Bad Philosophers

Bad Philosophers

Time for a bit of academic sociology. Who are the world’s worst philosophers? I don’t mean which individual philosophers from within philosophy; I mean academics in other fields who like to comment on philosophy. What disciplines produce the worst philosophical commentators? We have quite a full list to choose from: physicists, mathematicians, psychologists, biologists, literary theorists, linguists, neuroscientists, playwrights, novelists, and dishwashers (have I omitted anyone?). I won’t mention any names, but individuals will no doubt spring to mind. Nor will I cite compelling evidence; I will rely on my own reading and memories of encounters. Ready? I think neuroscientists come out the worst (closely followed by dishwashers, though we will discount them as lacking any academic specialty). Psychologists are slightly less bad because they keep their opinions more to themselves (glass houses and all that). Neuroscientists, amazingly, think they are cock of the walk. Literary theorists are notoriously inept philosophically, but they lack much in the way of prestige anyway, so people don’t take much notice of them (except other literary theorists). Biologists are not too bad, perhaps because they are engaged in doing real science and know the difficulties thereof (origin of life anyone?). Linguists are really not bad at all, maybe because they are quite close to philosophers of language (and some are actually pretty smart). But it is physicists that really let the side down: they have no idea what philosophy is about. They seem to think it is physics without math and observation. And they are far too convinced of their own infallibility, or at least intellectual superiority. The best, it seems to me, are mathematicians, many of whom become professional philosophers: they understand the abstract, the “non-empirical”, the infinite. They are not lab-obsessed.

It’s the method not the subject matter that makes the difference. Not what the discipline is about but how it goes about it. Academics always make the mistake of thinking that their method is the only respectable one. That’s why mathematicians are the best at philosophy and neuroscientists are the worst: the a priori versus the a posteriori—the eyes versus the brain. Neuroscientists look at and into the brain and think that is the only way to arrive at sound conclusions; mathematicians don’t look at anything but deploy their rational faculties. Numbers are not like neurons. Psychologists are methodologically insecure, so they avoid methodological dogmatism when it comes to philosophy (though there are exceptions). Biologists have to use highly inferential methods in order to reconstruct the past, so they are more methodologically lenient. But physicists with their expensive machines and their calculators think anything not methodologically like physics is illegitimate. They are also invariably closet logical positivists who don’t know they are.

What about philosophy itself—who are best and worst philosophers among philosophers? Some may say that ethicists are the worst, because they know the least about philosophy in general; and that is not wide of the mark. But I sense humility in them, which saves them from the worst excesses (they are just happy to be tolerated). Actually, I think the worst philosophers are the philosophers of physics (again!), mainly because they often are trained as physicists and then move into philosophy departments. They simply don’t know much philosophy and don’t care, but no physics department would accept them to do what they like to do. Also, they suffer from physics narcissism (the counterpart to physics envy): they think what they do is inherently better than what (real) philosophers do. Not that they are not high IQ people; the trouble is they think too well of themselves and less well of people working in other areas. If they weren’t experts in physics, they wouldn’t be let near a philosophy department (we don’t have professors of the philosophy of chemistry or physiology). Philosophers of physics are given a free pass, and sometimes even admired! Perhaps this is because they can’t and don’t do actual philosophy, that unscientific discipline. So, who is the best at philosophy among the philosophers? I am inclined to say the philosophers of logic and mathematics—that kind of area, bordering on metaphysics. Some real philosophy gets done in these areas, which are taxing and abstract, genuinely difficult, but with a degree of rigor. Philosophers of mind strike me as too ideological, too sectarian; they posture and preen but don’t suffer for their calling. Really, though, the best philosophers are the ones that do it all, and there are not many of them, for understandable reasons. They at least appreciate the full extent of the subject and are not biased in favor of one department of it over the others; they don’t believe that theirspecialty is superior to all others. It  also takes a lot of brain power to do it all.[1]

[1] I hope this piece is taken in the spirit in which it was intended, as a complete denunciation of everybody.

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Proof of an External World

Proof of an External World

Kant famously (and ruefully) remarked that it was a scandal of philosophy that it has been unable to come up with a proof of the external world. He was right: it is a matter of some embarrassment that philosophy should be unable to prove something so obvious, so commonsensical. What good is philosophy if it can’t even prove something that elementary? The proof need not be simple or obvious (that also would be to the detriment of philosophy as an interesting enterprise); it could be intricate and convoluted, with spots of uncertainty. I am going to offer such a proof: it has a Kantian ring, but is not to my knowledge to be found in Kant (or anywhere else). This should remove the scandal and prove the worth of the discipline of philosophy. It should also be personally satisfying (I myself feel a great sense of relief).

