Philosophy at the Movies (repost)

Reposting because I just saw Moon again and I'm back to thinking about its connection to the issue of personal identity. Terrific movie!

Last night I watched Moon (2009), the movie Duncan Jones made before Source Code (2011).   Duncan Jones went to graduate school in philosophy for a while, before fleeing to film school, and yes indeed, both movies deal with philosophical issues--in fact, the same issues.

Source Code: a soldier (played by Jake Gyllenhaal) seems to be in a capsule at a military base, but can enter the mind and perspective of a man on a train that blew up the day before (?).  His mission is to find out who planted the bomb so the guy's next terrorist attack can be prevented.  Back the solider goes, again and again, Groundhog Day style, and gradually he learns what he needs to know--and falls in love, too.  But it's not really "back", we are told.  This isn't time travel. It's... it's something-or-other. All the while, Jake longs to get out of the capsule, get back to reality, and make contact with his father. 

Moon: in the far distant future, Sam Bell (played by Sam Rockwell) is stationed for three years on the moon, where helium-3 is being harvested for use in fusion reactors on earth. He's all alone, except for a robot named Gerty, and something is not right.  Sam longs to get back to earth to see his wife and child.  And then things ... happen ...

Now's where the spoilers begin, so you might want to stop reading!

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I warned you!

Looking at these movies from a philosophical angle, they're both about personal identity.  Jake Gyllenhaal escapes the capsule at the end of the movie because his final "trip" turns out to be time travel.  He's become that man on the train.  Now--how's that?  His brain doesn't make the journey, so could he really be the man on the train? Etc. etc.

Sam Bell makes it off the moon courtesy of the fact that the Lunar Corporation has equipped the moon station with a whole series of Sam Bells, a huge set of clones.  At one point, three of them are alive.  Sam1 dies, Sam2 gets back to earth, and Sam3 stays on the moon.  We are invited to think Sam1 actually survives, because the real Sam is the whole collection.  (This is a view of personal identity championed by Mark Johnston in Surviving Death; he uses it to explain how there can be an afterlife without there being heaven or soul).

So--are these moves supremely philosophical explorations of personal identity?  Well, no, I have to say. In the "extras" on the Moon DVD, there's an interview in which Duncan Jones is asked whether his philosophical background influenced the movie.  He instantly says no, "there's nothing academic." (Or something close.)  He says Moon is about long distance relationships!  (Hey, I thought, what about that cool group theory of personal identity?!)

Likewise, I have to say, Source Code doesn't come across as really being about the time travel, personal identity, or philosophy of mind issues it raises. It's about the feeling of being trapped in that capsule, and trying to get back to reality.  It's about Jake's desire to reconnect with his father, to go back to the girl on the train.  It's also about the sheer excitement of trying to avert a terrorist attack, and the cool way that he learns more by going back to the beginning of the 8 minutes so many times. 

In fact (aha!), Moon especially, but Source Code too, evokes exactly the mood of Duncan Jones' father David Bowie's song Space Oddity.  Far away, alienated, can't get back to the one I love (stuck in a Scottish boarding school, far from mom and dad?).

It's not very often that movies with philosophical themes are really primarily about those themes (The Adjustment Bureau, reviewed by Dana Nelkin and Sam Rickless in the new issue of The Philosophers' Magazine is one.)  Next stop:  The Tree of Life.  My hope is that this will be the subject of my next column in TPM, and that it will make sense to call the column "Texastentialism," since the movie is set in Texas and I hear it's about the meaning of life.  Who knows, though, it might really be about something else.

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Update:  Saw The Tree of Life.  A dozen people walked out in the first half hour and the movie induced incontinence in many others--as in, frequent bathroom breaks.  My review, short version:  GOD!!!!  (Sadly enough, I'm going to have to save the title 'Texastentialism" for another occasion.)

On My Mind

Just back from a week of traveling, and I'm going to have a coherent set of thoughts about something philosophical?  I don't think so...

Body Scanned.  I got to find out what this was like on the way into the Statue of Liberty this past Sunday. People who feel "molested" and "violated" by this experience have some explaining to do.  The only thing that's strange about it is the puffs of air they shoot at you before taking a "picture."  I bet the number of people genuinely upset is exceeded by the number who get a cheap thrill from the idea of their body contours being seen by some hidden stranger. 

Keith Richards, Junkie-Genius  I'm most of the way through Keith Richards' hefty autobiography, and it's great.  Beatles or Stones?  Stones.  There is tons of "musicology" in the book--you come out understanding what made the Rolling Stones sound like the Rolling Stones.  Cool. The book is also a hugely detailed story of heroin addiction and recovery.  Yawn.  Why do I find that story line so uninteresting?  I'm pondering--more on the book in my next TPM column.

