Natural Selection vs. Survival of the Fittest

Distinguishing “Survival of the Fittest” from “Natural Selection.”

It’s possible that the only thing greater than the current debate of “evolution” vs. “creation” is the sheer volume of misinformation currently being presented in regard to evolution itself. Although anyone can access certain resources to understand evolution, comprehending it entirely can be a complex matter.

Consider an article from July 18, 2007, on MSNBC called “Why does the survival of the fittest allow runts?” Even from the title, you might notice something. “Survival of the fittest” is given agency, not only does “survival of the fittest” control the traits of our children, this title seems to imply, but it—as though on a whim—also allows our children to become runts. “Man, I hate that ‘survival of the fittest,’” I think from this title, “Always messing with my children.”

When we continue to examine the article, it doesn’t get much better. “Like a secret ingredient to a signature recipe, ‘survival of the fittest’ is a crucial part of the theory of evolution. The fittest individuals survive to mate and pass on their genetic lineage, and the weaker creatures fail to pass on their wimpy genes.” Without “survival of the fittest,” this article seems to imply, our souffle is going to turn into a stew—the stakes of this argument seem to be the theory of evolution as a whole. We also get a personification of genes. We have wimpy genese and we have “fit” genes. In third grade the wimpy genes get beat up by the fit genes. In high school the fit genes date the prom queen—the wimpy gene stays at home playing The Sims. You know the story.

Dave Mosher, our author here, can perhaps be forgiven his rather painful characterizations. After all, he’s not writing for a scientific audience—he’s writing for “the masses” “the proletariat” “the mob” AKA, you and me (presuming, you, like me, do not have a Ph.D in Biology). Dave is just trying to convey the results of a rather nuanced study and make it interesting, entertaining, and whatnot.

But then again, when you consider how little changes give way to bigger problems, you may be less patient with Dave’s creative zest.

Why is it, after all, that most biologists generally don’t use the term “survival of the fittest”? Dave has no qualms with using it—and giving it the agency of a god. After all, what does his first question even mean, “But if that's how it works, where do all the runts in nature come from?” Is that really what this study was asking? Or is that Dave’s take on it?

Now, what phrase do biologists tend to use when they want to accurately describe the systems they’re discussing? “Natural selection.” What is the significance of the distinction?

“Survival of the fittest” is a problematic term. It risks becoming a tautology when applied to biology, since what is termed “fitness” tends to be deemed by what reproduces. As wikipedia glosses the subject, “The reasoning is that if one takes the term "fit" to mean ‘endowed with phenotypic characteristics which improve chances of survival and reproduction’ (which is roughly how Spencer understood it), then ‘survival of the fittest’ can simply be rewritten as ‘survival of those who are better equipped for surviving’.” It’s not, or at least less of a tautology if you bear in mind that most good biologists tend to refer to heritable traits, not individuals.

In short, Dave was wrong. His stated assumption that “Like a secret ingredient to a signature recipe, ‘survival of the fittest’ is a crucial part of the theory of evolution.” To continue the awkward cooking analogy, “survival of the fittest” is not the “secret ingredients”—it’s more like peanut toppings that half your audience might be allergic to. The “secret ingredient” if there is one is not “survival of the fittest” it is “natural selection.” The difference might seem trivial, but it is not if you have any interest in accurately conveying information. As George Will said, “The difference between extra-marital sex and extra marital sex is not to be scoffed at.”

Natural selection, unlike survival of the fittest, is a testable hypothesis—and one that has been complicated by such notions as “neutral theory” which includes a large role of genetic drift in genetic variation, and has been revised to work with Mendel’s work in genetics. Darwin’s work on evolution was impressive, but it alone was not the entire picture of how evolution works. Darwin himself even favored the term “natural selection,” which describes how phenotypes that will help a given species succeed in a given environment tend to become more common among groups of reproducing organisms. Over time, these variations in the frequency of phenotypes will, according to the hypothesis, result in adaptation, and depending on time and context, speciation.

This does not carry the apparent moral connotations that occur when one makes the claim that “survival of the fittest” is important, or has agency, in the theory of evolution. It is a descriptive tool, not a prescriptive one. After all, isn’t it still more efficacious to make use of “artificial selection” in breeding pigs and cows and chickens? We don’t want the chicken to worry so much about surviving the storms—we’ll build them henhouses for that. We want them to lay eggs, and lay a lot of them. Or, we want them to be fat and meaty for when we cook them. We may even want them so fat and meaty that they would almost certainly die were we not taking care of them.

Just the same, just because over time we have grown in certain ways, this does not mean that those ways are inherently good or just or efficacious. Even Darwin argued that a population with strong moral codes might be more able to work together, and thus more able to pass on those phenotypes, than a group of individuals all working for themselves. Dawkin’s (DaWKin, not DaRWin) work on “The Selfesh Gene” might include scientific claims but it can also appear quite misleading, and for an attempt at sociobiological argumentation does not present a particularly compelling picture of human relationships.

Human interaction is far more simple than always only being out for yourself. “Survival of the fittest,” that is, does not really have agency. It is not something that compels you. Although an individual may want to reproduce and to reproduce successfully, that does not mean that every single action works with that end in mind. If you hit their knee and the leg kicks as a reflex, that is not something there to further progress toward the end of reproduction. Although a simplistic and mechanistic example, the leg’s reflex action underscores my point. Countless human actions do not have reproduction as their end. Altruistic impulses, whether they be good or bad, effective or not, exist in their own right and to insist that they are always only working for the self is not the most effective explanation.

Although the work of Dawkins and those with him might be important in its own right for political reasons and certain biological claims, it nevertheless seems to have done more to cloud mass understanding of evolution than to illuminate it. But they may even be a far more sympathetic example than the volumes of far worse arguments and conceptualizations of evolution and natural selection.

Let’s consider an argument from Alan Keyes, entitled, “Survival of the fittest?” The question mark is very important. Alan Keyes ran for president, therefore he must be smart, right?

What does Alan have to add to the discussion? Let’s see:

“Is the debate over evolution a political question? Surely it is, first of all, a scientific question.”

We do already know that “survival of the fittest” must be a question, since, after all, the title includes a question mark. Just following the first two sentences of his post makes me wonder: what? What exactly is the “scientific question” that it is “surely” “first of all”? Is it evolution? The debate over evolution? The question whether the debate over evolution is a political question? Perhaps the “scientific question” Keyes refers to is “Survival of the fittest?” Question indeed, Alan. Question indeed.

“And yet, it is a sign of how far we have strayed from our common sense as citizens that the implications of evolutionary theory for our project of self-government are almost never seriously considered. The American nation and our way of life were founded on an articulated and explicit moral premise – one which the doctrine of evolution directly contradicts. We better start thinking about this.”

What? No, I mean, seriously: What? First of all, evolution is not a “doctrine.” I do not believe that the theory of evolution “contradicts” the “articulated and explicit moral premise” that “The American nation and our way of life” was founded on. Perhaps the “We” that Alan refers to that needs to “start thinking” is actually a “I.” “I better start thinking about this” might be right Alan. Perhaps before you post an essay on the subject.

Alan does take the time to explore that “articulated and explicit moral premise” in his post, explaining:


“‘We hold these truths to be self evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights.’ Those stated principles remain the moral premises of our way of life, and it is on them that we base our commitment to due process, and voting, and representative government and the truth that every human being has rights and an indefeasible dignity that government has to respect.

“And what, according to the Declaration, is the absolutely first principle of justice that our political order respects? It is our common duty to acknowledge the will of the One who made us. The reason that it is necessary to establish government on a basis that limits power in accordance with respect for human dignity and human rights is that those rights and that dignity come from the Creator – God. That's clear. It's straightforward. It's simple.”

It’s simple, clear, and straightforward. Perhaps even, -gasp-, self-evident? There may very well be some reasons that “The Declaration” is not part of the Constitution of The United States of America, you know, the one that is actually held as law. But putting aside that (rather large) problem for now, since The Declaration is still important, let’s consider some of these “simple” claims. What exactly does Alan mean that “the absolutely first principle of justice” that America respects is “our common duty to acknowledge the will of the One who made us.” I’m sorry, haven’t we already pointed out the self-evident truths? Why do we need to rephrase the self-evident truths? Aren’t they, after all, self-evident? And where exactly does the Declaration say we need to acknowledge the “will of the One who made us?” Perhaps we do—in holding the self-evident truths as self-evident. But if we’re already holding the self-evident truths as self-evident, why does Alan feel compelled to make the argument, rephrasing the self-evident truths, that includes acknowledging the will of “the One who made us”? (evidently, Alan is too good to just say “Creator” as the Declaration does)

But, although Alan’s arguments are ripe for contention, all the way through his article, I nevertheless feel compelled to skip to the parts that actually get back on topic. But unfortunately, Alan doesn’t ever really answer that question, “Survival of the Fittest.” His arguments are too large to stay on topic—and so he abandons it altogether.

He ends with a final tip of the hat:

“The empirical evidence, which is just "the way things turn out," does not generally support the claim of the weak, the conquered, or of anybody except those favored by circumstance, and confirmed and affirmed in the result. If our sense of justice relies on "the empirical evidence," there is no compelling case to be made that justice requires respect for the dignity and the rights of any except those who have the power to defend themselves, or to assert their claims and make that assertion stick.”

Is this what Alan thinks the implications of evolution are? Alan, multiple presidential candidate and all in all famous person? Alan might have been better served by simply pointing out the fallacy that such an argument would rely on: “Is” does not equal “ought.” If I am hungry, that doesn’t mean I should be hungry. Just the same, if those who have favorable evolutionary predipositions to a certain environment survive well, that doesn’t mean that they “should” in some sort of transcendtal, supernatural, or objective sense. Just as “natural selection” differentiates from “artificial selection” so does the theory of evolution—a descriptive theory—not entail a prescriptive theory.

