I dunno. There are definitely people in the world who think that it's wrong to eat animals but do it anyway. Myself, I come close to it. Louis CK thinks the same thing, and if you don't mind the profanity here's a funny youtube video explaining the point.
OK. So some people are convinced that it's wrong to eat animals, but don't do it. How can this help us?
Some arguments against the objectivity of ethics go like this: if we had objective knowledge about ethics, it would be knowledge about a realm unlike anything else that we have knowledge of. Indeed, objective ethical knowledge would have to be about a realm of ethical objects that share the feature of being able to bring about obligations just through knowing them. That's unlike the rest of our knowledge: I don't immediately get any obligation just from knowing that "That tree is green." So, this knowledge of ethics would have to be unlike any other knowledge. And from here a small jump is taken--we have no secure reason to believe that such knowledge is possible or exists at all, and no reason to think that there are any objects such that knowledge of them leads to any sort of obligation.
So, there are two responses I can think of. The first I mentioned in the previous post, and it's the idea that there are actually lots of objects such that knowledge of or about them leads to obligations of some sort (the obligation to believe certain things, I pointed to in the post).
Another sort of response relates to vegetarianism, and people who think that it's wrong to eat animals but eat animals anyway. If you could get enough examples like this, you could begin to wear away at the notion that knowledge of ethical objects necessarily involves obligations--meaning, if you could know for certain, and securely, that it's wrong to eat animals while still not feeling obligated to stop eating 'em then this would be difficult for the notion that there is something intrinsically queer or weird about ethical knowledge. The weird thing, the obligation, has to come from somewhere else. But you could start to wear away at the strangeness of ethical knowledge, and through this you could resist the argument that ethical knowledge would have to be knowledge about a mysterious, curious and queer domain.
Update: As I think about this, a good analogy would be "I see the evidence, but I can't bring myself to believe it." In both cases reasons are given and recognized, and it's conceded that a rational person would probably act differently, but one doesn't believe the thing that he should, or doesn't do what he ought to. I guess, then, my point is complementary to the previous post. Together, I argue that the situation in ethics isn't so different from truth in general, and there are two responses one can make to the argument from queerness about ethics. One is that oughtness, or ought-to-ness is present in discussions of truth in general just as much as it is in ethics. So it's not queer unless truth is. But the other response is that reasonable people can know stuff about ethics/truth without acting/believing, so that knowledge isn't really knowledge of something that is essentially normative.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
You can't derive an "ought" from an "is"
Here's something that we hear all the time: you can't derive an "ought" from an "is." What's an example of this? You can't derive any obligations or requirements from any fact. So, you can't derive an obligation to do something about poverty from the statement "That person is poor." Just from believing that "That tree is causing trouble" you can't derive any ought statement, such as "We ought to cut down that tree" or "We ought not to cut down that tree."
I don't know much about this area of philosophy, but it seems to me that there's a fairly simple counter-example to this. The fact that it seems simple to me is evidence that it's probably wrong, but I'm not sure where the fault is. So if anybody can figure it out, let me know.
So, "truth" has a certain normativity, ought-ness about it, no? If you think that p is true, then you ought to believe p. For example, imagine encountering a person who thought that it was true that the world was round, but believed that the world was flat. What would you be able to say to such a person? You would say: "you don't really believe that it's true that the world is round. Because if you believe that the world is round, you OUGHT to believe that the world isn't flat, that it's round."
So, isn't there a simple "ought" that you can derive from an "is"? Namely, from "I think that p is true" you can derive that "I ought to believe p."
If anyone can tell me where this reasoning fails, I would definitely appreciate it.
I don't know much about this area of philosophy, but it seems to me that there's a fairly simple counter-example to this. The fact that it seems simple to me is evidence that it's probably wrong, but I'm not sure where the fault is. So if anybody can figure it out, let me know.
So, "truth" has a certain normativity, ought-ness about it, no? If you think that p is true, then you ought to believe p. For example, imagine encountering a person who thought that it was true that the world was round, but believed that the world was flat. What would you be able to say to such a person? You would say: "you don't really believe that it's true that the world is round. Because if you believe that the world is round, you OUGHT to believe that the world isn't flat, that it's round."
