Quotes
It is indeed rather mysterious that critics of utilitarianism, some of whom lay great weight on the ‘right to equal concern and respect’ which all people have, should object when utilitarians show this equal concern by giving equal weight to the equal interests of everybody, a precept which leads straight to Bentham’s formula and to utilitarianism itself.
R. M. Hare, Rights, utility, and universalization: Reply to J.L. Mackie, in R. G. Frey (ed.) Utility and rights, Minneapolis, 1984, pp. 106-20, p. 107
[N]unca se diga: “He agotado el padecimiento, este dolor no puede ser superado”, pues siempre habrá más sufrimiento, más dolor, más lágrimas que tragar.
Santiago Davobe, Ser polvo, Buenos Aires, 1961
That anything should exist at all does seem to me a matter for the deepest awe. But whether other people feel this sort of awe, and whether they or I ought to is another question. I think we ought to.
John Jamieson Carswell Smart, The existence of God, Church quarterly review, vol. 156, no. 319, 1955, pp. 178–94, p. 194
Sin lugar a dudas, Borges es la mayor figura que ha dado la literatura argentina. Su sola obra bastaría para encarnar una “edad de oro” y exhibe un peso equivalente a lo que, en otras tradiciones, es la suma de varias individualidades. Dicho de otra forma, Borges es al mismo tiempo nuestro Tolstoi, nuestro Dostoievsky y nuestro Chejov.
Eduardo Berti and Edgardo Cozarinsky (eds.), Galaxia Borges, Buenos Aires, 2007, p. 7
El movimiento dadá correspondía a una idea de nihilismo, de desesperación de la literatura. Quedamos decepcionados cuando supimos, después, que no eran verdaderos escépticos, que se peleaban por ser reconocidos como los “verdaderos” fundadores del movimiento. En fin, supimos que los dadaístas eran escritores tan profesionales como los demás, igualmente celosos, igualmente vanidosos.
Jorge Luis Borges, Borges verbal, Barcelona, 1999, pp. p
If men do possess psychological design features that reliably lead to higher levels of sociosexuality, this would in no way justify their unrestricted sexual behaviour in a moral sense. Such a conclusion would be the result of faulty reasoning known as the “naturalistic fallacy” or “because something is (natural), it ought to be.” There are myriad examples of unpleasant behaviors that are to some degree natural, in that they probably occurred with some frequency over our evolutionary history (e.g., high child mortality, intergroup conflict, perhaps even warfare). Just because something is natural does not justify it. Instead, understanding the way that a behavior is natural—especially the underlying psychological adaptations that give rise to the behaviour—may help to control the behaviour if that is what a culture decides is preferable. Indeed, increasing our scientific knowledge about the theoretical links between culture and sexuality may prove crucial to alleviating the public health problems of overpopulation, reproductive dysfunction, sexually transmitted diseases, HIV/AIDS, and—seemingly at the heart of most health concerns—gender inequity.
David P. Schmitt, Sociosexuality from Argentina to Zimbabwe: A 48-nation study of sex, culture, and strategies of human mating, Behavioral and Brain Sciences, vol. 28, no. 2, 2005, pp. 247–275, p. 271
One night […] I dreamed that I had a rather pleasant sensation in my right leg. The sensation increased in intensity, and I began to wake up. It grew even more intense. I woke up more fully and discovered that it had been a severe pain all the time. The sensation itself told me that it had been a sensation of immense pain, which I had mistaken for a sensation of pleasure.
Paul Feyerabend, Killing time: the autobiography of Paul Feyerabend, Chicago, 1995, p. 117
Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the night in which it was said, There is a man child conceived.
Let that day be darkness; let not God regard it from above, neither let the light shine upon it.
Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it; let a cloud dwell upon it; let the blackness of the day terrify it.
Paul loved to live. Many periods of his life were a flurry of dinners, plays, operas, romantic evenings, wrestling matches. These occasions were marked by a great sociability. Killing Time itemizes these activities, but does not, I think, fully convey their athmosphere.
