Biola University, a conservative evangelical university in southern California, is giving its Phillip E. Johnson Award for Liberty and Truth to Antony Flew, one of the staunchest defenders of atheism in the past century. Of course, Flew is no longer an atheist.
I recall some people mocking Biola last year for giving the Phillip E. Johnson award to (who else?) Phillip E. Johnson. I wonder if those people will mock this year. Seriously. Would they claim that Biola is just giving the award to Flew because he converted from atheism (in part because of things like intelligent design -- read the interview in which he discusses this)? Would Biola have given the award to Flew even if he were still an atheist?
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Monday, March 27, 2006
In Which I Wonder if Rowling Alludes to Socrates
In Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Rowling introduces the character of Luna Lovegood. Luna is loony but proves to be a good friend to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Her father publishes a newspaper called The Quibbler, which ends up playing an important role in the story: It is the vehicle by which an important truth is made known. However, it is maligned throughout the novel for its reputation for printing pointless conspiracy theories and other nonsense; in short, for quibbling instead of employing words for more serious matters, like the oh-so-serious Daily Prophet. (OED's first definition of "quibble" is "to pun, to play on words.")
In Aristophanes' play Frogs, we find the following description of Socrates:
So it is refined not by Socrates
to sit and chatter
casting aside the pursuits of the Muses
and neglecting what's most important
in the art of tragedy.
But to spend time idly
in pompous words
and frivolous word-scraping
is the act of a man going crazy.
(trans. Dillon)
Here we have the perfect description of a quibbler. (Klein, in his commentary on the Meno, actually refers to Socrates in the Aristophanes passage as a quibbler.) Aristophanes -- who was at least not bosom buddies with Socrates -- describes Socrates as engaging in idle chatter. But if we take Plato's word, Socrates was not interested in chatter but in seeking the truth. Of course, it is easy to see how Socrates, who was always talking (discussing), could be mistaken for a word-scraper, or, in general, how one who seeks (even dispenses) the truth by conversing with others could be mistaken for a quibbler.
(I hope I need not remind my readers that Rowling has a degree in classics.)
In Aristophanes' play Frogs, we find the following description of Socrates:
So it is refined not by Socrates
to sit and chatter
casting aside the pursuits of the Muses
and neglecting what's most important
in the art of tragedy.
But to spend time idly
in pompous words
and frivolous word-scraping
is the act of a man going crazy.
(trans. Dillon)
Here we have the perfect description of a quibbler. (Klein, in his commentary on the Meno, actually refers to Socrates in the Aristophanes passage as a quibbler.) Aristophanes -- who was at least not bosom buddies with Socrates -- describes Socrates as engaging in idle chatter. But if we take Plato's word, Socrates was not interested in chatter but in seeking the truth. Of course, it is easy to see how Socrates, who was always talking (discussing), could be mistaken for a word-scraper, or, in general, how one who seeks (even dispenses) the truth by conversing with others could be mistaken for a quibbler.
(I hope I need not remind my readers that Rowling has a degree in classics.)
Saturday, March 25, 2006
In Which I Guess that All the Harry Potter Novels So Far Lead Up to This Speech by Dumbledore about Voldemort
". . . he was in such a hurry to mutilate his own soul, he never paused to understand the incomparable power of a soul that is untarnished and whole" (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, p. 511).
Rowling's genius has now exposed millions of people all over the world to this beautiful idea.
Rowling's genius has now exposed millions of people all over the world to this beautiful idea.
Friday, March 24, 2006
It's Like They're Animals
Our cats. I woke up this morning to find that one of them (Rosemary, I'm looking in your direction) had vomitted all over a placemat on the table. I left it just in case the culprit wanted to have it later for a snack. Sometimes they do, and it saves me having to clean up.
"I for one am all for scraping ancient barrels"
On the publication of the 500th volume in the Loeb Classical Library, A.N. Wilson has thoughts on the significance of Greek and Latin today.
HT: Michael Gilleland
HT: Michael Gilleland
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
In Which I Complain about the Froufrou Naming of Colors
So I bought this jacket for my wife for her birthday. According to Amazon.com, the color of the coat I ordered is called "persimmon," and in the color sample "persimmon" looks quite red, does it not?

When I received the jacket today, I discovered that persimmon is actually orange. Now I have no idea if persimmons are orange, and I really could care less. But it would have been much clearer if the Weatherproof jacket company had actually named the color of the coat "orange."

When I received the jacket today, I discovered that persimmon is actually orange. Now I have no idea if persimmons are orange, and I really could care less. But it would have been much clearer if the Weatherproof jacket company had actually named the color of the coat "orange."
Monday, February 27, 2006
In Which I Attempt to Sum Up the Row Over Intelligent Design
Aristotle says, "The causes responsible for things seem to be nature, necessity, and chance, and also intelligence . . . ." (NE, 1112a30ish).
The Darwinist says, "The first three causes Aristotle lists are the only legitimate causes."