For about a zillion more unsorted and unedited comments on the 2001 piece by Keyes, feel free to google it.

When “survival of the fittest” is given agency, instead of being treated for what it is—an ad hoc saying for a far more specific descriptive theory—it provides fodder for those seeking a strawman position to use to “knock down” evolution as a whole—those who, on either side of the debate, concur with Dave’s comments that survival of the fittest is “critical” to evolution.

Deeper Into "Free Will"

What are the stakes of Free Will? If Free Will exists, or doesn’t exist, who cares? What is even meant by Free Will? A few examples to warm our minds to the subject.

Ryan’s choice:

“Jack has a physiological condition that whenever a certain keyphrase is given, he is unable to disobey any order given after the statement of the keyphrase. Jack is unaware of the condition. Ryan knows about this, yet he refuses to use the keyword, instead believing that Jack’s Free Will is so important that it should not be tampered with. Not only this, Ryan refuses to tell Jack about his condition, even though his enemies actively use it.”

The problem I see with Ryan’s decision is that it presupposes that Jack has Free Will in some sort of objective sense. By the terms of this exercise, Jack cannot resist any order given to him using the keyphrase. Whether such a condition as the one described here could actually exist is a legitimate concern, but for right now arguing that Jack has Free Will is impossible. Jack does not have Free Will. He can do what he is ordered to do in any way that he might see fit, perhaps, but he cannot resist obeying the commands.

Ryan sacrifices his own agency for no reason. As a man, and as a leader, Ryan’s refusal to at least inform Jack of his condition compromises his own life. Encouraging individuals to have their own agency is a legitimate argument and moral standpoint, but with it comes the responsibility to defend one’s own agency, and own life.

Plato:

Plato has made an extensive list of arguments in terms of will and justice and whatnot, and instead of attempting to gloss all of them here instead I will present an argument that is not Plato’s but instead is my own argument with some, but not all, of Plato’s arguments in mind.

A Platonic-ish argument: “We are incapable of doing what we believe is wrong.”

I distance Plato so much from this argument because I want to explain my problems with it in its own terms, instead of treading through all of what Plato has said. First, it is important to point out that this argument is poorly designed, poorly defined, and poorly conceived. It is, in essence, an argument that is either true or false depending on your fancy. If it is true, it relies on a self-correcting system.

How could it be true? I actually have argued a very similar claim, however in such a way that includes my penchant for nuance. I phrase it as such:

“All individuals act in regard to their own perceived best interest.”

This is a self-correcting system, and I believe that because of this it can be regarded as a true but nearly useless statement. I only use it as a reaction against other claims that I think are even worse.

Why is this a self-correcting system? Because it can emphasize different parts of the clauses at different times. What if someone does something that they believe will hurt themselves? Well, if they have decided to hurt themselves, then they believe that that is the best course of action. What if someone tries to help someone but hurts them instead? Well, they acted in what they perceived to be the best course of action—but they were wrong.

The problem with this sentiment, and this statement, is that if you understand the way in which it’s true, if it is true it can’t be shown to be wrong. If it can’t be wrong, that technically makes it a belief—and that is due largely to its phrasing, and simply being too general. (Perhaps you could try to argue against it on empirical grounds—suppose you include reflexes in your definition of human behavior. If you do, then you can hardly say when someone’s leg kicks after you hit the knee with a rubber mallet is a result of their “perceived best interest.” Suppose you hit someone’s knee and they precede to kick a child in the face. That would not exactly support Plato’s claim either.) In any case, you cannot gloss human nature so quickly and do justice to the complexity of human relationships and human choices.

Now, does this argument support or deny Free Will? As always, that largely depends on how you define Free Will. My version might at first seem to support Free Will, whereas Plato’s might seem to go against it—even though both essentially argue the same thing.

Desmond’s choice:

Desmond’s friend Al has a magical rock that will make anyone obey his will. Desmond believes that Al using the rock to control others is a morally wrong choice, because it interferes with their Free Will. Yet, Al argues that his choice is incredibly just, since he seeks to end all war.

The problem with this example, borderlining on some problems with “Ryan’s Choice” is that it oversimplifies human action. The “magical rock” in this example is very poorly conceived. I would say that if Al really was a “good” person and only used to the rock to end certain forms of conflict, then how “wrong” really would that be? Desmond’s choice here comes very close to Regina’s choice that I will discuss later on, both positions of which I disagree with for the same reason that I disagree with Ryan’s choice. Free Will may very well be the case, but if it is, then you too have it—and you too should express it. And if you believe that certain forms of violence are wrong (the third Crusade, for instance) then to NOT use the tools available to you to end that conflict, then you sacrifice your own free will for absolutely nothing.

Going back to the “magic” of Al’s “magical rock”—does the rock tell people when their hearts beat? When to breathe? At least the command word in Ryan’s choice was contingent on a command word, and even then we have to presume there was a fair amount of interpretation. Here, the magic of Al’s rock presume absolute control of the human mind and human body. Quite frankly, too much occurs in the human body to presume that absolute control can be expressed verbally. How many muscles must move, how much blood must move, how many times must the heart beat to simply open and close a hand? And if not all of those processes are taken over by the magical rock, if there is room left for interpretation, then how absolute is this supposed control? Is there not still the very “will” that was supposed to be taken? And is there not even, then, still the propensity and capacity for violence?

Now, let’s consider Regina’s choice, as she recounts:

“The Holy Spirit took me into an experience, which I call a "gratitude experience." In this experience, Holy Spirit took me to see war. As I looked on the war with the Holy Spirit, I saw all of the horrors of modern war. There were horrible injuries, death, loneliness, fear, suffering, destruction, lack of life sustaining necessities like food, water, electricity... I heard wailing, and I smelled fear.

But then, Holy Spirit seemed to take me beyond the war to a place or dimension that was behind it. This place was formless, so there was nothing to see with eyes, but yet it could be seen (or known) with the mind. And what I saw there is what I call Us. It was one thing...one formless thing of movement...and it was Us as one.

I remember what I felt when I saw this formless movement. It was a feeling that defies description, because it was gratitude beyond any gratitude I have ever felt in the world. I feel certain it was Holy Spirit's gratitude that I felt. And Holy Spirit was grateful for the perfect freedom that this thing was. To Holy Spirit, war was not the suffering I seemed to see before we passed through the veil. War was a symbol of Our perfect and unlimited freedom. Holy Spirit was grateful...joyously and celebratingly grateful...that We are perfectly unlimited in Our freedom. And war was a perfect symbol of that unlimitedness.

I'll never forget this experience, because the war at this point became meaningless. All I cared about was that freedom. Freedom without limits was the most magnificent gift imaginable, and to witness it with such love was incredible. I wouldn't have changed a single thing about the war that I had seen, because I would never have wanted to interfere with the gift of perfect unlimited freedom.”


Before I respond or comment to Regina’s choice here, the argument that she “wouldn't have changed a single thing about the war that I had seen, because [she] would never have wanted to interfere with the gift of perfect unlimited freedom” which is the major claim I question, I will further contextualize Regina’s choice by positing further arguments by her:

Regina argues:


““We have free will and our actions in every moment are pre-determined.” "Determinism," or pre-destiny, comes from our absolute and perfectly unlimited free will.

We are not separate beings, but one creative mind experiencing itself as separate beings. Free will is not expressed at the level of experience (separation), but at the level of creation (oneness).

Our oneness is like a child playing with several dolls. The child makes all of the decisions. If the child decides to play war, the dolls have no choice about being played with in that way. If the child decides to act out a romance, the dolls are played with in that way. If a car accident and heroic doctor are imagined, that is the game that is played. If the doll had awareness, the doll would experience determinism or destiny. Yet the doll's experience is not separate from the child's Imagination or decisions.

At the level of child (or oneness), there is complete free will. At the level of doll (conscious awareness or point of experience), there is only experiencing what has been determined. But since we are really the child, it IS free will. Determinism is only the experience.”


The “dolls and children” argument is an interesting one, yet it relies on an appeal to some sort of collective consciousness that I have difficulty accepting, especially when it results in the sentiments expressed that “I wouldn’t change that war” in the gratitude experience. That aside, I can see how Regina’s arguments could work, if you take it from a vaguely solipsist point of view.

It is true that our minds mediate our experience, that what we perceive as “reality” is in fact our mind recreating our events and creating the façade of narrative based on available stimulus. From this, one might make the argument that what we experience is a mixture of determinism and free will. Our brain, if it is true that it shapes how we perceive the world, would indeed dictate through its free will a world that we would perceive as determinism.

Yet, I dislike the sense of agency withdrawal that Regina seems to accept as an entailment of this conceptualization. Because our minds shape our experience, or any other form of oneness, does not imply to me that we should “not interfere” with the “unlimited free will” of our minds. Even if this scenario is true, there is no reason not to express our desires and actions as based on the conscious part of our mind and brains.

To accept that there may very well be a relationship between what we perceive and our sense of “free will” and “determinism” is not to leave us feeling as though someone has just uttered the secret keyphrase, that we are now helpless and without agency. In truth, the arguments only really become relevant when pitted with agency, and our capacity to interact with the world.

I am more compelled to agree with the sentiment of a different conception of Free Will: one that advocates agency instead of an “objectivity” unmediated by criticism of the mind.

As Andy argues:


“For instance, some say you can't fly by flapping your wings, so they don't have their version of "Free Will". My idea is that, although of course we have a course we follow which is more or less set by our chain of life choices made previously...we can, if we desire to strongly enough, change that course...WITHIN the LIMITS of ENVIRONMENT, HISTORY, ABILITY, and PHYSICS. Most of us have shaped our course into a comfortable cruise lane, and see no need to make drastic changes...but that does not preclude our doing so.