Philosophers Without Gods  So there I am at the Barnes and Noble in Union Square (NYC)...what a fantastic bookstore!  I decide to have a look at the atheism shelf, and there's Philosophers without Gods, now in paperback. I glance at the blurbs on the back, and what do you know--there's a paragraph of my own review in Free Inquiry. 

Taken as a group, these readable, personal, and provocative essays make it clear  that there are many kinds of non-believers, and even many different elements that make up a single skeptical outlook.  Contrary to the popular image, atheism isn’t all rebellious trumpets and defiant drums.  That part of the orchestra is essential, but here we have all the varieties of unreligious experience, a full symphony of unbelief.

I like (to be honest) rereading this review, because it reminds me of what I really think about "the new atheism."  The trumpets and drums are essential, but the full symphony of unbelief needs other sounds.  Oh right, now I remember...that's what I think!  The review also explains why I am more a violin than a drum--because I am both an outsider and an insider to religion.  As an insider, I see what's good about it (see below).

Not a new atheist, therefore an accommodationist?  (Rubbish!)  PWG is a great antidote to a very popular mistake--the mistake of thinking atheists who aren't new--who don't align with "the four horsemen"--must therefore be "accommodationists."  The whole universe of atheists is thus divided into two groups.   PWG makes it clear there are far more varieties of unbelief.

"Accommodationism" is a pejorative term for a pair of positions taken by Chris Mooney (and co-author Sheril Kirschenbaum) in the 2009 book Unscientific America.   Half of accommodationism is a "compatibilist" position in the philosophy of science that says there's no contradiction between science and at least some of religion.  Half of it is a "pragmatist" position that says if you want to promote science education, you should find allies where you can, ignoring disagreements about religion as much as possible.

Since the summer of 2009, new atheists in the blogosphere have increasingly lumped together all atheists who aren't "new" as accommodationists...as if Mooney's reasons were the only reasons a person could have for being not-new.  But that's not at all true.

Personally, I am agnostic about the compatibility issue--I await enlightenment.  As for strategy, yeah, I agree that that science education promoters should "lowlight" religious disagreements, but I don't stay up nights worrying about science education.  My attitude about new atheism isn't primarily colored by those kinds of issues.  The atheists in PWG are not all preoccupied with science vs. religion either. Those who are not-new are not necessarily adherents of Mooney-style accommodationism.

The good of religion    It goes back to Keith Richards's book. Over and over again, he talks about the "elevation" he feels from making one out of many--one sound in a band with many members.  This is a term also used by Jonathan Haidt, who references Barbara Ehrenreich's book about the lost art of dancing in the streets.   We can't all be Keith Richards, but anyone can become a member of a church--and then the "band" is huge, crossing boundaries of both space and time.

But wait--why do you need a church for that?  Why isn't there sufficient elevation in going to rock concerts or political rallies or baseball games?  It's different, because a church (but not a stadium) is a place in which people deal with the passage of time (marked by holidays) and the major events of life--birth, marriage, illness, death. Contingently, though not of necessity, churches are in the time/birth/death business because they are places run by priests who have contact with the powers that supposedly govern such things.

The new atheist attitude is that the whole edifice of religion should come falling down because there aren't any gods.  But then you'd lose all the good.  As I see it: better for religion to evolve in a rational direction, not vanish entirely.  That view is the main thing that makes me a not-new atheist, and it has nothing to do with "accommodationism" about science and religion.

Jingle Bells  The holiday season is upon us.

Disagreement

My "Ideas of the Century" article in issue 50 of the Philosophers' Magazine is now online. The century is young, but the literature on disagreement has been extremely interesting. What should it mean when you discover that someone just as intelligent and well-informed and unbiased as you takes a different stand on some factual question?  Standard answer: not much.  You're free to disagree, but should do so respectfully. The question is what sense that makes.  Maybe what you really ought to do is become agnostic on the question at hand.  But wait--your argument is the one you find convincing. Should you really yield?   Here's the literature I refer to:

Richard Feldman, "Reasonable Religious Disagreement"
Thomas Kelly, "The Epistemic Significance of Disagreement"
David Christensen, "Disagreement as Evidence"
Richard Feldman and Ted Warfield, Disagreement (OUP, coming out October 6)

Here's the review of 36 Arguments for the Existence of God I mentioned in the article--because early on there's a hilarious scene lampooning academic disagreement.

Public Philosophy

If you don't subscribe to The Philosophers' Magazine, you really should. It's always excellent, and the last issue is especially excellent.  For this 50th issue of the magazine, Julian Baggini asked 50 philosophers to pick a "best idea" of our young century.  You can find out a lot about what's going on in philosophy from these very readable, short essays. Here's a link to the series, which is gradually being published online. 