So, isn't there a simple "ought" that you can derive from an "is"? Namely, from "I think that p is true" you can derive that "I ought to believe p."
If anyone can tell me where this reasoning fails, I would definitely appreciate it.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
"is true" and "ought to"
Here's something I believe to be correct, but I'm not positive.
I took a course on Frege last year with Prof Goldfarb, and we discussed Frege's views on the predicate "is true." This predicate/property seems to be unlike any other property. Usually, when a predicate (concept) is tagged onto some subject (object) there is information conveyed. For example, "The table" might be any color in the world--red, blue, murple, etc. When I say, "The table is blue" I've really added some information that wasn't there before. Now, consider the property "is true" added on to some sentence. For example, consider the sentence "The table is blue". That sentence seems to tell me what color the table is. Now, apply the predicate "is true", and you get " 'The table is blue' is true." This seems to tell me that "The table is blue" is true. But that doesn't really add any information to the first sentence! Of course, if I asserted "The table is blue" seriously, I meant for you to think that it was true. So what does "is true" add? Seemingly nothing.
This is why Frege writes (in "Thought"), "The reference of the world 'true' seems to be altogether sui generis. May we not be dealing here with something which cannot be called a property in the ordinary sense at all? ... I will begin by expressing myself in accordance with ordinary usage, as if truth were a property until some more appropriate way of speaking is found." It sure sounds like Frege is saying that "is true" isn't a normal property. (Goldfarb told us that this point is controversial, but I can only see one side of it in Frege.)
So, if "is true" isn't a real property--in the sense that it's unlike every other property because it doesn't add any information, doesn't ascribe anything to the object or subject of the sentence--then what is its function in a sentence? As far as I can tell, "is true" basically serves to clarify that you are truly asserting the sentence. Allow me to clarify. We can all imagine contexts in which we could utter the words "The table is blue" but not mean for them to be taken seriously. For example, we could just be playing around with words. We could be describing a fiction, a way that the table could be but actually isn't. In all these cases we don't mean to state a fact or to make an objective assertion, we don't mean to say something that can be true. So, my sense is that "is true" serves to clarify that you're truly asserting a sentence with the intent for it to be taken objectivley and seriously. You want it to be objective--either true or false.
Now, let me shift gears for a minute. Colyvan, in his book in the Indispensability argument, is careful to distinguish between two different arguments. The first of them has as its conclusion "We ought to believe that numbers exist." The second of them has as its conclusion "Numbers exist." He thinks that the first one is better than the second, because the second is more controversial. What's the difference? The first is a statement about what we should believe, but it's careful to avoid talking about the world. Why? Well, because you might doubt the strength of your evidence. But then are you really justified in beliving that numbers exist in the first place? I consider this to be an instance of something that Michael Resnick mentions in his article on this: there's a kind of incoherence in saying "I'm justified in believing X, but I don't think X is true." Either you have evidence--and you're justified--or you don't. Yes, of course, there are levels of certainty, and everyting is revisable. But if you're justified in believing X--whatever it takes to make you justified--then certainly you should believe that numbers exist.
I submit that there is no difference between the conclusion of an argument that reads "Numbers exist" and one that concludes "We ought to believe that numbers exist". This is because "We ought" just means that you're making a normative statement, that you're asserting something normatively. But if the sentence "numbers exist" comes at the end of some argument, then we KNOW that you're asserting the sentence normatively, and there isn't any difference between them. This is parallel to the picture I described above for "is true." "I ought" or "you ought" or "one ought" just indicates that a normative statement has been made, completely parallel to the funciton of "is true." One more pass at it: to say "I ought to believe in p and not p" is just as irrational as to say "p is true and not p." (I was a little bit sloppy here. There's a bit of room for doubt, because we often say "I should believe that X, but I just can't bring myself to believe it. But that just means that you're not able to be rational for whateve reason. What's at issue is whether it would be rational to say "I ought but don't.")
If this picture if right, then certainly there's no point in differentiating between the two types of arguments. One is just a wussier version of the other.
