As of July 8 I will be posting on Crooked Timber. This blog will keep running, but it will be more focussed on metaphysics, epistemology and philosophy of language than it used to be, with other posts going to Crooked Timber.
I've just got back from a few fun days up in Canberra, so replying to comments on the blog board, email etc will be rather slow. (And tomorrow I'm flying back to Providence, so electronic communication will be non-existent.) Just time for one quick link. John Quiggin links to my imaginative resistance paper, and argues that the kinds of limits on imagination discussed in the literature I mention undercut some intuitive arguments against consequentialism.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/29/2003 08:35:00 PM
I already recommended Geoffrey Nunbergs website a couple of days ago, but I should have added a specific recommendation for one of the papers archived there: Do You Know What Its Like to Miss New Orleans? The paper covers a lot of ground, some of it in the French Quarter, but much of it concerns the relationship between philosophy and linguistics. Part of the attraction of the paper is that it reminds us that there still are scientific disciplines out there that take (some) philosophers seriously. But for me the greater interest was the discussion of just which philosophers are influential within linguistics. They might not be the ones you expect. Id say a little more, but that might be spoiler. So if you want one perspective, as far as I can tell an accurate one, on which of us are being listened to in linguistics, go read the article.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/25/2003 03:31:00 PM
I've been told that the comments boards here are not integrating well with various browsers. As far as I can tell, some comments are only showing up when the comments page is loaded using the same browser type that was used to post them. I won't be able to do much about this until I get back to America - and doing something about it might involve moving to MT, but if I don't respond to your witty clever knockdown counterexample comment, pls don't feel offended. It might be my browser's fault.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/24/2003 08:45:00 PM
A Puzzle About Knowledge I don't think the evidence that knowledge is simply true belief has been taken seriously enough by many in the philosophical community. So I'm going to try again here to get people to do so. The following example is quite long, but I think that's necessary to remove some possible distractions. In particular, part of my theory is that stress on the word 'know' or its cognate in knowledge claims changes the acceptability of those claims, so a longer story gives us more context and hence more natural stress patterns and hence a better guide to what's really happening. (I'm much indebted to various conversations with Polly Jacobson, Jeff King and Jason Stanley for getting me to realise the importance of stress in these matters.)The Virus A nasty virus has been released at your workplace, and everyone is at risk of infection. The virus isn't extremely infectious, but it isn't fun to have, so it's important to get a clampdown on it as soon as possible. Unfortunately, one of the two tests that people have been using to see whether they have the virus is not very good. The other test is fine, not perfect but pretty good by medical standards. But the bad test is quite bad. The people using it were told it is 98% accurate. That is a small exaggeration, but in any case it is quite irrelevant. The test is 'accurate' because it mostly returns negative results and most people don't have the virus. So it gets it right with about 95% or so of people. But only about 1/3 of those who get positive test results actually have the virus. So there's a lot of false positives floating around your workplace. Here are the numbers so far for various salient groups:What do you answer? It's philosophically defensible to say zero, because no one is 100% beyond a shadow of a ghost of a shade of a doubt certain that they have it. But in the circumstances not many bosses would take that to be an acceptable answer. It's even more philosophically defensible to say five, because only five have a warranted true belief that they have the virus. (I presume that since the 4 made a false inference from false premises to conclude they have the virus, their belief is not warranted unless warrant is a totally trivial condition.) But again, that doesn't seem like the most appropriate thing to say in the circumstances. If your boss knew the underlying facts, the answer he'd expect, I think, is nine. And I think that's the right answer. To back up this intuition, consider if the boss continues questioning you the following way. Molly is one of the 4 who believe for bad reasons she has the virus.5 people have the virus and believe that they do because they used the good test.Making matters worse, your boss would prefer that news of the virus didn't get out, thinking it will send a downwards spiral in the company's share price. He would prefer there'd been no tests at all. Having heard that there's been more testing, he storms in to your office asking, "HOW MANY people know that they have the virus now?"
4 people have the virus and believe they they do because they used the bad test.
6 people don't have the virus but believe they they do because they used the bad test.
8 people have the virus but haven't taken a test, so don't think they have it.BOSS: Does Molly know she has the virus?The next step, of course, is you being fired. In the circumstances, true belief is enough for knowledge. But note that nine is the largest answer you could give. You shouldn't answer fifteen, though the Boss might appreciate it if your answer informed him that another 6 people think they have the virus. That's probably relevant information, but those people shouldn't be grouped in with the people who know they have the virus. And, of course, the eight people who don't even think they have the virus shouldn't be considered. It's clearly wrong to answer seventeen, even though seventeen people do, in fact, have the virus. I hope you agree with all my intuitions here. What should we make of them philosophically? The most natural explanation of the data, I think, is that knowledge is simply true belief, though sometimes when someone says S knows that p, they speaker mean that S has a warranted, or justified, or certain, or approved by God, belief that p. Semantically, all that they mean is that S truly believes that p. Questions, especially questions by people in authority not concerned with niceties of speaker meaning, tend to bring out semantic meaning, so in your little conversation with Boss, 'know' reverts back to its basic meaning of being truly believes. That's why the right answer is nine, though perhaps if you have a cute enough smile you can get away with five or zero without being fired. I'm not saying that's the best explanation of all the data concerned with knowledge talk. But I do think it's the best explanation of this bit of data. There are two other explanations of the data that people have tried in the past. One of these I won't say much about. This is the contextualist approach. I've argued against contextualism here before, and I think in general the various objections that Jason Stanley and Ernie Lepore and John Hawthorne have made of contextualism in various places work. But I don't want to really argue for that here as much as set it aside. My main target is the invariantist who thinks that (non-trivial) warrant is necessary for knowledge. What can that philosopher say about the appropriateness of nine as an answer to Boss's question? The response I usually get is an inverse of my response - that although 'knowledge' really denotes warranted true belief, sometimes the speaker meaning of a knowledge ascription can be somewhat weaker than this. Here all Boss cares about is true belief, he speaker means "How many people truly believe they have the virus?", and that's how you should answer. I used to think this answer was incoherent - speaker meaning can only add to the content of a term not subtract from it. But that was probably too quick. The real problem with this response is that it can't really explain the data. If 'knowledge' semantically means warranted true belief, but its speaker meaning can be simply true belief on some occasions, why couldn't its speaker meaning be simply belief, or simply truth? If we can subtract part of the semantic meaning out, why not the other parts? I don't think there's any good explanation for this available to the invariantist who holds that knowledge is warranted true belief. If there's any explanation for it at all, I suspect it will be very complicated. Well, this was all rather quick, but I think there's a somewhat powerful case to be made here that knowledge is simply true belief. Obviously this theory will have to rely on some very heavy duty pragmatics in order to explain most of the cases philosophers have talked about. But since virtually every case considered in epistemology classrooms involves stress (usually comparative stress with an unclear comparison) on 'know', I think a good theory of stress can explain a lot of the data apparently inconsistent with the claim that knowledge is simply true belief. Could it, or any other pragmatic theory, explain all of that data? Don't know, but I'd like to see some clever people argue one way or the other. Quick acknowledgment at the end. The case here is somewhat modelled on various cases John Hawthorne has used for various purposes, but it does have one or two new touches. In particular, the use of questions to push the knowledge = true belief line is John's, but the extra point that these cases do not support knowledge = truth or knowledge = belief is, I think, original.
