If the world is inherently knowable by the human mind -- or even if it is a knowable construction of the human mind -- then it would not be inappropriate to categorize it as a riddle. For in any riddle the answer lies hidden in the question. This is why philosophers always talk about asking the "right" questions.
-Priam's Pride
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Do Genuine Miracles Necessitate a Supernatural Explanation? Or: What Did Wittgenstein Really Mean?
I apologize for having been silent so long. I've been working on papers and trying to enjoy the bits of winter break that I have allowed myself.
My wife, our friend Jessica, and I were watching Jessica's Indigo Girls DVD (they are a bluesy girl duo) today. During one of the songs, there was an image of some statue of Mary which was bleeding. Having been raised Catholic, I was not surprised by the image, nor do I doubt that it is genuine. I know of enough reports about miracles, from ghosts to group visions to bleeding statues, that I do not doubt that such things have, indeed, happened. In many cases, large crowds witnessed some particular event and all reported agreeing experiences. These crowds are sometimes public and, therefore, consisting of constituents of many different sections of society. To simply dismiss such varied sources of consistent data seems crazy; just as singular people who believe they have had such experiences seem crazy.
So, let us say that this bleeding statue is genuine. That is, suppose that I have a miraculous experience. What should it mean to a godless person like myself? The standard religious argument against the naturalist is: how do you explain miracles? The standard naturalist response is to prove that there are no miracles. David Hume did most of the work in his naturalist reduction of miracles to events which simply admit no current physical explanation, but might in the future. Today the explanation is merely an updated and sometimes modified Humean reduction.
Should it seem more likely that miracles exist than that miracles do not exist, then the Humean reduction will not work. So, for instance, if a statue is found to be bleeding real human blood and if upon examination the statue is found to be normal in every way, then one should conclude that no scientific explanation can be had. The anomaly is simply too bizarre. Now I have never had such an experience and I do not expect to have such an experience in my lifetime, so there is no personal urgency for me to find an explanation for such an experience. But should I have such an experience, how might I explain it?
First, I will posit that it is a basic feature of human existence that I must find an explanation for any experience that I have. This means that I must somehow produce for myself a reason or description of the causal mechanisms which bring the events which I witness into existence. Or, to put it yet another way, that I ask both "How?" and "Why?" about every aspect of my experience is part of what makes me human. I take this principle as basic without argument, but an argument can be had -- just not here.
Second, I posit the existence of the physical world because common sense dictates that I must.
Third, we also assume that this physical world must be a world that is capable of being explained; that the question "How?" is generally answerable. And science is the answer. These will be my three premises.
Now we see that the religious apologist has required us to explain miracles based on his acceptance of the first premise. So if I respond to the religious apologist's demand, then I also accept the first premise.
So how can we explain the statue? Well, the statue is part of the physical world, as is the blood. Therefore, I should look first at the physical world in which my experience occurs. Because the last two premises are the ones which support most of our physical explanations, this would be the most likely source of explanation in this particular case. Like Hume, I would try to find some scientific explanation that could make blood materialize on the surface of a statue. This, of course, is as ridiculous as turning straw into gold. The physical world simply does not have the ability to construct human blood out of air. The physical world can only construct human blood inside of a human body, which can only come either from other human bodies or from a long process of evolution. It is very difficult for the physical world to create human blood, so the hypothesis that it simply materialized naturally on the surface of the statue is just absurd.
So, if Hume fails us, must we conform to the demands of the religious?
Not so fast. Are we ready to begin positing new beings? That is, should Occam's razor have any sway over us? Well, because naturalists have rejected religion in the first place, one must assume that such naturalists have a reason to do so. This reason is, of course, their acceptance of Occam's razor. Thus, if we respond to the religious apologist's challenge, then we have already assumed Occam's razor, just as we have assumed the first premise. Occam's razor, then, will be our fourth premise.
So before we begin to create new beings (such as gods), let us examine our first and fourth premises. For it was our second and third premises which failed as an explanation earlier.
Our fourth premise, Occam's razor dictates that we are allowed to posit only those entities which are necessary to the explanation of the phenomena. It is a metaprinciple insofar as it regulates the sorts of principles which are admissible. Thus, this principle cannot explain the materialization of blood on the surface of a statue.
So that only leaves the first. Recall that we assumed as a basic feature of human nature that we are compelled to explain the phenomena we experience. But, if we are naturalists, should this first premise not be subsumed under the second and third premises? If humans are purely physical beings, then the compulsion to explain experience can, itself, be explained by scientifically explaining the human brain. But whether this premise is entirely captured by the second and third premises depends on what we mean by "explain". That is, if the act of explanation can also be reduced to an explanation of physical phenomena, only then will we be able to subsume the first premise under the second and third. But this is not so easy. Is it possible for an explanation of the phenomena explain itself? It is explanatory self-reference which we must now address.
So then what is an explanation? An explanation arises when a person observes a similarity within the occurrences of phenomena and seeks to provide a theoretical background for that similarity. An explanation is a rule which we have interpreted from the experiences that we have had. Indeed, it is almost the same concept as Wittgenstein's concept of a "rule". Where Wittgensteinian rules are only grammatical rules, rules governing meaning; the concept of a scientific explanation is a set of rules which govern physical interaction. But, as Wittgenstein suggests, we are limited in the degree to which we can intuit rules. The rule that I follow cannot be demonstrated to be the same rule that you follow, because the only input that I have from you is your behavior. But your behavior can be demonstrated to accord with many different rules (e. g. Kripke's "addition" and "quaddition" example). So human behavior, as a finite set of data, is insufficient to determine the infinite extension of the single rule that it is purported to follow.
Just as scientific theory is underdetermined by the sensory evidence, so behavioral rules are underdetermined by the sensory evidence. So a scientific explanation of how we explain things is underdetermined by the evidence. But the scientific explanation itself is underdetermined by the evidence. Scientific explanations are formulated in languages, which follow grammatical rules. So if the grammatical rules are underdetermined by the evidence (we could all exhibit the same behavior and still secretly be following different rules), then the the language of science is underdetermined by the evidence. And because the explanation of our concept of explanation occurs in the language of science (for it is really an explanation of the brain), the scientific explanation of our act of explanation is doubly underdetermined by the evidence: once when we formulate the language to do science and again when we actually do science. At this point, we will realize that science is supposed to explain the language, which explains the science, which explains the language, and so on ad infinitum. Not only do we have a regress on our hands, but we now have an infinitesimal explanatory capability -- we have underdetermined our explanation into oblivion. Before moving on, I should observe that I believe the preceding is the argument that Quine meant to expound in his "argument from above".
Clearly this is a problem to be avoided. It should be evident by now that explanations of behavior and explanations of physical phenomena are both constructed through the act of inductive reasoning. For in this type of reasoning, we observe a finite set of data and infer from it a rule of infinite extension. That is, we create classes for those events and objects which we observe to be the same in some way. So then what is it for two things to be the same? That is, what counts as criteria for an act of inductive reasoning? We cannot describe a class of beings unless we can know whether the beings fit into the class in the first place. But sameness of anything (sameness of red things is what Wittgenstein considers) still relies on behavioral evidence. I can only know what sorts of things people believe to be red by their behavior -- the things that they point to and call "red". So if I describe red things as being the same in their redness and describe the word "same" behaviorally, then I am stuck in the very same unacceptable regress as with the "explanation" and "rule".
The problem is that we have too many variables and not enough equations. We will never find the solution to a set of three equations which have four variables. Not enough input is given to us to explain the input given. In trying to solve these three equations, we will find ourselves producing solutions of any three variables in terms of the fourth one. This is just what we have tried to do above. We can produce explanations of various different concepts in terms of other concepts that are different from them, but we cannot definitively explain any of these concepts. In trying to do so, we only prove that we have explained away our ability to explain in the first place. Or, as I have said before: all terms are defined in terms which, themselves, require defining.