Feyerabend would hold court at Berkeley’s faculty lunchroom, in later years at the Chez Panisse restaurant. A steady stream of students, faculty, and assorted personages came and went. Paul was the main attraction. Discussions would careen through fine food and wine; music and opera; romantic prospects and dénouements; Feyerabend’s revered classics of literature, history, and philosophy—perhaps he would be rereading an old favorite, perhaps a new book offered a novel treatment; Perry Mason, mystery books, and the best soap opera actors—soap opera being the sole repertory acting on TV; intellectual celebrity gossip; even philosophy of science. Feyerabend would discuss the state of his ailments, and his newest try for a remedy (e.g., acupuncture). Discussion would continue afterward, as Feyerabend with difficulty would make his way to a class or his bus stop; it was a big occasion when he got a specially outfitted car. His house was a dense labyrinth of books; indeed for years one of my functions was to scout out interesting books on any topic, and interesting musical discoveries, to recommend to him. These were immensely sunny times. Feyerabend was like champagne, sheer fun to be around.
Paul Feyerabend et al. (ed.), The worst enemy of science? essays in memory of Paul Feyerabend, New York, 2000, p. 24
One day of grief is an hundred years, as Cardan observes: ‘Tis carnificina hominum, angor animi, as well saith Aretrus, a plague of the soul, the cramp and convulsion of the soul, an epitome of hell, and if there be a hell upon earth, it is to be found in a melancholy man’s heart.
Robert Burton, The anatomy of melancholy, Oxford, 1638
Ethics is founded on evidence that can’t be shared. My experience of severe pain gives me reason to believe that nihilism is false. In other words, when I am in severe pain, that pain, as it’s presented to me, gives me evidence that it’s bad in some way. I can’t share this evidence with you; you can’t feel my pain. Even if you could peer inside my head and see it, you wouldn’t be presented with it in a way that gave you evidence of its badness. But you, of course, are in the same position regarding your pain: when you are in severe pain, that pain, as it’s presented to you, provides you with evidence that it’s bad in some way. So, each of us has evidence for his or her severe pain being bad in some way. In the case of infants and nonhuman animals, the evidence is there, but the creature is too unsophisticated to recognize it as such.
Stuart Rachels, Hedonic value, 1998, p. 35
Take a Swede who is proud of his country’s peaceful record. He might have a similar divided attitude. He may not be disturbed by the thought that Sweden once fought aggressive wars; but if she had recently fought such wars he would be greatly disturbed. Someone might say, “This man’s attitude is indefensible. The wars of Gustavus, or of Karl XII, are as much part of Swedish history.” This truth cannot, I think, support this criticism. Modern Sweden is indeed continuous with the aggressive Sweden of the Vasa kings. But the connections are weak enough to justify this man’s attitude.
Derek Parfit, On "The importance of self-identity", Journal of philosophy, vol. 68, no. 20, 1971, pp. 683–690, p. 685
Consider how strange is the question posed by someone who wants a justification for altruism about such a basic matter as this. Suppose he and some other people have been admitted to a hospital with severe burns after being rescued from a fire. “I understand how my pain provides me with a reason to take an analgesic,” he says, “and I understand how my groaning neighbor’s pain gives him a reason to take an analgesic; but how does his pain give me any reason to want him to be given an analgesic? How can his pain give me or anyone else looking at it from outside a reason?
This question is crazy. As an expression of puzzlement, it has that characteristic philosophical craziness which indicates that something very fundamental has gone wrong. This shows up in the fact that the answer to the question is obvious, so obvious that to ask the question is obviously a philosophical act. The answer is that pain is awful. The pain of the man groaning in the next bed is just as awful as yours. That’s your reason to want him to have an analgesic.
Thomas Nagel, The limits of objectivity, in Grethe B. Peterson (ed.) The Tanner lectures on human values, Salt Lake City, 2004, pp. 75–139, pp. 109-110
[T]here are quite commonplace instances of our not being averse to, or even relishing, pain. I can deliberately probe a loose tooth with my tongue and find the sharp pang which results quite delicious. In this case I have no difficulty identifying the feeling as painful; indeed, that seems to be part of its appeal.
Leonard W. Sumner, Welfare, happiness, and ethics, Oxford, 1996, p. 101
Nun ist [Michele Besso] mir auch mit dem Abschied von dieser sonderbaren Welt ein wenig vorausgegangen. Dies bedeutet nichts. Für uns gläubige Physiker hat die Scheidung zwischen Vergangenheit, Gegenwart und Zukunft nur die Bedeutung einer wenn auch hartnäckigen Illusion.