The Designist says, "Let us also admit the last cause Aristotle lists."
The Darwinist says, "The first three causes Aristotle lists are the only legitimate causes."
The Designist says, "Let us also admit the last cause Aristotle lists."
Thursday, February 16, 2006
An Interpretation of King Lear, Act 1, Scene 1
The play opens with three people: Kent, Gloucester, and Edmund. At first I was puzzled about why Edmund is there. Kent and Gloucester, being part of the king's council, I could handle. But why Edmund, the villain? Here is my attempt at explaining Edmund's presence.
Shakespeare represents with these three a whole soul: reason, spirit, and appetite. Kent, being the king's advisor, is reason. Gloucester, the king's loyal friend, is spirit. Edmund, greedy for power, is appetite.
Kent's first words are "I thought . . ." Thinking is exactly what reason does.
In the Platonic tradition, the spirited element of the soul mediates reason and appetite. In the opening scene, Gloucester introduces Kent to Edmund.
Lear enters then and, in his madness, which is already upon him, tears apart this whole soul: he sends Gloucester to attend to the dukes of France and Burgundy. (Edmund, though not addressed by the king, leaves with Gloucester.) I say that Lear is already mad, or at least (lit.) unreasonable, because there is no good reason to disrupt a whole, well-ordered soul. A whole soul (or city) is a beautiful and good thing, and there can be no good reason (or no reason at all) to tear it apart. But Lear does tear it apart; I conclude that Lear is not governed by reason even from the very beginning of the play.
Tragedy ensues. What else would one expect to follow in the wake of such a mindless disruption?
After Lear has made the tragic decision to banish Cordelia, each of the three parts of this original triad proceed thusly. (1) Kent tries to dissuade the king from his course of action. But Lear will not listen to reason, and reason separated from spirit and appetite can affect no change. (2) Gloucester, eager to assist the king, overplays his hand since he is not guided by reason. (3) Edmund, unbridled from reason and spirit, dwells on and pursues his base passion for power.
Thus, Edmund's presence is explained by the necessity of appetite in the city/soul. Appetite is not bad; but appetite following its desires leads to ruin. Perhaps Kent and Gloucester together could have saved Edmund. Consider Gloucester's urging Kent to remember Edmund as Gloucester's honorable friend and Kent's statement to Edmund that "I must love you, and sue to know you better." Kent however is prevented from taking Edmund under his wing, and so Edmund is not tamed, as he might have been. Apart from Kent and Gloucester, Edmund ruins both Gloucester and himself. (Reason seems to survive.)
Last thought (for now): It is true that Lear's division of his kingdom among his three (or two) daughters is the obvious source from which the rest of the play flows. But his disruption of the Kent-Gloucester-Edmund tripartite city/soul allows the second division (the division of his kingdom) to proceed. I suggest that if Gloucester and Edmund had been present, they (with Kent) could have functioned as a well-ordered unit to prevent (or at least soften) the disasters brought on by Lear's decision.
Shakespeare represents with these three a whole soul: reason, spirit, and appetite. Kent, being the king's advisor, is reason. Gloucester, the king's loyal friend, is spirit. Edmund, greedy for power, is appetite.
Kent's first words are "I thought . . ." Thinking is exactly what reason does.
In the Platonic tradition, the spirited element of the soul mediates reason and appetite. In the opening scene, Gloucester introduces Kent to Edmund.
Lear enters then and, in his madness, which is already upon him, tears apart this whole soul: he sends Gloucester to attend to the dukes of France and Burgundy. (Edmund, though not addressed by the king, leaves with Gloucester.) I say that Lear is already mad, or at least (lit.) unreasonable, because there is no good reason to disrupt a whole, well-ordered soul. A whole soul (or city) is a beautiful and good thing, and there can be no good reason (or no reason at all) to tear it apart. But Lear does tear it apart; I conclude that Lear is not governed by reason even from the very beginning of the play.
Tragedy ensues. What else would one expect to follow in the wake of such a mindless disruption?
After Lear has made the tragic decision to banish Cordelia, each of the three parts of this original triad proceed thusly. (1) Kent tries to dissuade the king from his course of action. But Lear will not listen to reason, and reason separated from spirit and appetite can affect no change. (2) Gloucester, eager to assist the king, overplays his hand since he is not guided by reason. (3) Edmund, unbridled from reason and spirit, dwells on and pursues his base passion for power.
Thus, Edmund's presence is explained by the necessity of appetite in the city/soul. Appetite is not bad; but appetite following its desires leads to ruin. Perhaps Kent and Gloucester together could have saved Edmund. Consider Gloucester's urging Kent to remember Edmund as Gloucester's honorable friend and Kent's statement to Edmund that "I must love you, and sue to know you better." Kent however is prevented from taking Edmund under his wing, and so Edmund is not tamed, as he might have been. Apart from Kent and Gloucester, Edmund ruins both Gloucester and himself. (Reason seems to survive.)