Let’s start with a simple thought, which will point us in the right direction. Suppose the skeptic says that our perceived world might be pure projection—a figment of the human imagination, corresponding to no further reality. After all, we already agree that much of it is projection—as with the perception of color and other secondary qualities. Why not all—why shouldn’t primary qualities also be subjective projections? We might think there is an obvious reply to this: projections need a screen onto which to project, which is not itself a projection. Thus, material objects in space provide the screen onto which colors (etc.) are projected; they are the equivalent of the movie screen that pre-exists the pattern of light thrown onto it. So, the perceived world can’t all be projected image; it must include a non-mental background. If so, we have a proof of the external world: it follows from the fact of subjective projection that something other than projection must exist, viz. material objects in space. But, of course, the skeptic will not be deterred by this simple-minded maneuver: he will suggest that the alleged non-mental screen is really just a virtual world, an imaginary world, a fictional world. So-called objects in space are non-existent objects, or may be for all we know. It only seems to us as if such objects exist; they might all be non-existent intentional objects, like objects in dreams or works of fiction or hallucinations. It is that hypothesis that needs to be disproved in order to prove that there is an external world. For example, there is an appearance of a square object in my visual field, but this could be a non-existent square object not one that really inhabits objective space. How can we rule this possibility out? I could be dreaming of a square object in front of me, this object being a mere figment of my imagination.

Here is the problem with this alternative skeptical hypothesis: we normally think there is a definite number of things that fall under a perceived (or conceived) attribute, but this will not be so if its extension consists only of non-existent objects. If lions and square things exist, then there is a definite number of them, known or unknown; but if they don’t exist, then there is no definite number of them. The point is familiar: there is no definite number of moles on Hamlet’s back or unicorns or angels or fairies. Such things are numerically indeterminate. But we normally think that ordinary objects of perception come in definite quantities, so they can’t just be non-existent entities. It follows from the fact of numerical determinacy that the objects of perception are not non-existent. Indeed, it is their existence in space that accounts for their numerical determinacy, since material objects are individuated by their location in space. Since non-existent objects do not exist in space, they can have no spatial principle of individuation that underpins their numerical determinacy. So, the skeptical hypothesis can be ruled out and our normal conception accepted. However, the skeptic is not beaten yet: why not say that there is no definite number of square things or lions since they are non-existent intentional objects? Why not bite the bullet and accept that consequence?

First, we should note that even if we do bite the bullet, we are still accepting that there are non-mental objects, because non-existent square things are not mental entities, any more than existent square things are (same for lions). We can quantify over them and they are not mental, so we have still proved that there are non-mental things (that don’t exist). But second, it is not so easy to give up on the numerical determinacy of attribute extensions: for attributes like these (sortal attributes) provide principles of counting, criteria of individuation, and these will generate assignments of cardinality. It is easy to miss this when an attribute applies to both existent and non-existent objects, but what sense does it make to suppose that an attribute that applies to pluralities of objects applies to no definite plurality of objects? If we claim that the attribute lioncorresponds to no definite number of lions, how can it be said to distinguish one lion from another? Not in virtue of position in space, to be sure, because non-existent lions don’t exist in (real) space. We lose the idea of a totality of individual lions standing in spatial relations to each other and adding up to a specific number of lions. That idea requires existence; it can’t survive in the realm of non-existence. The notion of non-existent lions is parasitic on that of existent lions, but then we are back with the external world as naively conceived. A fictionalist about minds (a mental eliminativist) has a problem about the individuation of minds—how many non-existent fictional minds are there?—and a fictionalist about bodies has the same problem about theirquantity. There really must be a definite number of minds and bodies for those concepts to have any intelligible content, but that idea goes out the window once we give up on existence altogether. Even the concepts of identity and difference begin to wobble when we enter the land of the non-existent (when are non-existent gods identical and when different?).

