Against Epiphenomenalism.

The critical feature of epiphenomenalism, as we have seen, is that our mind states have no reciprocal effect on our bodies. That is, our brain states give rise to mind states-- especially qualia-- that are irreducible to simply physical descriptions. But our reactions to the outside world are fully determined by processes within the brain-- physical processes that obey physical, causal laws. The qualia of the mind, then, have no impact on our behavior.

In some sense, I can almost buy this viewpoint, as unusual as it might be. I can comprehend how the sensation of pain is irrelevant for my bodies flinching away from a dangerous situation. If I put my hand on a hot stove, I can understand how the heat will physically affect my nerve endings, which will send a particular signal to the sensory processor in my brain, which will be appropriately connected to the motion-control center of my brain, which will be programmed (through the slow arduous refinement of past evolution) to react by flinching my hand away from the heat source. At no point in this process does the "Ouch, I'm in pain!" feeling do any work.

However...

There are some experiences for which I believe this kind of story simply cannot be told. The best example, in my opinion, is our experience of music. I cannot fathom how sound waves impinging on my eardrum, in turn sending an electrical signal to a part of the brain, can produce a feeling of pleasure-- even if that "pleasure" feeling is simply a reaction in another part of the brain. I cannot understand how some music would produce pleasure, while other music-- which under the epiphenomenalist's view, is ultimately just a different pattern of electrical signals sent from the eardrum-- would produce revulsion. It just doesn't make sense. I don't know if that is a knockdown argument against epiphenomenalism, but it's enough for me to drop it completely.

In the area of music-- and really, in our experience of any kind of art-- the qualia of our experiences have to be doing the bulk of the work. I just can't see it any other way.

Thoughts on materialism.

(Note: These ideas of mine are not fully developed, but I think they make a point in an interesting direction. But don't hold me to them.)

In his discussion of Type-Identity theory (the most basic flavor of materialism), Ramsey brought up one common objection to this view of the mind. It seems completely obvious that the mind has particular properties that it simply does not share with the physical brain. Two obvious examples are non-spatiality and intentionality-- properties that are attributed to the mind, but which we feel we cannot attribute to the brain.

Ramsey indicated that the materialist might respond by simply redefining some important terms, so that they do in fact mesh with the materialist's point of view. He might say, for example, that the mind actually is spatially located-- it is located wherever the appropriate neurological activity is located. And the brain actually does exhibit intentionality-- if all we mean by "intentionality" is that certain patterns of brain processes consistently correspond to particular external events.

I wonder, though, if this kind of redefinition of terms really gets us any closer to solving the problems we were originally interested in. It certainly allows our concepts of the mind and the brain to grow closer together, and (maybe) ultimately collapse onto one another. But I don't think that answers the questions originally posed by the philosophy of mind.

Originally, we wanted to know how intentionality-- understood in a particular abstract way-- could be achieved by physical matter. The materialist's solution to the problem is to posit that the old understanding of "intentionality" was mistaken. He replaces that old understanding with a new concept, one that easily sidesteps the original problem. But notice that the old problem hasn't gone away. If, in my own thoughts, I revert back to the old meaning, I see that I still haven't been shown how matter exhibits abstract intentionality. The materialist hasn't given any independent reason why his new concept is the "right" one. All it does is avoid addressing the problem. How is that a solution?

In other words, I don't think a mere redefinition of our language actually tells us anything about the outside world. Think of it this way: according to our most recent understanding, the body called "Pluto" is not a planet. We might have treated it as a planet before (with its own, somewhat quirky characteristics), but that was when we had a particular undeveloped concept of what a planet is. Now that the concept has been revised, the quirkiness of Pluto has gone away-- not because its behavior is any different, but because we no longer categorize it in a way where its behavior presents any problems. But really, we don't know anything about Pluto that we didn't know before.

Ask yourself this question: In our redefinition of the concept, and the concomitant disappearance of the previous perceived problems, have we really learned anything about the external world? Or have we simply made things easier on ourselves?

Relive It.

And just for kicks, follow this link to hear an all-out on-air meltdown by a sports commentator from a radio station in Michigan. Trust me. You'll love it.

Four Choices. Take your pick.

As an overall introduction to the problems addressed by philosophy of mind, I wanted to review what our standard, intuitive commitments are. These are the four parts of the tetrad presented in class:

1. The mind is non-material.

2. The body is material.

3. The body and mind interact.

4. Material and non-material do not interact.

So, at least one of the above premises must be abandoned. The fun part about this problem is, we don't have any good reason to choose any one of the four over any other. And even worse, any one we choose carries with it enormous problems that must be addressed.

The standard view of the mind (which I assume for the moment that most of you hold)-- interactionism-- tells us that premise 4 must be given up. But that decision immediately introduces the question of how, exactly, the mind can control the body. Hmmm.