Why would "We ought" and "is true" have similar functions? Likely because normativity is built into objective claims. When I make an assertion about the world I am saying "You ought to believe that the world is this way." So truth might be a kind of normativity. That's pure speculation.
I took a course on Frege last year with Prof Goldfarb, and we discussed Frege's views on the predicate "is true." This predicate/property seems to be unlike any other property. Usually, when a predicate (concept) is tagged onto some subject (object) there is information conveyed. For example, "The table" might be any color in the world--red, blue, murple, etc. When I say, "The table is blue" I've really added some information that wasn't there before. Now, consider the property "is true" added on to some sentence. For example, consider the sentence "The table is blue". That sentence seems to tell me what color the table is. Now, apply the predicate "is true", and you get " 'The table is blue' is true." This seems to tell me that "The table is blue" is true. But that doesn't really add any information to the first sentence! Of course, if I asserted "The table is blue" seriously, I meant for you to think that it was true. So what does "is true" add? Seemingly nothing.
This is why Frege writes (in "Thought"), "The reference of the world 'true' seems to be altogether sui generis. May we not be dealing here with something which cannot be called a property in the ordinary sense at all? ... I will begin by expressing myself in accordance with ordinary usage, as if truth were a property until some more appropriate way of speaking is found." It sure sounds like Frege is saying that "is true" isn't a normal property. (Goldfarb told us that this point is controversial, but I can only see one side of it in Frege.)
So, if "is true" isn't a real property--in the sense that it's unlike every other property because it doesn't add any information, doesn't ascribe anything to the object or subject of the sentence--then what is its function in a sentence? As far as I can tell, "is true" basically serves to clarify that you are truly asserting the sentence. Allow me to clarify. We can all imagine contexts in which we could utter the words "The table is blue" but not mean for them to be taken seriously. For example, we could just be playing around with words. We could be describing a fiction, a way that the table could be but actually isn't. In all these cases we don't mean to state a fact or to make an objective assertion, we don't mean to say something that can be true. So, my sense is that "is true" serves to clarify that you're truly asserting a sentence with the intent for it to be taken objectivley and seriously. You want it to be objective--either true or false.
Now, let me shift gears for a minute. Colyvan, in his book in the Indispensability argument, is careful to distinguish between two different arguments. The first of them has as its conclusion "We ought to believe that numbers exist." The second of them has as its conclusion "Numbers exist." He thinks that the first one is better than the second, because the second is more controversial. What's the difference? The first is a statement about what we should believe, but it's careful to avoid talking about the world. Why? Well, because you might doubt the strength of your evidence. But then are you really justified in beliving that numbers exist in the first place? I consider this to be an instance of something that Michael Resnick mentions in his article on this: there's a kind of incoherence in saying "I'm justified in believing X, but I don't think X is true." Either you have evidence--and you're justified--or you don't. Yes, of course, there are levels of certainty, and everyting is revisable. But if you're justified in believing X--whatever it takes to make you justified--then certainly you should believe that numbers exist.
I submit that there is no difference between the conclusion of an argument that reads "Numbers exist" and one that concludes "We ought to believe that numbers exist". This is because "We ought" just means that you're making a normative statement, that you're asserting something normatively. But if the sentence "numbers exist" comes at the end of some argument, then we KNOW that you're asserting the sentence normatively, and there isn't any difference between them. This is parallel to the picture I described above for "is true." "I ought" or "you ought" or "one ought" just indicates that a normative statement has been made, completely parallel to the funciton of "is true." One more pass at it: to say "I ought to believe in p and not p" is just as irrational as to say "p is true and not p." (I was a little bit sloppy here. There's a bit of room for doubt, because we often say "I should believe that X, but I just can't bring myself to believe it. But that just means that you're not able to be rational for whateve reason. What's at issue is whether it would be rational to say "I ought but don't.")
If this picture if right, then certainly there's no point in differentiating between the two types of arguments. One is just a wussier version of the other.
