Skepticism and the Matrix

The skeptic argues that none of our beliefs are really justified, because we have no way of knowing that the world we perceive is the "real" one (e.g. we could be in the Matrix).

The Skeptic's Master Argument:

1. Most of my knowledge about the world depends upon the reliability of my perceptions (e.g. I 'know' I have two hands, because I can see & feel them).

2. It is possible that I could have all the exact same conscious experiences that I'm having now, even if none of them were "true" perceptions (e.g. I could be in the Matrix, and never realise it).

3. Trusting in my perceptions is not justified, unless I can prove (at least beyond reasonable doubt) that they are perceiving reality (i.e. prove that I'm not in the Matrix).

4. I cannot prove beyond reasonable doubt that I'm not in the Matrix.

Therefore, 5. I cannot truly know that I have two hands. (Or, more generally, my beliefs about the world are unjustified.)

"Isn't that a bit improbable?"
The most natural response (the first time you come across the skeptic's argument) is to say "well sure, anything's possible, but it's surely not very LIKELY that my whole life is an illusion!?"

The problem with this response is that it begs the question. There is no way for us to assign probabilities to these rival metaphysical hypotheses. Of course realism SEEMS more likely to us, but this judgement is made based on assumptions we have picked up from our perceptions and everyday life. In other words, realism only seems more likely if you've already assumed realism to be true. If judged objectively, there is no possible evidence which could suggest that realism is ANY more likely than anti-realism, because all our subjective experiences would be exactly the same in either world.

My Solution:

I would answer the skeptic by identifying various different "worlds" that we can talk about, and then asking which of these worlds we are refering to when we claim to have knowledge.

Particularly, I want to distinguish between the "Objectively Real World" (or RW), and the "Common World" (or CW). To explain these terms and make this distinction clearer, consider the scenario portrayed in the Matrix movies. In this case, the RW is that which is ruled by the machines, which humans are blissfully unaware of (forget about Morpheus & co for the moment). The CW, by contrast, is the world inside the Matrix.

It is this matrix-world that humanity have in common, that people talk and argue to each other about. Moreover, I suggest that it is this Common World that is the appropriate domain of knowledge, rather than the external RW outside the matrix. Consider Joe, who just got fired (and knows this fact). One might argue "well, he didn't actually get fired, since none of it is REAL", but I think that rather misses the point.

All knowledge is about some particular world, and purports to represent that world accurately. It thus allows us to explain (& perhaps predict) things about that world. For Joe, who knows he just got fired, which is the relevant world? What events is he trying to explain? What sort of future events is he trying to predict? The answer is evident: he is concerned with the world of his experience, the world where he lives and interacts with other people. In short, he (and his knowledge) is concerned only with the CW, not the RW. As Joe's belief (that he got fired) accurately represents the state of affairs within the CW, we must consider it to be true within the context of the CW. There is no reason to deny that Joe does indeed have knowledge - it is simply knowledge about the Common World, rather than knowledge about the Objective World.

Just in case you doubt that knowledge and truth properly belong within a particular framework, consider another example: Bob is talking to Bertha, and says to her "I had this dream where I was walking down the street..." - and suddenly Bertha interrupts, shouting "Liar! You were lying in bed asleep!"

Bertha's response is quite obviously inappropriate in this case. She is imposing an impractically strict notion of truth, restricting it only to the "real" world, which proves to be a serious (and pointless) obstacle to meaningful communication.

I suggest that the skeptic is making the same mistake. By demanding that our knowledge be about truths of the "Objectively Real World", the skeptic is missing the whole point of knowledge and communication. We are not generally interested in discussing some abstract RW. Instead, normal discussion is concerned with (and takes place within the context of) the Common World which we share and experience. Whether it is "objectively true" or not is irrelevant. Propositions about it can be true within the appropriate context, and that is what matters.

Conclusion:
We can have knowledge about the world of our common experience. This crucial and undeniable point is overlooked by the skeptic. In the end, all the skeptic can say is that we cannot know whether the world of our common experience is the "objectively true" world or not. But this is of no great concern, since in our day to day lives, we are not really concerned with some abstract notion of objective truth. Instead, we try to make sense of this world we find ourselves in. No easy task, of course, but not nearly so grim as the skeptic makes out, either.

