This is the topic for this Sunday's gathering in Santa Monica. Feel free to post any ideas you might have on this thread. Here's the "official" wording of the topic:

"WHAT IS PHILOSOPHY? HOW CAN YOU TELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION AND A NON-PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION? What distinguishes philosophy from other fields?
--------------------------------

For info on the meeting location, time, directions...see the posting below under "EVENTS." If you'd like to get all meeting info directly each month, send me as message and I'll put you on our regular emailing list.
--------------------------------

If you'd like to know how Philosophers have defined their field, I've found a bunch of OPTIONAL readings for our gathering Sunday. Most of them are short, the last two are longer, and one is a blog. If you'd like, pick a few to read and perhaps comment on:

For a brief overview and definition of western philosophy (written for undergraduates), from the American Philosophical Association website, read Part 1 of this, www.apa.udel.edu/apa/publi...iefgd.html
Wikipedia has two interesting summaries, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophy and en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Metaphilosophy
From "The Free Dictionary," encyclopedia.thefreedictionary.com/Philosophy
From Reference.com, another online encyclopedia, www.reference.com/browse/wiki/Philosophy
A blog where the definition and meaning of philosophy is discussed, www.iidb.org/vbb/archive...t-60331.html
A 15-page article on the differences between "analytic" and "continental" philosophy, the two major academic traditions in contemporary philosophy, au.geocities.com/neil_levy...osophy.pdf
An article on the nature of philosophy, http:/www-unix.oit.umass.edu/~ffeldman/WIP.pdf


I'll post a few of my own ideas in a day or two.
Post your own ideas below!
posted by:
ScreamBrian
Los Angeles
  • Ordinarily we ask questions because (1) we recognize that we do not know the answers to the questions we're asking, but want answers, (2) we believe that the question is meaningful, sensibly worded, and (most importantly) answerable, and (3) we believe that getting the answer to our questions will provide us with information about the world that we didn’t have before. That suggests that we expect that answers to philosophical questions will provide us with information about the world, but it remains to be said what exactly constitutes “information about the world.” Is philosophy a way of knowing or coming to know? Do answers to philosophical questions provide us with information about the world in the sense of *knowledge* about the world, or do they provide us with information about ourselves, or information in some other sense (such as “ways of seeing things” that do not constitute knowledge as such, but help us to organize our ideas about reality)?

    On a first pass, I’d say the following. Answers to philosophical questions provide us with knowledge about reality. Since science also provides us with knowledge about reality, we must therefore firstly distinguish philosophy from science (or from applied science). Philosophy may be a kind of science in some sense, but it is not just one applied science, like anthropology, or biology, or chemistry, or physics. It seems to be something more like (to borrow a phrase from Kant) “the Queen of the sciences,” or (to borrow a phrase from American politics) the “mother of all sciences.” At any rate, we don’t have to settle this point just now. This much seems clear: even if philosophy is science (or a science, or the mother of all sciences), it is not an empirical science. Thus, philosophical questions are not empirical questions. If what you’ve got in front of you is an empirical question that can be tackled by some agreed-upon experimental or observational method, then what you’ve got is not a philosophical question.

    If what empirical science tells us is how the world is, then what philosophy tells us is how the world could be (or could have been), or must be (independently of our experience of it, or of any experience of it), or ought to be. Thus the three branches of philosophical inquiry: epistemology, metaphysics, and ethics. The only methods we have for “testing” an answer to a philosophical question are, in the end, logical methods (plus intuition, maybe), because philosophical questions demand the clarification or elaboration or justification or explanation or substantiation of our scientific and other concepts, and demand the postulation of theories whose terms cannot (ultimately) be checked against experience. Philosophical concepts are, in this sense, non-empirical, or are meta-empirical. Philosophy is the activity of postulating theories to explain the very fact that we have experience, and to account for the nature and status of that experience. Philosophical questions are questions that demand, as answers, the formulation of such theories, or explanations of these theories themselves (of their terms and their nature).
    • A friend of mine, and occasional participant at our Sunday meetings, offers this brief definition of Philosophy:

      "Philosophia...from the Greek love of wisdom, φιλοσ and σοφια. So it follows that anything that has to do with that is a philosophical question at root bottom. That might include any fundamental one with regards the human condition. And being itself. Big thing this philosophy."
      • Another interesting definition I came across:

        Definition of Philosophy (Pete Mandik, Professor of Philosophy, William Paterson University) – "the pursuit of a priori knowledge about topics fundamental to all other forms of knowledge. Among these topics are: knowledge itself, reasoning, the mind, reality, God, freedom, ethics, the state, and the meaning of life."
        • Deb
          Deb
          offline 1
          I am having a difficult time on another philosophy board with the issue of a "Supreme Being" meaning God in this instance, entering the picture upon each post made on the subject. Does God have to be involved where philosophy is concerned? What about other ways we might have come into existence. Either someone is talking over my level of understanding, or compared to myself they are an angel. I am Agnostic at this point in time, and yes I understand this stance might be interpreted as fence sitting, but never the less here I am. I am seeking to be happy without the possbiility of God. Is this possible? Moon-deb
          • "God" is just the word people use when they no longer know what they are talking about.

            I think the mystics are onto something when they say "God is the Unknown" or "Unknowable" or "ineffable". They think they are saying something deep about the universe, but I think really they are just saying something about the concept of God itself.

            Anyways, so yea, when people start talking about God, I just translate it to "I'm talking about something, but I don't know what it is."
            • I think its good to have words that point to the possibility of not knowing. I don't think the fact that sense runs up against nonsense just tells us about our concepts. Nonsense seems to be an important part of the human experience. Why not name it and look into it?
              • I think you're right that nonesense is part of what it is to be human. Making sense out of nonesense and confusion is a main task of philosophy (both the academic kind of philosophy as well as the informal kind of philosophy). Similarly, philosophy tries to name and distinguish, as much as is possible, the different kinds of nonesense and confusion, why they are there, and what they mean. A part of this is trying to figure out what can be known or made sense of, and what can never be known (and why).
                • I don't disagree with what you've said about how philosophy relates to nonsense and confusion, although I'm not sure that this is the main task of academic philosophy; I think a lot of people are involved in constructive projects as well.