For Wittgenstein, the problem is that we have not taken enough as basic. Indeed, when you exhibit the behavior that accords with the addition rule which I follow, I find that I believe that you are also following this same addition rule. So if, in any behavior of yours which follows a rule, I take you to be following the same rule that I follow, then I assume that in at least these ways, you are the same as me. For, as Wittgenstein says, this is our life-form. What we must ultimately take as basic, then, is the act of inductive reasoning. We must take it as basic that we are all inclined to infer rules with infinite extension from a finite set of data.
Thus, when I interpret what you mean when you speak, or when I interpret what your body-language suggests, I can be much more certain about whether we mean the same thing, because human beings naturally think in the same way. Of course, this means that there is no guarantee that we could speak with aliens, should we meet them. Or, as Wittgenstein puts it, we would not be able to converse with a lion if the lion could speak -- for they are a different life-form. Because scientific explanations cannot by themselves explain the certainty with which we believe we understand each other, we have chosen to take this certainty as basic. The result is that we no longer have the problem of explaining behavior, as we are inclined to behave in the same way (minimally speaking). We are inclined to devise languages between each other just as we are inclined to mate, to eat, to sleep, etc. But, of course, the animal instincts can be explained through science. Our problem is exclusive to human discourse, because science itself is a human discourse.
But, you might object, if we classify our inclination to reason inductively as a disposition, then it seems as if it would be subject to scientific explanation. That might be true. But we have not yet explained the mechanism by which we are disposed to reason inductively. In other words, not nearly enough is known about the brain to secure an explanation of inductive reasoning. Therefore, our taking this disposition to inductive reasoning as basic cannot, itself, be explained scientifically. Furthermore, if we do not yet have an explanation of the act of inductive reasoning, then we do not yet have good reason to assert that human beings share a life-form. To claim that inductive reasoning can support itself is to put the cart in front of the horse. Thus, the certainty with which we believe we understand each other (as evidenced by the volume of the literature we have written to each other) cannot be supported by the empirical evidence.
Based on the above considerations (thanks to Wittgenstein), I think we have good reason to take our ability to reason inductively as a basic premise of philosophical discourse -- and of discourse simpliciter. In fact, we have good reason to believe that we already do take our ability to reason inductively as basic. But what does this amount to? If inductive reasoning is taken as basic, then we can recognize what is the same; we can categorize these things; we can produce explanations of the differences between categories. In short, we can devise theories about the phenomena that we experience. But the very rules which we follow (addition rather than quaddition) are learned through inductive reasoning. We learn what is red by being shown red things. So our language begins with inductive reasoning and the language-game which we have mastered is nothing more than a theory of meaning.
But is the theory of meaning public or private? Well, we don't always mean the same things. You and I can have a conversation for 10 minutes thinking we are talking about the same thing and never discover that we were actually talking about different things all along. In other words, I can tell you the rule, but unless you actually do understand the language that I use in the same way that I understand it, you will not understand the rule. So if language can admit of multiple adequate understandings -- that is, if two persons can rationally interpret a single sentence in two different ways -- then those two persons mean the sentences in ways which are private. Of course, this doesn't mean that the content of the sentence is private. The whole point of the assumption that we have the same life-form is to secure the public nature of meaning. But the complex set of interlocking rules about appropriate word-usage and the concept of sameness -- i. e. our theory of meaning -- is one that is secured based on the assumption that meaning can be public. Therefore, the certainty that meaning is public is, itself, private. In this way, my theory of meaning may not be known to anyone else, but it is not necessarily private. Nothing that can be said is, itself, private. The only thing about meaning that is private is the certainty that you and I have the ability to understand each other.
But in allowing ourselves to assume the ability to reason inductively -- allowing ourselves to give in to the certainty that meaning is public -- means that we have granted ourselves an ability that we have not granted the rest of the world. The mind is privileged over the material world insofar as it has the ability to explain. But in granting the mind a unique ability, we also grant it basicality. If the human mind were not basic, then the ability would really be an ability that the world has. But the world can only produce human beings who scribble things down and make noises at each other. The physical world, by itself, does not produce meaning. We do.
In other words, we have separated the mind from the matter. Reader beware: I am not trying to verify some sort of complicated soul. Indeed I do not think of the mind as a thing independent of the brain; rather, it seems like an emergent event that only occurs in a healthy human being. Yet, as a naturalist, I must keep in mind that if I want to maintain naturalism, then I must only support the thesis that the mind occurred naturally. There is no reason that a naturalist must also be a monist. Of course this sort of dualism entails that the physical world precedes the mental world both chronologically and logically, for there could not be a mental world without the physical world. But, you might ask, what is the mental world? Well, the mental world is the totality of human communication. It is that which is spoken, written, built, invented, and even that which is imagined. Of course not all of the mental world can be preserved over time. Spoken words, organized events and the like only have meaning for those who remember them. That which is imagined only has meaning for the person who imagines it (though an imagining is, in principle, available to the public both pictorially and linguistically). And as soon as the last person dies, there will be no more meaning because meaning depends on the existence of the minds who think it.
But if the mind is basic in the same way that matter is basic, then we would expect that its complexity rivals that of matter, and that both would require extensive explanation. We might even expect that our explanations are as complicated and intricate as our explanations of matter. Indeed they are: just look at economics, political science and psychology. The very name "social sciences" should suggest to us that mind is distinct from matter, for what else could separate "social science" from "physical science"? One might even include philosophy itself among the social sciences.
Therefore, if the mind is basic in the same way that matter is, then we would expect that there are anomalies in our explanations of the interaction of minds. We would also expect that there is a great deal that we do not know (just as there is a great deal we do not know about the human brain).
Thus, as a naturalist seeking an explanation for the bleeding statue, the second place I would look is to the human mind. Indeed a mechanism is lacking here, and insofar as the mechanism is lacking, the explanation is far from adequate. Nevertheless, it is still absurd to think that human blood could form naturally on the side of a statue. We know enough about the physical world to know that this is impossible. But we know much more about the physical world than we know about our own minds. Therefore, it might be safe for the naturalist to bracket the experience off as being a possible result of the collective effort of human minds.
If the human mind is mostly a mystery to itself, then it should not surprise us if our minds present us with mysterious experiences from time to time.
Keep in mind, though, that we have defined the human mind as a thing which is primarily concerned with meaning, intentions behind actions, reasoning, etc. Thus, if our minds can produce a mysterious physical phenomenon, then the phenomenon must have a meaning. For why else would there be a collective mental effort if that collective effort was not our own minds telling us something?
So then what could the bleeding statue mean? Well, this all depends upon whether the statue is caused to bleed by a single mind or by many minds. And if it is caused to bleed by many minds, then is this collective mental effort, itself, intelligent? To put the matter in a cartoonish way: do all our minds conjoin to form a super-mind? These are all answers that cannot be given based on the premises that I have posited. In any case, I believe that I have provided a sketch of how the naturalist might proceed if presented with an apparently miraculous experience.
Then again, perhaps the bleeding statue is merely a hoax.
-Priam's Pride
My wife, our friend Jessica, and I were watching Jessica's Indigo Girls DVD (they are a bluesy girl duo) today. During one of the songs, there was an image of some statue of Mary which was bleeding. Having been raised Catholic, I was not surprised by the image, nor do I doubt that it is genuine. I know of enough reports about miracles, from ghosts to group visions to bleeding statues, that I do not doubt that such things have, indeed, happened. In many cases, large crowds witnessed some particular event and all reported agreeing experiences. These crowds are sometimes public and, therefore, consisting of constituents of many different sections of society. To simply dismiss such varied sources of consistent data seems crazy; just as singular people who believe they have had such experiences seem crazy.
