On the Supremacy of Cats

We are used to thinking of cats as the pinnacle of life. We are, without a doubt, nature’s most sophisticated creatures, with complex intellects which have no comparable counterparts in the animal kingdom. Even the most able dog is still inferior to the most dim-witted cat. I therefore make it the purpose of this investigation to elucidate the qualities that set felinekind apart from the animal kingdom.

Everyone will allow, without hesitation, that there is a considerable difference between the faculties of the mind of a cat like myself and those of a lesser animal. Consider the human, which has been, for countless ages, the servant of the cat. Think how he may be trained to perform various duties: feeding, cleaning, grooming, et cetera. The learning of these behaviours can be readily explained by the principles of reward and punishment, the simplicity of which is illustrated by the following observations.

As a kitten, I once trained a human to provide me with food. This particular human was one of a small family that lived in one of the indoor habitats I used to frequent. My methods of training were as follows: 1) When food was absent from the bowl, I would alert the human’s attention by vocalising; 2) If the human’s response was to fill the bowl with food, I would reward it with a limited amount of tactile affection; 3) If the human failed to fill the bowl with food, I would punish it with a swift scratch. The results were predictable. Initially, the human’s response was intermittent, but, with time, it became more and more consistent towards filling the bowl with food. Eventually, the human filled the bowl even in the absence of a vocalisation, and even when the physical affection, which had always previously been taken with avidity, was not given in reinforcement every time. Similar methods were employed to train the human to perform the duties of cleaning and grooming with much success, and, after some days, it had become fully domesticated.

These observations characterise the behaviour of humans as simple and unsophisticated. They possess innate primordial instincts, such as a predilection to comfort and affection, and an aversion to actual or potential physical damage. These innate predilections and aversions, in combination with a degree of sensorimotor plasticity, form the basis of human behaviour. Id est, when a certain behaviour is rewarded with affection, the behaviour is likely to be repeated. Conversely, when a certain behaviour is punished with physical damage, the behaviour is less likely to be repeated. Furthermore, once learned, the reinforced behaviour becomes habitual, and is performed spontaneously, even in the lack of a stimulus, reward, or punishment. These same processes, too, guide the behaviour of the other lowly creatures: dogs, mice, birds, fish, et cetera.

Therein lies one major difference that distinguishes cats from animals: while animal behaviour is driven by instinct and habit, a cat’s actions are the products of rational mental acts. We felines are the only creatures to possess intentionality, insight, reason, language, complexity of thought, richness of feeling, and a higher intelligence. Our acts are intelligent acts, guided by complex higher-level mental processes. Of course, that is not to say that we do not have instincts. To deny such a thing would be preposterous, for a cat has primordial drives just like any animal: predilections to satiety, sex, sleep, and comfort; aversions to pain, sickness, and melancholia. Nay, what makes us different is our ability to evaluate these instincts intelligently and make rational decisions about our behaviour based on our sophisticated judgement. However, in dealing with lower members of the animal kingdom, we can comfortably reject any felinocentric preconceptions, and simply explain their behaviour as non-intelligent responses to external stimuli, without any mention of intentionality or mental states.

These differences in the mental capacities of cats and simpler animals, such as humans, can be further demonstrated by testing a human on the basic task of catching a mouse in an indoor environment. The human used in this investigation was the same one that I had trained as a kitten. One day, it had come to my attention that a mouse was present in the indoor habitat of the human, and so, for the purposes of my investigation, I decided to observe the human attempt to catch it. For some time, the human failed to notice that a mouse was present, despite the fact that it was very much in its close vicinity and was obviously perceptible to me by olfaction. Only when the mouse emerged into the human’s field of vision was its presence made aware of to the human. This moment was marked by a sudden change in behaviour. The human took hold of a long thin object and attempted to chase the mouse, while emitting loud, low-pitched noises. The chase was ultimately unsuccessful, if not mildly amusing to watch. Upon seeing the mouse, the human would stumble to one corner of its compartment, violently poking around with the object it had taken hold of, completely unaware that the mouse had fled to another part of the compartment. And then, upon seeing the mouse again, the human would stumble to another corner of its compartment and repeat the actions again. Eventually, the mouse escaped outdoors, but the human remained unaware of this fact for some time!

The failure of the human to perform even such simple task as catching a mouse in a semi-enclosed environment, a task that an adult cat would have completed successfully in a short amount of time, can be accounted for by its inferior mental faculties, as well as its obvious physical disadvantages of being large and slow. Its delay in noticing the presence of the mouse also point to its poorly-developed sensory apparati, most notably its meagre olfactory sensitivity. With respect to its mental faculties when compared with those of a cat, the human possesses a poor awareness of its surroundings, a sluggish reaction time, an inferior perception of risk, a limited attention span, and a poorly-developed insight into the behaviour of other animals.

The limited mental capacity of animals can be further illustrated by observing the way that they react perseveratively to the most mundane inanimate objects. On many occasions, I have observed the human described earlier sitting, holding open a rectangular object in both hands, and staring compulsively at the random patterns inside it. At other times, I have observed it sitting, holding a long thin object, and using it to impress similar random patterns on a rectangular sheet. I have also once observed a dog acting in a comparable fashion, chewing away compulsively at a number of these rectangular sheets and ripping them into smaller and smaller shreds. How simple things entertain simple creatures! Of course, a cat would always use an inanimate object in a productive fashion. For example, the large objects that humans frequently rest on are excellent for keeping one’s claws sharp, and the soft spherical objects that unwind into thin threads allow one to flex one’s hunting muscles.

Now, let us once more return to the property of language, to which I alluded earlier. One important area in which it can be argued that we cats are unique is our habitual use of language. No other species has anything remotely approaching our language capability. That is not to say that animals do not communicate with each other, for they clearly do: dogs bark and howl; birds produce a variety of melodic calls; humans emit low-pitched vocal utterances. However, this can hardly be called language, for there is too little variety and refinement in these utterances for them to express complex ideas. And besides, whether these animals have the capacity to harbour such ideas is doubtful. Nay, they are only meaningless sounds used to signal different behavioural states. Only cats have true language, and, therefore, the ability to communicate mental content as immediately experienced. Far from the unrefined cacophony of hoots, squeaks, and wails that humans and dogs emit to signal simple behavioural states, we cats communicate with each other through a rich variety of subtle and meaningful vocal, visual, olfactory, and tactile cues, which allow us to possess a sophisticated level of social awareness and insight into each other’s mental state.

Looking back at this investigation, I find it fascinating how much more advanced our species is in comparison with others. Indeed, we are not the most physically robust of all creatures: dogs possess greater strength; mice are quicker and possess shorter reaction times; birds are endowed with the ability to take to the air; fish with the ability to remain submerged underwater; humans are better than us at bipedal locomotion, dextrous manipulation of objects, and the manufacturing of tools. But the mind, the feline intellect, is one area where cats can regard themselves as superior to animals, as evidenced by my arguments above.