                  But I think there is another sort of work, which is perhaps less often associated with philosophy, in which 'making sense' out of nonsense is not the task so much as preserving a space for nonsense, directing others towards it, allowing oneself a soothing dip -- I could go on, but the basic idea is that there is more to nonsense than philosophy makes (sense) of it.

                  For me, as my relationship with (academic) philosophy matures, I find that I'm increasingly uninterested in making sense. I have much more apppreciation for concepts like 'God' than I once did; it seems to me that an ability to rest gracefully in nonsense is perhaps of more value than the desire to make sense of things -- which is not to say that the latter has no value.

                  I suppose I still think of philosophy in terms of the project of Platonic metaphysics -- to go beyond (meta) what presents itself (physis) and to grasp in thought there, to recover from beneath the present, an incontestable principle by which to regulate our various and contestable activities. I don't think this project works out, and so I think that we're left with the work of dealing with contestability.

                  One way of going about this is to attempt to make sense out of the moves we make in that work, which I take to be another way of describing what you've said is the main task of philosophy. Another way of going about this is to attempt to work up theories which contribute to a maximally efficient and inclusive system of prediction and control -- to make power as such one's ordering principle, which is how I think of science.

                  Both of these lines of work seem to me indispensable and even noble, but I find I have very little interest in them. My Platonic metaphysical impulse, the impulse which drew me to philosophy, which was a hope that I might grasp a rule by which to order the disorderly goings on of life, has grown into an appreciation for disorder, a comfort amidst it that I didn't have when I was younger and first found philosophy and science so attractive.

                  Now I think -- well, suppose you find yourself in a wilderness, weary and often tested. You might try searching for a perfect, eternal home, in which to rest; but you might also attempt to cultivate a restful athleticism of the spirit -- an easiness of movement. I have found no such home, but the latter work seems to me good, and both philosophy and science seem to me to contribute to it; both make us more fit, more powerful contendors. But there is another turn towards easiness of movment that I find myself more attracted to, and that is to accomodate myself to relative powerlessness, to tenderness, to weariness, and so also to take delight in small shelters, in relationships, in passing delights.

                  I think that without some level of fitness -- and I say this so as to do honour to the work of making sense -- I could not take this turning that I have, but for all that I feel that homeliness, becoming simple, delighting without understanding, tending a small garden of passing things: this work has become more valuable to me, more human. And when I talk of nonsense, and of preserving its space, perhaps this is what I have in mind, that there is a value in having, too, times and places when we are powerless and at home and all the instruments of sense and safety making -- the instruments of power -- are put away.

                  Having settled into this turn I come back to ask what it is that philosophy might be when it grows out of this place -- when it is no longer concerned with making sense, with exercising power. Then I see philosophical speech as an invitation and a gentle hand which at once both dispels striving after power, even intellectual power, and at the same time talks us into a free relation to character, custom, and circumstance, that we might feel free not to defend any of them.

                  I am getting hard to understand, I think, so let me put it plainly. Perhaps there is a task for philosophy which does not make sense of anything but only complicates the topics -- cultivates the spaces -- which matter to us by introducing more and other differences, in this way to make us more sensitive, to lift us beyond the accidents which might otherwise call us to toil for them, and to place us thereby into a space in which action has greater knowledge of possibilities and so more promise of going on skilfully.

                  I am still not speaking clearly, perhaps, but perhaps you will follow me anyway when I suggest that there might be a task for philosophy which does not order anything but only introduces enough disorder, enough richness, enough sensitivity to possibility, that (in addition to being better able to carry out our work of sense-making) we are set free of the orders we have inherited and the desire to bring life to perfect and pacifying order -- free (both to take up the work of sense-making unfettered but also) to settle down admist confusion to a delight in easy movement amongst unsure, unmastered things.

                  I don't know whether this (shall we call it) 'negative' work of philosophy deserves the name 'philosophy'. I don't think it is anti-intellectual, though the possibility that it will be seen in this way pushes against me as I write. I also don't think it is divorced from the commitment to truthfulness and to inquiry which are sometimes associated with philosophy; at least I can see a sort of truthfulness which grounds out in an acknowledgement of nonsense -- which finds its own ground in wonder, and the beginning of inquiry there, and so which wishes not only to exercise its wonder in inquiry which brings clarity and power but also to safeguard that place of wonder: to hold it open to others, this, and also to keep some measure of life free of order that creeps into it but does not contribute it, a sort of mental or cultural staleness.

                  Enough! Does any of this strike a chord with you?
                  • This is the maximum depth. Additional responses will not be threaded.
                    Wow, you (eloquently) said a lot there, and I don't have time today or in the next few days to give a response to all that. But it sounds to me like you are speaking in favor of (among other things) doing philosophy in a very non-ideological, non-doctrinal way. And, though most philosophy nowadays is done in the "philosophy as a quest for knowledge, truth and theory" mode, you seem much more interested in the more ancient, "philosophy as a way of life, a spiritual path and quest for wisdom" mode. Much more could be said, and maybe some other tribester will.

                    You mentioned that " people are involved in constructive projects as well"-- Yes, this, too, is the kind of work that I would group under the heading of "making sense out of nonesense and confusion." Isn't that what all those constructive projects are for? (Well, philosophical writers also are advocating for specific ethical and political courses of action...but that also is a way of making sense of confusion, and of simply acting upon principles which themselves were the products of their attempts to make sense of confusion and nonesense).

                    By the way, a few months ago at our Santa Monica gathering we talked about a very similar topc to what you've written. It's too bad you weren't there!
                    • 1. Yes, you get me right in your first paragraph.

                      2. I think it is fine to group constructive projects under the heading of making sense of nonsense and confusion -- just as you say.

                      The difference which interested me when I proposed constructive projects as distinct from making sense of nonsense and confusion was that between projects which make sense of what we don't understand or are confused about and the particular project which is inquiring into the conditions of sense and nonsense.