Last thought (for now): It is true that Lear's division of his kingdom among his three (or two) daughters is the obvious source from which the rest of the play flows. But his disruption of the Kent-Gloucester-Edmund tripartite city/soul allows the second division (the division of his kingdom) to proceed. I suggest that if Gloucester and Edmund had been present, they (with Kent) could have functioned as a well-ordered unit to prevent (or at least soften) the disasters brought on by Lear's decision.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Thursday, February 09, 2006
In Which Manolo Sees That Agathon Was Wrong
Manolo says, ". . . the designers of the Project Runway, they are not the handsome peoples. This it is not the handicap in the world of fashion, as it is also true that many of the famous fashion designers, they too are ugly. The Manolo, he theorizes that this it is because the ugly they are naturally drawn to the beauty."
Plato in his Symposium (201a-c, trans. Benardete) creates the following dialogue between Socrates and the playwright Agathon:
"And if this is so, Eros would be nothing else than love of beauty, but not of ugliness?" He [Agathon] agreed.
"Hasn't it been agreed that that of which one is in need and does not have one loves?"
"Yes," he said.
"So Eros is in need of and does not have beauty."
"Of necessity," he said.
"What about this? That which is in need of beauty and in no way possesses beauty, do you say that it is beautiful?"
"Certainly not."
"Do you still agree then that Eros is beautiful, if this is so?"
And Agathon said, "It's probable, Socrates, that I knew nothing of what I had said."
"And yet spoke you beautifully, Agathon," he said.
So the fashion designers of which Manolo speaks are in the same boat as the god Eros: they are both in love with beautiful things because they themselves are ugly.
Plato in his Symposium (201a-c, trans. Benardete) creates the following dialogue between Socrates and the playwright Agathon:
"And if this is so, Eros would be nothing else than love of beauty, but not of ugliness?" He [Agathon] agreed.
"Hasn't it been agreed that that of which one is in need and does not have one loves?"
"Yes," he said.
"So Eros is in need of and does not have beauty."
"Of necessity," he said.
"What about this? That which is in need of beauty and in no way possesses beauty, do you say that it is beautiful?"
"Certainly not."
"Do you still agree then that Eros is beautiful, if this is so?"
And Agathon said, "It's probable, Socrates, that I knew nothing of what I had said."
"And yet spoke you beautifully, Agathon," he said.
So the fashion designers of which Manolo speaks are in the same boat as the god Eros: they are both in love with beautiful things because they themselves are ugly.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Meno 70c-72a
Here's a longish passage from my translation of the Meno. It begins in the middle of a speech by Socrates.
But here, friend Meno, it has turned out the opposite. It’s as though there has been some drought of wisdom, and it’s possible [71a] for wisdom to have gone from these places to yours. At any rate, if you wish to ask someone here about this, there is no one who will not laugh and say, “Stranger, it’s possible I seem to you to be someone blessed -- at any rate, to know whether virtue is taught or what manner it comes to be -- but I stand very much in need of knowing whether virtue is taught or not taught, and am not as one who happens at all to know what virtue is.”
[b] So I, Meno, am even one such as this; I am poor with my fellow citizens about this matter, and I find great fault with myself thus, not knowing about virtue at all. But if I do not know what a thing is, how do I know what sort of thing it really* is? Or does it seem to you to to be like this: if anyone does not learn to know at all who Meno is, this one’s to know whether [Meno] is beautiful or rich or even well-born, or the opposite of these? Does it seem to you to be thus?
Meno: Not to me. But you, Socrates, do you truly [c] not know what virtue is, and is this what we’re to report about you back home?
Socrates: Not only this, comrade, but also that I have not met another who it seems to me did know.
Meno: What then? Did you not meet Gorgias when he was here?
Socrates: I did indeed.
Meno: Then he seemed not to you to know?
Socrates: I am not entirely mindful,** Meno, so I am not able to say in present circumstances how it seemed to me then. But it’s equally possible he does know, and that you know what he spoke; so remind [d] me how he spoke. And if you wish say yourself, for doubtless it seems to you however [it seemed] to him.
Meno: To me, yes indeed.
Socrates: Therefore, let’s be done with him, since he is not here, but you yourself, by the gods, Meno, what do you declare virtue to be? Speak and do not be grudging so that I will have fabricated a most fortunate lie if you and Gorgias, as ones who know, were to bring it to light, though I’ve stated I never yet have met with one who knows.
[e] Meno: But it’s not difficult, Socrates, to say. First then, if you wish, the virtue of a man, it’s easy; this is the virtue of a man: to be competent to manage the city, managing to do good to friends and harm to enemies, and himself taking care not to suffer any such thing. But if you wish the virtue of a woman, it’s not difficult to go through: she must economize the household, both preserving what is in the home and listening to the man. And there is also virtue of a child, both female and male, and of the old man, if you wish, of the free, or if you wish, [72a] of the slave. And there are very many other virtues, so that there is no impasse to speaking about what virtue is. For according to each of the practices and stages of life there is a virtue for each work of each of us. And I suppose it’s like this, Socrates, for badness, too.