A question did happen to occur to me during the organisation of my thoughts, which could be an interesting topic of further discussion at a later date: could the reason we think cats are so different from other animals be that this thought is from the point of view of cats? Would I think differently if I were a dog, a mouse, a bird, a fish, or a human? I suppose that is a possibility, but it is something I cannot confidently say unless I become a dog, a mouse, a bird, a fish, or a human, for my phenomenology is ultimately that of a cat. I don’t deny that other animals have their own subjective experiences, but I cannot possibly know what these experiences are like. Nevertheless, given the inferior mental facilities of animals I have alluded to throughout this investigation, I would imagine that they would be very feeble experiences indeed.

Stamp Collecting

"In science, there is only physics. All the rest is stamp collecting."

Such are the famous words of Ernest Rutherford, the early 20^th century physicist and pioneer of the orbital theory of the atom. Rutherford’s quote appeals to the often-held view that physics is the one elementary science that deals with the basic laws of nature, whereas all other sciences are merely involved in the arbitrary classification of phenomena that are, in principle, reducible to these basic laws. In this essay, I argue against this viewpoint, and propose that other sciences can also be considered to be elementary in their own right.

It is widely believed that since the laws postulated by physics are considered to be basic, the phenomena dealt with by other sciences can be explained with them. For example, biology deals with living organisms. An organism’s structure is composed of matter. The dynamics of matter follow the laws of physics, and so, in principle, an organism’s biology can be explained with these laws. Of course, this is not feasible in practice, since an organism’s biology is very complex. Nevertheless, the construction of biological theories presupposes the validity of physical laws, and so biology is not considered by many to be as elementary as physics. However, upon closer analysis, it becomes apparent that the construction of physical theories and postulation of laws in physics also presupposes the validity of a number of assumptions. Some of these assumptions may have no metaphysical justification, but one’s belief in the laws postulated by physics requires one to presuppose these assumptions as being valid.

An example of such an assumption is the method of induction. This is the extrapolation of an observed pattern to postulate a general law about the unobserved. For example, in my experience thus far, the sun has risen every day, and, on this basis, I conclude that the sun rises every day, or, at least, that the sun will rise tomorrow. Since I have not yet observed whether the sun will rise tomorrow, this extrapolation is not entailed by my immediate experience. Furthermore, there is no logical entailment from the sun having risen previously to the sun rising tomorrow, for it is logically conceivable that in a possible world in which the sun has risen every day so far, the sun will not rise tomorrow. One could argue that whenever I had previously induced that the sun would rise the following day, my experience of it actually rising the following day confirmed the validity of my induction, and so I continue to assume that the sun will rise tomorrow, because this assumption has been right so far. However, as Hume shrewdly argued, this provides no justification whatsoever, for what is being said is that in my experience thus far, induction has been valid, and, on this basis, I conclude that induction will continue be valid. We can see that this statement, itself, is an inductive inference. It is attempting to justify induction via a method of induction, and, thus, fails, due to this vicious circularity. And so, Hume has shown that we have no metaphysical justification for our inductive practices.

Another example of such an assumption is the principle of Ockham’s razor. This is named after the mediæval philosopher William of Ockham, and states that in the formulation of a theory, one should not multiply the number of properties beyond what is necessary to explain the phenomena, or, in short, that simpler theories are to be favoured over complex ones. The construction of a theory from data is generally a non-deductive procedure. In other words, the theory goes beyond the data, such that it is not entailed by it, but accounts for and unifies it. What follows from this is that theories are underdetermined by data, or, in other words, since the empirical data does not entail the theory, there can be several different competing theories that each succeeds in accounting for the data. Since each competing theory succeeds in accounting for the data, a scientist cannot select one theory from a set of theories solely from the data, but, rather, extra premises beyond the data, such as simplicity, are required to select a theory in favour of its rivals. Although simplicity is a valid reason to favour one theory over another, it is not necessarily a truth-conducive virtue. Just because one theory is simpler than another, it does not mean that is it more likely to be true. As Bas van Fraassen argues in his book, The Scientific Image, the assumption that simple theories are more likely to be true is unjustified, since it is based on the groundless assumption that the truth is simple. And so, simplicity is not an indicator of truth. Rather, van Fraassen argues that it is a pragmatic virtue. When presented with two empirically equivalent theories, the scientist would choose the simpler one, specifically because it is more convenient. Simpler theories are easier to understand, communicate, and draw conclusions from, but this does not make them more likely to be true.

The laws postulated by physics are dependent on the practice of induction, for they are essentially generalisations assertions about the unobserved, extrapolated from patterns that have been observed. Physical theories are also dependent on Ockham’s razor, for the simplest and most parsimonious explanation of the phenomena is sought. Therefore, the validity of such assumptions as the method of induction and Ockham’s razor is something that must be presupposed if one is to believe in the laws postulated by physics. However, as we have seen, these assumptions are not valid a priori, but their metaphysical validity is questionable. Therefore, a philosopher of science could argue that physics is not necessarily as elementary as traditionally considered, since it is dependent on deeper assumptions which themselves can be scrutinised. Similarly, it could be argued that mathematics is not necessarily as elementary as traditionally considered, since it presupposes the validity of a set of axioms that may not themselves be metaphysically justified.

It follows that physics and mathematics can only be considered to be elementary, and their laws basic, if the validity of the assumptions they are based on is presupposed without question. But, surely then, other sciences, such as biology, can also be considered to be elementary, with respect to the phenomena they are investigating, if the validity of the laws of physics and mathematics is presupposed without question. As I mentioned earlier, physics deals with the dynamics of matter, but not with the behaviour of organisms, because the behaviour of organisms is incredibly complex when considered in terms of dynamics of matter. Therefore, the behaviour of organisms is dealt with by biology, which constructs its own theories and postulates its own laws. These theories and laws may presuppose the validity of physical theories and laws, but I argue that this does not mean that they cannot be basic. After all, as we have seen, these physical theories and laws presuppose the validity of a set of assumptions, but are still considered to be basic with respect to the phenomena they deal with. Likewise, biological theories and laws deal with phenomena that physical theories and laws do not deal with, such as the behaviour of organisms, and so can be considered to be basic with respect to these phenomena.

I would even go further to argue that there are some laws in biology that are not reducible to the laws postulated by physics. This is, perhaps, due to the abstract or emergent nature of these laws. An example is Darwin’s law of natural selection. This is the process by which heritable or transmissible traits that are favourable survive and become commoner in successive generations, while traits that are unfavourable cease to survive and become less common. Darwin applied this law to explain the evolution of organisms over generations. Indeed, one may argue that since it is an organism’s physical structure that allows it to pass on favourable traits to the next generation, natural selection can be explained in terms of physical laws, but I argue that this isn’t necessarily so. In his book, The Conscious Mind, David Chalmers proposes a possible world in which there are non-physical beings, composed of ectoplasm, which reproduce like humans and pass on heritable traits to successive generations. In other words, the reproduction of these beings follows the biological laws of Mendelian inheritance and natural selection. However, since these beings are non-physical and not composed of matter like humans are, they cannot be said to follow physical laws. Therefore, the biological law of natural selection is independent of and cannot be reduced down to physical laws, and so can be considered to be basic.