So, let us say that this bleeding statue is genuine. That is, suppose that I have a miraculous experience. What should it mean to a godless person like myself? The standard religious argument against the naturalist is: how do you explain miracles? The standard naturalist response is to prove that there are no miracles. David Hume did most of the work in his naturalist reduction of miracles to events which simply admit no current physical explanation, but might in the future. Today the explanation is merely an updated and sometimes modified Humean reduction.
Should it seem more likely that miracles exist than that miracles do not exist, then the Humean reduction will not work. So, for instance, if a statue is found to be bleeding real human blood and if upon examination the statue is found to be normal in every way, then one should conclude that no scientific explanation can be had. The anomaly is simply too bizarre. Now I have never had such an experience and I do not expect to have such an experience in my lifetime, so there is no personal urgency for me to find an explanation for such an experience. But should I have such an experience, how might I explain it?
First, I will posit that it is a basic feature of human existence that I must find an explanation for any experience that I have. This means that I must somehow produce for myself a reason or description of the causal mechanisms which bring the events which I witness into existence. Or, to put it yet another way, that I ask both "How?" and "Why?" about every aspect of my experience is part of what makes me human. I take this principle as basic without argument, but an argument can be had -- just not here.
Second, I posit the existence of the physical world because common sense dictates that I must.
Third, we also assume that this physical world must be a world that is capable of being explained; that the question "How?" is generally answerable. And science is the answer. These will be my three premises.
Now we see that the religious apologist has required us to explain miracles based on his acceptance of the first premise. So if I respond to the religious apologist's demand, then I also accept the first premise.
So how can we explain the statue? Well, the statue is part of the physical world, as is the blood. Therefore, I should look first at the physical world in which my experience occurs. Because the last two premises are the ones which support most of our physical explanations, this would be the most likely source of explanation in this particular case. Like Hume, I would try to find some scientific explanation that could make blood materialize on the surface of a statue. This, of course, is as ridiculous as turning straw into gold. The physical world simply does not have the ability to construct human blood out of air. The physical world can only construct human blood inside of a human body, which can only come either from other human bodies or from a long process of evolution. It is very difficult for the physical world to create human blood, so the hypothesis that it simply materialized naturally on the surface of the statue is just absurd.
So, if Hume fails us, must we conform to the demands of the religious?
Not so fast. Are we ready to begin positing new beings? That is, should Occam's razor have any sway over us? Well, because naturalists have rejected religion in the first place, one must assume that such naturalists have a reason to do so. This reason is, of course, their acceptance of Occam's razor. Thus, if we respond to the religious apologist's challenge, then we have already assumed Occam's razor, just as we have assumed the first premise. Occam's razor, then, will be our fourth premise.
So before we begin to create new beings (such as gods), let us examine our first and fourth premises. For it was our second and third premises which failed as an explanation earlier.
Our fourth premise, Occam's razor dictates that we are allowed to posit only those entities which are necessary to the explanation of the phenomena. It is a metaprinciple insofar as it regulates the sorts of principles which are admissible. Thus, this principle cannot explain the materialization of blood on the surface of a statue.
So that only leaves the first. Recall that we assumed as a basic feature of human nature that we are compelled to explain the phenomena we experience. But, if we are naturalists, should this first premise not be subsumed under the second and third premises? If humans are purely physical beings, then the compulsion to explain experience can, itself, be explained by scientifically explaining the human brain. But whether this premise is entirely captured by the second and third premises depends on what we mean by "explain". That is, if the act of explanation can also be reduced to an explanation of physical phenomena, only then will we be able to subsume the first premise under the second and third. But this is not so easy. Is it possible for an explanation of the phenomena explain itself? It is explanatory self-reference which we must now address.
So then what is an explanation? An explanation arises when a person observes a similarity within the occurrences of phenomena and seeks to provide a theoretical background for that similarity. An explanation is a rule which we have interpreted from the experiences that we have had. Indeed, it is almost the same concept as Wittgenstein's concept of a "rule". Where Wittgensteinian rules are only grammatical rules, rules governing meaning; the concept of a scientific explanation is a set of rules which govern physical interaction. But, as Wittgenstein suggests, we are limited in the degree to which we can intuit rules. The rule that I follow cannot be demonstrated to be the same rule that you follow, because the only input that I have from you is your behavior. But your behavior can be demonstrated to accord with many different rules (e. g. Kripke's "addition" and "quaddition" example). So human behavior, as a finite set of data, is insufficient to determine the infinite extension of the single rule that it is purported to follow.
Just as scientific theory is underdetermined by the sensory evidence, so behavioral rules are underdetermined by the sensory evidence. So a scientific explanation of how we explain things is underdetermined by the evidence. But the scientific explanation itself is underdetermined by the evidence. Scientific explanations are formulated in languages, which follow grammatical rules. So if the grammatical rules are underdetermined by the evidence (we could all exhibit the same behavior and still secretly be following different rules), then the the language of science is underdetermined by the evidence. And because the explanation of our concept of explanation occurs in the language of science (for it is really an explanation of the brain), the scientific explanation of our act of explanation is doubly underdetermined by the evidence: once when we formulate the language to do science and again when we actually do science. At this point, we will realize that science is supposed to explain the language, which explains the science, which explains the language, and so on ad infinitum. Not only do we have a regress on our hands, but we now have an infinitesimal explanatory capability -- we have underdetermined our explanation into oblivion. Before moving on, I should observe that I believe the preceding is the argument that Quine meant to expound in his "argument from above".
Clearly this is a problem to be avoided. It should be evident by now that explanations of behavior and explanations of physical phenomena are both constructed through the act of inductive reasoning. For in this type of reasoning, we observe a finite set of data and infer from it a rule of infinite extension. That is, we create classes for those events and objects which we observe to be the same in some way. So then what is it for two things to be the same? That is, what counts as criteria for an act of inductive reasoning? We cannot describe a class of beings unless we can know whether the beings fit into the class in the first place. But sameness of anything (sameness of red things is what Wittgenstein considers) still relies on behavioral evidence. I can only know what sorts of things people believe to be red by their behavior -- the things that they point to and call "red". So if I describe red things as being the same in their redness and describe the word "same" behaviorally, then I am stuck in the very same unacceptable regress as with the "explanation" and "rule".
The problem is that we have too many variables and not enough equations. We will never find the solution to a set of three equations which have four variables. Not enough input is given to us to explain the input given. In trying to solve these three equations, we will find ourselves producing solutions of any three variables in terms of the fourth one. This is just what we have tried to do above. We can produce explanations of various different concepts in terms of other concepts that are different from them, but we cannot definitively explain any of these concepts. In trying to do so, we only prove that we have explained away our ability to explain in the first place. Or, as I have said before: all terms are defined in terms which, themselves, require defining.
For Wittgenstein, the problem is that we have not taken enough as basic. Indeed, when you exhibit the behavior that accords with the addition rule which I follow, I find that I believe that you are also following this same addition rule. So if, in any behavior of yours which follows a rule, I take you to be following the same rule that I follow, then I assume that in at least these ways, you are the same as me. For, as Wittgenstein says, this is our life-form. What we must ultimately take as basic, then, is the act of inductive reasoning. We must take it as basic that we are all inclined to infer rules with infinite extension from a finite set of data.
