discipline. Children are eager to learn, and will apply themselves without the need for torture – indeed, terror is counterproductive, and will drive children away from their studies. Excellence in adulthood requires a happy childhood.

[Russell’s godfather has a slightly more approving view of terror in education: “And I do not believe that boys can be induced to apply themselves with vigour, and what is so much more difficult, perseverance, to dry and irksome studies, by the sole force of persuasion and soft words. Much must be done, and much must be learnt, by children, for which rigid discipline, and known liability to punishment, are indispensable as means. It is, no doubt, a very laudable effort, in modern teaching, to render as much as possible of what the young are required to learn, easy and interesting to them. But when this principle is pushed to the length of not requiring them to learn anything but what has been made easy and interesting, one of the chief objects of education is sacrificed. I rejoice in the decline of the old brutal and tyrannical system of teaching, which, however, did succeed in enforcing habits of application; but the new, as it seems to me, is training up a race of men who will be incapable of doing anything which is disagreeable to them. I do not, then, believe that fear, as an element in education, can be dispensed with; but I am sure that it ought not to be the main element; and when it predominates so much as to preclude love and confidence on the part of the child to those who should be the unreservedly trusted advisers of after years, and perhaps to seal up the fountains of frank and spontaneous communicativeness in the child's nature, it is an evil for which a large abatement must be made from the benefits, moral and intellectual, which may flow from any other part of the education.”

Perhaps we also can compare Adam Smith, in The Wealth of Nations: “No discipline is ever requisite to force attendance upon lectures which are really worth the attending, as is well known wherever any such lectures are given. Force and restraint may, no doubt, be in some degree requisite in order to oblige children, or very young boys, to attend to those parts of education which it is thought necessary for them to acquire during that early period of life; but after twelve or thirteen years of age, provided the master does his duty, force or restraint can scarce ever be necessary to carry on any part of education. Such is the generosity of the greater part of young men, that, so far from being disposed to neglect or despise the instructions of their master, provided he shows some serious intention of being of use to them, they are generally inclined to pardon a great deal of incorrectness in the performance of his duty, and sometimes even to conceal from the public a good deal of gross negligence.”]

OK, back to Russell. As for the content of a good education, applied science (including psychology) is necessary but not sufficient. The humanities might have to be more strictly rationed, though not abandoned, as scientific knowledge advances. When teaching material that demands close attention and sustained study, such as literature in a foreign tongue, the more practical approach – a modern language as opposed to a dead one – should, all else equal, be given preferment. For the most part, the later years of schooling should be devoted to science and math.

Today we need science and the skeptical scientific approach. Skepticism tout court is detrimental, however – progress is conceivable. Russell associates a scientific approach with a sort of insurance against error: be guided by your beliefs, but not to the point that if your beliefs turn out to be incorrect, untold damage will result. (Both the anti-dogmatism and the policy suggestion of pursuing harm reduction appear elsewhere in Russell’s writings. For instance (beyond the instance of the prior link), from his essay “Ideas That Have Harmed Mankind”: “Most of the greatest evils that man has inflicted upon man have come through people feeling quite certain about something which, in fact, was false.”)

The traits that education should help to nurture in virtually everyone are “vitality, courage, sensitiveness, and intelligence [p. 60].” Vitality promotes an even temperament and intellectual curiosity. Courageous people will think for themselves and not force others to proclaim fidelity to a favored opinion. Sensitiveness will grant standing to other humans, even distant and unknown others, in the cost-benefit analysis of our actions. Intelligence is almost a synonym for the scientific approach: a willingness to learn more – which children have by nature – and a rejection of dogmatism. Open-mindedness helps to extend intelligence into adulthood. The universal application of an education imbued with these precepts holds the potential to promote progress and human happiness almost beyond conceiving.

Now that I have summarized my earlier summentary, I see that there is little on which to pass judgment at this point – or at least that I share virtually all of Russell’s stated aims. The proof, it seems, will be in the pudding of the specific suggestions that follow from Russell’s general precepts. And it is the next section of the book, “Education of Character,” that promises to connect Russell’s more theoretical musings with practical applications.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter IIb

2010-10-25T06:53:00.000-07:00

Chapter II, “The Aims of Education,” second half (pages 69-83)

An appropriate emotional response to stimuli, a proper sensitiveness, is the third in the list of universally desirable traits. (Recall that these traits are “vitality, courage, sensitiveness, and intelligence [p. 60].”) Some interest in being praiseworthy, and sympathy for the sufferings of even remote others, form part of the requisite sensitiveness. Much of the world’s suffering, including harsh child labor and tyrannical treatment of subject peoples, is permitted to continue because of the difficulty of feeling sympathy towards impersonal, abstract others.

The extolling of virtue (in the form of abstinence from supposed sins) as opposed to intelligence undermines both knowledge and the willingness to acquire knowledge. Intelligence is more about susceptibility to a flow of new learning than it is about a stock of acquired knowledge, but the susceptibility to incremental knowledge only grows through practice. “The more a man has learnt, the easier it is for him to learn still more – always assuming that he has not been taught in a spirit of dogmatism [p. 73].” Nevertheless, it is a simple matter to educate someone in such a way that receptivity to further knowledge is undermined – and such modes of education are common. Attempts to impose preferred beliefs come at the expense of the building of intelligence.

Curiosity is at the root of intelligence, though it must be curiosity aimed at more than the vices of one’s neighbors. (We readily accept malicious gossip, however: “Our neighbors’ sins, like the consolations of religion, are so agreeable that we do not stop to scrutinize the evidence closely [p. 75].") The type of curiosity that builds intelligence is an interest in all types of knowledge, and is exhibited by children. As people age, the unknown loses its luster, and becomes a source of distaste. The final stage of this death of curiosity (and enervation of “active intelligence”) is marked by expressions of how modern society has deteriorated since the glory days of one’s youth.

Adult curiosity, not as potent as in the young, tends to be aimed at a higher level of generality, indicating more intelligence. Methods of acquiring knowledge allow curiosity to bear fruit. Inertia and catering to our own self-esteem threaten us with close-mindedness towards new truths. “Open-mindedness should therefore be one of the qualities that education aims at producing [p. 77].” Courage is needed for open-mindedness as well as for physical fortitude. Many isms are available to protect us against the unknown, but those who want to learn must eschew such security.

People like to get on well with their near connections; simultaneously, a rejection of popular untruths can lead to isolation. How much should we cooperate with our group? Should education aim to weaken our devotion to cooperation and to sharing the emotion running through a crowd? I [Russell] endorse a healthy commitment to cooperation, but one that can be sublimated to more important concerns when required. People who have made great advances often have had to withstand the enmity of others. Nevertheless, some respect for received opinion is helpful, and surely the ideas that average people hold concerning scientific matters are much improved by their willingness to accept the opinions of those who are more knowledgeable. Accepting the common wisdom generally is desirable in all matters except those in which you have particular expertise or a special interest. Don’t be an universal naysayer – society requires a sort of cooperative default – but do have the fortitude to express unpopular opinions when you think it is important to do so. If everyone possessed the desirable traits that this chapter examines, there would be no need to fear expressing an unpopular opinion, and organizations like the Ku Klux Klan that promote persecution would have no recruits. “The good world can only be created and sustained by fearless men, but the more they succeed in their task the fewer occasions there will be for the exercise of their courage [p. 82].”

The spread of vitality, courage, sensitiveness, and intelligence would usher in a brave new world, one that would be considerably happier than what exists at present. Destitution would be eliminated, poor health made rare, and sexual relations could become a source of pleasure. Women would be liberated from the fear that they now are taught in the name of inculcating virtue, and fearless women can liberate everyone. “Education is the key to the new world [p. 83].”

Education and the Good Life, Chapter IIa

2010-10-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

Chapter II, “The Aims of Education,” first half (pages 47-69)

"The Aims of Education" is sufficiently long and involved that I have decided to allot two separate posts to its summentary.

Russell’s famous teacher and Principia Mathematica co-author, Alfred North Whitehead, presented a lecture in 1916 entitled “The Aims of Education;” Whitehead later (1929) published a book with the same title, featuring the 1916 address. [Whitehead’s argument, incidentally, is that teachers should avoid trying to transmit “inert ideas.” Rather, knowledge has to be mentally active, challenged and recombined and applied. Knowledge does not fit into our standard disciplinary boundaries: “There is only one subject-matter for education, and that is Life in all its manifestations.”] The academic year at the University of Chicago is initiated annually by an “Aims of Education” address to the incoming undergraduate class. Chapter II of Education and the Good Life is Russell’s turn at The Aims of Education, which was not yet a Chicago tradition when Russell was in residence.

Education molds people, so we must know the types of people we want to have before we can rationally design education. Sometimes the designers prove to be not so rational, and produce people much different than what they are aiming for. But in general, education works, in the sense of achieving the outcome desired – though different educators hold markedly different views about what human traits are desirable.

The Chinese and the ancient Athenians had similar approaches to learning: an emphasis on rote memorization of the classics (Confucius, Homer) and a requirement for some formal shows of piety, while encouraging a skeptical approach to questions. “The Athenians and the Chinese alike wished to enjoy life, and had a conception of enjoyment which was refined by an exquisite sense of beauty [p. 49].” The Greeks were more active than the Chinese, making the Greeks vulnerable to dissension from within. The relative passivity of the Chinese does not seem to be a result of their education, however, because Japanese people trained in the Confucian style avoided “indolent cultured skepticism [p. 50].” Science and progress need energy and skepticism; modern countries and democracy need science.

Powerful countries tend to place national power at the center of education – Japan is the exemplar. Free thought in Japan has been sacrificed to national self-preservation, but the Japanese methods have met with amazing success. [Russell writes before the mindset he refers to contributed to untold horrors for the Japanese.] The constraints on thinking present the danger that progress can only take place via revolution. Education should not inculcate acquiescence, either to skepticism or dogma. Education should instill the notion that knowledge (or improvements in knowledge) can be achieved with effort (contra skepticism), but that currently much of what passes for knowledge is incorrect (contra dogmatism). We must be guided by our beliefs, but we should beware of taking steps that would prove disastrous should our beliefs be mistaken. This mindset is the scientific mindset.

Jesuit education sacrificed the good of the pupil to the goal of helping the Catholic Church. Generally, their methods worked, and helped to spur the counter-reformation. Thomas Arnold’s aristocratic educational system aimed “to train men for positions of authority and power, whether at home or in distant parts of the empire [p. 53].” The training necessarily sacrificed intellect (which is a dangerous source of doubt), sympathy, imagination, and kindliness – and it no longer serves the needs of the modern world, with free citizens, not subjects. In America, the public schools fulfill the melting-pot function, making one out of many. To some extent this is accomplished by disparaging the advantages of Old World countries. “The intellectual level in Western Europe and the artistic level in Eastern Europe are, on the whole, higher than in America [p. 56].”

Education is best when the pupils are treated as ends in themselves, not as means to some other end, whether nation-building or religion-upholding. Excellent humans will tend to produce outcomes that are good for humanity, too. But even in civilized countries, with the exception of Denmark and China, male children are educated, not to make them excellent, but to make them willing to engage in warfare over inconsequential matters.

What constitutes excellence in humans? Some traits are universally desirable, while other traits need only be held by a fraction of the population. “We cannot therefore frame our education with a view to giving every one the temperament of a poet [p. 60].” Four universally desirable traits are “vitality, courage, sensitiveness, and intelligence [p. 60].” These traits can be inculcated through proper education – though standard education seems to sap children of vitality.

Vitality is akin to the “zest” that Russell adumbrates in The Conquest of Happiness (published four years after Education and the Good Life). Vitality counters our tendency to excessive self-absorption, envy, and boredom, and “makes it easy to take an interest in whatever occurs, and thus promotes objectivity, which is an essential of sanity [p. 61].” Vitality is neither necessary nor sufficient for human excellence – Newton and Locke did not score highly on the vitality scale – but it neutralizes negative tendencies like envy, and promotes a healthy interest in the world.

Courage relates to avoiding and controlling fear, though sometimes fear is rational. Irrational fears play an enormous role in emotional life, even for sane people. Only a few fears seem to be instinctual for humans. Others, such as fear of the dark, are learned, and can be spread rapidly. Children acquire fears from adults even when adults don’t know they are transmitting fear. “Hitherto, men have thought it attractive in women to be full of irrational terrors, because it gave men a chance to seem protective without incurring any real danger [p. 63].” The young sons of these men and women pick up these fears, and the general level of courage declines – but one small element in the huge harm caused by the subjection of women.

Courage is signaled by being steadfast in trying circumstances, and by not showing physical signs (trembling, pallor) of fear. The usual method of instilling such outward courage, ironically, is by making the fear of shame greater than the fear of present danger. But this approach does not so much control fear as repress it, in an unhealthy manner. The sublimated fear is reflected in the cruelty shown by aristocratic overlords to their subjects. The cruelty that stems from fear should receive the same contempt as other forms of cowardice.

Inward courage requires “a combination of self-respect with an impersonal outlook on life [p. 66].” Self-respect means that you are not overly dependent on the opinion of your neighbors – but it does not imply a false humility that really is aimed at receiving approbation. Neither submission nor domination, neither obedience nor command, should be taught; leadership in cooperative enterprises should be like that granted the captain of a sports team, not an autocrat. “Our purposes should be our own, not the result of external authority; and our purposes should never be forcibly imposed upon others [p. 67].”

An impersonal outlook can be instilled in the cheap fashion of monk-like repression, but with undesirable consequences. Self-abnegation will lead to desire to repress the pleasures of others. [This is a recurrent theme for Russell.] Love, knowledge, art, and wide interests all provide routes out of ourselves. Broad cares indicate that we are not the be-and-end-all of creation, that there are many other valuable things outside ourselves, making us courageous in the face of death.

Education and the Good Life, Chapter I

2010-09-03T08:05:00.000-07:00

Chapter I: “Postulates of Modern Educational Theory,” pages 15-46.

Part I shares the name of the entire book (at least in its American incarnation), “Education and the Good Life”. Two chapters form the whole of Part I. The first chapter is unpromisingly titled “Postulates of Modern Educational Theory.”

Early educational theorists such as Locke and Rousseau had in mind the education of an individual boy from an aristocratic family. Now we must think about educating every boy and girl. At the same time, we should not sacrifice excellence by insisting upon a rigid equality in education: “we must approach educational democracy carefully, so as to destroy in the process as little as possible of the valuable products that happen to have been associated with social injustice [p. 17].” Fortunately, some of the best recent advances in education, including those of Madame Montessori, can be made available on a broad scale.

The provision of a democratic education available to all becomes a forum in which a standard educational conflict plays out: the conflict between those who favor practical education and those who support “ornamental” learning. Gender equality adds another feature to the conflict, namely, to what extent the practical education of girls should include the domestic arts – so the discussion, for the nonce, continues by considering only the education of boys. The issue of useful versus ornamental learning crops up with respect to the teaching of trades, professions, classics, science, manners, and art appreciation. But the issue is largely illusory, as broadly speaking, an education that brings good results is useful. We care about ultimate outputs, and judge the inputs by the extent to which the outputs they contribute are desirable. Education should surely be useful from this perspective. Most people, though, discuss the usefulness of education by the degree to which it promotes the making of machines, which in turn promotes the satisfaction of physical needs – production that is not per se desirable, though surely an urgent issue for much of humanity.

Some aristocratic education really was ornamental in the strict sense; nevertheless, the issue today is to what extent we should try to inculcate patterns of thought that lack direct utility, but might be said to be good in themselves. An understanding of Hamlet, for instance, might make its possessor a better person, despite its lack of practical value. Some democratic partisans display a bit of inconsistency, railing against the useless education of gentlemen but wishing to bring the learning of Latin and Greek, and other “useless” learning, to the working classes. Presumably the motive is to extinguish boundaries between a working and an ornamental class, and the impulse largely is valid.

The question of a practical education takes two other forms as well. One is the interest in material well-being versus mental delights. The world, if well organized, is poised to be able to provide adequately for the physical needs of the whole population, and to reduce the burden of disease. Improvements in physical well-being should not be slighted, so applied science must be a significant part of education. “Without physics and physiology and psychology, we cannot build the new world. We can build it without Latin and Greek, without Dante and Shakespeare, without Bach and Mozart [p. 27].” But we can’t let the accomplishments of the humanities decay in our quest for extinguishing war and privation.

Must (humanistic) knowledge that is claimed to be intrinsically valuable be useless? My own [Russell’s] youthful exertions on Latin and Greek never did me any good, and such knowledge as the exertions produced surely had no intrinsic value, beyond providing an example for the current discussion! But my science and math training was both useful and possessed of the intrinsic value of “affording subjects of contemplation and reflection, and touchstones of truth in a deceitful world [p. 28].” One can profit from the literature of modern foreign languages as readily as from Latin and Greek classics – so with their greater utility, study of modern languages would seem to dominate the study of Latin and Greek. As science progresses, we must jettison some elements of traditional humanistic education to allow time for the absorption of new knowledge.

My proposal isn’t for a solely scientific or a solely humanistic education. “What I suggest is that, where a difficult technique is indispensable to the mastering of a subject, it is better, except in training specialists, that the subject should be useful [p. 30].” The strenuous part of education in later years should be devoted to science and math – but only in general, so that special tastes or talents can be accommodated.

We must avoid the sacrifice of aesthetics for efficiency. The appreciation of great literature needn’t be abandoned because it takes time away from more practical matters. Those who promote the utility of an education are willing to devote huge amounts of time to teaching humans how to kill each other.

Psychology is helping to improve how material is taught. The traditional approach to discipline was to chastise children who did not apply themselves earnestly enough to their studies – even solitary confinement on a diet of bread and water was employed. (The fading doctrine of original sin helped to perpetuate this approach.) “The old idea was that children could not possibly wish to learn, and could only be compelled to learn by terror [p. 36].” Ignorance of pedagogy allowed the terror system to continue, but now it is clear that children will be happy to learn age-appropriate materials. A few disciplinary rules such as not interfering with another child are easily comprehended and complied with. Children develop self-discipline, towards their studies and towards others. It isn’t easy to achieve, but with proper training for teachers (and the techniques of Madame Montessori), it can be done.

Thomas Arnold is justly remembered for being a liberal reformer of British public schools, but while he diminished flogging, he remained a proponent of it, and thought corporal punishment required as an appropriate Christian response to moral evil in the young. “I shudder when I think of the wars, the tortures, the oppressions, of which upright men have been guilty, under the impression that they were righteously castigating ‘moral evil [p. 40].’” Fortunately, the belief that children are inhabited by Satan has subsided.

The opposite belief, that kids are naturally virtuous until corrupted by adults, is equally wrong, though less costly. Kids are neither inherently good nor bad. Their limited instincts are shaped by their environment into habits that can be either positive or negative, with the direction chiefly determined by the wisdom of their mother or nurse. Healthy children generally can be made happy with little effort. “Happiness in childhood is absolutely necessary to the production of the best type of human being [pages 41-42].” Kids take well to learning material that they perceive as valuable. Children will shun learning if the material seems to be useless, or if the teachers are viewed as tyrannical.

It used to be believed that bad desires could only be overcome by the will – the desires themselves were permanent. But this meant that those desires could hold sway in areas where the will was lacking. “Theories which justify cruelty almost always have their source in some desire diverted by the will from its natural channel, driven underground, and at last emerging unrecognized as hatred of sin or something equally respectable [pages 43-44].”

Psychoanalysis, despite its unscientific, fantastic elements, nevertheless holds useful approaches for early moral education. In getting children to sleep, making a fuss over the child with rocking and lullabys is helpful in the short run but costly in the long run. It teaches that not sleeping results in attention. “The result is equally damaging to health and character [p. 45].” Better to instill the habit that going into the cot means going to sleep. At any rate, the attention of psychology to infancy has shown the importance of proper and early instruction in both morals and knowledge, and more scientific advances can be expected in the future.

Education and the Good Life, Introduction

2010-08-20T18:00:00.000-07:00

Introduction (pages 7-11)

The book opens with a personal cri de couer: “There must be in the world many parents who, like the present author, have young children whom they are anxious to educate as well as possible, but reluctant to expose to the evils of most existing educational institutions [p. 7].” The alternative of home schooling deprives children of companionship, and makes them feel that they are odd. Rich parents need only to find one accessible, acceptable school, but working-class parents need general educational reforms to ensure that they can secure a good education for their children. Surely different parents will have strikingly different views about what reforms would be desirable. Nevertheless, advances in psychology and pedagogy offer advice that should receive broad assent – advice that is especially relevant for the education of very young children.

The book will proceed by looking at the goals of education, and makes a distinction between the education of character and the acquisition of knowledge, though these are not entirely independent elements. The early years will receive a good deal of attention; eventually, however, the discussion will comprise all of the years of formal education, through university. Learning beyond the years of schooling will not be addressed, though early education should be heavily concerned with making people capable of life-long learning through experience.