Parallelism allows us to give up premise 3. The mind and the body each follow their individual (admittedly correlated) paths, and never the twain shall meet. Problem is, that means one of the two pieces is useless.

Materialism-- the complete reducibility of the mind to the brain-- lets us get rid of premise 1. But then consciousness, sensation, thought content, and even logic don't make any sense.

Giving up on premise 2 is just plain nuts.

So those are your choices. Good luck with that one.

Utter Joy.

That was amazing.

I don't know where it came from, but watch this video. It's a field-level view of the last play, followed by the team's sideline celebration with the band and the students.

We Are ND. There's your first taste of exactly what that means.



(By the way, I didn't get to any philosophy posts last week because I was depressed until Tuesday, and grading your papers the rest of the week. Look for some new stuff later this week.)

Yuck.

I might as well teach you what this weekend is all about.

First, a detailed history of the deep-seated animosity between Notre Dame and Michigan. If anyone ever asks why Notre Dame won't join the Big Ten, the history with Michigan is reason enough.

Next, a brief rundown of the illustrious career of one Bo Schembechler. These are the accomplishments that Michigan fans take pride in. ND just counts national titles.

Finally, a metaphysical analysis of the utter vacuity that is U of M.
Go Irish. Beat Skunkbears.

Teleological Argument

(Note: This post is covering what we talked about in the second section, which the first section didn't get to hear. What I'm covering extends beyond what Paley himself argued in the reading, so none of this should be especially relevant for your papers.)

Ramsey introduced a good analogy to explain the teleological argument-- the rows of flowers in a clearing in the woods. The perfect rows suggest that the arrangement was designed, for the purpose of achieving an aesthetically pleasing look.

But we might find that the perfect arrangement came about through wholly natural causes. Perhaps the flowers require a mineral that happened to be laid down in regular striations in the earth. When the natural cause is discovered, it serves as a better explanation for the arrangement, and the teleological argument for a designer loses its force.

The flower situation is analogous to our perception of biological systems. The arrangement of biological parts in order to serve the survival purpose of the organism suggests a designer who did the arranging with this purpose in mind. But the discovery of evolution suggests that the arrangement could have come about through wholly natural laws. If evolution serves as a better explanation of the arrangment, then the teleological argument will lose its force.

(Sidenote: The Intelligent Design movement, as it is currently presented, does not do much to undermine the objection that the theory of evolution provides. ID focuses on the complex arrangement of parts. But remember, complexity of arrangement is not the hallmark of design-- otherwise we might say the solar system must have been designed, and not many people insist on that. It is arrangement that serves a purpose that indicates design.)

But there is one more thing to note about the flower analogy. Once the alternative explanation (the mineral striations arising through natural causes) is discovered, we must admit that the flower bed is not arranged for any purpose at all. We must say that what we had taken to be designed for a purpose was only apparently designed.

The situation is the same in the biological realm. If evolution is an objection that undermines the teleological argument, then we must say the design we naively thought we saw before was merely apparent. There is no way to maintain evolution as the cause of all biological phenomena, and also take the view that biological activity serves a genuine purpose for an organism.

I do not think anyone seriously takes that view. All of our language is geared toward discussing animal activity (and plant activity, for that matter) in terms of serving particular ends. We do not talk about biology in terms of prior causes mechanically determining behavior, we talk about biological activity in terms of the goals of the organism (what Aristotle called final causes).

Ask yourself: Why did the chicken cross the road? (Hint: It's not because the chemical activity in his cells fired his muscle fibers and propelled his body forward.)

Something to think about...

Cosmological Argument

I'm going to tread lightly around this topic, because I don't yet know precisely what your paper assignment is going to be and I don't want to give away the farm. But here are a couple of general comments.

The argument is based around the idea that all things are either caused by something else (or, preferably, are explained by something other than themselves), or they are not. The latter possibility can be further analyzed into two choices: a thing can be explained by itself, or it can be explained by nothing at all.

The cosmological argument can only get off the ground if this final possibility is taken off the table. That is, if we allow objects to be explained by nothing at all, the question driving the argument-- "Why this?"-- is a moot point. Or at least any answer given will not serve as a proof of anything, because the alternative possibility-- that there is no answer to the question-- is always available.

It is the role of the Principle of Sufficient Reason to reduce our possibilities to only two: a thing has another thing as its explanation, or a thing has itself as its explanation. I anticipate that how the PSR accomplishes this will be our major topic for discussion on Friday. For now, please leave some comments with your thoughts to get the ball rolling.

Snow Bowl Revisited.

There hasn't been a highlights video put together for the GT game yet. But here's a little something to get you excited for Penn St. You've probably seen the poster from this play.



Down by 7 in the closing minute, the Irish finished off a memorable comeback by going for two.