Why would "We ought" and "is true" have similar functions? Likely because normativity is built into objective claims. When I make an assertion about the world I am saying "You ought to believe that the world is this way." So truth might be a kind of normativity. That's pure speculation.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Two ways to make an indispensability argument in ethics
In this post I'll quickly go over the Quine-Putnam indispensability argument in math, and describe two ways that I can think of applying this argument to ethics.
Here's a version of the indispensability argument (and it's sorta sloppy with the ideas, but hopefully clear)
(1) We should believe that something exists if, when we describe the world with our best scientific theories we are forced to speak as if that something exists.
(2) When we describe the world with our best scientific theories we are forced to speak as if mathematical entities exist.
Therefore:
(3) We ought to believe that mathematical entities exist.
Now, how could we apply this argument to ethics? In short, we can change premise (1) above, or we can change premise (2). Here's how.
Version #1:
(1) We should believe that something exists if, when we describe the world with our best scientific theories we are forced to speak as if that something exists.
(2) When we describe the world with our best scientific theories we are forced to speak as if ethical entities exist.
Therefore:
(3) We ought to believe that ethical entities exist.
Would it shock you to learn that such arguments have been made? I'm still at a very low level of familiarity with this kind of argument, but it's my impression that Sturgeon makes an argument very similar to this one. He argues that we should believe that ethics is objective, because if we don't believe that ethical statements are literally true and objective we are at an explanatory loss! I need to read more about this, and I also need to read about the relationship between the indispensability argument and inference to the best explanation.
Here's the second, less audacious version of the argument applied to ethics:
Version #2
(1) We should believe that something exists if, when we do something that we are really committed to taking seriously we are forced to speak as if that something exists.
(2) When we do that something that we are really committed to taking seriously we are forced to speak as if ethical entities exist.
Therefore:
(3) We ought to believe that ethical entities exist.
In short, this version can get off the ground by asking why, in the original Quine-Putnam version of the argument, we let science decide what we're committed to existing? Then you say, "the reason we give science such a privileged position is because X". The next step is to argue that there is something else that is X, and that something else makes us committed to ethical entities.
Just to make something up that sounds the tiniest bit plausible: Why do we say that science has the ability to determine what we're committed to? Because science helps us live our lives in safety. If we weren't to take science seriously then our lives would be unsafe! But that means that anything else that is indispensable for living our lives in safety should have the same status as science, with respect to its ability to determine what we believe in. Perhaps we believe that ethics is necessary for living our lives in safety--otherwise chaos in society would break out!--so we need to take ethics as seriously as science. And then you argue that you can't talk about ethics without believing in ethical entities, so you're justified in believing in ethical entities. This argument isn't sustainable, but it's the form of the argument, the move that's made, that I want to draw out.
As it happens, David Enoch takes an approach that resembles this one. I need to read him more carefully, but he talks aobut non-explanatory indispensabilities.
So we're in good shape! We've recognized, abstractly, two ways that the argument could go, and we've found some names who make such arguments. Plus (and I didn't tell you this yet) I found a couple articles that review both of these strategies. One of them is by Brian Leiter. So we're making some progress here.
Here's a version of the indispensability argument (and it's sorta sloppy with the ideas, but hopefully clear)
(1) We should believe that something exists if, when we describe the world with our best scientific theories we are forced to speak as if that something exists.
(2) When we describe the world with our best scientific theories we are forced to speak as if mathematical entities exist.
Therefore:
(3) We ought to believe that mathematical entities exist.
Now, how could we apply this argument to ethics? In short, we can change premise (1) above, or we can change premise (2). Here's how.
Version #1:
(1) We should believe that something exists if, when we describe the world with our best scientific theories we are forced to speak as if that something exists.
(2) When we describe the world with our best scientific theories we are forced to speak as if ethical entities exist.
Therefore:
(3) We ought to believe that ethical entities exist.
Would it shock you to learn that such arguments have been made? I'm still at a very low level of familiarity with this kind of argument, but it's my impression that Sturgeon makes an argument very similar to this one. He argues that we should believe that ethics is objective, because if we don't believe that ethical statements are literally true and objective we are at an explanatory loss! I need to read more about this, and I also need to read about the relationship between the indispensability argument and inference to the best explanation.