Update: I notice that Prof. David Chalmers has some similar ideas.

Words & Meanings

It seems that an awful lot of needless confusion and pointless arguments could be avoided if people would bear in mind the difference between a superficial word-symbol and the concept which it refers to.

I came across a really good example of this in a philosophy book I was glancing through a few weeks ago. They pointed out that the age-old question of "Does a tree falling in an empty forest make a sound?", hotly debated for several millenia, was nothing more than an empty semantic quibble. The answer merely depends on what you mean by the word "sound". If you are using the word to refer to the concept of physical sound-waves, then the answer to the riddle is a simple "Yes". Alternatively, if by "sound" you intend to refer to the subjective conscious experience of an agent 'hearing' something, then the answer is just as obviously "No".

There is no deep mystery here. Just pointless muddle and confusion arising from a lack of distinction between words and their meanings (reference), which can all too easily lead to unconscious equivocation between two quite different concepts.

I think that this problem is particularly prevalent when people start to talk about ethics / moral philosophy. All too often I hear people arguing that morality must be subjective, because different people (or cultures) follow different moral principles (i.e. have different moral beliefs) as a matter of fact.

But what is meant by the word "morality" in this context? There are (at least) 2 distinct possibilities, and it is crucially important to distinguish between them. Firstly, there is what I call sociological morality, which merely refers to whatever general code of conduct a person or group adheres to. In this sense, it is trivial to observe that morality is 'subjective'. All this statement says is that different people behave differently from each other, and have different beliefs. Well, duh.

It is the second broad definition of "morality" that we are interested in... the type I call philosophical morality: what general code of conduct we OUGHT to adhere to. In this sense, the fact that different people have different moral beliefs is quite beside the point (after all, the same can be said for scientific beliefs) - our beliefs do not affect the truth of the matter (whatever it may be). It may simply be the case that some (or most, or all) of us are mistaken in our beliefs.

So this "argument from relativity" does not actually show (philosophical) morality to be subjective or relative at all. The argument is fallacious, resting on a equivocation between two different meanings of a single word-symbol. If used consistently, it is found that the conclusions drawn are either trivial, or false.

However, the argument from relativity does actually demonstrate one genuinely useful fact: that IF "moral facts" or "objective values" exist, they are at least not immediately observable or evident to human beings. The controversy over morality makes that much clear.

So that demonstrates one linguistic cause for confusion in moral debate. But that's not all. People often suggest various alternative definitions for "morality", and then argue that because we cannot 'prove' that they're wrong, morality must be subjective (or at least unknowable).

For example, Bob might decide to define "moral" as meaning "whatever will fulfill Bob's desires". Now, if Bob happens to enjoy murdering or raping people, then it seems that murder and rape are (according to this definition) "moral", and there's no way we can 'disprove' this. Well, that's true enough. True, but utterly inconsequential. The problem is that Bob is using the word-symbol "moral" to refer to a totally different concept from what the rest of us are talking about. Bob could just as easily redefine "elephant" to mean "fish", and then argue that "elephants live in the ocean" is a true statement.

So this silly wordplay, this redefining of words to refer to entirely different concepts from what the rest of us are using a word for... well, it's really not a very meaningful exercise.

One final observation: there is a way for Bob to avoid this criticism. Instead of stipulating a new definition and arguing from there, he may instead uphold an ambiguous but generally-accepted old definition (eg morality = "what people OUGHT to do"), and posit his definition as being the true meaning of the old phrase. That is, he might argue that "what people OUGHT to do" = "whatever will fulfill Bob's desires".

This strategy certainly seems a lot harder to dismiss. After all, how can we prove one way or the other what we 'ought' to do? What does 'ought' even MEAN, anyway? Actually, that last question is the one I consider to be at the very heart of the issue, and it is that which I will tackle in my next post.

Argh, enough already!