BOSS: Does Molly believe she has the virus?
BOSS: Does Molly have the virus?
BOSS: Then whatdya mean she doesn't know she has it?
YOU: Let me tell you about late 20th century epistemology.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/24/2003 08:41:00 PM
I have drafted a new version of the imaginative resistance paper. Sadly, I lost my instructions for how to upload anything to my main webpage. Happily, I still have blogs to use. So I’ve put the paper on a subpage within this site. It can be found using the following link:Psycho Semantics Summer in Winter, Winter in Springtime Ideas Sleep Furiously Electric Gaslight Quickly Standing Still One Heavy February The Silence was Deafening How Not to Tell a Story Zero Secrets of Successful Authors Six Secrets of Unsuccessful Authors Furniture in Fiction and Fictional Furniture Fictional Errors from Cervantes to Reifenstahl Furniture of Fictional Universes The Caretaker’s Daughter Good Morning Good Morning With a Little Help from my Friends (A response that stressed the role of fiction in moral education could well be called Being for the Benefit of Mr Kite.) Did Romeo Love Juliet? When Armchairs AttackI doubt many of those are actually amusing, but all of them seemed like good ideas at the time, even the ones that were taken in their entirety from song titles. I would like to use the first name for a paper on representation in fiction sometime, but maybe I’ll save it for a paper about representation in film.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/21/2003 09:08:00 PM
Grokking, Wokking and Locking I've been having another crack at my imaginative resistance paper, and this time I'm trying not to make the sections on Stephen Yablo's views a bracketed to be included section. (For details of Yablo's views, see sections 14 and 21 of Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda. I think what Yablo says is intriguing, but too short to be a full solution. It's a bit hard for me to get my head around Yablo's solution, because officially I think it's incoherent. He things imaginative resistance is closely linked to what he calls response-enabled concepts, or grokking concepts. These are introduced by examples, particularly by the example 'oval'. Here are meant to be some platitudes about OVAL. It is a shape concept - any two objects in any two worlds, indeed in any two parts of the old 2D matrix, that have the same shape are alike in whether they are ovals. But which shape concept it is is picked out by our reactions. They are the shapes that strike us as being egg-like, or a bit more geekily, like the shape of all ellipse whose length/width ratio is the golden ratio. (Hmmm...golden ratios...Hmmm.) In this way it's meant to be distinguished on the one hand from, say, PRIME NUMBER, which is entirely independent of us, and from WATER, which would have picked out a different chemical substance had our reactions to various chemicals been different. Note that what 'prime number' picks out is determined by us, like all semantic facts are. So the move space into which OVAL is meant to fit is quite tiny. We matter to its extension, but not the way we matter to 'prime number' (or we don't matter to PRIME NUMBER), and not the way we matter to 'water'. Officially, I think there's no move space here to move in, so I think positing such concepts is incoherent. Yablo's terms for grokking concepts strike me as words that have associated egocentric descriptions that fix their reference without having egocentric reference fixing descriptions, and I find it hard to believe such words exist. But my official views are very intolerant, so I'll pretend for now that I understand what Yablo is saying. The important point for fiction about grokking concepts is that we matter, in a non-constitutive way, for their extension. Not we as we might have been, or we as we are in a story, but us. So an author can't say, in the story squares looked egg-shaped to the people, so in the story squares are ovals, because we get to say what's an oval, not some fictional character. Here's how Yablo puts it:Why should resistance and grokkingnes be connected in this way? It's a feature of grokking concepts that their extension in a situation depends on how the situation does or would strike us. 'Does or would strike us' as we are: how we are represented as reacting, or invited to react, has nothing to do with it. Resistance is the natural consequence. If we insist on judging the extension ourselves, it stands to reason that any seeming intelligence coming from elsewhere is automatically suspect. This applies in particular to being 'told' about the extension by an as-if knowledgeable narrator.As I said, I think this is all incredibly interesting (if incoherent) and not a million miles from my view. But I don't think it works, at least as a complete solution. My old Don Quixote story might look like a counterexample to Yablo's position here. After all, the concept that seems to generate resistance there is TELEVISION, and that isn't anything like his examples of grokking concepts. (The examples, apar from evaluative concepts, are all shape concepts.) On the other hand, if there are any grokking concepts, perhaps it is plausible that TELEVISION should be one of them. Let's think of some platitudes about TELEVISION. (The following few lines are mostly me reciting from memory some of what Fodor says in Concepts, with televisual references replacing doorknobular ones.) Three platitudes about TELEVISION stand out. One is that it's very hard to define just what a television is. (Go on - try it and see how far you get.) Second is that there's a striking correlation between people who have the concept TELEVISION and people who have been acquainted with a television. Not a correlation of 1 - some infants have acquaintance with televisions but not as such, and some people acquire TELEVISION by description - but still high. Third is that conversations about televisions are rarely at cross purposes, consisting of people literally talking different languages. TELEVISION is a shared concept. Can we put these into a theory of the concept TELEVISION? Here's a try. (Warning: Non-reductive analysis ahead.) Televisions are those things that strike us, people in general, as being sufficiently like the televisions we've seen, in a televisual kind of way. This isn't part of the meaning of television - there's no reference to us in the dictionary entry for 'television', and rightly so. But it sort of latches on to the right thing, in roughly the only way one could. The epistemic necessity of having a paradigm television to use as a basis for similarity judgments explains the striking correlation between televisual acquaintance and concept possession. The fact that the only way of picking out the extension uses something that is not constitutive of the concept, namely our reactions to televisions, explains why we can't define the concept. And the use of people's reactions in general rather than idiosyncratic reactions explains why its a common concept. This all seems remarkably clever to me, I do wish I had thought of it all first, and it doesn't seem that far from what Yablo had in mind. So I'm fairly comfortable with the idea that (if any concept is grokking) TELEVISION is a grokking concept and my Quixote example is not a counterexample to Yablo's little theory. Still, I have three quibbles. First, there's a missing antecedent in a key sentence in his account, and I have no idea how to fill it in. What does he mean when he says 'how the situation does or would strike us'? Does or would strike us if what? If we were there? But we don't know where there is. There is a place where televisions look like knifes and forks. If all the non-grokking descriptions were accurate? Maybe, but I think there's a worry now that most concepts will be grokking - Fodor intended his account of DOORKNOB to be quite general. Not universal, but quite general. If we take out all the grokking concepts, there may not be much left. Second, despite that I'm still rather unsure that mental concepts, and content concepts, are grokking. LOVE might be, BELIEVING THAT THERE ARE SPACE ALIENS probably is not. But in the paper I argued that these concepts can generate resistance too. Maybe these are grokking as well (if anything is) so I don't want to stress this. Finally, I think this _slightly_ over-generalises. Here's a sketch of a counter-example. I'll leave it as an exercise for the reader to fill it in. Imagine a time-travelling story told the following way. DQ and his buddy SP leave DQ's apartment at midday Tuesday, leaving a well-arranged lounge suite and home theatre unit. They travel back to Monday, where DQ has some rather strange and unexpected adventures. He intended to correct something that happened yesterday, that had gone all wrong the first time around, and by the time they leave for Tuesday (via that old fashioned time travel route of drinking until they pass out and waking up in the future) he's sure it's all been sorted. When DQ and his buddy SP get back to his apartment midday Tuesday, it looks for all the world like there's nothing there except a knife and fork. As I said, the details need some filling in, but I think you get the idea. Now that story doesn't, I think, generate imaginative resistance. But a grokking concept, TELEVISION, is used in a way inconsistent with the underlying facts. One might ask at this point whether Brian's own theory also over-generates, predicting imaginative resistance at this point when none is to be found. The answer to that is that it doesn't, though the epicycle to prevent that prediction may or may not have been added to the official story yet.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/19/2003 10:21:00 PM
