Sunday, March 18, 2012
What I'm Reading
For anyone paying attention, I've just re-added the Goodreads widget to my sidebar that shows what books I'm currently reading. I'm still writing my dissertation, but I really am in the final throes at this point, so I'm able to take my focus off of individual journal articles and book chapters. In fact, one of the two books has absolutely nothing to do with philosophy: Paul, Apostle of the Heart Set Free by F. F. Bruce. I may not be able to really get into it until I actually turn in my dissertation, but I read a few pages every few days. The other book is Where the Conflict Really Lies: Science, Religion, and Naturalism by Alvin Plantinga, which my library just got in last week. This is his most recent book where he argues that there is superficial conflict between Christianity and science and superficial concord between naturalism and science; but there is deep-seated concord between Christianity and science and deep-seated conflict between naturalism and science. Not that he's trying to be controversial or anything.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Some of my favorite movie scenes
Every now and then I post some of my favorite movie scenes. These are not necessarily scenes from my favorite movies -- some of the movies they come from suck -- they are just scenes that I really like. Of course, often I do really love the movies, and you can sometimes tell by the fact that several scenes from the same movie may appear. Anyhoo, as will happen, after posting the videos, they will often stop working for whatever reason after several months or years. So I have painstakingly gone through them and tried to update the videos that weren't working. There are still some I couldn't find, and they seemed to congregate in just two posts, but for the most part the videos are up and running again. Here are the links:
Favorite Movie Scenes
More Favorite Movie Scenes
Still More Favorite Movie Scenes
Yet Still More Favorite Movie Scenes
And Yet Still More Favorite Movie Scenes
(at this point I decided to stop being obnoxious with the post titles)
More Favorite Movie Scenes
More Favorite Movie Scenes
Favorite Movie Scenes
More Favorite Movie Scenes
Still More Favorite Movie Scenes
Yet Still More Favorite Movie Scenes
And Yet Still More Favorite Movie Scenes
(at this point I decided to stop being obnoxious with the post titles)
More Favorite Movie Scenes
More Favorite Movie Scenes
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Beyond Apollo
I link to Vintage Space on my blogroll which goes over the history of human spaceflight. Glenn Reynolds recently pointed to an interesting new blog, Beyond Apollo, which could be seen as an alternate history of human spaceflight.
I think this is fascinating and not only for the sake of historical curiosity. A lot of good, productive plans got shelved and forgotten, and airing them out might give some engineers ideas.
For every spacecraft that rises from its launch pad, there have been dozens that were conceived but not built. For every brave space mission flown, there have been dozens that flew only in the mission architect’s imagination. Most of these missions that never were only progressed as far as paper studies. In a few cases, however, flight-worthy space vehicles have become scrap or museum exhibits. In other cases, engineers developed alternate flight plans for missions that flew; for example, NASA planned (ironically, as it turned out) a lunar-orbit photography mission for Apollo 13 in the event that its Lunar Module failed and could not be used to land on the moon.
In this blog, I will describe many space missions and programs that never were. I’ll seek to place them in historical context, and to explore why they failed to make the difficult jump from plan to reality. Along the way, I’ll write about our evolving knowledge of the Solar System, NASA’s symbiotic relationship with the Soviet space program, and intricacies of the U. S. political process. My posts will tend to run long, and some might be serialized over several weeks. Above all, they’ll be a meaty treat for my fellow space fans and, I hope, a window into a new world for people who have seldom given spaceflight more than casual consideration.
I think this is fascinating and not only for the sake of historical curiosity. A lot of good, productive plans got shelved and forgotten, and airing them out might give some engineers ideas.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Skepticism and Agrippa's Trilemma
Most forms of global skepticism, skepticism about everything, are only hypothetical or methodological. We are not asked to actually withhold belief in everything, we are merely being told that for all we know we may be, e.g., brains in vats being stimulated to think there is an external world. The reason this is just hypothetical is that we are given no reason to think this is actually the case, it's just that the skeptical scenario takes away any reason we could have for thinking it is not the case. Any evidence we could have, any test we could construct to make sure that the world we experience really exists, is just as readily explained by the skeptical theory. (Of course, this is controversial: Hilary Putnam has argued, brilliantly, that on a linguistic-externalist view our words obtain their meaning by virtue of their relation to their object in the world. So our word "vat" means something because there are vats in the external world. But then in order for the brains-in-vats skeptical scenario to be correct, it has to be based on an actually experienced external world, which of course contradicts the scenario.)
