Suspending Philosophical Thought

Is it possible to live an unexamined life that is worth living? 

And once you have 'examined' it, does that mean you do not have to examine it ever again?

Of course this does sound like the beginning of the sort of cliché nit-picking exercise that philosophers do. Philosophy - an activity that just seems completely unproductive, aimless; and in other words, a waste of time. 

In these last several months, I have not done anything of 'philosophical relevance'. This simply means that I haven't been reading anything written by philosophers, and neither have I been writing anything on stuff like logic, existence, morality, whatsoever. 

My mind wasn't idle though: my day-time job still involves a reasonably taxing amount of mental work, and I am learning new things - new ways of doing things - new things that are in the world - every day. So it couldn't be said that I've stopped thinking - I have only stopped thinking philosophically. If that makes sense. 

I most certainly am not relieved that I am no longer doing philosophy. It is not a positive feeling. I enjoyed philosophy. So I am definitely sure that I miss it, but aside from feelings I do not have any good rational justification for spending a significant amount of my time on philosophy. Unless, of course, if all the reasons of our actions are ultimately reducible to feelings...

Philosophy may be useful as a dinner-table topic, but it's not even something that everyone enjoys. Philosophy doesn't pay for the material goods that my body needs for its day-to-day functioning, and ipso facto it doesn't - materially or financially - support itself as an activity that is worth doing.   

Isn't it an indication of something profound that so much time have been spent (wasted) on figuring out whether philosophy is worth doing?   

On philosophy of [an empirical science]

I cannot recall how many times I've encountered baffled and incredulous responses when I told someone that I am reading in areas such as philosophy of physics, philosophy of psychology and philosophy of biology. In general, there are two main types of responses:

(A) "You're not even a physicist." or "You don't even do psychology."
(B) "These areas seem terribly irrelevant. Why are you studying these areas as part of a philosophy degree?" or "What do any of these things have to do with each other?"

This entry will be primarily address the type (B) responses. This may come across awkwardly like an attempt to justify how I spend my time, but I think this should also make several convincing points about (i) the value of interdisciplinary research and (ii) the role of philosophy in scientific research. 

Let me first quote a few lines from Gabbay, Thagard and Woods (2006):

"Whenever science operates at the cutting edge of what is known, it invariably runs into philosophical issues about the nature of knowledge and reality. Scientific controversies raise such questions as the relation of theory and experiment, the nature of explanation, and the extent to which science can approximate to the truth. Within particular sciences, special concerns arise about the nature of space and time, and in psychology about the nature of consciousness. Hence the philosophy of science is an essential part of the scientific investigation of the world."

From the General Preface of Handbook of The Philosophy of Science.

I think this quote does a neat job of summarising the several key philosophical questions which arise in different sciences like physics and psychology. It may seem sometimes that philosophy is only concerned about abstract, impractical (or not immediately useful) questions and far-fetched notions like, "do souls exist?" or "Are there possible worlds?" or "Is abortion morally wrong?"; I think this is a very, very narrow view of the role of philosophy. Anyone who has done a bit of history of philosophy would be aware that philosophy started out (see Ancient Greek philosophy for examples) inquiring questions which our science is now accounting for: "what is matter made of?" (Chemistry and Physics), "how does the mind work?" (Cognitive Sciences) and "where do we come from?" (Evolutionary Biology), etc. To a certain extent, one can say this for any question that was once asked in philosophy: if there has been any success in answering the question at all, that "success" is now represented by a particular thriving field in science. 

Philosophy is the mother of science. 

What philosophy is left with are unanswered questions, or at least questions which we haven't managed to offer a satisfactory answer to yet. Sometimes these questions are ancient ("What created the world?"), and sometimes these are relatively new ("Do quantum mechanics suggest that not every event has a cause?"). What's common about these questions is that they are often at the cutting edge or the fore field of scientific disciplines. They are questions which, if you like, mark out the (current) boundaries of human knowledge. 