Next Up: Education and the Good Life

2010-08-16T07:55:00.000-07:00

The Reading Bertrand Russell Plan calls now for a summentary on Education and the Good Life – and as I am not adept at quick plan alterations, I will stick with Plan A.

Education and the Good Life was published in 1926 in New York by Boni & Liveright; my copy is a hardback from the second printing, which was issued, like the first printing, in May, 1926. Apparently, Education and the Good Life is the US version of a book that was published in London by George Allen & Unwin earlier in 1926 under a different title, On Education, Especially in Early Childhood. (The Russell bibliography by Blackwell and Ruja indicates that the American printing, in addition to a new title, omitted an index that the British edition contained.) The book was offered in abridged form in 1961 as Education of Character. Russell and his wife Dora opened their Beacon Hill School in 1927; five years later, with this experience in hand, Russell published a second book on education, Education and the Social Order.

Education and the Good Life contains an Introduction followed by nineteen chapters – the chapters are distributed among three parts, the middle of which (“Education of Character” – the basis of the 1961 abridgment – ) is by far the longest. Here are the sections and chapters:

Introduction

Part I: Education and the Good Life
Chapter I: Postulates of Modern Education Theory
Chapter II: The Aims of Education

Part II: Education of Character
Chapter III: The First Year
Chapter IV: Fear
Chapter V: Play and Fancy
Chapter VI: Constructiveness
Chapter VII: Selfishness and Property
Chapter VIII: Truthfulness
Chapter IX: Punishment
Chapter X: Importance of Other Children
Chapter XI: Affection and Sympathy
Chapter XII: Sex Education
Chapter XIII: The Nursery-School

Part III: Intellectual Education
Chapter XIV: General Principles
Chapter XV: The School Curriculum Before Fourteen
Chapter XVI: Last School Years
Chapter XVII: Day Schools and Boarding Schools
Chapter XVIII: The University
Chapter XIX: Conclusion

Onwards, then, to Education and the Good Life.

Bolshevism and the West, Full Time

2010-07-19T10:52:00.000-07:00

The brevity of Bolshevism and the West led to a (revolutionary?) break with Reading Bertrand Russell tradition, in that there has been no halftime reflection. So this post will have to serve as both an interim and a final report.

My first reaction is that this was some extraordinary gathering in Carnegie Hall in 1924! Nearing and Russell are superb, and their debate is polite but sufficiently combative to be interesting. With hindsight, of course, Russell wins. Nearing comes off as a rather doctrinaire Leninist-Marxist (which is not to say that he supports Bolshevik terror), and the doctrine (of the inevitability of a revolution in capitalist countries, for instance) leads him astray. Russell exudes more skepticism towards the proclaimed inevitability of future events, and shows little (or rather, no) interest in the political/economic novelties of the Soviet Union that impress Nearing.

The quality of the debate is partly revealed by the (seeming) extent to which it is unscripted. Nearing’s initial remarks no doubt are prepared in advance, but Russell’s first rejoinder directly engages many points from Nearing’s address, suggesting that Russell packaged his ideas (even if he didn’t manufacture them) on the fly – and a similar conclusion can be drawn from the later stages of the discussion.

The debate explicitly concerns whether the Bolshevik program is appropriate for the West – a question that is logically independent of whether that program is appropriate for Russia. (Russell makes this point on pages 40-41.) The debaters do not, therefore, examine the issue of whether Bolshevism is a desirable development for Russia. Nevertheless, it is hard to avoid the inference that Mr. Nearing is rather pro-Bolshevik (with respect to the Soviet Union), while Mr. Russell is rather anti-Bolshevik. Their positions concerning the applicability of the Russian model to the West seem to reflect their hopes (Nearing) and fears (Russell). Russell notes that the ideal of justice among men “is not one which was realized in the early days of the Soviet revolution or one which ever can be realized by methods of violence and by methods of force [p. 46].”

How does hindsight reveal that Russell was the more prescient (so far) of the two debaters? Nearing would be vindicated by a Bolshevik-style revolution in the West, and (to some extent) by a continued movement towards communism in Russia. These events did not come to pass. Russell’s case would be bolstered by: the rejection of Soviet-style governance in the West, even in the face of a crisis; a gradual adoption of socialism; and (again, to some extent) a repudiation of communism in Russia. These events did come to pass. The Soviet model was not implemented in the West in response to the Great Depression, post-Soviet Russia rejoined the capitalist world, and – well, did the West gradually adopt socialism? The answer depends on what is meant by socialism, of course, and what is meant by the West. Certainly Britain in the 1970s was more of a socialist country than was the Reagan-era US. A traditional definition of socialism as government ownership of the means of production largely precludes the use of “socialist” to describe the present-day US (despite what Obama detractors might have one believe). But compared with the standard aspirations of socialists of the 1920s, the US has gradually instituted a socialist economy. Milton and Rose Friedman in Free to Choose republish the economic program for the year 1928 of the Socialist Party of the US. The Friedmans’ point is to indicate how much of that platform (the vast majority) actually became implemented during the subsequent fifty years. By this standard, Russell is correct in his contention that evolutionary methods could install (at least a version of) economic socialism in the West.

As for the Soviet experiment, Russell sees that it will fail, and that communism will be rejected in Russia. Perhaps he doesn’t think that it will take seventy years for these events to play out. Russell senses correctly that the features of Russian socialism that Nearing trumpets – political representation by occupation, the scientific organization of the economy, and payment for productive labor only – are mere epiphenomena. What is real in the Soviet Union is the suffering of the revolution, and what is lasting is the opportunity for peasant proprietorship and the rejection of communism by the Russian people.

Bolshevism and the West, Russell's Rebuttal

2010-07-18T21:30:00.000-07:00

Negative Refutation (pages 66-78), by Bertrand Russell

Mr. Nearing assumes that Western civilization will collapse, and then assumes away any objection to the notion that there might be barriers remaining to a Bolshevik-style transition to socialism. I (Russell) am unconvinced about the inevitability of Western collapse, though surely it is a contingency worth taking into account. I think it would only happen in the wake of military defeat, and I doubt all Western countries would simultaneously suffer a military defeat. The US is unlikely to be defeated in a war, and hence a change in US economic arrangements will have to occur outside of a crisis.

Gradual methods can institute socialism in the West. Revolutions are too destructive of complex, industrial societies. The cataclysm would be so painful that the survivors wouldn’t turn to any rational plan of orderly government. Fortunately, even in times of peace and prosperity, Western populations can be convinced of the need to adopt a socialist economy.

Again, the only route to a revolutionary crisis in the West is through an unsuccessful war. That outcome can be avoided by not going to war. “Of course, if you embark upon war, it may be successful war. That is perhaps just a little bit better than unsuccessful war [p. 71].” But better to avoid the risk altogether. You can’t get to the happy socialism that Mr. Nearing hopes for through the gate of war. “Human society moves towards good things slowly, towards bad things fast [p. 72].”

Peaceful propaganda appealing to human intelligence will have a long-term, salutary effect in convincing Western nations to adopt socialism. People do not have to be on the verge of starvation before accepting changes that will make them better off. Rich people take chances to make themselves still richer. The same energy and initiative can spread more widely and impel the poorer classes to improve their lot. Industrial society is young, and our thought patterns remain those appropriate for agricultural communities. But these thought patterns will adapt themselves to the circumstances of industrialization, and institute the changes that both Mr. Nearing and I (Russell) support. An attempt to force the matter by grabbing power during a crisis might be momentarily successful but will not be lasting: people have to want the change. [Here Russell echoes a point he made in Proposed Roads to Freedom.] The Bolsheviks will prove to be like Cromwell – people were forced to sample Puritan ideas, and decided they didn’t care for Puritanism. “It is no use to try things until people are more or less ready for them [pages 74-75].”

Mr. Nearing seems to adopt a Hegelian-Marxian perspective that indicates sharp, logical changes from one stage of development to another. The rise of Darwinism and evolutionary thought suggests that human societies have a more gradual flowering, one that does not proceed in any pre-ordained direction. Revolutions have a way of changing the names of things without changing the underlying reality. The ownership of land by peasants is likely to be the only element of the Bolshevik revolution that will survive – and this reform could have been accomplished with much less suffering. The West should realize that socialism, like all great changes, can only be introduced slowly, and without the drama of a revolution.

Bolshevism and the West, Nearing's Rebuttal

2010-07-17T08:48:00.000-07:00

Affirmative Refutation (pages 57-65), by Scott Nearing

Mr. Russell labels my ideas Marxian [notes Mr. Nearing] – a term I didn’t use but will accept – and then pummels Karl Marx. I didn’t claim that my analysis was correct because Marx said so, but because there is evidence: history shows us that a society’s governmental form reflects its stage of development.

Mr. Russell examines the Communist party dictatorship in the Soviet Union, pointing out its similarities to other dictatorships. He does not cite the novel features of economic organization in the USSR, which do not have such parallels.

Russia is agricultural while Bolshevik ideas are drawn from thinking about industrial societies. These ideas were not a perfect fit for Russia – and hence we have the NEP. In the West, we will still need a NEP when we apply these ideas. [My rendering seems to catch the literal interpretation of the text, but the logic suggests that the text is mistaken: perhaps Nearing said that the original ideas, without the amendment of a NEP, would fit the West. -- RBR]

Mr. Russell's writings from 1920 indicate that he is opposed to Bolshevik methods. But when the Western crisis comes, what form of transitional arrangements will arise, if not Bolshevik ones? A committee on public safety will emerge once again, as it did in Russia in 1917 and as it did in Cromwell’s 17th century England. If Mr. Russell disagrees, he should indicate what alternative arrangement he imagines in the wake of a Western crisis. Russell assumes that barbarism is the only available path, but the infeasibility of a Bolshevik-style path to socialism cannot simply be assumed. “And if the Russians haven’t found the right way, it is up to Mr. Russell and me to help Americans find the right way [p. 63].”

Bolshevism and the West, Russell's Address

2010-07-14T15:07:00.000-07:00

Negative Presentation Address (pages 35-55), by Bertrand Russell

Mr. Nearing is right that we run the risk of destroying our civilization through wars. But whether or not we suffer a cataclysm, we will not adopt a Soviet form of government. We can reach this conclusion even if we accept Mr. Nearing’s premise, that a nation’s economic system determines its political system – certainly the economic system in Russia when the Bolsheviks took power bears little resemblance to the economic system in advanced capitalist countries. What the Russian economic system does resemble is the economic system in England in the seventeenth century – and the Soviet system of government resembles that established in seventeenth century England by Oliver Cromwell. Russian Bolshevism is akin to England’s Puritanism, and both movements grew out of somewhat similar economic conditions. In modern Britain and the US, an upheaval set off by losing a war would overthrow the current form of government, but it would not – again, employing Mr. Nearing’s own theory – lead to a government of the Soviet type.

Mr. Nearing exaggerates the extent to which peasant and worker interests are respected in the Soviet government. It is the Communist party that runs the show – that is, a set of people who hold certain opinions (like the Puritans in Cromwell’s England). The Soviet Union conducts elections in form but not in substance.

There are further reasons – besides the different economic conditions – to suggest that the Soviet form of government does not provide a useful model for the West. Surely the orthodox Marxist view that economics determines the form of the political system cannot be universally correct. (Though the Bolsheviks claim to take a scientific approach to the study of society they are quite dogmatic and unscientific.) Russia and China often have had quite similar economies, but vastly different political systems and cultures. Western traditions, at least for the past two hundred and fifty years, are so far removed from Russian ones (including along the dimensions of religion, centralization, and persecution) that there is little hope that a Russian form of government could suit the West. The Marxian view of the inevitable unfolding of history is much too simplistic for our varied world. We have run across millennial views before, so we should be wary of accepting any grand scheme that promises a revolution that will establish a golden age.

Recent Russian history shows us that human affairs are not predestined to move in one direction only. The Bolsheviks implemented their revolution and tried to install communism, but within four years backtracked considerably with the New Economic Policy (NEP). They backtracked despite ruling with czar-like despotism, utilizing all the usual excesses of an unaccountable secret police. But the NEP and the simultaneous softening of rule in Russia, while less communistic than what preceded them, may well be better steps along the road to communism.

Bolshevik revolutionary methods cannot achieve a just society. The revolution might have brought a modicum of economic justice, but there was no political justice. The politically powerful class was constrained only by their own consciences – a weak reed anywhere – in the extent to which they could make the economic order serve their interests.

The pre-revolutionary aristocracy in Russia, like its monarchy, was inefficient. But in the US, the aristocrats – the business elite – are quite efficient. They will be able to scuttle any revolution undertaken by a minority that tries to revoke their privileges. The Bolsheviks did not need majority support to overthrow the decrepit ruling class in czarist Russia.

The ideas of Western intellectuals (like Marx) are not applicable in Asian countries [and here Russell includes Russia as Asian]. Their illiterate, uneducated masses are in no sense ready to implement democracy. The Soviets discovered an alternative means for moving their society forward, that of rule by the party, a small group of intellectuals. “I do not believe that there is a better way of making the transition from the old autocracy to the new democracy [p. 49].” [This idea is reminiscent of Russell’s godfather John Stuart Mill, who in On Liberty spoke similarly of backward societies: “Despotism is a legitimate mode of government in dealing with barbarians, provided the end be their improvement, and the means justified by actually effecting that end. Liberty, as a principle, has no application to any state of things anterior to the time when mankind have become capable of being improved by free and equal discussion. Until then, there is nothing for them but implicit obedience to an Akbar or a Charlemagne, if they are so fortunate as to find one.”] In the West, Bolshevik methods (following a social breakdown) would lead to fascism (the business aristocracy in charge), not socialism, as the recent Italian example illustrates. Again, centralized power and despotism are Russian, but not Western, traditions, and the Soviet state is a sort of theocracy that is not possible where the state and religion have long been separate.

Marxian economic determinism is unscientific – too full of certainty and belied by historical evidence. Further, the Marxian dogma that their approach is scientific – and the science fully realized in the works of Marx – also is unscientific. It is a theological approach, and Russia is now in a theological stage of development.

Revolutionary tactics are not helpful in effecting meaningful change. “I think the real progress of the world is a more patient thing, a more gradual thing and a less spectacular thing [p. 53].” Much Western infatuation with Russia can be traced to enjoyment of the spectacle and the misperception that changes can be instituted quickly. But even in Russia, it is only now that the revolutionary moment has passed that the institutions necessary for socialism are being constructed.

Military cataclysms in the West won’t bring in socialism or anything else. They will succeed only in destroying industrial civilization and reviving barbarism. Russia has been fortunate in that the rest of the world survived her cataclysm, and is helping her recover. “But if the leading nations all at the same time are engaged in a cataclysm of that sort, there will be no one to help them out [pp. 54-55].” It is easier to destroy what we have than to ensure that any subsequent rebuilding will go in a direction we desire. So the approach ahead in the West is not that of Bolshevism, but of gradual improvements.

Bolshevism and the West, Nearing's Address

2010-07-07T15:28:00.000-07:00

Affirmative Presentation Address (pages 17-31), by Scott Nearing

The biographical sketch that precedes this section notes that Nearing, an economist then teaching at the Rand School of Social Science, earned his undergraduate degree in oratory: careful, Bertie, he’s a ringer!

Recall that the debate centers on whether the Soviet form of government is applicable to Western countries like Britain and the US. Nearing will discuss what “applicability” means and what really constitutes a government of the Soviet-type, before indicating why he believes that Bolshevism is indeed applicable to the West.

Nearing offers an orthodox Marxian view of social evolution, where forms of government reflect economic conditions. The growth of industry led to the replacement of feudalism with the capitalist state. Russia was behind in this development, and before World War I (at the time of the debate, still the Great War) it remained a partly feudal society with a nascent capitalist class. The war destroyed Russian feudalism and Russian capitalism. The Soviets were on hand with a replacement for the old, destroyed social order. “If the old social order had broken down first in Germany, the new social order would have come first in Germany [p. 24].” (Nearing doesn’t mention that somehow the Bolsheviks were able to skip a Marxian near-requirement by moving to the next stage before full-blown capitalism had been achieved.)

The new, Soviet social order is not communism or socialism, but a transitional stage between capitalism and socialism. It centralizes power in a dictatorship of the Communist Party, representing industrial workers and peasants. The ultimate goal is communism, which involves economic emancipation and the end of exploitation. But the current Soviet system is not yet a communist one.

The Soviet system differs from Western governments in three ways. First, the system of representation is economic, not geographical: street car workers, and teachers, as opposed to precincts, are the fundamental election units. Nearing views this arrangement as desirable, in that it better reflects the reality that people are more closely affiliated via their employment than their neighborhood. Second, the Soviet economic system is organized scientifically, and is not just the chaotic hodgepodge that emerges under capitalism. (Though it is unfair to Nearing, hindsight makes it hard not to scoff at the proclaimed scientific basis of the Soviet economy.) Third, the Soviets have adopted the notion that those who don’t work don’t eat – again as opposed to capitalism, where many of those who make no contribution to society nevertheless are rewarded handsomely thanks to income from property ownership. These three principles of Soviet rule did not arrive randomly, but were hammered out through seven years of wartime suffering. We will be ready for a similar form of government when our social order breaks down, as the Russian one did.

And our social order is poised to break down, through another international war and domestic class wars. Our current disregard of the peril is the same disregard the confident Germans felt in 1913. Ten years from now we will feel differently. When the inevitable capitalist breakdown occurs, we will see in the West a dictatorship of the proletariat organized around a tightly disciplined party, and enter our own transition to socialism.

Bolshevism and the West, Introductory Matter

2010-07-04T16:47:00.000-07:00

The introductory matter consists of a Foreword by Benjamin A. Javits and an Introduction by Samuel Untermyer.

Benjamin Javits was a successful lawyer and the older brother of Jacob Javits, a one-time United States Congressman and Senator. The main law school building at Fordham University is named after Benjamin Javits. His brief Foreword to Bolshevism and the West extols the debate gathering and the speakers, and introduces the presiding Chairman, Samuel Untermyer, a renowned lawyer.

Untermyer’s Introduction adds to the praise of Nearing and Russell, “two of the greatest intellectual gladiators that ever faced one another in the arena of public debate [p. 9],” and notes the sacrifices they have made for their beliefs. Lamentation is offered for the profound ignorance in America about the actual conditions prevailing in the Soviet Union. Untermyer takes advantage of his position as Chairman to proselytize for the US recognition of the Soviet government – after all, the US recognizes dictatorships and monarchies, and we have our own vassal states. (Later, on page 41, Russell endorses US recognition of the Soviet government.) Untermyer’s hope for normal diplomatic relations between the US and the USSR did not become reality until 1933.

Next Up: Bolshevism and the West

2010-06-30T16:12:00.000-07:00

The Reading Bertrand Russell plan consists of ten books, and we have arrived at the mid-point. Next up is book six – or maybe “work” six, as Bolshevism and the West is, in length, more a pamphlet than a book. Further, it is a pamphlet that is only half-written by Russell.

My copy of Bolshevism and the West is a thin 78-page hardback book with a red cover. It was published in New York by Gordon Press in 1974. The title page further reveals that Bolshevism and the West presents “A Debate on the Resolution ‘That the Soviet Form of Government is Applicable to Western Civilization’”; Scott Nearing makes the affirmative case, Bertrand Russell argues against the resolution, and Samuel Untermyer provides an Introduction.

A quick search of Google Books allows more information to be gleaned from Kenneth Blackwell and Harry Ruja, A Bibliography of Bertrand Russell (London: Routledge, 1994). On May 25, 1924, Scott Nearing and Bertrand Russell engaged in their debate at Carnegie Hall in New York City, under the auspices of the League for Public Discussion. The debate proceedings were published in both Britain and the US in 1924; the initial US edition took the form of a (literal) pamphlet distributed by the League for Public Discussion under the title “Debate…The Soviet Form of Government,” while the British edition, published by George Allen and Unwin, employed the title Bolshevism and the West. My Gordon Press copy republishes (fifty years later) the British edition, the proofs of which were approved by Russell. The book indicates many instances when the audience laughed or applauded, which for me adds to the belief that it represents a faithful transcription of what took place at Carnegie Hall.

Both debaters were well-versed on the topic: Nearing published a book in 1924 entitled Soviet Form of Government: Its Application to Western Civilization, whereas Russell’s The Practice and Theory of Bolshevism was published following his return from the USSR (and a meeting with Lenin) in 1920. (A pdf version (59 pages) of The Practice and Theory of Bolshevism is available here.)