The Age sadly continues its slow slide into mediocrity. This is too bad, because it used to be a world-class newspaper, but it now seems to think that a couple of pages of originally sourced news, a few (largely predictable) opinion columns and several pages of wire stories a good newspaper make. Today they decided to reprint Robert Kagan's WaPo OpEd from a week or so ago, already torn to shreds by Brown's own Josh Marshall, arguing that claims that Bush, Blair and Howard lied about Iraq's WMD capacity are a giant 'conspiracy theory'. Kagan's argument relies on the premise that critics of the unholy trinity are saying that not only they lied, but so did the UN weapon inspectors. And that would be, not to put to fine a point on it, a lie. I'd go into greater detail about where Kagan is wrong, but I'd basically just be repeating what Josh said, so if you care mightily about these matters, go read his reply. If The Age has to find old foreign right-wing opinion pieces to reprint, they could at least try to find half-way decent ones. But really I'm not sure why they bother. There should be some kind of political balance on the opinion pages, but there's no reason why they can't find domestic right-wingers to write original pieces in defence of the war. For all their flaws, Australian conservatives will usually display more intellectual honesty than their American bretheren. (Well, perhaps that's why they had to import a column defending pre-war WMD claims.) In better news, The Age does feature a cool extended interview with the Go-Betweens. The Go-Betweens are playing in Richmond next week and it should be a fun time. "I've got tickets, to the best show in town..."
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/19/2003 10:20:00 PM
I was thinking a little about quantifiers for various reasons last night, and I ended up being so confused I had to write a blog entry about it. If you listened to what some philosophers, yours truly included, taught their undergraduates, you'd think we spoke a language in which (1) and (2) were synonymous.(1) Some cat is beautiful (2) *Some beautiful is cat.Some days it is amazing that philosophers can make any useful contribution to linguistics. So let's try and get a little clearer about just what role 'some' plays. It isn't a quantifier, as philosophers normally think of that term. Rather, it's a determiner, which combines with an NP (or other phrases?) to form a quantifier phrase. The quantifier in (1) is the phrase 'some cat'. And the QP, as is widely known, can be treated as being the same type as a name - a function from predicates to truth-values. So is there any such thing as unrestricted quantification? Possibly yes, in one sense, and possibly no, in another. The yes sense first. None of the dogmatic assertions in the previous sentence were meant to be inconsistent with the idea that (1) is an unrestricted quantification over cats. For all I asserted, an utterance (1) could be true just in case some cat somewhere in the universe is beautiful. It's agreed on all sides (I think!) that this is rarely the speaker meaning of (1). The speaker meaning of (1) is usually that some salient cat is beautiful. When pushed I usually agree with those who say this is also part of the semantic meaning, but for present purposes I want to bracket that issue. Let's agree with those who say that the semantic meaning of (1) is just that some cat is beautiful. (That looks so plausible written like that!) It's still the case that the quantifier in (1) is restricted to cats. All cats now, but still cats. The question is could there be an utterly unrestricted quantifier? Some may think that the quantifier in (3) is such a quantifier, but I doubt it. The problem is that (3) is too similar to (4), and (4) looks like it is restricted to quantification over things, and I rather doubt that 'thing' in English is an utterly trivial noun.(3) Something is beautiful. (4) Some thing is beautiful.So I conclude, somewhat hastily, that quantifier phrases in subject position are always restricted. This is hardly a new conclusion, which is why I feel safe moving at such speed. What though of QPs in subject position, as in (5)?(5) There is a cat who can play the piano.To start with, this 'there is' construction is very hard to get a handle on. Here's a relatively simple question about it that I don't know if anyone has solved. (I don't know if anyone's noticed it before, though I suspect they have. As I may have mentioned, I'm away from my books right now.) I assume for now that the prepositional phrase 'who can play the piano' is part of the quantifier phrase. We will come back to that below. We can make all kinds of sentences using the construction 'There' + copula + QP. Focus for now on such sentences where the QP has 'no' at its head. In some of these sentences the copula is most naturally singular. In others it is most naturally plural. For example, (6) is more natural than (7), but (9) is more natural than (8).(6) There is no way to rescue the princess. (7) ?There are no ways to rescue the princess (8) ??There is no Bengals supporter in Sydney. (9) There are no Bengals supporters in Sydney.I have no idea why this would be so. Here was one thought I had that doesn't seem to work. Imagine an atheist using the problem of evil to argue against the existence of any gods. She would probably use (10) when addressing a monotheist, but (11) when addressing a polytheist. (Bracket for now concerns about the problem of evil as an argument against multiple gods.)(10) The famine in Africa is yet more proof that there is no god. (11) The famine in Africa is yet more proof that there are no gods.So, I thought to myself, maybe the difference is that we use 'is' when the audience expects that if there is any, there is one, and 'are' when they expect that if there is any, there are many. But this can't be right. American football fans are thin on the ground in Sydney, and Bengals fans are thin on the ground wherever one looks. If there are any there, there is probably just one. And if there is one way to rescue the princess, it wouldn't be surprising at all if there is some relatively minor alternative to that plan. So I don't really know what to make of this. Any suggestions would be most appreciated. Philosophers are notoriously weak on issues to do with plurality in language, so I might leave this one to the experts. What I was originally interested in was whether the 'There' + copula + QP construction could be used to get an utterly unrestricted quantifier. At first glance, it is plausible that (5) contains an utterly unrestricted quantifier - it says the world contains a cat that is capable of playing the piano. As we might put it in formalese:(12) Ex (Cat(x) & Can-play-the-piano(x))But if that's right, then (13) should be a fine sentence, and at least in discourse-initial position it is very odd.(13) There is a cat.We can say that in the middle of a conversation. Imagine we are looking through the normal directories for animal pianists. After I've ruled out all the monkeys, whales, giraffes, pandas and antelopes, you might say 'There is a cat', (speaker) meaning (5). But it would be odd to start a conversation. Now there are good pragmatic explanations for why this would be odd. But in the spirit of early morning experimentation, let me propose a (bad?) semantic explanation. I suggest (13), despite being a somewhat well-formed sentence, does not express a complete proposition. Rather, I think, the proposition expressed by a sentence 'There' + copula + QP + PP is generated by replacing the 'there' in subject position by the QP, and dropping the copula and the head of the PP. So (5) expresses exactly the same proposition as (14).(14) A cat can play the piano.And (13) expresses the same proposition as (15).(15) A cat.What advantages does this have? Well, not many, but it does explain why (13) is odd in discourse-initial position, and after all we have to try and find some way of writing a semantic entry for these 'There is' sentences. There are also some disadvantages - including some potential counterexamples hidden on this page - but for now that's my morning suggestion. I would try and write more, including about the differences between using 'there' as a null subject and 'there' as a demonstrative - the stress patterns in the two are notably different I think - but I've probably made enough blunders for one entry.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/16/2003 09:35:00 PM
