Monday, 18 November 2013

Notes for a talk on the meaning of life

I am giving a short 20 minute talk some time between 7:45 and 8:30am tomorrow in Scholars on campus on the meaning of life. It is one of those things that non-philosophers find disappointing about academic philosophy that this subject doesn't come up all that often and I must say that I feel rather fraudulent.

Exploring the Meaning amongst the Doing
Or: What we talk about when we talk about ‘the meaning of life’
1: The problem of talking about ‘the meaning of life’
Douglas Adams, Deep Thought, 42 and the ‘Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything’.
We already know the absurdity of that being the right answer. And yet we also realise that there is something very odd about the question.
Philosophers’ quick ways with such things: declare such issues meaningless via tests of meaning such as the verification principle. Too quick.
2: Making sense of our actions
We explain our actions differently from other happenings. We shed light on / make sense of / justify them.
Two forms of explanation. “Why are you gathering kindling?”.
Either: “I am building a fire”.
Or “I want to build a fire.”
The latter may better fit a scientific explanation but the former is basic.
Rational explanation.
3: Action explanation iterates
“Why are you building a fire”. “I’m cooking / I want to cook a meal”.
“Why are you cooking a meal?”…
We make sense of individual actions by putting them into a broader context. Without limit?...
4: The danger of contemplation
The iteration of practical action explanation stops with what is not (<> cannot be) called into question: eg a local conception of a life. (Links to a sense of identity.)
But at 4am:
“Why am I – do I live as – a chef?”
“Although I am a chef, should I be one?”
For example, for anything I have been told to do by an authority, at 4am I can ask, should I listen to that authority? Eg, the law. Nothing written down actually compels. Nothing is intrinsically compelling. We have to agree to be so bound.
5: The meaning of life?
The problem: without some yet broader context, any project / conception of life could always be questioned.
Hence we want a context for our actions which itself needs no further explanation / justification: the Meaning of Life itself.
But a) the more from a local, assumed conception of a life – eg. being a chef – to a completely general one, the more possibilities are open and hence the stronger the selective justification needs to be. What general conception of a Meaning of Life would enable the derivation of all the different local conceptions of life which, as a matter of fact, turn out about right? (Would it also apply to life on Mars?)
And b) (as above) we have no model for an intrinsically compelling conception of what we ought to do.
6: The moral
The meaning of a life is found only within some local conception of a life. There are limits to disengaged contemplation, explanation and justification: the meaning is in one sense ineffable.
We can only explain the attraction of a local conception of a life to those who already share similar sensibilities.
We demonstrate it. The meaning is in the doing.

Saturday, 9 November 2013

At the Philosophy at 40 at Anglia Ruskin conference

Having only taught a single module (on Wittgenstein) for a couple of years here, I am something of an interloper at the conference celebrating 40 years of philosophy at Anglia. But it is interesting to arrive to see a hugely developed campus and to sit in The Lord Ashcroft building in rather a pessimistic round table discussion of the future of universities (and the future of philosophy). There is a shared agreement that there has been a collapse in the idea of a common good and hence the ground rules for financing higher education (and for that matter, energy supply, the railways, the postal service etc).

In that context, one particular paper from the morning stood out. Mike Wilby gave a paper on natural  inter-subjectivity which took as a starting point the contrast between chimps and small children taking part in cooperative activity. Whilst chimps have a sensitivity of fellow chimps' perceptions in competitive behaviour (subordinate chimps only taking food when they see that the dominant chimp cannot see it) they do not in cooperative behaviour. By contrast, small children are able to play cooperatively from the age of nine months or so.

Wilby took his challenge to be to give an account of essentially shared or mutual mental states in the face of incredulity from the likes of John Searle or Peter Strawson. Considering a case in which two people must cooperate to catch a rabbit, he suggested that, like an individual case, there would need to be some account of a development from a general prior intention (to catch some rabbit or other) to an particular or object-dependent intention-in-action to catch that! rabbit. In the individual case, the obvious intermediate is a perception of a particular rabbit.

Wilby's argument was that none of the three states in the cooperative activity could plausibly be reduced to an individual account. An individualistic version of the prior intention would have to be something like: I intend that we catch a rabbit. But I can only intend my own actions. At most I can intend to make it come about that we catch a rabbit. But such individual intending to make a joint action come about might not be cooperative (Bratman's 'mafia objection') and hence does not capture the cooperative example at hand.