In contrast, real skepticism gives you a positive reason for disbelieving, or at least withholding belief in, everything. Plantinga's skepticism is an example of this, but he provides an escape clause: one can always deny naturalism and avoid the skepticism. Perhaps the best example of real skepticism is Agrippa's Trilemma: the question asked is, how is any belief justified? and there are only three ultimate answers we can give. First, we could say that it's justified by another belief, which is justified by another belief, which is justified by another belief... and this chain goes on to infinity. So it's a case of infinite reference. Second, we could say the belief is justified by another belief, which is justified by another belief, which is justified by another belief ... which is justified by the first belief. This is a case of circular reference. Third, you could say the belief is justified by another belief which is justified by another belief ... and that belief requires no justification. This is a case of foundational reference, i.e., it refers to a belief that functions as a foundation.
So what's the problem with infinite reference? Generally, philosophers point to infinite regresses as refutations of positions, but what exactly is the problem with it here? Roughly, the first belief is alleged to derive its justification from another belief, which derives its justification from another, etc. In other words, each step in the chain only has derivative justification. But without some source outside the system to input justification into it, no step will have any. It's like some of the cosmological arguments: imagine you have an infinite number of freight cars connected to each other and ask how they are moving. The first is moving because it's being pulled by the one in front of it, which is being pulled by the one in front of it, etc. But if the chain of cars goes on to infinity then why are the cars moving at all rather than just standing still? It doesn't matter how many cars you add to the chain, without some source of motion, they're not going to move. The only philosopher I know of who defends infinitism is Peter Klein in his "Human Knowledge and the Infinite Regress of Reasons", Philosophical Perspectives 13 (1999): 297-325, "When Infinite Regresses Are Not Vicious", Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 66 (2003): 718-29, and elsewhere.
What's the problem with circular reference? Essentially, it's the same problem: each step in the process is justified in virtue of its relation to the previous step, that is, it has derivative justification. Circling back to a step already referred to in the process does not somehow bring the needed justification into the picture. As Victor Reppert writes, "Circularity is the epistemic equivalent of counterfeiting" ("Eliminative Materialism, Cognitive Suicide, and Begging the Question", Metaphilosophy 23 [1992]: 386), since it gives the illusion of providing a source of justification without doing so. Nevertheless, circular reference is vastly more popular a position than infinite reference, in the form of coherentism. As far as I can tell it's still the minority view, but it's defended by many of the top philosophers around: Keith Lehrer, Nicholas Rescher, the early Laurence BonJour, Brand Blanshard, names could be multiplied. These are some of the smartest people of the last century, so coherentism cannot be dismissed without interacting with their writings.
(Another interesting claim that I've read about but have not read any actual proponents of is that a belief does not only derive justification from another belief but from the actual derivation process. So even if the beliefs themselves have no original justification, if you have enough steps involved, you will eventually build up enough justification that the beliefs will become justified. This could potentially rescue both infinite and circular reference.)
What's the problem with foundational reference? Historically, foundationalism has been the near-universal position among epistemologists, and as far as I can tell, is still the majority view today. Some beliefs simply don't need justification, or they carry their justification in themselves, they are self-justifying. The problem here is dogmatism. To say that some beliefs are the ground level, to say that some beliefs don't need to be justified by something else is to say that we don't need to question them, we don't need to verify them. But virtually every class of belief that has been proposed for this position has been challenged precisely because they can be. We need to have a reason for a belief and to continue believing in the absence of a reason is mere dogmatism. Again, most epistemologists would disagree with this, they would say that there are some foundational beliefs and that not having a reason for a belief does not make it irrational or unacceptable in this case. Some, such as Plantinga, seek to escape the charge of dogmatism by making these beliefs defeatable: they can be questioned, they can be challenged, they are just innocent until proven guilty.