The attitude of sophisticated common sense is that we perceive a world of objects laid out in space, numerically distinct from each other, and forming totalities of specific cardinality. The skeptic tries to convince us that what we perceive are just non-existent intentional objects, but this involves abandoning the idea that we have concepts with definite cardinalities attached to them; and that is not a possible position, given the nature of our concepts (and associated attributes). Thus, an external world exists. The essential move in this proof is the observation that non-existence can provide no grounds for determining the number of things falling into the extension of a concept; only existence in space (in the case of material objects) can provide a basis for this determination. Things that don’t exist are not really countable in the way we normally (and rightly) take objects to be. Countability implies objectivity.[1]

[1] The proof here offered comes at the problem from a surprising direction. I think this is what we should expect, since no obviousmethod of proof has succeeded in removing the scandal. It would be surprising if the proof were not surprising.

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Subjective and Objective

Subjective and Objective

The distinction between subjective and objective is often used in philosophy, but it is less often articulated, still less analyzed.[1] I will do that. The task is not particularly difficult, though there are glitches to be ironed out. The distinction is well-founded and its basic nature easily understood. We can begin with the dictionary (OED) definition: for “subjective” we have “based on or influenced by personal feelings, tastes, or opinion; dependent on the mind for existence”; for “objective” we have “not dependent on the mind for existence; actual”. For philosophical purposes, the second definition is the appropriate one, not the definition in terms of personal feelings etc. Many things count as subjective without being based on feelings, tastes, or opinions (see below). The main limitations of the mind-dependence definition are (a) specifying what kind of dependence, (b) saying what is meant by “the mind”, (c) the lack of any positive characterization of the objective, and (d) the restriction to the mind as the sole source of subjectivity. We don’t want to say that logical inference produces subjectivity simply because the premises of an argument are beliefs (states of the mind) on which a conclusion depends. Also, the mind is a very various thing, so what specifically generates subjectivity? Is it anything mental or only some mental things? But more important are (c) and (d). First, let’s make it explicit that we are talking about mental representations and their content: we want to know what makes a representation subjective or objective—a perception, a thought, a sentence, an item of knowledge. Then question (c) is what a mental representation is dependent on when it is objective, granted that it is not dependent on the mind (whatever that is taken to include). Also, must the subjectivity-producing fact always be a mental fact? Can it ever be a physical fact?

The answer to the first question must surely be: the world, what exists outside the mind. For simplicity, let’s just speak of the physical world: then we can say that a representation of the physical world is objective if and only if it depends on the physical world. To be more precise, it must depend on the physical world beyond the subject’s body—ordinary objects surrounding the subject. These cause instances of the representation to occur; they explain the occurrence of the representation. In short, objective representations are dependent on external objects, while subjective representations are dependent on internal states of the subject. I say “internal states” because I want to lift the restriction to mental states, for several reasons. First, a mindless zombie could in principle have subjective representations, given that it allows its representations to be influenced by internal physical states just like those occurring in someone with genuine feelings etc. Second, an eliminative materialist can make use of the subjective-objective distinction while denying that minds exist at all, so long as internal states of the subject exercise control over the formation of representations instead of external facts. Third, illness or injury could induce the subject to form beliefs that are not appropriately sensitive to external facts but stem from internal physiological pathologies—these need not be mental. Representations can be subjective just by virtue of their internal causation, whether mental or otherwise; what matters is their detachment from external reality. We might even say that the dictionary has it the wrong way round: a belief about the external world is objective if and only if it is appropriately caused by that world, while a subjective belief is one not so caused (being caused by an internal state of the subject, mental or physical). What matters, intuitively, is what led up to the formation of the belief—external objects or internal states cut off from such objects. Is the belief object-generated or subject-generated? Is it held because of the facts it concerns or is it held because of certain internal perturbations? That is the crux of the distinction.

With these glitches taken care of we can now turn to classifying philosophical positions as subjectivist or objectivist: does our definition capture the intended notions? First, color (and other secondary qualities): perceptions of color are subjective in that the origin of such perceptions lies within the perceiver, and similarly for beliefs about color. The cause of color perceptions is internal to the perceiver (according to subjectivist views), so they come out as subjective by our criterion. Perception of primary qualities comes out as objective, since it is external features of objects that cause these perceptions; exogenous not endogenous causation. Colors come from the subject; shapes come from the object. Likewise, hallucinations stem from within, whereas veridical perceptions stem from without, so the former are subjective and the latter objective. In the case of perceptual constancies, objectivity arises when (for example) the retinal image is corrected in the direction of veridicality; the image is an aspect of the organism, and it can create subjective impressions of things that belie the objective facts.[2] Image and object are out of sync and objectivity requires correction of what the image suggests. Constancies are the result of amending the proximal retinal image to fit the distal objects, i.e., removing subjectivity from the visual output. Ethical subjectivism is precisely the doctrine that values originate from inside the subject: desires, inclinations, emotions. Ethical objectivism, by contrast, claims that moral judgment is responsive to facts external to the subject. So, this pair of doctrines tracks the definition I have proposed. The same goes for aesthetic values: if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then it is in the subject, not in the object: hence aesthetic subjectivism and objectivism. Questions of taste obviously follow this model: what you happen to like is a fact about you not about the object, and therefore subjective. According to Kant, space and time are in us not in mind-independent reality; hence, representations of space and time are deemed subjective (mere appearances). Indexical representations rely on the location of the subject in space and time, so they too will count as subjective, as opposed to non-indexical representations which reflect the condition of the object represented without reference to the subject. It is all a question of whether the representational content owes its allegiance to something within (or about) the subject, or to the nature of the object represented.

