Thugs

Thugs

I have noticed an increase in thuggery from the Trump gang. He of course is a thug in the mafia mold (though physically cowardly). They all want to be tough guys. The aim is to instill fear. This is the next stage in installing a dictator. No one in power is standing up to it. They seem to be relishing it. The language is getting coarser, the body language more menacing, the targets more vulnerable. It is utterly detestable. There is real evil afoot.

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Consciousness and the Fetus

Consciousness and the Fetus

The brain grows gradually in the fetus, going through various stages of development. This development is now well mapped out embryologically. But nothing is known about the inner consciousness that accompanies this brain growth. It is reasonable to believe that it goes from simple to complex, primitive to sophisticated—how could it not? It has often been supposed, on good evidence, that the fetus itself passes through stages resembling its prehistoric ancestors—the fish is often mentioned. Could it then be that the ontogeny of consciousness recapitulates the phylogeny of consciousness? Could the earliest stages of fetal brain development resemble the earliest stages of ancestral brain development? Might the consciousness of the fetus in its early life be like the consciousness of the first organism on earth to develop consciousness? We don’t know what this consciousness was like, or what the fetus’s early consciousness is like; but it is not unreasonable to surmise some homology (perhaps a feeling of comfort or discomfort). Then, as consciousness develops in the fetus, there is a mapping onto the evolutionary development of consciousness in ancestral species, leading up to the consciousness of species close to the human. The old forms of consciousness are preserved in the genes and have their moment in the sun as the fetus develops. Thus, the fetus lives through millions of years of phenomenological evolution, getting a taste of what things used to be like long ago. All this is forgotten as the adult human brain takes shape, but it was there nonetheless. The fetus in effect knows the consciousness of our earliest ancestors. Yet this knowledge is not preserved, memory being what it is. If only it could be recorded and then uploaded into the adult brain! We would learn a lot about the evolution of consciousness from the inside. The fetus knows more about the evolution of consciousness than we adults will ever know.[1]

[1] The human fetus doesn’t know what it is like to be a bat, since echolocation was not a feature of our ancestral line, but it might know what it is like to be a fish or lizard.

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Causal and Logical Relations

Causal and Logical Relations

Is this an untenable dualism? Are the two relations really that distinct? Isn’t one a special case of the other? The OED defines “cause” as “a person or thing that gives rise to an action, phenomenon, or condition” and “reasonable grounds for a belief or action” (notice it doesn’t say “event”). The operative notions are “gives rise to” and “grounds”—what gives rise to or grounds what is left open. We might paraphrase this using the concept of a reason: a cause is a reason for something. We could say a cause is what leads to something, has it as a consequence, entrains it. Thus, causal relations are ubiquitous and topic-neutral: where there are reasons there are causes. Consider the classic syllogism about Socrates and mortality: we can paraphrase it as “the cause of Socrates’ being mortal is that Socrates is a man and all men are mortal”. That’s the reason he is mortal, what brings it about, makes it the case. We could equally say, “Socrates will die because he is a biological being and all biological beings die”. Similarly, we can say that the cause of Socrates’ death was that he drank hemlock and any man dies who drinks hemlock. The cause is a combination of a general law and a particular fact. The logical syllogism is a way of stating a causal relation. The corresponding causal statement “the cause of Socrates’ being mortal is his being a man and the law that all men are mortal” could be formulated in the classic syllogistic style. There is nothing mutually exclusive here. Premises give rise to or ground conclusions, and causes give rise or ground things of various categories. Causes have consequences and so do premises.