                      Perhaps we could say that the latter project is also one which makes sense (of sense and nonsense). Perhaps we could also say that no sense is made but only a feel for limits acquired, a gradual transformation in the character of one's relation to thinking. I'm not sure. But, however we describe it, I think there is something interesting about inquiry which calls itself into question more directly than most projects of sense-making usually do.

                      As Wittgenstein observed, 'spell' is just another word we learn to spell; we do not here talk of meta-spelling. In a similar way it seems to me that thinking is just another topic we might think about. What seems right about Wittgenstein's bon mot prompts me to suggest that thinking about thinking is not foundational to other projects of sense-making; they all alike make use of and take for granted thinking.

                      So perhaps what it is that interests me about thinking which inquires into its own conditions, what makes me want to distinguish it, is a sense that it tends, where other projects do not (or not so strongly), to transform the character of our relationship to thinking, that is, what we ask from it, how we understand what it gives us, and so on. My suspicion -- and this is only a suspicion, and terribly loaded -- is that those who inquire persistently into the conditions of inquiry find themselves pushed from (what you called) the first mode of thinking towards the second.

                      I want to say, you see, that the second mode of philosophy is the maturity thinking acquires when it looks into itself. Worse still, I want to say that a good number of intellectual problems arise from the immaturity of thinking, and that what is wanted is not better sense-making but a transformation of thinking. (I probably should say not the maturity or transformation of thinking but of the character of one's relation to thinking -- but that gets rather long.)

                      I do not mean to suggest that we should drop the sense-making that goes on in departments of philosophy, much less scientific sense-making, but I do think that the wise response to much philosophical puzzlement is therapeutic -- and sometimes I suspect that humanity would be better off were we to divert some of our attention from intellectual sense-making towards cultivating intellectual maturity. (Don't ask me how to do that.)

                      I see, in rereading your post, that you are right (relative to what you said there) to group constructive projects under the generally heading of making sense of nonsense and confusion. My misreading stems from thinking (as you said) that transformation of the character of our relation to thinking (mode 2 stuff) is more interesting than applying thinking as an instrument of power (mode 1 stuff). In distinguishing constructive projects from thinking about the conditions of thinking, I wanted to point out (not without a note of personal sorrow) that most academic philosophers are mostly engaged in work of sense making -- and not much engaged in what we might call transformative inquiry.
          • Dear Deb,

            In short, no God does not have to be involved where philosophy is concerned. One can talk about the philosophy of reality, of self, of time, of a multitude of things without bringing God into the picture.

            However, God often finds His/Her/Its way into the conversation. The reason that is, is because philosophy ultimately boils downs to things for which we have no answer, but can only guess at the answers, have theories about things.

            What happens then is we have a question and there is a tendency at least at some point, if not for most of the discussion, to question who or what is responsible for this thing/this situation for which we are looking for an answer. The who or the what is what people call God.

            Now for some people God is a looming frightening figure for whom you better do a hell of a lot of good for because humans are sinners etc etc. For others, God is great and good, the father of humanity watching over us in the sky. God has hundreds of appearances those are just a couple of common ones.

            Now what some people call "God" is also what they might call universe, spirit, or source...I've also heard the name God interchangeable with energy, expansiveness and light but I don't use those myself...well sometimes energy.

            I personally believe in God, but not the traditional one...I believe in this source that I am naming God. For you, you, of course, can believe whatever you like...

            I however am taking a guess and thinking that you believe in something, whatever it is, once existed, is out there or something, just something in order for things to be the way they are. Even if you believe in evolution say...something must have started the process, been the creator behind the system...just something. This something, if you want, you could call God.

            This "something" comes up in philosophy because as we try to figure out anwers to our questions we often ask: who, what, where, when, and why. Now depending on the question at hand and what is the subject of that question...the who and why tend to be more tricky...at least in my experience...and to begin to answer our questions we must give a name to those questions, the who, the what etc.....God/universe/source...in order to really dig into, to hopefully find a theory, a little be more clarity, an answer.

            Or so that's my interpretation of things. I think religion is very interesting, but I refer to myself as a spiritual person because my personal beliefs are more a way of life, how I treat myself and other people...most of which has been acquired from Christian and Buddhist modes of thought.

            If you'd like to check out a few things...I think Wayne Dyer, author of many many books...I particularly like "The Power of Intention" and "There's a Spiritual Solution to Every Problem" is great! Has some really wonderful things to say...he also has a website and speaks throughout the country here and there.

            There is the institute which I think has some real fascinating notions, some of which I like/believe, some I think are just odd or cool...what if...maybe it's true...who really knows anyway. That institute is called Higher Balance. They have a website, if you google it, it'll come up, the creator is Eric Pepin I believe.

            If you'd just like some light reading, non-spiritual but real beautiful story like books about just living and being happy, I think these are wonderful: "The 7 Sins of a Life Worth Living", "The Alchemist", and "Letters for Emily." Just really uplifting, nice reading to enjoy life, to take pleasure in being ordinary say, to know that everything you want you already have and to realize that you might need to go away to come home...real beautiful.

            In response to your other question, is it possible to be happy without God? Oh sure, if you believe it. If you think it is good to live without God, then it will be for you. If you don't believe it, then it won't be...that I'm afraid is all up to you.

            I know for me I'm a lot more calm, at peace, happy, just don't worry/stress out/over analyze nearly as much when I am focused on being grateful and living in a state of kindness and love...what I would say as a part of the consciousness of God or what Wayne Dyer says as connected to source. This however doesn't mean I don't have enough moments where I'm worried as all hell and couldn't see God if He, if it is a he, was waving a hand in my face.

            I think God like with anything else...if you choose to believe in Him/Her/It...is that it takes practice to go from thinking and believeing to being of/a part of the source. Like a bike, you don't forget how to ride, if you've ridden, but if it's been awhile or you haven't ridden that much it's a bit of a challenge to stick with it when other things are so much easier like hoping in your car, taking a cab, sitting on the train....or not believing or mediating or acting like the self you want to be. All of which I myself am really trying to work on. I think if we were all honest, it's a hard thing for everybody...but I will tell you this...it gets easier. I see it in myself on occassion and I've seen it in other people, real beautiful people.

            Anyway, that's just what I think. Good luck with your search.