One of the chief benefits (for me) of reading this short volume is that it prompted a visit to the Wikipedia entry on Scott Nearing. What a life he led, a sort of 20th century Thoreau! The parallels between Nearing’s life and Russell’s are quite strong: both, for instance, had trouble keeping academic jobs because of their political beliefs, and faced court actions related to their politics, too. Both taught at one time at the Rand School of Social Science. Both visited the Soviet Union in the early years, composing books about what they saw. At the time of the debate, Russell had already written his book on the Soviet system; Nearing travelled to Russia in 1925 and published his book (on Soviet education) in 1926. Nearing and Russell also both visited China in the 1920s. Both were intellectually active and writing for publication for more than 70 years, and were embraced by activists against the Vietnam War. There’s a master’s thesis waiting to be written on these parallel lives (if it hasn’t already been written). One side note on Scott Nearing is that his son, John Scott, wrote a famous and informative book, Behind the Urals: An American Worker in Russia's City of Steel, about Soviet industrialization from a first-hand (and sympathetic) perspective.

Bolshevism and the West contains 6 sections, one for each element of the debate. They are:

Foreword (2 pages) by Benjamin A. Javits, “Temporary Chairman”
Introduction (5 pages) by Samuel Untermyer, “The Chairman”
Affirmative Presentation Address (15 pages) by Scott Nearing
Negative Presentation Address (21 pages) by Bertrand Russell
Affirmative Refutation (9 pages) by Nearing
Negative Refutation (13 pages) by Russell.

The final three sections each are prefaced with brief remarks by the Chairman of the debate, and the last section concludes with one sentence from the Chairman as well. The Affirmative and Negative Presentation Addresses are prefaced by short biographies of the speakers.

Onwards, then, to Bolshevism and the West.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Full Time

2010-06-22T15:59:00.000-07:00

This running summentary of Human Society in Ethics and Politics has been more of a walking summentary, a journey of nearly a year’s duration. The measured pace is not evidenced by any deep insights – except for those borrowed directly from BR.

Part One (“Ethics”) established that for Russell, a guide for right action could be found in terms of maximizing overall satisfaction – where the interests of all humans, and perhaps all sentient beings, have to be included in the benefit calculus. But Russell understands that it is not enough to preach about socially desirable behavior; rather, people must have incentives to actually take those beneficial actions. Part Two (“The Conflict of Passions”) looks at the passions that make it hard to induce people to make choices that maximize social welfare. Part of the problem arises because some things that people enjoy – power, for instance, or respect – almost of necessity come at the expense of others’ enjoyment (of relative power or respect). Further, darker emotions such as fear or hate tend to make us exclude others from the group with whom we are willing to cooperate, and spur the reciprocation of fear and hate directed towards us from the excluded folks, too. So human history is marked by significant cooperation within a group – extending as far as a nation-state in modern times – with rivalry and conflict dominating relations between groups. The within-group cooperation has achieved amazing things. The inter-group conflict, alas, has led to war after war, though with the side benefit of extending the size of successful groups (as bigger groups are more militarily successful). [Are chimpanzees caught up in the same blood sport?]

This might be a glass mostly full story, where living standards and population have increased and civilization has been extended – despite the wars, despite the rivalry and conquest. But Russell notes a new ingredient: thanks to technological advance, wars among the great powers will destroy civilization, not just for the losers and for a short time, but for everyone and potentially forever. Continuation on our historical and current path is not sustainable. We must cooperate with virtually everyone – and it is in the self-interest of both superpowers that we do so.

Unfortunately, the foresight that recognizes that we are all in this together, and incentives to act in ways that recognize this foreknowledge, are not widespread. So Russell wants to help us to understand that our future survival depends on superpower cooperation, and he suggests methods by which cooperative behavior can be induced. Of course, a sound understanding of one’s own long-term interest can go a long way to providing appropriate incentives. Education, then, is part of the mix. A greater awareness of foreigners and foreign cultures can reduce fear and increase the probability of cooperation; such awareness can be fostered by free information flows and by foreign travel. Business connections also tend to be supportive of cooperation and the spread of civilization. The establishment of a world government, one that would limit national sovereignty just as a national government limits individual sovereignty, will be necessary to ensure that our destructive potential is not unleashed. Two steps that Russell explicitly cites as necessary for a stable peace have subsequently taken place: recognition of the Communist government of China and the re-unification of Germany.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics follows in the tradition of Adam Smith (and others, including Machiavelli and Spinoza), of taking human beings not as we might wish them to be, but as they are: possessed of both benevolent and selfish sentiments, motivated by vanity and love of power, and also by fellow-feeling. Preaching to such crooked timber will not be enough to improve (at least sufficiently) their (our) behavior. The answer lies not in telling people to ignore their passions, but rather, in creating social institutions that will channel those passions into socially desirable ends.

For Russell, those institutions include a democratic government (of worldwide scope) with significant protections for self-regarding individual behavior and human rights. Equality of opportunity, and enough equality of distribution to eliminate poverty, also are ingredients in the recipe. Education, science, the overcoming of superstition, exposure to other cultures, criminal and civil law – all can be enlisted to help make individual choices compatible with social welfare. Rivalry can take on benevolent forms, such as sporting events or competition over quality of life. Love of power can be combatted by controls that ensure that there are limits to the power that can be exercised, and by a relatively equal wealth distribution. Adults teach children foresight and delayed gratification; a similar foresight and forbearance (to avoid global annihilation) must be demanded of the electorate and their representatives. We must require of our leaders a quality that they currently do not display, an understanding that humanity forms “…a single species with possibilities that may be realized or thwarted [p. 239].” The glass may be mostly full, but there is much work to be done, much consciousness to be raised, to ensure that Russell’s optimistic outlook is itself warranted by the evidence, and not just another superstition.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter X

2010-06-21T17:16:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter X (pages 235-239), “Prologue or Epilogue?”

Man’s earthly existence is quite recent from a geological perspective, and the birth of civilization is even more recent. Progress over the last few thousand years has not been uniform, but sporadic, with little gain between the Ancient Greeks and about five hundred years ago. Change since then has been so rapid as to leave observers with vertigo. But perhaps man’s time on earth is just beginning, perhaps there will be many millions of years in the human future. Presumably our future lies in our own making.

Our intelligence can be put to bad ends. “To describe man as a mixture of god and beast is hardly fair to the beasts [p. 236].” Beasts could not produce a Hitler or Stalin, could not first imagine hell and then create one on earth. Why should we care about the perpetuation of this diabolical species?

But we shouldn’t ignore the other side of humanity, its ability to increase knowledge and create beauty, to generate love and sympathy. Perhaps the possession of these virtues, exceptional in the past, will become the standard for the future, and outstanding people in times to come will be as far above Shakespeare as he is above today’s average person. We have that within us to make life pleasant for virtually everyone, though we must choose wise leaders, not “cruel mountebanks [p. 238].” Human happiness resides in giving scope to our highest potentialities. (Shades here of John Stuart Mill’s utilitarianism, as he relates in On Liberty, where he endorses “utility in the largest sense, grounded on the permanent interests of man as a progressive being.”) Full happiness is not now available, because there is so much suffering that sympathetic feelings necessarily undermine contentment – but a future without that suffering, and hence with access to profound satisfaction, is feasible. Do those tiny people in power today, surely in Russia but also elsewhere, sense these possibilities? “I suppose that never for a moment have they thought of man as a single species with possibilities that may be realized or thwarted [p. 239].” But we can hope, perhaps against reason, that leaders of a better ilk will emerge and prevail.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter IX

2010-05-14T09:06:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter IX (pages 228-234), “Steps Towards a Stable Peace”

Russell quotes from the final chapter of his 1953 book, The Impact of Science on Society, on what it would take for a scientific society – a society where politics and the economy are based on science – to remain stable for long periods. (Human Society in Ethics and Politics first was published in 1954, one year after The Impact of Science on Society.) Russell believes that stability would require that the society be global, feature high living standards without poverty, and keep population growth in check – while individual liberty and political decentralization would be given the widest possible scope. Alternative future paths seem to lead to chaos and destruction, so people should want to move towards a stable, scientific society.

Soviet ideology is based on the conflict between capitalism and communism, and part of the Marxist myth is the inevitable triumph of communism. But Soviet fanaticism should not be met with the Western fanaticism of preaching the evils of communism and the need to fear them, while censoring information about what communism actually means. Instead of the East-West cooperation that we need, mutual suspicion fuels an arms race. Russell thinks that the allaying of this suspicion can begin through the good offices of a neutral power like India. Indians could prepare a forecast of what would be likely to happen should the cold war heat up. The great powers would be invited to comment and to disagree – but at the end of the day, it should be obvious that aggression by either side would not be in anyone’s interest. Once everyone understands, and knows their rival to understand, that war is not a feasible option, negotiations can begin. The negotiations would have their eye towards creating a stable peace. For instance, surely stability requires that Germany not remain divided, and that the ruling power in China be acknowledged. With current tensions eased, the long-term problem of establishing international control over atomic energy can be addressed.

Russell hopes for an East-West détente that will allow the realization to grow that in a crowded world, like in a crowded city, some liberties that are reasonable in isolated areas must be sacrificed for stability. “The anarchic liberty enjoyed hitherto by nations is just as impossible in the modern world as would be anarchic liberty for either pedestrians or motorists in the streets of London or New York [p. 233].” Establishing an international government will require an embrace of science and a rejection of fanaticism. “One of the first things that would have to be done during a period of détente would be a cessation everywhere of governmental encouragement to fanatical blindness and the hatred which it generates [p. 233].”

All humans have the capacity to suffer. We can operate below capacity if we end the mutual, irrational enmity between East and West. Humane and wise statesmanship should aim to relieve suffering.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter VIII

2010-05-10T08:11:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter VIII (pages 222-227), “Conquest?”

Insecurity might cause either the West or the communist bloc to launch a war. If the conflict didn’t end in a draw, the remaining power could institute a world government. (Here Russell is going over some ground that he covered a few years earlier in Unpopular Essays, Chapter 3.) What if the Soviets won, and they established military control of the US and Western Europe? Russell does not think that they would be able to maintain quiet client states like those (at the time) in Eastern Europe. “The problem of holding down by force a very large and bitterly hostile population, such as that of the United States would be, is one which the resources of terrorism and secret police would soon find beyond their powers [p. 223].” So a global Soviet empire would collapse, but the thirst for revenge in the West would lead to a long period of turmoil. If, instead, the West were to win the initial encounter, nationalist passions would re-emerge in Russia and China, and the current tension would be back. There is not much hope that a great power war will bring a better world, even discounting the destruction and anarchy that it would involve. (Later, on page 226, Russell details the sort of anarchy and starvation that would develop after cities and industry are destroyed in the war – if mankind survives at all.) The hope for the future lies in cooperation between East and West, not in military conquest. An alliance between these great powers could establish a world government, though to make the institution fully global might require some use of force against smaller, recalcitrant states.

As a great power war would now be devastating, both East and West must be brought to believe that the other side, while fully capable of defensive action, has no interest in initiating an attack. “If both sides were convinced of this, genuine negotiations and a real diminution of tension would become possible [p. 225].” A toning down of hostile propaganda on both sides would be helpful in bringing about the conditions for cooperation. The removal of barriers to the flow of truthful information about the other side also would be a step in the right direction – blatant censorship in the Soviet Union does not imply that people in the West do not face some barriers to acquiring truthful information, too.

If a World War is inevitable, then every delay will render it more destructive, as the means for warfare advance. But rather than hope for a quick conflagration, Russell chooses to hope that statesmanship can develop sufficiently to prevent a major military conflict. “The measures required will be drastic, and will run counter to powerful prejudices, but perhaps the danger will nevertheless force their adoption [p. 227].”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter VII

2010-05-08T09:40:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter VII (pages 213-221), “Will Religious Faith Cure Our Troubles?”

Some people believe that the erosion of religious faith is responsible for our current troubles. But our beliefs tend to be the result of our circumstances, not the other way around. [Existence (or being) determines consciousness, as Marx says? -- RBR] The deterioration of those circumstances has followed a sort of tragic inevitability that has sprung from the characters of the leaders involved. Russell provides (pages 213-214) a capsule summary of European relations (including the US and Russia) from 1914 through to the Cold War. The political forces were what they always have been among great powers, even as the destructive forces accelerated; the same evolution would have occurred whether Russia “believed” in Orthodox Christianity or in Marxism. Indeed, the First World War was fought by leaders who by and large were devout Christians. (Atheist politicos tended to be against the war.) Russell doesn’t use the term, but he indicates that he adheres to a “realist” conception of great power politics.

Russell rejects the view that some faiths (such as Christianity) are forces for good while others (such as Communism) are forces for harm. “What I wish to maintain is that all faiths do harm [p. 215].” Faith exists when someone believes something, profoundly, despite a lack of evidence to support that belief: it involves substituting emotion for evidence. (If there is evidence, faith is superfluous.) As different groups will have different emotions, faith tends to lead to conflict. If holders of faith also have political power, they will use the state to promote their faith and suppress others. History indicates that people of faith, even the Christian faith, do not avoid war. “Indeed, some of the most ferocious wars have been due to disputes between different kinds of Christianity [p. 216].”

Russell does not accept the view that some religious skeptics might endorse, that Christianity can be socially helpful, despite being false – though he holds a very low opinion of one alternative to Christianity, Marxism. [Russell’s godfather, John Stuart Mill, argued against suppressing minority views in the belief that the prevailing views, though possibly wrong, were nonetheless socially useful; further, “The usefulness of an opinion is itself matter of opinion: as disputable, as open to discussion, and requiring discussion as much, as the opinion itself.”] Russell recognizes that belief in the useful lie has a long provenance, and enlisted the support of Plato. The contribution of faiths to war is the hatred that they engender against non-believers; war brings out the worst in faiths. History gives the lie to the notion that fanaticism is beneficial to military enterprise. Science, useful to winning wars, is compromised by fanaticisms: Nazi hatred of Jews and Soviet embrace of Lysenkoism did not add to the power of their states: “without intellectual freedom, scientific warfare is not likely to remain long successful [p. 218].” More generally, the idea that national success depends on everyone adhering to some irrational belief is both ahistorical and wrong. It is hard to compartmentalize rationality, so those who accept fantastic beliefs in one realm tend to ignore evidence in other realms. At one time belief in a flat earth was reasonable. But now, people who believe in a flat earth must “close their minds against reason and to open them to every kind of absurdity in addition to the one from which they start [p. 220].”

“There is something feeble, and a little contemptible, about a man who cannot face the perils of life without the help of comfortable myths [p. 219].” Further, he sort of knows, but is unwilling to openly recognize, that they are myths; this knowledge makes him react harshly to any criticism of his creed. He wants to constrain education so that such criticism is suppressed. Authoritarian rulers can successfully limit education and instill timidity in the populace, but at the cost of achieving progress. Beliefs based on reason can be altered by discussion; beliefs based on faith are beyond reason, so they are supported by repression and mis-education. A decline in the hold of dogma, whether of the traditional kind, or Nazi and Communist variants, is an unalloyed blessing. Science and a recognition of the horror of mass torture are what the world needs.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter VI

2010-05-04T21:48:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter VI (pages 208-212), “Scientific Technique and the Future”

The peaceful uses of atomic power hold great potential – but its military uses threaten the continued existence of life on earth. The old military logic, that of arming yourself beyond the capabilities of your likely rivals, implied that wars were as bloody as the prevailing technology permitted. In the nuclear age, this logic will bring doom, and not just for the warring parties. Nor are the existential threats only nuclear – biological weapons might have similar destructive potential. “It is impossible to foresee any limits to the harm which scientific ingenuity can enable men to inflict upon each other [p. 210].” Ingrained ways of thought are leading us to catastrophe, but these patterns of thought are proving hard to change. The idea that a war can be won is obsolete. Our salvation requires that our wisdom grow to match our skill. “It is the imperative duty of us all in the perilous years that lie ahead to struggle to replace the old crude passions of hate and greed and envy by a new wisdom based upon the realization of our common danger, a danger created by our own folly, and curable only by a diminution of that folly [p. 212].” Hatred is reciprocated, so people’s hearts must soften. And our well-being depends upon the well-being of others. This truth has long been known to sages, but the need to implement it in practice now is vital.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter V

2010-05-01T20:39:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter V (pp. 199-207), “Cohesion and Rivalry”

Cohesive and combative impulses shape the relationships among different human groups, like dominant and submissive impulses shape within-group hierarchies. The continuation of the species requires some family cohesiveness, which extends outwards to tribes. Tribes are rivals, however, except when they can maintain a precarious alliance to combat a common enemy. More populous groups have a military advantage: “…self-interest tends to enlarge the size of the social group [p. 200].” Common beliefs, common fears, and other sources of solidarity will develop, unifying large groups to the same extent as small tribes.

Conquest is the source of most states, with necessity, not shared beliefs or genealogy, securing the loyalty of the ruled. Extensive empire-building through military conquest characterized the approximately 1000 years between Cyrus and the end of Rome. “Throughout this time, it might have seemed that conquering armies were irresistible and that there was no limit to the extent of territory that a great military leader could bring under his sway [p. 201].” Rome provides a good example of how social cohesion can evolve from origins in military might. After the fall of Rome European history is dominated by highly decentralized rivalry among countless small powers, until authority was established in modern nation states. The Muslim world also has moved from unity to rivalry and back. “It is difficult in the history of the world hitherto to discern any long-term movement either towards more cohesion or towards more rivalry [p. 202].” But that is with respect to political cohesion – in terms of economic relations (and in culture), there has been a marked movement towards globalization. Commerce promotes civilization.

Western culture blossomed with the Renaissance and then spread widely. “There was every reason to expect that this process would continue until all the world was culturally unified, and the ideas of Jefferson and Macaulay could be preached without contradiction not only in India but in the plateaus of Tibet and the darkest recesses of African forests [pp. 204-205].” The First World War, an intra-west civil war, undermined the force of the western example. Now there is upheaval, with Russian Communism joining Islam as a militant faith, and China, Africa, and India all culturally unsettled. The centrifugal forces moving cultures apart also are spurring a dedication to economic autarchy and industrialization for the sake of military might; the long-term consequences include famine and war. “These evil consequences can only be avoided if mankind decide to conduct their affairs in a manner less insane than that now prevalent [p. 205].” Science, however, remains as a globally unifying force – bomb-making scientists can operate without missing a step when they move from the Soviet Union to the West, or in the opposite direction.

Information, previously held only locally and perhaps only by literate elites, now is available on a much wider scale. Unfortunately, the information about rival countries that is made available generally is filtered to stoke fear and hatred.

Recently, nations have begun to cohere within two large and opposed military blocs. “Cohesion and rivalry working together from the first clash of savage tribes to the present day, have gradually, by a process which has a terrible inevitability, come to the point where each reaches the greatest development that is compatible with the existence of the other [p. 207].” As technology advances, this process threatens human annihilation. Our only hope is that people can learn to be content with rivalry in milder forms, in sports, art, science, and quality of life.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter IV

2010-04-25T21:23:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter IV (pp. 188-198), “Myth and Magic”

Humans seem to have considerably more imagination than other animals. They believe some things because of evidence, but they believe many other things because they feel these things to be right, despite the absence of (any further) evidence. “On the whole, as men become more civilized, the sphere of evidence in the formation of beliefs becomes larger, and the sphere of imagination smaller [pp. 188-189].” Imaginative beliefs still form a significant part of our belief systems. Even though any connection between truth and imaginative beliefs is coincidental, they allow us to make our way through the world and suggest ideas that sometimes lead to improvements in art and science. An intense imagination, as Shakespeare knew, can lead to belief in the reality of what is imagined.

The intensity and drama of dreams might be the source of the power we allow our imaginations. From dreams and daydreams, which often derive from imagined fears, “men have fashioned the vast systems of magic and ritual and myth and religion which have influenced human life at least as profoundly as the skills and observations out of which scientific knowledge has grown [p. 190].” Other beliefs held without evidence, such as the effect of the phase of the moon on weather, are not based on deep emotions, and so do not present serious social concerns.

Hopes and fears lead to imaginary beliefs because of inflated senses of self-importance, ideas that the universe itself must care about what we care about. We even believe that natural processes have causes that mimic the causes of human action. “Eruptions and earthquakes seem like manifestations of anger, and so we imagine an angry spirit which is causing them [p. 191].”

Beliefs held without evidence speak to the passions of the people who hold them. The cruelty with which these beliefs have been operationalized suggests that the underlying passions are dark. All sorts of terrors are inflicted through imaginary beliefs, yet few charitable acts possess similar sources. Fear of death led to the invention of afterlives that often were themselves full of torment. Irrational fears of happiness have led to self-inflicted torments though asceticism and self-abasement. “The things that men have thought pleasing to the gods throw a strange light upon their own emotions [p. 193].” Self-hatred frequently finds its expression in cruelty towards others, including in the form of human sacrifices to placate or honor an angry god. (Here we have an echo of a passage from Chapter Ten of Unpopular Essays: “…when a man tortures himself he feels that it gives him a right to torture others, and inclines him to accept any system of dogma by which this right is fortified.”)