In my case, for instance, I had a very accomplished and successful and enjoyable career in Aircraft Electronics for 26 years...then in '96 I became disenchanted with the Ethical environs of the Industry...and stopped working in it. It was a huge life-altering decision, and not demanded or determined by anything in my previous history, other than my Ethical decision to do it. It was, in fact, economically and realistically VERY difficult to make –and carry out- that decision.

I call that "Free Will".”

On Free Will

On Free Will

The thought that man might not have free will can at first be terrifying. It makes it seem as though they are strapped to a table, unable to move, to speak, to do anything.

Yet, this is not what people always mean when they say man does not have free will. Instead, they might take issue with the idea of what could be regarded as “determinism.” Under a deterministic model, you can do or say anything you would otherwise do. In this sense, the world operating under a deterministic model and the world operating with “Free Will” are synonymous, and the distinction between them is meaningless. Neither can be defended or supported without relying on some sort of post-hoc or ad-hoc change, in a way similar to the “No True Scotsman” fallacy. “I chose to do that” or “You were going to do that anyway.” How much of a difference does it really make if either is true?

Some who fear a deterministic model of the universe characterize their worries in terms of a lack of what I will call “specialness” in human action. An argument might go like this):

“There are no brilliant thoughts or ideas; all thoughts and ideas are determined. Without independence, all you are left with the necessary effects of antecedent causes… In fact a thought and a non-thought are exactly the same thing: the necessary effects of antecedent causes.”

Does a deterministic model mean that there are "no brilliant thoughts or ideas"? No. After all, not every creature on the earth can think the same thoughts. That the capacity think is determined by antecedent causes does not mean that all thoughts are the same. Quite the contrary, thoughts are just that: thoughts. That is not a “good” or a “bad” thing, it is merely a state of affairs. It is only a problem if you need to have your existance, or your thoughts, or your actions, "validated" or “made special” by some hypothetical otherworldly or supernatural being, something outside the control of human agency.

What an opponent of determinism doesn't want to believe is that *they* are the result of antecedent causes. Their concerns of “Man” having or having not a “determined” life is peripheral. They assert “independence” and their unique “specialness”. The specialness, that, it seems, is only possible when it is given by something outside their direct control. Other kinds of specialness, the love of friends or family or pets, a sense of purpose in their real lives, or other forms of value are irrelevent, somehow outside the imaginative prospects of someone if they don’t have “free will.”

Certainly a sense of worry might arise that “love” for instance is anything other than transcendant, or near-supernatural. To assert that love is anything other than the result of some transcendant “choice” appears to be blasphemy. “No matter what, X will love you.”

However, how important really is that sense of love? “I love you. God has told me that I have to hide you, starve you, and eventually kill you. So that is what I will do. No matter what, I’m sure you’ll love me, and I’ll love you, though.” What is more important to you—the fact that this person loves you, or the fact that they’re going to starve you to death for no reason other than because “God told me to.” If they really loved you, they might let you exercise some of that “free will” so often argued about and get the hell out of there.

What are the limits of “Free Will”? If you were shot right now, could a moment later could you "choose" to have not been shot? No. If you were in a car crash, could you "will" your car back into rightful being? No. If you can't do those things, what really does "free will" mean? After all, doesn't "free" mean "without restrictions?" And if I have no restrictions, shouldn't I be able to do *anything I want?*

People don't have absolute free will. There are antecedent factors in all “choices” and antecedent causes to all events on the level of daily events (that is, ignoring for now certain questions of cause in theoretical physics).

My capacities for language are governed by the gramatical patterns established in my brain, and my knowledge of what qualifies as a meaningful sentence and meaningful words. As such, language has “antecedent causes.” If my brain was damaged, I would lack the gramattical capacities to write meaningful sentence. I would not be able to choose to write a meaningful sentence. If I am unable to have absolute control over how I express my thoughts, how relevant is the question of whether I even have free thoughts or free will at all?

Does this mean I don't have free will? Well, there is such an immensity of stimuli, and so many factors that go into any given decision I make, that due to the incapacity of my own or anyone's mind to understand the complexity of my decisions, you may as well call that free will. Free will need not be absolute or transcendent to still be meaningful. Calling what I choose to do “my choice” is still more efficacious than always going into the milieu of antecedent causes. Although this may be misleading, my choice to regard writing this sentence, for instance, as an example of choice does not therefore imply a belief in transcendant, or rather, supernatural choice as the result of “Free Will.”

The Wheat from the Chaff

It is easy to play the Bible Game. That’s what I call it. The Bible Game, as I call it, is the game that strong/mean atheists and “fundamentalists” / evangelical Christians play amongst each other. Google and wikipedia can make anyone a Bible expert in a relatively short amount of time. Like all easy games, The Bible Game bores me for this reason.

Yet, the Bible does not bore me. It is not easy to find passages that are moving, entertaining, or whatnot. The Bible is not a novel, it is a library. You do not go to a library and start at “A” and start reading there, nor do you go to whatever is at the far left because that’s “the beginning.” You could, of course, and certainly you’d have an amazing reading list! You’d certainly read all the classics that the library has to offer! But what happens when you reach the romance section [if romance novels are your thing, then insert a different genre, fantasy, or Joyce]? Do you read all the pulp that’s ever been printed? You could, but most people don’t read what doesn’t seem interesting. Why do so with the Bible?

Like those who play the Bible Game, I can go through and find all the parts of the Bible that conveniently fit my arguments [be they pro or con] and skip the rest, or I could use the Bible as a library: something to be used when you need it. I for one don’t need The Bible every day. Weeks or months go by without ever feeling compelled to glance inside. As far as libraries go, it is dramatically incomplete. I can tell you, it didn’t help me at all as a Senior in high school trying to learn Java. It can’t teach me to play the drums. It can’t teach me to operate machines. But then, a library can’t *really* do a lot of these things either. The only way I can learn is by practice, by experimentation, by making mistakes, and learning from people who already know how to do these things. Some books can help in understanding the basic structure, the names of certain apparatus—and it is these books that the Bible, as a library, lacks.

What does the Bible really even say? There are plenty of boring passages. But there are also poems, and stories, and metaphors. But in terms of a message, what does the Bible really talk about? Information systems and social structures.

Take the parable of the sower. “There went out a sower to sow, and it came to pass, as he sowed, some fell by the way side, and the fowls of the air came and devoured it up. And some fell on stony ground, where it had not much earth; and immediately it sprang up, because it had no depth of earth: But when the sun was up, it was scorched; and because it had no root, it withered away. And some fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up, and choked it, and it yielded no fruit. And other fell on good ground, and did yield fruit that sprang up and increased; and brought forth, some thirty, and some sixty, and some an hundred.” That’s the introduction to the heart and soul of the parable, and although discussion of it occupies almost the entirity of chapter 4 of Mark, most of the discussion only goes to clarify the meaning of the metaphor. More time is spent explaining the metaphor as is spent stating the metaphor. Yet, in the end, the metaphor becomes much clearer than it would have been otherwise. Yet, the explanation is only given to those who are already devote followers. As Jesus eventually explains, “The sower soweth the word.”

The sower, then, is the disseminator of information. The field is the audience. If there’s a “stony ground” then the seed has less to work with and may die. On the road, the seed has hardly fallen before “Satan” takes it away. When there are thorns, the seed is choked out. Christians are quick to give this parable Christianity-specific explanations, as though Mark and Jesus needed to rationalize or explain their religion instead of just stating it. Some might claim, “This parable highlights the reason it took three decades to write the gospel, it needed time to grow.” Although cute, to anyone interested in understanding the gospels, the three decades really just aren’t all that important. Ironically, anyone trying to quickly rationalize the meaning of it becomes indicative of the “stony ground” that Jesus speaks of. Unless you give the parable some room to work in, the meaning is quickly squandered.

Many can sympathize with the message of the parable. If you have some valuable product, and you want to spread it, even if it is a good product it’s not necessarrily going to do well. Imagine you actually are a sower. If you are a good sower, you will want to maximize the benefits from your seed, and will want to focus on good ground. Why spread it where it won’t grow? And if your land is rocky, then you may very well need to clear the rocks before you can sow your seed. That is, even with a good product, you might need to work beforehand to prepare for your product. There are no real maxims that completely describe the meaning conveyed by this parable. It’s a simple yet effective metaphor, and quite frankly, one that many Biblical “scholar” game players seem to ignore.

There is nothing so astounding as the constant importance of the Bible being the immaculate word of God, yet the parables it sows being so completely ignored by so much of the modern “fundamentalist” movement. How can fundamentalism be so fundamental if they ignore so much of the Bible? Why do people argue so much about Genesis and evolution? Because that’s the part that’s at the very beginning. You know, the part that people read before they hit one of the boring parts. (Deuteronomy? Screw that, I’m gonna turn on the game!)

I am of the sincere opinion that if people who profess belief (or for that matter disbelief) in the Bible actually read the Bible more often on its own terms and not on theirs, they would have a much better job defending it or refuting it. (Of course, if it was so easy, why bother?)

Why are parables effective? Because they characterize. They demand information not be stripped out of reality, even if they are a metaphor. A single parable can complicate so many “straightforward” answers. After all, “omnipotence” comes up quite frequently in non-theistic discussions. And among theistic discussions, I understand that “the correct translation” of the Bible is frequently discussed as well. After all, if God can do anything, why can he not communicate in a more universal manner?

Instead of referring back to Genesis for explanations (I think that using Genesis to explain just about anything that isn’t about Genesis is dumb. Give to Ceasar what is Ceasar’s.) maybe one should try understanding God from what he does, rather than what someone somewhere said about God. Jesus spreads the faith by communicating. No telepathy here. Jesus doesn’t even use telekinesis—he commands the storms to abate, and they listen. After all, this is Jesus we’re talking about. He’s just like that.