Here's the second, less audacious version of the argument applied to ethics:
Version #2
(1) We should believe that something exists if, when we do something that we are really committed to taking seriously we are forced to speak as if that something exists.
(2) When we do that something that we are really committed to taking seriously we are forced to speak as if ethical entities exist.
Therefore:
(3) We ought to believe that ethical entities exist.
In short, this version can get off the ground by asking why, in the original Quine-Putnam version of the argument, we let science decide what we're committed to existing? Then you say, "the reason we give science such a privileged position is because X". The next step is to argue that there is something else that is X, and that something else makes us committed to ethical entities.
Just to make something up that sounds the tiniest bit plausible: Why do we say that science has the ability to determine what we're committed to? Because science helps us live our lives in safety. If we weren't to take science seriously then our lives would be unsafe! But that means that anything else that is indispensable for living our lives in safety should have the same status as science, with respect to its ability to determine what we believe in. Perhaps we believe that ethics is necessary for living our lives in safety--otherwise chaos in society would break out!--so we need to take ethics as seriously as science. And then you argue that you can't talk about ethics without believing in ethical entities, so you're justified in believing in ethical entities. This argument isn't sustainable, but it's the form of the argument, the move that's made, that I want to draw out.
As it happens, David Enoch takes an approach that resembles this one. I need to read him more carefully, but he talks aobut non-explanatory indispensabilities.
So we're in good shape! We've recognized, abstractly, two ways that the argument could go, and we've found some names who make such arguments. Plus (and I didn't tell you this yet) I found a couple articles that review both of these strategies. One of them is by Brian Leiter. So we're making some progress here.
"What if we're ALL in the matrix?"
So, one of the stereotypes of philosophy is that it's a field that trades in justifying counter-intuitive things that nobody actually would seriously believe. Like, nobody believes that we live in a matrix or that experience is some dream. Right, yeah, but can you, you know, prove it? Well no, and I don't really care to, is the response that comment probably deserves.
But the truth is that the defense of counter-intuitive claims constitutes a lot of philosophy. I mean, that's predictable in a way. If something's intuitive, there's a good chance that it'll be said pretty early on in the discussion and won't be so interesting. And after a while, if you study a field long enough, you begin to lose your intuitions. This is a feeling familiar to philosophers of language and to linguists--you spend hours trying to explain why an analysis of language is bad because it runs counter to our intuitions about language, and by the time you're done you can't remember which one was the intuitive analysis and which was the non-intuitive one.
My introductory textbook in philosophy of math starts by saying that mathematics stands out because its a priori--that is, you don't bring empirical evidence to support the claims of math. And that's standard, and that's intuitive. After all, has anyone here ever looked outside to see if their math problem was correct? That having been said, Quine makes the claim that math is empirical, and there is no such thing as a priori knowledge at all. So math is not a priori, and you do figure out what math is correct by looking at the world. (As a matter of fact, Quine uses this method to throw out large areas of math as being fictional).
One reason I like philosophy is because I like engaging in the practice of shifting my perspective. I think it's really cool to see a plausible version of something that I used to think was really crazy (like empiricism and mathematics, the claim that mathematics constitutes a posteriori knowledge). Moreover, it's important for figuring out where the stable resting points are in philosophy. If you restrict yourself to what seems intuitive, you'll be missing out on a lot of stable points in philosophy, a lot of viable positions.
So I don't mind when somebody says "Maybe we're all in the matrix" even though it's really counter-intuitive and there's very little chance that I'll believe it. OK, that's not true. I do mind. But not because I don't like dealing with possibilities that run counter to my intuitions. I do, and I think it's fruitful, but the matrix thing has just been overdone already. So, lesson: wild ridiculous claims=good. Talking about the matrix=bad.
But the truth is that the defense of counter-intuitive claims constitutes a lot of philosophy. I mean, that's predictable in a way. If something's intuitive, there's a good chance that it'll be said pretty early on in the discussion and won't be so interesting. And after a while, if you study a field long enough, you begin to lose your intuitions. This is a feeling familiar to philosophers of language and to linguists--you spend hours trying to explain why an analysis of language is bad because it runs counter to our intuitions about language, and by the time you're done you can't remember which one was the intuitive analysis and which was the non-intuitive one.