            BEST,
            Emily
        • Here are a few very interesting quotes, definitions and questions (or my paraphrasing of them) that I remember from our meeting Sunday night. Forgive me if I misrepresent anyone's ideas!--

          "Philosophy is critical thinking about and analysis of the most fundamental assumptions and techniques of any discipline (that would include those of philosophy itself). – Ron M

          "Philosophy is about dark corners where reality and language meet" – Andy G

          On the difference between philosophy and religion, "Religion is a jump to a place where you can't reason"—attributed to Heschel, a theorist of religion.

          "Philosophy is more than mere critical thinking"—Lambert S

          "Must it be the case that all philosophical questions can be put into words?"—Tom M

          "Our motive to philosophize comes out of our felt sense of being in the world…and our wonder about it…and philosophy reveals our basic vulnerability, ignorance and finitude…"—Dean P

          "Philosophy is an attempt to see how "things" hang together (in the broadest sense of "things" and "hang together")—attributed to philosopher Willifred Sellars.
    • No matter what a philosophical question starts out as, it ends up being a question about concepts.

      What sort of concepts? - the most basic ones, the ones that have the most general application, the ones we find ourselves using or pre-supposing when we talk about the fundamentals of any subject or topic.

      What sort of questions about concepts? There are three main sorts. One, questions about the full meaning of a particular concept, questions as to its content , its clarity, and its distinctness from similar concepts. Two, regarding a complex concept (those made up of simpler ones), questions about it's logical form, about its internal coherence and its compatibility with its context of other concepts and propositions. Three, questions about the precision of concepts, about whether they contain all they need to contain for the job they are used for (internal precision), and about whether they don't contain more than is necessary (external precision).

      Type one questions are called philosophical analysis. Type two are part of philosophical synthesis. And type three are called philosophical synopsis (sometimes confused with analysis).
    • This is how I’ve organized of my (provisional, of course) ideas on the matter. (In fact, I've already revised it; here's a slightly altered version of what I posted here Sunday.) This became much longer than I expected it would!
      ***********

      The definition of philosophy, and what makes some questions philosophical and others not, is a complex question that philosophers still debate, and many of the major philosophers throughout history have offered differing ideas on it. There's probably no strict demarcation as to which questions are philosophical and which aren’t, and there's probably no foolproof definition. Besides, many philosophical questions are also questions in other fields, especially the sciences, social sciences, and humanities such as religious studies, literary criticism, and so on.

      When people come to our philosophy discussion group, they often suggest a question they'd like to talk about, and then say something like "I don’t know if this is a philosophical question or not, you tell me…and what exactly is philosophy, anyway, and how is it different from other fields?" This perennial question can be answered in a few ways, I think. By common, everyday usage, "philosophy" means something like "one's worldview and values, especially how one deals with life's misfortunes and opportunities." I like this, but it's too general a definition, especially for how the term is used by those who've been called "philosophers"—and this definition doesn’t spell out for us just what it is that makes some questions and approaches philosophical and some not.

      Etymologically, "philo-sophia" means "love of wisdom"—again, this commonly given definition is too general and nonspecific, since many ways of loving wisdom would not be philosophical and, arguably, much of the philosophical literature and activity has little to do with wisdom, at least not directly. Plus, the definition doesn't tell us whether any given question counts as philosophical or not. Other very good, short definitions I’ve come across that are also too general and nonspecific include "The science of questions," and "The ultimate meaning and justification of everything," and "All questions treated as abstractly as possible…using reason," and even "If you want to know what philosophy is, just look at the books the great philosophers have written—that's philosophy!" These definitions are of limited help. No short definition will likely distinguish what's philosophical from what's not.

      I've given the issue some thought, so I'll give my attempt at an adequate definition. I'll start with a one-sentence definition, and then offer a long explanation of that short definition, which will come in the form of list of criteria for what philosophy is (or, at least, for what the western philosophical tradition is—this may or may not apply to other traditions). This approach has the disadvantage of taking the form of a long and drawn-out description instead of a short, snappy definition. However, I think it more precisely distinguishes what is philosophical from what is not, or what is more philosophical from what is less so.

      Fortunately, most philosophers agree on some common ideas about what philosophy is and what kinds of questions it has. Unfortunately, to give a good definition, you have to do so without smuggling controversial philosophical views into your definition. This is not so easy. Provisionally, here's how I've come to think about it:

      "Philosophy" is what you do when you take a philosophical attitude (wonder and striving for meaning) towards a philosophical (i.e., conceptual/ controversial/ fundamental) question and try to answer it in a philosophical (rational) manner. That’s the short version. Let me break that down.

      1. So, the first criteria, the philosophical attitude, refers to a sense of fascination for and wonder about the meaning of our life and the world around us, a striving to arrive at what’s true or accurate and to know how to live life well (and to act upon that), and the attempt to take a step back and look at the world in terms of the "bigger picture" and tie together seemingly unrelated parts of life. This requires being open to being truly changed by the new understandings and views you may come upon, no matter what they are, as opposed to trying to reaffirm what you already believe, or settle upon convenient, comfortable, or pleasing conclusions. Easier said than done! A lot more could be said about that, but I think you get the idea.

      While most philosophers have identified the field of philosophy by the kinds of questions it tries to tackle and/or how they are tackled, others have defined it in the above way, by the mental attitudes and processes one goes through. In this latter view, the particular answers any thinker comes up with is not the main point of philosophy, just one of its temporary, provisional results. Results will always change, but the underlying attitude doesn’t change so much. As I see it, both components are relevant to distinguishing philosophy from what’s done in other fields.

      Apart from these notions of the ideal philosophical attitudes, which may be tough to agree upon, it's easier to state the next criteria for defining philosophy, the philosophical manner of dealing with questions.

      2. The second criteria to look at, the "philosophical manner," refers to the way a question is answered. Simply put, the philosophical manner of answering questions and evaluating those answers is by using your sense of understanding and your "critical thinking" skills (i.e., the methods and standards of rationality and logic). The goal is not simply to produce an answer to a question, but to justify that answer as being the correct or most plausible answer, or being better than any of the alternatives.