I knew I should have been spending more time web-surfing if I wanted philosophical ideas. Wo has a post up defending the impossible solution to the puzzle of imaginative resistance. It's a good post, and I mostly want to just recommend you go read it, assuming like me you've been irrationally not checking his page. But I did have four supplementary comments to make. 1. Tyler Doggett pointed out to me that my preferred solution really is a lot closer to the impossible solution than I suggest in the paper. Tyler's right about this, and I need to correct my existing draft to make it clear that I'm in the same area as the impossible solution. I think my little Quixote story is a pretty powerful argument for something like that solution. 2. There's an odd asymmetry in the premises I use to argue for my solution. I think my Quixote example is an example of the same kind of phenomenon as the paradigm imaginative resistance cases. But I don't think the continuity errors that Wo mentions, or the disagreement with reality errors that I mention (e.g. the Connolly Norman example) are the same kind of phenomenon. When I say this is a premise, that's to say I don't have an argument for the asymmetry here. I think I probably need one. 3. I'm not really as confident in my judgments about Tamar's Tower of Goldbach case as I sound in my paper. What I think is most striking is that intelligent people, most prominently now Wo and Tamar, can differ so radically on the case. I'd be more interested in having an explanation of that than actually having a firm judgment about the case. I've tried a few ideas for explaining the disagreement, mostly trying to link it to possible disagreements about the metaphysics of mathematics, but nothing is sounding very plausible. 4. After reading Wo's defense I'm a little more convinced that the impossible solution is compatible with most of the alleged counterexamples (singing snowmen, parentless children, etc) but I still think the science fiction cases, especially the time travel cases, defeat it. It seems to me there are fairly obvious impossibilities in some time travel stories that just don't matter. These are the hardest cases to explain if you think impossibility is at the heart of imaginative resistance, and I still think they defeat that solution. But maybe I'm being stubborn here. On this fictional note, happy (belated for some) Bloomsday! UPDATE: JW pointed out in the comments that the paper on imaginative resistance I keep referring to here isn't exactly easy to find, since I forgot to add it to my papers page. So I'll put the link here: Virtuous Resistance.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/16/2003 09:32:00 PM
One of the things I've noticed while on holidays is how much I depend on other people's work for having philosophical ideas. Without being attached at the eye to an internet terminal, preferably with open links to many of the sites highlighted on the philosophy papers blog, I struggle to come up with new ideas to talk about. So instead I'll recycle an old idea. Inspired a little by this post on the 617 blog, I was discussing at a party the other night whether Neo should have taken seriously the possibility that he's in a second-level matrix. There was some consensus that this would be a reasonable worry for him to have, when next he gets the chance to think about it. Later that night I was having some odd but not too remarkable dream, somehow not at all about The Matrix. The only noteworthy features were some outbreaks of prettier than expected singing, and for no apparent reason a shower of purple tinsel/confetti, that provided some fairly spectacular eye candy. Metaphorically speaking. When I woke up I was trying to explain this dream to some friends, but they didn't seem too interested, largely because my explanations seemed so incoherent. They were much more interested in getting me to see the blue glow reflected off the edge of a flower, that you could only see if you looked just the right way. Of course I couldn't get the angle right, and it looked like a pretty ordinary flower to me, which led to some frustration. And at that point I woke up again. And here I started to have real philosophical worries. If I can be in a state that feels for all world like waking from a dream (or almost feels this way - see below) and it still be another dream, do I have a special reason for having sceptical worries at just that moment? It certainly seemed at the time that scepticism then would have been much more defensible than a general philosophical scepticism. As it turns out, I was awake, so my rather insistent involuntary belief that I was awake was true. (Or if it wasn't it's been a very complicated dream since.) But was it knowledge? Or, if you think if it's a different question, if I'd said at the time "I know I'm awake" would I have spoken truly? For a very different question, try running through a few popular accounts of knowledge to see whether on those theories my belief that I'm awake constitutes knowledge. I suspect there's a few ways of reading the safety requirement on knowledge such that it doesn't. What really convinced me that I was awake was that I was having tactile sensations. I think, though I don't really know how to confirm this, that I don't have tactile sensations in dreams. I'm not even sure that I have auditory sensations in dreams. Certainly my memory of dreams doesn't contain vivid audial representation in the way it contains vivid visual representation. I end up knowing that the auditory surroundings are one way rather than another, but it often seems as if this is by an unmediated, unaccompanied, direct awareness of someone speaking or singing or whatever. In the real world such awareness is constituted by, or at least accompanied by, sensations. I think this isn't the case in my dreams, so I think I now have a good way of testing whether I'm awake or not - hitting myself in the head and seeing whether I hear or feel it. Scepticism refuted using folk science! Maybe I shouldn't need other philosophers to provide philosophical ideas. Maybe I should be able to get ideas from my environment. But it's not that easy to do that, I've found. Ideally I'd get more philosophical inspiration from other creative works. But that hasn't been working. I've seen two bands since I got here - Machine Translations and Architects in Helsinki - and while both were very good, neither exactly encouraged distinctively philosophical ideas. (Aesthetics question: Is it a good thing or a bad thing that both of these bands sounded exactly the same on stage as on their recordings? I was a little bit disappointed by this, but only a little since their recordings sound very good. But maybe I was being unreasonable, and it's perfectly acceptable to reproduce the recording studio on a pub stage.) I saw an excellent performance of Hamlet, but while that does raise philosophical questions I think I've considered most of them previously at some time or other previously. (Economics question: how well would a book on philosophical issues in Shakespeare sell? It could be used as a textbook for particularly precocious, not to mention precious, young philosophy students. And it could be fun to write.) And I saw some recent Aboriginal paintings, and was again convinced that Australian Aboriginal art is the best art of the past thirty years. When I'm feeling particularly ungenerous I can almost be convinced it's the only worthwhile art of the past thirty years, but that's probably a slight exaggeration. Still, that doesn't raise distinctively philosophical issues either, so I'm still a little lacking in inspiration. Maybe it's just a side-effect of too much holidaying and too little work!