Yeah, I'm all done with political philosophy. I couldn't be bothered with Locke's "2nd treatise on government". I did at least study Hobbes a little bit, but I can't be bothered writing up a post about him. He's not as interesting as Rousseau anyway. The test is tommorrow... just gotta write 2 essays for it, so I'm hoping for good questions on Rousseau and Locke (on Tolerance), with Hobbes as backup. Should do the trick. Hopefully.

Anyway, I'll be writing about more general philosophical topics from here on in.

Update: the test went well. I quite enjoyed it actually... Rousseau really is fascinating :)

Rousseau and the "General Will"

I think the most fundamental aspect of Rousseau's philosophy is his understanding of "freedom". He considered this to mean the ability to conform to a rule we have given ourselves (even if we now don't want it). Is an addict more free if you give him open access to the temptation, or if you instead restrict him, thus helping him to achieve his ultimate goal of independence (from the addiction)? The classic example is of Odysseus asking his men to tie him securely to the ship's mast, so that he might resist the lure of the Siren's song. Thus Rousseau's seemingly oxymoronic notion of being "forced to be free" begins to make sense.

Rousseau begins with the observation that "Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains". Rousseau identifies this as the "fundamental problem" which political theory must explain: how can you create a community which protects all its members, yet leaves them all as free as they were before? He does recognise the need for such a community: natural liberty can only be enforced so far as your individual strength permits, whereas civil liberties are backed by the might of all. We give up our natural liberties in order to gain civil liberties, and Rousseau considers this a (better than) fair trade.

So how is our freedom maintained? Rousseau suggests that this is possible due to what he called the "general will". People are capable of considering matters from various perspectives. Our usual perspective is that of self-interest ("me"), and this gives rise to our private will. But we can also consider matters from the perspective of the citizenry generally ("we") - and it is when offering opinions from THIS perspective that we contribute to the general will.

The key idea is that when people join together into a community and legislate to enforce their common interest (i.e. the general will), then each member has done nothing more than provide himself with the laws he wishes to live by. And this, as discussed above, is precisely what Rousseau believed was 'freedom'.

An idealisation of this process can perhaps be seen through the famous "Prisoners' Dilemma". If each individual pursues their self-interest, then both are worse off than they would be if only they could both somehow be forced to co-operate (the cost of being exploited is too great for either to risk altruism without the guarantee that it would be reciprocated). In this situation, their common interest is in BOTH participants co-operating, and so the "general will" would advocate some sort of imposition (e.g. a law, backed by harsh penalties) to ensure that both did co-operate after all. Given such an idealisation, I would agree with Rousseau that (necessary) force has indeed led to each individual's maximal realisation of freedom.

But the real world is not so simple. In this case, both individuals were perfectly equal, and had equivalent and aligned interests. But what about conflict? How does the general will arise from a diversity of interests? Certainly it is not mere majority-vote: such could lead to exploitation of minority interests. Rousseau recognises this, and insists that the general will is concerned with the "common interest" only, whereas the majority will is merely the sum of particular private interests.

Rousseau suggested that the former may be derived from the latter: if you cancel out the various positives and negatives, then the general will remains as the "sum of the differences". Exactly what is meant by this, is not entirely clear, but here is my analysis: Private wills come into conflict when you have one person wanting to benefit at the expense of another, by means of act X. When you consider their wills collectively, then, you will find that the (positive) benefit of X perceived by one will is tied to the (negative) expenses faced by the other. In such cases, what you need to do is cut out X entirely.

This is simple enough when the costs and benefits are balanced. But what if the benefits (to one person or group) outweigh the costs to the other? Do we still cancel them out of the general will entirely? Ultimately, yes. Rousseau insists that "every authentic act of the general will, obligates or favours all the citizens equally". Just because something benefits you more than it costs me, does not mean that it is in any way in my interest. And if it is not at all in my interest, then it cannot be in OUR "common interest". And if it is not in our common interest, then it is no business of the general will. Thus minorities are well protected from exploitation by the general will (at least in theory).

Slightly more dangerous though, is Rousseau's implication that minorities may be mistaken about the general will. The general will is what is best for everyone (by definition), yet we don't always know what this is (obviously enough). If everyone truly wants the general will (whatever it turns out to be), and the majority knows what it is (a dangerous assumption!), then by forcing minorities to follow the majority decision, the minorities are simply getting what they "really" want! This reasoning might work if only we had some sort of reassurance that the majority really do know what's best, but I'm far from convinced that this is the case.

