"In the beginning..." (Christology and Randology)


Ellen Stuttle

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No. It is possible to love another person more than you love yourself, but it is still yourself doing the loving.

One layer deeper, and if indeed Brant is right, isn't love its own reward?

If so, then the act of loving is by definition selfish.

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No. It is possible to love another person more than you love yourself, but it is still yourself doing the loving.

One layer deeper, and if indeed Brant is right, isn't love its own reward?

If so, then the act of loving is by definition selfish.

I know I'm shallow; you weren't suppose to.

--Brant

it's deep down inside me

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Here's Tony's post #195 ramble with his name on it, first as he wrote it, then with spaces between paragraphs added so as to make it not headache-producing for me to try to read (trying to make sense of it is still headache-producing).

Ellen

First, I see the challenge of not throwing out the morality with the "moralism". Again, Kelley offers a non-intrinsic approach to "judgmentalism" without straying from Rand in the least, as far as I can tell. It remains essential for one to judge - to choose - people, since other people are fundamental to our well-being, or sometimes to our detriment.

Otherwise, where is there fault with the egoist morality? If one stops to think about it, conventional, other-centric moralities are self-contradictory: they presume that man is no good, and has to be commanded to be good. Valuing anonymous 'others', for the sake of, well...value. Intrinsicism, again. Or wishing we could all get along and love each other. Subjectivism. Practically, it's not as though they've even been successful - but only raised levels of guilt and resentment.

It's a marvel they've survived as long, in fact.

Whereas, a self-centric morality is the inevitable outcome of reality: a man can be good or bad - to himself, his own existence - at any time, so must find his way according to a code only he can ascertain. With the assumption that anyone who adheres to rationality will dedicate himself to volitionally choosing 'real' goals in keeping with man's nature - so additionally hasn't the slightest thought to harming others.

You showed how you selected your purpose and your values, and I don't see a strong departure from Objectivist ethics. It was the Ellen-consciousness that observed, that wanted, and aimed toward gaining the virtues and character required to earning and keeping your values. (And can even recollect the process, now.) Can you imagine anyone else taking charge of, or protecting, your consciousness: intimately knowing what you want, and your chosen, self-directed path to those ends? (Which may change as you go along?) The most loving individual cannot, and wouldn't wish to, anyway. Who else can know your emotions and subconscious, and their source in your consciousness but you? Who most knows the gratification of the most modest success, or most feels the pain of a small defeat?

Rhetorical, natch.

Pardon the ramble.

First, I see the challenge of not throwing out the morality with the "moralism". Again, Kelley offers a non-intrinsic approach to "judgmentalism" without straying from Rand in the least, as far as I can tell. It remains essential for one to judge - to choose - people, since other people are fundamental to our well-being, or sometimes to our detriment.

Otherwise, where is there fault with the egoist morality? If one stops to think about it, conventional, other-centric moralities are self-contradictory: they presume that man is no good, and has to be commanded to be good. Valuing anonymous 'others', for the sake of, well...value. Intrinsicism, again. Or wishing we could all get along and love each other. Subjectivism. Practically, it's not as though they've even been successful - but only raised levels of guilt and resentment.

It's a marvel they've survived as long, in fact.

Whereas, a self-centric morality is the inevitable outcome of reality: a man can be good or bad - to himself, his own existence - at any time, so must find his way according to a code only he can ascertain. With the assumption that anyone who adheres to rationality will dedicate himself to volitionally choosing 'real' goals in keeping with man's nature - so additionally hasn't the slightest thought to harming others.

You showed how you selected your purpose and your values, and I don't see a strong departure from Objectivist ethics. It was the Ellen-consciousness that observed, that wanted, and aimed toward gaining the virtues and character required to earning and keeping your values. (And can even recollect the process, now.) Can you imagine anyone else taking charge of, or protecting, your consciousness: intimately knowing what you want, and your chosen, self-directed path to those ends? (Which may change as you go along?) The most loving individual cannot, and wouldn't wish to, anyway. Who else can know your emotions and subconscious, and their source in your consciousness but you? Who most knows the gratification of the most modest success, or most feels the pain of a small defeat?

Rhetorical, natch.

Pardon the ramble.

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I think the depth of love is beyond Rand's definitions of selfless and selfish.

Um. I think the existence of love is way beyond anything Rand's notions of biology can explain.