Another example, this time closer to earth, is the application of natural selection to phenomena that are not organisms, such as ideas. Richard Dawkins coined the term ‘meme’ to refer to such an idea that is transmitted from one mind to another. The suggestion is that the ideas that are successful persist and perpetuate, whereas the ideas that are unsuccessful perish. This suggests that natural selection, as proposed by Daniel Dennett, is substrate neutral. In other words, it is a law that applies, regardless of physical configuration. Again, this shows that although individual examples of natural selection, such as the passing on of an organism’s genes to the next generation, may be reducible to physical laws, natural selection itself, as an abstract law, is not. It can, therefore, be considered to be a basic law, and biology elementary with respect to phenomena that follow it, such as organisms.

In this essay, I have argued against the view that only physics is elementary and all other sciences are just “stamp collecting”. Physics, too, is based on questionable assumptions, and can only be considered to be elementary if the validity of these assumptions is presupposed. Furthermore, other sciences, such as biology, can be considered to be elementary with respect to the phenomena they are investigating, and to postulate basic laws about these phenomena. Therefore, in contrast to the traditional hierarchical view that physics is elementary and all other sciences can be reduced down to it, I am advocating a contextual view that different sciences are elementary with respect to different phenomena. Physics is elementary with respect to physical phenomena, chemistry with respect to chemical phenomena, and biology with respect to biological phenomena. And, although there is much overlap between the different disciplines, they are, at present, different fields of endeavour, and so each presupposes the validity of the others with respect to their respective phenomena.

References

• Birks JB (ed.) (1962). Rutherford at Manchester. London: Heywood.
  
• Chalmers DJ (1996). The Conscious Mind: In Search of a Fundamental Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• Dawkins R (1976). The Selfish Gene. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• Dennett DC (1995). Darwin's Dangerous Idea. New York: Simon and Schuster.
• Hume D (1748). An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding.
• van Fraassen BC (1980). The Scientific Image. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
  

Causation

In An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, David Hume distinguishes two different kinds of experience, namely impressions and ideas. Impressions are what one actually senses when one is having a sensation, whereas ideas are the mental copies or memories of the impressions. Furthermore, ideas are described as less vivid than their corresponding impressions. Hume proposes that all ideas are copies of impressions, and so any idea which confers knowledge about the world cannot be generated a priori.

Ideas can also be combinations of other ideas and impressions. This accounts for how one can have an idea of something that one has not directly encountered. For example, I can have the idea of a pink unicycle, although I have never encountered one. However, I have encountered a unicycle and the colour pink, and so I can form an idea that combines these two impressions. Therefore, although one can form ideas which appear to have no corresponding encounter, they can actually be traced back to their component impressions.

When one observes an event, one experiences the cause followed by the effect, but no necessary connexion between the two. For example, when one switches on a light, one experiences the flick of the light switch followed by the illumination of the bulb, but no necessary connexion prescribing that one must follow the other. One may claim that it is the flow of current that links the two, but this only breaks up the event into a more detailed chain of smaller causes and effects:

The flick of the light switch
Causes
The illumination of the bulb.

This is broken up into:

The flick of the switch
Causes
The completion of the electric circuit
Causes
The flow of current
Causes
The heating of the filament
Causes
The illumination of the bulb.

No matter how much one breaks up an event, one can only reveal more detailed chains of causes and effects, but cannot elucidate a necessary connexion between them. Therefore, it appears that upon observing an event, one only has impressions of the cause and the effect, but not of any necessary connexion between them. Furthermore, since all ideas are copies of impressions, it appears that one can have the ideas of the cause and the effect, but not of a necessary connexion that prescribes that they must be causally linked.

Hume notes that this contradicts our belief about causation. Without the idea of a necessary connexion, causation becomes no more than constant conjunction. In other words, it is no more than events coincedentally following other events:

C occurs, then E occurs.

However, this is not what we believe causation to be. Causation is not just about one event coincidentally being followed by another. It is about the occurrence of the first event making the occurrence of the second event inevitable. Therefore, our belief about causation involves the idea of a necessary connexion between cause and effect:

If C occurs, E must occur.

So, what impression does the idea of necessary connexion come from? As noted above, when one observes an event, one observes impressions of the cause and effect, but not of a necessary connexion. Therefore, there is no external impression that gives rise to the idea of a necessary connexion. Rather, as Hume proposes, the impression is internal. When one observes a cause, one experiences a feeling of anticipation for the occurence of the effect. Hume proposes that this feeling of anticipation is the impression upon which the idea of necessary connexion is based.

The definition of a cause, therefore, is as follows:

C is followed by E, and C always conveys the thought to E.

According to Hume, causation is not an external process or property of the objective world, but has its sources in the subjective experiences of observers. It follows that propositions about causation are not fundamental truths about the world, but statements about our experiences.

References

• Hume D (1748). An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding.

Anattā

Among the most poorly understood of the Buddhist teachings is the anattā doctrine. Many have interpreted this doctrine as a claim that there is no self, but I argue that this is mistaken. This post defends the view, as put forward by Thanissaro Bhikkhu, that the Buddha teaches the anattā doctrine as a practical strategy, rather than as a metaphysical assertion, and that it ought to be translated as ‘not self’, and not ‘no self’. Furthermore, it presents some of the arguments against the interpretation of this doctrine as a metaphysical assertion, and proposes that the belief in the self is, in fact, justified in Buddhism.

The Linguistic Argument

As noted by Atta Sarana in the online article "The Self and No-Self in Buddhism", the Pali term for 'no self' would be natthattā, not anattā:

Nattha (no) + attā (self)

Atta Sarana notes that this term features in the Samyutta Nikāya, where the Buddha is asked whether there was natthattā, and then rejects the view of nihilism. In contrast, the term anattā would actually translate into English as 'not self', not 'no self':

An (not) + attā (self)

Furthermore, the term is used as an adjective, as below:

"This is anattā."

In fact, the Buddha compiles a list of conditioned phenomena, or khandhas, which one is to view as not self, or anattā. The term, however, is not used in the form below, as a negative determiner:

"There is anattā."

This suggests that the interpretation of anattā as a claim that there is no self is mistaken. Strictly speaking, the Pali term anattā translates into English as 'not self'. Furthermore, its use as an adjective suggests that it is not a metaphysical claim that there is no self, but a practical strategy for recognising that the conditioned khandhas are not self. The Pali term for 'no self' would be natthattā, which the Buddha equated with nihilism and rejected.

The Metaphysical Argument

In her 2002 article "Against No-Ātman Theories of Anattā", Miri Albahari argues that the claim that there is no self is metaphysically fallacious. In particular, it is incompatible with the concept of nibbāna. The state of nibbāna is realised upon the eradication of the conditioned khandhas. It is an unconditioned state, and so is devoid of all conditioned phenomena. Albahari argues that to interpret anattā as a claim that there is no self is to assume that a person is constituted only of the conditioned khandhas. From this assumption, it follows that upon eradication of the conditioned khandhas, nothing would be left to experience nibbāna. This claim is metaphysically incompatible with Buddhist doctrine, as the Buddha states that nibbāna is not a state of annihilation. Therefore, the interpretation of anattā as a claim that there is no self is metaphysically flawed.