Notes:
* Including “really” because of the force of “an . . . ge . . .” Or perhaps it should read, “how do I really know what sort of thing it is”?
** Chosen instead of the usual “I’m rather forgetful” or some such to bring out the continuing ambiguity of “entirely,” “at all,” etc. (cf. to parapon at 71b3 and 71b5). I.e., does Socrates not remember at all, or does he just not remember all of it?
But here, friend Meno, it has turned out the opposite. It’s as though there has been some drought of wisdom, and it’s possible [71a] for wisdom to have gone from these places to yours. At any rate, if you wish to ask someone here about this, there is no one who will not laugh and say, “Stranger, it’s possible I seem to you to be someone blessed -- at any rate, to know whether virtue is taught or what manner it comes to be -- but I stand very much in need of knowing whether virtue is taught or not taught, and am not as one who happens at all to know what virtue is.”
[b] So I, Meno, am even one such as this; I am poor with my fellow citizens about this matter, and I find great fault with myself thus, not knowing about virtue at all. But if I do not know what a thing is, how do I know what sort of thing it really* is? Or does it seem to you to to be like this: if anyone does not learn to know at all who Meno is, this one’s to know whether [Meno] is beautiful or rich or even well-born, or the opposite of these? Does it seem to you to be thus?
Meno: Not to me. But you, Socrates, do you truly [c] not know what virtue is, and is this what we’re to report about you back home?
Socrates: Not only this, comrade, but also that I have not met another who it seems to me did know.
Meno: What then? Did you not meet Gorgias when he was here?
Socrates: I did indeed.
Meno: Then he seemed not to you to know?
Socrates: I am not entirely mindful,** Meno, so I am not able to say in present circumstances how it seemed to me then. But it’s equally possible he does know, and that you know what he spoke; so remind [d] me how he spoke. And if you wish say yourself, for doubtless it seems to you however [it seemed] to him.
Meno: To me, yes indeed.
Socrates: Therefore, let’s be done with him, since he is not here, but you yourself, by the gods, Meno, what do you declare virtue to be? Speak and do not be grudging so that I will have fabricated a most fortunate lie if you and Gorgias, as ones who know, were to bring it to light, though I’ve stated I never yet have met with one who knows.
[e] Meno: But it’s not difficult, Socrates, to say. First then, if you wish, the virtue of a man, it’s easy; this is the virtue of a man: to be competent to manage the city, managing to do good to friends and harm to enemies, and himself taking care not to suffer any such thing. But if you wish the virtue of a woman, it’s not difficult to go through: she must economize the household, both preserving what is in the home and listening to the man. And there is also virtue of a child, both female and male, and of the old man, if you wish, of the free, or if you wish, [72a] of the slave. And there are very many other virtues, so that there is no impasse to speaking about what virtue is. For according to each of the practices and stages of life there is a virtue for each work of each of us. And I suppose it’s like this, Socrates, for badness, too.
Notes:
* Including “really” because of the force of “an . . . ge . . .” Or perhaps it should read, “how do I really know what sort of thing it is”?
** Chosen instead of the usual “I’m rather forgetful” or some such to bring out the continuing ambiguity of “entirely,” “at all,” etc. (cf. to parapon at 71b3 and 71b5). I.e., does Socrates not remember at all, or does he just not remember all of it?
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Say What You Believe
John Mark writes that Hugh Hewitt's recent interview with Joel Stein is "one of the finest examples of Socratic questions leading to bewilderment on the part of the victim of Socratic reasoning I have seen in some time."
I want to point out that Hugh insisted on one of Socrates' rules of discussion: say what you believe.
The most important rule for a Socratic discussion (apart from being brief with your answers) is to say what you believe.
There are two reasons why Socrates requires his interlocutors to say what they believe. The first is to make sure the interlocutor is being honest with his argument and the second is to test the interlocutor's seriousness about pursuing the truth.
The elenchus has not only the philosophical objective of discovering the truth; it also has a practical one. It aims to discover how every human ought to live (the philosophical objective) and then to test that single human being who is doing the answering -- to find out if he is living as one ought to live. But unless the interlocutor has given Socrates his actual beliefs, the elenchus cannot meet the second objective.
In the Protagoras (trans. W.R.M. Lamb), Protagoras tries to get out of an argumentative jam by saying (331a-c):
I do not take quite so simple a view of it, Socrates, as to grant that justice is holy and holiness just. I think we have to make a distinction here. Yet what difference does it make? he said: if you like, let us assume that justice is holy and holiness just.
But Socrates replies:
No, no, I said; I do not want this "if you like" or "if you agree" sort of thing to be put to the proof, but you and me together; and when I say "you and me" I mean that our statement will be most properly tested if we take away the "if."
