About eighteen months ago now, I realised I’m a materialist; I believe that everything in this world is matter, that there is no such thing as spirit, that what others might perceive as “spirit” can be explained materially. And for some thirteen, fourteen months, my Christian flatmate Håvard has challenged me on this.

To him there obviously is something spiritual, something that makes us qualitatively different from other entities, and this something, this value, is ascribed to us by some external source (i.e. God). He has further claimed that one of the consequences of my view is that there isn’t really any difference between people and objects, that we’re nothing but really advanced computers, that metaphysically speaking, there’s no difference between throwing a computer out off a thirty-story building and doing the same to a child.

Until tonight, I’ve been trying to argue against this, mostly through rather desperate and improvised (and, frankly, spurious) arguments. But during a walk we took tonight, we had one of the most fertile conversations I’ve ever had the honour in participating in, and I was able to work out a kind of solution to this part of my world-view’s issues. A solution, I might add, that even Håvard, one of the most brilliantly pedantic people I’ve ever met, was kinda content with, no matter how much he disagreed with it. (And no matter how much he tried to invoke Gödel’s theorem on me.)

Tonight, then, this changed. I started out by accepting that yeah, if you just look at humans and other objects as from an external point of view, there’s little difference between, say, a man and a tree. Men consist primarily of carbon, some oxygen and hydrogen, and some other basic elements in various combinations, and they have certain functions. Likewise, trees consist of carbon, oxygen and hydrogen, and some other basic elements in various combinations, and they have certain functions. Pretty much the same thing, right?

However, one of the functions of humans is one whose causes are currently mostly unknown (at least as far as I know, which, granted, isn’t really far at all), and we call it self-awareness. This function allows us to recognise ourselves, our existence, and that there are things that separate us from e.g. trees, dogs, rocks, suns, books, and what have you. (I won’t even try to say anything about what the criteria for this distinction is, but I’m relatively certain the process of distinguishing between these things isn’t necessarily a conscious one.) In other words, we are able to divide the Universe (“universe” means “everything” or something along those lines, remember?) into categories based on properties, and even though these categories aren’t necessarily accurate, it’s one of our most basic modus operandi.

So far so good. This, however, is where tonight’s second big step came. The first one was to stop arguing against one of the consequences of this view of mine. The second one, which can be said to have been pretty much a result of the first one, was to learn a lesson from phenomenology, and heavily emphasise the importance of human perception. This is pretty much a rather banal step in the general process of anthropocentrism, though, and it is simply to say that people have value because people ascribe value to other people.

Now, here is something of a moral crux, at least for those who want the world to make sense, in a nice, ordered and preferably good way. Because obviously, in a world where an omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent entity has ascribed this value to the life of Man, there’s some authority behind the decision, and probably also repercussions for those who choose to disregard “God”’s imperative. In the (let’s face it, this is what I’m talking about) atheist view, however, there’s no authority that forces us to recognise the value of human life, only utilitarianism. But utilitarianism is flexible, and at times, it won’t be optimal for humans to ascribe value to other humans. Other times, they might just choose not to.

This, then, is where evil comes into play. At the point when you no longer believe that someone or something has any value, you stop caring what happens to him, her or it. Case in point, the Jews in e.g. Nazi Germany, and the dehumanisation process which initiated the genocide against them. Or, from the perspective of Peter Singer and his acolytes, animals in the food industry. Worthless commodities can be disposed of without second thought, and so can humans, if they’re not perceived as having value.

Which is pretty much what Nietzsche said: a world without God is a world where the will to power and the will of the powerful are the only laws. Which really sucks (luckily, though, there are multiple mitigating effects; after all, we do not live in a Hobbesian natural state), and is one of the most significant sources of the Weltschmertz that at times strikes me like a kick in the gut. But there it is.

And that’s about as far I got tonight. I see here that I’ve brought myself to a whole set of new problems, where I believe counter-power would be just about the only solution to the injustices committed by the powerful, but for now, I think I’ll be contented with solving the main hole in my materialistic world-view, and that I kinda managed to explain “the problem of evil” in the same go. Yay me, eh?