Is God omnipotent? If Christianity is so great, why do people reject it? A great amount can be explained by the parable of the sower. Just as seed will not take root in rocky ground, so will Christianity not take place with someone with no interest in sociality. See: a simple explanation as to why so many Scientists deny Christianity. And not even in a way that diminishes the value of either science or Christianity. They live in rocky ground. Or, suppose you’re selling an original operating system. Thorns (Microsoft) may very well choke you.

I think atheists, too, could do well to give Christianity credit for what it accomplishes when it’s due. In “The Demon-Haunted World” Carl Sagan gives faith-based prayer the benefit of the doubt when it comes to psychological-pain conditions, for increasing the life-span of people with certain types of cancer, etc. Why? Because prayer can relieve stress and pain, and when one doesn’t have stress or pain different chemicals operate in the brain and in different parts of the body. A sad, hopeless person lives longer than a happy person with hope as a scientific fact, and a better life too.

When Christianity is effective at providing hope and relieving stress, it is worth it. But, when it misleads, when people bring drastically sick people to a fake faith healer, real damage is done and real pain is felt. Twain argued that the benefits of Christianity, in providing hope and relieving stress probably ends up keeping people healthier than all the deaths suffered by the extermists who bring the dramatically sick to faith-based healers. Yet, I don’t see why it is so for good and just people to do both—to recognize that, if speech, if talking was good enough for Jesus, why is medicine not good enough for man or woman?

Jesus spoke. He did not telepathically communicate. What is meant by omnipotence? Evidently, omnipotence includes the necessity for language. If that’s the case, then any definition of omnipotence that isn’t capable of including it simply does not describe the God and Jesus of the gospel of Mark.

I can appreciate a good metaphor when it’s a good metaphor, and I can hardly be said to be an unusually Christian person. In addition to having to talk to the storm to calm it (as also happens in chapter 4 of Mark), it took four gospels to convey the story of Jesus. Four differing accounts. Not every parable works for every man, and you cannot summarize everything in the world with a single parable. Metaphor is woven into our very language. To expect otherwise is to stand in a stony field and expect fruit to spring from the ground. What is this, Exodus?

Phenomenology and Existentialism

A person exists and can express being; can manifest the phenomenon of being through language. Being, as Alan (online) argues in a gloss of existentialism and phenomenology, what distinguishes man from a rock. A rock exists. A man exists, but has a sense of self, and interiority. To Alan, the phenomenon of being and life is, at its forefront, a miracle. A miracle, that is, being something that lacks explanation.

Although all phenomenon appear miraculous at first, I choose to investigate and examine phenomenon to see if they can be replicated. Although some have argued the mind naturally forms order out of pattern, I do not believe there is anything inherent in this process, but rather a derivation from the choice to live and interact in the world, and the phenomenon of living.

What is there must be accepted so far as I can distinguish what is real for what is real, and what is real from what is unreal. From this acceptance, a belief, I choose to understand the phenomenon and understand its cause.

Some choose, at least in theory, to reject this choice and instead to argue that instead of believing that what seems to be real is indeed real, that nothing is real at all. Yet, such people tend to nevertheless live their lives, and to interact in the world, so that as such I do not think that they really believe what they claim to believe.

There is much in this world that I do not at first understand. Many people do not understand many things; some of them choose to regard all that they do not understand as miraculous. To an extent, there is nothing wrong with this. They choose to interact with only that which they believe they understand. Yet, I believe that much of that which others may find miraculous lack answers that have been found yet, not answers altogether.

Andy adds, “I just don't understand the argument that nothing 'really' exists...if we're able to read about someone else being able to formulate that argument, there has to be SOMEONE there to formulate it, no?”

Yet that presupposes our worlds operate in a way that "makes sense." Consider your dreams. Have you ever had a dream, and after waking you didn't feel like you understood where it or parts of it came from? You can choose to believe that the dream really is a sign of the divine (many Biblical prophets were first and foremost dream interpreters). Or, you can consider that nothing is real--that what experience is itself just a dream, and we will wake up to something else, and perhaps even that will be something to be waken up from.

Or you can consider where, in this world and this experience, it makes the most sense for the dream to have come from: the brain, the human mind, and personal experience.

Atheist FAQ

The following is an “Atheist FAQ” I’m modifying from a form on: http://www.infidels.org/library/modern/mathew/intro.html . I have removed most of the entries I find either less compelling or redundant and revised or shortened the ones that I kept, and added some of my own.

“I have proven God exists! Now that means that [X/Y/Z] that it says in the Bible/Qur’an is also true!”

No. Even if you prove God exists, that does not mean that you have also proven that the Bible/Qur’an is the expression of that God’s will.

“God is true because the Bible says so!”

This is a circular argument; it usually relies on the argument, “The Bible is true because God says so.” X is true because Y is true; Y is true because X is true.

“[X/Y/Z] argument is true because it says so in the Bible/Qur’an!”

Bottom line: No. This might be an effective argument in your local church group, but if you want your argument to be compelling at all to someone who is not in your denomination, this isn’t good enough. If you don’t want your argument to be compelling, why are you making it? Who are you talking to?

To make an argument like this to someone who does not believe in your denomination, you must first demonstrate that *every* claim in the Bible/Qur’an is true. Otherwise, you’re just wasting your own time.

"God must by definition exist."

Things do not exist merely because they have been defined to do so.

"I managed to prove that God exists from [X/Y/Z]."

Before you begin your proof, you must come up with a clear and precise definition of exactly what you mean by "God." A logical proof requires a clear definition of that which you are trying to prove.

Different religions have very different ideas of what 'God' is like; they even disagree about basic issues such as how many gods there are, whether they're male or female, and so on. An atheist's idea of what people mean by the word 'God' may be very different from your own views.

Reality is not decided by logic, logic is decided from reality. Even if you could rigorously prove that God exists, it could be that your logical rules do not always preserve truth--that your system of logic is flawed. It could be that your premises are wrong. It could even be that reality is not logically consistent. In the end, the only way to find out what is really going on is to observe it. Logic can merely give you an idea where or how to look.

Logic is a useful tool for analyzing data and inferring what is going on; but if logic and reality disagree, reality wins.

A clear definition of 'God,' plus some objective and compelling supporting evidence, would be enough to convince many atheists.
The evidence must be objective, though; of other people's religious experiences isn't good enough. And strong, compelling evidence is required, because the existence of God is an extraordinary claim--and extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.

"Atheism (or science) is still just an act of faith, like religion is."

First, it's not entirely clear that skeptical/weak/nice atheism is something one actually believes in.

Second, it is necessary to adopt a number of core beliefs or assumptions to make some sort of sense out of the sensory data we experience. Most atheists try to adopt as few core beliefs as possible; and even those are subject to questioning if experience throws them into doubt.

Science has a number of core assumptions. For example, it is generally assumed that the laws of physics are the same for all observers (or at least, all observers in inertial frames). These are the sort of core assumptions atheists make. If such basic ideas are called "acts of faith," then almost everything we know must be said to be based on acts of faith, and the term loses its meaning.

Faith is more often used to refer to complete, certain belief in something. According to such a definition, atheism and science are certainly not acts of faith. Of course, individual atheists or scientists can be as dogmatic as religious followers when claiming that something is "certain." This is not a general tendency, however; there are many atheists who would be reluctant to state with certainty that the universe exists.

Faith is also used to refer to belief without supporting evidence or proof. Skeptical atheism certainly doesn't fit that definition, as skeptical/weak/nice atheism has no beliefs. Strong/mean atheism is closer, but still doesn't really match, as even the most dogmatic atheist will tend to refer to experimental data (or the lack of it) when asserting that God does not exist.

"If atheism is not religious, surely it's anti-religious?"

No. Atheist attitudes towards theists and religions cover a broad spectrum.

It is an unfortunate human tendency to label everyone as either "for" or "against," "friend" or "enemy." The truth is not so clear-cut.
Atheism is the position that runs logically counter to theism; in that sense, it can be said to be "anti-religion." However, when religious believers speak of atheists being "anti-religious" they usually mean that the atheists have some sort of antipathy or hatred towards theists.

"How do atheists differ from religious people?"

Presuming you meant, "How do people differ from theists?" They don't believe in God. That's all there is to it. If you really meant the question as is, then technically there's no inherent difference whatsoever.

"Aren't atheists less moral than religious people?"

No. Only if you define morality as “acknowledging and obeying God” can this inherently be the case. An atheist might be less moral than others, but atheists and atheism is not less moral. In first world countries, atheists tend to be more moral than others.

Usually when one talks of morality, one talks of what is acceptable ("right") and unacceptable ("wrong") behavior. To understand these terms, and to act according to these terms, does not require a belief in any God(s).

One moral system, similar to that expressed by John Stuart Mill, runs as follows:

“Humans are social animals, and to be maximally successful they must cooperate with each other. This is a good enough reason to discourage most atheists from "anti-social" or "immoral" behavior, purely for the purposes of self-preservation.”

There are countless moral systems that do not rely on a belief in God.

"Is there such a thing as atheist morality?"

If you mean "Is there such a thing as morality for atheists?," then the answer is yes, as explained above.

If you mean "Does atheism have a characteristic moral code?," then the answer is no. Atheism by itself does not imply anything much about how a person will behave. Many atheists follow many of the same "moral rules" as theists, but for different reasons. Atheists view morality as something created by humans, according to the way humans feel the world 'ought' to work, rather than seeing it as a set of rules decreed by a supernatural being.

"But surely discussing God in this way is a tacit admission that he exists?"