I had already written my usual arts column when I was asked to contribute to the series (I'm not usually this diligent!).  Here's the column, which is on Rebecca Goldstein's novel 36 Arguments for the Existence of God.  Curious addendum to the column:  I belong to a Jewish book group composed of 12 women, almost all atheists or agnostics.  We discussed the book, agreed that we liked the main character and thought highly of his defense of atheism, had a big laugh about the ridiculous orthodox world portrayed in the long (yawn!) middle section, and then...what?  Then we decided it would be fun to attend services together in the near future.  Most of us are nonbelievers in Rebecca Goldstein's mold. No God, but also no general hostility to religion.  (Granted, one or two are more hostile, and one or two believe.)

I've always wondered why there's so much more public philosophy in the UK than in the US.  While I figure it out, I'm having the pleasure of seeing the situation change.  The Stone (despite it's wobbly beginning) is turning out to be a great forum.  Martha Nussbaum's recent essay on banning the burqa is a must-read for anyone making up their mind about this tricky issue.

One of those 50 TPM essays was about the same subject. Catherine Audard says the important question is whether there's a "public reason" to ban the burqa.  The phrase is useful--have a look at her essay.  It was at the back of my mind when I asked yesterday whether there's any reason "in the public domain" for people not to combine science and some elements of religion in their own heads.

Do you tweet?

As you can see, I've added an "uptweet" gadget to this blog.  That's because Twitter is a really good way to spread stuff around.  I'd particularly like to see my review of Smith spread around.  Here's a little url for it:  http://bit.ly/aMOhjU

I rather like the strange compressed language of Twitter--just for fun I fake Twittered my column at The Philosopher's Magazine not long ago.  But so far I'm not a Twitterer.  I have a Twitter account (JeanKazez), but use it just to follow people like Nicholas Kristof, Sam Harris, Peter Singer, and so on. Then again, that might be what everyone says at first.  Tweet, tweet.

Raw - What Is It Good For?

My latest column at The Philosopher's Magazine--

Blogging at 3 Quarks Daily, the legal philosopher Gerald Dworkin recently discussed whether food can be considered art. Cooking is a “minor art form”, he argues, but if he’s right, food doesn’t always lend itself to discussion. Food writers tend to tell me more than I want to know about the state of their taste buds, seldom making the jump to any bigger issues. No wonder: most of the time, food isn’t about anything. But it can be, as I discovered during a trip to a raw food restaurant in Dallas, promisingly called Bliss.

Sandwiched between a busy street and an elevated train track, the tiny place had outdoor seating only. Across the street was a “can this be real?” liquor store where bikini-clad women brought orders out to customers sitting in cars and pick-up trucks – possibly all a holdover from a strip club next door that seemed to have shut down. We looked over menu options like Rawsagna Supreme, Rawko Taco and Naked Pizza while suffering a sense of impending doom, thanks to the vapid, end-of-the-world soundtrack that was being piped in. Our children had to be reassured that we were safe, despite the panhandler who reached his hand in and asked for train fare.

No doubt I was receptive to the semiotic possibilities because I had been reading The Year of the Flood, a new novel by Margaret Atwood. The restaurant staff could have been members of “The Gardeners”, a cult set in the near future that uses organic gardening, veganism, science, and a little Old Testament religion to hold their own in a world overrun by mega-corporations, environmental devastation, and genetic engineering run amok. The Gardeners live in Pleebland, a violence-infested neighbourhood outside the wealthy, gated HelthWyzer community. Under the leadership of Adam One, they prepare for a prophesied flood by honing survival skills and respect for animals and nature. Ren grew up a Gardener, but works in a strip club called “Scales and Tails” when the year of the flood – a waterless pandemic, as it turns out – arrives. She has to do more than deliver liquor to cars, but maintains her wits and doesn’t forget her Gardener roots.

All organic and vegan, Bliss goes a step further than the Gardeners, and eschews cooking. As we waited for our food, we wondered about this. It’s environmentally sound to eat local and organic, and good for animals to eat vegan, but how is it better to eat raw? I pondered the fact that heat is just the motion of molecules. Were we to prefer less motion, the way Puritans disapproved of dancing?

Later on I looked into health claims made by raw foodists. Cooking robs food of vitamins, and some of the compounds formed by cooking are possible carcinogens. But in a new book called Catching Fire: How Cooking Made Us Human, Harvard primatologist Richard Wrangham argues that cooking has its benefits, or at least had them, back in the days when we were barely past apehood. Heating changes the chemistry of food, making it more readily digested. Our forebears got more energy from their food when they started cooking it and quickly developed smaller guts and bigger brains. Social relations were altered and time was freed up for other pursuits, at least for men (Wrangham says that cooking is universally women’s work). If it weren’t for cooking, we’d still be chewing our food for six hours a day, like chimpanzees. Plus, cooking is needed to make things taste good. Isn’t it?