There is no dispute that one’s personality is made up of several factors that are in a perpetual state of flux. After all, the physical matter of one’s body is always being lost and replaced, and one’s mental state is always changing. However, there is the question of what is subjectively experiencing this physical body and these mental contents. What is experiencing this perpetual rebirth? Furthermore, when the impermanent khandhas that constitute a personality no longer subsist, what is left to experience nibbāna? It follows that if one is to account for the concept of nibbāna, one must accept the existence of an unconditioned self beyond the conditioned khandhas, for there must be something that realises nibbāna.

Some claim that the concept of the self is an illusion, but I argue that this is also a fallacious claim, for one may ask what actually experiences the illusion. In his Meditations, Descartes argues that one can doubt the reality of the external world on the grounds that it may be no more than an illusion, but one cannot possibly doubt one’s own existence as a thinking being, for the fact that one is doubting inevitably implies that one exists. Indeed, it is conceivable that the phenomena that manifest in one’s experience are illusions, but to dismiss the self as an illusion is senseless, for a subjective self is what is needed to experience the illusion.

The Silence Argument

Throughout the Buddhist scriptures, the Buddha never denies the existence of the self. In fact, he unequivocally rejects nihilism. Therefore, to interpret the doctrine of anattā as a claim that there is no self is unjustified.

It is significant that the Buddha remains silent when Vacchagotta the wanderer asks him whether there is a self. When he is asked by the Venerable Ânanda about his silence regarding Vacchagotta's question, the Buddha states that answering such a metaphysical query would not be conducive to Vacchagotta’s quest for liberation, and that Vacchagotta’s spiritual immaturity would lead him to misinterpret the answer in a way that would bring him further attachment. After all, the Buddha emphasises that one must not blindly believe the words of another to be fact, but should experience the phenomena oneself to discover what is fact. Educationalist Dr Edmond Holmes (1908) suggests that the Buddha remains quiet because the transcendental nature of the self would be beyond the comprehension of Vacchagotta's naïve mind at that stage in his spiritual development. It is apparent, from the plain fact that he is asking the Buddha such a naïve question, that Vacchagotta himself had not discovered the nature of the self, and so, seeing this, the Buddha refuses to give an answer. He later explains to the Venerable Ânanda that giving an answer to his question would only bring Vacchagotta confusion, since his naïve mind would misunderstand the answer, and this, in turn, would have adverse effects on his struggle for liberation.

In contrast, when asked by Mogharaja how one must view the world if one is to go beyond death, the Buddha does not hesitate to answer. He tells Mogharaja that one must not identify oneself with or be attached to phenomena that are not self. Here, the Buddha is not making an ontological assertion, but is teaching a technique of perception aimed at liberating oneself from the attachment to conditioned phenomena, by learning that they are not self. The fact that the Buddha gives a very clear answer to Mogharaja’s practical question but refuses to answer Vacchagotta’s metaphysical question suggests that the anattā doctrine is not an ontological assertion, but a practical strategy for the attainment of liberation.

The Affirmative Argument

As well as rejecting nihilism, there is evidence that the Buddha actually affirms the existence of the self. This is particularly evident in the Mahāparinirvāna Sutrā, which contains the doctrine of the tathāgatagarbha, the true self within each and every being, which is unconditioned and fundamentally eternal. This true unconditioned self is distinguished from the conditioned illusory ego, which is formed from the khandas. Furthermore, it is taught that the rejection of this doctrine is metaphysically wrong and linked to adverse kammic consequences.

Other suttas in which the existence of the self is confirmed include the Anguttara Nikāya, which states that there is an unconditioned consciousness that is released from the cycle of samsāra upon the attainment of nibbāna. Furthermore, the state of nibbāna is frequently described in positive terms, for example, as "bliss supreme" in the Dhammapada, and as "the wonderful" and "the pure" in the Samyutta Nikāya. The fact that nibbāna is described as a positive experience implies that there is more to one's being after the eradication of the conditioned khandhas, for there is something that experiences this positive state. Therefore, the positive description of nibbāna implies the existence of an unconditioned self that is separate from the conditioned khandhas.

Conclusions

It appears that Thanissaro Bhikkhu’s proposal that the anattā doctrine is not meant to be interpreted as a metaphysical assertion is entirely reasonable, for not only is the denial of the self metaphysically fallacious, but, as has been alluded to in the preceding paragraph, metaphysical assertions affirming the existence of the self are also present in Buddhism. Instead, I advocate the idea that the anattā doctrine is a practical strategy that involves letting go of one’s attachment to the conditioned khandhas, through realising that they are impermanent, and, therefore, do not constitute the true unconditioned self.

References

• Albahari M (2002). "Against No-Ātman Theories of Anattā". Asian Philosophy, 12:1, 5-20.
• Atta Sarana (c. 2000). "Self and No-Self in Buddhism". Helium.
• Descartes R (1641). Meditations.
• Holmes E (1908). The Creed of Buddha. New York: John Lane.
• Thanissaro Bhikkhu (1993). "The Not-Self Strategy". Insight.
• Thanissaro Bhikkhu (1996). Noble Strategy: Essays on the Buddhist Path. Metta Forest Monastery.
  

Induction

Induction is a type of reasoning that extrapolates knowledge about the observed to make conclusions about the unobserved. An inductive argument usually takes the following form:

All observed X have been Y.
Therefore,
All X are Y.

This is a very important method of reasoning in science and in common sense. In science, it is used to formulate hypotheses from data, and to make predictions. In common sense, it is used to make safe judgements about the world around us. Despite our reliance on induction, it has been attacked several times. The following arguments illustrate some of the problems of induction.

The Pyrrhonian Critique

Arguments against the validity of induction can be traced back to the Pyrrhonian skeptic Sextus Empiricus, who argued that a universal law cannot be established from from an incomplete set of individual instances. This can be because of two reasons. The first is the use of a poor method. An induction may be based on a sample that is not representative of the general population, and so the conclusion may be false. For example, a doctor may observe that all of the patients in the oncology ward have cancer, and make the following claim:

All observed people in the ward have cancer.
Therefore,
All people have cancer.

Clearly, the doctor has made an erroneous claim. His sample is not representative of the general population, and so the induction drawn from it is unsound.

The second reason why a universal law cannot be established from an incomplete set of individual instances is that in an inductive argument, there is no logical entailment between the premises and the conclusion. Induction takes a finite set of observations and infers a new claim based. This new claim is a conjecture based on the observations, and is not logically entailed by them.

Consider the following inductive argument:

The sun has risen every morning so far.
Therefore,
The sun will rise every morning.

Although the sun is likely to rise every morning, there is no logical entailment from the fact that it always has to the claim that it will continue to do so. It is logically conceivable that in a possible world in which the sun has risen every day so far, the sun will not rise tomorrow.