Desires for dominance and for submission are strong human passions. The mutual existence of these passions – even within a single individual, both passions can abide – has helped to stabilize unequal societies, where the leaders get satisfaction from dominating and others obtain satisfaction from being dominated. The leaders can satisfy their desire to be dominated by inventing a god who rules over them. This can allow them to enjoy a type of submission that does not hinder their accumulation of earthly power. Their attempts to force others into virtue are justified by their own abstemious behavior. Their asceticism with respect to sensuality does not extend to the enjoyment of power. “It is the prevalence of this type of psychology in forceful men which has made the notion of sin so popular, since it combines so perfectly humility towards heaven with self-assertion here on earth [p. 195].” And this self-assertion can take the form of inflicting pain on the less virtuous, without remorse.

We imbue the cosmos with human emotions. Good outcomes are caused by love, bad outcomes by hate or anger. We try to influence the extent to which the cosmos loves and hates us, through piety and faith. The scientific approach is much different – causality does not reflect our hopes and fears, but is determined (imperfectly and probabilistically) through the accumulation of evidence. Scientific knowledge has liberated us from much cruelty inflicted by mythical beliefs.

Science now provides us with the possibility of self-extermination as well as the liberation from myths. To prevent the self-extermination, we should not retreat into myths. “If salvation is to be found, it must be by the help of more science, not less…[pp. 197-198].”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter III

2010-04-16T08:57:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter III (pages 175-187), “Forethought and Skill”

Human infants are pretty similar to the newborns of other mammalian species, especially with regard to instincts and passions. Human intelligence and imagination offer broader vistas for the passions, however, than those available to other species. Despite more opportunities for satisfaction, humans seem to be less happy than they were when in a more primitive state, and less happy than apes. Russell compares the carefree life of a monkey in the jungle to the stress and monotony of the suburban-dwelling, commuting office drone; the monkey is in the more enviable position, though the human specimen is among the happiest of his tribe. Nevertheless, Russell maintains that there is a variety of happiness available to humans that goes beyond what other mammals are capable of. This happiness could be nearly universal among men and women, but currently is achieved by very few. Unhappiness is preventable by known methods, but those methods are not employed.

Passions can be separated into the automatic (or nearly automatic) impulses, and demands induced by deliberative thought about the best means to secure a desired end. The implementation of the actions recommended by deliberation might require that impulsive acts be successfully restrained. Impulses for indulging resentment, for overcoming obstacles, or for consuming alcohol and drugs, might be hard to suppress, though, despite rationality demanding such suppression. Further, excessive control of impulse saps life of joy. “Impulse must be allowed a large place in human life, but ought not to lead, as in fact it does, to vast systems of individual and collective self-deception [p. 177].” Humans are better positioned to have desire control impulse than are other animals.

Human intelligence manifests itself in forethought and in skill. Forethought, a derivative of memory, induces people to take actions that bring no immediate pleasure or reward but make future pleasures more likely. (Russell suspects that apparent forethought in other animals, such as the storing of nuts by squirrels, actually provides immediate pleasure to the squirrels, in the same way that sex does.) The adoption of agriculture reflected forethought, and the whole notion of “capital” (goods not intended for consumption but used to produce other goods) indicates the sacrifice of current for future satisfaction. Russell suspects that people with infinite forethought would invest rather than consume any resources, if those savings earned any positive amount of interest. [Presumably a small probability that one will not survive to consume later would be enough to prevent full disdain for instantaneous gratification, even with positive interest rates – RBR.] Adults impose their forethought on children (who have less forethought) by insisting upon education, even though it goes against the impulses of many children.

The child grows up, and engages in work that he would never take on for the immediate reward alone. If he has children, again he sacrifices current pleasures for the sake of their futures. He seeks to be uncontroversial and successful at work, and his prudence eventually becomes an impulse. This depiction is an accurate rendering of the majority of people in advanced countries.

Policy and the public sphere likewise are dominated by forethought, including the work of those important folks who contemplate how best to kill foreigners. But one needn’t only think of forethought as being a barrier to happiness: sometimes it is a lack of forethought that threatens happiness. For instance, too little attention is paid to how to prevent war and overpopulation.

Humans display skill, as do animals, but skill plays a much larger role among humanity. Skill, for Russell, means engaging in activities that are inputs to desired ends – activities that would be eschewed if they did not promote the ends. Complex skills require language, to allow knowledge to be accumulated and transmitted through the generations. Agriculture, animal husbandry, and tool making are all skills that humans acquired long ago. The making of tools, weapons, for military purposes, continues to spur most scientific thinking. Skills did not grow much for thousands of years, but the previous two centuries have seen an explosion in skills.

The accumulation of skill and its embodiment in technology allows for a long time to elapse between the recognition of a want and its satisfaction. Even with agriculture, the planting occurs only a few months before the reaping. But with modern machinery, the process of supplying today’s food began long ago, when the machines to help grow and transport the food were manufactured (out of raw materials that themselves had to be gathered). “In this long intricate combination of forethought and skill, there is, throughout, a dependence upon an elaborate social and economic organization, which may break down, with disastrous consequences, in time of war [p. 184].”

Skill makes it easier to satisfy our wants; so, has the improvement in skill led to more happiness? Advances in skill tend to be, at first, monopolized by a few people, who can use that skill to subjugate others. Agriculture ties people to land; lacking exit options, cultivators of land becomes slaves or serfs to landowners. Industrialization (outside of the United States) had a similar tendency, with capitalists gaining but the well-being of workers often compromised. Spreading the benefits from skill improvements requires a more equal distribution of power.

Successful species establish an equilibrium between their impulses and the opportunities for satisfying those impulses. When opportunities to satisfy impulses are no longer scarce, overconsumption can be devastating – the introduction and easy availability of distilled alcohol provides numerous examples. A desire for power is one impulse that can be more readily gratified as societies expand and their capabilities develop; an addiction to power can more socially destructive than an addiction to alcohol. “That is why elaborate safeguards in the form of Rights of Man and democratic government become important in highly organized communities [p. 186].” With advances in military skill, uncontrolled rivalry now threatens not only the combatants, but the survival of the human species.

Increased skill and intelligence allow us to support a larger human population. This would be good if people were happy. It is possible, however, that population will outstrip the food supply (in part because of longer lifespans), and then more misery will result.

It is too soon to know if increased human intelligence will be a blessing or a curse. If it is a curse, however, it will be because of too little intelligence, not too much.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter II

2010-04-04T09:22:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter II (Pages 159-174), “Politically Important Desires”

As Russell mentioned in the Preface, this chapter forms the speech given upon his receipt of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1950.

Demographic and economic facts abound, but we know fairly little about people’s psychology and their motives for action. “If one man offers you democracy and another offers you a bag of grain, at what stage of starvation will you prefer the grain to the vote [p. 159-160]?” It is wrong to think that people can overcome their desires through their sense of duty, because it begs the question of why anyone desires to be dutiful. “If you wish to know what men will do, you must know not only, or principally, their material circumstances, but rather the whole system of their desires with their relative strengths [p. 160].” Sexual desires, though strong, typically are not important determinants of political actions. Basic needs for food, shelter, and clothing, however, have and remain major impulses for migration, war, and other political movements. Insatiable drives for acquisition and power, along with rivalry and vanity, motivate much human action, too. Those who suffer great deprivation seem particularly committed to excessive acquisitiveness. Overall, however, rivalry seems more powerful than acquisitiveness: people will sacrifice enormously if by doing so their rivals can be ruined still further.

Vanity, the desire to be noticed and admired, is both potent and self-propagating. “Mankind have even committed the impiety of attributing similar desires to the Deity, whom they imagine avid for continual praise [p. 163].”

But the most important motive in the realm of political action – and the common wellspring for the behavior of energetic men – is the love of power. (Vanity’s object is glory, not power: people can be powerful without seeking or achieving glory.) As with vanity, the love of power is both insatiable and subject to positive feedback. “Since power over human beings is shown in making them do what they would rather not do, the man who is actuated by love of power is more apt to inflict pain than to permit pleasure [p. 164].” But scientific and political advances also are motivated by a love of power. A person’s capabilities and the social system help to determine whether the love of power will serve beneficial or nefarious ends. Military geniuses might be actuated by a love of power, and be indifferent as to which country they serve – though vanity as well as power fueled Napoleon. People who remain out of the spotlight, while exerting influence behind the throne, are the exemplars of those motivated by an unalloyed love of power.

Humans also find motive power in a desire to avoid boredom – a notion Russell previously explored in Chapter 4 of The Conquest of Happiness. The tendency for the populace to welcome the outbreak of war is driven by emotions similar to what drives interest in football, “although the results are sometimes somewhat more serious [p. 166].” Our love for excitement presumably draws from our past as hunters; people who had to engage in physical exertions the equivalent of a day’s hunting would not applaud “an announcement that the government has decided to have them killed…[p. 167],” as they now do. Safe outlets to satisfy the desire for excitement need to be nurtured, but moralists condemn them. “I have never heard of a war that proceeded from dance halls [p. 168].” Reducing harms from the love of excitement requires that socially innocuous outlets for this passion be provided.

Fear and hate are powerful motive forces. Humans have a tendency to both hate and fear outsiders, even as they treat well those within their tribe. Travel and the study of international politics can help people overcome the instinctive hatred of foreigners. Nevertheless, extending our good offices to the whole world doesn’t come easily. “We love those who hate our enemies, and if we had no enemies there would be very few people whom we should love [p. 169].” We might be able to conjure up Nature as a common and recalcitrant enemy to mankind, one from whom we must wrest our living. But the instruments of persuasion, the newspapers, politicians, and schools, have no interest in promoting this psychological expedient.

Life would be much improved if the international system could provide security against military attack, reducing or eliminating the fear of foreign powers. Ideology or religion or other markers of difference often are identified as the causes of enmities between nations, but Russell thinks these are just convenient ways of dividing the herd. The source of finding these matters divisive is that we fear the hostile intent of other countries.

Negative emotions such as fear are quite powerful, but positive emotions such as altruistic feeling also spur political behavior – witness the anti-slavery movement in the 19^th century: “British taxpayers paid many millions in compensation to Jamaican landowners for the liberation of their slaves…[p. 171].” Sympathy has been an effective motive in improving the treatment of the insane, orphans, prisoners, and animals. “Perhaps the best hope for the future of mankind is that ways will be found of increasing the scope and intensity of sympathy [p. 172].”

Throughout most of human history, victors in war found the killing cheap, the benefits in terms of more territory worthwhile, and the experience exciting. Now, the cost of killing has risen, and the control of new territory has lost its allure: war no longer presents a good business model. Enlightened self-interest dictates cooperation and the elimination of war, but people generally are not motivated by self-interest: they prefer wretched neighbors to their own happiness. Moralists will not allow us to embrace real self-interest, despite the salutary effects that would flow from such an embrace. Idealistic motives often are worse than self-interest: what people consider to be idealism often “is disguised hatred or disguised love of power [p. 174].” Distrust seemingly noble motives when they are actuating mass movements. Intelligence can help us to understand these matters more clearly – a heartening conclusion “because intelligence is a thing that can be fostered by known methods of education [p. 174].”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Part Two, Chapter I

2010-03-26T18:37:00.000-07:00

Part Two, Chapter I (pages 155-158), “From Ethics to Politics”

The first half of Human Society in Ethics and Politics might make it seem easy. Educate people correctly, situate them within a conducive institutional environment, and their preferences generally will not conflict with those of others. But a glance at history or the present day suggests that we are far from this nirvana. “There is love of power, there is rivalry, there is hate, and, I am afraid we must add, a positive pleasure in the spectacle of suffering [p. 155].” The strength of these passions is such that those who preach against them are suppressed. “Intelligence has been used, not to tame the passions, but to give them scope [p. 156].” The powerful exploit the powerless. Russell thinks that aggregate human suffering was probably greater in the preceding 25 years (Human Society in Ethics and Politics was published in 1954) than ever before, what with Nazi genocide and the Soviet gulag and collectivization. The nuclear threat undermines happiness in western countries, too. “There is so strong a tendency in human nature towards the fiercer passions that those who oppose them almost always incur hatred, and that whole systems of morals and theology are invented to make people feel that savagery is noble [p. 157].”

We are in uncharted territory, however, in that a continued inability to harness our “fiercer passions” threatens the survival of our species. We might have to tolerate the prosperity of our enemies for our own good. We won’t have to sacrifice real satisfaction, however, as those who live via the exploitation of others live in fear. “All who profit by injustice have to curb their more generous emotions, and remain ignorant of some of the greatest joys that human life has to offer [p. 157].”

The chapters of Part Two will try to examine how we, in the past, have been led into organized conflict; the hope is that this examination will help us avoid such conflict in the future. Russell suggests that people’s passions are mutable, though little effort is devoted to altering them for social benefit. Russell remains optimistic, despite the sad history of conflict. “I cannot bring myself to believe that the human race, which has in some directions shown such extraordinary skill, is in other directions so unalterably stupid as to insist upon its own torment and destruction [p. 158].”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Halftime

2010-03-08T10:33:00.000-08:00

When the Reading Bertrand Russell project got underway I noted that I was not particularly interested in Russell’s work within the disciplines of mathematics or philosophy. Human Society in Ethics and Politics is a piece of applied philosophy, and one that surely has tested me. Nevertheless, I have found it to be stimulating – though a bit repetitive, and not quite as straightforward (for this amateur, at least) as I might have hoped. Here’s what I managed to make of the first half.

My main reaction is that Russell is a natural economist. Rationality, for both Russell and economists, involve choosing the proper means to given ends. Russell is a consequentialist: actions should be judged by their likely consequences, not by whether they are virtuous or sinful. Russell’s idea of proper action is one that promotes overall wellbeing – or maximizes the size of the pie, as an economist might say. (The pie represents not material wealth, but preference satisfaction. And “overall” well-being means that the preferences of all humans are implicated, and possibly even the preferences of other sentient beings; some of the most convincing argumentation in the first half is where Russell shows that restricting the social ethic to a subset of humanity is not tenable, even if not provably wrong as a matter of logic.) He recognizes that people must have a motive for behaving in this manner, and thinks such a motive generally can be provided (and often is provided) through social institutions, education, and advances in psychological science. Social institutions can cause people to internalize externalities, by punishing crime, for example, or by requiring damage payments in the event of accidental harm. Social institutions also can channel our passions, including our desire for power, into directions that comport with the general good. Education can help to shape preferences – here Russell goes beyond standard economics – to reduce the gulf between perceived individual well-being and social benefit. Praise and blame can be allocated, too, in ways to generate a motive for desirable behavior.

While society should aim to influence both preferences and choices, individuality must be protected – it is only in the face of the prospect of real externalities that the social system should intervene in individual decision making. Nevertheless, even superstitious preferences of people – such as a belief that card playing on Sunday is wicked – should be given some attention in aiming at maximizing overall satisfaction. My reconciliation of these two positions (based, I hope, on the hints that Russell provides) is that the law should focus on real externalities, whereas the notional externalities connected to beliefs about sin can be addressed informally. Though cognizant of the sources of many of our beliefs in taboo and superstition, Russell nonetheless thinks that for the most part, our ethical intuitions are consistent with his consequentialist, satisfaction-maximizing approach. This concordance renders ethical intuitions to be superfluous, or counterproductive in those cases where they do not align with probable consequences. The goal of overall happiness should make us suspicious of ethical rules whose attraction for us is that they involve unhappiness for people we dislike.

While Russell talks mostly about aggregate satisfaction, he does address distributional issues in Chapters IV, X, and XI. He endorses equality of opportunity, but goes somewhat further. Russell is a sort of soft egalitarian, who believes that in a desirable social system basic goods would be fairly evenly distributed. In part this is due to diminishing marginal utility – an additional loaf of bread does a better job of promoting overall preference satisfaction if it is consumed by a starving person than by a well-fed person.

Overall preference satisfaction generally can be served by limiting suffering. As a result, Russell opposes retributive punishment (even retributive allocation of blame) and bans on euthanasia.

One of the nuggets that will stay with me is Russell’s thought experiment about criminal punishment – where criminals are only believed to be punished, while in fact they lead an idyllic existence. His quick aside in Chapter XII about the traditional moral code -- “Indeed, a cynic might be tempted to think that one of the attractions of a traditional code is the opportunities which it affords for thinking ill of other people and for thwarting what should be innocent desires [p. 139]” – appears to me to particularly apt in light of recent media feeding frenzies concerning perceived lapses by public figures.

Onward to Part Two, “The Conflict of Passions.”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter XIII

2010-02-21T17:08:00.000-08:00

Chapter XIII (pages 145-151), “Ethical Sanctions”

What can provide a motive for promoting the Russellian ethical view that aggregate satisfaction is the chief guide to right conduct? Russell begins examining this question by re-iterating that the pursuit of personal satisfaction is not identical to selfishness or to pleasure-seeking. Moralists who fetishize self-abnegation fail to see the potential breadth of interests a person can hold. “Nor is it always the case that desires concerned with other people will lead to better actions than those that are more egoistic [p. 146].” An artist motivated to support his family, for example, might sacrifice his talent and the production of timeless masterpieces for financial security. Nevertheless, the general tendency is to feel too much for ourselves and too little for others, so exhortations to counter this tendency can be beneficial.

Many theological reasoners, such as Locke, appeal to self-interest – the achievement of heaven and the avoidance of hell – to motivate good behavior. Any prudent person will choose the path to heaven. Bentham believed that “good institutions here on earth could have much the same effect [p. 147],” despite lacking the otherwordly incentives. Bentham’s panopticon allowed the head jailer [gaoler for Russell] to watch the behavior of every one of the poor imprisoned. Seeing all, the gaoler could bestow rewards, god-like, for good behavior, and punish bad behavior: rational criminals would choose to be good. But as an overall system, Bethnam’s pantopticon is lacking, as some people remain outside of prison: who will watch them? And will the gaoler be trustworthy?

The seemingly strong incentives in the theological-type system prove to be insufficient in practice. In the Middle Ages people really believed in Heaven and Hell, and yet major crimes were much more common than they are now. People do things in passionate rages that they reject in their rational moments. The doctrine of absolution allows an out, too, for those who choose to sin.

No system can assure only good behavior. Nevertheless, moralists and politicians should aim their work at aligning self-interest with the social good. Individual preferences can be molded by education, and actions depend on both preferences and the social system. Russell echoes Adam Smith on the butcher, the brewer, and the baker (omitting the brewer, actually): “The butcher and the baker minister to my happiness, not because they love me, but because the economic system makes what serves me useful to them [p. 149].” Many people have psychological issues that lead them to be motivated by anti-social passions – advances in psychological science hold some promise to treat these conditions. “Many character defects are as little to be cured by preaching as are bodily ailments [p. 149].”

Praise and blame emanating from public opinion influence actions – but not always to the good. Napoleon, for instance, was widely praised, and not only in France, while superstitions generate blame where none is due. Nevertheless, “[g]iven good institutions, and a socially desirable ethic, and a scientific understanding of the training of individual character, it would be possible for conflicts between individual and general satisfaction to become very rare [p. 150].” This has already been achieved to a large extent with respect to the domestic affairs involving advanced Western nations. The criminal law and the economic system provide strong incentives toward socially beneficial behavior. Nevertheless, “better institutions, better education of the emotions, and a better apportioning of praise and blame, would increase the already considerable extent to which people’s actions further the well-being of their community [p. 151].”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter XII

2010-02-08T06:42:00.000-08:00

Chapter XII (pages 138-144), “Superstitious Ethics”

Russell contrasts his view, that “the rightness or wrongness of an act depends upon its probable consequences [p. 138],” with the more prevalent and more influential superstitious ethics. The strictures that arise from superstition or supposed divine decree, such as rules against fornication, homosexual activities, and the eating of certain foods, are not only widely believed but often enshrined in law. An employer who overworks his employees in terrible conditions can be admired, but if he is discovered to have had sex with one of them, he is condemned. “Indeed, a cynic might be tempted to think that one of the attractions of a traditional code is the opportunities which it affords for thinking ill of other people and for thwarting what should be innocent desires [p. 139].” Russell singles out the ban on euthanasia – a ban he had previously attacked in Unpopular Essays -- as one current rule that is based on superstitious ethics. Those opposed to euthanasia on the grounds that it involves playing god do not seem similarly opposed to capital punishment and war. “The traditional moral code stands out stark and cruel and immovable against the claims of kindly feeling [p. 141].” The fact that those who hold traditional morals tend to be single-issue voters who will turn against anyone advancing a liberalized view – while supporters of liberalization are not so narrowly focused – tends to buttress the political forces against progressive reforms. Russell notes his own public pummeling and the loss of his City College post stemming from the views he expressed in Marriage and Morals.

While laws against adultery and homosexuality continue to be quite harsh, some might take solace in the fact that such laws generally are not enforced. Nevertheless, such laws should be changed. They bring the law in general into disrepute, and they are employed selectively to castigate or blackmail wayward spouses or political opponents. Offering official imprimatur to ethical views that are not held by most people is not costless.

