We have a moral duty to the next generation to wipe the slate clean for them of debt. We have set out a plan – it lasts about six or seven years – to wipe the slate clean, to rid people of the deadweight of debt that has been built up over time.

As it happens, Clegg wasn’t correct anyway: the “plan” concerns the national deficit, the rate at which debt is accrued.

Debt by David Graeber in Occupy SFSU Malcolm x library DSC_0037 (Photo credit: Steve Rhodes)

The national debt itself will not be paid off. But if we think of his statement as an expression of a kind of moral philosophy, then it becomes interesting – particularly because this philosophy appears to have a key role in how the Coalition typically justifies its austerity measures. Do we have a moral duty to pay down the national debt, or even to clear our own debts? In his recent book, Debt: The First 5000 Years, anthropologist David Graeber suggests that the ethical and political significance of debt is far more complex. He provides a historical and anthropological perspective on the subject which invites us to reconsider the meaning of a concept we assume to be a natural part of the world around us. Specifically, he invites us to consider how our ideas about debt are the result of a long chain of contingent events and decisions, and that the role they play in our lives could have been (and could still be) very different.

Chris Groves introduced some of the key themes of Graeber’s book at last night’s Cardiff Philosophy Cafe, in the first of  series of Cafes over the next twelve months which will look at how the humanities and social sciences can shed light on different aspects of the 2007-08 financial crisis and its aftermath.

With respect to Clegg’s statement, the following quotation from the book is relevant, relating to abstract models of the economic system:

Economists are aware that reality is always more complicated; but they are also aware that to come up with a mathematical model, one always has to make the world into a bit of a cartoon. There’s nothing wrong with this. The problem comes when it enables some (very often these same economists) to declare that everyone who ignores the dictates of the market shall surely be punished  – or that since we live in a market  system everything (except government interference) is based on principles of justice: that our market system is one vast network of reciprocal relations in which, in the end, the accounts balance and all debts are paid. (p. 115)

How have we come to accept such ideas about the economy as a self-balancing system in which fair prices are supposed to produce a fair allocation of resources, and ensure that everyone gets what they need? Graeber suggests that economic theories about free markets, as introduced by Adam Smith and others in the 18^th century, were not designed to be descriptive theories, but utopian programmes – based on dubious anthropological assumptions. He sets out how Smith and the majority of other economists (as well as political philosophers like John Locke) see the evolution of money as a solution to the inefficiencies of barter systems, which supposedly dominated the early history of humanity.

The difficulties of determining how many chickens are worth the same as a pig, or whatever, are alleged to have been solved by the use of a neutral medium of exchange (some form of money) to help set prices – abstract measures of equivalence. Once a chicken is worth £1 and a pig £10, it’s easy to see how many chickens you need before you’ll hand over your prize sow.  But, Graeber argues, there is no anthropological evidence that barter has ever been used as the primary means of trading goods in human societies anywhere. Smith and those who agree with him are wrong. Indeed, Graeber notes that barter has historically only been carried out in unusual circumstances, as between colonists and natives:

Barter, then […] was carried out between people who might otherwise be enemies and hovered about one inch away from actual warfare […] (p. 30)

The barter relationship assumes no intrinsic connection between the individuals involved in it. If Smith saw a correctly managed system of prices as a more just replacement for barter, then what he had already assumed was that societies were just collections of unconnected individuals. This kind of picture of society had already been given a philosophical foundation a century before by thinkers such as Thomas Hobbes and John Locke. Given such a situation, maybe a price system would be more efficient. However, such a depiction of human societies, Graeber argues, is a distortion.

Throughout the book, he develops a distinction between two different “economies”, two ways of imagining human relationships. Market economies rely on rules of exchange that define the value of things in terms of prices, and which therefore view things (and people, or at least slaves or wage-labourers) as, at least potentially, equivalents. Historically, they have come to be seen as governed by abstract and even mechanical principles which are independent of other forms of social relationship (such as kinship, friendship, political affiliation and so on).  Human economies, on the other hand, operate on the basis that human beings are unique and irreplaceable, because they are “each a unique nexus of relations with others” (p. 208). Within human economies, people can relate to each other on the basis of what Graeber provocatively (as he himself states) calls “communism”, or hierarchically.

