Continuing from the post below...
Review the propositions:
(1) M thinks.
(2) M’s mental properties are deducible from M’s physical properties.
(3) There is a true description P of M’s real essence qua fitly disposed matter.
(4) Q.
(5) Therefore, M thinks.
Now on to more...
Ayers grants that Q can make reference also to God’s agency, so long as his agency is only a manipulation of the physical (primary) properties of M, such that mental properties are realized in virtue of the arrangements of the physical properties. God, as it were, simply places the physical properties in such an arrangement that their activation potentials for mental properties is exceeded. He does not institute new laws of nature, nor does he forge new and miraculous psychophysical connections. What must not be the case is that God annexes sui generis causal or occult powers to the physical properties or fitly disposed material system in order to secure the mental properties. The mental properties must follow from M qua fitly disposed material system. Hence, Q might read:
(4) God “superadds” mental properties to the fitly disposed material system M.
The challenge thus far has been to secure (2), assuming (1). In order to secure (2), however, inferences involving (4) must be like working with axioms of geometry, as was noted in the previous post. The axioms of geometry and their implications, presumably, are not voluntaristic, even on God’s part. (4) therefore cannot involve some new and miraculous activity on God’s part to forge and uphold a new law of nature. (4), however, with the frightening language of “superadds,” does sound quite voluntaristic. At any rate, it sounds sufficiently voluntaristic to rule out any comparison between the way one would deduce mental from physical properties with the way one reasons axiomatically in the exact sciences. If axiomatic forms of reasoning in this case are ruled out, then the sort of deducibility required in (2) appears out of reach.
Everything depends on how one analyzes God’s activity of superaddition, and Ayers pays special attention to this point. It is tempting to conflate God’s activity in superaddition with a standing miracle. According to Ayers, it is a mistake to conceive of superaddition as implying either a standing miracle or an ex nihilo invocation of a foreign, sui generis causal propensity annexed to parcels of fitly disposed matter whereby some new law of nature is put into effect by sole fiat. Instead, Locke is simply using “superaddition” against a background of well-behaved theoretical terms including “essence of matter,” “natural,” and “flowing from the essence of matter.”
The “essence of matter” simply signifies those features of material substances in virtue of which they are material. The particular instantiations of the primary qualities of a material substance, however, are particular modes of the qualities referred to in “essence of matter.”
A quality, then, is “natural” if it flows from the “essence of matter” proper—viz., a quality “flowing from the essence of matter.” Such a quality would be deducible from a description of the attributes which qualify matter qua matter; it would be included in the very concept.
For example, two material bodies are both extended and solid. They may, however, exemplify extension and solidity in different ways. Extension “flows” from solidity. Extension is “natural” to solidity and matter qua matter. This is not so for the particular modes of matter. The particular primary qualities of each body, then, would neither flow from the essence of matter nor qualify as natural. Certainly, their failure to count as either natural or flowing from the essence of matter, in these technical senses, does not imply either a standing miracle or sui generis causal propensities annexed to matter qua matter. No new laws of nature are forged by God in these very ordinary cases. In fact, with respect to these technical senses, hardly anything counts as natural or flowing from the essence of matter.
Everything else falls under the rubric of superaddition, including motion, gravitation, and particular colors of bodies. To say of a quality that it is superadded is only to say that bodies differ in their particulars. Differences in particulars, furthermore, can be explained, in principle, by reference solely and completely to the varying arrangements in the primary qualities with no need to invoke God’s forging new laws of nature or creating new causal propensities.
Clearly, in these examples of superaddition, there is no reason to think that there are exceptions to the rule of explanation. In the same vein, there are no reasons to think there are exceptions to the rule when the context is the superaddition of mental properties to fitly disposed material systems. The mental properties, though they may not qualify as “natural” in the narrow sense, may nevertheless arise by dint of mechanical necessity from bodies suitably arranged—viz., fitly disposed. In claiming that mental properties are superadded to fitly disposed material systems, Locke is noting only that mental properties are not contained in the essence of matter qua matter (extension and solidity). He is not claiming that God adds any real constituents or forges any sui generis laws of nature. Therefore, the entailment between (3) and (5) is secured, thereby securing (2).