So Agrippa's Trilemma says there are three options -- infinitism, coherentism, and foundationalism -- and none of these are acceptable. Therefore, we have a reason to reject each one, and therefore to reject the possibility of having any knowledge whatsoever. Thus, we are left with actual skepticism, not hypothetical or methdological skepticism. The only alternative is to do what virtually all epistemologists have done: accept one of three options.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
In contrast, real skepticism gives you a positive reason for disbelieving, or at least withholding belief in, everything. Plantinga's skepticism is an example of this, but he provides an escape clause: one can always deny naturalism and avoid the skepticism. Perhaps the best example of real skepticism is Agrippa's Trilemma: the question asked is, how is any belief justified? and there are only three ultimate answers we can give. First, we could say that it's justified by another belief, which is justified by another belief, which is justified by another belief... and this chain goes on to infinity. So it's a case of infinite reference. Second, we could say the belief is justified by another belief, which is justified by another belief, which is justified by another belief ... which is justified by the first belief. This is a case of circular reference. Third, you could say the belief is justified by another belief which is justified by another belief ... and that belief requires no justification. This is a case of foundational reference, i.e., it refers to a belief that functions as a foundation.
So what's the problem with infinite reference? Generally, philosophers point to infinite regresses as refutations of positions, but what exactly is the problem with it here? Roughly, the first belief is alleged to derive its justification from another belief, which derives its justification from another, etc. In other words, each step in the chain only has derivative justification. But without some source outside the system to input justification into it, no step will have any. It's like some of the cosmological arguments: imagine you have an infinite number of freight cars connected to each other and ask how they are moving. The first is moving because it's being pulled by the one in front of it, which is being pulled by the one in front of it, etc. But if the chain of cars goes on to infinity then why are the cars moving at all rather than just standing still? It doesn't matter how many cars you add to the chain, without some source of motion, they're not going to move. The only philosopher I know of who defends infinitism is Peter Klein in his "Human Knowledge and the Infinite Regress of Reasons", Philosophical Perspectives 13 (1999): 297-325, "When Infinite Regresses Are Not Vicious", Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 66 (2003): 718-29, and elsewhere.
What's the problem with circular reference? Essentially, it's the same problem: each step in the process is justified in virtue of its relation to the previous step, that is, it has derivative justification. Circling back to a step already referred to in the process does not somehow bring the needed justification into the picture. As Victor Reppert writes, "Circularity is the epistemic equivalent of counterfeiting" ("Eliminative Materialism, Cognitive Suicide, and Begging the Question", Metaphilosophy 23 [1992]: 386), since it gives the illusion of providing a source of justification without doing so. Nevertheless, circular reference is vastly more popular a position than infinite reference, in the form of coherentism. As far as I can tell it's still the minority view, but it's defended by many of the top philosophers around: Keith Lehrer, Nicholas Rescher, the early Laurence BonJour, Brand Blanshard, names could be multiplied. These are some of the smartest people of the last century, so coherentism cannot be dismissed without interacting with their writings.
(Another interesting claim that I've read about but have not read any actual proponents of is that a belief does not only derive justification from another belief but from the actual derivation process. So even if the beliefs themselves have no original justification, if you have enough steps involved, you will eventually build up enough justification that the beliefs will become justified. This could potentially rescue both infinite and circular reference.)
What's the problem with foundational reference? Historically, foundationalism has been the near-universal position among epistemologists, and as far as I can tell, is still the majority view today. Some beliefs simply don't need justification, or they carry their justification in themselves, they are self-justifying. The problem here is dogmatism. To say that some beliefs are the ground level, to say that some beliefs don't need to be justified by something else is to say that we don't need to question them, we don't need to verify them. But virtually every class of belief that has been proposed for this position has been challenged precisely because they can be. We need to have a reason for a belief and to continue believing in the absence of a reason is mere dogmatism. Again, most epistemologists would disagree with this, they would say that there are some foundational beliefs and that not having a reason for a belief does not make it irrational or unacceptable in this case. Some, such as Plantinga, seek to escape the charge of dogmatism by making these beliefs defeatable: they can be questioned, they can be challenged, they are just innocent until proven guilty.
So Agrippa's Trilemma says there are three options -- infinitism, coherentism, and foundationalism -- and none of these are acceptable. Therefore, we have a reason to reject each one, and therefore to reject the possibility of having any knowledge whatsoever. Thus, we are left with actual skepticism, not hypothetical or methdological skepticism. The only alternative is to do what virtually all epistemologists have done: accept one of three options.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
Saturday, March 10, 2012
NASA invests in private space exploration
This is interesting. NASA is putting much of its energy into cooperating with private commercial space industries, so much so that they think the future of space exploration will be a hybrid of public and private development. Pete Worden, director at NASA's Ames Research Center, even said "Governments can develop new technology and do some of the exciting early exploration but in the long run it's the private sector that finds ways to make profit, finds ways to expand humanity. That's really our tack." Again, interesting.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
A Prophecy in The Great Divorce
There's a passage in C. S. Lewis's The Great Divorce that always gives me pause but I've never commented on. The Great Divorce, it will be recalled, is about some people in hell who take a bus trip to the outskirts of heaven where they are met by people who try to convince them to come further. Most refuse. I wrote about it in this long post if anyone's interested. The passage I'm thinking of immediately follows the account of a woman who has come to heaven to see her son who died in his youth. She has a conversation with someone from her past who tells her that her love for her son has turned in on itself so that she cannot love anyone else, including God. It's a heartbreaking story.