      These methods and standards of rationality would include the following: making and evaluating arguments, introspecting and articulating the vague or unclear, questioning and uncovering our most basic assumptions and beliefs, discovering and analyzing the meanings of words/ concepts and our methods of using language and doing things, making explicit what a concept or view presupposes and what its implications are, examining the logical/ conceptual relations between ideas, bringing ourselves to new insights and understandings of the world and various philosophical or cultural views, devising thought experiments, systematizing ideas, speculating about and creating theories, and so on.

      With regards to the evaluation of views, these rational methods of evaluating arguments and ideas stand in contrast to other standards of evaluation, for example, judging an answer by what accords with your intuition, by what the authorities and experts say or write, by what was revealed to you or others by mystical insights, by what feels right emotionally, by what scientific or empirical methods point to, by the consensus of any group of people, etc.

      Implicit in the philosophical approach is the attempt to actually arrive at some kind of answer to your question, even if you don't think you can do it, even if you think that nobody will ever have a decent answer to the question, and even if you think there simply is no or cannot be an answer to the question. The idea is to attempt to arrive at the best answer you can, and arrive at the best understanding of the question that you can, regardless of the final result. "Just because you cannot finish your task," a famous rabbi once said, "does not mean that you are free to put the task down."

      Thus, sentiments like "all attempts to answer this question are doomed at the outset," or "some things are better left as mysteries," or "I believe because it is absurd (said of one's faith in the trinity of the Christian God) are not philosophical approaches to questions—whatever other virtues these sentiments may possess. Sometimes, however, an answer to a philosophical question comes in the form of "now that we understand the question and its surrounding issues better, we can see that the question is really I'll-formed, vague, or meaningless, and here's why…" This, too, counts as a legitimate way to answer a question.

      3. The third criteria, "a philosophical question," refers to the nature of the question itself. As I see it, there are three parts (sub-criteria) to this; a philosophical question is conceptual, controversial, and "fundamental."

      A) First, philosophical questions are questions about concepts, not facts about the world. Science focuses on studying the world itself; philosophy focuses on studying how we experience, talk and think about the world. Conceptual questions are about the meanings and definitions of words and ideas, and also about what these definitions and meanings presuppose and what they imply. This conceptual aspect of philosophical questions is brought out by one of the more interesting definitions of philosophy I've seen, "The study not of what is (the realm of science) but of what is necessary or possible."

      If the question you're discussing can be settled by leaving the room to investigate the world, do experiments, consult with experts, look through reference books or the internet for facts, run computer simulations, or the like, then it's a factual question, not a conceptual one. On the other hand, if everyone in the room has the relevant facts at hand, and yet you can still meaningfully address the question by talking, thinking and arguing about the meanings of things, then it's a conceptual question.

      B) Second, philosophical questions are controversial in that they have no set method for coming to an answer. I think this point was best made by contemporary philosopher John Searle. In one of my favorite definitions of what is distinctive about philosophical questions, he said, "Philosophical questions are those questions for which no generally agreed upon method exists [among experts] for arriving at an answer." [The bracketed words are mine.] As mentioned above, philosophical questions are analyzed and evaluated using the standards of rationality. But even within that general approach, much disagreement exists among philosophers on how to answer, and how to evaluate answers to, the classic questions of philosophy. Different traditions and schools of thought have arisen around a particular favored method(s) of answering questions, but none have been shown to be clearly better than its competitors, and none seem to work for all questions (not yet, at least).

      This lack of "generally agreed upon methods for arriving at an answer" is one thing that separates philosophical questions from most mathematical or scientific questions, for example. The latter are often very conceptual, but they aren't philosophical because mathematicians and scientists in the relevant subfield generally agree ahead of time on how to arrive at an answer, or on what kinds of methods or experiments are in the running for a way to come to an answer. Throughout history, questions which were once part of philosophy branched off into one or another branch of science when an agreed upon method for addressing the questions became available.

      As an example, if a group of us are sitting in a room arguing about what the nature of energy is, or some other question about how the universe is constructed, and we couldn’t arrive at an answer until we had access to actual physicists or physics texts (i.e., experts in facts about the physical world, most of which have answers or have agreed upon empirical methods for arriving at answers), then the question isn't a philosophical one. On the other hand, if we argue about whether the universe could contain a supernatural realm as well as a natural or physical realm, then we're struggling with a philosophical question. Why? Because physicists can't come close to answering it, it can't be answered by doing an experiment, no generally agreed upon method exists for answering it (among physicists, philosophers, theologians, or anyone else), and the answer depends in large part on the meaning of concepts. These conceptual disputes would include what "natural" and "supernatural" mean, how we know the difference between the two, whether a supernatural realm could be investigated scientifically (and whether this means that it's not supernatural), whether it even makes sense to talk about a supernatural realm apart from the material world, and so on.

      C) Finally, the third part or sub-criteria for defining what is and isn't a philosophical question has to do with its "fundamental" subject matter. Philosophical questions are what philosophers have often called "The big questions," or "The most fundamental, abstract, and general questions" that humans have always wondered about. What exactly does that mean? I interpret is this way: If you analyze and examine the assumptions within any question, and ask a question about each of those assumptions, then analyze and examine the assumptions in those questions, and so on, you'll sooner or later come to these big, "most fundamental, general and abstract" of questions. As it turns out, these big, fundamental questions are mainly questions that bear on the way we inquire and think about the world and our lives. A paraphrase of one of my favorite definitions of philosophy put the matter this way, "Philosophy is inquiry about inquiry…critical discussion and thinking about how we carry out critical discussions/ thinking about any topic at all."

