Government is systemic. I understand "system" in rather broad terms, but for the most part it is defined by its "intentionality" or "end." I need to digress a bit into philosophical technicalities for a moment and say that "intentionality" precedes consciousness and "intention."
I can make the full case for this, but at the moment, we can think of it this way: our body is a system, itself comprised of systems, and one of those systems -- the "alimentary" system -- insures the broader system is provided with the energy it needs to operate. When I say "insures" I am not implying, of course, that the stomach or the colon "thinks" about its intentionality or purpose. I am simply describing the function it serves in the larger system of "my body." I am not suggesting either that it was "designed" to fulfill its intentionality or purpose. We can marvel at the intricacy of our bodies, and recognize the residual inefficiencies (the appendix, for example, that poses a risk but seems to have no instrumental role within the alimentary system) without resorting to notions of design. It is very difficult to speak of systems without resorting to the language of design, but that points to a feature of our language, perhaps even a failure of our language, but in no way necessitates that there was a "designer" who "designed" our bodies. I do believe they came into being through a long, evolutionary process.
When I say "'intentionality' precedes consciousness and 'intention,'" I am NOT, however, denying that it has an effect on consciousness and intention. Indeed, in many ways, it brings consciousness into being. We can think of it this way: the "intentionality" or end state of my alimentary system is to be "full." When the tank is running low, so to speak, I begin to "feel" peckish and may even form the conscious "intention" to get a bite to eat. In the modern world, a whole range of instrumental acts are necessary to get back to "full" each of which might be preceded by a statement like "I meant to ..." In other words, I meant to get a bite, so I meant to get in the car, start it, drive to Micky D's, get a burger, et cetera. Although I was conscious of being hungry, I did not form the conscious intent to become hungry. Indeed, to suggest as much seems a bit absurd, but less absurd to suggest that hunger is inherent to my physical being, and my "feeling" hungry was no more than the blinking red light on the dash that suggests its time to visit a refueling station.
I might be splitting hairs a bit here, but bear with me. I want to differentiate between two types of "intentionality" -- what might be called "descriptive" and "prescribed" intentionality. Ultimately, this is an epistemological, not an ontological, distinction. We can understand the difference this way. We have "satisfied" the intentionality of our alimentary systems when our bodies have replenished their energy supply. We can describe the elements and functioning of the system, and the consciousness of "hunger" and "full" that comes into being relative to that functioning, but we did not "prescribe" it. It is possible, however, to think of a system that is wholly "prescribed." Imagine for the moment (my sic-fi side is about to come out) we wish to create a robotic system -- better yet an android that is, in fact, designed. It can function autonomously, and like us it needs "energy" to function, but there is nothing "natural" about it. It was, in fact, fully prescribed by humans. Our android is "energized" by a battery pack. When its charge reaches a certain lower limit, say 60% on the battery icon, it seeks out a recharging station and, well, recharges. Here I want to say that description precedes prescription. We can imagine the engineers laboring over the schematic drawings, getting it just right. Does the android "feel" hungry or full? At one level, I want to say "yes," but at another level it's a silly question. We are really asking if it "feels" hungry or full in the same way that we feel hungry or full, and the answer to that question is "most certainly not." Unless it were constructed in exactly the same way that we are constructed, down to the last neuron, it won't "feel" hungry or full in the way we "feel" hungry or full, but in its own way.
Sci-Fi interruption aside, my point is simply this: we can, in other words, prescribe or intend intentionality, and that is what we do when we create "systems," to include our governmental systems. Once intended, however, the intentionality takes on, so to speak, a life of its own. Rather than an android, which seems to beg the question of "life of its own," we can think of it as a simple game -- e.g. chess -- one in which we "play a part." At one point in the history of chess, the game itself was described or "intended." Engaging in the game may fulfill a larger purpose in one's overall life -- amusement, ego gratification, intellectual challenge, et cetera -- but considered within itself the progress of the game is "governed" by the purpose or intentionality of reaching a state of "checkmate." No matter who plays chess, for whatever reason beyond chess, the purpose or intentionality of chess itself remains the same, reaching a state of checkmate. It takes on, so to speak, a life of its own. We can imagine any number of government systems -- say, the department of motor vehicles. The activities of the DMV are "governed" by the satisfaction of the conditions of "driver's license granted (or denied)." Of course, not unlike chess, it may fulfill a broader purpose, -- the answer to the question of why one might have a DMV in the first place -- e.g. public safety -- but for the most part, when engaging the DMV, one simply plays the "DMV game," either as an employee or customer.
Let me extend the analogy of chess a bit. First, unlike hunger, we choose to play (or not play) chess. Having chosen to play chess, however, there is an understanding between the adversaries, however, that each will seek checkmate. In either case, the given intentionality, I want to say, provides the moral center of an activity. We understand hunger in others because we are obligated, on behalf of our own bodies, to seek food, and our unintended intentionality provides the basis for simple empathy. We do not feel an other's hunger, any more than we feel an others itch or orgasm, we have felt our own hunger, and so have some fundamental basis for understanding why others seek food. Likewise, we understand our opponent in the game of chess, because we are obligated to seek checkmate, moreover we are obligated to do so to the best of one's ability, and our intended intentionality provides the basis again for simple empathy. Regardless of one's extramural purpose for engaging in the game itself -- whether it be amusement ego gratification, intellectual challenge, or the like -- one feels fundamentally cheated to discover that one's opponent is, say, "throwing the game," even when there is nothing in the way of a bet on the game. To discover that one's opponent is not actively seeking checkmate strips away whatever extramural purpose for engaging the game in the first place.