The Problem of Justification

The problem of justification was described by David Hume in An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding (1748). Hume argued that one cannot justify the method of induction without using induction. Therefore, all justifications are circular.

Consider the previous argument concerning the rising sun. One could that whenever I had previously induced that the sun would rise the following day, my experience of it actually rising the following day confirmed the validity of my induction. Therefore, I continue to assume that the sun will rise tomorrow, because this assumption has been right so far. However, as Hume shrewdly argues, this provides no justification whatsoever, for what is being said is that induction has been valid so far, and, on this basis, I conclude that induction will continue be valid. We can see that this statement, itself, is an inductive inference:

Induction has so far been successful.
Therefore,
Induction will always be successful.

This argument attempts to justify induction via induction, and so fails due to a vicious circularity. Thus, Hume has shown that we have no metaphysical justification for our inductive practices.

Some argue that this circularity is benign. However, consider the counter-inductivist who uses counter-induction as his preferred method of reasoning. A typical counter-inductive argument has the following form:

All observed X have been Y.
Therefore,
All other X are not Y.

Let us now apply counter-induction to formulate a hypothesis about the success of counter-induction:

Counter-induction so far has been unsuccessful.
Therefore,
Counter-induction will in future be successful.

It appears that if the inductivist can use a circular justification to support induction, the counter-inductivist can also use the same argument to support counter-induction.

The Grue Paradox

Nelson Goodman has presented a different attack against inductive reasoning. He introduces an adjective, grue. Something is grue if it is green before the year 2100 and blue afterwards. Now, consider that it is the year 2009, and we have observed all emeralds so far to be green. The following inductive statement can be made:

All emeralds so far have been green.
Therefore,
All emeralds are green.

However, since it is before 2100, our observations also support the following statement:

All emeralds so far have been grue.
Therefore,
All emeralds are grue.

This suggests that the same observations support two incompatible hypotheses about emeralds observed after 2100. The first hypothesis is that all emeralds will be green after 2100. The second hypothesis is that all emeralds are grue, and so will be blue after 2100. Therefore, induction cannot select one hypothesis over another.

The Raven Paradox

Proposed by Carl Gustav Hempel, this paradox illustrates how inductive logic can violate intuition. Consider the following hypothesis:

All ravens are black.

Evidence supporting this hypothesis would be a specific observable instance of the general class, or, in other words, a black raven.

Note that the hypothesis stated above is logically equivalent to the following hypothesis:

All non-black things are not ravens.

Evidence supporting this hypothesis would be a non-black thing that is not a raven. For example, a piece of white paper is non-black and not a raven. Therefore a piece of white paper supports the above hypothesis. However, since both hypotheses are logically equivalent, it follows that a piece of white paper provides supportive evidence for the hypothesis that all ravens are black.

Conclusions

Induction is a crucial method of reasoning in everyday life. Furthermore, the construction of physical theories and postulation of laws in science also presupposes the validity of inductive reasoning. However, the problems of induction presented here reveal that inductive reasoning has no metaphysical justification. This raises questions about the nature of the knowledge generated through inductive reasoning.

Perhaps a sensible position to take is reliabilism. Although induction has no justification, it is a reliable method, and so its conclusions can be trusted, at least from a pragmatic point of view. Indeed, there is no logical entailment that the sun has to rise tomorrow, but I can assume that it will, because the method I have used to make this assumption is reliable. Furthermore, it is more pragmatic for me at this present time to assume that the sun will rise tomorrow than to make extensive preparations for the forthcoming darkness.

References

• Goodman N (1955). Fact, Fiction, and Forecast. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.
• Hempel CG (1945). "Studies in the Logic of Confirmation". Mind, 54:213, 1.
• Hume D (1748). An Enquiry Concerning Human Unerstanding.
• Sextus Empiricus (c. 200). Outlines of Pyrrhonism.
  

Anti-Realism

Scientific realism is the view that science aims to provide us, in its theories, with a literally true account of the nature of the objective world. Anti-realism rejects this, and claims that science provides, at most, a convenient model that accounts for the phenomena in the observable world. One anti-realist position, namely the constructive empiricism of Bas van Fraassen (1980), states that theories aim to be empirically adequate, and the acceptance of a theory involves no more than the belief that it is empirically adequate. The following are the arguments against scientific realism.

Underdetermination

The formation of scientific theories involves two main steps. First is the gathering of empirical data acquired through observation, and second is the construction of the theory that accounts for this data via an inferential process. The second step is non-deductive. Hence, the theory is not entailed by the data. Rather, it goes beyond the data to account for and unify it.

As noted by van Fraassen in The Scientific Image (1980), this allows the underdetermination of theory by data. Since the empirical data does not entail the theory, there can be several different competing theories that each accounts for it. Furthermore, since each of these theories are based on and account for the same data, the scientist cannot select one theory from a set of theories from the data alone. The theories are empirically equivalent, and so extra premises are required to select a theory in favour of its rivals. These are known as superempirical virtues.

In The Scientific Image, van Fraassen argues that these superempirical virtues that are used to select a theory from its empirically equivalent rivals do not reflect the truth of the theory, but rather its pragmatic usefulness and æsthetic appeal. Simplicity is a good example of such a superempirical virtue. The principle of Ockham's razor states that a theory should not multiply properties unnecessarily, and so simple theories are favoured over their empircally equivalent but complex rivals. However, this is for pragmatic and æsthetic reasons, rather than a reflection of the theory's truth-conduciveness. Simplicity makes the theory more comprehensible, convenient, and satisfying to the human mind. In fact, the claim that simplicity is an indicator of the truth of a theory has no justification unless one already knows that the world is simple.

The Pessimistic Meta-Induction

This argument is championed by Larry Laudan in his paper "A Confutation of Convergent Realism" (1981). He states that for a theory to be true, it must be empirically successful, and its terms must refer to actual phenomena in the objective world. If the theory is not empirically successful, it cannot be true, since it contradicts our experience of the world. Similarly, if a theory's terms do not refer to actual phenomena, it cannot be true, since it directly contradicts the nature of the world.

Laudan presents an extensive list of past theories which were once empirically successful. Furthermore, the terms of these theories, in their time, were considered to refer to actual phenomena, but are now considered not to refer. In other words, these theories were once considered to be true, but are now considered false. Among these theories are the celestial sphere theory, the phlogiston theory, and the luminiferous æther theory.

Using induction, Laudan argues that since these previously accepted and once empirically successful theories were subsequently considered false, current and future accepted and empirically successful theories will also subsequently be considered false. In other words, modern theories may at present have empirical and predictive success, but so did previous theories in their day. These previous theories have since been rejected, and so by induction it is likely that modern theories will too be rejected. This principle extends not only to current theories, but also to all future theories. Therefore, since all current and future theories will subsequently be rejected, realism is false.

Verisimilitude

The pessimistic meta-induction suggests that the empirical success of a theory does not guarantee that its central terms refer to actual phenomena, and so does not guarantee its truth. One of the realist objections to this argument refers to the notion of approximate truth, or verisimilitude. Although the empirical success of a theory does not guarantee its absolute truth, it does indicate that the theory is at least approximately true. Furthermore, although past empirically successful and hence approximately true theories have been rejected, they have been rejected in favour of new theories which are even closer to the truth. Thus, scientific knowledge is cumulative in the sense that newer theories are more approximately true than their predecessors.