Take love for children. I've seen a number of Objectivist attempts to justify a desire to have children from the "rational self-interest" standpoint, and I think that every attempt I've seen looks like obvious rationalization.

And the immediate protective response of adults for children (not all adults, but a large percentage have such responses). Especially mothers for their own young.

I'll tell one of my little stories.

I was college age at the time, maybe about 19, and my youngest brother, twelve and three-fourths years younger than I, was about 6.

I was at home one day. The weather was warm, so maybe it was in a summer break, or maybe it was on a weekend.

I was sitting in a chair near a window in my mother's bedroom, a window which looked out over the backyard. The chair was a favorite of mine for sitting reading in.

I have to explain the geography. The backyard was large. To get to it from the house, one first went down a sloping path, then, at the time of the incident, through a gate. To get to the sloping path from where I was sitting meant exiting the master bedroom, going down the switchback staircase to the first floor, going through the dining room to the staircase which went from the opening of the kitchen area to the basement, going through a Dutch door, the bottom half of which was kept closed, at the top of the basement stairs, hence down the first half of the basement stairs to get to the door which opened to the outside - then down the path.

We had a Saint Bernard dog at the time, a dog named "Folly." (Stuttle nomenclature of pets. We thought it would be amusing to have the name sign "The Stuttles' Folly" over the doghouse in the backyard.)

My feeling for my youngest brother was very maternal, almost as if he were my child. Mother had been terribly sick - toxemia - while she was pregnant with him, had clome close to death, and had been weak and exhausted recovering after his birth. So I'd done much of the care and fondling and watching over his infancy.

The day of my tale, I was sitting in the chair by the window reading. I glanced up and saw with I think the most total sense of horror I have ever felt in my existence that the dog was on top of my brother, her head down moving vigorously over his face. Immediate presumption: she was attacking him.

As I've mentioned several times, I had a mild case of polio as a child, with some lingering damage. I could walk fine, and ride horses. Such activities as running and jumping, however, were another matter. My hamstrings were too tight to be any good at those.

I think I might have set, in rate of speed per distance covered, a record for the mile, had anyone been timing with a stopwatch.

Screaming, "Folly, NO!" (not that the dog could hear me), I was out of the chair, down the steps headlong, through the dining room, down the next stairs, through the back door, down the path, through the gate - the fear filling me with hormone charge giving "wings to my feet."

Turned out, no danger. The dog was just licking my brother's face. She'd jumped up and knocked him over - she weighed more than he - but he wasn't hurt in the fall backward and aside from a face covered with slather, was unscathed. And laughing. He'd found the experience funny.

I thought afterward, well now I really know how it is that, for instance, a mother would run pell-mell and foolishly into a burning building trying to save her child. The response is something way deeper, older, and faster than personal reasoning.

Ellen

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I concur, Ellen. I have no siblings, but I have seen my older son put himself in danger to protect the younger one, even though they usually fought most of the time.

There may also be an evolutionary element - there are instances where mothers have performed superhuman feats of strength (lifting cars for example) to save their kids, which ordinarily they were in no way capable of.

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Yes, and your example shows it. You knew your Folly would not hurt the baby , yet this conscious knowledge was overridden by the image of dog-atop-baby and you reacted before you thought.

Right. And rather stupidly, I thought afterward. The dog was gentle as they come, and no way would she actually have been attacking him. But I risked falling and breaking my neck in my headlong run.

Ellen

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I think the depth of love is beyond Rand's definitions of selfless and selfish.

Rand's definitions aside, is "never self-less" synonymous with "always selfish"? Yea or nay.

I don't see it possible to accept the first and reject the other.

If "the depth of love" is beyond 'self', it's therefore beyond consciousness, and beyond the faculty of knowing and experiencing. So - something mystical, which by definition cannot be upheld as the ultimate state.

(I was meaning romantic love, but a mother's love applies as well. Instincts are knowable, too, as in Ellen's rambling tale.)

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[...] beyond consciousness, and beyond the faculty of knowing and experiencing.

There's a great deal which is "beyond" consciousness, in the sense of not being something of which one is or even can be directly conscious, but which isn't beyond being known. One hell of a lot of our scientific knowledge, for a big example.

Ellen

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90 or so years ago a famous scientist was asked, "Would you believe it if you saw it with your own eyes?" "Certainly not," he replied. "First I would test it with many instruments."

--Brant

A good point. Appearance can be misleading.

When we see a "magic" act we actually pay to be deceived and misled by a pro who knows just how to do it.

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