Following this, Lewis -- who puts himself into the story in the first person -- has a conversation with his Teacher who has come out of deep heaven to meet him: George MacDonald. Lewis asks MacDonald whether he could actually relate what he had just learned to a mother who had lost a child.
And MacDonald replies,
Now how can anyone familiar with Lewis's life read this and not immediately think of his marriage to Joy Davidman, her death to cancer, and Lewis's subsequent book A Grief Observed? I can't be the first person to notice this, it's been leaping out at me for as long as I've been reading The Great Divorce.
Now I titled this post a prophecy, but I think if it's not just a coincidence, it may have been a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don't mean by this that Lewis orchestrated his own heartbreak, I just mean that he was fully aware of this passage that he wrote, so perhaps when he saw his heartbreak approaching, he may have consciously fulfilled this passage by taking notes on his grief. That's essentially what A Grief Observed is.
Following this, Lewis -- who puts himself into the story in the first person -- has a conversation with his Teacher who has come out of deep heaven to meet him: George MacDonald. Lewis asks MacDonald whether he could actually relate what he had just learned to a mother who had lost a child.
"But could one dare -- could one have the face -- to go to a bereaved mother, in her misery -- when one's not bereaved oneself?..."
And MacDonald replies,
"No, no, Son, that's no office of yours. You're not a good enough man for that. When your own heart's been broken it will be time for you to think of talking."
Now how can anyone familiar with Lewis's life read this and not immediately think of his marriage to Joy Davidman, her death to cancer, and Lewis's subsequent book A Grief Observed? I can't be the first person to notice this, it's been leaping out at me for as long as I've been reading The Great Divorce.
Now I titled this post a prophecy, but I think if it's not just a coincidence, it may have been a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don't mean by this that Lewis orchestrated his own heartbreak, I just mean that he was fully aware of this passage that he wrote, so perhaps when he saw his heartbreak approaching, he may have consciously fulfilled this passage by taking notes on his grief. That's essentially what A Grief Observed is.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
La Gazza Ladra
I read somewhere that Wagner once said "Rossini is to opera what a pimp is to sex" or something along those lines. Whatever. I still love Rossini's overtures. Since he was born on February 29, 1792, I thought I would honor his birthday by posting my favorite: La Gazza Ladra (The Thieving Magpie). You've heard this piece a thousand times even if you don't realize it. I love it.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Plantinga and Externalism
My post on Plantinga's EAAN and classical global skepticism was linked by two recent Philosophers' Carnivals (here and here), and just in case anyone was wondering -- which I really doubt -- I thought I'd explain an offhand comment I made to the effect that I don't think Plantinga is really an externalist.
Internalists maintain that what qualifies a belief as knowledge is another belief, or perhaps another internal mental state. When asked why you believe something, you have to say "Because..." and give another belief or beliefs that provide(s) sufficient grounds for it. "Why do you believe Socrates is mortal?" "Well, because I believe all men are mortal, and because I believe Socrates is a man." Externalists maintain that what qualifies a belief as knowledge are the factors, external to the mind, that the belief is about. I believe there is a tree in front of me; if the reason I believe there is a tree in front of me is because there is a tree in front of me, then my belief has the status of knowledge. (There are internalist-externalist debates elsewhere in philosophy as well; in philosophy of mind, philosophy of language, etc.) This leaves a lot out of course. The shorthand version is whether one has to know that he knows something in order to know it. Internalists say yes, externalists say no, and Plantinga says ... sometimes.
That's from page 44 of Warrant and Proper Function (sixth paragraph from the end here). Now I agree with Plantinga on this. Sometimes you do need to have this second-order knowledge in order to have the first-order knowledge, and sometimes you don't. He seems to be suggesting that these cases can't be systematized; on that point I'm not as pessimistic as him, but it wouldn't really surprise me if they couldn't. Regardless, once you concede that you sometimes need to know that something is a reliable indicator of something else before you can have knowledge of the something else, you're no longer a pure externalist. Perhaps you're something more along the lines of an Alstonian internalist-externalist, I don't know.