Market and human economies as kinds of social relationship

Communistic relationships are ones determined by need, on the basis of (as Marx said) “from each according to his ability, to each according to his need”. They tend, across societies, to operate between friends, neighbours and members of the same community, and may work on the basis of promise-based credit, but do not use money. Indeed, Graeber argues, in traditional societies, currency often has specific uses, but is not used as payment for everyday trades. Hierarchical relationships, on the other hand, are established between different segments of the same community (e.g. castes, classes) by custom, and require formal exchanges of tribute to be made. In neither case are trade or obligations independent of wider social contexts. With the imposition of market exchanges, governed only by money, obligations take on an independent life as debts, measured out in cold cash.

The bulk of Graeber’s book is concerned with the history of how, in different times and in different places, market exchanges and debts measured in terms of money, have come to be superimposed on human economies. This, he argues, always requires political intervention – to enforce laws regarding interest, to produce and distribute coinage, and so on – and so the creation of markets in which things (and people, where slavery exists) can be exchanged as equivalents relies on violence and coercion.  The historical and anthropological evidence, he suggests, indicates that it is possible to manage obligations differently – “communistically” and/or hierarchically – and that, even now, we often do manage our obligations according to these principles. Nonetheless, the predominance of market relationships in our lives often submerges these other forms of relationship, introducing confusion and conflict.

Our current situation – a debt crisis – links the contemporary world to pivotal moments in the histories of other civilizations where supposedly stable creditor-debtor relationships imploded. Graeber asks us to consider whether ideas of an intrinsic connection between paying off debts and moral ideals of justice are appropriate after all, and whether the promises of free-market based stability made by economists ever since Smith are a veil over relations of political domination.  In other places, at other times, revolutions have been accompanied by the destruction of official records of debt – a question raised by Graeber’s book is, therefore, do we need a repudiation of debt in order to achieve justice, rather than expecting the economy to adjust itself and ensure those who have incurred debts “immorally” will be punished?

The burning of the debt records, Union Square, New York, April 25, 2012

The audience at the Café raised a wide variety of issues in response to Chris’ overview of the book. What, for example, is the role of bankruptcy in modern societies, and how does it relate to the story Graeber tells? How do we manage trust in relationships which are no longer ones between neighbours, without some kind of neutral accounting mechanism – and in such circumstances, does monetized debt therefore reinforce wider social relationships rather than supplanting them? It was suggested that perhaps the debt crisis is a sign of a return of some of the inefficiencies which Smith and his colleagues have seen in barter relationships. Graeber points out that the terms “truck and barter”, used by Smith to describe humans’ alleged universal propensity to trade with each other, had a specific meaning:

in the century or two before Smith’s time, the English words ‘truck and barter’, like their equivalents in French, Spanish, German, Dutch and Portuguese, literally meant ‘to trick, bamboozle or rip off’. (p. 34)

Barter often implies what economists call “information asymmetry”, that is, that each participant has a different level of information about the quality of the goods they want to exchange. Each side can use what they know about what they’re trading to seek an advantage, by for example trying to convince the other that what they’re being offered is better than it is. An audience member suggested that the current debt crisis was, in part, caused by such asymmetries. The very mathematical complexity of the trades carried out in the financial industry meant that traders were, despite everything being stated in terms of dollars, euros or whatever , back in the position of the barterer who gained an upper hand thanks to inside knowledge. It was also suggested that rethinking our relationship with debt needed to consider how inappropriate debt was as a way of thinking about our obligations to the natural world, as a life support system for both the market and human economies. Monetising debt, and then using this system to think about our relationship with nature (as some economists, and many governments, want to do) is, it was suggested, at least as problematic as the impact it can have on human economies.

To help continue the debate, try this poll – add any other comments you might have in the Comments section below this post.

In a session entitled Should we pay our debts?, Dr Chris Groves (Cesagen, Cardiff University) will introduce this theme by looking at how far morality is about what we owe to each other.

Debt by David Graeber in occupy sfsu Malcolm x library (Photo credit: Steve Rhodes)

Moral philosophy can be defined as a systematic attempt to work out what, as human beings, our obligations are. So does this mean that morality is about what we owe – in other words, what our debts are and to whom they are owed?

In this Café, drawing on the anthropologist David Graeber’s book Debt: The First 5000 Years, Chris will look at the links between morals and debts, ethics and economics, and ask: should we always pay our debts?

As always, we will be in the Cafe Bar at The Gate from 8.00 pm.