It is an important aspect of Rousseau's theory that everyone remains equal under the social contract. Rousseau's theory requires the "total alienation" of us and all our rights, to the community. From here, Rousseau makes the stunning assertion that "each, in giving himself to all, gives himself to nobody" and argues that because we (as a member of said community) gain the same rights over everyone else that we ourselves gave up, we thus "gain the equivalent of all we lose". This is quite an important point, I think. Not only do we retain our freedom (though exchanging natural liberty for civil liberty), but we also retain our natural equality with all others. There is no individual person (eg the monarch) invested with the role of 'sovereign', which is a notable improvement upon past Social Contract theorists (like, say, Hobbes). The rights of the people (individually) become the rights of the people (collectively). In this respect, observing that we've given ourselves to "nobody" makes a certain kind of sense.

To finish up, it is worth observing the limits to the general will. We've already noted that it must always treat all citizens equally. Furthermore, the general will can never apply to any particular object or individual (this is why the executive/government is necessary - to apply the general laws suggested by the general will, to particular instantiations). Finally, in the original social pact, citizens only alienated those rights "whose use is important to the community" (I'm not sure how Rousseau reconciles this with his earlier notion of "total alienation" though!). So the general will would never be able to co-opt individual rights which are of no practical import to the community at large.

Did Machiavelli's "Prince" live in the Hobbesian State of Nature?

I just thought of that question a moment ago. It does seem to have a lot of potential. Machiavelli is infamous for his amoral teachings on how to build and maintain a powerful state, but I'm not convinced that such harsh judgements are justified. Yes, Machiavelli advocated expedient use of cruelty, dishonesty and other such vices, but consider his reasoning:

"Since men [other princes] are a contemptible lot and will not keep their promises to you, you likewise need not keep yours to them". Very much the style of reasoning Hobbes describes as rational, within the fickle State of Nature (as he envisaged it - rather more pessimistically than Locke!). You cannot trust others to treat you well, so there's no reason for you to be nice either - such naivety would merely serve to open yourself up to exploitation.

But note also Machiavelli's disclaimer which immediately follows: "if men were good, this rule would not be good". So it is not that Machiavelli is immoral, or even voluntarily amoral. Rather, he recognises that people within the Hobbesian State of Nature (as were Renaissance princes with regard to each other) have no real choice; they are forced by rationality into acting amorally, for it is the only route to self-preservation.

Our private lives are different though. We can reasonably expect our friends and family to keep our trust, and so we ought to keep theirs in return. Machiavelli would not contest this at all. However, I do think Machiavelli is too pessimistic about inter-principality (or international) relations, for he seems to just accept this state of mutual distrust, this "State of Nature", as being inevitable and immutable. So from that position, he (reasonably enough) offers his advice on how to survive in it.

A more interesting subject matter, I believe, would be to ask how princes could break out of their macro-version of Hobbes' SoN. At the micro level, Hobbes answer is the "Social Contract" (binding individuals into a state). Is there any reason why this very same solution could not apply at the macro level (binding states into a super-state)? Could not the princes join together in a common community, giving up their rights to a sovereign body, to the benefit and security of all?

An interesting question, I think. Translated to a modern setting, we could perhaps interpret the United Nations as attempting to play such a role (though of course it is as yet nowhere near powerful enough to enforce its decrees upon rogue states).

I wonder what Machiavelli would make of it all? Would he be a multi-lateralist after all - if only it were a viable choice? This certain seems at odds with the common perception of him. Nevertheless, I think it is a very real possibility.

Update: For all the Googlers out there wanting to know where Machiavelli (literally) lived, the answer is Florence.

Beginner's Locke

John Locke's Letter Concerning Toleration is an important early-modern argument for religious toleration, but the principles behind it can be more widely applied (fortunately, for the sake of its relevance to modern society).

