Six Reasons Why Philosophy Can Be Frustrating

Philosophy can be really frustrating sometimes. Here are six reasons why.

1. It just seems that some philosophy problems are created (ex nihilo as well) just for having something to be frustrated about. The naming problem in the philosophy of language seems to be one of them: this is the problem where philosophers fret about how do proper names ('Socrates', 'Obama') refer to the bearers of these names. "They just do" obviously isn't a good enough answer for philosophers. In cases such as this, a philosophy student has to sometimes try to care about how pressing the problem is. Perhaps it's not altogether a ridiculous question to ask, if you frame the question as a sub-question which will tell us more about the nature of our thoughts; but unless you bear in mind the ultimate purpose of the question, philosophy can get quite tiresome. 

2. It seems that some philosophers are just missing the point. Take the vagueness problem as an example: this is the one where philosophers wonder whether 'Peter is tall' is a true or false statement when applied to Peter, whose height is just between what you would typically call 'tall' and 'short'. Some philosophers think it's a problem because if you answer that Peter is both 'tall' and 'short', you would end up with a contradiction (p ^ ¬p). In my view, this problem does not arise when you consider how language is used (e.g. you assume that 'tall' is used relative to a conventional standard of tallness) or reject the idea that sentences can only be either true or false; this is a problem for how logic can encounter difficulties in modelling reason, and not a genuine real problem inflicting the universe. I don't believe many philosophers actually conceive of the problem in the latter view, but there isn't a very strong impression on me that there is an acknowledgement in the discourse that the problem ought to be treated in such a way. There are many other examples, especially in the area of metaphysics, where often little attention is paid to how people use language, and the nature of the discipline itself. 

3. Philosophers often use problematic concepts in arguments without coming up with an account first. I know it is is impractical to give a full account of all the fundamental concepts in presenting an argument, but this nonetheless does "grind gears". This includes the following: the correspondence theory of truth, the bivalent view of truth, the notion of knowledge (hardly it is clear what knowing means, especially in philosophy of mind and psychology), the thesis that there exists real moral truths and the notion of reference. Although one can foresee asking philosophers to be more elaborate means longer and duller philosophy texts, this seems to be a necessary evil that philosopher students have to bear with. 

4. Very often it feels that no philosophical progress (if there's such a thing) can be made without hammering at the "pillars" of your belief. I suppose this is connected to the third point; you cannot make significantly more satisfying arguments without changing how you understand the very basic concepts. This is similar to what is achieved in the cognitive revolution, the movement in analytic philosophy and the movement in pragmatism. Perhaps this is the less frustrating of the five problems; if you are given enough space and support to think freely, this can actually be a very strong motivation for doing philosophy. 

5. It's always difficult answering the question "what did you learn?" from a philosophy discourse. While you may learn as a by-product certain factual information (e.g. that Hesperus and Phosphorus are other names for the planet Venus), since most of philosophy is non-factual it seems hard to say that you've actually learnt anything. Soft skills, perhaps? But we do want to say that philosophy is good in itself, not just good for something else. But do we really want to say that "I haven't actually learnt anything from philosophy, but it's all good fun"? 

6. When there's too much quoting and history going on. Maybe I'm wrong, but I find it unhelpful if there is a significant amount of quoting and history going on in an argumentative piece of philosophy text. It's certainly interesting to set the background, but it's not clear what has been stipulated necessarily has to re-appear in what you stipulate, especially when the historical context does not affect the soundness of your argument. This is partly why I didn't like how some political philosophy courses go about - why must you say that Edmund Burke argued that 'traditions are valuable' when you can give the same argument independently? This is the exceptional case when I find an additional meta-level of thinking less appropriate: arguing a case just seems more satisfying than examining how a case has been argued. Arguing a case is a job for philosophy, but examining how a case has been argued is a job for the history of philosophy. 

Not that these problems will stop me from doing philosophy, but becoming aware of the source of these frustrations help me reinstate my motivations. 

Nick Pappers on Philosophy, Poetry and the Individual

Are philosophers and poets (or artists) really that different?

Do the differences really boil down to subjective and objective "perspectives"?

This really fascinating interview of Nikolas Pappers by BOMB Magazine [LINK] pushes us to reflect on the aims and nature of philosophy, art, poetry, and our existence. There's a good amount of Plato and Nietzsche in there too, if you're interested.