Ethical rules against homosexuality or birth control derive from religious principles that were promulgated in a much crueler world. “Affection towards intimates and kindly feeling towards the world at large are the sentiments most likely to lead to right conduct [pages 142-3].” A belief in the wickedness of sinners makes punishment for sin seem like a benefit, whereas necessary punishment should be seen as an unavoidable evil. Further, a belief in sin underlies and seemingly justifies most of the group hatreds that afflict our planet, and it is these collective animosities that put the future of mankind at risk. Superstitious ethics often spring from the worser angels of our nature, and those disreputable sources should be a signal that we might want to re-examine such ethics. Moral rules worth accepting are those that promote overall happiness, as opposed to rules that please us by harming those whom we hold in low regard.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter XI

2010-01-31T15:45:00.000-08:00

Chapter XI (pages 130-137), “Production and Distribution”

Russell opens Chapter XI by reiterating his preference-satisfying approach to the terms intrinsic value and right conduct. But ethics concerns the distribution of satisfaction, and not just the total amount. People are biased with respect to their views on desirable distributions of satisfactions – we care most about our own satisfaction and that of our intimates. “Morality is to a very large extent an attempt to combat this partiality and to lead people in action to attach as much importance to the good of others as to their own [p. 131].” While people tend to agree as to what things have intrinsic value – especially for basic goods like food, shelter, and health, as well as friendship, security, and belonging – they tend to disagree about the proper distributions of value.

Russell distinguishes between three types of desirable goods or features. One type would be called by modern economists non-rival, in that one person’s enjoyment of the good does not impede someone else’s enjoyment: friendship and love are two examples that Russell provides (eliding the possibility that love or friendship with a particular person may well come at the expense of someone else’s access to that same person). The other two types of goods display rivalry: if I have the good, then you cannot. Thus the apple that I eat cannot be eaten by you. Nevertheless, with enough apples, it might be the case that all can have apples. The other sort of rival good depends on aggregate scarcity to provide satisfaction. This type of good involves what economists now would call positional externalities. Only one person can finish first in a race, or be the most respected person in the room: if I am that person, you cannot be. For positional goods, abundance of supply cannot relieve the fundamental scarcity – at least without undermining the intrinsic value of the good.

What can be said about ethical distributions of the three types of goods? Starting with rivalrous goods like apples, Russell indicates that, holding total intrinsic value constant, he does not believe that a society in which that value is evenly distributed is necessarily better than one in which it is not. If inequality breeds resentment and fear, then equality surely is preferred, but some societies can have inequality without resentment, and possibly there are even desirable consequences arising from inequality. Russell endorses distributive justice in means, not necessarily in ends: equality of opportunity, not of result. Further, he thinks that justice in means will produce outcomes that are fairly equal, too. Many traditional moral teachings aim at inculcating just behavior, but these precepts alone have a hard time exerting influence in situations where there is a large gulf between individual and social interests. Better political and economic institutions would ensure that goods such as food would be distributed evenly enough that the allocation of these goods would be removed from the moral sphere.

Positional goods such as power cannot be so easily divorced from the realm of morality. Virtually everyone wants more power, at least within their (perhaps quite restricted) domain, and the love of power is at the root of most wars and revolutions. Unconstrained power is almost always misused, so there is much to be said for equalizing the distribution of power – and indeed, progress in this direction has been considerable. “Kings, slave-owners, husbands and fathers have been successively deposed…[p. 135].”

Moral suasion alone generally proves insufficient at curbing abuses of power. A complementary approach, one employed by democracies, is to cultivate resistance among the victims of power. Education can channel the passion for power into socially beneficial paths. “In regard to power, as in other directions, the best ethical maxims are not ascetic, but consist rather in encouraging and providing outlets which are not destructive [p. 135].”

Oddly, goods that can be available to everyone, such as basic health care and joy at creative works, are not all that equally distributed. Any pleasure that requires access to higher education or significant amounts of leisure time is accessible only by a minority, though again, improved political and economic institutions could alter this situation.

We owe to posterity a protected environment and an improved civilization, though we are far too cavalier in guaranteeing these bequests. We are reckless in putting the future survival of humanity at risk through warfare. Our evaluation of a society must go beyond the happiness of its members, to include its additions to civilizational capital.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter X

2010-01-17T19:14:00.000-08:00

Chapter X (pages 119-129), “Authority in Ethics”

Quotidian morality overdetermines proper behavior: an act is praiseworthy because God, Truth, the Community, and Conscience all support it. “In face of this ethical broadside, it is hoped that your carnal desires will shrink abashed [p. 119].” But actual behavior doesn’t seem to be improved when people accept the whole pantheon of ethical authority – monks in 13th century Italy seem to have been all but addicted to rape, for instance, despite the universal condemnation of rape, and the widespread belief that it would be punished with eternal damnation.

Why should I act in the way that you recommend? One possible answer is that to act in that manner is in keeping with God’s will. But why should I act to serve God’s will? The traditional Christian argument appeals to long-term self-interest: you will be damned if you don’t, and receive heavenly rewards if you do. The suggestion to obey God’s will, then, has the same ethical loading as other prudential advice, such as to “Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy”.

How is God’s will to be known? How can I convince you of what God’s will consists, if you do not already share my opinion? For centuries Jews and Protestants have disagreed about what day, Saturday or Sunday, God desires that we abstain from work. This disagreement cannot be settled through any legitimate, objective means. Hundreds of thousands of people have been massacred in the recent past thanks to irreconcilable differences over what types of animals God commands us not to eat. “It can hardly be said, therefore, that the Will of God gives a basis for an objective ethic [p. 121].” Nevertheless, shared beliefs about the divine will can inspire your side in a conflict. British military honchos believe that an acceptance of Christianity heartens “those who have to drop hydrogen bombs [p. 121]” – perhaps not much of an endorsement for Christian ethics.

A secular equivalent to a reliance upon God’s will is an appeal to conscience (or Truth), where it is believed that acts that your conscience approves are as objectively obvious as the notion that grass is green -- but they aren't that obvious. “There are just the same sort of disagreements as to what conscience prescribes as there are about the Will of God, and there is not, as in science, a recognized technique for resolving disagreements [p. 122].” Communities and governments might be able to establish a local uniformity about what acts conscience dictates, but these views will be far from universal.

As in previous chapters, Russell argues that our notion of what one “ought” to do must be connected with sentience and human preferences – appeals to divine will or conscience are not enough. He appends to this starting point a sort of anonymity axiom, the notion that when person A tells person B what B “ought” to do, the truth of that assertion should not depend on the identity of person A. Injunctions arising from specific religious or nationalistic predilections, then, can have no objective ethical force (at least absent other justifications). Nevertheless, the proper role of ethics, like that of law and custom, is to induce (as if by an invisible hand, as it were) individual behavior that helps to promote the social good. But for the anonymity axiom to be met, the society whose good is at issue has to include everyone, and perhaps include non-human sentient beings, too.

Some disagreements that appear to be ethical actually are factual disagreements over the best means to achieve a shared end. More information can settle these disagreements, and reveal that they were not ethical controversies at all. For an actual ethical disagreement, Russell again invokes (as he did in Chapters VII and IX) the example of vindictive punishment. Proponents of Hellfire support vindictive punishment, as there is no redemption in Hell. (Russell implicitly is ignoring the deterrence aspect of punishment, though he did discuss it in Chapter VII and immediately brings it up here in the case of post-World War I Germany.) Russell cannot prove that it is wrong to embrace vindictive punishment, but he offers two arguments in this direction. The first is that of Chapter VII, that the whole notion of sin is misguided. The second is that vindictive punishment doesn’t work (even with respect to satisfying the desires of the punishers) – witness the Nazi rise after Versailles.

Practical disputes often are about not what things possess inherent value, but about who will get to enjoy the value: disputes about shares of the pie, not the overall size. Power tends to be the decider. Of course, this suggests a meta-analysis, as to the type of system that best can regulate these power struggles.

Consider cruelty. To serve overall preferences, cruelty should not be countenanced – the disapproval of cruelty is desirable, as it diminishes the amount of cruelty. But the laudable disapproval of cruelty does not extend to the use of cruelty towards those who employ cruelty. The best policy to adopt against cruel people is that which is most effective at reducing the overall amount of cruelty – and this might require kindness towards cruel people. (A variation on Hamlet: one must be kind, only to minimize cruelty?) “Such considerations, I maintain, show that our ethic justifies a proper horror of cruelty without justifying the excesses to which this horror often leads [p. 129].”

While ethics might primarily concern meshing individual interest with social interests, individuality must be protected. The great contributions of the past often came from people who were working in the face of popular disapproval. Like his godfather J.S. Mill, Russell suggests that to protect the interests of the individual, and to continue to secure currently unpopular advances, society should only constrain individual activity when that activity is a clear source of harm to others.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter IX

2010-01-09T11:05:00.000-08:00

Chapter IX (pages 110-118), “Is there Ethical Knowledge?”

Is the notion that cruelty is bad (or that the world is better if people are happy) just an opinion, no more ethically valid then the opposite assertion? Is what we call ethics simply our preferences, or is there some objective sense in which cruelty is ethically worse than kindness? Do ethical terms such as “ought” and “good” apply to people in general, or are they inextricably tied up with one person’s inclinations – in which case ethical disputes cannot be resolved through logical reasoning?

Russell defines a “good” act to be one that possesses “intrinsic value,” independently of its consequences. Further, for this approach to work, we have to be able to assess intrinsic value, to have an ethical intuition of what acts have (or don’t have) intrinsic values, as well as the magnitude of those values. Then, one “ought” to choose that act which, among the feasible alternatives, possesses the highest net intrinsic value – where we subtract the intrinsic disvalues from the intrinsic values of an act. Intrinsic value and intrinsic disvalue are measured in comparable units for Russell, so that an act has zero (net) intrinsic value if its intrinsic value equals its intrinsic disvalue. [More precisely, Russell states this proposition the other way around, where an intrinsic value equals an intrinsic disvalue if the act that brings both of these quantities into being has zero (net) value.]

Russell claims that “intrinsic value” assessments are subject to fewer disagreements than occur when starting with assertions about what ought to be done. Disagreements over what should be done usually can be traced to differentiated views of the likely consequences of actions – even when guides to behavior are stated in absolute terms, as with taboos. Any judgment of the ethical quality of an act based on its consequences will be akin to the net valuation approach Russell has outlined. Nevertheless, difficulties remain in assessing value, such as whether there is a positive value in vindictive punishment (as believers in hell must believe – and as Russell discussed and rejected in Chapter VII).

Intrinsic value seems to be attached to pleasure and to the understanding of that pleasure – what could be said to have intrinsic value in a world without sentience? [Russell here is reprising some of his thoughts from Chapter I.] So pleasure naturally presents itself as a gauge to intrinsic value. The claim that pleasure is good and pain bad – is that just another way of saying that “‘we like pleasure and dislike pain [p. 113]’”? Russell suggests that our notion that pleasure is good goes deeper. Desires of different people – to win a prize, for instance – can be at odds, so we can’t just say that things desired are inherently valuable. We can sidestep this problem by de-personalizing the situation. In that case, something (such as winning a prize) has intrinsic value if it is desired by the person who experiences it.

Russell explicitly rejects the idea that pleasure is good, but adopts it as a working hypothesis, on the grounds that a more exact rendering of the good does not add much in the way of understanding ethics. For civilized societies, Russell largely endorses Henry Sidgwick’s approach in Methods of Ethics, that the ethical rules (such as “don’t lie”) are consistent with the pleasure principle, as are the exceptions that we admit to those rules.

Blame and praise carry with them emotions and judgments. To find an act blameworthy is to disapprove of it, and to believe that the disapproval is proper. Or perhaps both elements are emotional, the disapproval as well as the approval of the disapproval. A person with different ethics might not agree that the act is blameworthy – but his view is just voicing an alternative emotion. When can a judgment be objectively “right”? Surely a “right” act should be one that typically meets with approval. Russell asserts (page 115) that most acts which garner approval share a common feature; further, approved acts that lack this feature eventually fall into disfavor. We ought to choose acts that are the most right.

Why did people in the Middle Ages approve of burning witches, while we do not? Because views towards the effects of actions have changed. We would still condemn witches if we thought their acts had the same ill effects previously attributed to them. “We are thus led to the conclusion that there is more agreement among mankind as to the effects at which we should aim than as to the kind of acts that are approved [p. 117].” Perhaps the broadest commonly desired effect – though not the exclusive one – is the promotion of pleasure. But Russell appends “intelligence and aesthetic sensibility [p. 117]” to other commonly-approved-of features: “If we were really persuaded that pigs are happier than human beings, we should not on that account welcome the ministrations of Circe [p. 117].” [Russell’s godfather, John Stuart Mill, in Chapter II of Utilitarianism, famously voiced a similar sentiment: “It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, is of a different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question. The other party to the comparison knows both sides.”] Nor is it the case that the value we put on activities directly reflects the pleasures that they bring.

So by this type of approach, we can say that a judgment of approval of an act that does not promote pleasure is a wrong judgment. Ethical statements can have an objective basis. Nevertheless, these objective truths are grounded in emotions and feelings: emotions are our basis for differentiating right from wrong, and feelings (of satisfaction) underpin our conceptions of the inherent values of acts.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter VIII

2009-12-06T14:17:00.000-08:00

Chapter VIII (pages 100-109), “Ethical Controversy”

Does ethics have anything to offer in helping to decide which of two situations is desirable, when both sides have their champions?

Why might people (or groups) hold different opinions? First, they might have shared goals, but differ on the preferred means to achieve those goals. Second, one side, but not the other, might think that a course of action is evil, irrespective of consequences. Third, people might disagree about what ends to pursue. Many political issues are about ends – labor unions favor shorter work weeks, capital owners longer work weeks – but the public discussion will be undertaken under the pretense that the difference is about the means to achieve the highest productivity. When disputes really are about the best means to a shared goal, there is no ethical loading: the right answer is an empirical matter.

Disagreements about whether a course of action is evil cannot be settled via a logical proof. Nevertheless, Russell suggests that evidence of harmful consequences, or lack thereof, from a course of action should have some bearing upon opinion. The Amish think of buttons as evil, but careful historical evidence that no harm has been associated with button-wearing might, and ought to, shake that belief. Likewise, if an Amish person can demonstrate the harm of button-wearing, the rest of us should adopt the opinion that button-wearing is evil.

Nonetheless, Russell makes concessions to irrational beliefs or repugnance. If a person is repulsed by an objectively innocent act, then he would be distressed to witness the act. “If you had a guest who thought it wicked to play cards on Sunday, while the rest of the company had no such scruple, you would be guilty of unkindness if you ignored his feelings [p. 103].” So the belief that an act is wrong might render it wrong – if the rightness of acts is associated with satisfying desires, as Russell has stipulated.

Supporters of slavery in the US and of serfdom in Russia were incapable of seeing how the interests of slaves and serfs should matter. “In both countries, when men could no longer deny that the oppressed had the same capacity for joy and sorrow as their oppressors, the oppressive institution was abolished [p. 103].” The controversy over slavery and serfdom resulted from an empirical matter – the emotional lives of slaves and serfs – and that controversy ended when the empirical matter was resolved.

Other arguments for slavery are that it is essential, or that slaves are means not ends, unworthy of standing in the social cost-benefit calculus. Perhaps in the past slavery really was essential for civilization, but Russell explicitly rejects further pursuit of this topic. Slaveholders who treat slaves as means live in fear and adopt cruel tactics – they cannot achieve contentment or inner peace. The same fear, the same sacrifice of tranquility (and embrace, perhaps, of war and annihilation) is the lot of those who do not grant social standing to people of other nations, or ethnicities, or religions. You needn’t invoke ethics to make a case for treating others as ends in themselves – “enlightened self-interest [p. 106]” often will point you in the right direction. Paradoxically, in these matters of contempt and rivalry people are more persuaded to take socially useful acts by appealing to their altruistic side than to their self-interest: their judgment is so clouded that they will not be able to understand their own interest. [Russell here is very close to Adam Smith’s view in The Theory of Moral Sentiments. Nationalism and faction, according to Smith (see Part VI, Chapter II, "Of the order in which Societies are by nature recommended to our Beneficence"), generally corrupt our impartial spectator, the being we develop inside our breast whose lack of partiality to our own interests is our guide to proper behavior.]

The interests of different people, however, might generally conflict. I might be better off (and you worse off) if I can steal from you, though the opposite might be true if you can steal from me. (Russell is positing a sort of prisoners’ dilemma situation, where the general interest would be well-served by constraints against stealing that bind both of us.) “Law and government are institutions by which it is sought to bring the general interest to bear on the individual; so is public opinion in the form of praise and blame [p. 107].” As a result, in places with effective policing, most individuals see no gain from engaging in crime. But the international arena lacks police officers, so many people have difficulty seeing how restraining their behavior to avoid imposing on the rest of the world is beneficial.

“What a man will consider to constitute his happiness depends upon his passions, and these in turn depend upon his education and social circumstances as well as upon his congenital endowment [p. 107].” Young people can be led to develop interests that harmonize with social utility, and to behave as global citizens; the current practice is to indoctrinate the young to act in their nation’s interests. A world government could be established, with tremendous benefits to humanity, but it requires the solution to the prisoners’ dilemma played out among the powerful nations.

Russell concludes this chapter by returning to the difficulties of a Nietzschean scheme that openly promotes the interests of only a subset of humanity, the supermen. (See Chapter V.) This philosophy will be opposed by all who do not belong to the chosen group, though the oppressed might adopt the philosophy, with themselves as supermen, were they to become sufficiently powerful. “It is obvious that this doctrine of the supremacy of a section of mankind can only breed endless strife, with periodic changes as to which group is to be dominant [p. 108].” The current rulers will be cruel and fearful, like slaveholders. They will be miserable and eventually forcibly usurped – why would anyone choose to live in such a way?

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter VII

2009-11-26T10:22:00.000-08:00

Chapter VII (pages 89-99), “Sin”

Even people who proclaim that they are liberated from all traditional sources of shame nevertheless probably do view some behaviors as sinful. The sense of shame is so universal that many people think it is innate, but Russell believes that it is instilled in youth by the threat of punishment or disapproval from respected authority figures. (Disobedience only feels shameful when it is directed against those who really are respected.) This early childhood experience of disapproval leaves a lasting legacy, a vague (or not so vague) sense of sin for acts committed in adulthood. Adults can even feel shame when the only person (or deity) who disapproves of an action is the actor himself. Historically, and today, sin is associated not with acts that harm others, but with acts that are perceived as taboo – and of course sin is a central element in Christian theology.

Even if sin is divorced from a religious context, and is viewed as an act against conscience as opposed to an act against the will of God, it generally is felt to merit punishment. Sometimes the punishment – including everlasting perdition – is seen as justifiable solely on grounds of retribution. Another view, however, is that punishment should be inflicted only to deter socially harmful acts. Further, retribution cannot be sensible if it is inflicted upon people whose choices are not the result of free will. But Russell’s approach to "free will" seems to equate it with a lack of any systematic tendencies in choice, so that standard incentives and disincentives would have unpredictable effects. “If free will were common, all social organization would be impossible, since there would be no way of influencing men’s actions [p. 97].”

The usual incentives and disincentives, including praise and blame, do make sense, however, if we reject the Russellian version of free will: then society can reliably direct behavior towards desirable ends. But the notion of sin does not add anything useful. Punishing sane people who murder has a deterrent effect. Criminally insane people cannot be deterred by the threat of execution, however, and hence it is useless to execute them. “Murder is punished, not because it is a sin and it is good that sinners should suffer, but because the community wishes to prevent it, and fear of punishment causes most people to abstain from it [p. 97].”

So the concept of sin is unnecessary or worse than unnecessary: it leads to cruelty towards others, “and a morbid self-abasement when it is ourselves whom we condemn [p. 98].” Punishment as retribution alone is an evil; punishment can be tolerated only on the grounds that it helps to reform or deter malefactors. If the public could be led permanently to believe that criminals were being imprisoned, when in fact they were being sent to live far away in idyllic circumstances, that would be better than actually inflicting punishment. A similar notion applies to the application of blame. That people strive to be praiseworthy and to avoid blame is useful to society. But once a person has done something blameworthy, the actual bestowal of blame has little to be said for it.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter VI

2009-10-16T20:07:00.000-07:00

Chapter VI (pages 72-88), “Moral Obligation”

So far Russell has promulgated the debatable notion that people should choose in ways to promote the public good. But this principle provides little guidance to someone seeking knowledge of what acts to undertake. Of what, more precisely, does moral obligation consist?

It does not consist of obedience, to God’s will or to some mortal’s will. Even if God’s will is always right, our notion of right takes precedence: if God’s will required murder, it would not be right. That is, we cannot start by defining “right” as “God’s will” – nor can what we “ought” to do be defined by obedience to any divine or mortal will. A similar argument indicates that the approval of others or the approval of a specific person cannot be the rule for moral behavior.