You might object that logical arguments give rise to propositions as conclusions whereas causes are events that have events as effects. This is wrong on both counts. Logical arguments connect facts (states of affairs, situations) expressed by propositions (sentences, statements); and causation connects facts too, viz. general and particular facts (laws and individuals). Facts give rise to other facts, so they cause them (are the reason for them). We have been taught to have an overly propositional view of logical relations, as if they are somehow about language; and we have also been taught to have an overly simple “event” conception of causal relations, as if the causal relation locally links isolated events in time. But logical relations are not fundamentally about propositions or language but about objects and properties; and causal relations centrally involve general causal laws as instantiated by particular objects. We must not confuse epistemology with metaphysics: maybe it’s true that we manipulate propositions in our thought when thinking logically, and maybe all we perceive of causation are particular events separated in time; but these are epistemological points, not points about what constitutes logical and causal consequence—the metaphysics of logic and causation.

The practical syllogism is instructive here: the conclusion of such a piece of logical reasoning is an action not a proposition about an action. It is desirable to eat when hungry; I am hungry; therefore, I eat. This is pure causality: the general law combines with the particular fact to cause the act of eating. Not all logical reasoning issues in belief in a proposition; some issues in actual action, a type of occurrence. Indeed, we can generalize the practical syllogism to include what might be called the causal syllogism: immersing sugar in water dissolves it; this piece of sugar is immersed in water; therefore, it dissolves. The conclusion logically follows from the premises. Logic is a lot more far-reaching, capacious, than the standard logic textbooks would lead you to believe. There is such a thing as causal logic. Thus, logical consequence is a species of causal consequence, and causal consequence is logically structured. Logic isn’t about language-dependent non-worldly things divorced from the causal order; and causation isn’t about brute causal relations between isolated events (like beads on a string or successive flashes of light). Logic relates general and particular facts, and causation likewise relates general and particular facts. Logic and causation are identical! This is an identity theory couched at the level of underlying metaphysics. It isn’t that logical relations are abstract and other-worldly (think Platonic heaven); and it isn’t that causation is grubbily this-worldly (think Aristotelian form and matter). Causation is logical and logic is causal. The old dichotomy is a dogma of empiricism andrationalism—for both were wedded to a logic-causation dualism. The reason for insisting on the dichotomy was that epistemology was being confused with metaphysics—too much stress on what is revealed to the senses, or not revealed to them. In their nature they are closely entwined. Logic is closer to causation that we recognized, and causation is closer to logic than we recognized. Both involve an injection of necessity and the necessity is essentially the same—the necessity of “giving rise to” and “grounding”. It always felt uncomfortable to sharply separate the two given their intuitive affinity, and now we see that it was wrong to do so. Logic is woven into causality and causality is woven into logic. Logical relations are causal relations and causal relations are logical relations.

I am well aware of how radical this proposal will sound, but the novelty is largely a verbal matter. We must not use “logic” and “cause” in the narrow senses that have become customary in academic philosophy, especially post-positivist analytical philosophy. These uses accentuate a divide that is unreal from a loftier perspective; they have become tendentious technical uses. That is why I started with the dictionary, so that we could regain a sense of their ordinary meaning. Logic is about reasoning and rational connections; causation is about dependence and reasons for things: these concepts are broad enough to encompass each other, to make room for each other. Thus, the position is really quite untheoretical and commonsense.[1]

[1] The legal sense of “cause” nicely combines the logical and triggering connotations of the term: you can only arrest someone “for cause”, i.e., if there are grounds to arrest them—then an arrest can be triggered. It is the same with the locution “a good cause”: this suggests a justifying ground as well as something that can elicit action (“something deserving of support”, as the OED says). The word “reason” comes closest to “cause” as ordinarily understood. Causation is certainly not restricted to events of hitting or bridges collapsing or short circuits; it isn’t always about striking happenings, more or less spectacular. In the proper wide sense of the word, it becomes trivial that reasons cause actions, since they are precisely reasons for actions. The words “cause” and “because” are virtual synonyms.