A Few of My Favourite 3AM Philosopher Interviews

A few of my favourite 3AM Philosopher Interviews
(Last updated 19/11/2013)


With Gillian Russell [LINK]
I'm always most interested in knowing how philosophers answer Richard Marshall's first question of 3AM interviews, which asks them why they've decided to become philosophers. In this case, I loved how Gillian gave a simple down-to-earth answer to the question (which I would probably give something similar myself). She also made a good point: there are always going to be stressful days (no matter what you do), but it's the promise of the initial fascination (with a career or subject) returning that gets you through.

Like Gillian, my interest in philosophy of language (and in general, philosophy which draws from the empirical sciences) stems from the initial motivation that they are more tractable than other areas, such as ethics and aesthetics.

The interview includes a good introduction to a good few philosophy of language topics (analytic-synthetic distinction, Quine/Carnap debate).

With Nickolas Pappas [LINK]

With Amie Thomasson [LINK]
This interview reminds me that there are philosophers out there who are working on common sense metaphysics. The queerness of metaphysical questions and theories can sometimes make you feel that the entire metaphysics enterprise is just misdirected, confused and ultimately fruitless. That's when the link from metaphysics to common sense is all the more valuable, so we remember why we started off the inquiry in the first place.

Beyond Logic

Before I was introduced to the world of academic philosophy, I used to entertain the following idea quite often: there are always things in this world that we don't know about or cannot understand, given our limited capacities. From that, I skipped carelessly to the conclusion: anything is possible. For how can you say for sure that a certain phenomenon (e.g. that ghosts exist) is impossible, when it could just be a case where you failed to know enough?

When I began venturing into 'professional' philosophy, the answer to my question seemed immediately obvious: logic. Anything is possible, except for that which is forbidden by logic. For example, a ball cannot be black or white all over, we can never draw a square circle, and a triangle can never have four sides.

I admit that I wasn't a rigorous thinker. I couldn't think of examples such as these at the time. But for some reason, I was not 'psychologically' convinced. For instance, I would hesitate if someone asked me to bet me and my family's life (say for a million dollars) that it is impossible to draw a square circle, or that it is impossible to find a married bachelor. I wouldn't take that action. If it is as William James says - that belief is measured by action - then you can certainly come to the absurd conclusion that I don't believe in logic.

You may say that it is irrational not to place such a bet, or that I suffer from an extreme inferiority complex with respect to my intellect. After all, it does seem more of a psychological issue that I am so unconfident in my ability to reason. But let me just push this a little further:

Why can't we have ideas or existing things which are beyond what logic permits? What makes us always right? If it is possible for us to get a mathematical proof wrong, why is it not possible for us to get the more basic bits wrong? In other words, why must we have certain things which are necessary?

To solve this problem, I find it useful to see logic as as a model.

If logic, like mathematics, is a tool to model the universe around us, then the results it generates are fallible. Just like how classical macroeconomics models have failed to predict stagflation, logic - as a model - can fail to predict about facts of the universe. And when logic (as a language) fails, we get paradoxes, such as the Liar Paradox*. So maybe within logic, there are things which are necessary, and not everything is possible. But we shouldn't expect that if something is forbidden by logic, it cannot exist in any form in real life. (there's this famous demonstration where someone 'showed' that a triangle can have three right angles by drawing it on a non-Euclidean space - e.g. a basketball)

I certainly don't mean that we should be expecting to be able to find a married bachelor anytime soon. But I'm still sceptical as meanings of the words 'bachelor' and 'married' can shift in real life. Also, it needs to be said that all reasoning (including my train-of-thought as I write this entry) is captured by logic - if not logic, then grammar, or syntax. Anything illogical is very likely going to be meaningless, since logic plays a very important part in our thoughts (not everything illogical is meaningless - just think of how comedy often makes use of logical contradictions).

Hence, it's not crazy to be sceptical about whether logic tells us everything about possibility and necessity. But if we reject logic altogether, none of what I've just written should make hold any force since it relies on reasoning.

*'This sentence is false.' - as Tarski has shown, this paradox remains as long as we use our natural language which contains self-referring terms.

Posted with Blogsy