Compare with Hewitt and Stein:
Stein says,
And honestly, I think that all these . . . for people who don't believe in the war and are putting up these stickers saying they support the troops anyway, my fear is that it's prolonging the war and putting them in further danger they don't need to be in.
But Hewitt replies, in Socratic fashion:
But Joel, I'm talking about you. I'm talking about what you honor, and you obviously don't honor military service.
Later, we have this bit, where Hewitt reminds Stein to say what he believes:
HH: And the people who've died in Afghanistan. Have they died in vain?
JS: Well, if they haven't, what have they accomplished?
HH: I'm asking you, Joel. You wrote the column. You tell me. Have they accomplished nothing?
JS: Well, um, do I think that I, as an American, are safer because of what they did?
HH: That wasn't what I asked. I asked did they accomplish anything in going to Afghanistan.
JS: If I were an Afghani, I would probably . . . if I lived in Kabul, I probably would think that they accomplished something, sure.
Now Hewitt isn't Socratic in the sense that he does not point out directly to Stein that some of what he said contradicts other things he said, but, then again, if you do that too much you might end up like Socrates.
I want to point out that Hugh insisted on one of Socrates' rules of discussion: say what you believe.
The most important rule for a Socratic discussion (apart from being brief with your answers) is to say what you believe.
There are two reasons why Socrates requires his interlocutors to say what they believe. The first is to make sure the interlocutor is being honest with his argument and the second is to test the interlocutor's seriousness about pursuing the truth.
The elenchus has not only the philosophical objective of discovering the truth; it also has a practical one. It aims to discover how every human ought to live (the philosophical objective) and then to test that single human being who is doing the answering -- to find out if he is living as one ought to live. But unless the interlocutor has given Socrates his actual beliefs, the elenchus cannot meet the second objective.
In the Protagoras (trans. W.R.M. Lamb), Protagoras tries to get out of an argumentative jam by saying (331a-c):
I do not take quite so simple a view of it, Socrates, as to grant that justice is holy and holiness just. I think we have to make a distinction here. Yet what difference does it make? he said: if you like, let us assume that justice is holy and holiness just.
But Socrates replies:
No, no, I said; I do not want this "if you like" or "if you agree" sort of thing to be put to the proof, but you and me together; and when I say "you and me" I mean that our statement will be most properly tested if we take away the "if."
Compare with Hewitt and Stein:
Stein says,
And honestly, I think that all these . . . for people who don't believe in the war and are putting up these stickers saying they support the troops anyway, my fear is that it's prolonging the war and putting them in further danger they don't need to be in.
But Hewitt replies, in Socratic fashion:
But Joel, I'm talking about you. I'm talking about what you honor, and you obviously don't honor military service.
Later, we have this bit, where Hewitt reminds Stein to say what he believes:
HH: And the people who've died in Afghanistan. Have they died in vain?
JS: Well, if they haven't, what have they accomplished?
HH: I'm asking you, Joel. You wrote the column. You tell me. Have they accomplished nothing?
JS: Well, um, do I think that I, as an American, are safer because of what they did?
HH: That wasn't what I asked. I asked did they accomplish anything in going to Afghanistan.
JS: If I were an Afghani, I would probably . . . if I lived in Kabul, I probably would think that they accomplished something, sure.
Now Hewitt isn't Socratic in the sense that he does not point out directly to Stein that some of what he said contradicts other things he said, but, then again, if you do that too much you might end up like Socrates.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Meno 70a-c
In response to Meno's opening question, Socrates says,
Meno, before now the Thessalians were famous among the Greeks and honored for horsemanship and for wealth, but now, it seems to me, [they are to be honored] also for wisdom (sophia) and not least [of them] the fellow citizens, Larissians, of your companion, Aristippus. The cause of this [happening] to you all is Gorgias. For after coming into the city, he took from the Aleudai lovers both of the foremost kind, [lovers] of wisdom -- among them your lover Aristippus -- and other Thessalians. And in particular, this is the habit to which he has accustomed you all: to answer fearlessly and magnificently whatever anyone would ask, as is fitting of those who know, just as also he offers himself to whoever of the Greeks wishes to ask whatever anyone would wish -- and there is no one he does not answer.
Socrates is not done, but we'll pause here to note the importance of Gorgias. Is Gorgias's influence a good one? Perhaps not, though his reputation as one who answers any question posed to him is demonstrated in Plato's dialogue, Gorgias.
Meno, before now the Thessalians were famous among the Greeks and honored for horsemanship and for wealth, but now, it seems to me, [they are to be honored] also for wisdom (sophia) and not least [of them] the fellow citizens, Larissians, of your companion, Aristippus. The cause of this [happening] to you all is Gorgias. For after coming into the city, he took from the Aleudai lovers both of the foremost kind, [lovers] of wisdom -- among them your lover Aristippus -- and other Thessalians. And in particular, this is the habit to which he has accustomed you all: to answer fearlessly and magnificently whatever anyone would ask, as is fitting of those who know, just as also he offers himself to whoever of the Greeks wishes to ask whatever anyone would wish -- and there is no one he does not answer.