Now in the previous post I claimed that Plantinga's EAAN is essentially a global skeptical argument that arises from within externalist and naturalized epistemology. Does the fact (or my claim at least) that Plantinga's epistemology is not purely externalist change that? I don't see how my qualification of Plantinga's externalism has any point of contact with his EAAN. And even if it did, it could easily be weeded out. I explained how Plantinga's argument fits into externalist epistemologies in the previous post, so I would just refer you there. Plantinga, it should be noted, has written elsewhere that his argument does not presuppose any particular epistemological framework, but as you can guess, I disagree with him on that too.
Internalists maintain that what qualifies a belief as knowledge is another belief, or perhaps another internal mental state. When asked why you believe something, you have to say "Because..." and give another belief or beliefs that provide(s) sufficient grounds for it. "Why do you believe Socrates is mortal?" "Well, because I believe all men are mortal, and because I believe Socrates is a man." Externalists maintain that what qualifies a belief as knowledge are the factors, external to the mind, that the belief is about. I believe there is a tree in front of me; if the reason I believe there is a tree in front of me is because there is a tree in front of me, then my belief has the status of knowledge. (There are internalist-externalist debates elsewhere in philosophy as well; in philosophy of mind, philosophy of language, etc.) This leaves a lot out of course. The shorthand version is whether one has to know that he knows something in order to know it. Internalists say yes, externalists say no, and Plantinga says ... sometimes.
So there isn't anything at all like a simple, single answer to the question whether warrant for grounded beliefs requires that the subject know that the ground is an indicator of the belief; sometimes this is required and sometimes it is not. And the reason is not far to seek. In some cases it is perfectly in accord with proper cognitive function to believe A on the basis of B even if you have never had any views at all as to whether B is an indicator of A; in a wide variety of other cases a properly functioning human being will believe A on the basis of B only if she has first learned that B reliably indicates A.
That's from page 44 of Warrant and Proper Function (sixth paragraph from the end here). Now I agree with Plantinga on this. Sometimes you do need to have this second-order knowledge in order to have the first-order knowledge, and sometimes you don't. He seems to be suggesting that these cases can't be systematized; on that point I'm not as pessimistic as him, but it wouldn't really surprise me if they couldn't. Regardless, once you concede that you sometimes need to know that something is a reliable indicator of something else before you can have knowledge of the something else, you're no longer a pure externalist. Perhaps you're something more along the lines of an Alstonian internalist-externalist, I don't know.
Now in the previous post I claimed that Plantinga's EAAN is essentially a global skeptical argument that arises from within externalist and naturalized epistemology. Does the fact (or my claim at least) that Plantinga's epistemology is not purely externalist change that? I don't see how my qualification of Plantinga's externalism has any point of contact with his EAAN. And even if it did, it could easily be weeded out. I explained how Plantinga's argument fits into externalist epistemologies in the previous post, so I would just refer you there. Plantinga, it should be noted, has written elsewhere that his argument does not presuppose any particular epistemological framework, but as you can guess, I disagree with him on that too.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Quote of the Day
Pantheism claims there is no existence beyond the universe, that the universe is all there is, and that the universe always has existed. Atheism claims that the universe was not created and no entity exists independent of the matter, energy, and space-time dimensions of the universe. But all the data accumulated in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries tell us that a transcendent Creator must exist. For all the matter, energy, nine space dimensions, and even time, each suddenly and simultaneously came into being from some source beyond itself.
It is valid to refer to such a source, entity, or being as the Creator, for creating is defined as causing something -- in this case everything in the universe -- to come into existence. Matter, energy, space, and time are the effects He caused. Likewise, it is valid to refer to the Creator as transcendent, for the act of causing these effects must take place outside or independent of them.
Not only does science lead us to these conclusions, but so also does the Bible. It is the only holy book to do so.
Hugh Ross
The Creator and the Cosmos, 3rd exp. ed.
It is valid to refer to such a source, entity, or being as the Creator, for creating is defined as causing something -- in this case everything in the universe -- to come into existence. Matter, energy, space, and time are the effects He caused. Likewise, it is valid to refer to the Creator as transcendent, for the act of causing these effects must take place outside or independent of them.