Socrates. From http://hypernews.ngdc.noaa.gov (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Each café table group agreed up to four key points to present back in the plenary discussion. Some of the key ideas were that philosophy:

1. Offers tools for change
2. Re-defines horizons of inquiry
3. Critical questioning
4. Challenge/build frameworks
5. Explore consciousness/psyche
6. Apply theoretical approaches to real world problems
7. Thought experiments
8. Justification on objective grounds
9. How to live – meaning of life/ ethics
10. Rationalisation of knowledge areas
11. Love of wisdom
12. Questions everything
13. Understanding history of thought
14. Tools to explore questions of life and death
15. Logical thinking to solve life’s problems
16. Clarifies language/ideas, aids mutual understanding
17. Make sense of self, society, the human condition
18. Basis for society, law, politics
19. A priori inquiry (not empirical)
20. Metaphysics and epistemology
21. Intuition and imagination
22. Philosophy as a practice
23. Philosophy as an ‘empty book’
24. Question reality, compare perspectives

Reviewing these points, many felt philosophy has the power to transform how we understand our lives and how we live (6, 9, 14, 17). This reminds us of the dictum ‘the unexamined life is not worth living’ (Plato in the Apology). Philosophy may even inform political and social change (1, 14, 18). For Plato, the philosophical examination of life is a rational activity: philosophers are lovers of wisdom (11) whose powers of reason give them unique knowledge of ‘the Good.’ Plato went so far as to outline an ideal state ruled by philosopher kings (never fully implemented, though some monarchs in 18th century Europe flirted with philosophy).

Philosophy conducted by reasoned argument offers a method to interrogate human existence, one which brings logical thinking, critical scrutiny, scepticism, and conceptual clarity to our reasoning on a range of issues (3, 6, 15, 16, 19). It may also allow room for intuition (e.g. having a hunch that an argument is ‘fishy’) and imagination, as in ‘thought experiments’ and novels (7, 21).

Philosophy may provide foundations, define limits and advance understanding of other areas of inquiry and social practices (2, 4, 8,10). John Locke claimed that, by clarifying concepts underpinning the sciences, philosophy would support the advances being made by scientific giants like Newton. On his view, the philosopher is ‘an under-labourer removing some of the rubbish that lies in the way to knowledge.’ But is Locke’s view too narrow? Winch argues that philosophy has its own agenda, in which the relationship of thought and reality – how we make sense of, and know, ourselves and the world (5, 17, 20, 24) – has always been central. Indeed, we can learn a lot from the history of thought and the diverse traditions in which philosophical practices are grounded (13, 22).

In this Café, a familiar opposition emerged: between those (e.g. linguistic philosophers) who view philosophy as a self-contained practice that ‘leaves everything as it is’ (Wittgenstein) and those (e.g. Marxists and existentialists) who feel it should engage with and even transform the individual and society. Should philosophy interpret the world or try to change it (Marx)?

Jean-Paul Sartre (1950) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Gary Cox, which has now been recently published in paperback. Leading an attack on contemporary “excuse culture”, the presentation, like the book, will challenge the audience to face the hard existential truths of the human condition. It uncompromisingly counsels us to become tougher and more dignified, less grumbling and irresponsible, to stop chasing rainbows and making excuses and instead to get a grip and get real.

By revealing that we are all inescapably free and responsible – ‘condemned to be free’, as Jean-Paul Sartre says – the presentation aims to empower people with a sharp sense that we are each the master of our own destiny.

As usual, the Cafe will be in the Cafe Bar at The Gate on Keppoch Street, from 8.00pm. After a successful trial at the Cafe in January, Glenn Davidson from Artstation will be running an interactive TXT2 installation on the evening to accompany the discussion.

More information is available at www.philosophycafe.org.uk

Karl Popper c1980s (Photo credit: LSE Library)

This was the question at the heart of last night’s Cardiff Philosophy Cafe, featuring a talk by John Jackson. John began by suggesting that science is, essentially, an extension of the way we perceive the world at a basic level, and rooted in the same principles which govern perception, memory and association. He proposed that, just as evolution should be considered as a selection process working on genes, perception (and how we respond to what we perceive) is a selection process working on stimuli that produce pleasure and pain. Behaviour grows out of the capacity to predict whether situations will be painful or pleasurable. Science “grows” out of this link between perception and behaviour. It is a way of systematically testing theories – that is, hypotheses about how the world works, about the regularities which underlie our perceptions.

John introduced the ideas of Karl Popper (1902 – 1994) as a means of understanding how scientific knowledge tests hypotheses. Popper’s view of science was, he suggested, very different to that of his contemporaries, the “Vienna Circle” of positivism philosophers. For Popper, science is not an enterprise of proving hypotheses on the basis of discovering facts. Rather, it does what it does by seeking to disprove hypotheses. The goal of a scientist is, having produced a hypothesis designed to explain some natural phenomenon, to come up with an experiment designed to show that it is false. If, having performed the experiment, the hypothesis is not disproven, then this stands in favour of its robustness. But this is different from proof: it simply means that the hypothesis has not, as yet, been disproven. It may be that, one day, it will be. So science does not prove that something is true: instead, it aims to test ideas about the world to destruction. Ideas that survive give us workable or “good enough” theories which we can use in adapting to and adjusting the world around us.