There are also problems also with modelling joint attention in individualistic terms. Wilby suggested a kind of never ending escalation from:
I perceive the rabbit.
I perceive the rabbit and I perceive that you perceive the rabbit.
I perceive the rabbit and I perceive that you perceive the rabbit and I perceive that you perceive that I perceive the rabbit etc etc
But none of these closes off what mutual attention seems to achieve. And there are similar problems with the intention-in-action. Given additionally the complex individualistic model would have to be grasped by the nine month old children who play cooperatively this is surely all better accounted for by the idea of genuinely mutual mental states such as prior intentions, joint attention and mutual intentions-in-action.

I rather liked all this, not least because it provides a further argument against the reductionism of representational theories of mind.

Monday, 28 October 2013

Williams and McDowell on epistemological realism and disjunctivism

I’m teaching epistemology again this year and running through the same anti-sceptical arguments as last year.
  • Putnam’s attempt to show that the sceptical ringer is in some sense impossible – because self-refuting – even though it violates no physical law.
  • Davidson’s argument that our beliefs must in general be true.
  • Williams’ theoretical diagnosis that the sceptic presupposes a substantial and optional theory of knowledge: epistemological realism. Without it, scepticism cannot get off the ground. But it isn’t independently motivated. (And, before we justify scepticism, the fact that epistemological realism implies scepticism is a positive reason to reject it.)
  • McDowell’s theoretical diagnosis of scepticism about other minds and suggestion for a similar source for external world scepticism in the argument from illusion and highest common factor view of experience.
  • Wittgenstein’s attempt a therapeutic diagnosis of scepticism.
This year, more than last year, I see the need to couple the Williams with the McDowell. The diagnosis that scepticism simply assumes epistemological realism – in order to justify the further foundationalist claim that knowledge of the external world must be based on, and be subsequent to, knowledge of experience – seems to promise to head off Descartes’ second and third sceptical arguments. Instead of having to impose some sort of test merely within the neutral (foundational) space of the dreaming OR waking experience, we can say that we know we are not dreaming because we can see the (non-dream) surroundings. This fits the fact that no one is any doubt – in the lecture room – that they are awake (whether sleepy or not!).

But then the lingering worry returns: the sceptical hypotheses themselves seem to impose more severe ground rules for their assessment. I (and my students) recall that invoking perceptual contact with the world is merely an instance of the kind of test one might merely dream that one were applying and passing. So the returning, lingering worry runs: if it would fail were we asleep, what can it show when we are awake?

In this context, McDowell’s ‘Criteria, defeasibility and knowledge’ (and more recent work) does two things. First, it helps show how a picture of experience – the highest common factor – which might help motivate foundationalism is a) merely optional and b) threatens knowledge even without sceptical ringers (all we need is the possibility of everyday illusion; we don’t also need dreaming or brains in a vat). Second, it provides a further and explicit response to the returning, lingering worry.

The latter follows from the idea of McDowell’s disjunctivism. In the bad disjunct (eg, the case that one is dreaming), one’s apparent worldly experiences are merely appearances (whatever dreams comprise) and hence one cannot have knowledge of the external world because one’s beliefs are in no real relation to it. It would be the merest luck were they true. But in the good disjunct (eg. being awake), perceptual knowledge of the external world – which could, with Williams, also be used to justify the claim that one is not dreaming – is differently constituted. No luck is involved in such perceptually based knowledge (and hence it can be knowledge) because the experiences which justify it are necessarily world-involving.

Now the brighter students are persuaded by this only briefly before they raise the further question: but if one cannot tell the difference between the two disjuncts, how does this account help?

My first response – specifically picking up McDowell’s paper – is to suggest that progress has been made. On the rejected highest common factor account, there can be no perceptually-based knowledge because the best that the experience, on which it is supposed to be based, can do is not enough to rule out the additional need for luck for the beliefs formed to be true. On the proposed disjunctivist view, by contrast, there is no luck involved in the good disjunct so knowledge is sometimes possible (and the bad disjunct realistically implies that attempts to know can also sometimes fail). So if one is in the good disjunct, one does have knowledge.

There are then a couple of typical student responses: the first is to say that the indistinguishability of the disjuncts suggests that there is luck involved in being in the good one in the first place and hence then having world-involving experiences. If I understand McDowell here (and I may not), his reply to this is to concede that there is luck in being in a position to have knowledge (eg. to have a world-involving experience on which to base a knowledge claim) but no further knowledge-undermining luck (since the experience is necessarily world-involving by contrast with being a mere appearance).

