A Bright Spot

A Bright Spot

Last Saturday the world champion waveski rider Ian Macleod delivered to me the board he had designed and constructed for me (a four and a half hour drive down the coast of Florida). It was quite an occasion. I had to cancel my interview with my Turkish collaborators and friends, Burcu and Ugur, because of it. I discussed with Ian why waveski surfing is not a more popular sport, given its suitability for people who find regular surfing too difficult and enjoy kayaking. We had no ready explanation. Anyway, I thought my readers would like to see this magnificent work of art.

IMG_6570.jpeg
Sent from my iPhone

IMG_6571.jpeg
Sent from my iPhone

Share

Causal Necessity

Causal Necessity

Are causal laws necessary? Are particular causal relations necessary? It has been supposed not: either they are thoroughly contingent or at most weakly necessary (less so than logical necessity). I will put the case for the necessity view. First, they are clearly not epistemically necessary: it could have turned out that causes have different effects from their actual effects (lightning might have turned out to cause shingles). If necessary, they are metaphysically necessary, not epistemically necessary. They are necessary a posteriori not a priori. So, the question is whether they are like water being H2O or like water being plentiful on Earth. I will dismiss the idea that causal relations are totally contingent with not even a hint of necessity in them; it isn’t just an accident that heating water makes it boil or hitting a nail makes it go in. The question is whether there are two types of metaphysical necessity, strong and weak—are there degrees of metaphysical necessity? This is commonly believed, but not usually defended. What would we think if someone maintained that the necessity of origin, say, is weaker than the necessity of identity? No one has ever claimed that to my knowledge, and with good reason: all the recognized examples of metaphysical necessity are equally necessary, and thought to be so. It never crossed Kripke’s mind that some of his examples of metaphysical necessity are stronger than others; they are all totally necessary. So, why suppose that causal necessity is not similarly total? Is it intuition? Let the present causal condition of the universe be repeated at a later time: isn’t it inevitable that the same effect will be produced? You won’t get some massively different effect, or even a slightly different effect. Of course, there might be an epistemic counterpart to the actual condition that gives rise to a different effect, but that is irrelevant, being a proof only of a lack of epistemic necessity. If the world is in the same state through and through, it will give rise to the same effect, as a matter of necessity.[1] And isn’t it very strange to suppose that metaphysical necessity might vary in degree—that some cases of it are only very weakly necessary? How can necessity be weak? It could hardly be that 2 is necessarily even in the strong sense while 3 is necessarily odd in the weak sense. What sense of “necessary” is that? It’s either necessary or it’s not. Are some propositions strongly contingent and some only weakly so? What does that even mean? Isn’t it simpler and more intuitive to suppose that all necessity is equally strong? How many degrees of necessity might there be—three, a thousand? We certainly don’t talk that way.

Suppose we adopt Shoemaker’s view that properties (kinds) are individuated by their causal powers; then it will be a necessary truth that a given property has the effects it has. For example, the shape square will have characteristic causal powers different from the color red—there is no possible world in which red has the causal powers of square. In general, the causal laws of a kind of thing follow from its nature; or rather, the laws constitute the nature.[2] Kinds and causal powers are necessarily joined. A natural kind has a real essence in its composition and structure, but it also has a real essence its causal powers, these being connected to composition and structure. Hume (and Locke) had essentially the same view: causal necessity is real necessity in the objects, whatever our ideas of it might be (nominal essence). It may be opaque to us, but that doesn’t compromise its robustness as necessity. The force of gravity, for example, necessarily obeys the law of gravity; that force would not exist without that law. It doesn’t just happen to obey the inverse square law. Similarly, the laws of psychology are not adventitiously linked to the natural kinds of psychology: it isn’t an accident that impressions of red produce beliefs about being red instead of beliefs about being blue or square. Just as everything is necessarily self-identical, so everything has the causal profile it does as a matter of necessity. The location of an object isn’t an essential property of it, but its causal profile is. So, we can add causal profile to the list of other metaphysical necessities.

In fact, I think that causal necessity is likely the most fundamental of our modal concepts: we grasp it before to get to logical necessity and Kripke-type necessities. It is tied to perception and our primitive grasp of how things work. Indeed, I suspect that our conception of logical necessity is an outgrowth of our concept of causal necessity (the premises make it the case that the conclusion is true).[3] People have only denied causal necessity because they confuse metaphysical necessity with epistemic necessity. There is just no good reason to deny that causal necessity is genuine honest-to-goodness necessity.

[1] I am putting aside objective randomness, but even here a certain probability of a particular effect will be necessary.

[2] See my Principia Metaphysica.

[3] See my “A New Metaphysics”, “Causal and Logical Relations”, and “A Causal World”.