Background (Locke's Social Contract theory):
Locke envisaged a pre-political society, known as the "State of Nature", whereby all men are free and in full ownership of their "natural rights" (to life, liberty and property; and the punishment of those who infringe on others' rights). The lack of security and justice within the SoN motivates its inhabitants to join together (by free consent) and form a common community. Each citizen then gives up various rights to the community as a whole (particularly the right of punishment), so that they may all be better protected.

By this conception of the State as arising out of the consent of free men, it is logical to deny the political power any right to interfere in purely private matters.

The inward/outward distinction:
The purpose of civil government is thus clear: to protect and promote our civil interests, i.e. life (health), liberty and property. Government is, according to Locke, concerned only with outward things (but note that this includes both negative and positive rights, such as welfare).
By contrast, the cultivation of the soul, culture, personal identity and other such inward matters (essentially anything which affects our inner life), is considered to be no business of the state.

This seemingly sensible principle has some rather radical implications. It allows the redistribution of income, but disallows the spread or promotion of culture by the state. Public museums, art galleries, liberal (non-technical) education, etc, would all appear to be forbidden.

The arguments for toleration:
Locke had several arguments advocating toleration. One was simply practical - the government cannot change people's inner selves (e.g. convert them to being "true believers"), it is a practical impossibility (so Locke asserts), so there is no use in trying. Salvation can only be obtained through a free choice, so attempts to force people to adopt the "true faith" are vain and even anti-religious. Whilst this is a reasonable argument against religious intolerance, it lacks wider applicability. Persecutors may be more interested in simply repressing the outward expression of that they detest, rather than actually changing the thoughts & beliefs of their target. Such repression is an achievable possibility, so further reasons must be given against it.

The theoretical argument outlined above (regarding the birth of the State and thus the purpose of political power) is now of the utmost importance. It implies that even if backed by majority opinion, a magistrate is not entitled to "correct" the beliefs or identity of a "mistaken" minority group. Civil government has no right to impose knowledge in its citizens. Identity is not the business of the State.

Exceptions - intolerance is sometimes necessary:
Locke expressed the basic principle: "All is tolerated so long as it does not tend to domination over others", which is intuitively pleasing, but on closer examination faces many of the same problems as Mill's "harm principle". The question of what does or does not constitute "domination" is too ambiguous and open to interpretation, for this principle to have any hope of consistent application.

Another general principle Locke expresses is that all (religious) practices should be tolerated unless they present a threat to the proper functioning of the State. On this basis he denounces Catholicism, for a Catholic's duty to the Pope could induce disloyalty to his prince. Locke also refused to tolerate atheism, arguing that without a higher power to hold atheists to their oaths, their promises could not be trusted.

A reviewer from phil-books summarised nicely how we can generalise from Locke's specific concern with religious toleration, to a more general principle of tolerance:

If a state is created for the purposes and by the methods Locke suggests in his Second Treatise, then the men who consent to form such a state retain a significant negative liberty of belief and action. Any of these beliefs or actions must be tolerated by the state unless they fail Locke's criteria for religious toleration, namely, unless they are "prejudicial to other mens rights" or they "break the public peace of societies."

A new blog...

My first post. I'll use this to briefly introduce myself and outline the purpose of this blog, before I get into the real stuff.

I'm a philosophy undergraduate student at the University of Canterbury, New Zealand. My main academic interest at the moment is moral philosophy, but I'm currently doing papers on political philosophy, epistemology & metaphysics, and (next semester) logic and semantics.

This blog is basically just to allow me to splurge out whatever random thoughts pop into my head. Every now and then they may even take the form of coherent arguments. I suppose it could come in useful as I study for exams too, come to think of it... I have a political philosophy test next tuesday, so you can expect to hear some thoughts on Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau over the next few days.

Other than that, I plan to soon post a bit about "skepticism" in epistemology, and also cover various themes in moral philosophy - particularly Alonzo Fyfe's theory of Desire Utilitarianism. Every now and then I might discuss some issues in New Zealand politics, etc.

My favourite blogs/websites are Crooked Timber, Butterflies & Wheels, and Arts & Letters Daily, so you can expect to hear sporadic comments about things I've come across there and elsewhere.