We should not confuse subjectivity and objectivity with subject and object as such. All representation (intentionality) involves subject and object: a thing representing and a thing represented. So, every act of representation is both subject-involving and object-involving. There is no such thing as a view from nowhere (a subject-less view), and there is no such as a view of nothing (an object-less view). Subject and object are locked inexorably together (that is the logic of intentionality). But it doesn’t follow that all such acts are both subjective and objective; it all depends on the generation and composition of the representing content. Does it owe its existence to the world or to the mind (strictly, the internal)? The picture we have is that the external world exerts some control over how we represent it but that our inner nature also shapes how we represent things. Thus, we speak of the “subjective” and the “objective”. On occasion, both coexist in the same representation, as when we see both color and shape. Sometimes the subjectivity is undesirable, if it leads the subject into error (e.g., misperceptions of size when size constancy breaks down); but sometimes it is beneficial to the subject (e.g., in food selection or color vision). Both traits can be defended; neither is exclusively correct or useful. The search for an “absolute conception” is motivated by the reasonable ambition of expunging ourselves from our maximally objective picture of reality, but it would be misguided zealotry to try to eliminate all subjectivity from our modes of representation. Subjectivity has its uses, its virtues. Subjective and objective both deserve a place in the sun.[3]

[1] For background, see Colin McGinn, The Subjective View (1983) and Thomas Nagel, The View from Nowhere (1986).

[2] For a discussion of objectivity and perceptual constancy see Tyler Burge, Origins of Objectivity (2010).

[3] Setting aside technical issues of formulation, I take it that what I suggest here is not particularly controversial; indeed, it might be thought not terribly exciting. I agree, but sometimes it is nice just to have something obvious for a change. And clarity is never a bad thing.

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My Left Foot

My Left Foot

An update on my left hand, and then a corollary on my left foot. I can now stick a knife from about 18 feet throwing with my left hand, no spin. This is substantial progress from a month ago. I also find that my two-handed backhand, which is governed by the left hand, is far more reliable and natural than it was a month ago. It feels as if my brain has accepted that it is expected to control the shot with the left hand, leaving the right hand along for the ride. So, my backhand has improved correspondingly. Meanwhile drumming and guitar playing have also improved, the left hand being a lot more dexterous than before (even though I have been playing the drums for 60 years).  This is all pretty surprising, but what also surprised me was this: my left foothas made a leap forward. I know this because the left foot is the hi-hat foot and my hi-hat playing has improved markedly. I’m having a left side renaissance! All this evidently stems from my ventures into knife throwing. Perhaps everybody should engage in left-side training from an early age (assuming they are right-handed); I am 74 and I am seeing these benefits. Bend Sinister, as Nabokov would say.

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Is Causation Necessary?

Is Causation Necessary?

I don’t mean to be asking Hume’s question about the need for necessary connection in the causal relation; I mean to be asking whether causation (causal power) is a necessary feature of things. Granted that something has a causal power, does it necessarily have that power? Are its causal powers part of its essence? Kripke’s table is necessarily made of wood, given that it is actually made of wood, but does it necessarily have the causal powers it actually has? Are there possible worlds in which that table exists and lacks the causal powers it has in our world? Could it have the causal powers of a jellyfish instead, or a vacuum cleaner? Does it have no causal powers in some worlds? Some objects have zero causal powers (e.g., numbers), so could this table be like that in a possible world? Could the situation be reversed—numbers have causal powers in some worlds and tables don’t? Let’s agree that space and time as such have no causal powers as things actually are; could they nevertheless have causal powers in other possible worlds? Our physical universe has a wide range of causal powers, but could it (that universe) lack such powers? Is causality necessary or contingent to things? Is it like composition (necessary) or is it like spatial location (contingent)?