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/15/2003 09:39:00 PM
I'm not getting a chance to post much here because I'm spending more time holidaying than philosophising while in Australia. But it seems in this respect, like so many others, I'm being unfashionable. The philosophy papers blog is more active than I ever remember it being, with several new interesting papers posted each day. (Much thanks to Paul Neufeld for keeping it running while I'm down under.) And despite Squawkbox's rather irregular behaviour, there's a long comments thread below in my (poorly referenced) post on conditionals and disjunction. I'd been hoping a long and interesting comments thread would develop at some stage; maybe I should go on holidays more often.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/11/2003 09:37:00 PM
The other day I wrote a short post on conditionals noting a strange feature about the behaviour of some conditionals in disjunctions. The idea for the post came up in some working through some of the details in Chris Gauker's Words Without Meanings, but I thought it was a different point to the one's he discussed. Going back and actually reading his chapter on conditionals closely, it turns out it was actually a rather similar point to one he was making. I draw the opposite conclusion from the data to Gauker, but it's similar data. I must have picked up the idea and immediately forgotten from where I picked it up. So I should have credited him at the time. My bad. At the end of the General Theory Keynes has a brief homage to the power of ideas. I don't have the text in front of me, so what follows is a rough paraphrase of the most famous line. Madmen in authority, who hear voices telling them what to do, are just recycling the ideas of some economist from a generation past. It seems Keynes wasn't quite right. Sometimes they are not in authority. And sometimes philosophers not economists. And sometimes thirty hours ago rather than thirty years.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/10/2003 07:05:00 PM
The New Scientist has a fascinating series on human nature. There are several articles by philosophers, including Dan Dennett, Stephen Stich, Dominic Murphy, Owen Flanagan and Simon Blackburn. Sadly these are often no more interesting than the other articles. I though the interview with Alison Gopnik on infant knowledge was especially interesting, if by necessity a little superficial. Gopnik mentions some neat experiments my colleague David Sobel did, which was generous of her. She also, amusingly, manages to mangle some Greek mythology, confusing Theseus with Odysseus if I've remembered the stories correctly.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/08/2003 07:22:00 PM
Conditionals and Assertion I've long been worried by the following fact. Very often, when (~p or q) is assertable, so is p -> q, and vice versa. This is so widespread that we might worry that it is to be explained by the simple fact that (~p or q) entails p -> q, and vice versa. (I'm using -> for if...then, in case this isn't obvious.) Now, I don't want to be making a simple confusion of assertion conditions with truth conditions here. I'm not at all worried by the flat-footed argument that we have a preservation of assertion conditions here, so we must have a preservation of truth conditions. But I do think that when it seems that two sentences have the same assertion conditions, that's something that needs explaining, and perhaps the best explanation of it is that they have the same truth conditions. One might respond that p -> q can't have the same truth conditions as (~p or q) because their negations have different assertion conditions. But an argument that simple would just be a confusion between truth and assertability, and not worth the electrons it's reflected off. Why the concern then? Well, largely because I'm in print rejecting the equivalence between p -> q and (~p or q), and I would like the things I'm in print rejecting to be wrong. Not the deepest reason ever, but a reason. Anyway, here's a little argument that the equivalence (or near equivalence) in assertion conditions between p -> q and (~p or q) is not grounded in a truth-conditional equivalence. Consider the following argument.1. (A & B) -> C PremiseNote that this argument is not assertability preserving. We could be in a position to say, for example, If you fill the room with gas and light a match, the room will explode, while not being in a position to say If you fill the room with gas, the room will explode, or if you light a match, the room will explode. In that case, all the steps before the last one are assertability preserving. Letting A, B and C be as defined in that example, we can say 1, 2, 3 and 4. But the inference to 5 is mistaken. Now that should be an interesting fact. If (~p or q) is equivalent to p -> q, then we would expect that we could just substitute one for the other in a disjunction. But that's what we cannot do here. This isn't a knock-down argument, but it is I think a little evidence that we should be looking for a pragmatic explanation of what (~p or q) and p -> q have in common, rather than what separates them. This is hardly a new conclusion - there's a Stalnaker paper from I think 1975 trying to explain why the assertion conditions for (~p or q) and p -> q might be the same even though their truth conditions are different - but I don't think I've ever seen anyone argue quite this way for Stalnaker's approach.