Not only does science lead us to these conclusions, but so also does the Bible. It is the only holy book to do so.
Hugh Ross
The Creator and the Cosmos, 3rd exp. ed.
Friday, February 17, 2012
More Favorite Movie Scenes
Finding Forrester
Death to Smoochy
Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith
Matrix Reloaded
A Boy Named Charlie Brown
Buckaroo Banzai
Cars
Boondock Saints
Rain Man
Death to Smoochy
Star Wars Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith
Matrix Reloaded
A Boy Named Charlie Brown
Buckaroo Banzai
Cars
Boondock Saints
Rain Man
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Oh come on
I really don't get this. A mother sends her pre-schooler to school with a turkey and cheese sandwich, a banana, apple juice, and potato chips. The school decides that's not healthy enough so they purchase a lunch for the child and charge it to the mother. The child eats three chicken nuggets from the purchased meal and nothing from the brought lunch.
From first through eighth grade my sack lunch consisted of an apple and a peanut butter sandwich. Not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just a peanut butter sandwich. I bought milk at school and drank water from the water fountains. I remember being disgruntled at my lunches but it got me through the day. That pre-schooler had a veritable feast compared to what I got as an eighth-grader. The mother points out, rightly, that she knows what her child will and won't eat, and she is able to pack her lunches accordingly. And that's a pretty healthy lunch, after all. For the school to step in and interfere with her child's diet is disturbing to me.
Update (16 Feb): In Belgium you start sending your kids to school pretty early, when they're three years old -- although really it's more like organized play time. We have some very close friends, fellow expatriots, who have a diabetic child and they refused to send him to school because of it. They knew the difference between when he was just acting up and when his behavior indicated something about his blood-sugar level. When they'd go shopping in the middle of the day with their child, they'd get stares, and sometimes even accusations: "Why isn't your child in school?" But they wouldn't budge because their child's diet had a direct and immediate connection to their child's health. Maybe my strong negative reaction to this story was fueled by thinking of my friends (who are back in the States now) and the idea of a bureaucrat deciding that he knows better what to feed their child than they do.
From first through eighth grade my sack lunch consisted of an apple and a peanut butter sandwich. Not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just a peanut butter sandwich. I bought milk at school and drank water from the water fountains. I remember being disgruntled at my lunches but it got me through the day. That pre-schooler had a veritable feast compared to what I got as an eighth-grader. The mother points out, rightly, that she knows what her child will and won't eat, and she is able to pack her lunches accordingly. And that's a pretty healthy lunch, after all. For the school to step in and interfere with her child's diet is disturbing to me.
Update (16 Feb): In Belgium you start sending your kids to school pretty early, when they're three years old -- although really it's more like organized play time. We have some very close friends, fellow expatriots, who have a diabetic child and they refused to send him to school because of it. They knew the difference between when he was just acting up and when his behavior indicated something about his blood-sugar level. When they'd go shopping in the middle of the day with their child, they'd get stares, and sometimes even accusations: "Why isn't your child in school?" But they wouldn't budge because their child's diet had a direct and immediate connection to their child's health. Maybe my strong negative reaction to this story was fueled by thinking of my friends (who are back in the States now) and the idea of a bureaucrat deciding that he knows better what to feed their child than they do.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Quote of the Day
Mentality is often considered naturalistically suspect and in need of a naturalistic vindication, or "naturalization." For many naturalists, Cartesian immaterial minds are the worst case: they are almost invariably presumed to be transnatural entities, beyond any possibility of naturalistic redemption. Steven Horst is typical; he simply declares "Philosophical Naturalism...involves rejection of paradigmatically supernatural entities and properties (e.g., Cartesian souls)." This is unwarranted. As every introductory student of philosophy knows, Cartesian minds were conceived as causally interacting with bodily objects and events, and again as everyone knows, Descartes was taken to task, immediately, for this eminently commonsensical idea. It was his illustrious contemporaries, like Leibniz, who, by denying minds' interaction with matter, placed minds outside the natural world. If we wanted "paradigmatic" supernaturalists about minds from the period, we would do better to mention Leibniz with his pre-established harmony, Malebranche and his occasionalist followers, and others. It may well be that Descartes's idea of an immaterial mind in causal relations to material bodies was inherently flawed, or that as a matter of fact Cartesian immaterial minds do not exist. But that is something that needs to be shown, by a naturalistically acceptable procedure. The point is that Cartesian minds were conceived as part of the causal-explanatory structure of the natural world; if they do not exist, they do not exist as part of the natural world. It isn't as though they are kicked upstairs into a supernatural world and find a home there. The problem with immaterial souls, as with phlogiston and caloric fluids, is that there are no such things as far as we know. It would be nonsense to think that all we found out about phlogiston and caloric fluids was that they turned out to be transcendental, supernatural entities.