      Which questions do these include? The most abbreviated version of this is Plato’s notion that philosophy is the discipline that tries to tell us what “The Good, the True, and the Beautiful” is. Let me offer a definition by way of an expanded list of these most fundamental questions, the questions that bear on how we carry out any inquiry at all. Though different philosophers like to cut the pie in different ways, these questions are often said to fall under one of the following, traditional five subfields of philosophy.

      i) "What is real, what exists, what are their essences, how do we categorize different kinds of things, and how should we talk about them? What meanings do the most abstract concepts have, e.g., Properties, Objects, Freedom, Identity, the Mind, the Will?" "How must the world be that we can understand it at all?" (Metaphysics).
      ii) "How can you tell whether you have knowledge, or facts, instead of mere opinions? How can you tell which knowledge or opinions are better than others? What can be known and what can’t? What methods are the optimal methods the sciences should use, and why are they the best? " (Epistemology).
      iii) "What is Good, worthwhile, important, valuable, and wise, and how should we talk about these things? What is right and what's wrong, just and unjust? What's the meaning or purpose of life, or my life, if any? What should I do and how should I live? What does it mean to become a better person?" (Ethics).
      iv) "What is art, what is literature, and why are some things beautiful or pleasing? How can we evaluate various artistic works?" (Aesthetics).
      v) "What are the correct and incorrect forms of reasoning and argumentation?" (Logic).

      The above examples are versions of the classic, paradigmatic questions. But the above list, with perhaps a few additions, is not, I think, merely a representative sample of philosophical questions or problems. Rather, I'm claiming that all or nearly all philosophical questions are just variations on the above questions and/or combinations of them, applied to this or that specific situation.



      These (or any) criteria are not absolute, but a matter of degree. To the extent that you meet the above criteria, your attempts are more philosophical in character, and/or your questions are more philosophical. If you meet none of the criteria, you're probably not engaged in philosophical inquiry, and your question is probably not a philosophical one. If you meet some of the criteria but not others, it's likely that your inquiry is only party philosophical and your question is complex one that's partially a philosophical question and partially a factual question from some other field. Many political and cultural questions of the day, for example, are of this last type.

      --Brian
      • …To expand on the last two paragraphs of my last, overly long, entry:

        First, for the purpose of the philosophy discussion group, we usually frame philosophical issues in terms of questions rather than statements or issues (as philosophers usually seem to do). This is because philosophical thinking, it seems to me, arises mainly from a sense of questioning, confusion, a compulsion to understand, and a wondering about what things mean, how things are, what makes sense, what is real and right. The questioning comes first; the stating of an issue in some form or another is secondary and derived from it.

        Second, philosophical questions are usually stated in an abstract, ahistorical way, like how I stated them above, in my previous entry (the "…traditional five subfields of philosophy…"). Especially in textbooks. For example, "How can we arrive at knowledge?" On the other hand, philosophical questions can appear in "disguised form" as very specific, seemingly less philosophical, less academic, contemporary questions. Yet, many of these supposedly new or contemporary questions are really versions of, variations of, and/or combinations of very old, traditional questions. And some philosopher somewhere had written it down a long time ago. In a sense, there’s nothing truly new under the Sun… except for the details. I like this parallelism between the new and the old, the specific and the general, and simple and the (seemingly) complex. On the list of topics we vote on each month for out discussion group, I sometimes state questions in this specific/contemporary form, since it can make the question more interesting and emotionally resonant. Plus, people often have a better "feel" for, and have more interesting things to say about, questions that are put in specific, contemporary language, as opposed to the abstract, context-free formulations.

        An example that comes to mind is the traditional, abstract philosophical issue (in the subfield of Ethics) "what is the moral thing to do" or, in one of the more specific (but contentious) variations, "What rules should one live by in order to not bring harm to others." After seeing the trailer for the recent movie "I, Robot" (and also hearing about the book), it seemed to me that it's main moral dilemma or issue was a specific, contemporary variation on the above, more general question. In the movie, this philosophical question can be stated as the ethical/ political/ technological/ scientific issue of "how to program computers so that they don't harm people.” (This question was on the list of topics for the philosophy club a few months ago, but we didn't talk about it since not enough people voted for it.)

        But really, a computer program is just another name for "a set of rules or instructions to live by," though in this case, the question is cast in terms not of human action but of how an intelligent (or artificially intelligent) computer/robot should behave, or how we should make it behave. The rules could just as well have been framed as rules for human behavior, but then, the movie (and the novel it was based on) would have had the feel of a much different movie, and it would have lost its concreteness and specificity as a story, and wouldn't have been as fun or interesting.

        Also, since the philosophical question is depicted in a concrete, specific form in the movie, it touches upon and is entangled with other questions, some philosophical, some technical/ factual. The factual questions would include "How can we design a set of rules in such a foolproof way that a smart creature or machine won't find a way to circumvent it?" "What risks are we taking by building smart, powerful machines, and is it realistic to think we can keep them under our control?" A few of the philosophical questions would include "Should we take the risk of building such smart and powerful machines?" "Would intelligent machines be sentient and/or would they have a personal, subjective life?" "If so, should they have civil and "human" rights?" "Are we being immoral by programming them in such a way that we rob them of true choices and free will?" These questions are part of what make these stories and movies so interesting, even though these questions usually remain implicit rather than being stated out loud. In the case of the recent “I, Robot” movie, though, I've heard that it didn't really say anything interesting about these questions. I've heard that the short stories it was based on dealt with the questions better.

        In this vein, it seems to me that nearly all interesting, contemporary public debates about politics, morality, science policy, social life, religion… are also variations of the supposedly “abstract, airy, abstruse, impractical” philosophical questions that have been the mainstay of academic philosophy for over 2000 years. These old questions take a particular, detailed form in our current news media, movies, and books, and I think this is fascinating to see. In this way, I think that philosophy discussion groups (both online and in person), like ours, are engaged in modest attempts to carry on a dialogue between the philosophical tradition and the contemporary public debate in the media about social issues. This is one answer, I think, to the criticism I often hear (usually implied rather than stated outright) that philosophy “is not relevant to most people or to real life, and is too abstract to be of much practical use or interest to anyone, except for a few devotees of abstruse, academic, ivory-tower, impractical philosophical writings that have little bearing on reality.” On the contrary, philosophy is what people always implicitly do whenever they gossip about the "bad" or foolish behavior of others, or when they try to justify their actions or convince someone they're being "reasonable" or acting with common sense, or when they carry on about how politicians should act, what our laws and policies should be, and so on. In most cases, though, they're doing philosophy in an unconscious, unreflective, unpracticed way, which is to say, they're usually doing it badly.
    • Hi John,

      I think this is great...wanted to toss some thoughts your way. You said we believe our questions to be answerable though since we are asking we likely don't know the answer ourselves...do you mean answerable personally or universally? I think that distinction is a large factor that makes philosophy unique as compared to science or other fields of study. I think depending upon the philosopher and the issue at hand, he/she will say philosophy is answerable in a very personal way...like how Foucault does a "history of the present" as he says, more or less how one came to be the way he is now or how Aristotle talks about the virtues, and that the mean sought after for ultimate virtue will be different for everyone, different but corrrect. Of course, there are far too many others to list that rely solely on a very analytical/logical breakdown of a series of thoughts, which if thought should only lead to that 1 conclusion, i.e. be universally accepted.