This way of testing hypotheses, John suggested, introduces the same kind of competitive mechanism into knowledge that exists in evolution and in perception. Overall, the value of scientific knowledge is, essentially, to enhance the capacity of the creatures using it (i.e. us) for survival – hence “good enough” hypotheses are all we need, rather than absolute truth. In discussing the relationship between scientific knowledge and religion, he pointed out that the “survival value” of science may be limited in some circumstances, however, and religious belief may “perform” better. The reason for this, he ventured, may be that the knowledge provided by science is often disillusioning – it robs us of cherished beliefs. Newtonianism, for example, was a huge blow to the worldview, first systematically set out byAristotle, that things exist because they embody purposes. By contrast, religion offers hope – which,even if illusory, has survival value.

In discussion, it was pointed out that the picture of science John had painted was very different from the “common-sense” view of science as a body of facts discovered through experiment and deduction. Both popular science (as communicated by celebrity scientists such as Brian Cox and Steve Jones) and the way science is used by governments to back up policy encourage us to think about scientific knowledge as a body of “positive” knowledge, rather than as a “negative” method that, despite being essentially sceptical and critical in nature, is nevertheless the most reliable means of understanding the natural world that we have.

Rather than providing us with certainty, science in the Popperian sense represents a way of living with uncertainty, and of cosntructing robust ways of interpreting the world in the face of an uncertain future. Some drew parallels with an authentic experience of religious faith, in which there is no certainty of salvation. Given that Poppperian science offers only a method of discovery and testing, rather than a way of discovering the truth, what might this mean for how we use science in justifying responses to pressing problems? Human-caused climate change, for example, is a phenomenon for which various explanatory hypotheses have been modelled. Yet testing these hypotheses is not possible: the only test for whether humans are causing the climate to change with CO₂ emissions is to continue pumping carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and to see if the climate continues to change (leading to a 2, 4 or 6 degrees increase in global temperature, or whatever).

Faced with such situations – in which the testing laboratory and the world we live in are the same thing – can science help us decide what to do? Might this be an ultimate limit on the “survival value” of scientific knowledge?

Image via Wikipedia

We generally assume that scientific knowledge is the most reliable means we have of understanding the physical world around us. But why is this? What is it about science that grants it its reliability, and by “reliable” do we also mean that science is objective?  What exactly makes scientific knowledge different from “ordinary” knowledge? And what are its limits?

In next week’s Cafe on Tuesday 20 March, John Jackson will present some ideas from his forthcoming book (download an extract) which looks at these topics from the philosophy of science, along with other related issues, such as:

• Does religious knowledge have the same kind of function or purpose as scientific knowledge?
• What “rules” should scientists follow in investigating the world?

As usual, we begin at 8.0opm in the Cafe Bar at the Gate.

Once you’re in, you can post things of interest to/interact and discuss issues with fellow CPC attendees, find out news about upcoming events, and discover links to stuff of interest on the web. We might use it for other things as time goes on…

Image via Wikipedia

The picture she presented was one in which being religious is about more than just a set of beliefs about what the world is like (and for that matter, about what God is like and what s/he wants human beings to do), and is also more than following rules which, as part of an environment in which people are brought up, lay out what a “good life” looks like. She drew on the German sociologist Georg Simmel’s work to suggest that, based on her interviews, a key element of religiosity should be seen as a sensitivity to the significance of the world which can best be compared to an artist’s aesthetic sensibility. In other words, religious practice, observance and belief can be seen as a way of creating a particular form or mode of consciousness, in which different aspects of the world and social relationships become salient or important from a religious perspective. The additional significance being religious produces, for the religious, lends extra symbolic weight to actions and situations. This additional meaning, and what people do with it, is ambiguous by nature. Francesca used the example of the effect of religiosity on health (“for better or worse”): after falling seriously ill, a religious person might believe that God wants them to get better, and such an interpretation has been shown by some research to have a definite impact on chances of recovery. Another religious person, perhaps even of the same faith and denomination, might see the illness as a punishment, with resulting negative consequences. “Religion” is not, therefore, a monolithic cultural force that, in the last instance, determines what people do on the basis of the particular beliefs about world and God they have.