Share

Experiential Economics

Experiential Economics

What are the laws of economics really about? We know they concern supply and demand, but supply and demand of what? The orthodox answer is “goods and services”—material things in effect. A consumer consumes material things (services also involve material things, including actions). When the demand for certain material things is high prices tend to go up under constancy of supply of those things. But this can’t be right as a formulation of the underlying laws. It is neither necessary nor sufficient to explain economic behavior. Not necessary because there could be a virtual economy: producers and consumers living under brain-in-a-vat conditions. You do mental work to earn an income that you use to purchase things—but not material things, mental things. Instead of buying a material disc to listen to music you buy musical experience itself fed directly into your brain. In this economy you don’t buy material goods but mental goods—for example, tastes not foods. You may know this or not, but it is what is really going on. Not sufficient either because material goods by themselves are not enough to produce anything you value. No one wants material goods as such but only what they can do for one, and this is ultimately experiential. Suppose everyone went deaf: the demand for musical technology would plummet. Musical instruments would become worthless, as would stereos and the like. The art market would collapse if blindness became widespread, as would the movie and television business. Restaurants would go under if everybody lost their sense of taste. These things have value only in so far as there are experiences corresponding to them, because they are the ultimate things of value. Everything else is instrumental. Thus, supply and demand are experiential not physical: we demand (desire) experiences (states of mind), and producers supply them—sometimes in the form of material goods, but not necessarily. Productivity is productivity of experience—this is what we buy and sell. Saying that economics is about physical goods and services is like saying it is about atoms: the physical things are mere means not ends. Sure, atoms get delivered to me when I buy a TV set, but that was not the point of the transaction. Goods are like drugs: the point is the mental effect not the material composition. The orthodox approach to economics is therefore misguided; it confuses ends and means, the contingent with the necessary. Goods and services are correlated with certain experiential states, but they are not the same as such states—and they are what really matter in the economic world. You are rich if you can buy a lot of good experiences. Wealth is a mental thing.

This has a direct bearing on the nature of economic science. First, it will bring all the vagaries of consciousness into economics. Second, it will require attention to the inner life of economic agents. Third, it will connect economics directly to ethics, since ethics is also about the value attaching to experience. But fourth, and most important, it changes economics from an objective science into a subjective science: it isn’t about actions in a public material world but about events in a private mental world. It is up to its neck in phenomenology. It isn’t like physics. Is it even a science? That depends on your definition of science: no if science must be concerned with objective things, but yes if we can have a science of the experiential. People are motivated to engage in economic transactions by a desire to experience certain things (including the desire to keep on experiencing things—hence healthcare), so we need a science of such desires, which includes a science of experience. Behavioristic science won’t do; it has to be the real subjective thing. Economics is thoroughly mentalistic. Producers must figure out what experiences people want and then stimulate desire for such experiences. Internal goods not external goods. Economists describe and explain these kinds of preferences. A bank is a place where experiences (or the potential for them) are stored. Inflation is when the price of experiences keeps rising. International trade is the exchange of experiences between countries. And so on. Economics is the study of experiential transactions.[1]

[1] What you spend your hard-earned money on is determined by your expectations of the experiential return. If we are hedonists, we will equate this with pleasure; but we could also value knowledge or experiences of beauty (not consisting in pleasure). These questions will impinge on economics.

Share

The Hemingway

The Hemingway

I was walking along the coastal road of Cozumel enjoying the view when I came upon a place called The Hemingway, a kind of restaurant and bar on the water’s edge. Intrigued, I went in. It was eight in the morning and the place was empty. A waiter greeted me and I asked (in flagrant English) if they were open. He assured me they were. I asked for a cappuccino. I sat down and took in the ocean view, enjoying the solitude. The waiter and I got talking and I asked why it was called The Hemingway—I didn’t think Ernest Hemingway had ever spent time on Cozumel. He said he didn’t know and that he knew nothing about the author. We had a pleasant conversation. I left feeling refreshed and invigorated. I enjoyed it enough to return with Elisa for afternoon cocktails. We started spending more time there, sometimes just me. I chatted to the waiter Jose and always appreciated the atmosphere. People swam there; the vibe was nice. Strangely enough, I had decided earlier to read a Hemingway novel (I had always resisted the idea), which I ordered on my return to Miami (The Sun Also Rises). The place sticks in my memory. Who decided to call it that and why? How many customers caught the reference?

 

IMG_6501.jpg
Sent from my iPhone

PHOTO-2025-11-16-15-38-13.jpg
Sent from my iPhone

Share

On Meaning, Mathematics, and Space

On Meaning, Mathematics, and Space

It has been held that a good amount of philosophy revolves around a clash or competition between subjective and objective conceptions of things.[1] For present purposes we can understand this contrast as consisting in an opposition between conceptions of things from a personal (first-person) point of view and conceptions of things from an impersonal (third-person) point of view, or no point of view. I want to explore this question in relation to the philosophy of language, particularly the nature of meaning. I will focus on Frege. Frege’s theory of meaning splits meaning into two parts—sense and reference. Reference comprises public objects existing in the external world, not points of view on objects—actual tables, tulips, and tapirs. These are objective entities that would exist irrespective of human minds (not counting objects of reference in minds). So far, the theory is rigorously objective—nothing subjective or psychological at all. But then Frege adds the level of sense, glossed as “mode of presentation”. The visual allusion is clear and reinforced by his analogy with the telescope: a sense is a perspective or point of view on a reference. It may not be officially regarded as something mental in itself, but it functions in the theory as something grasped by the mind—how the mind “sees” the world. There can be many senses corresponding to the same reference, as there can be many points of view on the same object. Sense is separate from the reference and can exist without it. It is subjective; it contains a subject-relative point of view. In this respect it is like the classical notion of an idea. So, according to Frege, meaning has two parts, joined together: an objective part and a subjective part. It isn’t only objective and it isn’t only subjective, but both. We could call this a double aspect theory. We might even say there is something it is like to grasp a particular sense, but there is nothing it is like to pick out a particular reference, or be a particular reference.