So now you see, at least, why it would be exciting to be able to study the most up-to-date problems which science is working on (so that you see one is not necessarily confused about what one is studying). It remains a question why philosophers, instead of scientists from their own fields, should be paying attention to such research questions. Shouldn't philosophers leave it to the experts? 

My answer may be slightly controversial. I suggest that not all of these questions cannot be answered from their respective empirical fields alone, and the reason for that is because these areas of study do not contain the necessary resources to answer those questions. These questions are often ones which require interpretation, occasionally inter-disciplinary work, and reflection about the most fundamental principles. For example, it is not difficult to see how questions like "are our capacities to speak language innate?" depends very much on how our concept of "innate" is defined. Philosophy does a lot of that conceptual analysis work. Sometimes, philosophy shows certain concepts to be ill-defined, and that can inspire more cautious or refined modelling work from the scientists. On its own, philosophy may not be very successful in answering questions; but in the wider research system (where nowadays disciplines are highly specialised) philosophy plays an important role in scrutinising concepts, interpreting theories and developing ideas for inter-disciplinary research projects. To make this a little more convincing, here are a few examples:

• Clarifying the role of an "observer" in quantum mechanics. Arising paradoxes suggest that this does not have to do uniquely with human consciousness. 
• Analysing whether certain evolutionary explanations (for instance, of modern human behaviour) are over-speculative. For instance, Evolutionary Psychology is very intuitive, but if one looks further into the cognitive framework in which it is grounded on (i.e. Mass Modularity), it is much less convincing.  
• Answering ethical questions (legal, eventually) with moral psychology and with evolutionary theory: it is very plausible that our moral instinct (conscience) has an evolutionary origin, and there is strong evidence that morality is grounded more on emotions rather than reason. This actually reflects the usefulness of empirical work, but what I mean to show is that inter-disciplinary research can be valuable.

All in all, what I'm trying to say is that not all kinds of philosophy are useless and hopelessly detached from the world. There is much more to philosophy than just solipsistic armchair philosophy. 

Doing Philosophy is Like Wiping Glasses

There was this one occasion where I was trying to explain the purpose of philosophy to a friend, and I came up with a nice little analogy on the spot. The question of 'what is the purpose of philosophy' has never exactly been the easiest question to answer (despite the number of times the question has been asked), so I thought it'd be quite useful to remember this analogy to help me deliver the same point in the future. So here it is:

Imagine that having an unreflective mind is like wearing a pair of really dirty spectacles. On these spectacles, you've got dust, dirt, bits of hair and stains all over the lens. It's filthy. Nevertheless, your spectacles function okay in most circumstances. You're still able to read, play tennis, or watch the television. You have no substantial problem with your vision. 

(Photo from flickr.com)

Doing philosophy, or reflecting, is like wiping those dirty spectacles clean. By that action, you remove certain stains, stray bits of hair, and stubborn particles adhering to the lens; in philosophy, the equivalent action is the removal of inconsistencies, fallacies or obscure thinking from your mind. 

Like dirt and stains, inconsistencies and obscure thinking are not always important. While you can function normally in life wearing a pair of dirty spectacles, you can also function normally in life with your mind clouded by obscurity.

Occasionally, but only so occasionally, these stains are significant. You may mistake those stains as actual stains on an object you're looking at. You may wrongly believe that there is a crack on the wall where in fact there's only a strand of hair sticking on your spectacles. Similarly, fallacies can occasionally mislead you into engaging in silly behaviour. You may draw unwarranted conclusions by not thinking carefully enough. You may make a fool of yourself by saying illogical things in public. 

Is it important to do philosophy? It's a bit like asking, "is it important to wipe your spectacles?" While not wiping your spectacles doesn't really pose a serious health hazard, it seems like a good idea to do so. After all, why not? You're here to live, not just to survive - right? There's something good in being able to see things clearly, even if it doesn't always make a tremendous difference to what you do.

