Reason and Human Nature (Part I)

Lately, reason and the so-called “Enlightenment values” have been experiencing a resurgence in celebrity, finding themselves once again endowed with the ability to transform humanity utterly for the better. Before jumping to such fantastic conclusions, however, reason must be examined to determine if it truly is all that it is purported to be.

More importantly, we must determine whether humans are actually capable of reasoning–after all, a significant pool of facts suggests that we are not rational creatures. If we were, the lure of addictive substances, promiscuous sexuality, and even advertising would surely be lost on us–yet countless people are enticed by such temptations despite the better angels of their rational nature to their own destruction. Emotion, it seems, and not reason guides human decision making.

Nevertheless, are such emotionally influenced choices unreasonable? Under the literal meaning of the word, they obviously are not, because humans universally provide excuses–reasons–to justify even their most “irrational” behavior. The drug addict defends the continuation of his habit with reasons that are perfectly convincing to him, perhaps more convincing than the logic used by an attorney to persuade a jury. Both cases include an appeal to facts; the fact that heroin induces a pleasing psychological state is as true for the addict as the time, place, and method of a murder are to those in the courtroom. Despite the conventional wisdom of the Enlightenment movement, the argument based on relatively subjective facts appealed to by the former arguer and the argument grounded in relatively objective facts presented by the latter are logically parallel cases: both use indicative facts and imperative hypotheses to reach imperative conclusions. Thus, all arguments are rational, even arguments about the validity of rationality; logic is the universal language of human thought whose relationship to reality beyond our minds we will never learn precisely because we cannot process that reality without it. As the tool used to discover certain components of reality (either indicative or imperative) from other components of reality, reason renders all claims rationally equal in the absence of a hierarchy of truth, a scale that is not self-evidently verifiable or absolute.

While we may be unable to conceptualize a world without reason, this essential component of human nature–the human lust for an explanatory premise for every other premise–is still deeply intriguing and mysterious. Why can’t humans be content with brute facts? Why are we so reluctant to accept truth as incorrigible? Why do we insist on linking facts to other facts?

Moreover, these traits are particularly odd considering that both materialistic and theistic worldviews claim that the ultimate existing entity is without cause, having no reason for itself but itself. In either case, God or the universe forms the single break from the reasonedness that otherwise rules our thinking. While we insist on finding a reason to explain every material and psychological phenomenon (and a reason for that reason, and a reason for that reason, and so on), we intuitively know that an infinite regress of causes is ultimately untenable.

What, then, is the reason for this paradox of human nature? Why does the species that views all through the lens of rationality and demands a reason for everything, even its own existence, inevitably resort to a necessary being? Is this an evolutionary fluke, the result of a deviant mental pathway yet to be discarded by the hand of chance? Is it a single part of the cosmic soul craving unity with the expanse?

Or is it the mark of the great Cause Himself, who created us with a predilection for reasons so that we might eventually confront The Reason?

“…Thou madest us for Thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless, until it repose in Thee.” (St. Augustine of Hippo)

Stay tuned for coming discussions of subjective and objective and indicative and imperative ontological states and their role in reason.

The Humanist’s God

Nearly 150 years ago, Friedrich Nietzsche announced `Gott ist tot`—“God is dead,” slaughtered by enlightened mankind. Since Nietzsche’s time, the curious conglomerate of beliefs that is secular humanism has risen to the challenge of creating meaning for a godless mankind, doing so by pushing man himself into the role of moral magistrate and embodied goodness—or, in premodern phraseology, God. Nevertheless, the conflicting claims of this philosophical system in the end cause it not only to collapse on itself but also ultimately logically force humanity once more into the clutches of an unknown transcendent entity.

To begin, humanism’s peculiar collection of foundational premises reflects the poverty of its definitionally suspect attempt to be “a nontheistic religion” (Mirriam-Webster). According to the New Oxford American dictionary, “Humanist beliefs stress the potential value and goodness of human beings . . . and seek solely rational ways of solving human problems,” but secular humanism specifically openly claims to be naturalistic. The system is therefore brazenly contradictory: while claiming to be monistically naturalistic, humanists’ great concern with the metaphysical matters of morality, social justice, and reason reveals a conspicuous (if unacknowledged) dualistic aspect of their philosophy. 

For this reason alone, secular humanism proves to be an illegitimate philosophical system. In order to devise a coherent worldview, the humanist must choose definitively between monism and dualism. If he truly wishes to affirm that the physical world is all that exists, he must abandon the premise that moral differentiation is possible—morality is nonmaterial, after all, so if he continues to acknowledge it he must jettison his naturalism. As long as humanists attempt to hold these two conflicting beliefs simultaneously, however, their worldview must on the basis of the law of noncontradiction be regarded as philosophically inane.

Unfortunately, humanism’s dissension with logic does not end here—actually, despite humanism’s eager embrace of reason, it fails to reasonably justify the legitimacy of logic. While humanists promote reason as the omnipotent savior of the deified yet clearly flawed human race, naturalism once again stands in opposition to this tenet. If the physical is the entirety of reality, then reality (and hence reason) is necessarily determined by the laws of physics and chemistry. In this case, because man’s animal instincts are fundamentally comparable to his messianic reason, reason is rendered interchangeable with the baser aspects of man’s self from which he theoretically requires salvation, a reality that surely conflicts with the claims of humanism. Likewise, if all is matter and the matter that comprises humans is comparable to the matter that comprises the rest of the universe, the humanist’s choice to elevate man as ultimate being might be viewed as arbitrary or even selfish (if it were a free choice, which, obviously, it cannot be on this view). Finally and most importantly, in order to be the useful and rational instrument humanists consider it to be, logic must be free, a tool to be wielded in whichever direction necessary to encounter truth. Conversely, naturalism enslaves humanism’s savior Reason to the inhuman and inhumane hands of nature and chance.

Indeed, continuity and rational errors are not the extent of humanism’s hurdles—the system even ultimately fails in its attempt to liberate man from an exacting God. As mentioned above, among the foremost assumptions of humanism is the assertion that humans are inherently good or are at least capable of achieving moral goodness individually and collectively. Obviously, this proposition requires an objective standard of goodness, a term atheistic humanist philosophers tend to define much like their theistic counterparts, justifying the description on the ability of virtue to promote human flourishing and happiness rather than on the declarations of a presiding God. However, this standard for goodness has an interesting consequence: if humans are inherently good, then, alternately, goodness is inherently human. When phrased this way, it becomes apparent that secular goodness is reliant for its definition upon humanness. In other words, man literally becomes God.

Yet this raises an interesting dilemma for the humanist: according to the materialistic dogma of secular humanism, man is an exclusively physical, mechanical being, the result of untold years of chance evolution. Therefore, the true divinity of atheism is not the wonder that is man but the endless string of accidental DNA replication errors that created him. While he claims to worship man, the humanist finds himself ultimately paying homage to the omnipotent but impersonal, all-forming but invisible hand of Chance. In so doing, he subjects himself once again to the dominion of an unknown deity that brutally yet unfeelingly wreaks pain and terror on that which it has created, escaping the frying pan of religious superstition to fall into the fire of prehistoric Earth worship.

As the rise of secular humanism demonstrates, the past century and a half have proven Nietzsche right—“we ourselves” have “become gods simply to appear worthy of [God’s murder].” Nevertheless, glorious Man cannot escape the reality that he did not create himself, so even humanism is forced to reckon with a superhuman deity. Having killed God in order to free man from God’s imposition, the humanists may in the end find their new master even less agreeable than their first.