Socrates is not done, but we'll pause here to note the importance of Gorgias. Is Gorgias's influence a good one? Perhaps not, though his reputation as one who answers any question posed to him is demonstrated in Plato's dialogue, Gorgias.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Meno 70a
Here begins my translation of Plato's Meno. (I will go back at some time and pick up my translation of the Republic.)
Meno: Can you tell me, Socrates, whether virtue is taught, or not taught but had by practice, or -- neither had by practice nor learnt -- comes to men by nature or in some other way?
So begins Plato's dialogue on, among other things, teaching and learning.
Meno: Can you tell me, Socrates, whether virtue is taught, or not taught but had by practice, or -- neither had by practice nor learnt -- comes to men by nature or in some other way?
So begins Plato's dialogue on, among other things, teaching and learning.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Some Answers about Fishing at Night
Michael Gilleland has come up with a partial answer to my questions about what fishing at night in ancient Greece was like.
My original posts on this matter are here, here, and here.
Aside: After Dr. Gilleland linked to me, my ranking in the TTLB ecosystem went up to a "Wriggly Worm" and then "Crunchy Crustacean," two fine specimens for fish bait. Coincidence?
My original posts on this matter are here, here, and here.
Aside: After Dr. Gilleland linked to me, my ranking in the TTLB ecosystem went up to a "Wriggly Worm" and then "Crunchy Crustacean," two fine specimens for fish bait. Coincidence?
Friday, December 23, 2005
Learn Something New Every Day
I was going to write this post on what I thought was a grammar mistake on the front page of CNN's website. Under a picture of travelers at LAX, the caption reads, "Travelers cue up at Los Angeles International Airport today." I was going to say that the proper word is "queue" not "cue," but then I double checked with Merriam-Webster. Sure enough, "cue" (main entry #5) is an alternate spelling for "queue."
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Logic Lesson: The Four Forms of Propositions
In Aristotelian logic, there are four forms of propositions: universal affirmative, universal negative, particular affirmative, and particular negative. All declarative sentences can be properly characterized as one of these four forms.
For brevity, we may refer to each of these forms by a system of abbreviation, which was codified during the Middle Ages. The abbreviations are as follows: A = universal affirmative, E = universal negative, I = particular affirmative, and O = particular negative.*
If we use the letter "S" to stand for the logical subject and the letter "P" to stand for the logical predicate, the forms of the four propositions can be given as follows:
A: All S is P.
E: No S is P.
I: Some S is P.
O: Some S is not P.
Some examples: "All men are mortal" is in A form; that is, it is a universal affirmative proposition. "No ravens are white" is in E form. "Some politicians are corrupt" is in I form. And "Some politicians are not corrupt" is in O form.**
When we say a proposition is universal or particular, we are describing its quantity; when we say it is affirmative or negative, we refer to its quality. So, for example, how do we know that "All men are mortal" is a universal affirmative proposition? It is universal because it refers to all men, and it is affirmative because it says that all men are such and such, as opposed to saying that all men are not such and such. "Some politicians are not corrupt" is in O form because it talks about some politicians and says that they are not corrupt.
There are other finer details to go into, but we will put them off until later. Try your hand at some exercises given in the post below. Answers to the exercises appear when you click "Read more."
* The reasoning behind the abbreviations is that the Latin affirmo has as its first two vowels "a" and "i", and the Latin nego has as its first two vowels "e" and "o".
** More on the O in the answer to exercise 12.
For brevity, we may refer to each of these forms by a system of abbreviation, which was codified during the Middle Ages. The abbreviations are as follows: A = universal affirmative, E = universal negative, I = particular affirmative, and O = particular negative.*
If we use the letter "S" to stand for the logical subject and the letter "P" to stand for the logical predicate, the forms of the four propositions can be given as follows:
A: All S is P.
E: No S is P.
I: Some S is P.
O: Some S is not P.
Some examples: "All men are mortal" is in A form; that is, it is a universal affirmative proposition. "No ravens are white" is in E form. "Some politicians are corrupt" is in I form. And "Some politicians are not corrupt" is in O form.**
When we say a proposition is universal or particular, we are describing its quantity; when we say it is affirmative or negative, we refer to its quality. So, for example, how do we know that "All men are mortal" is a universal affirmative proposition? It is universal because it refers to all men, and it is affirmative because it says that all men are such and such, as opposed to saying that all men are not such and such. "Some politicians are not corrupt" is in O form because it talks about some politicians and says that they are not corrupt.
There are other finer details to go into, but we will put them off until later. Try your hand at some exercises given in the post below. Answers to the exercises appear when you click "Read more."