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Ringo and the Philosophers

Ringo and the Philosophers

I was watching a TV special featuring Ringo Starr. He sang and played the drums a bit. It was quite nice in a low-key kind of way. My constant thought was: why is Ringo so limited? He’s a good drummer, but why is his technique so primitive (I’ve never heard him play a drumroll). All these years as a professional drummer and he hasn’t learned better technique! Then there is his singing: he’s a barely competent singer, with a limited vocal range—why not take some singing lessons and improve his voice? And why hasn’t he put some effort into learning to play guitar or piano or harmonica? He hasn’t really learned anything new in the last fifty years. What does he do with his time? He has written a few decent songs, but not many—why? Then there is his old bandmate, Paul M.: that lad has some musical ability, but he can’t read music. What? It’s not that hard: read a book on it or pay someone to teach you. Yet Paul just hasn’t got round to it. I’m sure it’s not beyond him.

I feel the same way about athletes. Lebron James is a great basketball player, but what other sports does he play? He obviously likes sports, so why not learn some other sports? I don’t think it’s lack of time; you won’t find him taking up tennis when he retires. I could thrash him at tennis and table tennis! Tennis players seldom play other sports (bit of golf maybe). Why the limitation? Why not extend your athletic ability into other domains? Wouldn’t Roger Federer enjoy taking up some new sports just for the fun of it—surfing, skateboarding, archery? It never seems to happen.

With philosophers it’s the same story: they stick to what they know. They are specialists. But if you like philosophy, why not branch out a bit? If you are good at it in one domain, you would surely be good in other domains. Why, indeed, are you not interested in the whole subject? These are high IQ people with big egos—why not have a go at something different? Even Bertrand Russell had a limited range of philosophical interests (no ethics or aesthetics or phenomenology or philosophy of biology). Wouldn’t it be interesting to see more from the Ringo Starrs of the philosophical world? Are people just afraid to branch out?

I am the opposite. I am a skilled drummer who learned to sing and play guitar (also harmonica). I write songs (I have about 80). I was a gymnast and pole vaulter, but I learned many other sports—I’m still learning new ones. I like playing sports, so I want to add new ones to my repertoire. But this is especially true in philosophy: I like to cover every part of the subject. I’m interested in philosophical questions, so I think about nearly all of them. It’s strange to me that others don’t feel this way: aren’t they even interested in the problems of philosophy they don’t specialize in? I suppose I can see why someone who specializes in practical ethics might not be very interested in logic or metaphysics, but how can you be interested in metaphysics and not be interested in logic and epistemology? Is it just the pressure of academic institutions that forces people into pigeonholes? What is the psychology of this? It’s as if everyone in philosophy is like Ringo Starr.

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Perception and Propositions

Perception and Propositions

In order to have a theory of the origins of knowledge one needs an account of the origins of the proposition, i.e., propositional thought. How do we come to grasp propositions? It is notable that empiricists don’t venture an answer; they stick to the origins of concepts (“ideas”). They vaguely suppose that concepts combine in some unspecified way to produce propositional thoughts that correspond in some way with reality. They don’t suppose that perceptions (“impressions”) possess propositional content—rightly so. So, they don’t hold that thought content is abstracted from perceptual content: they don’t suppose that the content of propositional knowledge is a “faint copy” of the propositional content of perceptions. What would that even mean? Perception just doesn’t have propositional content prior to the formation of propositional thought (or knowledge). So, they have no account of the origins of our knowledge of propositional structure—our propositional competence. This will involve logical relations and knowledge thereof. For all they have said, the rationalists are right about this—it is a priori and innate. Therefore, empiricism is not true even of our most basic knowledge (“That’s red”). Perception alone cannot explain propositions. Suppose they abandoned their non-propositional view of perception and claimed that perception does embed propositions. Then they would face the question of where these propositions come from—for they can’t come from non-propositional perception. They would again fall into the hands of the rationalists who would insist that such propositional structure must be a priori and innate. Thus, propositions refute empiricism.[1]

[1] The case is rather like knowledge of language: you can’t derive knowledge of grammar from knowledge of the lexicon, so even if the latter were empirically acquired it would not follow that the former is so acquired. For example, in the case of non-linguistic knowledge, knowledge of the operation of predication cannot be derived from perception of physical objects, even if knowledge of red can be so derived.