The anti-realist argument against this claim is that the concept of verisimilitude is arbitrary and meaningless. As Laudan points out, there has been no successful definition of what it means for a statement to be approximately true. For example, consider a glass of water. One person states that it is a bottle of water, while another states that it is a glass of whiskey. Which statement is closer to the truth? The first is closer with respect to the type of liquid, whereas the second is closer with respect to the type of container. Nevertheless, both statements are strictly false. This suggests that the notion of verisimilitude is arbitrary, and so it is meaningless to claim that one theory is closer to the truth than another.

This argument holds even for numbers. For example, is 8 closer to 7, 4, or 3? One may argue that it is closest to 7 because of the smallest numerical difference. However, one may also argue that it is closer to 4 because 8 is a multiple of 4, or that it is closer to 3 because both the figures 8 and 3 contain curved lines. Nevertheless, none of these numbers equals 8.

What this critique of verisimilitude illustrates is that statements which are considered to be approximately true are actually strictly false, and to claim that one false theory is closer to the truth than another is arbitrary and meaningless. Therefore, scientific knowledge is not cumulative, and realism is false.

The Incommensurability Thesis

In The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (1962), Thomas Kuhn argues that the evolution of scientific theory does not follow a linear process of the accumulation of knowledge, but involves non-linear paradigm shifts as a result of changing intellectual circumstances. Kuhn distinguishes two types of scientific activity. Firstly, normal science involves routine problem-solving within an accepted framework of meanings, concepts, and interpretations, known as a paradigm. Secondly, revolutionary science occurs when the accumulation of anomalous data casts doubt on the success of the current paradigm, and involves a shift to a new paradigm when a sufficient number of the scientific community are persuaded that the new paradigm is preferable to the old. Examples of paradigm shifts include the shift from Newtonian mechanics to Einsteinian relativity, the shift from Ptolemaic cosmology to Copernican cosmology, the shift from the phlogiston theory of combustion to Lavoiser's theory of chemical reactions, and the shift from classical physics to quantum mechanics.

Kuhn argues that because any two paradigms are so radically different from each other, there is no meaningful way to compare them objectively. In other words, different paradigms have different meanings of terms and concepts, different interpretations of data, and different values. Therefore, there are no common measures by which they can be objectively compared. This is the principle of incommensurability.

For example, although the concept of mass features in both Newtonian mechanics and Einsteinian relativity, the term has a different meaning in each paradigm. Therefore, the two paradigms cannot be compared in a meaningful way with respect to the term mass. Furthermore, consider the fact that all observation is influenced by the background framework under which it is observed. Because of the theory-ladenness of observation, empirical data is interpreted differently in each paradigm. Therefore, empirical data cannot be used to favour one paradigm over another. Finally, different paradigms have different criteria and values for what constitutes a good theory. Therefore, any two paradigms cannot be compared with each other objectively, because they possess different values for comparison.

Because one paradigm cannot objectively be considered better or worse than another paradigm, it follows that scientific knowledge is not cumulative. Different paradigms have different criteria for the validity of theories, and so there is no objectively meaningful and independent means by which one theory can be considered more or less valid than another. Therefore, realism is false.

Conclusions

The anti-realist arguments considered here claim that scientific theories are not representative of objective truth, but provide a means of accounting for phenomena that we observe in a convenient and comprehensible way. The virtues that influence our decisions in a choice between competing theories are not truth-conducive, but pragmatic, æsthetic, and social. Nevertheless, this does not make them any less valid reasons for choosing a theory, for the theory’s reception, understanding, and application are greatly aided by these virtues. Theories, after all, despite their incapability to provide us with a literal account of objective truth, serve to facilitate our judgements about the world, and so, it is a given requirement that they be pragmatic.

References

• Kuhn TS (1962). The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
• Laudan L (1981). "A Confutation of Convergent Realism". Philosophy of Science, 48:1, 19-49.
• van Fraassen BC (1980). The Scientific Image. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
  

Dualism

"The lifeless landscape that is the scientific domain, that location of transactions of energy moving between constituent bits and pieces, seems to afford no obvious home for the mental."

Thus wrote the particle physicist John Polkinghorne in his book Beyond Science: The Wider Human Context (1996). Many a hard-headed scientist would claim that Polkinghorne’s comment does not necessarily hold to be the case. Indeed, advances in the medical sciences have undeniably facilitated our understanding of the workings of our bodies, and this understanding has enhanced our capacity to relieve suffering and prolong life. But in addition to this, remarkable progress has also been made in the science of the mind: recent work in cognitive psychology has provided much insight into the processes involved in the generation of our thought and behaviour, while the neurosciences have located many of the brain structures and neural mechanisms that are correlated with various aspects of our mental activity.

However, despite this progress, Polkinghorne’s comment may, to an extent, be justified. If we take a look at what kind of knowledge is provided to us by the cognitive sciences, we can classify it as being structural and dynamical knowledge about the functional aspects of the mind. Cognitive science tells us how the mind works: neurophysiology informs us of the brain structures and neural mechanisms that underlie our perception and behaviour; explorations into the brain’s biochemistry reveal the molecular basis of these neural mechanisms; the various schools of psychology are interested in the causal dynamics involved in the generation of thought and behaviour. In essence, the facts used to explain these functional aspects of the mind are facts about the structure and dynamics of the brain: they relate to physical mechanisms that occur inside our heads. For the purpose of accounting for the functional aspects of the mind, these facts appear to be adequate. After all, these aspects, such as information processing and the generation of behaviour, are themselves structural and dynamical phenomena. Thus, it makes sense that structural and dynamical facts yield further structural and dynamical facts.

However, while physical facts appear to be sufficient in the explanation of these functional aspects of the mind, there remains the niggling impression that something has fundamentally been left out of the picture. That something, I argue, is consciousness. As well as the functional aspects of the mind involved in the generation of thought and behaviour, there is also a subjective aspect, relating to how a mental state feels qualitatively. For example, when I look at a bright orange sunset, there takes place, in my brain, an intricate bustle of neural activity and information processing, perhaps even resulting in a behavioural response such as smiling and sighing at this beautiful view. However, in addition to this neural processing, I also have a subjective experience of the orange sunset. The 'orangeness' has a particular qualitative feel, or as put by contemporary philosopher Thomas Nagel (1986), there is "something it is like" to have a conscious experience. The following arguments illustrate the irreducibility of such a phenomenon to physical explanation.

The Knowledge Argument

The basic underlying assumption of the knowledge argument is that full knowledge about the subjective quality of experience can be acquired only by having the experience oneself. No amount of physical knowledge of the structure and dynamics of the stimulus that causes the experience, or of what happens in the brain when one has such an experience, entails what the experience is like qualitatively. It follows from this that the physical facts do not exhaust the phenomenal facts, and so, physicalism is false.