So, when I say, "we cannot evade the moral question," I am saying at one level that we cannot evade the intentionality that motivates and governs our behavior. To do so, even in games, feels fundamentally "wrong." I should probably add a couple of qualifications. I mean "motivate" more or less literally. It sets our behavior in motion. I use the word govern, I have to say, in part more or less literally and in part for the larger implications. It is probably easy enough to imagine that, when hungry enough, our moment to moment decisions, what we do and don't do, are aimed at getting food, at eliminating the hunger. Kafka's story, "The Hunger Artist," is so deeply disturbing, in part because we have a sense that, in denying himself food, he is behaving toward himself in ways that are, not only uncanny, but fundamentally inhuman and immoral. Moreover, if the ends do not justify the means, they certainly rationalize the means. When hungry enough, stealing food may not be justified, but it is certainly comprehensible and rational, and provides a reason why it is difficult to "blame" a person for stealing food if he has gone hungry for a week. When hungry enough, cannibalism may still provoke a visceral repugnance, but it remains comprehensible and rational, and provides a reason why our "feelings" are so mixed when confronted with the desperation that led to such acts.
With a nod toward Pierce and James, it also serves to introduce the notion of "pragmatism." I am suggesting, through the back door, that the given intentionality of hunger "decides" pragmatically at one level or another the effectiveness of a behavior. Some acts work (and some do not work) to eliminate our hunger. Food is food, whether it is stolen or not, and will likely serve, instrumentally, to satisfy one's hunger. I am also suggesting that, although the given intentionality determines the instrumentality of our acts, our acts must be governed beyond their simple effectiveness -- that is to say, if we cannot evade the moral question, neither can we evade the ethical questions around how we go about fulfilling any given intentionality. When hungry enough, it may be difficult to "blame" a person for stealing food, but how hungry is "hungry enough?" If I'm just a bit peckish, most would consider it wrong for me to steal a Snickers bar from the local convenience store to satisfy that hunger, but if I'm actually beginning to starve, and do not have the means otherwise to procure food, most would consider it wrong, but perhaps excusable, to steal a loaf of bread.
Let me extend the analogy of chess a bit. First, unlike hunger, we choose to play (or not play) chess. Having chosen to play chess, however, there is an understanding between the adversaries, however, that each will seek checkmate. In either case, the given intentionality, I want to say, provides the moral center of an activity. We understand hunger in others because we are obligated, on behalf of our own bodies, to seek food, and our unintended intentionality provides the basis for simple empathy. We do not feel an other's hunger, any more than we feel an others itch or orgasm, we have felt our own hunger, and so have some fundamental basis for understanding why others seek food. Likewise, we understand our opponent in the game of chess, because we are obligated to seek checkmate, moreover we are obligated to do so to the best of one's ability, and our intended intentionality provides the basis again for simple empathy. Regardless of one's extramural purpose for engaging in the game itself -- whether it be amusement ego gratification, intellectual challenge, or the like -- one feels fundamentally cheated to discover that one's opponent is, say, "throwing the game," even when there is nothing in the way of a bet on the game. To discover that one's opponent is not actively seeking checkmate strips away whatever extramural purpose for engaging the game in the first place.
So, when I say, "we cannot evade the moral question," I am saying at one level that we cannot evade the intentionality that motivates and governs our behavior. To do so, even in games, feels fundamentally "wrong." I should probably add a couple of qualifications. I mean "motivate" more or less literally. It sets our behavior in motion. I use the word govern, I have to say, in part more or less literally and in part for the larger implications. It is probably easy enough to imagine that, when hungry enough, our moment to moment decisions, what we do and don't do, are aimed at getting food, at eliminating the hunger. Kafka's story, "The Hunger Artist," is so deeply disturbing, in part because we have a sense that, in denying himself food, he is behaving toward himself in ways that are, not only uncanny, but fundamentally inhuman and immoral. Moreover, if the ends do not justify the means, they certainly rationalize the means. When hungry enough, stealing food may not be justified, but it is certainly comprehensible and rational, and provides a reason why it is difficult to "blame" a person for stealing food if he has gone hungry for a week. When hungry enough, cannibalism may still provoke a visceral repugnance, but it remains comprehensible and rational, and provides a reason why our "feelings" are so mixed when confronted with the desperation that led to such acts.
With a nod toward Pierce and James, it also serves to introduce the notion of "pragmatism." I am suggesting, through the back door, that the given intentionality of hunger "decides" pragmatically at one level or another the effectiveness of a behavior. Some acts work (and some do not work) to eliminate our hunger. Food is food, whether it is stolen or not, and will likely serve, instrumentally, to satisfy one's hunger. I am also suggesting that, although the given intentionality determines the instrumentality of our acts, our acts must be governed beyond their simple effectiveness -- that is to say, if we cannot evade the moral question, neither can we evade the ethical questions around how we go about fulfilling any given intentionality. When hungry enough, it may be difficult to "blame" a person for stealing food, but how hungry is "hungry enough?" If I'm just a bit peckish, most would consider it wrong for me to steal a Snickers bar from the local convenience store to satisfy that hunger, but if I'm actually beginning to starve, and do not have the means otherwise to procure food, most would consider it wrong, but perhaps excusable, to steal a loaf of bread.
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