If this story is correct (and this is a point of contention in the literature), then Locke was very carefully laying the groundwork for a thoroughgoing materialism/physicalism that is really astonishing given the philosophical climate of his times.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Locke on gravity and mental properties
Mechanism, generally, is the view that all of the operations, interactions, and sensible qualities of natural bodies are causally dependent upon the mechanical qualities of those bodies. Laws which govern the behavior of the mechanical parts and properties can be explained by being deduced from the attributes possessed essentially by all bodies qua bodies.
The application of such a model of explanation to the relationship between mental and physical properties of fitly disposed systems of matter is of concern to the magisterial commentator on Locke, Michael Ayers. He motivates the query by comparison with how Locke viewed the phenomenon of gravity.
Locke took there to be something inexplicable to human observers about the relation between two bodies which accounted for gravitation. There are four ways of interpreting what Locke might take the inexplicability to imply:
(a) There is a deeper medium for a mechanism which creates a necessary connection which is not occult. The appearance of action at a distance is only an appearance.
(b) Knowledge of matter qua matter is not yet adequately refined to license perspicacious deductions of laws of nature from the mechanisms of matter. Such deductions are possible, in principle, but not with the present state of physics which is ignorant of the real essence of matter.
(c) There are some laws—viz., gravitation, that are not deducible from the essence of matter. Such laws depend on the direct, continuous, and systematic agency of God—viz., a continual miracle.
(d) Action at a distance turns out, after all, to be part of the real essence of matter—viz., mechanism is false after all.
While Locke’s views on gravity do not make it obvious which of the implications he embraces, Ayers thinks there is a clear case for Locke’s rejection of (d) in Locke’s correspondence with Stillingfleet, the Bishop of Worcester. Ayers ultimately takes Locke to accept either (b) or some combination of (a) and (b). In either case, the hope for a deduction of the laws of gravitation from the essence of matter is preserved, despite the epistemic limitations.
I think there is a similar dialectical structure present in the allegedly inexplicable connections between the mental and physical properties of fitly disposed systems of matter.
(i) There is a deeper medium for a mechanism which creates a necessary, non-occult connection between the fitly disposed physical properties and mental properties. The appearance of sui generis connections is only an appearance.
(ii) Knowledge of matter qua matter is not yet adequately refined to license perspicacious deductions of mental properties from the mechanical, fitly disposed physical properties of matter. Such deductions are possible, in principle, but not with the present state of physics which is ignorant of the real essence of fitly disposed matter.
(iii) There are some laws—viz., psychophysical laws, that are not deducible from the essence of matter. Such psychophysical laws depend on the direct, continuous, and systematic agency of God—viz., a continual miracle.
(iv) Occult, sui generis psychophysical laws turn out, after all, to be part of the real essence of matter—viz., mechanism is false after all.
For Locke to be a materialist, his position on thinking matter needs to reside somewhere between (i) and (ii).
Take M to be a fitly disposed material system.
(1) M thinks.
(2) M’s mental properties are deducible from M’s physical properties.
The challenge for Ayers is to argue that Locke affirms (2). The kind of deduction Ayers has in mind is a very strong sort. Assuming idealized epistemic conditions, where human cognizers know the real essence of matter and the real essence of fitly disposed material systems of kind M (i.e., they possessed wholly adequate concepts of matter), cognizers should be in a position to determine the necessity of mental properties arising from M’s particular arrangement of physical properties. What would be the form of such a deduction?
(3) There is a true description P of M’s real essence qua fitly disposed matter.
(4) Q.
(5) Therefore, M thinks.
The crucial premise is (4), where Q stands for a proposition which must discharge two duties—Q’s content must refer to the physical (primary) qualities of M, and Q must imply, in conjunction with P, the conclusion (5). In short, the deductions must be like geometric inferences.
For various reasons (which may end up in later posts), I'm seriously pessimistic that Locke would go this far.
The application of such a model of explanation to the relationship between mental and physical properties of fitly disposed systems of matter is of concern to the magisterial commentator on Locke, Michael Ayers. He motivates the query by comparison with how Locke viewed the phenomenon of gravity.
