I guess I suspected that this might be a problem, but it really sank in when a close colleague told me the other day that he was freaked out by it. And I’d hate to have you hear it from anyone else but me.
Category Archives: Philosophy
Reader mail.
In my inbox today:
I’m curious, what credentials (academic or otherwise) does one need to become a philosopher?
For the purposes of employment in a university philosophy department, a graduate degree in philosophy (usually a Ph.D. but sometimes an M.A.) is standard. Kind of like a chemist can be expected to have a degree in chemistry, or a biologist to have a degree in biology.
If you’re an off-the-books philosopher, I imagine this requirement might be relaxed.
Now, whether there are good reasons to accept the degree-linked-credentialist status quo (for philosophy or any other academic field) is a separate question. Commenters are welcome to take a swing at that if they so choose.
Who’s a scientist?
At Philosophers’ Playground, Steve Gimbel ponders the pedagogically appropriate way to label William Dembski:
I’m wrapping up work on my textbook Methods and Models: A Historical Introduction to the Philosophy of Science and have run into a question. …
The evolutionary biology track’s final piece deals with William Dembski’s work on intelligent design theory. Therein lies the question. The way the exercises are laid out is in three parts labeled The Case, The Scientist, and Your Job. The second part is a brief biographical sketch (a paragraph, just a couple sentences about the person’s life). Not every case study has a bio — for the discovery of the top quark, for example, there is no “The” scientist — so the question is whether I should have one for Dembski.
On the one hand, having it seems to beg the question I am asking the student — is it science. By labeling him “the scientist” in the text is to send a signal to the student. At the same time not doing so seems to send the same sort of message in the opposite direction. It also seems to be a political statement whether I do or don’t. If he had a Ph.D. in biology or had done some other work, that would make it easy, but he has a Ph.D. in mathematics and another in philosophy and teaches philosophy at Southwest Baptist Seminary. He did have an NSF research fellowship at one point, but then so have many philosophers whom I would not call scientists. His arguments are aimed at the discourse within evolutionary biology, that is, he sees himself as doing science and it is his clear intent to do science. Is that enough to be a scientist? Would being a mathematician with a professional interest in complexity theory, applied statistics be sufficient? Does the applied nature, the world-pointing orientation of those field make one a scientist? What is a scientist and is William Dembski one?
That question of who is properly counted as a scientist resurfaces yet again.
In which the elder Free-Ride offspring channels Descartes.
At bedtime, after the reading of the stories, the younger Free-Ride offspring lay upon Dr. Free-Ride’s better half, and Dr. Free-Ride’s better half responded by making strangling noises. Of course, I called in from the other room to remind the children that homicide, whether intentional or accidental, is forbidden in the house.
Younger offspring: I’m not killing him! He’s pretending!
Dr. Free-Ride’s better half: Actually, I’m pretending to be alive.
Elder offspring: Pretending means you are alive. If you weren’t alive, you wouldn’t be able to pretend anything.
Dr. Free-Ride: Well played, child!
A conference paper I didn’t see coming.
I thought I’d share a snapshot of my morning with you. For some reason, the internet seems like a good place for it.
The paper promised to be about the evaluation of evidence in understanding the assassination of John F. Kennedy. What follows are the notes I took during the approximately 25 minute conference presentation, edited to clean up typos. I’m not naming names; Google will provide if you really need to know.
A deep philosophical question.
This came up when I was making dinner.
“Pasta primavera?” I asked.
“I think that jumped the shark in about 1972,” Uncle Fishy replied.
Using analogies in ethical reasoning.
One of the things we’d like to be able to do with our powers of ethical reasoning is tackle situations where we’re not immediately certain of the right thing to do (or, for that matter, of the reason why the plan someone else is advocating strikes us as wrong).
A common strategy (at least in an ethics class) is to whip out an ethical principle or rule, try to apply it to the situation you’re pondering, and see what it tells you to do: What can I do here that respects the humanity of others and of myself? or, Which of the available courses of action maximizes benefits and minimizes harms (taking into account, of course, that benefits and harms to others matter just as much as benefits and harms to me)? The disadvantages of this strategy is that most of the ethical principles that yield clear judgments in decision scenarios also encounter decisions where they seem to break and give absurd judgments.
An alternative strategy is to take the situation we’re puzzling over and consider how similar or dissimilar it is from one or more cases for which our ethical judgments are clear. This strategy of using paradigm cases to guide our ethical responses to situations that deviate somewhat (but not too much) from the paradigm cases is called casuistry.
One way to tell that your colleagues are awesome.
At least, if you’re a member of a philosophy department:
Impediments to dialogue about animal research (part 5).
Today we discuss an impediment to dialogue about animals in research that seems to have a special power to get people talking past each other rather than actually engaging with each other:
Imprecision about the positions being staked out.
Specifically, here, the issue is whether the people trying to have a dialogue are being precise in laying out the relevant philosophical positions about animals — the position they hold, the position they’re arguing against, the other positions that might be viable options.
In which Ann Landers unintentionally blows my mind.
In a frequently recycled list of proposed New Year’s resolutions, Ann Landers urges:
Vow not to make a promise you don’t think you can keep.
However, she fails to advise a course of action in the case that you think you might not be able to live up to this vow.
(Maybe she was too busy trying to construct a set containing sets that are not members of themselves.)