No. I can talk about Frodo Baggins too, that doesn’t mean he exists.

"Isn't the whole of life completely pointless to an atheist?"

No. Even if it did, that wouldn’t mean that any God(s) exist. Things do not exist because it is convenient for them to exist.

"[X/Y/Z] aren't real believers!"

This is rather like the No True Scotsman fallacy.

“No True Scotsman..."

Suppose I assert that no Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge. You counter this by pointing out that your friend Angus likes sugar with his porridge. I then say "Ah, yes, but no true Scotsman puts sugar on his porridge.

This is an example of an ad hoc change being used to shore up an assertion, combined with an attempt to shift the meaning of the words used original assertion; you might call it a combination of fallacies.”

What makes a real believer? There are so many One True Religions it's hard to tell. Look at Christianity: there are many competing groups, all convinced that they are the only true Christians. Sometimes they even fight and kill each other. How is an atheist supposed to decide who's a real Christian and who isn't, when even the major Christian churches like the Catholic Church and the Church of England can't decide amongst themselves?

In the end, most atheists take a pragmatic view, and decide that anyone who calls himself a Christian, and uses Christian belief or dogma to justify his actions, should be considered a Christian.

Maybe some of those Christians are just perverting Christian teaching for their own ends. But, if the Bible can be so readily used to support un-Christian acts, how effective is it as a moral code? If the Bible is the word of God, why couldn't he have made it less easy to misinterpret? And how do you know that your beliefs aren't a perversion of what your God intended?

If there is no single unambiguous interpretation of the Bible, then why should an atheist take one interpretation over another just on your say-so? If someone claims that he believes in Jesus and that he murdered others because Jesus and the Bible told him to do so, we must call him a Christian.

Thanks for reading this FAQ, I hope it has clarified the answers if you had any of these questions.

We exist. I exist. You exist.

“We exist. I exist. You exist.”

I choose to believe that I exist, that you exist, and that therefore I can state that we exist. The act of speaking presupposes these three things, a subject, an object, and a relationship between subject and object.

Ontological skeptics offer all sorts of hypothetical scenarios in which one of us does not exist. Perhaps a demon haunts us and shapes our dreams. However, if a demon does shape my dreams, and if he does a good job of it, there’s no way for me to know that. If there’s no way for me to know that a demon shapes my dreams, then whether he does or does not is irrelevant.

If this is a dream, then it is a convincing one, and I cannot presume that I will awaken upon its end.

As a speaker, I am also separate from you, the object of my speech. Our brains are spectacular things; if I speak to myself, a different part of my brain processes the information and the information itself feels different, or can be different, upon inflection or pitch or tone. When I speak to myself, however, I must accept that in a way I am treating myself as two separate individuals. I am not trying to convince myself, I am trying to convince a different part of myself.

Just the same, when I speak to you, I must hope that you understand what I am saying. If, in talking with you, I begin to feel that you do not, I can go back and try to explain myself differently. This is a great and powerful tool, the possibility of refrain. Or perhaps we speak different languages. If our minds are similar enough, perhaps one day we will learn to speak the same language. If not, I hope I don’t have anything important to say!

We share a great lot in common, you and I, if you understand what I say. And although, if you were to ask me “who is a part of this conversation?” I would say, “we are, you are, and I am,” conflating us two people, this “you” and this “I” into the same pronoun is not to destroy our individuality. “We” are not one in the same. By reducing us both to this word, that does not change the fact that we are both still here, both still individuals, men or women though we may be. We are divisible, you are, and I am. And our union likely will not last forever.

“I am. I think. I will.”

I have possessions, things that I control. My hands are my own. My eyes. My ears. My brain. My body.

“I shall choose friends among men, but neither slaves nor masters. And I shall choose only such as please me, and them I shall love and respect, but neither command nor obey. And we shall join our hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire.”

By speaking, if I choose to be rational, I choose to accept these three premises. “We exist. I exist. You exist.” I do not have to speak. I do not have to be rational. Speaking does not prove that I exist. My choice to speak to you does not prove that you exist. And though, by speaking, “we are in dialogue,” this is a tenuous binding that can be broken with silence.

The choice to speak is a choice that demonstrates the first of all beliefs. It is a belief so paramount that it is the basis for all knowledge. Knowledge is not universal, not absolute, not transcendent. If a demon, should a demon exist, ever come down to me and explain that everything I experienced was his doing, then that could very well indeed demonstrate that all what I regard as “knowledge” is not knowledge at all but instead an elaborate lie.

Until that day comes, however, when I choose to speak, I choose to accept my own beliefs, and I choose to express those beliefs.

So it is the case that all action, the act of living itself, presupposes these things. They can be called into question. I could be dead and not know it, and these could be but memories. But until I find a way to test that this is not a memory, then whether it is or not is irrelevant. By living, by acting, I choose to accept these beliefs. And this is the basis for mine and all cosmogonies, all justice, all truth, and all other beliefs.

The Problem of Pain

Although this essay will begin with a very poorly written overview of the Christian “Problem of Pain” it will eventually become a discussion of the agnostic “problem of pain.” It is partly a continuation and further clarification of my other essays on suicide.

Christianity, I think, does a pretty lousy job of dealing with pain. Clive Staples Lewis wrote what is regarded as the best apologist argument defending Christianity from “The Problem of Pain.” But even Lewis’s creative meandering doesn’t really work for me. The line of reasoning argued by someone (not Lewis) and reiterated by an endless stream of meanderers is:

Christianity proposes that God is almighty, all-knowing, all-good. Yet, I or someone close to me feels pain. Therefore, does not God have to be either not all-good or not almighty, and Christianity be wrong?

I have more than enough problems with Christianity, but this isn’t really a home-run attack on Christianity for me. Lewis touches on an argument that actually might fall in the same ballpark as my own:

“The possibility of solving [the problem of pain] depends on showing that the terms 'good' and 'almighty', and perhaps also the term 'happy', are equivocal: for it must be admitted from the outset that if the popular meanings attached to these words are the best, or the only possible, meaning, then the argument is unanswerable.”

Basically, what I think it comes down to is that the popular “Problem of Pain” argument comes down to this, always unstated popular belief:

“Happy is Good. Pain is Bad.” As Lakoff is quick to point out, we also believe that “Happy is Up” and “Pain is Down.” When someone gets “high” they are using substances to produce a sense of happiness, although the term can be more general to include more forums of intoxication than just happiness.

Just to play “Defend Christianity,” I ask, “Where in the Bible does it say that Happy is Good and that Pain is Bad?”

Jesus certainly didn’t like pain. “And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? which is, being interpreted, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” (NKJ).

The case of Jesus underscores the problem I have with Christianity. When a Christian experiences pain, they feel like God has abandoned them. A Christian might think: Since God is all-good, if I am feeling pain, I must have done something bad. At this point, one response might be: So, God must not love me. So, on top of feeling pain, they also feel abandoned.

What Would [did] Jesus Do to respond to pain?

He felt abandoned and alone, and then he died.

Since he was being crucified at the time, this is wholly understandable. But, for someone trying to use Jesus as a model for their own life, this leaves an awful large hole. Jesus presents no model other than death for coping with pain.

Jesus too felt pain. And Jesus too was pissed at God about it.

Again, I think it’s simple to ignore the problem of pain. Either accept that Jesus isn’t all-good or almighty. One might consider Joseph Rowlandson’s arguments as one response, the one that I like to summarize as, “God is a Gangsta.” God need not be all-good or almighty to be worshipped. If he’s evil, he might even require more worshipping than otherwise. Suppose God couldn’t grant you a million dollars, but could only grant you $77. That’s still $77 more than you’d have without prayer. Who needs an all-mighty God, so long as he’s able to do something or other?

But as many will insist, “Joseph Rowlandson’s God is not My God.” Many people, if they love God, will find a way to forgive him for putting them in pain.

But, there’s still an easier way to solve the problem. (Two, if you count, “God doesn’t exist, so it’s not a problem.”) That is, to accept that if it is indeed true that “pain is bad” it is not bad in some sort of moral, or absolute, or universal way. Pain is bad because you don’t like it. Pain is not bad because it means that you’re “losing” or because you’re “wrong” or because you’re “evil” or anything else. Pain is bad because it hurts.

I don’t think pain is bad because it means God doesn’t love you, and any Christian who would argue such I would find despicable.

Of course, one argument about pain that Christians make is that, no matter what pain you experience in life, in the afterlife you will be blessed with eternal happiness. That sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me. But, if when I die everything will be super great forever, why don’t I go off myself right now?

Well, a Christian (Catholics at least, I can’t claim that all denominations will agree) responds that, “Oh no, that’s cheating. If you off yourself you go to Hell. And I would not be exaggerating to say that Hell is less than spectacular.”
The bottom line is that most good Christians will find some way of using the afterlife as an explanation for why someone should cope with pain.

How then does an atheist or anyone else deal with the problem of pain?

The problem of pain is very different for an atheist than it is for a Christian. There is no added fear that God doesn’t love you when you’re in pain. God doesn’t exist, and thus doesn’t care whether you’re in pain or not. Pain is a problem because it hurts.

Pain is moreso a problem, because if our cosmogonic center is indeed the body itself, then why live in the face of pain? Sure, usually death is not the most expedient answers. A lot of the time changing our behavior, or using an aspirin or some other drug can relieve pain. But why live when there’s a lot of pain? When pain begins to seem unbearable?

One of the most frequent arguments I come across is that “Nothingness is a relief.” I can agree with some of the political stakes of such an argument, so far as it argues for the right of someone to die, but on the other hand, I have to disagree.

As I have previously argued, “Nothingness is not peaceful. Nothingness is not a relief. Nothingness is just nothingness.”