Locke took there to be something inexplicable to human observers about the relation between two bodies which accounted for gravitation. There are four ways of interpreting what Locke might take the inexplicability to imply:
(a) There is a deeper medium for a mechanism which creates a necessary connection which is not occult. The appearance of action at a distance is only an appearance.
(b) Knowledge of matter qua matter is not yet adequately refined to license perspicacious deductions of laws of nature from the mechanisms of matter. Such deductions are possible, in principle, but not with the present state of physics which is ignorant of the real essence of matter.
(c) There are some laws—viz., gravitation, that are not deducible from the essence of matter. Such laws depend on the direct, continuous, and systematic agency of God—viz., a continual miracle.
(d) Action at a distance turns out, after all, to be part of the real essence of matter—viz., mechanism is false after all.
While Locke’s views on gravity do not make it obvious which of the implications he embraces, Ayers thinks there is a clear case for Locke’s rejection of (d) in Locke’s correspondence with Stillingfleet, the Bishop of Worcester. Ayers ultimately takes Locke to accept either (b) or some combination of (a) and (b). In either case, the hope for a deduction of the laws of gravitation from the essence of matter is preserved, despite the epistemic limitations.
I think there is a similar dialectical structure present in the allegedly inexplicable connections between the mental and physical properties of fitly disposed systems of matter.
(i) There is a deeper medium for a mechanism which creates a necessary, non-occult connection between the fitly disposed physical properties and mental properties. The appearance of sui generis connections is only an appearance.
(ii) Knowledge of matter qua matter is not yet adequately refined to license perspicacious deductions of mental properties from the mechanical, fitly disposed physical properties of matter. Such deductions are possible, in principle, but not with the present state of physics which is ignorant of the real essence of fitly disposed matter.
(iii) There are some laws—viz., psychophysical laws, that are not deducible from the essence of matter. Such psychophysical laws depend on the direct, continuous, and systematic agency of God—viz., a continual miracle.
(iv) Occult, sui generis psychophysical laws turn out, after all, to be part of the real essence of matter—viz., mechanism is false after all.
For Locke to be a materialist, his position on thinking matter needs to reside somewhere between (i) and (ii).
Take M to be a fitly disposed material system.
(1) M thinks.
(2) M’s mental properties are deducible from M’s physical properties.
The challenge for Ayers is to argue that Locke affirms (2). The kind of deduction Ayers has in mind is a very strong sort. Assuming idealized epistemic conditions, where human cognizers know the real essence of matter and the real essence of fitly disposed material systems of kind M (i.e., they possessed wholly adequate concepts of matter), cognizers should be in a position to determine the necessity of mental properties arising from M’s particular arrangement of physical properties. What would be the form of such a deduction?
(3) There is a true description P of M’s real essence qua fitly disposed matter.
(4) Q.
(5) Therefore, M thinks.
The crucial premise is (4), where Q stands for a proposition which must discharge two duties—Q’s content must refer to the physical (primary) qualities of M, and Q must imply, in conjunction with P, the conclusion (5). In short, the deductions must be like geometric inferences.
For various reasons (which may end up in later posts), I'm seriously pessimistic that Locke would go this far.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
why can't we all just get along?
When I walk through the hallways, I always overhear conversations. It's not intentional. That's just what happens when I walk through public areas where people are having conversations.
I ran across an interesting conversation. I only heard a very brief bit. It went something like this.
Student A says to another: "I really like the philosophy readings that we're doing. But it doesn't connect with me. It doesn't connect with life, you know? Life. And so it's not important. It's kind of meaningless really."
That caused me to wonder what it means to say that some particular philosophy or subfield of philosophy doesn't connect *with life*. I completely understand what it may mean to say that some particular subfield of philosophy (say, philosophy of science or epistemology) does not connect *with me*. I guess that would mean something like *I don't like it* or *it doesn't appear to have anything to do with anything that I'm interested in* or *it doesn't address the kinds of things that I take to be important to me*.