Thus, when I interpret what you mean when you speak, or when I interpret what your body-language suggests, I can be much more certain about whether we mean the same thing, because human beings naturally think in the same way. Of course, this means that there is no guarantee that we could speak with aliens, should we meet them. Or, as Wittgenstein puts it, we would not be able to converse with a lion if the lion could speak -- for they are a different life-form. Because scientific explanations cannot by themselves explain the certainty with which we believe we understand each other, we have chosen to take this certainty as basic. The result is that we no longer have the problem of explaining behavior, as we are inclined to behave in the same way (minimally speaking). We are inclined to devise languages between each other just as we are inclined to mate, to eat, to sleep, etc. But, of course, the animal instincts can be explained through science. Our problem is exclusive to human discourse, because science itself is a human discourse.
But, you might object, if we classify our inclination to reason inductively as a disposition, then it seems as if it would be subject to scientific explanation. That might be true. But we have not yet explained the mechanism by which we are disposed to reason inductively. In other words, not nearly enough is known about the brain to secure an explanation of inductive reasoning. Therefore, our taking this disposition to inductive reasoning as basic cannot, itself, be explained scientifically. Furthermore, if we do not yet have an explanation of the act of inductive reasoning, then we do not yet have good reason to assert that human beings share a life-form. To claim that inductive reasoning can support itself is to put the cart in front of the horse. Thus, the certainty with which we believe we understand each other (as evidenced by the volume of the literature we have written to each other) cannot be supported by the empirical evidence.
Based on the above considerations (thanks to Wittgenstein), I think we have good reason to take our ability to reason inductively as a basic premise of philosophical discourse -- and of discourse simpliciter. In fact, we have good reason to believe that we already do take our ability to reason inductively as basic. But what does this amount to? If inductive reasoning is taken as basic, then we can recognize what is the same; we can categorize these things; we can produce explanations of the differences between categories. In short, we can devise theories about the phenomena that we experience. But the very rules which we follow (addition rather than quaddition) are learned through inductive reasoning. We learn what is red by being shown red things. So our language begins with inductive reasoning and the language-game which we have mastered is nothing more than a theory of meaning.
But is the theory of meaning public or private? Well, we don't always mean the same things. You and I can have a conversation for 10 minutes thinking we are talking about the same thing and never discover that we were actually talking about different things all along. In other words, I can tell you the rule, but unless you actually do understand the language that I use in the same way that I understand it, you will not understand the rule. So if language can admit of multiple adequate understandings -- that is, if two persons can rationally interpret a single sentence in two different ways -- then those two persons mean the sentences in ways which are private. Of course, this doesn't mean that the content of the sentence is private. The whole point of the assumption that we have the same life-form is to secure the public nature of meaning. But the complex set of interlocking rules about appropriate word-usage and the concept of sameness -- i. e. our theory of meaning -- is one that is secured based on the assumption that meaning can be public. Therefore, the certainty that meaning is public is, itself, private. In this way, my theory of meaning may not be known to anyone else, but it is not necessarily private. Nothing that can be said is, itself, private. The only thing about meaning that is private is the certainty that you and I have the ability to understand each other.
But in allowing ourselves to assume the ability to reason inductively -- allowing ourselves to give in to the certainty that meaning is public -- means that we have granted ourselves an ability that we have not granted the rest of the world. The mind is privileged over the material world insofar as it has the ability to explain. But in granting the mind a unique ability, we also grant it basicality. If the human mind were not basic, then the ability would really be an ability that the world has. But the world can only produce human beings who scribble things down and make noises at each other. The physical world, by itself, does not produce meaning. We do.
In other words, we have separated the mind from the matter. Reader beware: I am not trying to verify some sort of complicated soul. Indeed I do not think of the mind as a thing independent of the brain; rather, it seems like an emergent event that only occurs in a healthy human being. Yet, as a naturalist, I must keep in mind that if I want to maintain naturalism, then I must only support the thesis that the mind occurred naturally. There is no reason that a naturalist must also be a monist. Of course this sort of dualism entails that the physical world precedes the mental world both chronologically and logically, for there could not be a mental world without the physical world. But, you might ask, what is the mental world? Well, the mental world is the totality of human communication. It is that which is spoken, written, built, invented, and even that which is imagined. Of course not all of the mental world can be preserved over time. Spoken words, organized events and the like only have meaning for those who remember them. That which is imagined only has meaning for the person who imagines it (though an imagining is, in principle, available to the public both pictorially and linguistically). And as soon as the last person dies, there will be no more meaning because meaning depends on the existence of the minds who think it.
But if the mind is basic in the same way that matter is basic, then we would expect that its complexity rivals that of matter, and that both would require extensive explanation. We might even expect that our explanations are as complicated and intricate as our explanations of matter. Indeed they are: just look at economics, political science and psychology. The very name "social sciences" should suggest to us that mind is distinct from matter, for what else could separate "social science" from "physical science"? One might even include philosophy itself among the social sciences.
Therefore, if the mind is basic in the same way that matter is, then we would expect that there are anomalies in our explanations of the interaction of minds. We would also expect that there is a great deal that we do not know (just as there is a great deal we do not know about the human brain).
Thus, as a naturalist seeking an explanation for the bleeding statue, the second place I would look is to the human mind. Indeed a mechanism is lacking here, and insofar as the mechanism is lacking, the explanation is far from adequate. Nevertheless, it is still absurd to think that human blood could form naturally on the side of a statue. We know enough about the physical world to know that this is impossible. But we know much more about the physical world than we know about our own minds. Therefore, it might be safe for the naturalist to bracket the experience off as being a possible result of the collective effort of human minds.
If the human mind is mostly a mystery to itself, then it should not surprise us if our minds present us with mysterious experiences from time to time.
Keep in mind, though, that we have defined the human mind as a thing which is primarily concerned with meaning, intentions behind actions, reasoning, etc. Thus, if our minds can produce a mysterious physical phenomenon, then the phenomenon must have a meaning. For why else would there be a collective mental effort if that collective effort was not our own minds telling us something?
So then what could the bleeding statue mean? Well, this all depends upon whether the statue is caused to bleed by a single mind or by many minds. And if it is caused to bleed by many minds, then is this collective mental effort, itself, intelligent? To put the matter in a cartoonish way: do all our minds conjoin to form a super-mind? These are all answers that cannot be given based on the premises that I have posited. In any case, I believe that I have provided a sketch of how the naturalist might proceed if presented with an apparently miraculous experience.
Then again, perhaps the bleeding statue is merely a hoax.
-Priam's Pride
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Oh World!
This is a very rare occasion. I have felt compelled to write a poem, which has not happened in years. This poem is very unrefined. It does not have the sort of rhythm that it ought, and it does not rhyme at all. It's probably not a very good poem, but it captures something that I could not describe otherwise. If you think, reader, that I am writing about you, then you are right. So excuse my sometime pessimism, for not everyone can be upbeat everyday.
Oh world! You stony secretary standing
between my appointment and me,
You petulant frown upon my impatience.
Please, Miss, may I enter yet?
Oh world, I can wait only so long.
My confidence, once strong and chiseled
May soon be discarded by its sculptor.
Oh world, you beast! You vicious animal!
I only ever had love for you,
I only ever wanted the best.
Have you set your hellish minions upon me?
Do your spies feign to reciprocate?
You siren! Do not sing to my weakness,
For my weakness is my love.
And through the talk of politicians
And football, and school, and work,
Through the talk of money and need,
I always found you just beyond the word.
There you always stood, knowing my desire
To speak of you, to proclaim you to yourself.
I'd have been happy to speak only of you.
But your smirk, oh world, I cannot bear.
You mocked me with the voices of friends.
You despised me with the glance of my spouse.
You listened to my ardor in speaking of you,
Waiting until I'd said what I would,
Waiting until I'd said my greatest words
Only to reproach me for my senselessness.
So world, I apologize for ever caring
And stare at the ceiling wishing you'd let me be.