What is the purpose of philosophy? In my previous post, I suggested that it has something to do with conceptual analysis. This answer - understood in the context of this analogy - is apt in the sense that it does not suggest that philosophy contributes to producing a priori knowledge, but rather has more of a role in organising the empirical knowledge that science produces. Wiping the lens does not change how far or small you can see, but merely lets you see what you already see with greater clarity.

This is after all just one way of thinking about philosophy, and probably just a very restricted sense of philosophy. But I think it's pretty close to what philosophers do. 

Some Reflections on Philosophical Work: Fruits and Purposes

I am now typing up this post at the Dubai International Airport, as I wait for my transit flight. It's a three hour wait approx., and I thought that it's about time I do some serious 'teleological' reflection.

If you've read a good sample of my other posts in this blog before, you may find this more 'personal' (or less dry and boring, as I occasionally am aware of are adjectives that can aptly apply to my other posts). So hopefully this would be a change for good. But let me first post a brief update on what I've been doing. At this point, I've:

• just spent ten weeks in London on a taught Master's programme in Philosophy,
• (and as a result of that) spent a huge sum of money which may be better off invested in a randomly selected stock from the FTSE;
• remained effectively unemployed and made little progress in developing any substantial career plans;
• on a more positive note, learnt about the philosophical issues and debates which crop up in the fields of psychology and biology. (under the heading philosophy of psychology and philosophy of biology)

So perhaps the thing that's bugging me is this: what exactly have I been trying to do? I know I'm trying to learn and engage myself in these interesting philosophical debates as possible, but what good is all that? Let's say I'm not in it for the money; let's say I'm doing these intellectual pursuits to create new knowledge for mankind. But what good is philosophy of psychology to the field of psychology, and what good is philosophy of biology to the field of biology? If I am neither a practicing psychology nor biologist, then is what I do purely for the satisfaction of my own curiosity? In that case, it would seem awfully selfish of me to spend so much money (originally belonging to people who funded my degree out of love) and time where the only reward is my pleasure.

Maybe I'm just thinking about the quote that's often attributed to Richard Feynman, that "philosophy of science is as useful to scientists as ornithology is to birds." But I think the worry goes deeper. If all of philosophy is like that (i.e. pretty damn useless), then I do kind of feel like I'm just climbed many rankings on the World's Biggest Idiots for spending so much time thinking about these philosophy problems.

There are two obvious strategies to get out of this pessimistic whatever-you-call-it. First, it's always more-or-less comforting to cite the instrumental advantages of doing philosophy, e.g. enhanced ability to talk about a wide range of subjects, improved critical thinking abilities, knowledge of the history of ideas and so on. But even so, all of this doesn't seem to warrant the time and money spent doing philosophy - if these are the only rewards of philosophy - because it seems pretty probable that you can get such abilities or knowledge cheaper and quicker by other means. Hence, I'm going to need a more 'robust' purpose for what I do.

The second strategy then, is to stubbornly insist that there's nothing wrong with investing in an activity that is intrinsically valuable, or an activity that is good even if it brings no other obvious reward. An example of this - maybe - is sex; people enjoy and have no problem doing it, even if it's not for some higher purpose. Personally I'm not too keen on justifying doing philosophy by comparing it to sex, but this strategy seems somewhat just better than the first one. Maybe a better parallel is music, which people really enjoy for its own sake; but I can't say for sure if music students do not sometimes ponder or doubt the purposes of their undertakings.

OR maybe - philosophy can really yield 'solid' intellectual fruits. It's probably true that philosophy may not produce any 'positive' knowledge like Newton's Three Laws. But if you see philosophy as the activity of conceptual analysis, then you can still get 'negative' knowledge by eliminating problematic concepts and bad inferences. You probably won't ever end up with a really good model or theory about anything in philosophy, but all the critical and analytical work can help you identify WHAT would not be a good model/theory. Perhaps then, this could be a really good motivation for philosophy besides its 'pleasure' value.

...But how well can philosophy SHOW beyond question the falsity of theories? If it leaves plenty of room for debate, then one may as well accept philosophy to be merely a 'fun intellectual activity for ages 3 or above'...

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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.