I was personally seated in field seats in that endzone, but toward the other sideline. Couldn't see a damn thing.

And finally, here's a highlights video of the entire game (created, again, by Nevin O'Donnell).



By the way, just to make me feel old, do any of you even remember this game?

Give This One To The Defense

And really, what could be more encouraging than that?

Discussion Wrap-Up

I wanted to tie up a couple of loose ends from the argument I was making about the Statue of Liberty (especially for the second section, where nobody was buying what I was selling).

Consider three different objects:

1. A green Statue of Liberty. This is a possible object, since it actually exists (the left-most column of my chart).

2. A purple Statue of Liberty. This object doesn't exist, but it might have. So it's merely possible (the middle column of my chart).

3. A purple Statue of Liberty that exists. This object doesn't exist (the only Statue of Liberty in the world is not purple). Before we even get to the question of whether it might have existed, notice that a contradiction has already shown up. The description of the object says that it exists. An examination of the world says it doesn't. I think we can call this a logical contradiction, in the same way a squared circle logically contradicts itself. And in both cases of self-contradictory objects, we say the objects are impossible (the right-most column of my chart).

How does all this apply to the ontological argument? Remember, at the very end I said God either shows up in the "Possible and Existing" category (Rowe mentions this as well), or in the "Impossible" category (where, necessarily, God wouldn't exist).

Recall also the second premise of the argument: "God is a possible being." One of two things is happening. The premise might be true-- in which case God belongs in the "Possible and Existing" column. But if God belongs there, then the second premise is basically stating that God exists. The argument begs the question because the conclusion-- "God exists in reality"-- shows up in one of the premises (albeit not explicitly).

Or the premise might be false. God might be an impossible being, because he doesn't exist even though a list of his traits says he does. But if the premise is false, the argument is unsound, and we haven't deductively proven the conclusion.

In either of these two cases, the argument is flawed. And there are no other possibilities.

But like I said, this is not the only way the argument can be attacked-- Ramsey will give his own objection on Tuesday. Strange, then, that the argument can be attacked in two different ways. If the argument doesn't work, shouldn't there be a single objection that everyone acknowledges is the problem?

. . . To Be Continued

Saturday can't get here fast enough. Until then, this will do.



(Credit goes to Nevin O'Donnell. See? Always cite your source.)

Anselm's Ontological Argument(or, Missed It By That Much)

So there it is. Proof that God exists (in only 9 steps!). See? Philosophy can be pretty easy sometimes.

I won't rehash the entire argument here-- you've got it in your notes, and we'll review it tomorrow if we have to-- but I wanted to point out a couple of its important features. First of all, the argument is deductively valid. As Ramsey said, once you grant the first three premises, the game is over. Which means, the only way the argument can be unsuccessful is if one of the first three premises is false. A good criticism of the argument, then, must call into question one of those premises. To review:

1. God exists in the understanding.

2. God is a possible being.

3. If something exists only in the understanding and could have existed in reality, then it could have been greater than it is.

Questions to consider:

For those who think the argument doesn't work, which of the above premises is false?
Is Anselm's definition of "God" any good? Does it matter for his argument if it isn't?
Does Gaulimo's "Perfect Island" criticism hold any water?
Is it proper to say that "existence" is a property held by an object?
Or can the argument be attacked in an entirely different way?

Big concepts. Big ideas. Big questions. Big fun. It's on.

Argument Wrap-Up, Religion Intro.

Just wanted to touch on a couple of the points Ramsey made yesterday. He was discussing common falacies in philosophical argument. Among those fallacies, as I pointed out in at least one of the discussion sections, is a misuse of the modus ponens or modus tollens argument form. If our first premise is a conditional (an "if-then" statement) and the second premise confirms the "then" part (the consequent, if you want to get technical), we cannot deduce anything from the argument. Likewise, if the second premise denies the "if" part (the antecedent), then we cannot deduce anything. Watch out for those two.

Probably the most common fallacy you will run across is begging the question. This occurs in an argument when the conclusion that is to be established is essentially stated as one of the argument's premises. Probably the simplest example of begging the question would be something like the following:

       Nemo is a fish.
       Nemo is a fish.

Note that this argument is perfectly valid [why?]. And if the premise is true, the argument is sound as well. But it still is not considered a good argument. The whole purpose of deductive argument is to use established facts to extend our knowledge to an entirely new conclusion. When we include the conclusion in the premises of our arguments, we are not using the argumentative structure as it was intended. And at the very least, our argument will be completely discounted by anyone who doesn't already agree with us.

(Note also that the phrase "that begs the question..." is often used in everyday language to mean something else. Like, when Notre Dame beats Georgia Tech this weekend, a Notre Dame hater might say, "Well that begs the question of whether Tech is any good or not." No, it doesn't. The next time a friend says this to you, you can respond by saying, "Actually, begging the question has a specific meaning regarding the structure of philosophical argument. What you mean to say is that ND's victory prompts the question of whether or not Tech is any good. Be more careful with your language next time." Your friend will look at you like you're an idiot, but you'll know better...)