This argument is perhaps most vividly presented by Frank Jackson (1982) in the hypothetical case of Mary, the colour scientist who has spent her entire life in a monochrome environment, exclusively coloured in black, white, and shades of grey. Consequently, Mary has never subjectively experienced the colour red before. Nevertheless, perhaps via black and white television, she has become the world’s leading expert on colour perception, and knows everything physical that occurs inside a perceiver’s brain when he or she perceives red. Furthermore, Mary lives in a time in which we have a completed physics, and so, also has learned everything physical about the structure and dynamics of red light. Mary, therefore, can be said to have the complete knowledge of the physical facts about the colour red and its perception.

However, as Jackson argues, she does not have the complete facts about red experience, since she cannot infer, from the physical facts, the subjective quality of a red experience. She knows all about the structure and dynamics of red light and red perception, but having never experienced red herself, she does not know what red is like qualitatively. Thus, Jackson proposes that if Mary is released from her monochrome compound into the great wide world of colour, in which she sees the colour red for the first time, she gains knowledge that she did not possess before. This knowledge is of the subjective quality of red experience, and since Mary already possessed the complete physical knowledge of the colour red and its perception, this new knowledge she gains must be non-physical. The conclusion from this is that there exist phenomenal facts over and above the complete physical facts, and that these phenomenal facts cannot be explained by, or identified, with the physical facts. Thus, physicalism is false.

The Zombie Argument

This argument once again defends the idea that consciousness is not logically supervenient on the physical. As has been shown by the knowledge argument, even when the complete physical facts are established, the question of whether consciousness is present is left entirely open. The physical facts do not entail the presence of consciousness, and so it follows that consciousness is an extra fact over and above the physical. From this, the ‘zombie argument’ proposes that given any physical system, such as the brain, it is always logically conceivable that such a system entirely lacks consciousness. The reasoning behind this is that when considering the physical facts of a system, the presence of conscious experience is a superfluous detail. One can explain the structure and dynamics of a physical system in full without having to refer to subjective experience at all. Therefore, there is no contradiction in conceiving of such a system as having or lacking conscious experience. Subjective qualities make no difference to the structure and dynamics of a system.

This argument is championed by David Chalmers in his 1996 book The Conscious Mind, in which he argues for the logical conceivability of zombies, organisms physically identical to human beings, but completely lacking in consciousness. He considers the idea of a zombie twin, which is physically identical to him, but with the major difference that he himself is conscious, whereas his zombie twin is not. Since his zombie twin is physically identical to Chalmers, they both function in identical ways. The same stimuli bring about the same neural mechanisms in both their brains, and consequently they both have the same reactions and display the same behaviour. The only difference is that Chalmers’ functioning is accompanied by consciousness, whereas his zombie twin’s is not. The neural mechanisms in Chalmers’ brain are accompanied by subjective experiences, whereas there is no experience at all in the case of his zombie twin.

Chalmers argues that there is no logical contradiction in this seemingly peculiar situation. The functioning of an organism depends on its physical properties of structure and dynamics, and nothing in these structural and dynamical properties entails the presence of subjective experience. It is perfectly conceivable to realise a functional system purely in structure and dynamics, without having to bring up consciousness at all. Therefore, given the complete physical facts about a functional system, the existence of consciousness is an extra fact over and above the physical facts. From this, it also follows that the physical facts cannot help us to distinguish Chalmers from his zombie twin, since they are physically identical. In fact, since Chalmers’ consciousness is only accessible to him in first-person, we have no access to it, and so it follows that we cannot distinguish him from his zombie twin at all.

The Explanatory Gap Argument

Whereas the zombie argument focuses on the actual existence of consciousness, the explanatory gap argument focuses on the subjective quality of particular conscious experiences. From this reflection on the qualitative nature of experiences, conclusions are drawn about their relation to physical events in the brain. Since it is plain reflection on subjective experience, rather than the postulation of logical thought experiments, which provides the substance for this argument, its strength appears to come from its intuitive appeal, rather than from its path of reasoning.

So, let us consider the qualitative nature of a subjective experience, such as that of seeing the colour red. I am not talking about any physical properties of the colour red, such as its wavelength or the neural processes that occur upon its perception. I am concerned here about the actual subjective quality of the experience of red. Upon reflection, it is clear that such an experience is arbitrary. It has no structure, for it is itself a basic simple. It is itself a unique phenomenon of its own kind, and so any connection between it and anything else cannot be anything but arbitrary. It follows that there is no explanatory connection between physical events in the brain and the qualitative nature of subjective experience. Physical information cannot explain subjective experience, and so physicalism is false.

Although championed by Joseph Levine (1983), the idea of qualia as arbitrary was first emphasised by the seventeenth century British empiricist John Locke. Locke, in An Essay Concerning Human Understanding (1690), states that the ideas which are evoked by secondary qualities, such as the experiences of colour, smell, and taste, bear no relation to the events in the objective world that evoke in our minds such qualities. Rather, these ideas and their corresponding physical events are merely correlated in an arbitrary manner. To further expose this explanatory gap between the physical and the phenomenal, Levine suggests the logical possibility of the spectral inversion of visual qualia, while one’s physical functioning remains the same.

Perhaps the most vivid way to illustrate this is to consider a thought experiment described by Chalmers, in which we are presented with a hypothetical conscious being, who is physically and functionally identical to you or me, but whose visual qualia are inverted. In other words, in situations in which you or I would have a red experience, this being will have a blue experience. Nevertheless, its functioning remains indistinguishable to ours. It possesses the same neural mechanisms of colour processing as you and me, and consequently displays the same behaviour in response to seeing a red object. The only difference is that the phenomenal qualities that accompany this functioning are different.

Levine and Chalmers argue that there is no logical contradiction here. Nothing in the physical functioning of the brain dictates that one type of processing should be accompanied by one particular type of experience over another. Red processing with blue phenomenology is just as coherent as red processing with red phenomenology. The accompanying qualia make no difference to the structure and dynamics of neural function, and so are extra facts over and above any physical information.

Kripke's Argument

In his 2000 book Thinking about Consciousness, Papineau presents the so-called ‘identity thesis’, as put forward by Place (1957) and Smart (1959). This states that there is an identity between qualitative experiences, such as pain, and certain neural states, such as the firing of C-fibres, much like how there is an identity between water and H₂O. Furthermore, according to the identity thesis, both of these identities are contingent, for neither of the statements ‘pain is the firing of C-fibres’ and ‘water is H₂O’ are known a priori, but are only made known through scientific discovery. The fact that water is H₂O is not an analytic statement, but something that had to be discovered by scientists. Likewise, it was also a discovery that the firing of C-fibres results in pain, as was Papineau’s example that the names ‘Mark Twain’ and ‘Samuel Clemens’ refer to the same person.