Albert Einstein, Michele Besso, and Pierre Speziali, Correspondance: 1903 - 1955, Paris, 1972, pp. 537-538
In understanding a question, it often helps to see what would count as an answer to it; and often the answers are easier to grasp than the question itself. (Understanding the questions is the hardest thing in philosophy.)
Eric T. Olson, What are we?: a study in personal ontology, Oxford, 2007, p. 6
I had a group of young, able philosophers who held teaching positions in various colleges. We covered several topics during the 6 weeks they were at Purdue, and toward the end we spent a week on the problem of evil. Among the group was a chap named Stephen Wykstra who had accepted a teaching position in philosophy at Calvin college. Wykstra talked only occasionally in the seminar, but when he became excited about some point or argument he would talk a good deal, sometimes having difficulty stopping talking, even after having fully made his point. At such times he would finally become aware that he had gone on too long, stop for moment, and then say, “Shut up, Wykstra!” And when he said that, to our surprise he would stop talking.
William Rowe, Friendly atheism, skeptical theism, and the problem of evil, International Journal for Philosophy of Religion, vol. 59, no. 2, 2006, pp. 79–92, p. 81
[M]oment utility is measured by collecting introspective reports, but this […] is not necessary. Appropriately validated physiological measures of moment utility could be used instead, and may have important advantages. The most promising physiological indicator of momentary affect is the prefrontal cortical asymmetry in the electroencephalogram (EEG), which has been extensively validated by Davidson and his team as a measure of the balance of positive and negative feelings, and of the relative strength of tendencies toward approach or avoidance. A portable measuring instrument is not yet available, but is technically feasible. When success is achieved, Davidson’s technique will be a candidate for a continuous and non-intrusive indicator of moment utility.
Daniel Kahneman and Jason Riis, Living, and thinking about it: Two perspectives on life, in Nick Baylis, Felicia A. Huppert, and Barry Keverne (eds.) The science of well-being, Oxford, 2005, pp. 284–305, p. 292
Perhaps the greatest source of confusion about hedonism is this: Some philosophers think that pleasure is a special sort of sensation. Moore and many others have assumed that to get pleasure is to feel a certain something—a special, indefinable, phenomenologically uniform sensation—the feeling of “pleasure itself.” These philosophers quite naturally assume that hedonism is the view that this feeling is the fundamental bearer of positive intrinsic value.
The remarkable fact is that there simply is no such feeling. Feelings of the most disparate sorts may correctly be called “pleasures.” Sidgwick, Broad, Ryle, Brandt, and many others have made this clear. The implication is obvious: If we take hedonism to be the view that this uniform sensation is the sole bearer of positive intrinsic value, then we are driven to the conclusion that nothing intrinsically good has ever happened!
Fred Feldman, Utilitarianism, hedonism, and desert: essays in moral philosophy, Cambridge, 1997, p. 8
When the objective self contemplates pain, it has to do so thought the perspective of the sufferer, and the sufferer’s reaction is very clear. Of course he wants to be rid of this pain unreflectively—not because he thinks it would be good to reduce the amount of pain in the world. But at the same time his awareness of how bad it is doesn’t essentially involve the thought of it as his. The desire to be rid of pain has only the pain as its object. This is shown by the fact that it doesn’t even require the idea of oneself in order to make sense: if I lacked or lost the conception of myself as distinct from other possible or actual persons, I could still apprehend the badness of pain, immediately. So when I consider it from an objective standpoint, the ego doesn’t get between the pain and the objective self. My objective attitude toward pain is rightly taken over from the immediate attitude of the subject, and naturally takes the form of an evaluation of the pain itself, rather than merely a judgment of what would be reasonable for its victim to want: “/This experience/ ought not to go on, whoever is having it.” To regard pain as impersonally bad from the objective standpoint does not involve the illegitimate suppression of an essential reference to the identity of its victim. In its most primitive form, the fact that it is mine—the concept of myself—doesn’t come into my perception of the badness of my pain.
Thomas Nagel, The view from nowhere, Oxford, 1986, p. 161