Wishing you'd hide yourself from me again,
For your beauty is unbearable as it is cruel,
Your cruelty lovable as it is absurd,
Your absurdity daunting as I am rational.
But I'll let you convince me of my insanity.
So I lay, filled to the brim,
Wondering, oh world, how it will end.
And I foolishly wish for ignorance of you
Until Somnus whispers in my ear
"There's still tomorrow, still tomorrow,
There's tomorrow, there's still tomorrow,
Tomorrow, there's always tomorrow..."
-Priam's Pride
Oh world! You stony secretary standing
between my appointment and me,
You petulant frown upon my impatience.
Please, Miss, may I enter yet?
Oh world, I can wait only so long.
My confidence, once strong and chiseled
May soon be discarded by its sculptor.
Oh world, you beast! You vicious animal!
I only ever had love for you,
I only ever wanted the best.
Have you set your hellish minions upon me?
Do your spies feign to reciprocate?
You siren! Do not sing to my weakness,
For my weakness is my love.
And through the talk of politicians
And football, and school, and work,
Through the talk of money and need,
I always found you just beyond the word.
There you always stood, knowing my desire
To speak of you, to proclaim you to yourself.
I'd have been happy to speak only of you.
But your smirk, oh world, I cannot bear.
You mocked me with the voices of friends.
You despised me with the glance of my spouse.
You listened to my ardor in speaking of you,
Waiting until I'd said what I would,
Waiting until I'd said my greatest words
Only to reproach me for my senselessness.
So world, I apologize for ever caring
And stare at the ceiling wishing you'd let me be.
Wishing you'd hide yourself from me again,
For your beauty is unbearable as it is cruel,
Your cruelty lovable as it is absurd,
Your absurdity daunting as I am rational.
But I'll let you convince me of my insanity.
So I lay, filled to the brim,
Wondering, oh world, how it will end.
And I foolishly wish for ignorance of you
Until Somnus whispers in my ear
"There's still tomorrow, still tomorrow,
There's tomorrow, there's still tomorrow,
Tomorrow, there's always tomorrow..."
-Priam's Pride
Monday, December 1, 2008
On the Existence of Abstract Propositions and a Corresponding "Abstractese"
In the question of the ontological status of propositions, the realist claims that propositions are actually existing abstract entities to which our that-clauses refer. But if this is the case, then they must be in some sort of language -- for if they are not expressed linguistically in abstract-land, then it is hard to imagine how that-clauses could refer to them. That-clauses refer to concepts which seem to be expressed entirely through language. Indeed, what is an expression if not some sentence in some language? So which languageis it? Is it English? Surely not, because then English would be the perfect language: the language of thought. No, surely it is not any language that we now speak because if such a pure and natural language existed it surely would have revealed itself by now.
I am aware that a scientist might, here, complain that the language of nature is mathematics. But, I would respond, mathematics cannot explain itself in its own terms, and this has been proven by Gödel. The basic gist of Gödel's theorem is that no mathematical system can proven from a finite set of axioms, which means that no set of axioms can develop a system in which those axioms themselves are all provable. There is always a further axiom that must be added. And if a mathematical system is not provably true, then, in the multitude of mathematical systems, no one system can be a more appropriate language for absractese than any other.
But, you might say, what about a logical system? For because mathematical systems can be derived from symbolic logic, the natural language must be logic, which is more fundamental than mathematics. But the problem here is that logical language cannot support itself, as Quine, Putnam and Kripke's Wittgenstein have all independently shown. Language cannot explain itself in its own terms -- it cannot account for the experience of meaning that we all seem to have. Nothing like Frege's concept of a "sense" of a word, which is a meaning that is independent from the group of things to which we apply the word, has yet been found within language itself.
Therefore, abstractese must be some language that none of us speak. Let us call this language abstractese. So who speaks the perfect language out of which all propositions are formulated? Who has complete access to proposition-land where abstractese is the language of omniscience? Everyone should know the answer by now: It is God. The semantic realist has found a way to sneak God in through the backdoor. "God must exist," such a realist might claim, "because without him, there is nothing we could mean when we speak!"
It seems appropriate that we call mathematical realism "Platonism." For it was Plato that suggested to us that it wasn't enough for us to believe in an ontology of two substances: mind and matter (though Heraclitus did believe this, to his credit). Rather, he wanted us to believe in a third: the Good, where Forms and Mathematicals and other strange abstracta float freely. This one mistake has sent philosophy reeling for millennia. Plato was the first systematic philosopher who had a system worth mentioning, but it was a system that assumed an unprovable monism. Plato ignored the mind altogether and contrasted the physical world to the abstract. Out of respect for the more mysterious force, Plato decided that the abstract was the primary realm, and the physical was the derived realm. Of course, Christianity found a way to borrow this concept as well, which has provided years upon years of highly nuanced philosophy, otherwise known as "theology". Indeed, it was not until Descartes that we finally remembered that the mind creates its own realm. What Descartes should have mentioned was what Kant ultimately did mention: it is the mental and the physical which represent the real dichotomy. Those who ask what is outside the mind or outside the world are trying to posit things without sufficient cause.
The problem of the reference of words, phrases and entire clauses is the standard point of attack for realists against anti-realists. In this instance, the realist proposes these putatuve abstractese propositions as the objects to which that-clauses refer. But my question is this: if there is only the world and the mind that thinks the world, then why should our thoughts refer to anything but themselves? A thought can only be had mentally, so if the reference of the thought itself is mental, then the thought simply refers to itself. So if we adopt a mental ontology stance for propositions, that-clauses just refer to thoughts. How utterly intuitive!
But is this proof that some object or event named "mind" is the source of meaning? Well, the only proof that mind exists is the experience that a particular mind has. But because the specific content of this experience can only be explained after the fact, its existence is not provable deductively. Thus, the only evidence we have for the existence of the mind is inductive. But this essentially means that the act of inductive reasoning can only be supported inductively.
And here we have our answer. Symbolic logic and mathematics lacked the capability to prove their own premises. That is, deductive reasoning cannot be proven uniquely. But inductive reasoning can. If it is assumed that inductive reasoning leads us closer to the truth, then inductive reasoning can prove that it leads us closer to the truth, without the assistance of any other premise. So we have good reason to believe that abstractese is really the same as mentalese.
-Priam's Pride
I am aware that a scientist might, here, complain that the language of nature is mathematics. But, I would respond, mathematics cannot explain itself in its own terms, and this has been proven by Gödel. The basic gist of Gödel's theorem is that no mathematical system can proven from a finite set of axioms, which means that no set of axioms can develop a system in which those axioms themselves are all provable. There is always a further axiom that must be added. And if a mathematical system is not provably true, then, in the multitude of mathematical systems, no one system can be a more appropriate language for absractese than any other.
But, you might say, what about a logical system? For because mathematical systems can be derived from symbolic logic, the natural language must be logic, which is more fundamental than mathematics. But the problem here is that logical language cannot support itself, as Quine, Putnam and Kripke's Wittgenstein have all independently shown. Language cannot explain itself in its own terms -- it cannot account for the experience of meaning that we all seem to have. Nothing like Frege's concept of a "sense" of a word, which is a meaning that is independent from the group of things to which we apply the word, has yet been found within language itself.
Therefore, abstractese must be some language that none of us speak. Let us call this language abstractese. So who speaks the perfect language out of which all propositions are formulated? Who has complete access to proposition-land where abstractese is the language of omniscience? Everyone should know the answer by now: It is God. The semantic realist has found a way to sneak God in through the backdoor. "God must exist," such a realist might claim, "because without him, there is nothing we could mean when we speak!"