I am asserting that nothingness is itself, A is A. That's what it is by definition. To assert that "Nothingness is a relief" is to alter the definition, and the burden of proof would lie on whoever alters the definition.

It is true that we simply do not know what happens after we die, so I cannot prove that nothingness is not a relief in the same way that I cannot prove that heaven or hell do or do not exist. Even if I am incorrect and we do not experience nothingness, there is still no guarantee that death would result in relief. If there is something other than nothingness, it just as easily can be far worse than what we already experience, something that what in our lives we called "unbearable pain" seem like nothing at all.

No one can prove what the case of experience after death is. To do so would be to prove that you have some experience that you not only could know of outside of your physiological condition, but also can remember it when you "return" to life. If you could do so, you would prove what occurs naturally after death and no meaningful debate would really be possible on the subject.

But, again, what we do know is what happens to the body. The body does not enter into "relief" after death. The body decays. I do not find the process of decomposition something I would call "peace." I would say it is far more violent than any "unbearable pain" we experience in life.

Yet I would agree that nothingness is also not unhappiness or struggle. A is A.

Now, does that mean that, since nothingness is not unhappiness, that it is a relief? Again, I don't see how you can call it that if you cannot be aware of the relief you are feeling.

How would you characterize what you felt before you were born--not even while you were in the womb, but before humanity existed at all. Was that peaceful for you? I have no recollection of anything that happened before I came into existence. So, indeed, unhappiness and struggle were not a part of that experience. And if I were in "unbearable pain" I too would likely seek any means to escape that pain. But that does not make my decision to do so strictly rational.

Rational is not synonymous with happy or right or good. It is simply the capacity to understand the relationship between the phenomenon of life.

Pain is not the theoretical worst of all possible things. I do not like pain, I try to avoid pain, but when I am in pain, I struggle to subdue the pain, I strive to live. However, the pain I have experienced thus far I would not call "unbearable" even though it sometimes felt.

If I am in pain, and in one bottle is a single aspirin and in the other bottle is a hundred million dollars, I might very well go for the hundred million dollars if I can subdue my desire to end the pain at least for a short while. I have the means to cope with some pain.

If I am in unbearable pain, by definition, I will always go for the single aspirin, no matter how much I can do with that hundred million dollars--maybe even find a way to make my unbearable pain not so unbearable? If I go for the money, it might not even be a rational decision but mere chance, derived from the inability of my mind, suffering from unbearable pain, to make a distinction. But when the aspirin is in effect, I will realize that I should have gone with the hundred million. I will, while I am lucid, be able to recognize what the rational decision was. After all, even if all I do is buy two aspirins, that is still a 100% increase over what I would have gotten if I only chose the single aspirin.

Suicide is, and always should be, an option. And there is nothing wrong with that. I don’t want to encourage suicide, but I also cannot discourage it as though there was strictly a right or wrong answer, even if anyone I met was thinking about it I would almost certainly discourage them.

But I also disagree with the sentiment that “unendurable pain is to be in a losing position to nothingness.” Nothingness is not really a “draw” just as death is not “losing.” I would not call someone in pain a “loser” nor would I call someone dying a “loser.” Life is not a game of chess, suicide is not conceding defeat. In a game of chess, when the game is over you get up and walk away and whoever won generally laughs at whoever lost and calls them a loser. If life has no “winner,” then life too can have no “losers” or “draws.”

Pain is not “good” or “bad” in the same way that suicide is not.

We simply do not know what happens after we die.

We can only go on what evidence there is, and there is none.

We do not see the manifestation of pain or agony after death, but we bury our bodies, or burn them. But we do not watch the bodies burn, usually. Nor do we watch the slow decomposition of the body after it has been buried. There is no consciousness, there is no mind there to interact with and say that there is pain, to cry or to scream. But the body is destroyed nonetheless.

Suppose you have been unconscious due to lack of oxygen to the brain or chemicals. You usually won’t recall the experience being violent or painful. Some imagine death to be like that. I do not look forward to such an existence. But, should it become inevitable, nor would I run from it for long.

After The War

What happens after the war?

After World War I, “production had begun again and it was thought that better times were coming.” And then Hitler rose to power.

What happens so often after a war? Is there reconciliation? No. What happens after the war is preparation for the next war.

Is the US going to win the “war on terror”? How is that war being fought? Will it succeed if the “war on terror” becomes a “war on Islam” or a “war on the Middle East” or a “war on Arabs”?
I am proud of my country. I love America. I love the freedom it entails. I love the opportunity to eat new foods, to speak new languages, to read books I haven’t read before, to see movies I haven’t seen before, the freedom to own what I like, the freedom to live where I like and worship (or not worship) what I like. I love the freedom to engage with others, even if sometimes those engagements will end in argument or dislike, just as I love eating new foods that might not agree with my stomach.

But why was it that Hitler too cried out against “Internationalism?” Who else cries out against “Internationalism” and is it for the same reason?

There are two frequently recurring arguments that sometimes come up whenever people don’t have anything good to argue about and instead want to get down to the ethos of things. “Einstein was a Christian!” “Einstein was an atheist!” “The founding fathers were Christian!” “The founding fathers were Deist!” “George Bush is a NAZI!” “Hitler was a Christian!” “Hitler was an atheist!” “Hitler was a pagan who worshiped one of those fake gods!”

I do find it interesting, though, that when authors, creative people, look to creating some sort of artistic representation that seems to mirror or depict Hitler in some way, he frequently seems to be explicitly atheist. Hitler would not have agreed with a slogan like “No Gods, No Kings. Only Men.” as the authors of “Bioshock” use.

Quite frankly, I like that slogan. “No Gods, No Kings. Only Men.” The end of World War I was in many ways the end of the God-Kings, the long line of leaders who were believed to be leaders often because of their appeal as God-Kings. Our lives are those where there are No Gods, No Kings.

But this need not be a terrifying dystopia as in Bioshock, or as in 1984, or as in so many other dystopias.

I’ve heard reports that most people would rather vote for a gay black Jew than an atheist.

After all, it hardly matters what Hitler was. What we do know is that Stalin was an atheist, and he killed more people and therefore his actions were worse than that of Hitler anyway, QED. Therefore all atheists are evil. QED. Besides, the Chinese are atheist and they’re the enemy, QED.

Why is this? What does this come from? How many times must I hear that eternal echo: “I don’t understand how an atheist can have morality.”

If God gave man free will, then man does not need to believe in God to still have that Free Will and have as much capacity to make good and just decisions as a Christian, even from a Christian perspective.

America is not founded on the 10 Commandments. America is founded on the Beatitudes. If you don’t understand the distinction, you’re not a good Christian or a good American. [Kidding… Sorta.]

But I’m drifting from my point again. God is not necessary for morality; or, if you think it is, then your conception of morality is useless.

Even the most devout Christian does not consort with God for the majority of decisions that they make. They may pray, and the confidence they gain from that praying may give them faith in their own decision, but only the extreme radical few would ever say that God told them what to do.

An atheist is just as capable of reading the Bible and judging the moral arguments in it as much as anyone else, and choosing which ones they interpret as being true and important.

I do not mean for this argument, for this series, for this blog, or anything else to appear to be a manifesto for atheism. I do not believe that a sole manifesto for atheism is possible; atheism is easily as diverse and multi-faceted in its moral principles as the monotheistic religions in all their branches and sects. Atheism is not central to anything; atheism is not something that can be built upon. I am not even an atheist. I am not part of any atheist alliance or empire or anything else. I am a person who is aware that he has a choice, and use the processes of my own mind to inform my decisions, just as anyone else does.

You too have a choice. Some people never realize that they have a choice. Some do, some know they have a choice, and choose to believe in whatever God they choose to believe in. I respect that. But I want all people to know that they have a choice, I want all people to think about what governs their life, so that when they reach a critical decision they have the tools they need to make the best possible choice.

Some of my arguments in my past few essays on suicide boil down to a question of whether we have personal ownership of our bodies and minds, and whether our lives are ours alone. In order to say that suicide, for instance, is wrong, we inadvertently take the view that they do not own their own lives. Why do students attack schools? Because they feel like the school owns them—not that they own the school. They attack the Master because they feel like slaves. Just as the mind attacks the body that it feels enslaved by. Just the same, to say that suicide can ever be “right” we might have to take the view that each man is an island. Men are not islands. No one lives for long completely alone. Every man has a mother, every woman has a father.

This is not the final draft of this post, this is not the full explanation of my project, but it is a start.

No Gods, No Kings. Only Men.

Do not hang it on a banner, sing it.

On Euthanasia and Suicide-Bombers

I previously defined suicide as “the successful act of deliberately killing oneself.” Some questioned how it could possibly be anything else, and that question I will now answer by providing a different definition:

Suicide is the choice to kill one’s body with the objective being that of killing one’s body.

This is a more convoluted definition than the other one, and the distinctions are significant, because in further exploring the topic I have to ask: are cases of “suicide bombing” or “euthanasia out of desperation” really suicide?

If a man (let’s call him Aiden) is in so much pain that he seeks his own death, is he really seeking suicide—or is he only seeking to stop the pain, with death being the cost he is willing to pay?

If a woman (let’s call her Sophia) wants to defend her friends and family, and is ordered to do so by someone she regards as a legitimate spiritual leader, is she really seeking suicide or is she a political radical who is willing to ensure her political goals at any cost?

I am not adding quotation marks to the last two paragraphs to make them rhetorical questions, where the answer is “obviously” no—I regard them as legitimate questions.

I would like to start by looking at the case of Aiden. Aiden has been diagnosed with a disease that [is terminal / isn’t terminal] and causes him an excruciating amount of pain every moment of every day. As one of the people responding to my previous essay asked me, “How many DECADES of endless mental anguish will you put up with before you decide it's just not going to get better?”