But what about our individual consciences? Should a person “ought” to do what his or her own conscience recommends? The idea that this is a proper moral rule is not contradicted by the fact that different people have consciences that approve vastly different behaviors. Further, though I might prefer that someone’s conscience were different, I can’t convince him of the superiority of my view – conformity of his actions with his conscience is his only (and arguably proper) moral guide. Even if that guide leads to terrible consequences, what of it? Logic cannot overrule the moral appropriateness of obeying one’s own conscience, “for every man who follows his conscience is morally perfect [p. 76].” In fact, as habit tends to dull the pangs of conscience, this approach suggests that the longer you persist in doing sin, the more virtuous your behavior becomes.

In practice, how do people come to believe that certain behaviors are proper? The typical source is the approval or disapproval that various actions meet with in childhood, from parents and others. In adulthood, even if the sense of blame is dissipated, it leaves an impression. Young people also adjust their moral views to their environment. “The boy who has been taught at home that it is wicked to swear, easily loses this belief when he finds that the schoolfellows whom he most admires are addicted to blasphemy [p. 76].”

Nevertheless, moral views are not entirely dependent on praise and blame. People adopt moral views that go against the grain, and those views have some source. What is praised and what is blamed is not random, either. “It would seem that the moral qualities which are most actively admired are courage and self-sacrifice on behalf of one’s own group [p.78].” While the desire for praise and the avoidance of blame motivate much useful behavior, so do other emotions. Conscience is a sort of praise/blame calculus, but directed inward at contemplated actions – and the internal assessment might run afoul of the generally prevailing accounting. Someone who follows the dictates of his own conscience might be said to take subjectively proper actions, though those actions might not be objectively proper.

The problem of defining objectively correct behavior remains. Russell posits that objectively correct behavior is “that which best serves the interest of the group that is regarded as ethically dominant [p. 80].” But what group? (We might even want to take account of the interests of non-human animals.) There doesn’t seem to be any logical reason to prefer one group to another.

Russell returns to the reason for wanting to understand objectively correct behavior in the first place: to serve as a guide to such behavior. So the approach, to be helpful, should be capable of distinguishing correct from incorrect behavior, and provide some motive to take the preferred action.

A reflective person, seeking to find a rule for determining ethically proper actions, will realize that the rule cannot give himself or some group he belongs to a privileged position – unless the group is strong enough to dominate all others. But two different rules still suggest themselves: (1) Every person should pursue his own good; or (2) every person should pursue the general good. (Recall that Russell has defined “good” as satisfying a desire.) If my most intense selfish preference is to promote the general good, then the two rules produce identical results -- likewise, if my selfish preference doesn’t refer directly to the general good, but nevertheless leads to acts that simultaneously serve the public interest.

Can we differentiate good from bad desires, without asking what the likely consequences are of acting upon those desires? Russell suggests that the reason we think more highly of love than of hate as a motivation is because of the consequences that tend to stem from actions motivated from those two emotions. Any rule of behavior that we support through ethical intuition is one that also leads to desirable consequences. We do not need ethical intuition: we can generate guidance for actions simply by following the principle that it is objectively right to act to promote the general good.

People will pursue their own good. How can it be that telling them to pursue the general good will actually provide them with motivation to do so? Of course, the carrots and sticks of law and society can be used to align individual and social incentives. But of the many possible desires that I might hold, some of them intrinsically are more in line with the social good than are others. These desires might be considered “good” or “right,” and are worthy of “more moral respect than those [desires] that run counter to the general interests of the community [p. 85].”

A possible rule that indicates moral correctness cannot involve a specific individual. Even if that person is all wise, the rule needn’t name him: the rule could be to follow the all-wise individual, who might be someone else tomorrow. Alternatively, perhaps we ought to like one type of person and hate another type. Then, satisfaction of the desires of those whom we hate would not be good. One reason to reject this approach is consequential: hate will breed hate. In addition, we might possess an emotional commitment to neutrality or universal benevolence. Still, in searching for a rule of moral obligation, the dividing up of mankind into a good group and a bad group cannot be ruled out on logical grounds.

Russell concludes the chapter with a summary (pages 87-88), and I for one am glad, because I found the chapter itself to be nonlinear and hard to follow. What to make of the notion, “’A right act is one which aims at the greatest possible satisfaction of the desires of sentient beings [p. 88]’”? By this statement, Russell intends to imply that (1) he experiences a feeling of emotional approval of such acts; (2) he has an emotional commitment to equality such that the desires of every person count the same; (3) his approach could be universally adopted, which non-egalitarian alternatives would have a hard time with; and (4) he would like his view to be adopted by everyone. Russell postpones discussing whether ethical argument admits an impersonal standard of truth.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter V

2009-09-16T09:29:00.000-07:00

Chapter V (pages 60-71), “Partial and General Goods”

The general good is the overall satisfaction of desires in a society. In a competition for a political post, only one candidate will win, so his satisfaction (and his supporters’) comes at the expense of the satisfaction of the opposed party. This is inevitable – laws and ethics can mitigate such conflicts, but not eliminate them.

Love your neighbor-type precepts aim to make individuals care about the general good; nationalism tends to restrict the society whose interests you want to promote to be that of your country, and racism to those who share your race. Class connections, whether aristocratic or proletarian, also can serve as the border for whose preferences are deemed worthy of regard. Some philosophers limit the in-group still further, to family, perhaps, or even, in the case of psychological hedonists, oneself. This latter group (the psychological hedonists), which includes the early utilitarians, believes that people necessarily choose to promote their own interests or pleasure, so that it is society’s duty to make those interests coincide as closely as possible to the public good – perhaps even invoking divine rewards and punishments for the purpose.

People do not desire only their own pleasure, however, though it is easy to think they do, since people enjoy meeting their desires and the pleasure they take from preference satisfaction can be mistaken for the object of their behavior. The desire for food, which all humans and animals have, can be distinguished from the desire for the pleasure of food that gourmands display.

The pleasure of satisfying a desire comes in two forms; one form arises simply from meeting your goal, while the second is the pleasure that inheres in the goal itself. “If you chase round the town in search of oranges, and at last obtain some, you have not only the pleasure that the oranges would have given you if you had obtained them without difficulty, but also the pleasure of success [p. 63].”

People desire things beyond their own pleasure; further, they often desire things beyond their own lifetime, beyond their own capacity for pleasure, such as the future prosperity of their family or friends. (Russell echoes (page 64) his thoughts in The Conquest of Happiness by noting how a zest for life can be maintained into old age through broad interests.) To some extent this is the common condition: most people on the brink of death would be rendered still more unhappy if they learned that mankind would shortly annihilate itself in a nuclear catastrophe. Interests beyond one’s own pleasure can lack compossibility just as much as hedonistic interests can. People who desire that the whole world share their religion will find little fellow-feeling on that score with people who actually do feel similarly, but are of a different religion.

What positions can be adopted by people who have a limited view of what group’s interests are to be served, whether that group be religious or national or class-based or whatever? How can they justify ignoring the preferences of the rest of humanity? One possibility is to believe that the interests of all of mankind are indeed equivalent to the interests of the chosen group, even though those outside the group do not understand this. (Russell subsequently (p. 65) terms this position “enlightened imperialism.”) Second, a person might believe that the preferred group possesses a special quality that gives them standing, while people outside the group can be used as means to serving the ends of the special ones. Third, a person might believe that all groups have standing, but that it is admissible for a member of a group to advocate only for his group’s interests, that is, to be openly biased, and to contend with the advocates of other groups.

The ancient Greeks and Romans were enlightened imperialists, believing that their way of life was better than those of the barbarians they conquered. Christians and Muslims feel similarly, as did many proponents of the British Empire. Hegel and Marx both provide theoretical underpinnings for related views, where selected nations or classes are vehicles of global progress.

The second belief, that the interests of those outside the chosen group do not have any ethical standing, is the way most people feel about animals, which serve either as means to human ends or as obstacles to be overcome. With respect to humans, the theory of Christianity argues for good treatment of all people, though Christianity in practice generally falls short of this ideal. White men in North America have not regarded the interests of blacks or Native Americans as worthy of much respect -- a view now in decline. Nietzsche is a spokesperson for the idea that the mass of humanity is unimportant, and should be enlisted to serve the purposes of the handful of enlightened people. Who is enlightened? Here, Nietzsche’s approach is less obvious than that of those who use race or nationality or class to distinguish the chosen few; it seems to come down to people “whom Nietzsche admires [p. 68].” One could imagine, however, a more precise Nietzschean standard, based, for instance, on an IQ threshold.

The third view, that one should advocate for one's own group even while recognizing that the interests of others have more or less equal ethical weight, is quite commonly held. In matters of foreign relations and war, for instance, it is thought right that people should serve their own government’s policy – even if it is a bad policy when the interests of the world at large are considered. People often do not respect traitors from enemy countries, though those traitors might be betraying an evil government, one that has earned betrayal. Similarly, people can be sympathetic towards those who serve their family’s interest at society’s expense. This third view separates the general good from a view of “right” conduct: behavior can be considered “right” even when it is not “good,” that is, when the behavior does not promote the interests of people overall. There is a certain fragility to this approach, since once it is accepted that all groups have ethical standing, there isn’t a strong argument for choosing to ignore the interests of other groups in evaluating the propriety of your own conduct, or for selecting one partition of people into groups over another.

The three views outlined above, in which only the interests of a specific sub-group of humanity are directly attended to, are not very compelling. There is no theoretical reason to believe that enlightened imperialism really does serve the long-term interests of the unenlightened: it is an empirical matter. The Nietzschean approach presents the prickly problem of identifying the supermen. “In practice, vanity and conceit furnish the definition: I am, of course, a superman, and I must admit enough people of approximately equal merit to give the group a chance of surviving the indignation and ridicule of the rest [p. 70].” The idea that one should work exclusively for one’s own group has practical utility, as I am better informed about, and more able to promote, the interests of my group than the interests of distant others. Nevertheless, ignoring foreign countries, as the world becomes more interconnected, can lead to acts that impose much suffering elsewhere. The principle of promoting the general good seems to survive the challenge posed by alternatives that focus on the interests of specific subgroups of humanity.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter IV

2009-09-01T18:14:00.000-07:00

Chapter IV (pages 51-59), “Good and Bad”

Russell posits that something is good if it is valued for itself, and not solely as a means to some desirable consequences. Painful behaviors that promote health are useful but not good. Pleasures such as wine that perhaps undermine health are good but not useful. [There seems to be an immediate issue of reductio here – why cannot it be said that the pleasure afforded by wine is the consequence sought, and that wine consumption is but a means to that end? – RBR] Without endorsing utilitarianism, Russell nonetheless maintains that most pleasures are good in his accounting, and most pains bad.

We think that the pleasure that accompanies the taking of a beneficent act is good, while the pleasure that accompanies taking a cruel act is bad. But this view reflects a means/end confusion. Imagine that we could experience the pleasure of behaving cruelly in a manner that brought no harm to anyone else – then that pleasure in cruelty might be fine, no? Intoxicants that brought no hangovers or family troubles, even to over-indulgers, might be all to the good as well. We can’t value something as a means unless we already have placed a value on the end to which it serves as a means. “It follows that intrinsic value is logically prior to value as means [p. 52].”

Forethought, and the willingness to make present sacrifices for future gains, is what distinguishes the civilized from savages, and adults from children. Moralists put great stress on these sacrifices, sometimes even divorcing their inherent goodness from the value of the subsequent reward. Excessive devotion to means and not ends takes the joy out of life; this is recognized in extreme cases such as that of misers, but the malady is common and even celebrated in less pronounced forms. Suppression of the enjoyment of ends leads to its eruption in negative contexts, “in war or cruelty or intrigue or some other destructive activity [p. 53].”

Capitalists preoccupied with means, not ends, will engage in deceptive practices if it brings higher profits – and will be esteemed for their acumen. Workers view their jobs and pay as more important than the value of what they produce, and will try to suppress new methods that reduce the need for labor in manufacturing. An economic view of the productive system might look at tractors as an input to produce food to keep men alive to produce still more tractors, and so on, without considering ultimate ends. The teaching of mathematics is approached the same way at university, to train people who can teach math to more people… (The case for state support escapes this logic by focusing on the military advantages that can be achieved through mathematics.) A concern with ends relaxes the focus on production for its own sake, and rather asks, “what has there been in the lives of consumers and producers to make them glad to be alive [pp. 54-55]?”

If we had no desire for pleasure or for the avoidance of pain, we would think of nothing as either good or bad. So a definition of the “good” must implicate human desires, and Russell suggests that indeed, good may be defined as “‘satisfaction of desire [p. 55].’” One state of affairs is better than another if the first “satisfies more desires or a more intense desire [p. 55].” These definitions seem to accord well with common ethical understandings (and though Russell does not say so, again his approach jibes well with utilitarianism). People act in ways to satisfy their own desires, but their acts might not be good, because the acts might not serve well the desires of others. To act in a manner to satisfy your desires does not imply selfishness, as your desires can include the welfare of your family, friends, or nation, for example. “But though my wishes may be unselfish, they must be mine if they are to affect my actions [p. 56].” Given the reality of diminishing marginal utility, a benevolent disposition (that leads to sharing of a windfall of chocolates, for instance), leads to a better outcome than arises from a more self-centered personality.

An action is right, then, if it tends to promote the general good. There is be little to be said for expressing the grand sentiment that one should take such right actions, in the absence of some incentive to do so. These incentives can come in many forms, including legal sanctions, popular approval, or the development of a generous nature. A statement that one should promote the general good, if it is to have meaning, implies that social pressures to provide inducements to right behavior are themselves good, and should be applied.

(Instead of defining “good” and then defining “right,” as Russell is doing, we could go the other way around. But societies greatly differ on what they think of as right, partly because, as in the case of taboos, differing beliefs exist about the consequences of various types of conduct.)

What about a desire for cruelty? Is satisfaction of such a desire good? Russell argues (page 58) that if one person’s desire for cruelty could be considered in isolation, and could be satisfied without actually involving the suffering of someone else, then even satisfying such a desire would add to overall happiness.

Sometimes the desires of different people are compatible – Russell, citing Leibniz, employs the term “compossible” – and sometimes the satisfaction of one person’s desire implies that someone else’s desire cannot be satisfied. Overall satisfaction is greater with compossible desires, as opposed to incompatible wants. As means, therefore, compossible desires are preferable: mutual love is better than enmity, peace is better than war, and so on. Desires themselves can be judged to be good or bad (or right or wrong) in this fashion. Generally speaking, right desires are those that largely are compossible: that is, the satisfaction of such desires does not require the thwarting of the desires of others.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter III

2009-08-11T20:34:00.000-07:00

Chapter III (pages 44-50), “Morality as a Means”

Though there are various ethical codes, people do not believe that one is just as good as another. Ethics cannot be reduced to the admonition to do what the ethical code of your community recommends. This realization does not rule out the view that ethics consists of (everywhere) following the moral code of my community – many of the theologically inclined take this approach. There are conflicting theologies, however, so philosophically minded people still need a reason (beyond proclaimed revelation) to prefer one moral code to another. An appeal to the priority of individual conscience suffers from the same detriment, given that consciences vary.

Rules such as “thou shalt not kill” are very coarse, and admit some exceptions – though people might disagree about when homicide is justifiable. It seems that the only resolution is to posit some end that behavior should serve. Behavior that serves a good end is then proper behavior. The utilitarians take this approach, where good behavior is that which serves a useful end; further, for the utilitarians, the useful end is the greatest happiness. But their consequentialist approach can be adopted even if the goal of happiness is replaced with some alternative criterion. Most ethical codes, perhaps implicitly, are of this nature. Breaking a taboo is wrong because bad consequences will ensue. (Later [p. 50], Russell notes that some taboos [such as that against masturbation] outlive the belief in the dreaded consequences that once were associated with their violation.) Being meek will lead to inheriting the earth. Even those codes that assert divine revelation as their basis often provide additional consequential arguments. If not, the codes could state the opposite, requiring murder as much as prohibiting it. Theologians assert that divine decrees are good, and this assertion indicates that goodness is a more primitive concept for them than is divine promulgation. “God could not have enjoined [required] murder, since such a decree would have had evil consequences [p. 48].” Aquinas (consequently!) defends Christian morality through utilitarian arguments.

The Stoics and Kant both argued that virtue was an end in itself, and not desirable only because it served other desirable ends. For the Stoics, adverse conditions were those best suited to promoting virtue. Nevertheless, Stoic leaders such as Marcus Aurelius did not seek out adverse circumstances for their subjects. Instead, Aurelius, for instance, labored intensely to ensure his subjects’ happiness, even though his philosophy claimed that happiness was immaterial. Kant thought that a good deed done to promote some end (other than being virtuous itself) was not praiseworthy. Helping someone because you like him is morally indifferent, but helping someone you despise because the virtuous act consists of such help is laudable. Nevertheless, Kant holds out the prospect of an eternal afterlife where good people will be rewarded with happiness. “If he really believed what he thinks he believes, he would not regard heaven as a place where the good are happy, but as a place where they have never-ending opportunities of doing kindnesses to people whom they dislike [p. 49].”

Russell concludes by adopting (somewhat less-than-wholeheartedly) the consequentialist approach. Some ends are good, others are bad. Proper behavior is that which promotes, on net, desirable consequences. “If this view is accepted, the next step must be to investigate what can be meant by ‘good’ and ‘bad’ [p. 50].”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter II

2009-08-09T09:57:00.000-07:00

Chapter II (pages 38-43), “Moral Codes”

Most acts, especially those that are self-regarding, are morally neutral. Nevertheless, in every society there are certain behaviors that are required and others that are forbidden. Individuals who violate these social precepts bring scorn upon themselves, though rich people are given more scope to choose without incurring disapproval. The moral codes that are active in different societies vary greatly. "In view of this diversity of moral codes, we cannot say that acts of one kind are right or acts of another kind wrong, unless we have first found a way of deciding that some codes are better than others [p. 39].” Most people make their decision about the relative value of a moral code based on a highly parochial viewpoint.

Perhaps people cannot be blamed for following their local moral code, but surely it often is praiseworthy to deviate from it. Many social advances, such as the abolition of cannibalism or slavery, have emanated from moral reformers who rejected part of their received code. While it is admitted that such disobedience was helpful in other times and places, the general feeling is that our current moral code is essentially perfect.

For the most part, avoiding sin is all that is required to be reputed a moral man – you needn’t take actions that are positively kind or beneficial to others. The fears of sinning that are inculcated in people lead to excessive self-centeredness and timidity. Great lives are made of sterner stuff. Positive duties are imposed in each profession, however, from king to firefighter; occupations develop their own morality, which sometimes is codified in law.

Two ethical codes can both be current, though they are contradictory. Christian non-violence long coexisted with codes of honour that required dueling (and hence homicide) over insults among gentlemen. Despite the absurdities and the tragedies that have been connected with it, the ethic of honour also roused people to a higher regard for others and a distaste for betrayal. “When the conception of honour is freed from aristocratic insolence and from proneness to violence, something remains which helps to preserve personal integrity and to promote mutual trust in social relations [p. 43].”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Chapter I

2009-08-02T17:31:00.000-07:00

Chapter I (pages 25-37), “Sources of Ethical Beliefs and Feelings”

Ethics is based on feelings, which give meaning to claims about what “should” be done. A non-sentient world that operated mechanically (like distant, lifeless astronomical processes) would have no good or bad attached to its behavior. [Russell avoids the Hamlet quote: “there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”] Is there ethical knowledge, that is, is there any sense in which a statement that something is good can be true or false? Russell claims that there is no easy answer to such an inquiry. There seems to be a difference between the proposition that a food is good and that torture is good; people who disagree might be willing to fight about the latter, but not about the former. Maybe not all ethical propositions are subjective. Further, the persuasive power of some ethical claims is tied to theological beliefs: loss of the beliefs undermines the influence of the claims. Nineteenth century philosophers argued (and demonstrated in their lives) that non-religious people needn’t be wicked, though the totalitarian tragedies emanating from some twentieth century non-believers have rekindled the question.

Ethics come from two sources, one political, the second personal (and often religious). “Without civic morality communities perish; without personal morality their survival has no value [p. 28].” Much of the praise and blame attached to actions in primitive societies is based on superstition – even those precepts that serve a rational purpose often have had their genesis in superstition. Taboo (Russell writes “tabu”) is the mechanism of much primitive morality – and a good deal survives in civilized countries, too, including marriage and sex codes, and food-related rules like not eating beef or pork. Taboo sometimes does prohibit acts that really would be dangerous to society, however, such as murder or regicide, and does so more efficaciously than other methods of promulgating norms. There is a danger that in throwing off even otherwise irrational religious taboos, rule adherence in general will decay – perhaps leading to dictatorship. Nevertheless, Russell favors abandoning “tabu morality [p. 31].”