2. ~(A & B) or C From 1
3. (~A or ~B) or C DeMorgan from 2
4. (~A or C) or (~B or C) Distribution from 3
5. (A -> C) or (B -> C) From 2
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/06/2003 05:51:00 AM
Naturalness in Semantics I've been reading Chris Gauker's book Words Without Meanings to review it for Notre Dame Philosophical Reviews. It's very interesting, in no small part because Gauker has such a different view to everyone else. It's somewhat revealing that the view he's arguing against, that "the central function of language is to enable a speaker to reveal his or her thoughts to a hearer", is so entrenched that it doesn't even have an -ism associated with it. I've been playing with truism, or expressivism, or communism as names for it. The last isn't too bad, because what's central to the view Gauker's criticising is that language is for communicating thoughts. Gauker doesn't believe that, because he doesn't believe in what I think of as thoughts. It also means that I can say truly that the profession is over-run with communists. And no one else is using communism for anything else these days. I can see how this would have been misleading 15 years ago, but that kind of communism is dead and buried. Communism is dead; long live communism. (If I could do subscripts in HTML I'd put the subscripts on those two tokens of communism to disambiguate a little.) And now we can link up with other dubious renamings to ask whether, for example, communism has a distinctive ideology? I don't think I'll use this in the review (so any readers from NDPR - don't panic!) but for here I'll use communism as a name for what Gauker simply calls The Received view. One of the problems with communism is that it assumes that there is such a thing as mental representation. Gauker thinks that thinking doesn't involve manipulating propositions. The key argument against mental representation is a Kripkenstein/Putnam content scepticism argument. For some reason Kripkenstein isn't cited, nor is Goodman, but the argument should be familiar. There's too many interpretations of any purported mental representations that fit with any constraint on interpretation for any particular one to count as the content of the mental representation. The constraint Gauker focusses on is that beliefs should be mostly true. (In fact he generously spots the communist the premise that we can identity the true beliefs prior to interpreting them, though I doubt even communists believe anything that strange.) But any similar constraint, that beliefs should be reasonable, or understandable, or consistent or whatever will suffer from a similar weakness. This should all be familiar, and we Lewisians have a familiar answer to it. Among all the interpretations that satisfy the kind of Quinean/Davidsonian constrains that Gauker considers, only a handful assign natural meanings to each of the words in the language. Most of the deviant interpretations are, to put it mildly, deviant. They assign meanings like "being either blue and identical to o1 or not blue and not identical to o1" to simple words like blue. The correct interpretation of a system of representations is the one that (a) satisfies whatever Quinean/Davidsonian constraints that we settle on, and (b) assigns meanings that are as natural as possible to the lexical simples. Gauker considers this response, which he quite rightly characterises as a preference for interpretations that "carve nature at the joints", and has a rather dismissive response to it.But this cannot be right either since we can certainly think about properties and kinds that do not carve nature at the joints such as dwellings, songs, dictators, and surprises, and our thoughts about these cannot be reduced to thoughts about properties that carve nature at the joints.If, dear reader, you were hoping for an argument for the striking anti-reductionist claim at the end of that quote, your hopes will be dashed. This is taken to just be common knowledge, and indeed I suppose it is a pretty common opinion around the traps. But what of the more central claim, that the properties these words latch onto do not themselves "carve nature at the joints"? This seems in a way misguided to me. It's an important part of the Lewisian theory that, somehow or other, naturalness comes in degrees. This might be because it's just a primitive fact that some properties are more natural than others, or it might be because various properties stand in relations of greater or lesser proximity to the core natural properties. (I think Lewis preferred the latter reason, I prefer the former, but not much turns on this.) So dwellings, songs, dictators, and surprises may not denote perfectly natural properties, but the properties they denote are more natural than some. Don’t all surprises have more in common, objectively speaking, than things that are surprises on Sundays or murders on Mondays or tea-parties on Tuesdays? This is just what we mean when we say that surprise carves nature at a joint. (If I knew more anatomy I'd make a little joke here about it being a not very central joint, more like a metatarsal than a knee, but I don't even know whether a metatarsal is a joint, so I won't risk making anatomical jokes.) Anyway, the whole point of this wasn't to just complain about Gauker, or to stand up for communists, but to see what people thought about a certain kind of theory. I quite like the Lewisian theory, that we solve problems to do with radical under-determination by appeal to objective similarities in nature, and that these similarities don't just help us distinguish ELECTRON from SCHMECTRON, but also SURPRISE from SCHMPRISE (where of course schmectrons and schmprises are generally but not always electrons and surprises). This all seems to me very plausible metaphysically and semantically. One particular reason it appeals to me is that it seems to get just the right amount of indeterminacy in semantics, but that's a story for another post. But here Gauker, who for all his radicalism is not utterly insensitive to mainstream opinion, and certainly is a first-class philosopher, is basically just dismissing it. Is Lewisian semantics really that far from respectable opinion nowadays? I don't mind too much if it isn't that respectable. I quite like having radical views, especially when I'm right. But it would be a little disappointing to find out everyone else is so ignorant or misguided.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/05/2003 09:43:00 PM
My evil paper was accepted for PPR today. I'm rather pleased about that, because I do like the paper, and there's not much I could do with it if PPR didn't take it, because few journals will take long commentary pieces on papers published in other journals. It was a little harder to write than may appear at first. Trying to write a reply to a paper by Adam Elga is non-trivial in a few respects, because one has to keep up both in terms of the quality of the philosophy and in terms of the quality of the writing, especially of the humour. There's one compensating benefit, which is that because Adam's always so clear, there's no painful exegesis to do before launching into philosophy. But still trying to keep up is no trivial matter. I think I mostly succeeded this time, but then I would think that, wouldn't I? Behind all the details, and all the jokes, there is a relatively serious matter to the paper. I think, following Keynes, there's a very important difference between risk and uncertainty. It's a slight exaggeration, but one way of conceptualising how important the distinction is is that from my perspective the person who knows how probable p is has more in common with the person who knows whether p is true than she has with the person who has no evidence either way as to whether p is true. Indifference principles threaten this neat picture, because they suggest that we can get to a real probability of p, not its objective chance but still a single precise probability that is objectively correct (relative to a body of evidence) on the basis of ignorance about the evidence. That, I think, was the real problem with traditional indifference principles, not the mere problem that they were inconsistent. The inconsistencies look like a technical problem that need a technical solution, and after a few false attempts I think Adam's solution is the right one. (I still make some technical objections in the paper, but you could live with them if they didn't hint at a deeper problem.) If there was only a technical problem here, it would be solved. But there isn't, there's a philosophical problem here too, and no amount of care and attention to the details will solve it, only a theory that blocks any inference from ignorance to probability.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/04/2003 11:39:00 PM
Paul Neufeld has been posting updates to the philosophy papers blog for three days now, so hopefully everyone is checking those pages without little reminders here. If not, there are three days worth of philosophy papers for you to peruse.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/04/2003 07:09:00 PM