Yet, based on what I know and do not know, I cannot help but feel that whether mental anguish will “get better” or not simply isn’t relevant. Death does not make things better. If after life there is only oblivion, oblivion cannot be said to be “better” than endless pain. This line of thought is itself full of presuppositions that are part of a particular cosmogony: that pain is bad because pain is bad, that pain is bad because it is the worst of all things, that pain is bad because it hurts. I don’t like pain, I don’t like sadness, I don’t like pain, and in that sense it is “bad” to me too. But, even if pain does not ever “get better” – is that to say then that feeling nothing is “better” than pain? I do not believe that it is.

Aiden does not have to believe in the afterlife to commit suicide. Aiden does not have to believe in anything to commit suicide. Aiden can commit suicide for any number of reasons. Aiden might not care what he is running to—it might be that Aiden is running away from his pain. Once again we return to the “escape” metaphor, as seen in countless variants, including the Schopenhauer version I briefly discussed in the previous essay. Admittedly, if Aiden is so blinded by pain, my words are likely to have no impact on him. If Aiden is blinded by pain, then it may very well fall to a doctor or some other caregiver to decide whether to help him in his pleas to “escape the pain.” Drugs can only go so far, after all. We do not have illimitable dominion over the human body, we cannot turn pain on and off like a light switch. Should a doctor have the right to kill a man who seeks it? Should a man be denied the right to have a doctor kill him if he seeks death?

I do believe that doctor-assisted death is something that should be available to someone who desires it. Man often needs instruments to carry out his will; one man who wants to kill himself uses a gun. Yet a doctor is not a gun—a doctor is sworn to protect the man he takes care of and his body. A doctor has a will of his own.

If I sought death, if I was in pain, then it’s entirely possible I would greatly appreciate something as seen in “Soylent Green.” No, I am not referring to the consumption of Soylent Green, but instead to the scene where Sol (Edward G. Robinson) is killed by his own request. He walks into a room, is assisted into a bed, and has the opportunity to listen to soothing music and watch a short film that he finds pleasant while a substance kills him mostly painlessly. Yet, the ritual need not even be so elaborate. The bottom line, even if it were in a grotesque, painful manner, I would not want to be denied my right to die. I do not know of anything wrong with suicide. And I do not feel it is right to deny that right to Aiden.

The implications of this do not go unnoticed. Far more people, after all, attempt and fail to kill themselves then actually do so. For those that do not really seek death but instead want attention, or want love, or for whom the attempt to commit suicide is something they generally will regret—would not a doctor helping, with his superior skill, make it so that those that don’t “really” want to kill themselves would be killed?

I am not wholly satisfied with the answer countries whom currently support doctor assisted death give to this question. Generally, those who propose doctor-assisted death do so with the requirement that such assistance only be given if a subject is already terminally ill. This seems like a policy that comes more out of deference to the doctors and their Hippocratic Oath than it is out of deference to those who seek death.

Doctors have means of killing which ensure a more painless death than anything one can achieve without access to certain chemicals. Although not universal, men tend to try to make things quick and immediate, hoping the pain will be over before they really have to suffer, whereas women will take their chances with sometimes slower means that will have hopefully less pain. Sleeping pills are a very difficult means, since the body might automatically reject them, leaving permanent organ damage if the attempt is not successful. Other means take long enough that one might change their mind half-way through. There are few sure-fire methods of death, and many of the methods available, if the attempt is not successful, will leave a person in incredible pain and far more “invalid” than they were before.

But I am also hard-pressed to say that there is anything “right” or “good” or “correct” about suicide for anyone, ever, just as I do not believe it is “wrong” or “bad” or “incorrect,” at least in any sort of universal or abstract sense. I know I have a body, I know my body feels pain, and I value my body and my life. I know that death will destroy my body and that the process of dying might be quite painful. But death is the question I raise at the moment, not “dying” which itself implies death as an endpoint. I cannot make an appeal against suicide on the grounds that there is some sort of reason not linked in the body, and in the mind of the individual, that it is wrong.

This is not to say that you cannot, or should not, convince a person not to commit suicide. People are talked down, and for many—to them, they made the right choice. They reconciled themselves to their life. For me, it is good and right to live, to be happy and to live well, and had I been “talked down from the ledge” earlier in my life I would be thankful to the person who did so now.


Sophia is a very different case than Aiden. It seems that Sophia does not think about her death, even though a bomb is strapped to her chest and she is about to kill a dozen people in an attack that she believes is in defense of her home. Perhaps she wants to be a hero. My description of her might make you believe she is a terrorist. What I would like to emphasize about her condition is that she is a person willing to sacrifice her life for something.

What are the grounds on which someone should, or will, value their own life and body less than an abstraction, a promise, a hope, or a belief? A US soldier captured may be temped to destroy themselves rather than risk confessing something under duress. Is it suicide if a man jumps on Sophia as her bomb explodes in the hope it will dampen the blast? In the first definition, yes—his actions caused his death, it was suicide. In the second definition, it is not—it is sacrifice.

One of the most difficult cases of suicide to confront on an abstract bases are the newish vein of media suicides, assaults on schools and other locales as an assault on their peers, as an assault on “society.” They know that their attack will not kill enough people to make any sort of lasting change. But, they hope that the media reporting of their violence will result in change.

In trying to understand the crimes and the causes that have been committed, some measure of the goals of such people is achieved. Their words and actions are reproduced digitally for all to see, even when broadcast media tries to avoid doing so. Killers post threats or videos online. Some send packages to media outlets.

How do we respond to such tragedies? We may very much feel that they are wrong. I do not believe that random acts of violence can be justified. I do believe that there are a multitude of ways to say that such things are “wrong.” Yet, for the purposes of this essay, I must ask whether it is the “suicide” element of murder-suicide that we are outraged at? I do not think it is.

After the first essay, one person asked me what I would say to someone like Robert Hawkins, the Westroads Mall shooter.

Before committing his crime, Hawkins attended therapy, took medication, and was hospitalized for depression by the time he was 6 years old. He'd already cost the state 265,000 dollars.

I cannot presume that I would have been able to see the future if I had known him. I might have known he was depressed, as neighbors of him said, “troubled.” Nor would I have trusted words alone to be enough if I confronted him as he was holding the gun. And what would I say to him now? I myself would have little to say to him now. Before he’d decided to end it all, I might have tried to socialize with him, tried being friends. But, considering he’d threatened to kill his mother-in-law, I also must admit that if I felt threatened I could not have helped him by being his friend. I cannot be friends with someone who I cannot trust not to hurt me, and I would not put forward an insincere friendship. And we cannot say that his lack of friendship, that those around him, caused his spree.

Hawkins was diagnosed with attention deficit disorder, mood disorder, oppositional defiant disorder, and parent-child relationship problems. His physiological problems most likely had a large part in forming his death impulses.

But, if we are to drift into hypothetical situations, when would I have talked to him? Let’s say that he wrote his suicide note, but before he’d gotten access to guns he’d been stopped and hospitalized. Based on his final note alone, one might I have said? Even then, I would have difficulty. There might not be a perfect response, but if I did have that chance, then I might say something like this, and it might be more effective than an accusation of some sure afterlife, like Hell:

Dear Robert,

Many people feel isolated from one time or another, and many of us feel compelled to destroy out of this sense of isolation. I remember there have been many times I have had this feeling. There are many times when I too have felt like a burden on those around me. But, I realized that I should live, that I should create. You too should live. You should eat delicious food and sleep in warm beds, and when you wake, you should walk out into the sunlight and talk to people you like talking to, you should do what you enjoy doing, and you should try to remember all that is good in your life.

Your life is meaningful to you and many others. You can live for something, and when you die, you can choose to die for something. You encourage others to remember the good times you had together, but perhaps you yourself should remember the good times you have had, and imagine the good times you can yet have, the places you can go, the things you can do, the people you can meet. There is much in your life that you have not yet done.

You love your parents, but you should know that your parents want you to love yourself.

If you doubt the sincerity of your friends, or the desire of your friends to see you live, then you should know that any bridge you have burned can be rebuilt. New and better opportunities can be found.

The people you see on the street are good people who live their lives as best as they can. There is nothing good or interesting about a man or woman being killed for no reason. It is harder to create and protect than it is to destroy, but it is better.

You will not become famous for destroying the lives of a few people for no reason. You will be pitied, hated, for a brief while, mourned by those you love, and then you will be forgotten. If you want to be famous, you should try to find goodness in this world and to create it.

If you choose not to live, though, then that choice should come from you and your actions should only reflect that choice. Do not destroy the lives of others for no reason. You may feel the right to take your own life. If so, do not feel compelled to strip that right from others for no reason.

No Gods. No Kings. Only Men.

No Gods. No Kings.
Only Men.

I am here to ask you a question: Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his own brow? No, says the man in Washington. It belongs to the poor. No, says the man in the Vatican. It belongs to God. No, says the man in Moscow. It belongs to everyone.

The creator originates. The parasite borrows.

AFTER the War production had begun again and it was thought that better times were coming, Frederick the Great after the Seven Years War had, as the result of superhuman efforts, left Prussia without a penny of debt: at the end of the World War Germany was burdened with her own debt of some 7 or 8 milliards of marks and beyond that was faced with the debts of 'the rest of the world' - the so-called 'reparations.' The product of Germany's work thus belonged not to the nation, but to her foreign creditors: 'it was carried endlessly in trains for territorities beyond our frontiers.' Every worker had to support another worker, the product of whose labor was commandeered by the foreigner. 'The German people after twenty-five or thirty years, in consequence of the fact that it will never be able to pay all that is demanded of it, will have so gigantic a sum still owing that practically it will be forced to produce more than it does today.' What will the end be? and the answer to that question is 'Pledging of our land, enslavement of our labor-strength. Therefore, in the economic sphere, November 1918 was in truth no achievement, but it was the beginning of our collapse.' And in the political sphere we lost first our military prerogatives, and with that loss went the real sovereignty of our State, and then our financial independence, for there remained always the Reparations Commission so that 'practically we have no longer a politically independent German Reich, we are already a colony of the outside world. We have contributed to this because so far as possible we humiliated ourselves morally, we positively destroyed our own honor and helped to befoul, to besmirch, and to deny everything which we previously held as sacred.'