The second student response is to say that it only helps to be persuaded (by disjunctivism) that, in the good disjunct, one does have knowledge if one also knows whether one is in that disjunct, rather than the bad one, and hence knows that one knows. Now this is a point that McDowell has addressed in recent papers but the Rodl passage he quotes is as clear a statement. It runs (with some additional carriage returns):

The argument (from illusion) is: Whenever I seem to know something (on the basis of perceptual. experience), I might have been fooled. Had I been fooled, I would not have known that I was. I would not have been able to tell my situation apart from one in which I am not fooled. This shows that my grounds do not place me in a position to exclude that I am in such a situation. They do not enable me to exclude that I am fooled.
—The argument supposes that, had I been fooled, I would have believed the proposition in question on the same grounds on which I believe it now that I am not fooled. This straightforwardly entails that these grounds do not establish the truth of what I believe and therefore do not provide me with knowledge.
But when I know something on the ground that, say, I perceive it to be the case, then I would not, had I been fooled, have believed it on this ground, for, had I been fooled, I would not have perceived it to be the case. Hence, when I am not fooled, my grounds exclude that I am fooled: when I perceive how things are, I am not fooled with regard to how they are.
One might object that this grants me grounds that rule out error at the price of making it impossible for me to know whether my belief is based on such grounds. For, when I am fooled, I do not know that I am fooled. So I can never know whether I am not fooled and my beliefs are based on grounds that [establish] their truth, or whether I am fooled and such grounds are unavailable to me.
This objection repeats the mistake: from the fact that, when I am fooled, I do not know that I am, it does not follow that, when I am not fooled, I do not know that I am not. When I know that p as I perceive it to be the case, then I know that I perceive that p. Thus I am in a position to distinguish my situation from any possible situation in which I would be fooled, for, in any such situation, I would not perceive that p, while in the given situation I do.' [Rodl, S. (2007)Self-Consciousness, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press pp 157-8]

This passage makes two key points. First, in reply to the students’ second response, in the good disjunct, one knows how one knows and hence, in the good disjunct, one can know that one knows (since how one knows is good enough because necessarily world-involving). Of course, had one been in the bad disjunct, one would have thought that one knew how one knew and that one knew but one would have been wrong on all counts: wrong that one knew (whatever fact about the world) and hence how one knew (it) and hence that one knew that one knew (it). But, second, the fact that, in the bad disjunct, one does not know has no effect on the good disjunct. ‘[F]rom the fact that, when I am fooled, I do not know that I am, it does not follow that, when I am not fooled, I do not know that I am not’.

It is this last point that is useful with Williams. I can know that I am not dreaming because I can know that I am in perceptual contact with the world. This is the point Williams makes available by denying epistemological realism and the foundationalism of having to base knowledge of the external world on more basic knowledge of experience. But then the lingering worry returns: if such a test of not dreaming would fail were we asleep, what can it show when we are awake? And now the proposal is that the mere existence of the bad disjunct has no implications for our ability to have knowledge in the good case. I am awake and thus know – by normal tests – that I am awake (contrary to foundationalism and hence heading off scepticism). Further, I know how and that I know that I am awake. Had I been asleep, I might have said similar things. But that case is utterly different from this case because in that case I would be asleep whereas in this I am not.

Theatrical determinism

By coincidence, the two plays I have seen in the last two or three weeks have shared the same structural feature. The action of we see in the play itself is largely determined by events which have taken place before it begins and about which we, the audience, slowly learn. (Perhaps relatedly, both were also set within a day and both staged in the round with a single set. All we seem to need is a time and space for talk.)

In Arthur Miller's 'All my sons' (at the Royal Exchange, Manchester), there is a very strong sense of fate (Fate!) playing with the pretensions to freedom of the characters' actions now. It verges on a pastiche of a Greek tragedy. The past even sends a letter to the present day to confound an attempt by one character (and perhaps we almost wish it too) to wriggle out of what has been previously set up.

In Eugene O'Nealls 'Long day's journey into night' (at the Bolton Octogon), there was less of a sense of the past playing havoc with the present as of the characters being unwilling to leave the past alone. Aside from the issue of the younger son's impending diagnosis, the forces of the play are endogenous rather than exogenous. They talk themselves into despair. Ironically in a play which lasted, in this production, 3 hours and 15 minutes, the most striking refrain was the other characters beseeching the mother figure, Mary Tyrone (played by Margot Leicester as someone who looped the start of the next sentence to the end of her previous one), to "stop talking". Indeed.

But it is distinctly theatrical, by contrast with most films, to have the sense that we are witnessing not the action of the play itself but merely it's aftermath. The action is long over before the stage lights go on.