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Third Best Philosopher Ever

Third Best Philosopher Ever

I have suggested, tentatively, that Bertrand Russell is the second-best philosopher ever, but it would be nice to say who gets the bronze medal. Reflecting more on my admiration of Russell, I came to a melancholy conclusion: the only philosophical work of his that I really like is The Problems of Philosophy (and I suspect it is the work of his most widely read today). His youthful writing is the best. This made me reconsider his contemporary Gottlob Frege. Wittgenstein famously wrote in the preface to the Tractatus: “I am indebted to Frege’s great works and to the writings of my friend Mr. Bertrand Russell for much of the stimulation of my thoughts”. I was reluctant to put Frege in the silver medal position because of the narrowness of his interests, and I stick by that decision; but I think that if Frege had ventured further afield into traditional philosophy, he would have produced work of comparable quality to his logical work. So, I am inclined to put him into third position. He introduced a new level of clarity and rigor into philosophical thinking and was highly original in his contributions. His influence on my own work has been greater than Russell’s. He made himself indispensable. Two articles by Frege are worth any number of volumes from lesser figures. If only he had spread himself more widely, he might have captured the number one spot!

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American Shrinkage

American Shrinkage

The American shield is down, Europe is on its own, isolationism is back, protectionism is preferred, xenophobia is rampant, paranoia prevails. This is the new world order under Trump. Europe will have to save Ukraine, if anything can. Canada hates America. France, Germany, and Great Britain have had it with the American government. How long before US troop withdrawals from around the globe come into effect? South Korea will get nervous, and even Germany, not to speak of the Baltic states. The American presence will be greatly reduced. All this is pretty obvious and generally recognized (though not widely admitted in America itself). We will be living in a fragmented world with a global power vacuum at its center. What happens will be up for grabs.

A country is more than its geographical boundaries; there is also its culture, its reputation, its attraction. American culture has dominated for the last eighty years as America has exercised a (mostly) benign foreign policy, both economic and military. This is now over, or is beginning to be over. America was everywhere—its sphere of influence was global. The world was largely an American world, culturally, politically. America was respected, if not always universally loved. Individual Americans were world-famous. This was a cohesive world, a reassuring world. But it is over. From now on we will be living in a broken world, in which other lines of power and influence will be drawn. America will shrink. It will become small. It used to be small and it will be small again. Making America great again will result in making America small again (MASA). The world is turning against America; it wants nothing more to do with America. Hence, American shrinkage.

What about the universities? Again, the situation looks bleak. Overzealous DEI was bad enough, but overzealous anti-DEI is worse (why must Americans always overdo everything?). Fewer foreign students will study here; international academic exchange will dwindle; intellectual life will suffer. American universities used to be mediocre—will they become so again? The country will become stupider and more philistine. American philosophy is already in bad shape and it is bound to get worse as American isolation kicks in. The American accent will grate on everyone’s nerves (isn’t Trump’s voice the ugliest ever?). A general chill will set in.

How will all this affect the internal state of America? This too is perfectly predictable: there will be domestic division, even hostility. States will become alienated from each other; people will not mingle; distrust and dislike will be the norm. There will be two Americas: the part that yearns for old alliances, and the part that is happy in its isolation. The America that Trump is trying to create will be a very small America, even within the landmass it occupies. America will no longer be a unified country, as the world will no longer be unified by American ideals and American power. To break alliances is a recipe for self-impoverishment. What kind of country will America be? What kind of world will exist if things keep going as they have been? A warring world (military and economic), a world without unity and shared purpose, a world of squabbling superpowers? Perhaps America will be a country of gold-plated toilets and diamond-studded chainsaws, owned by the fortunate few, but will it be a country worth living in?

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Quitting

Quitting

Ken Levy’s case reminds me of my own case of twelve years ago. I resigned from the university I worked at because I did not want to spend thousands of dollars and a lot of time engaged in a legal action to keep my job in a place I no longer wanted to work. This is how things frequently work, sadly.

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