      I think philosophy is both a way of knowing and coming to know. Those that engage in philosophy have a different thought process than those that don't...yet, perhaps it could be argued that scientists or engineers, attorneys for that matter have a process of gathering facts, referencing, experimenting with ideas...what we think might be fact(s)...and therefore engaging in very much the same process as a philospher would about why war is necessary, that God exists, or whatever claim he/she is making and through facts placed nicely together result in the conclusion. Yet, a philosopher's way of knowing is far less about tangibles, but abstraction...thinking atypical of other professionals which sets it a part. With regards to a way of knowing specifically, I think many philosophers have a sense of where the logic will lead them at least partially down the path and so in that way they too have a knowingness.

      Coming to know I think most definitely, as where one thought he would arrive is not where he necessarily does, and say even if it is, his understanding is broadened I think by having firmly come to know that which was sought.

      You say that answers provide us knowledge about reality rather than the "way of seeing things/information about ourselves"...but is reality not personal? The reality for you and the reality for me may be very different based on our likes and dislikes, upbringing, beliefs, notions of self/identity, environment, accumulated experience and so on. I think it is all relative to the extent that we preceive/interpret differently. For example, you see a woman and she is sitting alone, glasses on, straightfaced, not really looking around. Maybe I think she is shy, feels awkward in this setting. Perhaps you think she is arrogant and pretentious. Perhaps, she thinks she is a loner, outcast. I believe it to be this variations of reality or truth that make that "reality" personal to a certain extent.

      Only because I think the human experience is largely similar that "reality" thus can hold as a universal. I believe this to be true because we all experience more or less the same, fact being that we all experience love and fear...and the multiple variations of the emotions such as joy, anger, apprecation, nervousness etc. The fact that we all can feel and thus in this way take in or experience a similar state regardless of what the actual experience was...death of a family member, car crash, hostile neighbor...we understand and see "reality" as a universal because we can all "know" it, despite whatever experience we personally draw on, or metaphor we use to describe it/reality/our reality. In this way I believe philosophy can most definitely give/provide knowledge/insight to or about reality in a more generalized context and a personalized concext due to one's take on things.

      Something interesting you wrote is that we have no experience to rely on to justify or back up our theories...very true. Though I thought it fascinating during the discussion that took place on Sunday...I'm not sure if you were there as there were so many people...the issue of lanuage and linguisticality or something arose. It was said by some that that which can't be expressed in any form is thus unknown to the person. If it can't be articulated then it can't be philosophical for it must be expressed in order to enter into the discussion/dialogue/idea pool that is philosophy. I personally have had a number of experiences/instances where I have known something, something for which I had yet to have the right words for. I would try to think it through, express it to myself, to others even, but it not really making sense until some other experience and thus knowing made all the pieces fall into place. I think this goes back to your point about knowing and coming to know...I personally have both, though sometimes neither :) .

      Anyway, goodness my point being that I did need experience to render full/clear thought/knowledge/answer. I can think up a storm and have good/rational/logical conclusions about many things...but like the right course of action I think is personal.

      And so back to what philosopher's of non-emipircal concepts is that yes we have no experience...but I really wonder is it the answer we want or the experience of the answer? I wonder if we engage in philosophy so much not because we want answers, but because it is our outlet for being unable to experience and so we attempt to satisfy this desire to endure/feel/partake in by contemplating? Not to say that knowing and conclusions and answers aren't wonderful...but I think it's really the experience of knowing that we really want...though I can't particularly say why. If I were to hazard a guess I'd say it is because "reality" is subjective/personal and while we can have thoughts and logically arrive at this notion/concept/belief these things so to speak remains thoughts and we want to live/be of and so the thoughts about something just aren't enough as experience can be. Not that I'm not highly recommending thinking and philosophy, abosolutely...I think a great offset to that problem is application. I think if you can know and become from that so it becomes a part of who you are and how you live then that is one hell of a thought!

      Anyway, great ideas, I just wanted to say.
      Emily
      • Emily,

        Thank you very much for your thoughtful and thorough reply. There are four points among your remarks that I would like to address: three points on which I agree with you entirely, and should amend my original discussion to include them, and one point on which I must disagree.

        The first point on which I agree is that (1) to the extent that scientists or engineers or doctors or lawyers (for example) in their capacity as professionals sometimes find themselves in a position to ask foundational or procedural or goal-oriented questions about their discipline or their profession, they may indeed be engaged in philosophic activity. If, for instance, a lawyer, while investigating a case of fraud, discovers that some of the fraudsters are financially connected to her own law firm, so that disclosing their fraud would implicate her employers, she may find herself asking questions such as: “would it be wrong, in some extra-legal sense of wrong, for me to destroy evidence in order to protect my own financial interests?”, and “is there such a thing as ‘the truth about what happened’ if all the evidence is destroyed and no one ever finds out?”, and “what difference will it make to the rule of law in our society if some crimes go unpunished, and if innocent persons are sometimes convicted for crimes they did not commit?” These are, of course, philosophical questions, and it seems to me almost inescapable that everyone, at some point or other, whether in their occupational capacity or not, asks themselves philosophical questions.

        Surely it must occur to everyone to wonder, at some point in their lives, what will become of them after death, and whether there is a purpose to their being on Earth. Sadly, not everyone grapples with such questions. As you say, “those who engage in philosophy have a different thought process than those who don’t.” Some people, in my experience, just dismiss philosophical questions as not worth bothering about, even while they admit that such questions are perfectly meaningful and intelligible. Their attitude seems to be that since such questions are fundamentally unanswerable, it would simply be a complete waste of time to think much about them, much less to devote three hours on a Sunday to talking about them. I would say that such questions are not fundamentally unanswerable, though we must all concede, of course, that we do not and (generally) cannot know whether we got the answers right. I do not believe, however, that this should make us skeptical as to whether there are correct answers to philosophical questions (more on this below).