Stars Stars and Stars It was a comfortable enough flight over that I spent more time sleeping than doing things worthy of note. Surprisingly enough, it was The Iliad that kept making me drowsy. The various battle scenes were fine to stay awake through - though I hadn't realised just how horribly detailed they could be. The problem was old King Nestor. Nestor's role, for those who aren't familiar, is largely to try and calm the tensions in the Achean camp, and his main weapon is the long-winded speech. It didn't seem to help much with Agammemnon and Achilles, but it inevitably worked with me. By the middle of the story, all I had to hear was, "Then good King Nestor rose" and I was sound asleep. Maybe if I hadn't slept so much I would have figured out more about stars. But maybe not, for I think I was a little stuck just where I was. Here's the basics. (For background on stars, see Ted Sider's papers here and here. Be warned though, this is possibly the most esoteric philosophical question I've ever thought about, and that's not a trivial comparison class.) Ideally, we'd like to define F* as being F minus maximality. But that won't do for two reasons. First, it suggests that when F is not maximal, then F* = F. And that isn't always right. Let F be the property of being human or weighing more than sixteen stone. This is not maximal - it's not always the case that the large part of something that weighs more than sixteen stone does not weigh more than sixteen stone. But nor is it the case that F* = F. A large part of me is F*, but it is not F. Second, this kind of conceptual subtraction in general is not defined. (I think Lloyd Humberstone has a paper on this somewhere, but I don't quite know where. Wiggins makes quite a bit of this point in his response to Parfit in the 3rd edition of Sameness and Substance. That was the best part of the new edition I thought.) If F can be analysed as G and H, then F minus G is just H. But where F cannot be so analysed, F minus G is not clearly defined. The problem is that there's nothing remotely like the unique factorisation theorem for concepts or for properties. What we'd like is that F minus G is the property H such that H and G is equivalent to F. But there are too many such properties H. There's a few ways we might try to discriminate amongst them, mostly using strong appeals to naturalness at crucial points, but as far as I can tell the general problem is hopeless. And I have a suspicion this territory has been worked over in the literature, so I won't go through it all here. Let's try getting to starring more directly. First hypothesis: An F* is something that massively overlaps an F. This gets the right result in most cases, but it doesn't work in general. In fact, massively overlapping an F is neither necessary nor sufficient for being an F*. Against necessity: imagine a ball with a small lump on one side. The lump is not massive, but it is big enough to make the ball something other than a sphere. Consider the part of the ball apart from the lump. It is a sphere*, for it has everything necessary for being a sphere other than being maximal, but it does not massively overlap a sphere. Against sufficiency: Cusack is the heaviest man in Ireland. But not by much. He is only a few ounces heavier than Lenehan. If Cusack's right hand were suddenly to fall off, Lenehan would be heavier. Let F = is the heaviest man in Ireland, and let a be the mereological difference between Cusack and his right hand. Is a an F*. It seems to be not. It does not have what it takes to be the heaviest man in Ireland, for it is less heavy than Lenehan. But it does massively overlap an F. An F* is not just a duplicate of an (actual or possible) F. This is I think a necessary condition for being an F*, but it is not sufficient. The counterexamples to sufficiency are easy. I'm a duplicate of a possible uncle, but I am not an uncle*. Still, we do seem to have a necessary condition here, and that may be worth something. What we intuitively want for a definition of star is something like the following. A thing a is F* iff if a is the right kind of thing to have maximal properties, it has F. The last conditional is not a material conditional, so we can't easily use it in an analysis. But we can do something. The kind of thing that's apt to have maximal properties is just a thing that does have some or other natural maximal property. (I'll come back to why there has to be a restriction to natural maximal properties here in a bit.) Roughly, then, an F* is something that if it has any natural maximal properties, it is F. Say an object is pretty iff it has any natural maximal properties. Here's a first pass at trying to define F*, at least for cases where F is reasonably natural. Another little definition that will be helpful. Say F is intrinsic to the Gs iff being F entails being G and the following holds. Any bijection between the Gs in w1 and the Gs in w2 that maps objects onto duplicates always maps Fs onto Fs and non-Fs onto non-Fs. (That's actually a little rough. For some purposes we need to also say that for any collection of objects the fusion of their images under the bijection is a duplicate of their fusion. I'll assume that where necessary.) A lot of extrinsic properties are nonetheless intrinsic to the Gs for suitable G. (Every property, I think, is intrinsic to the things - that's sort of a weak version of the truthmaker principle.) For instance, the property of being the heaviest man in Ireland is intrinsic to the men in Ireland. Here's my attempt then at getting F*. Let G be any natural maximal property such that F is intrinsic to the Gs. Let a be some object in a world w that massively overlaps a pretty object. If a is pretty, then a is F* iff a is F. If not, let b be the pretty object. Let P be the set of pretty objects apart from b in w. Let w' be a world in which a duplicate of a, call it a', is pretty. Consider any bijection from the Gs plus a in w onto the Gs in w'. If a is F*, then a', the image of a under the bijection, should be F. The reason is that a' is just like a in all respects necessary for being F, it is an intrinsic duplicate and the world is just the right way for a' to be F, and since a' is G, and G is a natural maximal property, a' is pretty so it is apt to have maximal properties. That much all seems relatively uncontroversial, I think. Let me now make a bold conjecture. If for all such G all such bijections map a onto an F, then a is an F*. The little argument above was that this is a necessary condition for being F*. The hypothesis is that it's sufficient. I don't really have an argument that this is sufficient, which is why it is a particularly bold hypothesis. I do, however, have something that may be a counterexample. In fact I may have two. (An extremely bold hypothesis in that case.) Let F be the property of being the best hitter in baseball. Right now, I presume, Barry Bonds has that property. Let a be a large part of Barry Bonds, say all of him less one hair. I take it that a is F*, and as far as I can tell, my theory delivers that result. But what of poor c, which is the mereological difference between Barry and both of his hands. I think c is not F* - it is not at all the right kind of thing to be the best hitter in baseball, for it has no hands. But I can't immediately see a G such that being the best hitter in baseball is intrinsic to the Gs, and any suitable bijection does not map c onto the best hitter in baseball. The worry is that being the best hitter in baseball might not be intrinsic to any group more coarse-grained than the things, so there'll be no bijections of the type I described, so on all such bijections c will be mapped onto the best hitter in baseball. Maybe I'm wrong about that, so the bold conjecture might be right. And maybe c really is F*, the intuitions here are not particularly clear. A different kind of problem arises with properties like being the mereological difference between a human and its longest hair. Note this is maximal, but we don't want to say an object with this property is pretty. The difference between me and my longest hair, call it d, has this property, call it F, but it is not pretty. That's why I restricted the definition of prettiness to those things with natural maximal properties. But now consider d minus its longest hair - call that e. Surely e is F*. But there's no way at all for my definition of starring to work in that case, for it is only defined for cases where the things that are F are pretty, or at least where they could be pretty. I'm actually not too worried about that. Maybe I don't have a definition of starring, but necessary and conditions for being an F* for cases where F is reasonably natural. That would still be progress I think, though maybe not much progress.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/04/2003 07:08:00 PM
About to be off to Melbourne. If everything goes right it's 34 hours door to door. I seem to remember it used to be quicker than this, but 34 it now is. The main aim for the journey, apart from sleeping and thinking about stars, is listening to Derek Jacobi's reading the Fagles translation of The Iliad. If there are lots of Achean and Trojan examples in my papers for the next few months, you know whom to blame. A quick update on the Australian politics story mentioned below. The newspaper article Jacob was relying on said that tomorrow's Newspoll will have bad news for the Labor opposition. The Age says that it will show a 3 point rise in Labor's 2PP vote, so the 2PP vote is now only 51-49 to the Coalition. Apparently that's with a fall in both Labor and Coalition primary vote, so it's not great news, but it's not awful news either. Lots of people have won from 51-49 down 18 months out from an election. (Though it's worth noting there's no incumbency boost to opinion poll numbers in Australia, if anything there's often a small 'protest vote' in opinion polls, so you'd like the opposition to be at least at 52 at this stage of the cycle before you felt they were even.) And The Age reports that the fact that Labor isn't in front will trigger a Beazley challenge, which I'm not sure is a good idea, but sort of continues the parallel with the situation the Coalition faced in 1994. Anyway, the main take-home lesson from this is never trust anything from a Murdoch newspaper anywhere in the world that reflects badly on left-wing parties, at least not without something like independent confirmation. I was going to leave a list of other blogs I'd recommend you read while TAR is on light posting while I'm in Australia. But instead I think it's better to recommend that more people start blogs. Now that there's a Boston area philosophy blog, what about New York, or New Jersey, or Melbourne? (Or anywhere else, but I think those are the three main non-New England areas of TAR readership.) Anyone starting, or for that matter continuing, a philosophy blog is encouraged to use the comments boards here to promote it.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/02/2003 11:32:00 AM
I think I figured out how to restate the intrinsicness principle that Andy and Jim are looking for. (See this post for background to what I'm talking about, and links to the original paper.) They think the following principle is plausible, and it is.