So, I get that. What I don't get is the less qualified statement that some particular philosophy or subfield of philosophy doesn't connect *with life* itself. I mean, why can't we all be axiologically pluralistic on this issue? For those who are intensely interested in social justice, perhaps social and political philosophy is what matters to them. For those who are intensely interested in personal existential issues, perhaps existential philosophy is the kind of philosophizing to which they ought to gravitate. It seems completely innocent a point so far. For those who are interested in X, then they should pursue a philosophy of X, so far as studying philosophy goes. But why would that impact the value of Y and the philosophy of Y?
It's when that innocent point (i.e., that a person who is interested in X should generously pursue the philosophy of X) is somehow transformed into a normative claim that *all* philosophy should conform to that particular model that I begin to be puzzled. Suppose a person finds it intensely interesting to study the theoretical advantages and disadvantages of logical models of probability in the philosophy of science. Suppose also that this person derives great personal pleasure and a sense of meaning from doing so. Suppose that this person takes this subfield of philosophy to be intrinsically valuable in and for itself, perhaps purely for the sake of learning or coming to know something that was not known before. Why should it be the case that this endeavor either is by definition *not connected with life* or in need of any defense for its legitimacy at all?
No doubt, someone may reply: But isn't Philosophy (note the capital "P") supposed to be about ________?" Generally, the blank is filled in by some qualifying feature that (inadvertently in most cases) is rigged to rule out things like technical subfields concerning analytic epistemology, Anglo-American philosophy of language, or analytic ontology. (And I do recognize that this kind of intolerance or ignorance goes in both directions... if we use the increasingly meaningless Continental-Analytic divide.)
The reply to this reply is: "Why should anyone else accept your totalizing conception of Philosophy?" [My actual reply would be to deny that there is anything that we call "Philosophy" (note the capital "P").]
So, I guess I wonder why we can't all just get along. Why can't we adopt an axiological pluralism with respect to what counts as legitimate philosophy or philosophy that is *connected with life... you know, life.*
From a personal perspective, there are entire swaths of philosophy that I find completely not connected with *my life*. But what relevance does that have to do with anyone else who loves those swaths and whose love of philosophy reverberates with and against those swaths? And what relevance does that have to do with philosophy vis-à-vis *Life* (whatever that is). Answer: seems to me none at all.
I wonder why we shouldn't all return the favor with respect to each other, our choices, and the fragments of inquiry that we conveniently label "philosophy."
I ran across an interesting conversation. I only heard a very brief bit. It went something like this.
Student A says to another: "I really like the philosophy readings that we're doing. But it doesn't connect with me. It doesn't connect with life, you know? Life. And so it's not important. It's kind of meaningless really."
That caused me to wonder what it means to say that some particular philosophy or subfield of philosophy doesn't connect *with life*. I completely understand what it may mean to say that some particular subfield of philosophy (say, philosophy of science or epistemology) does not connect *with me*. I guess that would mean something like *I don't like it* or *it doesn't appear to have anything to do with anything that I'm interested in* or *it doesn't address the kinds of things that I take to be important to me*.
So, I get that. What I don't get is the less qualified statement that some particular philosophy or subfield of philosophy doesn't connect *with life* itself. I mean, why can't we all be axiologically pluralistic on this issue? For those who are intensely interested in social justice, perhaps social and political philosophy is what matters to them. For those who are intensely interested in personal existential issues, perhaps existential philosophy is the kind of philosophizing to which they ought to gravitate. It seems completely innocent a point so far. For those who are interested in X, then they should pursue a philosophy of X, so far as studying philosophy goes. But why would that impact the value of Y and the philosophy of Y?
It's when that innocent point (i.e., that a person who is interested in X should generously pursue the philosophy of X) is somehow transformed into a normative claim that *all* philosophy should conform to that particular model that I begin to be puzzled. Suppose a person finds it intensely interesting to study the theoretical advantages and disadvantages of logical models of probability in the philosophy of science. Suppose also that this person derives great personal pleasure and a sense of meaning from doing so. Suppose that this person takes this subfield of philosophy to be intrinsically valuable in and for itself, perhaps purely for the sake of learning or coming to know something that was not known before. Why should it be the case that this endeavor either is by definition *not connected with life* or in need of any defense for its legitimacy at all?