        I also agree that (2) philosophy can and does provide us with information about ourselves, including information about the way we see things. In the process of inquiring about the world and about the nature of our experience, philosophy runs up against our “common sense” ideas, and challenges us to justify them. This calls into question our familiar ways of dealing with, and thinking about, things, which can lead us to examine and even relinquish habitual attitudes and beliefs. For instance: should I continue to extend special consideration to the advice that I get from my parents once I have become an autonomous adult, even if I happen to disagree with their advice? Traditional cultural attitudes would encourage us to think that we should indeed continue to extend special consideration to what our parents tell us all our lives, *because* they are our parents. But why? How is the fact that they are our parents a reason *by itself* for listening to them? Doesn’t every individual have the right to make her own decisions, or do rights not apply within families? I agree that philosophy provides us with information about ourselves, and about the ways in which we see the world; I just don’t happen to think that this is the only thing that philosophy can do, and I don’t even think that it is what philosophy primarily does, though it is one of the best and most important things that it can do.

        Thus, I also agree that (3) philosophic activity and its consequences can be exceedingly, intensely personal, particularly when one’s philosophical questions concern oneself (regardless of whether they may, at the same time, concern others as well). It is a matter of tremendous personal importance to me to know whether I, myself, will survive the death of my body, and I have a personal stake in this question and its answer regardless of the fact that if I think it is likely that I will survive the death of my body, then probably everyone could think the same thing for the same reason. (I don’t see any reason to think that I’m special in this regard. Why should I alone be saved?)

        I do not agree, however, that reality is thus personal in any sense. Indeed, it seems to me to follow from what I have just said that reality is rather impersonal: what serves as a reason for me to think that I can look forward to an afterlife could just as easily serve as a reason for anybody to think the same, which (I submit) suggests that it doesn’t make any difference to the question whether I will have an afterlife that I happen to be the subject of the question, so phrased. The question could be generalized, and it would make just as much sense to ask it in its general form: “Are there good reasons for believing that human beings survive the death of their physical bodies?” The facts about it are entirely impersonal, and available equally to everyone. You say that it is “only because [you] think the human experience is largely similar that ‘reality’ thus can hold as a universal.” You “believe this to be true because we all experience more or less the same, fact being that we all experience love and fear...and the multiple variations of the emotions such as joy, anger, apprecation, nervousness etc.” If you believe, however, that our experience is largely similar, why think, then, that reality is (ultimately) personal? My guess is that the answer lies in your skepticism about the existence of a “real world” beyond the bounds of our individual perceptions. But why doubt the existence of such a real world?

        You propose the following example: “you see a woman and she is sitting alone, glasses on, straight-faced, not really looking around. Maybe I think she is shy, feels awkward in this setting. Perhaps you think she is arrogant and pretentious. Perhaps, she thinks she is a loner, outcast. I believe it to be this variations of reality or truth that make that ‘reality’ personal to a certain extent.” What difference does it make what you or I think? You and I each have different ideas about what this woman is like, but from your own description of the case, *we are both wrong.* Presumably there is a fact of the matter about what this woman is like, and she knows what that is, and we don’t; right? It is interesting that you say that the woman *thinks* that she is a loner. Could she be wrong about this? We wouldn’t be tempted to say that her *own* view of what she is like is just her opinion, and that there’s simply no fact of the matter at all, *even for her,* would we? Sure, our ideas of what she is like will cause us to treat her in certain ways that will cause the world to be (or become) a certain way, but that’s not the same thing as saying that there simply is no way that she really is. How the world comes out will still be objective in any case. Why say that our ways of seeing this woman are “variations of reality or truth” rather than “differing ideas about (the same) reality; ideas that may or may not be true”?

        Another example: Does God exist? Suppose I say yes and you say no. It simply cannot be that God exists for me and does not exist for you, because if the term ‘God’ makes any sense at all, then whether God exists does not depend upon our say so, any more than your existence depends upon my say so, or my existence depends upon your say so. God either exists or He (She?) doesn’t, not neither, not both. Our existence for each other is not simply a function of our beliefs (or other mental activities), is it? If I stopped believing in you, would you cease to exist? If the answer is that you *would* cease to exist “for me,” than I would say that this answer makes no sense. I can pretend or imagine or believe, or even convince myself, that you don’t exist, but there you are, stubbornly existing, writing to me. Now what do I believe? That someone else is claiming to be you -- someone who looks like you and sounds like you and ...? I’m not even sure that I can make good sense of that way of accounting for the evidence of my senses; there’s a point at which I would have to be deluded to maintain my fantasy of your non-existence.

        Here’s another problem. If reality is personal -- if I have my reality and you have yours -- then it would seem to be an inexplicable miracle that we can and do understand one another. In fact, it would seem to follow that we cannot possibly really ever understand one another, or communicate at all (though we may sometimes appear to do so). If the reply is that our largely similar experiences make it possible for us to communicate, I would answer that we can have no possible way of knowing that our experiences are at all alike. If I have my own reality and you have yours, then it is only true *for me* (or for you) that our experiences are largely similar. It is not *really* a fact about our two realities that they are similar, it is only a fact that each of us thinks that our realities are similar. There can, in fact, be no fact of the matter as to whether our realities are the same or different, and we could not ever know what the facts are, since there aren’t any, and since all we ever have is our own realities.

        One consequence of this is that you have no reason at all to be considerate of someone whose reality really differs radically from yours. In fact, you have no reason at all even to respect them. Why should you? What difference does their reality make to yours? Take the religious absolutist: if your reality differs from that of someone who claims that God exists and that anyone who is not a believer is going to end up in Hell, why should you respect their right to their own reality? Do we just say, “well, that’s what he thinks, and if that’s his reality, then so be it?” In fact, aren’t there are lots of people whose realities we