My introductory textbook in philosophy of math starts by saying that mathematics stands out because its a priori--that is, you don't bring empirical evidence to support the claims of math. And that's standard, and that's intuitive. After all, has anyone here ever looked outside to see if their math problem was correct? That having been said, Quine makes the claim that math is empirical, and there is no such thing as a priori knowledge at all. So math is not a priori, and you do figure out what math is correct by looking at the world. (As a matter of fact, Quine uses this method to throw out large areas of math as being fictional).
One reason I like philosophy is because I like engaging in the practice of shifting my perspective. I think it's really cool to see a plausible version of something that I used to think was really crazy (like empiricism and mathematics, the claim that mathematics constitutes a posteriori knowledge). Moreover, it's important for figuring out where the stable resting points are in philosophy. If you restrict yourself to what seems intuitive, you'll be missing out on a lot of stable points in philosophy, a lot of viable positions.
So I don't mind when somebody says "Maybe we're all in the matrix" even though it's really counter-intuitive and there's very little chance that I'll believe it. OK, that's not true. I do mind. But not because I don't like dealing with possibilities that run counter to my intuitions. I do, and I think it's fruitful, but the matrix thing has just been overdone already. So, lesson: wild ridiculous claims=good. Talking about the matrix=bad.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
An indispensability argument for math
I just need to get this on the table, because it's basic to the topics that I'm currently learning more about. I'm going to quickly present the Quine-Putnam argument indispensability argument here, so that I can build off of it and delve deeper in future posts. Just to experiment with form a little bit here, I'm going to make it into a series of dialogues.
----
A: Zebras exist.
B: What makes you say that?
A: Well, I observed a bunch of zebras. I saw them. They're over there [points to zebras].
B: So what? That's inconclusive. You could be hallucinating.
A: That's hardly the best explanation of the fact that I observed those zebras. The best explanation is that I'm not hallucinating, and that there's a bunch of things over there, and those things are called zebras.
B: Fair point. You're always justified in believing things if belief in them is necessary for the best explanation you have of the evidence.
----
A: Electrons exist.
B: What makes you say that?
A: Well, I observed a bunch of stuff [note: I don't know physics], and the best explanation I have of it is that there is something that exists that we hadn't previously known of. I call it an electron.
B: Oh, fair point. After all, it's the best explanation that you have of the evidence, and that explanation requires you to believe that electrons exist.
----
A: Numbers don't exist.
B: Wait a second, that doesn't sound right.
A: Why not?
B: You believe in zebras and electrons because your best explanation of the world requires your belief in their existence, right?
A: Right.
B: And what does it mean for your explanation to "require you to believe in their existence"?
A: I can clarify that. In order to give my best explanation of the world, I have to speak as if zebras and electrons exist. So if I'm committed to my explanation, I can't really avoid being committing to talking as if zebras and electrons exist. I think that this justifies my belief that zebras and electrons exist.
B: Is the law of gravity an important part of your best explanation of the world?
A: Sure--as long as it's up to date with current research...
B: Now, here's the important question for my argument: when you talk about the law of gravitation in your best explanation, is there any way that you can avoid talking as if numbers exist.
A: Well, errrm, no. How else can I talk about distances?
B: That's my point, then. Your best explanation of the world requires you to talk as if numbers exist. But that's the exact same justification you gave for why you believe that zebras and electrons exist. So if you're justified in believing that zebras exist, then you're justified in believing that numbers exist too.
------
----
A: Zebras exist.
B: What makes you say that?
A: Well, I observed a bunch of zebras. I saw them. They're over there [points to zebras].
B: So what? That's inconclusive. You could be hallucinating.
A: That's hardly the best explanation of the fact that I observed those zebras. The best explanation is that I'm not hallucinating, and that there's a bunch of things over there, and those things are called zebras.
B: Fair point. You're always justified in believing things if belief in them is necessary for the best explanation you have of the evidence.
----
A: Electrons exist.
B: What makes you say that?