One problem with maintaining taboos is that you might have to handicap the educational system, to keep people from understanding the superstitious nature of taboos. “The necessary degree of stupidity [for maintaining respect for taboos] is socially harmful, and can only be secured by means of a rigidly obscurantist régime [p. 32].” A second problem is the loss of what modern economists would call “marginal deterrence”: once someone sees no reason to abide by an irrational taboo, he might extend his disobedience to the rational ones. Further, every taboo system includes precepts that create positive harms, such as promulgating capital punishment for witches, or preventing access to birth control and assisted suicide.

Imagined divine commands tend to replace taboos as civilization progresses. Morality comes to mean obedience to the will of God, and extends to obedience towards established power relations in society. The Protestant view that every person’s conscience (interpreting the Divine) should be the ultimate arbiter, without blind obedience to any earthly priest or sovereign, proved transformative. It has justified disobedience towards those established power relations when they are unjust, thereby fueling religious toleration, the rights of women, and diminished parental authority. Nevertheless, the reliance on individual conscience does not provide a stable ethic – it is inherently anarchic. Today as in the past, however, the overarching ethical system is complemented by a more pragmatic but less intense norm of quid pro quo restraint and toleration.

People have an instinct for sacrificing their own interests for their family’s well-being, but such natural restraint does not extend easily beyond the family. “To cause their actions to be in accordance with the public interest, vast forces of law, of religion, and of education in enlightened self-interest, have had to be called into play, and their success has been very limited [p. 35].” It is easier to win a war if you have more people, however, so war has been a traditional force for increasing the cohesion of large groups. War has helped to generate two different moralities, one for members of your herd, and a second for outsiders. Some religions, with roots in Stoicism, have tried to erase the distinction, encouraging people to treat everyone as they treat those within their group. These encouragements have not met with great success.

Russell now devotes himself to within-herd morality. Most societies employ the institutions of law and property to promote social cohesion, backed by justice as the moral principle. Law provides a monopoly of legitimate force to the state, prohibiting private coercion. Even a rule of bad law is preferable to anarchy, so respect for the law is rational. The protection of the property of individuals makes it easier for people to respect the law.

People equate good laws with justice, but different societies and different people hold widely varying views of what is just. Russell yields to this diversity of opinion when he offers, as an almost utilitarian definition of justice, “‘that system which gives the least commonly recognized ground of complaint [p. 37].’” Social ethics and politics are nearly identical. There also is a sphere of personal ethics, reflected, for instance, in a desire to do worthy work, even if other approaches to labor would be more remunerative. At any rate, taboos, religion, a respect for law – all of these sources of morality can be developed “into forms that can influence highly civilized men [p. 37].”

Human Society in Ethics and Politics: Introduction

2009-07-26T22:35:00.000-07:00

Introduction (pages 15-21)

People’s desires are those that typically promoted survival throughout primitive times. They tend to reflect a division of other people into friends (with whom we cooperate) and enemies (with whom we compete). Our intelligence informs us that as society has become more complex, we could do better by curbing our competitive instinct and nurturing our cooperative interest. “Ethics and moral codes are necessary to man because of the conflict between intelligence and impulse [p. 15].”

Humans are semi-social. Completely social animals such as ants always serve their community’s interests. Humans need ethics to indicate goals, and moral rules to guide actions towards those goals. But human nature cannot countenance complete submission of our un-social, solitary side. A moralist whose recommendations ignore instinct will encounter a public that ignores the moralist. Nevertheless, much human activity sublimates our instincts, allowing us to serve our future good through current sacrifice of instinctual desires. “It is because of this power of acting with a view to a desired end that ethics and moral rules are effective, since they suggest, on the one hand, a distinction between good and bad purposes, and, on the other hand, a distinction between legitimate and illegitimate means of achieving purposes [pp. 17-18].”

Man in society has fundamental desires connected with survival. But [here, Russell invokes a sort of mini-Maslovian hierarchy of needs – RBR] if our survival needs are met, secondary desires, especially “acquisitiveness, rivalry, vanity, and love of power [p. 18]” assert themselves.

While we cannot resolve the nature v. nurture debate in general terms, it nevertheless is quite clear that “the impulses and desires which determine the behavior of an adult depend to an enormous extent upon his education and his opportunities [p. 19].” The impulses of different individuals can conflict, but a desirable social system is one that discourages conflictual impulses through education and public policy.

The two great revolutions in human history – the adoption of agriculture and industrialization – both brought enormous pain. We have yet to learn the full scope of potential harm from industrialization, but it includes greater destructiveness in war and the concentration of power and its subsequent misuse by those whose love for some system is pursued at the expense of the interests of individuals. Though our fears regarding modernity are quite vivid, we have reason to hope, too, and our hopes can be realized with the aid of imagination and commitment.

Human Society in Ethics and Politics, Preface

2009-07-20T20:08:00.000-07:00

Preface (pages 7-11)

Russell explains that the first nine chapters were written in 1944-45, with the rest (with one exception) written in 1953, the year prior to the publication of Human Society in Ethics and Politics. The exception is the chapter “Politically Important Desires,” which formed Russell’s speech when he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1950. His goals are to “set forth an undogmatic ethic; and second, to apply this ethic to various current political problems [p. 7].”

Russell laments that he is frequently misunderstood as someone who exaggerates the role of reason or rationality in human affairs. He claims the misunderstanding comes from his critics' failure to understand that reason is about choosing the appropriate means for given ends – without being able to say anything about the ends themselves. (This also is the usual approach towards rationality taken by modern economics.) Russell quotes Hume, arguing that the quote expresses an obvious truth: ‘Reason is and ought only to be, the slave of the passions [p. 8].’ The passions provide the goals; they are the spur to action. Reason channels action in the direction chosen by the passions. (Slightly later (page 11), Russell says that “There is no such thing as an irrational aim except in the sense of one that is impossible of realization.”)

People who accuse others of being coldly rational may well be looking for rationales to continue to hold views contradicted by facts. Worse still, politicians might promote the notion of irrationality to try to enlist the citizenry to support, not the citizens’ interests, but the politicians’. Whipping people up into an emotional state is a time-tested method for inducing unthinking responses. In any event, to oppose reason is to support having people adopt means that are calculated not to achieve the desired ends. You would do this only if you want to deceive them about the (in)appropriateness of the means, or if you want them to support other ends (without telling them so). “The world that I should wish to see is one where emotions are strong but not destructive, and where, because they are acknowledged, they lead to no deception either of oneself or of others [p. 11].”

Next Up: Human Society in Ethics and Politics

2009-07-19T10:21:00.000-07:00

The original Reading Russell plan, sanctified by tradition and popular apathy, called for an idiosyncratic summary/commentary (henceforth, “summentary”) of A History of Western Philosophy to fill this space in our virtual noteworld. The call was made with trepidation, however, due to an inchoate suspicion that A History of Western Philosophy might not submit readily to the Reading Bertrand Russell, er, method. The suspicion has now become more substantial, so we offer what we hope is a serviceable substitute, a summentary of Human Society in Ethics and Politics. [Update: A quick web search indicates that I am not the only person to ever employ the term "summentary."]

Human Society in Ethics and Politics first was published in 1954. Reading Bertrand Russell is using the Routledge paperback edition of 1992, which opens with an introduction by John G. Slater. (Russell offers his own introduction, too.) Slater recounts the influence of G.E. Moore on Russell’s early ethical thinking, and Russell’s subsequent change of views circa World War I. Ethics, for Russell, came to be closely associated with argument and persuasion, explaining to those with different desires why your own preferences are better – an explanation that generally takes the form of comparing the probable consequences of the alternative worldviews. Slater provides more detail concerning Russell’s published thoughts on ethics prior to Human Society in Ethics and Politics, noting the many decades of substantial consistency in Russell’s ideas.

Following the Slater Introduction is a Preface by Russell, the Table of Contents, and then Russell’s Introduction. The 23 chapters are divided into two parts: Part One is entitled “Ethics” and Part Two is “The Conflict of Passions.” Here is a list of the chapter titles:

Part One: Ethics
I. Sources of Ethical Beliefs and Feelings
II. Moral Codes
III. Morality as a Means
IV. Good and Bad
V. Partial and General Goods
VI. Moral Obligation
VII. Sin
VIII. Ethical Controversy
IX. Is there Ethical Knowledge?
X. Authority in Ethics
XI. Production and Distribution
XII. Superstitious Ethics
XIII. Ethical Sanctions

Part Two: The Conflict of Passions
I. From Ethics to Politics
II. Politically Important Desires
III. Forethought and Skill
IV. Myth and Magic
V. Cohesion and Rivalry
VI. Scientific Technique and the Future
VII. Will Religious Faith Cure Our Troubles?
VIII. Conquest?
IX. Steps Towards a Stable Peace
X. Prologue or Epilogue?

Onward then, not to A History of Western Philosophy, but to Human Society in Ethics and Politics.

The Conquest of Happiness, Full Time

2009-05-02T10:37:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the main theme of Part Two (“Causes of Happiness”) is the importance of being connected to the stream of life. (My halftime report on Part One is here.) Children and work are the usual vehicles for achieving this connection.

My favorite chapter of Part Two is Chapter 15, “Impersonal Interests.” (My favorite chapter in Part One is Chapter 8, “Persecution Mania”; I am worried about what these preferences say about me!) One of the features of the Russellian view that stands out is the recognition of fairly severe limits on the extent of human altruism that can be expected. People are willing to sacrifice for their family and friends, but as the degree of separation increases, the philanthropic impulse decreases considerably. Russell notes how requiring substantial sacrifices even for one’s children – as by mothers who must give up careers for their families – is a recipe for unhappiness. Compared to Peter Singer, for example, Bertrand Russell elucidates a sort of moral code that is easier to implement, and therefore I suppose I want to believe that it also is closer to being correct – though I possess no intellectual refutation of Singer’s more demanding morality. How (comparatively) liberating for the conventionally selfish is Russell’s notion that the counsels of a hedonist and that of a “sane moralist [p. 190]” should essentially be identical!

In the Preface, Russell announces his belief that by “well-directed effort,” many people who are unhappy could become happy. In Part Two, he adumbrates more fully his views on how that effort should be directed. One of the curiosities of the recommended behavior is that it can’t really be pointed squarely at happiness; rather, happiness is sort of a beneficial side effect of efforts made for other reasons. Taking direct aim at happiness is apt to result in perverse consequences. You need affection to be happy – but if you express that need too openly, other people will withhold affection. You must take delight in others to be happy, but if you try to simulate delight, they will sense that you are merely tolerating them, and again your plan will be thwarted. You need the admiration of others to be satisfied, but if securing admiration is the motivation for your work, you will achieve neither admiration nor satisfaction. Friends are requisite for happiness, but excessive kindness or generosity directed towards winning friends will backfire. You need success to be happy, but if success comes too easily, it will not bring happiness. Even to focus too intently on how to cure your unhappiness is apt to make you inner-directed, and thereby cut off your opportunities for contentment.

The happiness arena is replete with virtuous circles, while the unhappiness realm is a slough of despond, from which it is hard to extricate yourself. If you are unhappy you will (1) lack zest which will (2) tend to make you unlovable which will (3) probably make you introspective, and then conditions (1), (2), and (3) will make you unhappy… and so on. If you are happy you will (1) be zestful and you will (2) take a lively interest in people and things and you will (3) approach your work with more energy which will (4) tend to make you successful, and then conditions (1) through (4) will make you happy… and so on. Switching from the vicious circle to the virtuous circle seems to me to be extremely hard, even if one scrupulously tries to apply Russell’s “well-directed effort.” For people near the margin of happiness, the Russellian approach would seem to have much to offer. But how common are those folks at the margin? In the final chapter, Russell suggests that his self-help plan can overcome garden-variety unhappiness, while severe cases might require professional assistance. The strongly reinforcing nature of the vicious circle, however, makes me suspect that the typical unhappiness is that which Russell considers severe, and unlikely to be adjusted even by a good faith effort to implement his advice. Russell does a better job of identifying the features and correlates of happiness (and unhappiness) than he does at providing a recipe for making lemonade out of (perceived) lemons.

The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 17

2009-04-25T09:09:00.000-07:00

Chapter 17 (pages 186-191), “The Happy Man”

When it comes to happiness, cause and effect frequently are confused. Neither our adopted creeds nor our intellectualized narratives cause us to be happy or unhappy. “The man who is unhappy will, as a rule, adopt an unhappy creed, while the man who is happy will adopt a happy creed...[p. 186].” There are basic ingredients that are all but pre-requisites for happiness, such as adequate food and shelter, love and respect – for some people, parenthood could be added to the list. With these ingredients in place, unhappiness has a psychological source, which in the usual, not-too-severe cases, can be self-cured – but the self-cure is to lessen self-involvement! Passions to avoid (and to educate people to avoid) in the name of happiness include fear, envy, the sense of sin, self-pity and self-aggrandizement (as discussed in Part One). These passions imprison us in self-focus. Fear nurtures self-deception, but living a life of deceit is precarious and leaves us vulnerable to a massive shock when the truth can no longer be dodged – while the intuitive knowledge of this danger causes apprehension.

“The happy man is the man who lives objectively, who has free affections and wide interests, who secures his happiness through these interests and affections and through the fact that they, in turn, make him an object of interest and affection to many others [p. 188].”

How to escape from the happiness-robbing self-focus? First the cause of self-focus should be diagnosed. If it is a sense of sin, then recognize that cause (and its disconnect from anything actually sinful) in your conscious mind, where this realization can seep into the unconscious. If you are self-centered due to self-pity, or out of fear, then these conditions can be understood and combated, too. Outside interests then will emerge spontaneously.

There is substantial overlap between a good life and a happy life. Moralists who teach that a good life is about self-denial generate a self-centeredness (in carefully watching over your appetites) that redounds to neither happiness nor goodness. There needn’t be such a sharp distinction between an individual and everyone else. Broad interests connect individuals with the “stream of life [p. 191].” A healthy, but not excessive, interest in your own well-being promotes happiness in yourself and in others. Unhappiness arises when a person is internally disjointed (with a chasm between the conscious and unconscious mind) or externally disconnected, cut off from society. “The happy man is the man who does not suffer from either of these failures of unity, whose personality is neither divided against itself nor pitted against the world [p. 191].” Even death engenders no dread for someone who is instinctively connected to the ongoing parade of life.

The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 16

2009-04-17T08:54:00.000-07:00

Chapter 16 (pages 178-185), “Effort and Resignation”

The golden mean is a banal concept, but there is wisdom in it, including in its application to the question of whether you should exert effort or resign from worldly matters. Happiness generally requires attention (hence “conquest”), given all the problems and misfortunes of this world. The necessary attention involves some outward effort -- and perhaps some inward effort to inculcate resignation.

Effort is needed to earn your daily bread, but happiness also requires a feeling of success that a subsistence income alone will not provide. Income has become a measure of success; only a small percentage of people can achieve relatively large incomes, however, suggesting a helpful degree of resignation with respect to earnings. A desirable marriage might require effort, especially for the gender that is in the majority. Successfully raising children is quite an operose undertaking.

“[O]ne may say that some kind of power forms the normal and legitimate aim of every person whose natural desires are not atrophied [p. 181].” The power over others that is sought varies with one’s disposition –- perhaps power over thoughts, actions, emotions, or the power to mitigate pain. The desire for power is intertwined with the spur to the appropriate effort, and harnessing this passion and effort for good ends helps build society.

But passion can be an obstacle to success, especially if the fear of failure becomes a source of excessive anxiety. A temperate resignation to the possibility of failure and to unpreventable misfortune is helpful. “The attitude required is that of doing one’s best while leaving the issue to fate [p. 182].” The paralyzing resignation of despair must be avoided, but the resignation associated with hopes that are larger than our narrowly personal ends is helpful. A researcher who yearns for scientific progress may not achieve that progress personally, but can avoid despair if the larger enterprise moves ahead.

Russell provides a sort of compartmentalization story for how he believes the desirable type of resignation should operate. If your marriage turns unhappy, you shouldn’t let it interfere with your (important) work. Oh well, you presumably say, these things happen, and in the meantime, I have work to do.

Some people work themselves into a lather over trivialities, like their laundry being delayed or a train missed. Wise people handle these minor problems (they needn’t ignore them) without an expenditure of emotion. Perhaps irritable or anxious people cannot overcome their emotional roadblocks, short of dedicating themselves to a larger, impersonal enterprise which will render minor matters less meaningful. “The man who has become emancipated from the empire of worry will find life a much more cheerful affair than it used to be while he was perpetually being irritated [p. 184].” He takes a detached, almost ironic approach to the inevitable trials of everyday life. Allow yourself a multiplicity of views of yourself. Do not be consistently a hero in a tragedy, nor a comic clown, but take on many roles, if you cannot be entirely detached.

Your effort to succeed at a task will not be undone by a dose of humor or by a healthy understanding of the relative unimportance of the enterprise. In the long-run, self-deception will undermine the quality of the work, and perhaps even turn it to bad ends. “Half the useful work in the world consists of combating the harmful work [p. 185].” Facing the truth about ourselves is painful at first, but an eventual salvation. “Nothing is more fatiguing nor, in the long run, more exasperating than the daily effort to believe things which daily become more incredible [p. 185].”

The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 15

2009-03-30T08:09:00.000-07:00

Chapter 15 (pages 170-177), “Impersonal Interests”

This chapter concerns leisure pursuits that are not closely connected to one’s occupation, such as a scientist’s reading of advances in other fields. “One of the sources of unhappiness, fatigue and nervous strain is inability to be interested in anything that is not of practical importance in one’s own life [p. 171].” Without outside interests, the brain is always brooding about some practical matter, depriving the subconscious of the opportunity to play its role of leavening the valleys and disproportions in our mental states. We end up irritable and tired, and then the tiredness distances us further from impersonal interests, until the situation cascades to a breakdown.

Impersonal interests require no decisions, which are fatiguing. The notion of “sleeping on” an important decision demonstrates wisdom, as the subconscious can undertake its processing overnight – or while an impersonal interest is being pursued. The appropriate type of impersonal interest is one that does not require the same modes of thought as work, does not involve a financial interest (unlike work), and is not so exciting that the subconscious remains riveted to the leisure pursuit. Golf, theatre, spectator sports – these are just a few of the many types of impersonal pursuits that fit the bill.

Russell speculates that working women tend to be less able than are men to take their minds off their work and lose themselves in some impractical diversion. Though it may appear as if this conscientiousness improves work performance, Russell suspects that its long-run effects are deleterious from the point of view of workplace productivity.

Impersonal pursuits help put the relative significance (and the cosmic insignificance) of one’s main pursuits in useful perspective. Someone who overvalues their work might become a fanatic, and be willing to impose large costs to promote their work ends. “Against this fanatical temper there is no better prophylactic than a large conception of the life of man and his place in the universe [p. 173].” Without a generous survey of the world and its history, you will succumb to expedience, choosing dubious means as the efficient path to serving what might be worthy ends. The result often will be short-term success, but long-term pain. If you imbue your mental outlook with the proper sense of proportion, “you will realize that the momentary battle upon which you are engaged cannot be of such importance as to risk a backward step towards the darkness out of which we have been slowly emerging [p. 174].” A loss in today’s battle, or even a serious setback in your personal fortune, will also pain less, if you know that your efforts are connected to the long-term struggle of raising mankind out of barbarism.

Russell provides his vision for education, in which children are made aware of man’s small place in the universe and the minuteness of a single human lifespan within the current of mankind’s past and future journey on earth. Simultaneously, Russell would hope to “impress upon the mind of the young the greatness of which the individual is capable, and the knowledge that throughout all the depths of stellar space nothing of equal value is known to us [p. 175].” People, provided with such training, who become capable of greatness of soul develop a stoicism that allows them to be infused with joy even when external circumstances are trying.

Helping one to deal with those inevitable trying circumstances is another benefit of impersonal pursuits. The distraction that they provide, at moments when troubles cannot be addressed but must be endured, is a great salve to anxiety. Even grief in the death of a loved one must be moderated, and the right type of impersonal pursuits – not degrading practices such as excessive consumption of alcohol or drugs – can aid in that process. “To bear misfortune well when it comes, it is wise to have cultivated in happier times a certain width of interests, so that the mind may find prepared for it some undisturbed place suggesting other associations and other emotions than those which are making the present difficult to bear [p. 172].” All our loves, all our pursuits, are mortal, so we can only insure against devastation by diversifying the risk, by holding a wide portfolio of interests.