Jaegwon Kim
"From Naturalism to Physicalism: Supervenience Redux" (Romanell Lecture)
Proceedings and Addresses of The American Philosophical Association 85/2 (2011): 109-34.
(footnotes omitted)
Jaegwon Kim
"From Naturalism to Physicalism: Supervenience Redux" (Romanell Lecture)
Proceedings and Addresses of The American Philosophical Association 85/2 (2011): 109-34.
(footnotes omitted)
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Laws and "Laws"
Moral laws are often claimed to be laws only in a metaphorical sense since there are clear differences between them and laws of nature. Laws of nature allegedly brook no exceptions, but we can always (or nearly always) envision exceptions to moral laws, cases in which it would be allowed to ignore a particular prohibition. There is a moral law to tell the truth, but if we are hiding Jews from the Nazis we don't have to tell them about it (there's a disturbing case of this in The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom). The point is that moral laws are not absolute while physical laws are.
However, I think this is a misunderstanding. The exceptions to moral laws are cases where one moral law comes into conflict with another. The moral law that we should preserve life has more authority than the law that tells us to tell the truth, so we lie to the Nazi who asks us if we are hiding any Jews. But there are exact parallels with physical laws. The law of gravity dictates that the magnet will fall to the ground, unless the law of electromagnetism dictates that it will stick to the side of the refrigerator. The second law overrules the first in this case. This doesn't say anything against gravity. The law of gravity, when stated strictly, is defined in a vacuum, with no other forces in play -- that is, it is defined with all other things being equal (ceteris paribus). This is the same with moral laws. These laws are being described in a moral vacuum, where no other moral issues are in play. If the only moral thing at issue is whether to tell the truth or not, there is a moral law that says we should tell the truth, ceteris paribus. If other moral issues come into the picture, then they may interfere with it so that it will no longer be the case that we should tell the truth, in the same way that if other physical forces are in play, an object may no longer obey the law of gravity by falling towards the center of mass.
Of course, there's another way in which physical laws and moral laws are dissimilar: we can choose whether or not we obey moral laws but, for the most part, we cannot choose whether or not we obey physical laws. I say "for the most part" because I can choose to jump up and thereby thwart the law of gravity for a few moments, but if I jump off a cliff I can't choose to stop falling. Whether that means moral laws can only be considered "laws" in a metaphorical sense is something I leave to my readers. Perhaps it's the physical laws that are the metaphors.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
However, I think this is a misunderstanding. The exceptions to moral laws are cases where one moral law comes into conflict with another. The moral law that we should preserve life has more authority than the law that tells us to tell the truth, so we lie to the Nazi who asks us if we are hiding any Jews. But there are exact parallels with physical laws. The law of gravity dictates that the magnet will fall to the ground, unless the law of electromagnetism dictates that it will stick to the side of the refrigerator. The second law overrules the first in this case. This doesn't say anything against gravity. The law of gravity, when stated strictly, is defined in a vacuum, with no other forces in play -- that is, it is defined with all other things being equal (ceteris paribus). This is the same with moral laws. These laws are being described in a moral vacuum, where no other moral issues are in play. If the only moral thing at issue is whether to tell the truth or not, there is a moral law that says we should tell the truth, ceteris paribus. If other moral issues come into the picture, then they may interfere with it so that it will no longer be the case that we should tell the truth, in the same way that if other physical forces are in play, an object may no longer obey the law of gravity by falling towards the center of mass.
Of course, there's another way in which physical laws and moral laws are dissimilar: we can choose whether or not we obey moral laws but, for the most part, we cannot choose whether or not we obey physical laws. I say "for the most part" because I can choose to jump up and thereby thwart the law of gravity for a few moments, but if I jump off a cliff I can't choose to stop falling. Whether that means moral laws can only be considered "laws" in a metaphorical sense is something I leave to my readers. Perhaps it's the physical laws that are the metaphors.
(cross-posted at Quodlibeta)
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