No doubt, someone may reply: But isn't Philosophy (note the capital "P") supposed to be about ________?" Generally, the blank is filled in by some qualifying feature that (inadvertently in most cases) is rigged to rule out things like technical subfields concerning analytic epistemology, Anglo-American philosophy of language, or analytic ontology. (And I do recognize that this kind of intolerance or ignorance goes in both directions... if we use the increasingly meaningless Continental-Analytic divide.)
The reply to this reply is: "Why should anyone else accept your totalizing conception of Philosophy?" [My actual reply would be to deny that there is anything that we call "Philosophy" (note the capital "P").]
So, I guess I wonder why we can't all just get along. Why can't we adopt an axiological pluralism with respect to what counts as legitimate philosophy or philosophy that is *connected with life... you know, life.*
From a personal perspective, there are entire swaths of philosophy that I find completely not connected with *my life*. But what relevance does that have to do with anyone else who loves those swaths and whose love of philosophy reverberates with and against those swaths? And what relevance does that have to do with philosophy vis-à-vis *Life* (whatever that is). Answer: seems to me none at all.
I wonder why we shouldn't all return the favor with respect to each other, our choices, and the fragments of inquiry that we conveniently label "philosophy."
Friday, November 2, 2007
The Metaphysics of Albus Dumbledore
I’ve long been a fan of the Harry Potter books, and I’ve long been puzzled by the metaphysics of fictional characters. These two things came to a head for me recently when J.K. Rowling, the author of the books, mentioned that Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, invaluable mentor to Harry, and perhaps the most powerful wizard alive (up until the end of the sixth book), is gay. Which raises the question: What does it mean for a fictional character to be gay? (Not a thing about Dumbledore’s sexuality is mentioned in the books, and it’s not like Dumbledore had a life “behind the scenes,” did he?) For that matter, what does it mean for a fictional character to be anything—tall, male, human, kind? What are fictional characters anyway? And who determines what properties a fictional character really has?
Perhaps the natural answer to that last question is that the author determines what the character is like. But it’s not as easy as that: what if the author changes his or her mind, or hasn’t decided on some important feature like the height of the character? Besides, some may disagree that the author has this power. Consider, for example, Andrew Rothstein’s response to Rowling’s announcement from a recent article in the New York Times.
But it is possible that Ms. Rowling may be mistaken about her own character. She may have invented Hogwarts and all the wizards within it, she may have created the most influential fantasy books since J. R. R. Tolkien, and she may have woven her spell over thousands of pages and seven novels, but there seems to be no compelling reason within the books for her after-the-fact assertion. Of course it would not be inconsistent for Dumbledore to be gay, but the books’ accounts certainly don’t make it necessary. The question is distracting, which is why it never really emerges in the books themselves. Ms. Rowling may think of Dumbledore as gay, but there is no reason why anyone else should.
So is Dumbledore gay? Perhaps there is literally no answer to that question. For my part, I’m with Rothstein. Sexuality doesn’t really figure into the Harry Potter books at all, even if romance and marriage do. The issue is distracting, and when in a few years I read the books with my kids, I probably won’t bring it up.
Perhaps the natural answer to that last question is that the author determines what the character is like. But it’s not as easy as that: what if the author changes his or her mind, or hasn’t decided on some important feature like the height of the character? Besides, some may disagree that the author has this power. Consider, for example, Andrew Rothstein’s response to Rowling’s announcement from a recent article in the New York Times.
But it is possible that Ms. Rowling may be mistaken about her own character. She may have invented Hogwarts and all the wizards within it, she may have created the most influential fantasy books since J. R. R. Tolkien, and she may have woven her spell over thousands of pages and seven novels, but there seems to be no compelling reason within the books for her after-the-fact assertion. Of course it would not be inconsistent for Dumbledore to be gay, but the books’ accounts certainly don’t make it necessary. The question is distracting, which is why it never really emerges in the books themselves. Ms. Rowling may think of Dumbledore as gay, but there is no reason why anyone else should.
So is Dumbledore gay? Perhaps there is literally no answer to that question. For my part, I’m with Rothstein. Sexuality doesn’t really figure into the Harry Potter books at all, even if romance and marriage do. The issue is distracting, and when in a few years I read the books with my kids, I probably won’t bring it up.
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