On to religion. The first thing to keep in mind during this section of the course is that religious questions have real answers. "Is there a God?" The answer is either yes or no. "God exists for me, but not for you" is a copout, and is probably incoherent. "Was Mohammed a prophet?" He either was or he wasn't. Agreeing to disagree is fine and dandy, but it doesn't mean that one of you isn't wrong.

The second point to consider is the importance of arguing for particular religious beliefs. There is nothing wrong with scruitinizing religious beliefs. Since we're talking about actual facts about the world (as opposed to subjective feelings), all the tools of argument are at our disposal. Moreover, philosophical argument has been part and parcel of most religious traditions for a very long time. By taking part in that tradition, hopefully we can come to a better understanding of where some aspects of our own religious faiths come from.

(Now, whether or not the arguments we encounter are completely convincing, or whether it's even possible to establish religious claims through a priori argument, is another question altogether. Hmm....)

On to St. Anselm.

The Nuts and Bolts of Arguments

This will be just a quick review of the structure and vocabulary of argumentation. Briefly, a philosophical argument is a series of premises logically leading to a conclusion. When considering an argument, we judge it based on the relationships the premises have to the sub-conclusions and, ultimately, the argument's final conclusion.

Arguments are neither true nor false. Instead, arguments are either valid or invalid. A valid argument is one for which there is no way that all the premises could be true and yet the conclusion be false. Put another way, in a valid argument the truth of the premises guarantees the truth of the conclusion. (Note: this latter definition of validity, while a bit easier to remember and understand, could be misconstrued to mean that valid arguments have true premises. This is not the case. It might be more precise to say that, in a valid argument, the truth of the premises would guarantee the truth of the conclusion-- if they were in fact true.)

The three most important valid argument forms are categorical syllogism, modus ponens, and modus tollens. Each can be illustrated with an example from class.

Argument Type	Argument Form	Example
Categorical Syllogism	All A's are B's x is an A x is a B	All men are mortal Socrates is a man. Socrates is mortal.
Modus Ponens	If p, then q. p q	If Nemo is a fish, then Nemo can swim. Nemo is a fish. Nemo can swim.
Modus Tollens	If p, then q. not q not p	If Nemo is a fish, then Nemo can swim. Nemo cannot swim. Nemo is not a fish.

Notice, for each example, that the sentences plugged into the scheme are irrelevant for evaluating the validity of the argument. In fact, we could plug in nonsensical words and it would not affect the validity:

All gleebs are sproos.
Arthur is a gleeb.
Arthur is a sproo.

Alternatively, we could plug in absurd premises:

If the aliens visited the Taj Mahal, then gas costs 50 cents a gallon.
The aliens visited the Taj Mahal.
Gas costs 50 cents a gallon.

When we evaluate an argument, we forget everything we know about the world. We take the premises as given. If the conclusion automatically follows, the argument is valid.

Any questions?

Welcome to PHIL 10100

You did it. You made it to Notre Dame. You've been waiting for this your whole life. And the first thing they do is plop you into a giant Philosophy lecture and start bombarding you with bizarre and unfamiliar issues. You didn't sign up for this! What does any of this have to do with learning to be an engineer, or a doctor, or an accountant?

Everything and nothing. That's the beauty of it.

As Ramsey said the other day, philosophy is about thinking very carefully about abstract issues. The "thinking very carefully" part is what is going to aid you in the long run, whatever career you end up taking. The "abstract issues" part is the fun little bonus. While it seems that the questions we'll cover have no bearing on everyday life, they're actually some of the most fundamental questions we can ever ask. And this might be the first time in your life that you have time to think about them. In fact, college might be the only time in your life that you get to think about them. So take advantage while you're here-- philosophy can be a lot of fun if you let it.

To that end, the course is organized around the questions and issues themselves, rather than around any particular thinkers' thoughts on the issues. While the classic thinkers-- your Platos, your Berkeleys, your Kants-- are certainly important, you can only appreciate their contributions if you are already somewhat familiar with the material. The goal of the Intro course is to introduce the questions, and to get you talking intelligently about the issues, without bogging you down with specific historical points of view. Memorization ain't fun. Thinking for yourself is.

And even more fun is arguing for your own point of view. That's what this place is for-- to extend the discussion outside of class. After all, if this is your one chance in life to get to think about these abstract issues, fifty minutes a week is not going to cut it. I'll probably be posting a little something after every lecture, and the comments section is yours. (Just stick to philosophy, unless my post isn't about philosophy. Expect a football post or two-- I just can't help myself). We're open 24 hours a day. The dresscode is casual. Have at it.