* The reasoning behind the abbreviations is that the Latin affirmo has as its first two vowels "a" and "i", and the Latin nego has as its first two vowels "e" and "o".
** More on the O in the answer to exercise 12.
Logic Exercises: The Four Forms of Propositions
These are excercises to accompany this post. Identify the form of each proposition. Answers appear when you click "Read more."
Easy ones:
1. Some pens are blue.
2. All cows are brown.
3. All philosophers with a PhD are poor.
4. Nobody is worth talking to.
5. Some books worth reading are worth buying.
6. All those who shop at Trader Joes are gourmands.
A little more difficult:
7. Most academics are liberal.
8. Most academics are conservative.
9. Everyone from New Jersey loves Bruce Springsteen.
Still more difficult:
10. Some wise guys are unwise.
11. All gods are immortal.
Tricky:
12. All ravens are not white.
13. Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee.
Answers
1. I
2. A
3. A (This is universal even though the "all" is qualified by "with a PhD." A proposition is universal if it refers to all the members of the class with which it is concerned. So even though "all philosophers with a PhD" does not include every philosopher (e.g., Richard Swinburne, who is a philosopher, does not have a PhD), the quantity is universal because with respect to philosophers with a PhD, it refers to all of them.)
4. E
5. I
6. A
7. I ("Most" still falls short of being all, and so logically indicates a particular quantity.)
8. I (Don't want to be accused of inserting bias into logic examples.)
9. A
10. I (You might think that since the predicate is "unwise" the quality would be negative, thus giving us an O. But the quality of the proposition is not negative -- it says that some wise guys are such and such -- even though the quality of the predicate is negative. Distinguishing between a negative proposition and a negative predicate is one of the trickiest parts of Aristotelian logic.)
11. A (Same reason as above.)
12. E or O. (The English in this sentence is ambiguous. In English, when we say "All ravens are not white" we could mean that there are no ravens whatsoever that are white. This would be consistent with the E form: No S is P. If we were trying to weasel out of something, we could also take "All ravens are not white" to mean that there are some ravens that are white. In other words we would emphasize the "all" in "All ravens are not white." It is because of this ambiguity that we give the E form as "No S is P" instead of "All S is not P," which is what one might have expected given the form of A, "All S is P."
13. E. (In logical form, this sentence would be "Nobody [is] [that which] doesn't like Sara Lee." For reasons discussed in answer 10, this makes the answer here E.)
Easy ones:
1. Some pens are blue.
2. All cows are brown.
3. All philosophers with a PhD are poor.
4. Nobody is worth talking to.
5. Some books worth reading are worth buying.
6. All those who shop at Trader Joes are gourmands.
A little more difficult:
7. Most academics are liberal.
8. Most academics are conservative.
9. Everyone from New Jersey loves Bruce Springsteen.
Still more difficult:
10. Some wise guys are unwise.
11. All gods are immortal.
Tricky:
12. All ravens are not white.
13. Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee.
Answers
1. I
2. A
3. A (This is universal even though the "all" is qualified by "with a PhD." A proposition is universal if it refers to all the members of the class with which it is concerned. So even though "all philosophers with a PhD" does not include every philosopher (e.g., Richard Swinburne, who is a philosopher, does not have a PhD), the quantity is universal because with respect to philosophers with a PhD, it refers to all of them.)
4. E
5. I
6. A
7. I ("Most" still falls short of being all, and so logically indicates a particular quantity.)
8. I (Don't want to be accused of inserting bias into logic examples.)
9. A
10. I (You might think that since the predicate is "unwise" the quality would be negative, thus giving us an O. But the quality of the proposition is not negative -- it says that some wise guys are such and such -- even though the quality of the predicate is negative. Distinguishing between a negative proposition and a negative predicate is one of the trickiest parts of Aristotelian logic.)
11. A (Same reason as above.)
12. E or O. (The English in this sentence is ambiguous. In English, when we say "All ravens are not white" we could mean that there are no ravens whatsoever that are white. This would be consistent with the E form: No S is P. If we were trying to weasel out of something, we could also take "All ravens are not white" to mean that there are some ravens that are white. In other words we would emphasize the "all" in "All ravens are not white." It is because of this ambiguity that we give the E form as "No S is P" instead of "All S is not P," which is what one might have expected given the form of A, "All S is P."
13. E. (In logical form, this sentence would be "Nobody [is] [that which] doesn't like Sara Lee." For reasons discussed in answer 10, this makes the answer here E.)
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
Faith & Philosophy: A Short Spiel
What is a philosopher? A philosopher is a person who has an interest in studying the really permanent things, things that will last more than a few hours or days or years. So studying philosophy is time well spent because you know the subject matter really isn’t going to change in the next few years. And not a lot of other areas of study can actually say that.