A: Well, I observed a bunch of stuff [note: I don't know physics], and the best explanation I have of it is that there is something that exists that we hadn't previously known of. I call it an electron.
B: Oh, fair point. After all, it's the best explanation that you have of the evidence, and that explanation requires you to believe that electrons exist.
----
A: Numbers don't exist.
B: Wait a second, that doesn't sound right.
A: Why not?
B: You believe in zebras and electrons because your best explanation of the world requires your belief in their existence, right?
A: Right.
B: And what does it mean for your explanation to "require you to believe in their existence"?
A: I can clarify that. In order to give my best explanation of the world, I have to speak as if zebras and electrons exist. So if I'm committed to my explanation, I can't really avoid being committing to talking as if zebras and electrons exist. I think that this justifies my belief that zebras and electrons exist.
B: Is the law of gravity an important part of your best explanation of the world?
A: Sure--as long as it's up to date with current research...
B: Now, here's the important question for my argument: when you talk about the law of gravitation in your best explanation, is there any way that you can avoid talking as if numbers exist.
A: Well, errrm, no. How else can I talk about distances?
B: That's my point, then. Your best explanation of the world requires you to talk as if numbers exist. But that's the exact same justification you gave for why you believe that zebras and electrons exist. So if you're justified in believing that zebras exist, then you're justified in believing that numbers exist too.
------
Monday, September 21, 2009
Philosophy is a mess
The point of this post is to show how a discussion that would seem to be restricted to the world of ethics quickly becomes entangled with very different parts of philosophy. (And I'll be paraphrasing Harman throughout). And I take the argument to show that a good philosopher can't study only (say) ethics or only (say) math. The nature of philosophy is such that you need to know your way away around a bunch of different areas.
Is ethics objective--is there a matter of fact that is independent of any one of us, with our biases, whether an action is wrong? Or maybe ethics is (at least) subjective? As I've argued before, this question matters largely because we want to know if we can disagree and agree with what other people think about ethics.
A plausible first attempt at answering this question could sound like this: ethics isn't objective, because the way we justify ethics isn't up to the standards of the rest of our objective knowledge. Take, for example, our knowledge that zebras exist. We know that zebras existing is an objective truth because we can observe zebras with our senses (our eyes see 'em at the zoo or in pictures). But ethics--feh! how do you observe an ethical truth? Now, it's true that some people form ethical beliefs after observing (seeing) something. For example, someone can decide that it's wrong to burn cats after observing a cat burning. But that's not a pure observation, like seeing a zebra. Nope. Rather, what you see and observe is a cat burning, but what you decide is that it's bad, after you observe a cat on fire. But you haven't SEEN bad. There was no "badness" that you saw at the cat burning. What would "badness" look like anyway?!
But, as Hanson points out, this idea runs into trouble. Because you're not just making a claim about ethics here; you're also making a claim about the way we observe zebras.
Is it true that when you see a zebra you've made something like a pure observation, that has nothing to do with how you think? Some people (most people, actually) argue that this is not the case. After all, you know what a zebra is before you look into the world and observe one. You have some kind of theory and understanding about the world in order for you to be able to conceptualize what a zebra is, and that has to come before having an observation of it. To realize this, imagine that I ask you whether bliggles exist. I say that they do, because I've observed them directly. You've never observed them directly, but that's because you have no idea what they are. Would it be right to say that you've observed bliggles when you have no idea what they are? (It turns out the bliggles are what I call the combination you get when you duct-tape a parrot to an elephant, a strange object indeed. I'm not just renaming some normal object.)
The point is: in order to make your ethical argument, you also have to make a completely different argument about the way we observe things in general, and how that counts as justification for our empirical beliefs.
And if things weren't complicated enough, we also have this weird thing called "math." Do we observe all mathematical truths the same way we observe empirical truths? Yes? Then with which of our senses? Our eyes? Sure, we can see that 2 stones and 2 more stones make 4 stones, but have you ever seen 2 million stones be added to 2 million stones, and counted to make sure that we have 4 million stones? No, you haven't. So should we doubt that 2 mil+ 2 mil=4 mil? Well, that makes no sense. So maybe we don't observe mathematical truths. Well, maybe we can be sure about things without observational evidence. But then what about ethics? Maybe ethics gets off the hook, and you can be objective without having observational evidence? Or maybe math gets on the hook, and it isn't objective, just like ethics isn't objective.