It seems appropriate that we call mathematical realism "Platonism." For it was Plato that suggested to us that it wasn't enough for us to believe in an ontology of two substances: mind and matter (though Heraclitus did believe this, to his credit). Rather, he wanted us to believe in a third: the Good, where Forms and Mathematicals and other strange abstracta float freely. This one mistake has sent philosophy reeling for millennia. Plato was the first systematic philosopher who had a system worth mentioning, but it was a system that assumed an unprovable monism. Plato ignored the mind altogether and contrasted the physical world to the abstract. Out of respect for the more mysterious force, Plato decided that the abstract was the primary realm, and the physical was the derived realm. Of course, Christianity found a way to borrow this concept as well, which has provided years upon years of highly nuanced philosophy, otherwise known as "theology". Indeed, it was not until Descartes that we finally remembered that the mind creates its own realm. What Descartes should have mentioned was what Kant ultimately did mention: it is the mental and the physical which represent the real dichotomy. Those who ask what is outside the mind or outside the world are trying to posit things without sufficient cause.
The problem of the reference of words, phrases and entire clauses is the standard point of attack for realists against anti-realists. In this instance, the realist proposes these putatuve abstractese propositions as the objects to which that-clauses refer. But my question is this: if there is only the world and the mind that thinks the world, then why should our thoughts refer to anything but themselves? A thought can only be had mentally, so if the reference of the thought itself is mental, then the thought simply refers to itself. So if we adopt a mental ontology stance for propositions, that-clauses just refer to thoughts. How utterly intuitive!
But is this proof that some object or event named "mind" is the source of meaning? Well, the only proof that mind exists is the experience that a particular mind has. But because the specific content of this experience can only be explained after the fact, its existence is not provable deductively. Thus, the only evidence we have for the existence of the mind is inductive. But this essentially means that the act of inductive reasoning can only be supported inductively.
And here we have our answer. Symbolic logic and mathematics lacked the capability to prove their own premises. That is, deductive reasoning cannot be proven uniquely. But inductive reasoning can. If it is assumed that inductive reasoning leads us closer to the truth, then inductive reasoning can prove that it leads us closer to the truth, without the assistance of any other premise. So we have good reason to believe that abstractese is really the same as mentalese.
-Priam's Pride
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The Anti-Realist's Plight or Fictionalism to the Rescue!
It has occurred to me that ontological fictionalism has a unique position in the defense of an anti-Realist (or a-Realist as I prefer to think of myself) position. The anti-Realist makes a career of finding ways to discount the various ontological claims that Realists find themselves making. However, the Realist would be out of a job if he found that his arguments actually convinced the anti-Realist. Indeed, the Realist also makes a career of creating entities to combat the various reductions that anti-Realists always try to get away with. For the anti-Realist, ontological fictionalism represents the ultimate reduction. Let us see why.
These days , the Realist is always a realist about some particular entity because it plays some noun-like role in language. For example, one might be a realists about propositions because we use them as nouns (i.e. they 'refer'). The usual argument is that because the noun is an integral part of some particular discourse, and because the discourse is one we want to preserve philosophically, there must exist a reference for the noun.One such standard argument concludes that numbers and other mathematical entities exist. Now, I don't buy this argument, but that is an explanation we can save for another day. The point is that the Realist has taken it upon himself to declare that all things about which we speak exist. Thus, the only way that the anti-Realist can really gain leverage is to find some noun or class of nouns that we use which uncontroversially fails to refer to an entity. If such a noun or class of nouns could be found (call them "empty nouns"), then the trick is to reduce to an empty noun every other noun which one does not want to refer to any real object. Fictional entities and fictional worlds, then, are the single most promising prospect for assuming the role of the class of empty nouns. If it could be shown that fictional entities and worlds do not, exist at all, then one can hope to reduce other strange entities to fictional beings or worlds. Thus we have all different breeds of fictionalism: modal fictionalism, mathematical fictionalism, semantic fictionalism, etc.
Now what would happen if, in his pursuit of fictionalism, the anti-Realist were to fail to provide the Realist any significant evidence that indicates that fictional entities and worlds do not exist? Well let us first determine what the plight of today's anti-Realist really is. Today's anti-Realist hangs his hat on a Dummett-like or Putnam-like argument which shows that language lacks the ability to escape its own strictures. Perhaps the most convincing anti-Realist argument is the argument Kripke expounds in his interpretation of Wittgenstein. This argument boils down to a rather Quinean claim that all meaning relies on definition and all definitions rely on other definitions. The goal of this method is to show that meaning does not rely on reference because it does not rely on truth-conditions. If principle this can be shown to obtain (and some believe it can), then we can evade the Realist's reference-based ontology.
Unfortunately this anti-Realist tactic of undermining the troubling concept causes just about as many problems as it solves. For if meaning does not rely on reference, then it makes as little sense to say that nouns do not refer as it does to say that they do refer. In other words, the anti-Realist is making claims about a realm that he commands the Realist not to make claims about. He is a hypocrite. Now, some anti-Realists claim that it is enough to simply show that reference is nonsense, and from this fact it is obvious without argument that a noun cannot refer. This objection is not without warrant, but I do not think that many Realists find it convincing.
What the anti-Realist needs, in addition to this skeptical argument, is an empirical coup de gras. Should the anti-Realist find empirical support for his claim that there are no entities beyond thought and experience, then he is home-free, for he has the advantage over the Realist on both the a priori and the a posteriori fronts. So if the anti-Realist cannot find a suitable means of supporting his claim that fictional entities and worlds do not exist, then we will find ourselves in a stalemate: the Realist can now posit an abstract entity (or concrete entity, if we are Lewisians) to counter every anti-Realist reduction. Just so, the anti-Realist can perform a reduction for every abstact entity (or concrete entity) that the Realist cares to posit.
In short, the program of anti-Realism rides on the back of the project of ontological fictionalism. for it is on this project alone that it relies for an empirical advantage to buttress its theoretical stalemate.
-Priam's Pride
These days , the Realist is always a realist about some particular entity because it plays some noun-like role in language. For example, one might be a realists about propositions because we use them as nouns (i.e. they 'refer'). The usual argument is that because the noun is an integral part of some particular discourse, and because the discourse is one we want to preserve philosophically, there must exist a reference for the noun.One such standard argument concludes that numbers and other mathematical entities exist. Now, I don't buy this argument, but that is an explanation we can save for another day. The point is that the Realist has taken it upon himself to declare that all things about which we speak exist. Thus, the only way that the anti-Realist can really gain leverage is to find some noun or class of nouns that we use which uncontroversially fails to refer to an entity. If such a noun or class of nouns could be found (call them "empty nouns"), then the trick is to reduce to an empty noun every other noun which one does not want to refer to any real object. Fictional entities and fictional worlds, then, are the single most promising prospect for assuming the role of the class of empty nouns. If it could be shown that fictional entities and worlds do not, exist at all, then one can hope to reduce other strange entities to fictional beings or worlds. Thus we have all different breeds of fictionalism: modal fictionalism, mathematical fictionalism, semantic fictionalism, etc.
Now what would happen if, in his pursuit of fictionalism, the anti-Realist were to fail to provide the Realist any significant evidence that indicates that fictional entities and worlds do not exist? Well let us first determine what the plight of today's anti-Realist really is. Today's anti-Realist hangs his hat on a Dummett-like or Putnam-like argument which shows that language lacks the ability to escape its own strictures. Perhaps the most convincing anti-Realist argument is the argument Kripke expounds in his interpretation of Wittgenstein. This argument boils down to a rather Quinean claim that all meaning relies on definition and all definitions rely on other definitions. The goal of this method is to show that meaning does not rely on reference because it does not rely on truth-conditions. If principle this can be shown to obtain (and some believe it can), then we can evade the Realist's reference-based ontology.