I picked up Atwood’s book not because I was thinking about going to Bliss, but because I’d been paying attention to a debate about animals and genetic engineering. Atwood’s novel is full of perverse animal life. Most of our familiar species have gone extinct, and greedy corporate scientists are busy engineering new and curious species. There are colourful Mo’hair sheep with human hair, rakunks made from raccoon and skunk genes, and pigs with human brains. The Liobam has been created to support the biblical prophesy about the lion lying down with the lamb.

Back here in the real world, I’d been reading about a proposal to genetically alter factory farmed animals so that they can’t feel pain. Though there are thorny arguments to be considered, novelists can help us imagine who we will have become, by the time we are using bioengineering to remake the animal world. We will have become a species on the precipice of extinction, Atwood’s novel says. There’s nothing that isn’t strange in this novel, but there’s both strange-good and strange-bad. The Gardeners, though gently mocked throughout the book, are strange-good. Though they are greener than green, I’m pretty sure we are meant to heed their messages.

But what about going one step beyond – going green, organic, vegan, and raw? When our food finally arrived, I was stunned. It was absolutely delicious. The flavours were intense and unique, and sheer heat was not missed. In fact, it turns out that hot spices are just as warming as high temperatures. And we did not sit there chewing for hours like chimpanzees.

Atwood’s novel was delicious too – as an exploration of science and religion, environmental ethics, and our planet’s future, but also as just plain riveting fiction.

NOTE:  It will interest Dallasites to know that Bliss may (may) be moving to a new location soon. If you want to dine in Pleebland, better do so soon. 

The Philosopher's Magazine

It was nice receiving The Philosopher's Magazine in the mail today, for two reasons. First, I admit, because my article "The Mommy Wars" is in it. Second, because the issue includes an interesting forum called "Becoming a Philosopher." There are lots of good essays (and I haven't finished reading them all), but the Alain de Botton essay calls for comment.

But first, "The Mommy Wars." The essay is about making the choice to stay home with children, a choice lots of mothers (and a few fathers) make and that I made for a time when my kids were born ten years ago. I know a lot of people think that's as it should be because they think a woman's place is in the home... Groan.

But there are also people who think staying home is a terrible choice. People keep writing alarming books about "opting out"--worrying a lot about how often women stay home, and why they do it, just refusing to see that it might be a reasonable choice for some people. My essay is mainly a response to this crowd.

I use ideas about what the good life is and isn't, ideas much more fully developed in my new book, The Weight of Things, to argue that a turn homeward can be a turn for a better life. I also make the (um, not too surprising) observation that kids do grow up. For many women, the way home is a joy and a relief, but before too long they need a way back to work. Finding that way is often difficult, though I do tell a nice story about a friend of mine who got just the assistance she needed.

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Alain De Botton's essay is about how academics look at so-called popular philosophy. A better term is "readable philosophy" --by contrast with academic philosophy, which may have a thousand virtues, but is not readable. DeBotton is a very successful guy who actually seems to make good money at his writing. He is a very, very good writer. But is he a good philosopher? Maybe he doesn't exactly claim to be. He is an essayist who deals with topics of everyday concern, not a professional philosopher. Academics can't stand him, and he's got great examples of snubs and nasty reviews to prove it.

One thing is clearly true: most academic philosophers have contempt for most readable philosophy. Is this just because they're academics, and all academics have contempt for readable books in their fields? I don't think so. I just can't quite believe all the geography people hold Jared Diamond in contempt, and all the religious studies people hold Elaine Pagels in contempt.

Philosophers have a particular problem with books that are accessible because philosophy is supposed to be "hard." That's part of the fun. I've had a lot of this kind of fun in my life. I've read Hegel's Phenomenology of Spirit for not one but two classes. (Oh God...don't make me think about it.) I wound up specializing in "hard" areas of analytic philosophy. So hard is good, and people who write readable philosophy try to make philosophy feel unhard.

Very, very obviously, a book doesn't have to be hard to be smart. Some of the things that make for readability also make a book just plain good. An author thinking about a general audience has to ask interesting questions, not just questions that are fashionable in some little neck of the academic woods. Readability requires making connections in an interdisciplinary way, going where the subject goes, instead of where colleagues expect you to go. Readability can also force books to be shallow...sometimes depth requires difficulty. But I certainly do share Alain DeBotton's irritation with the way "popular philosophy" is viewed by the powers that be in the field.