So now we have three problems entangled: how do we justify our belief in empirical truths, how do we justify our belief in ethical truths, and how do we justify our belief in mathematical truths? Dissolving this tangle isn't really possible; a good philosopher would need answer to all three of these questions.
So maybe philosophy needs to be done as a whole. This is more the way that philosophy was done in the past than the way that it is sometimes done now. And I think the philosophy that tends to get remembered now, the good stuff, doesn't restrict itself to just one domain. After all, if all of philosophy is really tangled up like this, a good idea in one domain is probably going to be a good important idea in the other domains too.
Is ethics objective--is there a matter of fact that is independent of any one of us, with our biases, whether an action is wrong? Or maybe ethics is (at least) subjective? As I've argued before, this question matters largely because we want to know if we can disagree and agree with what other people think about ethics.
A plausible first attempt at answering this question could sound like this: ethics isn't objective, because the way we justify ethics isn't up to the standards of the rest of our objective knowledge. Take, for example, our knowledge that zebras exist. We know that zebras existing is an objective truth because we can observe zebras with our senses (our eyes see 'em at the zoo or in pictures). But ethics--feh! how do you observe an ethical truth? Now, it's true that some people form ethical beliefs after observing (seeing) something. For example, someone can decide that it's wrong to burn cats after observing a cat burning. But that's not a pure observation, like seeing a zebra. Nope. Rather, what you see and observe is a cat burning, but what you decide is that it's bad, after you observe a cat on fire. But you haven't SEEN bad. There was no "badness" that you saw at the cat burning. What would "badness" look like anyway?!
But, as Hanson points out, this idea runs into trouble. Because you're not just making a claim about ethics here; you're also making a claim about the way we observe zebras.
Is it true that when you see a zebra you've made something like a pure observation, that has nothing to do with how you think? Some people (most people, actually) argue that this is not the case. After all, you know what a zebra is before you look into the world and observe one. You have some kind of theory and understanding about the world in order for you to be able to conceptualize what a zebra is, and that has to come before having an observation of it. To realize this, imagine that I ask you whether bliggles exist. I say that they do, because I've observed them directly. You've never observed them directly, but that's because you have no idea what they are. Would it be right to say that you've observed bliggles when you have no idea what they are? (It turns out the bliggles are what I call the combination you get when you duct-tape a parrot to an elephant, a strange object indeed. I'm not just renaming some normal object.)
The point is: in order to make your ethical argument, you also have to make a completely different argument about the way we observe things in general, and how that counts as justification for our empirical beliefs.
And if things weren't complicated enough, we also have this weird thing called "math." Do we observe all mathematical truths the same way we observe empirical truths? Yes? Then with which of our senses? Our eyes? Sure, we can see that 2 stones and 2 more stones make 4 stones, but have you ever seen 2 million stones be added to 2 million stones, and counted to make sure that we have 4 million stones? No, you haven't. So should we doubt that 2 mil+ 2 mil=4 mil? Well, that makes no sense. So maybe we don't observe mathematical truths. Well, maybe we can be sure about things without observational evidence. But then what about ethics? Maybe ethics gets off the hook, and you can be objective without having observational evidence? Or maybe math gets on the hook, and it isn't objective, just like ethics isn't objective.
So now we have three problems entangled: how do we justify our belief in empirical truths, how do we justify our belief in ethical truths, and how do we justify our belief in mathematical truths? Dissolving this tangle isn't really possible; a good philosopher would need answer to all three of these questions.
So maybe philosophy needs to be done as a whole. This is more the way that philosophy was done in the past than the way that it is sometimes done now. And I think the philosophy that tends to get remembered now, the good stuff, doesn't restrict itself to just one domain. After all, if all of philosophy is really tangled up like this, a good idea in one domain is probably going to be a good important idea in the other domains too.
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