Further, the assumption (which has been widely held by anthropologists as well as many contemporary commentators) that religion is essentially an alternative way of answering “how” questions about reality – and is thus a competitor to scientific reasoning – is, Francesca suggested, incorrect if we consider religious people’s own accounts of religiosity and the role it plays in their lives. She introduced the concept of “sacralisation” to name the “added value” people felt religion brought to their lives. This is quite distinct from the concept of faith: we might assume that what defines being religious is the act of belief – but, Francesca pointed out, this definition is only as old as the Reformation.

In discussion, it was suggested that, if religiosity does indeed provide “added value”, cannot something similar to “sacralisation” be provided by other kinds of experiences? Do atheists necessarily have a “disenchanted” view of reality? Also, in addition to religion involving beliefs about the world, codes of ethics, and “ways of feeling”, to understand its social significance it’s arguably also necessary to understand its political role – the way that, for example, political institutions like the House of Lords allow special representation to religious groups. The significance of Francesca’s research might also fit into this political context: someone pointed out that a more nuanced understanding of religiosity might allow the non-religious to enrich their own understanding of the worldviews of those who are religious. This suggests that the sociology of religious motivation and experience might find a use in helping to build dialogue between believers and non-believers. That is to say, although these groups may disagree about the truth of different explanations of how the world came to be, or about individual moral practices, it may be possible to use sociological insights to find new ways for them to talk to each other in ways which strengthen tolerance, or even allow agreement to be reached on e.g. political issues that concern everybody within a particular political community.

Image via Wikipedia

Drawing on empirical social scientific research conducted among members of evangelical churches in Wales, Francesca Montemaggi (City and Regional Planning, Cardiff University) will suggest that religion is not just a matter of belief, and can be both socially beneficial and harmful in certain circumstances.

Further, in response to the idea that what motivates people to “do good” doesn’t matter so long as “good gets done”, she will consider, based on her research, whether religion motivates voluntary action in ways that secular values can’t match, and if so, how this happens.

As usual, the Cafe is free to attend, and takes place on Tuesday 21 February 2012, from 8.00pm at The Gate.

The Decalogue (Image via Wikipedia)

Our discussion was accompanied, for the first time at Cardiff Philosophy Café, by TXT2, an interactive installation set up and overseen by Glenn Davidson of Artstation. Participants were able, by texting messages to a mobile phone number, to register thoughts, reflections and provocations that were then projected on the wall of the Café Bar at the Gate, creating a constantly changing counterpoint to the main discussion. You can view the complete list of contributions (in the order they happened…)  by clicking here [PDF]. TXT2 will feature again in future Cafes – details will be confirmed nearer the time.

Reflecting on the moral significance of belief in God took us through an examination of the different sources of morality, which also brought into focus the different ideas of human nature – of the kind of creatures we are, and of our needs – on which moral worldviews are founded. Does our need for God depend on how we view ourselves – as possessing an immortal soul and a mortal body, as being cognitively enhanced mammals taking their place among the other species that inhabit the earth, as pleasure-seeking utilitarians, as rational yet emotional creatures motivated by love, the need to care, and the desire for meaning?

It was widely agreed that morality – in the sense of some set of do’s and don’ts that don’t rest on merely practical considerations – is an orientation that human beings share. The exact meaning of morality, however, was seen as highly dependent on other assumptions, which may relate quite strongly to our understanding of what human beings are. Morality, some suggested, implies transcendence: of our self-interest, of our own assumptions, or even of previously accepted moralities (taking in moral progress away from institutions like slavery, for example).  Perhaps a religious conception of morality is necessary to take us away from merely negative rules (thou shalt not…) and direct us towards more positive conceptions of behaviour, which are taken to embody or express human excellence, virtue and so forth. Without such a conception, are we simply left with a pragmatically useful tool for living, which restrains humans from harming each other and thus helps them to survive, but doesn’t contribute anything more meaningful?

If we do away with religion, some wondered whether we would lack motivation to be moral – either from the fear of punishment or from the desire to find meaning or virtuousness in our lives. Nonetheless, if we insist on the need for God, then we may find ourselves tempted to immorality as a result: the concept of God, for the religious, is necessarily “filled out” with particular content, derived from a specific – and historically relative – religious tradition. God is invisible, but particular “gods” are not – and when someone appeals to a religious foundation of morality, it is always a specific god that fills this role. Can there be an absolute, religious foundation for morality, if “God” is always a reflection of a tradition? Does this mean that invoking God as the basis of morality reflects a temptation to use religious language to enforce the authority of a particular tradition, and to express nothing more than our own support for it?