If one or another amongst the leaders were really not seducer but seduced, and today, driven by the inner voice of horror at his crime, were to step before the masses and make his declaration: 'We have all deceived ourselves: we believed that we could lead you out of misery, but we have in fact led you into a misery which your children and your children's children must still bear' - he cannot say that, he dare not say that, he would on the public square or in the public meeting be torn in pieces.

There are two principles which, when we founded the Movement, we engraved upon our hearts: first, to base it on the most sober recognition of the facts, and second, to proclaim these facts with the most ruthless sincerity.
And this recognition of the facts discloses at once a whole series of the most important fundamental principles which must guide this young Movement which, we hope, is destined one day for greatness:

1. 'NATIONAL' AND 'SOCIAL' ARE TWO IDENTICAL CONCEPTIONS. At the founding of this Movement we formed the decision that we would give expression to this idea of ours of the identity of the two conceptions: despite all warnings, on the basis of what we had come to believe, on the basis of the sincerity of our will, we christened it ''National Socialist.' We said to ourselves that to be 'national' means above everything to act with a boundless and all-embracing love for the people and, if necessary, even to die for it. And similarly to be 'social' means so to build up the state and the community of the people that every individual acts in the interest of the community of the people and must be to such an extent convinced of the goodness, of the honorable straightforwardness of this community of the people as to be ready to die for it.

2. And then we said to ourselves: THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS CLASSES: THEY CANNOT BE.

And if you say 'But there must after all be a difference between the honest creators and those who do nothing at all' - certainly there must! That is the difference which lies in the performance of the conscientious work of the individual. Work must be the great connecting link, but at the same time the great factor which separates one man from another. The drone is the foe of us all. But the creators - it matters not whether they are brain workers or workers with the hand - they are the nobility of our State, they are the German people!

We understand under the term 'work' exclusively that activity which not only profits the individual but in no way harms the community, nay rather which contributes to form the community.

WE WERE FURTHER PERSUADED THAT ECONOMIC PROSPERITY IS INSEPARABLE FROM POLITICAL FREEDOM AND THAT THEREFORE THAT HOUSE OF LIES, 'INTERNATIONALISM,' MUST IMMEDIATELY COLLAPSE. We recognized that freedom can eternally be only a consequence of power and that the source of power is the will. Consequently the will to power must be strengthened in a people with passionate ardor. And thus we realized fifthly that

WE AS NATIONAL SOCIALISTS and members of the German Workers party - a Party pledged to work - MUST BE ON PRINCIPLE THE MOST FANATICAL NATIONALISTS. We realized that the State can be for our people a paradise only if the people can hold sway therein freely as in a paradise: we realized that a slave state will never be a paradise, but only - always and for all time - a hell or a colony.

POWER IN THE LAST RESORT IS POSSIBLE ONLY WHERE THERE IS STRENGTH, and that strength lies not in the dead weight of numbers but solely in energy. Even the smallest minority can achieve a mighty result if it is inspired by the most fiery, the most pas sionate will to act. World history has always been made by minorities. And lastly

If one has realized a truth, that truth is valueless so long as there is lacking the indomitable will to turn this realization into action!

These were the foundations of our Movement - the truths on which it was based and which demonstrated its necessity.

For three years we have sought to realize these fundamental ideas. And of course a fight is and remains a fight. Stroking in very truth will not carry one far. Today the German people has been beaten by a quite other world, while in its domestic life it has lost all spirit; no longer has it any faith. But how will you give this people once more firm ground beneath its feet save by the passionate insistence on one definite, great, clear goal?

And through the distress there is no doubt that the people has been aroused. Externally perhaps apathetic, but within there is ferment. And many may say, 'It is an accursed crime to stir up passions in the people.' And then I say to myself: Passion is already stirred through the rising tide of distress, and one day this passion will break out in one way or another: AND NOW I WOULD ASK THOSE WHO TODAY CALL US 'AGITATORS': 'WHAT THEN HAVE YOU TO GIVE TO THE PEOPLE AS A FAITH TO WHICH IT MIGHT CLING?'

Nothing at all, for you yourselves have no faith in your own prescriptions.
That is the mightiest thing which our Movement must create: for these widespread, seeking and straying masses a new Faith which will not fail them in this hour of confusion.


People are ignorant. They'll feel better as long as someone is punished.

There's nothing like the sound of hundreds of voices screaming in unison.

On Suicide

For this argument, I will define suicide as the successful act of deliberately killing oneself.

The World Health Organization believes that nearly one million people kill themselves every year. The WHO, which regards suicide as a disease, also believes that a large percent of suicide is due to pesticide poisoning. For this argument, I will not be discussing suicide that comes as a byproduct of pesticide poisoning. Although it is generally believed that high self-esteem, “connectedness,” social support, stable romantic relationships, and religious commitments tend to diminish the risk of suicide, these factors nevertheless do not wholly account for causes. Some argue that some suicides are triggered by media reporting of suicides.

Unlike other “diseases” suicide afflicts the younger half of the population, and is in all countries one of the “three leading causes of death for people aged 15-34 years.” For all but some countries, suicide rates are higher than homicide rates.

Why do people choose to kill themselves, or choose not to? Although the question of pesticide poisoning is not central to my argument, it does posit one almost undeniable factor: suicide will often have a physiological element.

Some of us have more control of our brains than others. Some people are cursed with brains that have problems distinguishing fantasy from reality, with fatal delusions prompting them to leap from tall buildings. Some, for whatever reasons, consume brain-altering drugs that cause similar problems. Not all decisions for suicide are made from the conscious part of the mind, and even in the cases where it is, often that desire will be rooted in other physiological problems. People suffering from chronic pain, or from a sense of extreme isolation might feel compelled to kill themselves.

But, many of those 15-34 year olds who kill themselves are not sufferers of chronic pains. They are not delusional. Their impulse for death is rooted instead in something else.

One of the shaping features of such a decision may very well be a belief in the afterlife. Interpretations of the afterlife often shape social conceptions of suicide. To some Japanese individuals, suicide is often regarded as an “honorable way out.” In Christianity, official dogma often argues that suicide will cause the individual to go to Hell. In certain Muslim sects, suicide, if used to attack one’s enemies, is a guarantee for a paradise after death.

We have very few compelling documents detailing post-death experience. Some people who have experienced near-death have described several similar phenomena: the bright-light, the tunnel, a movement away from the body, the majority of which you will likely have seen depicted in some television show or movie. Our accounts of this, however, are not post-death, and these experiences likely are the brain’s response to being critically threatened—not divine visions.

You may disagree. The argument, if you made one, would likely fall toward the closest analogy: the dream. If you believe that dreams have divine origins, then you may also believe that near-death experiences are also supernatural phenomena. Or, you might believe that you have personal knowledge of the afterlife. If so, you may not find the following arguments compelling. If this is the case, please leave a comment or e-mail me, as this essay will not engage with those arguments at this point.

What is known of the afterlife is anti-knowledge: we know that we cannot know if there is or is not an afterlife, positive or negative, nor can we know whether suicide will have no impact on the afterlife, will result in a negative experience in the afterlife (Christianity), or will have a positive experience in the afterlife (Islamic martyrdom).

Some argue that suicide should always be regarded as the “merciful option” in cases of extreme pain. Jean Amery, for instance, argued that suicide represents the ultimate freedom from society. Schopenhauer argued that suicide was justified, and compared it to being allowed to wake from a bad dream (the dream metaphor again).

There is no evidence to suggest that there is any reason to commit suicide, nor is there evidence to suggest against it. Regardless of religious or lack of religious belief, there is no convincing argument one way or the other that suicide is “good” or “bad.”

The analogy of Schopenhauer to that of waking from a dream is erroneous, because it assumes that “waking up” (death) is inherently better than the worst dream. There is no evidence for this. The worst dream may be positive and better than the waking life. Suicide could be regarded as the ultimate freedom, but so could it also be regarded as the ultimate slavery, for in death one may be totally and completely restricted by the confines of one’s body, or lack thereof.

The void is neither better nor worse than existence. It is incomparable.

The arguments of those like William Godwin, that more pleasure is gained in life than in death and therefore life is preferable, too do not mount compelling arguments. Happiness does not collects or last in death. The amount of happiness one achieves in life is irrelevant once one is dead.

The arguments of those like Valinda, an online friend of mine, also would do little to sway me away from death if I felt compelled to embark upon it. She argues that one should not kill oneself because others will be forced to clean up your body. That might work for her, but I imagine that most of those considering suicide aren’t too thrilled with the people around them, and probably don’t particularly care whether others have to clean them up or not. But I’m sure there are exceptions.

What I do believe is that many of those who commit suicide hold a high premium on their own life, and that their views on the afterlife, one way or the other, hold a meaningful weight in shaping such a decision. Whatever you believe suicide will bring you, consider the simple possibility that it won’t. I for one am not convinced that there are empirical arguments, one way or the other, that suicide is ever a “right” or a “wrong” choice. Just the same, I can mount few abstract arguments to someone in terminal pain about whether they should or should not commit suicide. But, to a young man or woman who feels that suicide is something important that they should do, I have simply to ask: Why? If your best response is “Why not?” then I have only to wonder if that response is really good enough for you.