This two-tiered theory raises thorny questions. Do we really need two layers of meaning? Why not stick with sense alone—isn’t that enough to get meaning going? On the other hand, can’t we get away with reference alone (save for a couple of peripheral puzzles)? Generally speaking, reference seems to carry the main burden of the semantic work. Thus, we get “direct reference” theories. That is, we can try to get by with purely subjective theories or with purely objective theories (shades of the mind-body problem]. The point I am making is that the subjective-objective dialectic plays out in this case also: meaning might be all subjective (sense) or all objective (reference) or a combination of both (sense and reference). We feel the pull of the subjective and we feel the pull of the objective, so we try to accommodate both pulls. Frege is a kind of semantic dualist while others are hardline semantic subjectivists or objectivists. The terrain has much the same topography as in other areas of philosophy. It is an instance of the same general problem. One can take an “inside” view or an “outside” view, or try to combine the two. The objectivist will discount the internal in favor of the external, while the subjectivist will dispense with the external in favor of the internal. Meaning is subject to these familiar tensions. Image theories represent one side of this divide and stimulus-response theories the other. The result is a kind of endless oscillation.

With that case under our belt, we can turn to mathematics, where a structurally similar dialectic plays out. What are numbers (or geometric figures)? We can view them objectively or subjectively, as in Platonism and intuitionism (or formalism). Either they exist independently of the human subject and don’t vary with variation in the subject, or they are creatures of the human mind and reflect its nature; or possibly they are some sort of combination (there are subjective numbers and objective numbers existing in some sort of correlation). Both types of view run into well-known difficulties: numbers become too mind-dependent and subject-relative (psychologism), or they become too distant from the human mind to be knowable (Platonism). If we locate mathematics in the human mind, we make it too subjective; if we locate it in platonic heaven, we make it too objective, i.e., divorced from human faculties. That, at any rate, is the classical dilemma. Space also displays this dialectic: we can make it subjective or we can make it objective or we can multiply spaces. Either we make it a category of the senses (“visual space”) or we think of it abstractly, thus cutting it off from human knowledge (“absolute space”). Or we posit two spaces—mental space and physical space. We have the counterpart to Frege’s mixed subjective-objective view meaning. Or we have an attempt to assimilate space to the subjective or the objective: there is nothing more to space than perceived space or it is removed from conscious awareness, an I-know-not-what. Thus, meaning, mathematics and space exhibit a similar pattern defined by the subjective-objective contrast. This meta-philosophy includes these three areas.[2]

There is something in common to those areas: they are all curiously impalpable. They are not concrete particulars. Accordingly, they tend to attract subjectivist interpretation; they are regarded as “immaterial”. You can’t put your finger on meaning; you can’t throw a number across the room; you can’t kick space around. Nor can you introspect these things as you can sensations. We therefore tend to recoil at objective accounts of meaning, mathematics and space, because they don’t strike us as like physical substances. Nor are they purely ideational. So, we can apply the subjective-objective distinction to two kinds of reality: the concrete and the not-so-concrete. We have subjective-objective quandaries about mind and matter, but we also have them about things that don’t fall neatly into these categories. Still, the cases are united with respect to subjectivism and objectivism. I would also put ethics and aesthetics on the impalpable-but-not-mental side. Are goodness and beauty in the eye of the beholder (subjective) or do they exist separately from the mind (objective)? The question runs deep in philosophical issues and crops up surprisingly frequently. It appears to be the fly-bottle about which Wittgenstein so disparagingly spoke. What depends on me and what does not depend on me? That is the fundamental question. What exists because points of view exist, and what exists whether or not points of view exist? Is the world the totality of points of view or do points of view carry no ontological weight?[3]

[1] This position is associated with Thomas Nagel (The View from Nowhere), rightly so, but hints of it exist in the philosophical tradition, stemming from the rise of empiricism and idealism, as well as materialism. It is another way of talking about familiar issues.

[2] I mean to be including areas not discussed (but alluded to) in Nagel’s The View from Nowhere, thus enlarging the scope of his meta-philosophy.

[3] When Wittgenstein said that the world is the totality of facts, he presumably meant objective facts not points of view on facts (a fact is not a point of view on itself). Berkeley would appear to be saying that the world is nothing but points of view. Quine wouldn’t quantify over points of view.

Share

Curious

Curious

I wrote the notes for the previous four pieces on objective and subjective in Cozumel, a beautiful island with a limpid sea surrounding it. Would that they were as clear as that water! I am curious whether readers find them unusually difficult or as clear as Cozumel.

Share