The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 14

2009-03-17T07:30:00.000-07:00

Chapter 14 (pages 162-169), “Work”

Work, even dull work, tends to be better than idleness. Leisure time requires that decisions be made as to how to fill it – decisions that will bring no happiness as they are subject to constant second-guessing. Most people prefer to be told what to do and when to do it. So work alleviates tedium, and allows greater pleasure to be taken in intermittent vacations. Work also serves as an outlet for ambition and for generating a favorable reputation. “Continuity of purpose is one of the most essential ingredients of happiness in the long run, and for most men this comes chiefly through their work [p. 163].” The domestic work of housewives does not possess the same advantages (money, reputation, and satisfaction) as outside, paid work.

Though tedious work is better than idleness, some forms of work provide opportunities for profound pleasures. “Two chief elements make work interesting: first, the exercise of skill, and second, construction [p. 164].” People with special skills enjoy utilizing those skills, at least as long as those skills can continue to be honed. Some professions, such as politician or businessman, hold the potential for improvement, and hence happiness, into old age. “Construction” refers to the idea that there are varieties of work in which something ordered and lasting is left behind, as opposed to the rubble generated by destruction. While some destruction is a necessary prelude to further construction, many people engage in wholly destructive work; such people like to delude themselves that they are motivated by constructive purposes, when they actually are motivated by hate. Revolutionaries often are most detailed and eloquent when discussing their destructive purposes, but at a loss for any nuance when asked about constructing better alternatives. They might find pleasure in destruction, but destruction can be complete, and then their pleasure ends. Construction generally is ongoing, and even when complete brings joy in contemplation. Opportunities for constructive work are themselves an antidote to hate. “The satisfaction to be derived from success in a great constructive enterprise is one of the most massive that life has to offer, although unfortunately in its highest forms it is open only to men of exceptional ability [p. 167].” [Among the men of art and science whom Russell singles out as creators are Shakespeare and Lenin, the latter for generating order out of chaos; recall that Russell is not all that enamored of Lenin, however – RBR.] Later (page 169), Russell notes that bringing up passable children is a form of constructive work that can bring real, lasting satisfaction.

Great artists often are of a temperament that limits happiness; nevertheless, their artistic work, while perhaps not making them happy, makes them less unhappy. Successful scientists tend to be happy, with their work being the chief source of their satisfaction. (Russell is here returning to a topic that he discussed in Chapter 10, the happiness of scientists and (at least relative) unhappiness of artists -- RBR.)

Modern literary creators (including journalists) often are unhappy, because their work is directed by corporate Philistines, who commission output that the literary men “regard as pernicious nonsense [p. 168].” It is better to have such a corporate job, even if you disagree with the aims of your employer, than to starve. Nevertheless, it is better to receive less pay for work that you view as valuable in itself, than to receive a higher salary for work of which you are ashamed. Happiness doesn’t come easily without self-respect.

There is a good deal of variation in the extent to which people can view their lives as a whole. It is an advantage to do so, as then over time you can amalgamate the disparate parts of your life into a unified structure that is conducive to your own happiness, instead of going this way or that as current expedience dictates. “The habit of viewing life as a whole is an essential part both of wisdom and of true morality, and is one of the things which ought to be encouraged in education [p. 169].”

The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 13

2009-03-13T07:52:00.000-07:00

Chapter 13 (pages 145-161), “The Family”

Family life could be the great fount of happiness, but under current conditions, both parents and children typically find the whole exercise trying. The subject of this chapter, however, is limited to what can be done about familial unhappiness by individuals, without reforming society at large. [Nevertheless, this is the longest chapter of the book – RBR.]

Women used to be “driven into marriage by the intolerable conditions of life for the spinster [p. 146],” which included financial dependence on a male relative and, if unchaste, being socially scorned as a fallen woman. The entrance of women into careers and the decline of the domestic services industry means that parenthood comes at a heavier price than before for well-to-do women. In particular, career women almost invariably have to stop working if they give birth, reinstituting a life of financial dependence. Further, they are then confronted with “a new and appalling problem, namely the paucity and bad quality of domestic service [p. 147].” [An old complaint that was apparently not yet a chestnut in 1930, and a reminder of just how large a change it was when middle-class (particularly British?) folks could no longer afford to hire servants -- RBR.] So a former career woman either undertakes the domestic labor herself or becomes shrewish in dealing with the maids. “Weighed down by a mass of trivial detail, she is fortunate indeed if she does not soon lose all her charm and three-quarters of her intelligence [p. 147].” Husbands and children find her company to be problematic. She is so aware of all that she has given up for her children that she demands a repayment of which they are incapable. The paradox is that by performing her domestic duties faithfully she loses the affection of her husband and children – affections which would not have been threatened by a carefree neglect of those duties.

Urbanization combined with family life can generate unhappiness. Cities are much more densely packed than before, and cramped apartment dwellers do not have a yard (or simply the great outdoors) in which the children can play. So parents in cities have a hard time escaping the noise of children, whereas suburban life involves a happiness-threatening commute to work for the father and his marginalization in his family’s lives.

The movement from master-slave relationships towards democracy, even within the family, has undermined traditional roles and created some uncertainty about proper behaviors. Obedience of children towards parents is no longer taken for granted. Psychoanalysis has rendered parents fearful that whatever they do, they will be psychologically scarring their offspring; the “simple and natural happiness [p. 150]” of family life is compromised. Wealthier, more civilized, and more intelligent people become less likely to have children, though the uncivilized remain relatively fruitful. Western nations will be seeing their populations fall, except to the extent that immigration compensates for the natural decrease. Civilizations that cannot reproduce are unstable, and will find their places usurped by those who multiply. Governments and clergymen can exhort all they want, but the blandishments of neither patriotism nor holiness are particularly successful at inducing breeding. Ignorance of how to prevent pregnancy can be an effective spur to population growth, and governments do their best to spread this ignorance, but this, too, is a losing battle. Parenthood will only be popular if the interest (that is, happiness) of the parents can be enlisted into the cause.

As a general proposition, being a parent can provide the best and most lasting happiness, for men almost as well as for women. Russell recounts his own experience: “…speaking personally, I have found the happiness of parenthood greater than any other that I have experienced [p. 153].” People who pass up this happiness develop a profound listlessness. As you get older, happiness requires that you are not atomized, but are “part of the stream of life flowing on from the first germ to the remote and unknown future [p. 153].” Perhaps a lasting work product can produce the same feeling of connection, but for most folks, children are the only means. Without children, your interests appear to be limited to your lifespan, lending a sense of futility to any endeavor.

Normal parental affection towards one’s children is a different order of feeling than other types of affection – and a similar point seems to apply to non-human animals, too. “If it were not for this special emotion there would be almost nothing to be said for the family as an institution, since children might equally well be left to the care of professionals [p. 155].” Other types of affection tend to be granted conditional on good behavior or good health or what have you – parental affection remains strong even when other claims to affection have been lost. The affection of your parents might not seem all that important when times are good, but at times of failure, it provides an invaluable security.

In human relationships that involve one dominant and one submissive partner, such as employer and employee, securing happiness for the dominant party is relatively easy. The world has become more interested in making these relationships happy for both parties; therefore, parents now draw less happiness from their children, while children suffer less from their parents.

Caring for an infant “gratifies not only the parent’s love towards the child, but also the parent’s desire for power [p. 156].” As the child develops, however, its well-being demands that the parent cede power, allowing the child more independence. Some parents continue to play the tyrant. Other parents validate their child’s claims to independence, but at the cost of their own happiness, as the child chooses directions that do not coincide with parental interests. The parental impulse towards possessiveness is hard to overcome, even when acting upon it does not conduce to the welfare of the child. Parents who recognize this problem become indecisive, and their very uncertainty undermines their value for the child. “Better than being careful, therefore, is to be pure in heart [157].” If you really put your child’s welfare above your own, you can guide your child confidently, and the mistakes that assuredly you will make will not prove costly.

The ingrained respect for a child’s personality that engenders wise parenting also is a necessary attitude for successful marriages and friendships. “In a good world it would pervade the political relations between groups of human beings, though this is so distant a hope that we need not linger over it [p. 158].” The respectful stance greatly adds to parental happiness, as parents with this respect can act in the best interests of their children without seeking the shallow joys of gratifying their desire of power.

Mothers recognize that they are not expected to teach calculus to their children, but they are less willing to contract out other duties of child-rearing, even when specialists are better placed to fulfill these duties. For some months around the birth of a child, perhaps, mothers generally will not be able to continue fulltime in their professional capacities; nevertheless, motherhood and careers should be compatible. If society expects otherwise, the sacrifice required by mothers will be too large, and the mothers themselves will seek excessive emotional compensation from their children. “It is important, therefore, quite as much in the interests of the children as in those of the mother, that motherhood should not cut her off from all other interests and pursuits [p. 160].” Those who are good at child rearing should specialize in it, providing paid services for other parents, many of whom are baffled by the demands of child care. It is almost received wisdom that fathers are not accomplished at child rearing, and there is no shame for them in taking a back seat in such domestic duties. Yet children love their fathers as much as their mothers. It would liberate women and benefit children if mothers similarly could leave many of the tasks of child raising to adept professionals.

The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 12

2009-03-02T07:37:00.000-08:00

Chapter 12 (pages 137-144), “Affection”

Being beloved promotes the zest for life, whereas the feeling of being unloved destroys it. Those who feel unloved might try to win the love of others through extraordinary kindness or generosity, though this tactic is likely to fail: “human nature is so constructed that it gives affection most readily to those who seem least to demand it [p. 137].” Alternatively, those who perceive themselves to be unloved might take revenge upon the world, perhaps through violence, or perhaps, like Jonathan Swift, through a biting satire. The most common response to feeling unloved, however, is to fall into quiet despair, punctuated by bouts of ill feeling towards others. “As a rule, the lives of such people become extremely self-centered and the absence of affection gives them a sense of insecurity from which they instinctively seek to escape by allowing habit to dominate their lives utterly and completely [p. 138].” They seek to stay on their tried and true paths to avoid encountering a hostile world.

A sense of security leads to happiness, unless the feeling of invulnerability induces foolish risk-taking. Even in risky endeavors, like crossing over a chasm on a dodgy bridge, the feeling of security can lower the risk – a similar proposition applies to many types of activities. This useful self-confidence grows out of receiving sufficient, appropriate affection: receiving, not giving, though the symmetric type of affection is the standard case. Admiration works as well as affection in generating zest: public performers who receive admiration keep up their spirits. But for those who cannot call upon the admiration of a large, diffuse crowd, more concentrated affection is required. Children take the affection of their parents for granted -- affection that is essential for their happiness, as it is their guarantee against disaster. Children who lack parental affection do not meet the world with the same optimistic curiosity, and they become gloomy introverts at a young age, later turning to some unsound philosophy or theology to provide an inadequate alternative. The stochastic world does not fit into the deterministic boxes provided by these creeds. Children who receive affection do not have to create an artificial world for the safety they cannot find in the real one.

The appropriate type of affection that produces inquisitive, happy children cannot itself be too focused on safety above new experience. It might be satisfying to a parent to have a child who only feels secure in the vicinity of the parent, but this dependence will have deleterious long-term effects for the child. Adults with such an upbringing seek refuge from reality in their romantic connections, looking for the same unconditional admiration and protection from harsh truths.

We should try to minimize the extent to which our affection for others reflects fears for misfortunes that might befall them. We might use such apprehensions to cloak our own possessiveness. Some men prefer timid women, whom they can control via the provision of protection.

The ability to inspire sexual feelings in someone else is extremely important to the happiness of adults; sexual love provides joy directly, and by sustaining a zest for life, also indirectly aids happiness. Women tend to love men for their characters, while men are more moved by looks. Characters, however, can be unlovable thanks to their deformation from childhood. We probably know better how to foster good looks than good characters.

It is one thing to be beloved; but what about the affection that we have for others? The better type of affection emanates from a person who is confident and secure; the lesser type comes from a need for security. Both types generally are present simultaneously, and both are helpful. Nevertheless, the version of affection that reflects insecurity is far inferior, both because it is a product of fear and because it promotes self-centeredness. “In the best kind of affection a man hopes for a new happiness rather than for escape from an old unhappiness [p. 142].”

Mutual affection can be mutually invigorating. But the benefits of affection also can be wholly one-sided, where one person’s affection comes at the expense of the other person’s vitality. A person who uses his partner to promote his own good, but does not think of how to generate mutual benefits, misses out on one of life’s joys; his ego is his prison.

People are conditioned, through social and private sanction, to be excessively cautious in their bestowal of affection. The result is too little affection in the world, and too much unhappiness. Those who exceed the norm in their bestowal of physical affection are not necessarily better off, however; sex can be undertaken without breaking down the walls of self. “[T]he only sex relations that have real value are those in which there is no reticence and in which the whole personality of both becomes merged in a new collective personality [p. 144].”

The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 11

2009-02-22T14:08:00.000-08:00

Chapter 11 (pages 124-136), “Zest”

Zest is the mark of the happy person. You can see a parallel in the attitude some people adopt when sitting down for a meal. [Russell offers an amusing portrait of people of various characters, such as epicures and gluttons, taking nourishment.] One version of diner is a person who possesses a healthy appetite, enjoys the meal, but doesn’t overeat. This is the approach that a happy person of zest brings to all of life’s offerings. “What hunger is in relation to food, zest is in relation to life [p. 125].” Those unhappy Bryonic types are like folks who are bored by eating. Nevertheless, most people who don’t enjoy, or don’t allow themselves to enjoy, the feast of life view the healthy partaker as somehow inferior. But the more aspects of life from which you can draw pleasure -- whether dining or football or reading -- the better. Broad interests allow you to avoid introversion and unhappiness.

Russell tells a parable of two sausage-making machines. The first takes pleasure in the pigs that are its inputs and in turning them into sausage, while the second spends its time reflecting upon its own inner machinery, eventually failing to function at sausage making at all. “This second sausage machine was like the man who has lost his zest, while the first was like the man who has retained it [p. 126].” Our minds need to reflect on the outer world, even if we are to be successful at meaningful introspection. It is our interest in things that converts events into experiences. We are better adapted to our world, the broader our interests. A keen specialized interest alleviates tedium, though holding a wider array of interests is a more reliable aid to happiness.

When we travel, we are exposed to many different people. Some travelers will take stock of their surroundings, and try to imagine the thoughts and circumstances of those around them, while others will pay them no heed. Some people find everyone else boring, while others quickly develop friendly feeling towards those nearby. Even unpleasant experiences such as an earthquake hold value for people possessing zest, though some forms of illness can destroy zest.

Russell takes up again the issue of the difference between the man of zest (the man with the healthy appetite) and the man of intemperance. A glutton sacrifices all of life’s other pleasures to indulge in eating, with consequent cost to overall happiness; those addicted to other pleasures suffer a similar fate. For happiness, our passions must fit within a sensible framework of living. “If they are to be a source of happiness they must be compatible with health, with the affection of those whom we love, and with the respect of the society in which we live [p. 130].” The acceptable limits of a passion depend upon one’s circumstances: a rich bachelor can devote much more time and energy to chess, in a manner consistent with happiness, than can a man with familial and economic obligations. Alcoholism and gluttony, as they undermine health, are roads to unhappiness even for those who have the time and means to indulge. Passions become miseries if not contained within a solid lifestyle, which includes physical and mental health, income sufficient for necessities, and adequate attention to social and familial duties. To sacrifice these essential elements to an interest is wrong, whether the interest be alcohol or chess. It is one thing to work during the day with some savor of that evening’s forthcoming chess match; it is something else entirely to play chess all day instead of working. The latter is a violation of the classic virtue of moderation. Society, however, sometimes is willing to forgive the neglect of familial duties, especially if the military or creative passion that draws the sacrifice meets with success.

Passions often are indulged to excess, as in the case of alcoholism, with a view to becoming oblivious to something painful. Seeking oblivion through dedication to a commendable end or the development of valuable faculties cannot be condemned. “It is otherwise with the man who seeks oblivion in drinking or gambling or any other form of unprofitable excitement [p. 132].” There can be some close calls, however, such as those people who seek escape through risky adventures that simultaneously might serve some public object.

“Genuine zest, not the sort that is really a search for oblivion, is part of the natural make-up of human beings except in so far as it has been destroyed by unfortunate circumstances [pp. 132-3].” Human children and animals of all ages show a natural curiosity. Much of the curtailment of zest in human adults is necessary to rein in liberties whose indulgence would threaten society. Our impulses arrive haphazardly, but we need regularity to get the trains to run smoothly or for the successful completion of any other task that requires considerable coordination. The constant fettering of our impulses, especially at work, makes it hard to remain zestful.

Health and energy are necessary for zest. Health seems to have been improving for the past century in developed countries, but energy, perhaps not. For women, “zest has been greatly diminished by a mistaken conception of respectability [p. 135].” Women are victimized by being taught not to be too lively in public and not to take too evident an interest in men. “To such women all that is ungenerous appears good and all that is generous appears evil [p. 135].” The stifling of interests and sociability in woman is pernicious. “For women as for men zest is the secret of happiness and well-being [p. 136].”

The Conquest of Happiness, Chapter 10

2009-02-15T20:41:00.000-08:00

Chapter 10 (pages 113-123), “Is Happiness Still Possible?”

It is tempting to believe that it is impossible to achieve happiness in the modern world, but Russell finds contrary evidence through “introspection, foreign travel, and the conversation of my gardener [p. 113].”

Happiness can roughly be said to come in intellectual and physical (or perhaps complex and mundane) varieties. Russell’s elderly gardener finds joy in physical exertion and his ongoing struggle against the depredations of rabbits. But even the highly educated can achieve the same species of happiness, which comes from overcoming obstacles to achieve success. To bring consistent joy, success should be the typical, though not the invariable, outcome. Someone who is overoptimistic will be unpleasantly surprised by failure, so there is something to be said for modesty, in that the surprises that are likely to come your way will tend to be pleasant. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t be overly modest, as then you will steer clear of worthy challenges.

Among the highly educated classes, scientists are particularly happy. “Many of the most eminent of them are emotionally simple, and obtain from their work a satisfaction so profound that they can derive pleasure from eating, and even marrying [p. 115].” Their intelligence is channeled into their work – work which is commonly understood to be progressive and important – and hence they do not over-complicate their emotional lives. Their work fully engages their intelligence. The public applauds scientific genius, even though it cannot understand the fruits of that genius, while the same public vilifies artistic genius which produces similarly incomprehensible outputs. So scientists typically are happy and artists typically are unhappy.

Intelligent young people in the West have a species of dissatisfaction that comes from not possessing appropriate outlets to engage their capacities. Their counterparts in Russia are probably quite happy, as they can be part of the creation of a whole new world, one in which they believe they hold the key to its creation. Older people in Russia have been rendered ineffectual (often through violence), reducing the constraints upon the activities of the young. Further, the belief that the Russian youth have in their creative potential is not misplaced – they probably can produce a better world than what existed in the pre-revolutionary era, even if it is a world sophisticated Westerners would want no part of.

Young people in India, China, and Japan also have work that they view as important and in which they can be successful. Western-style youthful cynicism “results from the combination of comfort with powerlessness [p. 117].” An Eastern youth, neither powerless nor comfortable, eschews cynicism for a reformer’s zeal: “…probably even while he is being executed he enjoys more real happiness than is possible for the comfortable cynic [p. 117].”

“The pleasure of work is open to any one who can develop some specialized skill, provided that he can get satisfaction from the exercise of his skill without demanding universal applause [p. 118].” This sentiment remains largely true despite our heavily mechanized economy. Indeed, peasants are less happy for having their output subject to the vicissitudes of nature, whereas those who work with machines can enjoy near-total control. Further, machines hold the potential to eliminate the most routine, uninteresting work. Humans gave up the satisfying occupation of hunting when they took to agriculture (an exchange made to reduce the risk of starvation), and entered “a long period of meanness, misery, and madness, from which they are only now being freed by the beneficent operation of the machine [pp. 119-120].” Young men can’t wait to leave the countryside for the companionship that can be found within the city and its factories.

Belief in a cause, even an absurd one, promotes happiness, though Russell is not suggesting that his readers take up ridiculous causes – there are plenty of solid ones. A similar type of happiness can be found in devotion to a hobby: “any pleasure that does no harm to other people is to be valued [p. 121].” Russell notes that he is a collector of rivers, in that he likes to visit as many as he can. But the happiness found in hobbies and such generally is not deep. “Fundamental happiness depends more than anything else upon what may be called a friendly interest in persons and things [p. 121].”

A friendly interest in people amounts to observing and taking pleasure in their individuality, interests, and quirks. This approach can not be taken on in a spirit of abnegation: it must be sincere. “People wish to be liked, not to be endured with patient resignation. To like many people spontaneously and without effort is perhaps the greatest of all sources of personal happiness [p. 122].” A similarly cheerful approach to things – like the attitude of geologists towards rocks – yields something of the same type of happiness, and provides a helpful respite from our focus on our personal concerns.

“The secret of happiness is this: let your interests be as wide as possible, and let your reactions to the things and persons that interest you be as far as possible friendly rather than hostile [p. 123].”