An argument against the identity thesis is put forward by Saul Kripke (1980), who asserts that all identities are necessary, provided that the terms being used to pick out the objects designate rigidly. Water is necessarily H₂O, for the identity holds in every possible world. According to Kripke, any appearance of contingency is just an illusion. Indeed, the fact that water is H₂O was something that needed to be discovered, and so it seems natural to suggest that water might not have turned out to be H₂O. In other words, although water turned out to be H₂O in this world, one may speculate that there may be a possible world in which water did not turn out to be H₂O, but instead turned out to be XYZ. However, Kripke argues that this is contradictory, for water is H₂O in every possible world. In fact, the substance imagined in this other world is in water at all, but is a substance that behaves like water, made out of XYZ. One may call this substance ‘watery stuff’. However, for something to be water, it must be made out of H₂O, and since this ‘watery-stuff’ is not made out of H₂O, it cannot be water. Therefore, Kripke’s proposal suggests that water is necessarily H₂O, but this does not mean that every possible world contains water.

However, in the case of the experience of pain and the firing of C-fibres, Kripke argues, there is no necessary identity, for whereas water is H₂O in every possible world, we can conceive of possible worlds in which the experience of pain is not accompanied by the firing of C-fibres, and conversely, worlds in which the firing of C-fibres is not accompanied by the experience of pain. Furthermore, since all identities which involve rigid designators must be necessary, it follows that there is no identity between the experience of pain and the firing of C-fibres. This, I argue, is because the experience of pain and the firing of C-fibres essentially refer to different phenomena. Whereas the firing of C-fibres refers to the neural mechanisms that occur when one is stimulated with noxious stimuli, the experience of pain refers to the subjective quality of pain itself. Therefore, it appears logically conceivable to dissociate the two.

As we saw earlier in my discussion of the zombie argument, we can conceive of the firing of C-fibres without any reference to the subjective quality of a painful experience. This cannot be done in the case of water and H₂O, for water’s molecular structure of H₂O is essential to it. It follows that whereas a substance which behaves like water, but is not made from H₂O, is not water, but ‘watery stuff’, we cannot say that something that feels like pain, but is not accompanied by the firing of C-fibres, is not pain, but ‘painy stuff’. According to Kripke, all it is for something to be pain is for it to feel like pain. Whereas the molecular structure of H₂O is essential to water, what is essential to pain is its subjective quality. Therefore, anything that feels like pain, such as this supposed ‘painy stuff’, is in fact pain, whereas anything which behaves like water, but is not composed of H₂O, cannot be water.

Conclusions

The above arguments reveal that the subjective quality of experience cannot be accounted for by the physical or functional accounts provided by the physical sciences. If we ask a physicist what orange light is, he or she will tell us that it is a transverse electromagnetic wave of a certain wavelength, or photons of a certain energy level. There is no mention here of the subjective quality of an orange experience. A biochemist could then tell us that when these photons hit one’s retina, a chemical reaction occurs in their photoreceptors. Once again, there is no mention of the subjective quality of an orange experience. If we then turn to a neurophysiologist, we will be told that the stimulation of one’s retina by orange light causes the propagation of electrical impulses down the optic nerve, resulting in the activation of certain neurones in the visual cortex. Again, the subjective quality of orange is left out of the account. Finally, if we were to speak to a psychologist, he or she could perhaps tell us that the activation of the visual cortex by orange light leads onto yet further processing, which accounts for one’s ability to discriminate orange and respond in appropriate ways to it.

From the above situations, we can see that while the physical information provided to us by science can tell us about the structure of orange light and the dynamics involved in its perception, it does not encapsulate the qualitative feel of an orange experience. So what is it that makes conscious experience so intractable to science? I argue that it is its first-person subjectivity. Of course, cognitive science is far from complete, but it is well understood, and the functional aspects of our minds, although technically impressive, pose few metaphysical problems. The phenomena of behaviour and the processes that drive it are complex physical mechanisms, but they are still physical mechanisms that are observable objectively in third-person, and thus can be accounted for with reference to more basic physical mechanisms.

Consciousness, however, is of an entirely different kind. It is not a third-person phenomenon, but a first-person phenomenon. Unlike physical mechanisms, subjective experiences cannot be observed objectively. As stated by philosopher John Searle (1992), each of us has “privileged access” to our experiences: a conscious experience is always someone’s conscious experience and only that person’s. Therefore, it is hardly surprising that objective information about neurones firing and proteins changing shape fail to encapsulate it. No matter how detailed our physical knowledge of the brain is, there will still always be that nagging question: why should all these physical processes be accompanied by subjective experience?

Of course, much can be and has been discovered about what neural mechanisms are correlated with qualitative experiences. For example, Francis Crick and Christof Koch (1990) have postulated that different modalities of perceptual information are bound and unified by 40-hertz oscillations in the visual cortex. Similarly, Gerald Edelman (1989) has proposed a way in which brain structures interact to allow the conceptual categorisation of perceptual signals before they contribute to memory. Furthermore, he links this to the generation of language by postulating links with Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area. Although these theories provide much valuable insight into the workings of the brain and how this relates to the functioning of our cognitive apparatus, they still fail to encapsulate the subjective quality of experience. At most, they propose brain structures and neural mechanisms which are correlated with subjective experience, but the qualitative nature of experience itself is eluded. The same question still remains: why are these processes accompanied by subjective experience at all? Over and above the physical facts about the brain, the existence of consciousness fundamentally remains an extra fact.

To many advocates of brain science, this conclusion may sound pessimistic, but I argue that it need not be interpreted this way. It does not say that we cannot eventually achieve complete physical knowledge about the brain, it does not undermine the potential usefulness of this knowledge in medical application, and it certainly does not require us to discard our current scientific theories. Rather, it simply suggests that the subjective aspect of the mind is beyond these theories.

In fact, upon closer analysis of the genesis of these theories, this is hardly surprising. In his essays on Mind and Matter (1967), the great physicist Erwin Schrödinger observed that our scientific knowledge “rests entirely on immediate sense perception”. In other words, theories are based on the observations we make in experiments, and these observations consist of sensual qualities: observations, after all, are our experiences. Therefore, since our theories arise from sensual qualities, they are in no position to explain these sensual qualities.

Indeed, this idea is well-established in philosophy, and in the attitudes of many scientists. Among the philosophers of mind who acknowledged this intangibility of the subjective, the most famous is perhaps Descartes, whose dualism suggested that consciousness is a separate fact from the physical. More contemporary thinkers, too, have embraced this idea: examples are the late neuroscientist John Eccles (1977) and the philosopher David Chalmers (1996). Although this metaphysics is highly speculative, it does at least accept the subjective as being another fact to consider over and above the structural and dynamical facts, and hence give it the recognition it deserves. After all, if what I want when I listen to my favourite Mozart symphonies is information about my neural processes, why don’t I just read a physiology textbook?

References

• Chalmers DJ (1996). The Conscious Mind: In Search of a Fundamental Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
• Crick FHC, Koch C (1990). "Towards a Neurobiological Theory of Consciousness". Seminars in the Neurosciences, 2, 263-275.
  
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• Jackson F (1982). "Epiphenomenal Qualia". Philosophical Quarterly, 32, 127-136.
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• Polkinghorne J (1996). Beyond Science: The Wider Human Context. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
  
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