Unfortunately this anti-Realist tactic of undermining the troubling concept causes just about as many problems as it solves. For if meaning does not rely on reference, then it makes as little sense to say that nouns do not refer as it does to say that they do refer. In other words, the anti-Realist is making claims about a realm that he commands the Realist not to make claims about. He is a hypocrite. Now, some anti-Realists claim that it is enough to simply show that reference is nonsense, and from this fact it is obvious without argument that a noun cannot refer. This objection is not without warrant, but I do not think that many Realists find it convincing.
What the anti-Realist needs, in addition to this skeptical argument, is an empirical coup de gras. Should the anti-Realist find empirical support for his claim that there are no entities beyond thought and experience, then he is home-free, for he has the advantage over the Realist on both the a priori and the a posteriori fronts. So if the anti-Realist cannot find a suitable means of supporting his claim that fictional entities and worlds do not exist, then we will find ourselves in a stalemate: the Realist can now posit an abstract entity (or concrete entity, if we are Lewisians) to counter every anti-Realist reduction. Just so, the anti-Realist can perform a reduction for every abstact entity (or concrete entity) that the Realist cares to posit.
In short, the program of anti-Realism rides on the back of the project of ontological fictionalism. for it is on this project alone that it relies for an empirical advantage to buttress its theoretical stalemate.
-Priam's Pride
On Aesthetics: the Emotion of Wonder
Recently, I was washing dishes and had a small philosophical moment. The small whirlpool created when I let the water out of the sink caught my eye, and I couldn't help but wonder at the sheer beauty of the physics involved: The air bubbles through the bottom of the falling water and into the middle of the drain pipe, where it rises out of the sink to make way for the heavier water. At the same time, the water moves in a circular pattern down the drain pipe, creating the the inertial effect called centrifugal force. This circular motion pulls the water out of the middle of the spout, making way for the air.
After marveling at the beauty of the event, it occurred to me that I couldn't quantify what I was experiencing at that moment as anything but an emotion. Somehow I had never before realized that wonder is the philosopher's emotion, not just her attitude. Understanding wonder as a passion has made Plato's description of eros much more intuitive for me.
Anyhow, as any good emotion does, this emotion admitted to at least partial explanation. When I tried to figure out why the little whirlpool had made me wonder, the best I could come up with is that it was the simplicity and geometry of the event at which I was marveling, because I could not produce that sort of motion on my own. But it seemed strange to me that I would wonder at a simple geometric motion, because the most difficult motions to achieve are the complex ones -- ones the human body is good at creating. How does the whirlpool deserve wonder in the face of the violinist or the dancer?
There is a poem by W. B. Yeats which I am partial to, called "The Sorrow of Love". It is short, so I can just include it here:
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.
A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;
Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.
First, I should note that this is a revised edition of the poem. The original is similar in structure, but much different in its ultimate content. The first stanza of the poem is a description of nature and an observation that "all that famous harmony of leaves had blotted out man's image and his cry." The second stanza of the poem is an expression of human sorrow, a sorrow epic in its content (indeed, Priam is a character very extreme in sorrow). For Yeats, this expression of sorrow is much greater than anything found in nature without human beings. Thus, the final stanza of the poem is a description of nature and an observation that "all that lamentation of the leaves could but compose man's image and his cry." Yeats, in his first act of wonder, has observed the world around him, amazed that there could be something so beautiful and sorrowful. But as soon as this observation has been made, the motion of his lover has turned his mind onto the beauty of humanity.
What I want to point out is that Yeats' prioritization of his emotion of wonder (that the human is more wondrous than the world) was appropriate for reasons that Yeats did not mention. In fact, the human mind and the human body alike have an architecture whose specific task is to do all those complex things that the world, by itself, cannot do. Indeed, it is we who do all the doing. Our sheer physical versatility allows us to create spectacular events and works of art, beings whose beauty lies not in a pure expression of geometric simplicity. Works of art are beautiful for their complexity. In nature, the beautiful panorama and the sunrise are events that occurs with ease, because the natural path is the path of least resistance. Conversely, works of art are events that require work. The human hand must force nature out of its normal course and into the course designed by that very hand. But this is only an a posteriori piece of evidence that human beings are more wondrous than their world.
There is, on the other hand, a priori evidence that humans are more wondrous than their world. For the emotion of wonder is an emotion that expresses an explicitly human attitude. I contend that wonder is the most human emotion there is. There can be argument that animals feel at least most of the emotions we feel when love, and it is clear that fear and anger are emotions that we share with animals. In any case, there is at least one thing that there is absolutely no evidence that animals do: recognize and adore beauty. Now those who think that I am making philosophy into the greatest career path ought to remember that wonder is not only the emotion of the philosopher. It is also the emotion of the poet, the musician, the dancer, in short -- the artist. It should not, then, be surprising if the most uniquely human emotion were expressed in its strongest forms as a reaction to the most uniquely human happenings. That is, it should not surprise us if our concept of beauty turned out to be an anthropocentric concept.
Obviously, this is just a suggestion, but I never claimed proof. The only a priori force behind this explanation of the phenomenon of wonder is the anti-Realist suggestion that all experience is inextricably tinged by the human mind that experiences it. Clearly, this suggestion rests on the primary metaphysical claim that we have no knowledge of a world beyond our minds and bodies. But, then, all personal positions rest upon a metaphysical claim of some sort.
As a side note, I should observe that an agnostic or atheistic metaphysical Realist would probably claim that the natural world is the most appropriate subject for the expression of wonder. A theist metaphysical Realist, on the other hand, would probably claim that something like God is the most appropriate subject. But, at least for me, my own experience disqualifies these possibilities. So, at the end of the day, it is the incompatible a priori positions that provide the alternatives for the possible subjects of wonder, and it is the a posteriori evidence that will determine which of these three alternatives obtains.
-Priam's Pride
After marveling at the beauty of the event, it occurred to me that I couldn't quantify what I was experiencing at that moment as anything but an emotion. Somehow I had never before realized that wonder is the philosopher's emotion, not just her attitude. Understanding wonder as a passion has made Plato's description of eros much more intuitive for me.
Anyhow, as any good emotion does, this emotion admitted to at least partial explanation. When I tried to figure out why the little whirlpool had made me wonder, the best I could come up with is that it was the simplicity and geometry of the event at which I was marveling, because I could not produce that sort of motion on my own. But it seemed strange to me that I would wonder at a simple geometric motion, because the most difficult motions to achieve are the complex ones -- ones the human body is good at creating. How does the whirlpool deserve wonder in the face of the violinist or the dancer?
There is a poem by W. B. Yeats which I am partial to, called "The Sorrow of Love". It is short, so I can just include it here:
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.
A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;
Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.
First, I should note that this is a revised edition of the poem. The original is similar in structure, but much different in its ultimate content. The first stanza of the poem is a description of nature and an observation that "all that famous harmony of leaves had blotted out man's image and his cry." The second stanza of the poem is an expression of human sorrow, a sorrow epic in its content (indeed, Priam is a character very extreme in sorrow). For Yeats, this expression of sorrow is much greater than anything found in nature without human beings. Thus, the final stanza of the poem is a description of nature and an observation that "all that lamentation of the leaves could but compose man's image and his cry." Yeats, in his first act of wonder, has observed the world around him, amazed that there could be something so beautiful and sorrowful. But as soon as this observation has been made, the motion of his lover has turned his mind onto the beauty of humanity.