Friday, 4 October 2013

Recovery and Social Justice Wednesday 9th October 2013

Recovery and Social Justice: Transforming mental health at individual, service and societal levels
Wednesday 9th October 2013
Location:Westleigh Conference Centre, University of Central Lancashire

How should we understand recovery? Is it a model for transforming mental health services? Is it a strategy for wider social justice? Is it used to legitimise a reduction in support for mental health service users? How do the US, Canadian and UK experiences differ? This one day conference, hosted by Mental Health Research @ UCLan, will explore the nature and practical consequences of a recovery orientation in mental health for individuals, services and wider society. There will be a particular focus on considering to what extent recovery promotes social justice. This conference will be of interest to those concerned with a critical perspective on recovery and the concrete implications for practice to achieve social change: including service users, carers, advocates, researchers, mental health professionals, commissioners and managers, and third sector organisations.

Speakers will include:
Larry Davidson(Professor of Psychology, Programme for Recovery and Community Health, Yale)
Kathryn Church(Director of the School of Disability Studies, Ryerson University, Toronto)
Karen Newbiggingand Karen Machin (University of Central Lancashire)
Hari Sewell (Senior Visiting Fellow at University of Central Lancashire)
Geoff Shepherd(Recovery Lead at the Centre for Mental Health)
Comensus (UCLan’s community engagement
and service user support group)

For more details contact: Liz Roberts, healthconferences@uclan.ac.uk 01772 893809
To register for a place, please visit the conference website at: www.uclan.ac.uk/conferences
Cost: £80 with bursaries available for service users and carers

Thursday, 26 September 2013

Philosophy at 40: Celebrating 40 years of Philosophy at Anglia Ruskin University

Philosophy at 40: Celebrating 40 years of Philosophy at Anglia Ruskin University

Date: Saturday 9 November 2013

Venue: Lord Ashcroft Building 006, Anglia Ruskin University Cambridge Campus

Standard registration: £20.00; Student concessions: £10.00
Teas, coffees and lunch all included
Optional 3 course dinner with wine: £35 (limited places)

Bookings: Anglia Ruskin Online Store

Conference theme: The Futures of Philosophy

Speakers: Andrew Bowie, Katerina Deligiorgi, Peter Dews, Jonathan Derbyshire, Neil Gascoigne, Colin Harper, Chris Lawn, Chris Horner, Tristan Moyle, Alison Stone and Tim Thornton

Philosophy at Anglia Ruskin University celebrates its 40th anniversary this year! Current and former staff and students will participate in a conference and reunion on 9 November at Anglia Ruskin's Cambridge campus, looking back on past successes for the degree and discussing future themes and directions in the discipline of philosophy. Some very distinguished alumni will return to their former university, including Professor Andrew Bowie, now at Royal Holloway, and Professor Peter Dews, now at the University of Essex.

Philosophy has been taught on the Cambridge campus since 1973. It began as part of a broader European Thought and Literature undergraduate degree which covered the history and culture of many writers and thinkers from ancient Greece to the modern world. These days the course covers key topics in debates about the mind, moral and political questions about the good life and further questions about art, religion and literature. It also fosters crucial skills including clear communication, problem solving and creative thinking.

The Philosophy degree at Anglia Ruskin scores well in The Guardian league table (24th in 2014) and continues to recruit strongly in today's challenging HE context. This is noteworthy in an era of fierce competition and high fees. Students rate the teaching on the degree very highly year on year in the NSS as well, with scores of around 95% satisfaction, well above the national average.

Tuesday, 24 September 2013

A talk for the Chaplain

I've been asked to give an early morning talk, on the 18th November, in a series of informal breakfast discussions by the UCLan Chaplain, Andrew Clitheroe (pictured). I plan to discuss what we talk about when we talk about the meaning of life (to misquote Raymond Carver).

We give much of our lives a purposive or narrative structure. We think of it as involving actions undertaken for reasons which not only explain why we do what we do but also what we do. For example: “Why did you raise your arm?” “I was voting”. Given the wish to vote, raising an arm may be the right and meaningful thing to do. But the general features of action explanation suggest a further question, waiting in the wings: “Why were you voting?” The answer may be an appeal to a yet broader context such as: “I wanted to change the government” or “I was exercising my hard won democratic rights” but in either case, a yet further question may be suggested. Typically, this regress of possible questions and broader contexts does not bother us in the hurly burly of practical action. But sleepless at 5am it may. And then we may wish to invoke a context to give meaning to all our actions for which the further question “Why...?” cannot get a grip. Such a context may be the meaning of life itself.

I will discuss whether anything could possibly fill this role and how we might respond to a negative answer.