The first thing to be said about the answer to this question is that it is not clear. Our intuitions are not univocal on the matter. On the one hand, it seems imaginable that the very same object should exist and behave differently from the way it actually behaves, or not behave at all. The case is analogous to pain and C-fiber stimulation: we can apparently conceive of possible worlds in which C-fibers are correlated with another type of sensation, or with no sensation at all. C-fibers don’t dictate pain, don’t make it inevitable. Likewise, the shape and composition of an object seem contingently related to its causal profile—they don’t dictate what the object will do (as Hume famously argued). The one thing seems separable from the other. That very object could still exist even though it has had its causal powers stripped from it, as it could have its color and spatial location stripped from it. Causal powers are something superadded, conjoined, not something internal to its being the object it is. A type of causal dualism thus seems indicated: causal powers are something over and above other properties of the object like shape and composition (“distinct existences”, as Hume would say). But, on the other hand, such dualism offends our intuitive sense of unity in natural things: for how could the causal powers of an object transcend its actual properties—how could what it does float free of its actual make-up? So, our intuition of contingency (and hence causal dualism) must be mistaken; there must be a deep necessity at work here. Thus, the case resembles the mind-body problem in respect of modal questions: we are torn in opposite directions, subject to conflicting pressures. We are confronted by a deep metaphysical problem—the causation-body problem (where body here is understood as the totality of properties the object has sans its causal properties). We might even want to say that the causal is mysteriously connected to the non-causal; the connection is not pellucid, not even properly intelligible (by us). Maybe we don’t really know what causality is, or what ordinary properties are for that matter. We are intuiting in the dark, never a good place to intuit.

Let’s step back and try to get our bearings. How does causality fit into the grand scheme of things? Is it a necessary feature of the universe—this universe or any conceivable universe? Could God have created a causality-free universe—either one containing matter and mind or one made of very different materials? Certainly, some philosophers have been eliminative with respect to causality: it does not exist in the mind-independent world, nor in the mind itself. It is pure projection, sheer fantasy: the course of history is mere accidental sequence devoid of causal power (compare eliminative materialism). But even without such a radical anti-realist position, it seems conceivable that causation might someday disappear from the universe like a bad smell, rendering it static and unchanging. The connection between mass and gravity is notoriously lacking in perspicuity, so that the idea of massive objects with no gravitational causal powers appears perfectly intelligible. If we press the question, in virtue of what does matter have the causal powers we attribute to it, we come up empty handed; it seems brute, inexplicable. We are thus faced with the usual choice between three unpalatable alternatives: dualism, reductionism, or eliminationism. If causation is the “cement of the universe”, then it is an alarmingly elusive cement. We can’t even say whether Kripke’s table (which is nothing special) is necessarily combustible or stable or solid, though we know it actually has each of these attributes. We can’t say whether retaining these attributes is required for the table’s continued existence (or existence in a possible world). What looked like a local puzzle about tables and the like turns out to reflect a wider aporia about causation in general—about whether it is a real trait of the universe, or whether it is contingent to reality or necessary to it. The concept of reality, even concrete reality, does not logically imply causality—hence Platonism about numbers and epiphenomenalism about the mind.[1] Such anti-causal doctrines are not simply contradictory. But it is unclear whether material reality must be causally imbued: causality seems superadded to matter (extension, spatial occupancy), and yet it is hard to accept that just anything can be superadded—as if a table could act like a jellyfish! Could God have created the universe just as it is now and at the last minute decided not to add any causality to the mix? Could everything be just as it is except that it is all a causality-free zone? The causality-world problem is wide open and extremely confusing.[2]

[1] It would be useful to compile a list of all non-causal entities so as to see how they differ from causal entities, though the question is not without controversy. Thus: numbers, geometrical forms, space, time, colors, moral facts, qualia (?), spatial points, propositions (?), and infinities. Some would say that nothing has causal power save that injected by God’s will, counting themselves metaphysically sober; causation always comes from outside the object.

[2] What would we think if we came across a pebble on a beach that had none of the usual causal properties of pebbles despite its similarity to causally endowed pebbles? Would we put it in a museum and label it “The World’s Only Non-Causal Pebble”, as if it were just a natural curiosity?

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