What I want to point out is that Yeats' prioritization of his emotion of wonder (that the human is more wondrous than the world) was appropriate for reasons that Yeats did not mention. In fact, the human mind and the human body alike have an architecture whose specific task is to do all those complex things that the world, by itself, cannot do. Indeed, it is we who do all the doing. Our sheer physical versatility allows us to create spectacular events and works of art, beings whose beauty lies not in a pure expression of geometric simplicity. Works of art are beautiful for their complexity. In nature, the beautiful panorama and the sunrise are events that occurs with ease, because the natural path is the path of least resistance. Conversely, works of art are events that require work. The human hand must force nature out of its normal course and into the course designed by that very hand. But this is only an a posteriori piece of evidence that human beings are more wondrous than their world.
There is, on the other hand, a priori evidence that humans are more wondrous than their world. For the emotion of wonder is an emotion that expresses an explicitly human attitude. I contend that wonder is the most human emotion there is. There can be argument that animals feel at least most of the emotions we feel when love, and it is clear that fear and anger are emotions that we share with animals. In any case, there is at least one thing that there is absolutely no evidence that animals do: recognize and adore beauty. Now those who think that I am making philosophy into the greatest career path ought to remember that wonder is not only the emotion of the philosopher. It is also the emotion of the poet, the musician, the dancer, in short -- the artist. It should not, then, be surprising if the most uniquely human emotion were expressed in its strongest forms as a reaction to the most uniquely human happenings. That is, it should not surprise us if our concept of beauty turned out to be an anthropocentric concept.
Obviously, this is just a suggestion, but I never claimed proof. The only a priori force behind this explanation of the phenomenon of wonder is the anti-Realist suggestion that all experience is inextricably tinged by the human mind that experiences it. Clearly, this suggestion rests on the primary metaphysical claim that we have no knowledge of a world beyond our minds and bodies. But, then, all personal positions rest upon a metaphysical claim of some sort.
As a side note, I should observe that an agnostic or atheistic metaphysical Realist would probably claim that the natural world is the most appropriate subject for the expression of wonder. A theist metaphysical Realist, on the other hand, would probably claim that something like God is the most appropriate subject. But, at least for me, my own experience disqualifies these possibilities. So, at the end of the day, it is the incompatible a priori positions that provide the alternatives for the possible subjects of wonder, and it is the a posteriori evidence that will determine which of these three alternatives obtains.
-Priam's Pride
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Do Dogs Have Spatial Logic?
Dr. Cogburn has mentioned in his metaphysics class that dogs have been shown to have spatial reasoning. The evidence of this claim, for Cogburn, is this: When a dog comes to a two-way fork in a path, while chasing a rabbit, he will only sniff one path before he decides which path to take. This means that if the dog sniffs in the direction that the rabbit did not go, it would know to go the other direction, because it is the only alternative left. Of course, such an explanation boils down to a logical deduction:
Let A = the path the dog sniffs
Let B = the path the dog does not sniff
Let C = the path the dog came from
Where did the rabbit go?
(1). A v (B v C)
(three-way split).
(2). ~A
(because the dog just sniffed there).
(3). B v C
(by 1 & 2).
(4). ~C
(because the dog was just there).
(5). B
(by 3 & 4).
Now, this is a very simple deduction, but had the dog sniffed both paths, then it would have gone more like this
(1). ~A
(because the dog just sniffed there).
(2). B
(Because the dog just sniffed there).
The first deduction is clearly more impressive than this one. So if this were, in fact, the dog's thought process, then I would agree that the dog exhibited spatial reasoning. What I contend is that there is a more likely explanation of the appearance of spatial reasoning, which reduces the phenomenon to a simple decision based on description of the sensory data rather than logical deduction.
I suggest to the reader to observe your spatial sensory data. However it happens, the mind interprets the sensory data and constructs for itself a vision of an environment. That is, a space is delimited to the mind. Now imagine that you are chasing some object in this visual environment without either the use of the other senses or the use of reasoning. Indeed under these conditions, one can only chase an object that remains in view. For as soon as the object escapes view, one could only guess where it is if vision is the only tool used.
With this imaginary artifice in mind, consider the dog. Dogs have very poor vision, and rely heavily on their senses of smell. Where the eyes, for us, delimit an environment more clearly than any other sense, it is reasonable to think that the nose, for the dog, delimits an environment at least as clearly as the eyes do. In other words, the dog, by smelling different areas in an environment, probably constructs these bits of sensory data into an entire olfactory environment. The rabbit, in passing through the environment left its scent swirling in the air. The dog is probably able to detect these fine-grain differences in direction, velocity and intensity of smell in the same way that we are able to detect fine-grain differences in direction, velocity and intensity of a sound. I think it is plausible to suspect that a dog's sense of smell functions in a very similar way to our sense of sound.
Should this description of a dog's sense of smell obtain (and I believe that it does), the dog in our example actually did smell the rabbit when it sniffed the side where the rabbit did not go. But it smelled the presence of the rabbit as a thing that was moving in a particular direction based on the scent left behind, and the dog simply followed this scent. So, given this broad description of the canine sense of smell, it is apparent that the dog need not do a logical deduction if the motion of the rabbit remains within the dog's sense of smell the entire time. The dog is still doing nothing more than following an object, which clearly requires no reasoning.
This is not meant to suggest that dogs or other animals do not ever exhibit rational behavior. Rather, it is meant to show that this one particular example does not provide evidence of rational behavior in dogs.
-Priam's Pride
Let A = the path the dog sniffs
Let B = the path the dog does not sniff
Let C = the path the dog came from
Where did the rabbit go?
(1). A v (B v C)
(three-way split).
(2). ~A
(because the dog just sniffed there).
(3). B v C
(by 1 & 2).
(4). ~C
(because the dog was just there).
(5). B
(by 3 & 4).
Now, this is a very simple deduction, but had the dog sniffed both paths, then it would have gone more like this
(1). ~A
(because the dog just sniffed there).
(2). B
(Because the dog just sniffed there).
The first deduction is clearly more impressive than this one. So if this were, in fact, the dog's thought process, then I would agree that the dog exhibited spatial reasoning. What I contend is that there is a more likely explanation of the appearance of spatial reasoning, which reduces the phenomenon to a simple decision based on description of the sensory data rather than logical deduction.
I suggest to the reader to observe your spatial sensory data. However it happens, the mind interprets the sensory data and constructs for itself a vision of an environment. That is, a space is delimited to the mind. Now imagine that you are chasing some object in this visual environment without either the use of the other senses or the use of reasoning. Indeed under these conditions, one can only chase an object that remains in view. For as soon as the object escapes view, one could only guess where it is if vision is the only tool used.
With this imaginary artifice in mind, consider the dog. Dogs have very poor vision, and rely heavily on their senses of smell. Where the eyes, for us, delimit an environment more clearly than any other sense, it is reasonable to think that the nose, for the dog, delimits an environment at least as clearly as the eyes do. In other words, the dog, by smelling different areas in an environment, probably constructs these bits of sensory data into an entire olfactory environment. The rabbit, in passing through the environment left its scent swirling in the air. The dog is probably able to detect these fine-grain differences in direction, velocity and intensity of smell in the same way that we are able to detect fine-grain differences in direction, velocity and intensity of a sound. I think it is plausible to suspect that a dog's sense of smell functions in a very similar way to our sense of sound.
Should this description of a dog's sense of smell obtain (and I believe that it does), the dog in our example actually did smell the rabbit when it sniffed the side where the rabbit did not go. But it smelled the presence of the rabbit as a thing that was moving in a particular direction based on the scent left behind, and the dog simply followed this scent. So, given this broad description of the canine sense of smell, it is apparent that the dog need not do a logical deduction if the motion of the rabbit remains within the dog's sense of smell the entire time. The dog is still doing nothing more than following an object, which clearly requires no reasoning.
This is not meant to suggest that dogs or other animals do not ever exhibit rational behavior. Rather, it is meant to show that this one particular example does not provide evidence of rational behavior in dogs.
-Priam's Pride
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