If A and B are duplicates, and A and B have any phenomenal states, then they have the same phenomenal states.
This gets out of the worry about A or B not being maximal, because then they won't have any phenomenal states at all.
A similar move can be used to define content internalism, I think. Narrow content is shared by duplicates who have any contentful states at all. Or is that too weak, because it allows for swampmen? Not sure.
What I'd like to be able to do is use this trick to find a general way of defining Ted's * operator. As stated it's defined by conceptual subtraction. An F* is something that has all the characteristics necessary to be F except (possibly) being maximal. This makes sense if F is factorisable into maximality and some other stuff. And the probability that this is true for all maximal predicats strikes me as being roughly 0. (+/- about 1.) So we need a more general definition of the * operator. When F* is meant to be intrinsic, then it's easy - being an F* just means being a duplicate of some (actual or possible) F. But that won't do for defining uncle*, or, if you are a gung-ho, let it all hang out context externalist, it won't even do for defining rock*. Hopefully I can figure this one out one of my four plane rides tomorrow.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/02/2003 03:04:00 AM
Jacob Levy writes that he is worried that Australia, like Britain and Canada, is turning into a one-party state. Since I'm about to be in Australia, it's probably time for another Australian politics post.
Basically, I think Jacob's fears here are overstated. (At least with respect to Australia. With respect to Britain and Canada, they may be justified soon enough.) The ALP's position in Federal politics right now is much better than the Coalition's was when Downer was Liberal leader. They are closer in the polls, more people support them on the issues, and they have co-operative and popular state governments in place in every state. (And they haven't been out of power for as long, though that's a mixed blessing.) Of course by the time that parliamentary term was over, the Coalition had won one of the biggest wins in Australian history. This isn't to say that Simon Crean is another Downer, or the ALP will have a thumping win next election, or even that they're likely to win, but it's much too early to judge that the ALP can't win.
In any case, the dangers of one-party rule, which is what most concerns Jacob, are much ameliorated when different parties control the state and Federal parliaments. At least, the concerns that he sees as most pressing are not that pressing. I'm guessing this wasn't his major concern, but there is one problem starting to emerge.
As long as Labor controls the states and the Coalition the Federal govt, smart young operatives on the Labor side will move into state politics and smart operatives on the conservative side into Federal politics. This drift won't be as strong on the Labor side, because there's always some temptation to go for the big prizes in Federal politics. But you'd expect all the talented players on the conservative side to be in Federal politics. As far as I can tell, that's exactly what has happened, with the result that the state oppositions are remarkably short of talent. And at the state level, where people are more inclined to vote on the basis of apparent competence than on the basis of ideological agreement, that's a recipe for disaster. It's a nasty spiral to get into I fear. Again, history says that you can get out of this trap - Labor was in a similar position ten or so years ago after all and they eventually climbed out - but until the Liberals can convince their more talented young operatives that they'd rather spend their formative years in state opposition than federal government, it could be a long haul.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/02/2003 02:54:00 AM
The RSS feeds have moved. Here are the new links. Juan for finding these, and to Wytheville Community College for (intentionally or otherwise) hosting these feeds. When I get back from holidays I'll try and find a more durable solution for this problem, possibly involving a move to MT.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/01/2003 12:19:00 PM
Papers blog is up. Two things worth commenting on. (Well, perhaps more than that, but two things I have comments on.)
I think this paper went up back in the dark ages, perhaps as far ago as last Wednesday, but somehow I only caught it now. Andy Egan and Jim John wrote a short paper, largely a critical survey, on problems intrinsicness poses for representational theories of phenomenology. Roughly, the puzzle is that (intuitively) phenonemology is intrinsic and content isn't, so by Leibniz's Law phenomenology can't be identical with content. But as stated this isn't a pressing puzzle, because there's a pretty powerful argument against one of the intuitions.
Phenomenology is extrinsic, for the reasons Ted Sider sets out here. The mereological difference between me and one of my hairs has no phenomenal character, but its duplicate in a world where I lack that hair has lots and lots of feelings, few of them to do with the missing hair.I guess this is just a technical difficulty, and the puzzle they are getting at can be restated easily enough, but I'm not entirely sure how to do it. Maybe they can follow Ted's suggestion and use stars everywhere as a way of restating the trilemma they are most interested in. But I suspect that's just a matter of noting that the problem exists rather than actually solving it. There's still clearly a problem because the respects in virtue of which phenomenology is extrinsic are still different to the (alleged) respects in virtue of which content is extrinsic. So I don't think this changes much about the underlying dynamic. But Andy and Jim (and everyone else in the relevant literature) shouldn't be using the concepts of intrinsic and extrinsic here.
Geoff Nunberg has an article largely about TLAs in which he doesn't use "TLA". By the way, is it TLAs or TLA's? It's not a possessive, so you'd think an apostraphe wouldn't be appropriate, but as thrice seen in this sentence, some apostraphes are just for contraction. And there sort of is a contraction there I guess. But by that logic, the singular should be T'L'A', which it manifestly isn't.
posted by Brian Weatherson 6/01/2003 02:05:00 AM