Now being a philosopher doesn't make you boring. You might think otherwise because when you think of "philosophy" you think of old guys in tweed jackets talking in long, confusing sentences about whether the table really exists. No, no, no. That's a caricature of philosophy. It's what Susan Pevensie is like at the beginning of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. She wants to be realistic about everything and think things through, which are good things in and of themselves, but in trying to be grown up she's also become boring. Lucky for Susan, she realizes this and sees that she can be both realistic and jolly. As Aslan says in The Magician’s Nephew, "Jokes as well as justice come in with speech."
So a philosopher is not necessarily boring. But a philosopher is necessarily curious -- about the world and what it's really like.
Christians have always been interested in philosophy, not only for its own sake but for what it can help us understand about our faith. Many of the great philosophers have also been Christian, and many of these Christian philosophers have also been great Christians. In fact, in not a few cases, these Christians were great Christians -- real heroes of the faith -- not in spite of but because they were good philosophers: St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, Pascal, even C. S. Lewis.
Philosophy is known in the Christian tradition as the handmaiden to philosophy. What's a handmaiden? A handmaiden is a person who serves another, greater person. In the case of philosophy, philosophy is a servant to theology. Philosophy helps us to understand theology -- our Christian faith -- better. So for Christians, studying philosophy is a way of helping us increase our knowledge of God. And why is that important? Because knowledge and love go hand in hand. The more you know about God, the more you are able to love him. You can't increase in love without increasing in knowledge.
But why would you want to study Plato? After all, he wasn't a Christian, and doesn't the apostle Paul tell us to avoid vain philosophy?
We have to keep in mind that the same apostle who asked the Colossians to avoid vain philosophy is the same one who also eloquently and knowledgeably addressed the best philosophy of his time when he visited Athens. So Paul was no stranger to philosophy, and he most likely knew some Plato, too.
And as for Plato, a twentieth-century philosopher has said that all philosophy is a footnote to Plato. Plato is the real beginning of philosophy. There isn't much in philosophy that Plato didn't intelligently comment about. So if we want to follow in the footsteps of the great philosophers, we'll want to begin with Plato.
Thirty or forty years ago, a common attitude of Christians to philosophy was "Bah, philosophy." But then some Christians began to realize that the alternative to philosophy was not to not have a philosophy at all, the "alternative" to philosophy was to have a bad philosophy. And studying philosophy doesn't necessarily make you proud. As Christians we want to develop the virtue of humility, but the opposite of humility is pride, not ignorance. Lewis says in one of his most famous books that God requires us to love him with all that we are, and that includes our mind. The command to be good requires that we be as intelligent as we can.
In college, almost all of the criticisms you'll hear about Christianity will be philosophical ones. It might seem otherwise but it's not. Has science really shown that Christianity is false? Well, that's a philosophical question, not a scientific one. Can we really understand the text of the Bible because, after all, don't we have biases when reading the Bible? Again, that's a philosophical question, not a literary one. Is there such a thing as the soul, or can I be just reduced to my brain and nervous system? A philosophical question, not a psychological or neuroscientific one.
So can studying Plato help you in your Christian walk? Yes, most definitely. Will an understanding of good philosophy help you become a better disciple of Jesus Christ. Yes, most definitely. And that will be a very exciting thing; it won't be boring at all.
Now being a philosopher doesn't make you boring. You might think otherwise because when you think of "philosophy" you think of old guys in tweed jackets talking in long, confusing sentences about whether the table really exists. No, no, no. That's a caricature of philosophy. It's what Susan Pevensie is like at the beginning of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. She wants to be realistic about everything and think things through, which are good things in and of themselves, but in trying to be grown up she's also become boring. Lucky for Susan, she realizes this and sees that she can be both realistic and jolly. As Aslan says in The Magician’s Nephew, "Jokes as well as justice come in with speech."
So a philosopher is not necessarily boring. But a philosopher is necessarily curious -- about the world and what it's really like.
Christians have always been interested in philosophy, not only for its own sake but for what it can help us understand about our faith. Many of the great philosophers have also been Christian, and many of these Christian philosophers have also been great Christians. In fact, in not a few cases, these Christians were great Christians -- real heroes of the faith -- not in spite of but because they were good philosophers: St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, Pascal, even C. S. Lewis.
Philosophy is known in the Christian tradition as the handmaiden to philosophy. What's a handmaiden? A handmaiden is a person who serves another, greater person. In the case of philosophy, philosophy is a servant to theology. Philosophy helps us to understand theology -- our Christian faith -- better. So for Christians, studying philosophy is a way of helping us increase our knowledge of God. And why is that important? Because knowledge and love go hand in hand. The more you know about God, the more you are able to love him. You can't increase in love without increasing in knowledge.
But why would you want to study Plato? After all, he wasn't a Christian, and doesn't the apostle Paul tell us to avoid vain philosophy?
We have to keep in mind that the same apostle who asked the Colossians to avoid vain philosophy is the same one who also eloquently and knowledgeably addressed the best philosophy of his time when he visited Athens. So Paul was no stranger to philosophy, and he most likely knew some Plato, too.
And as for Plato, a twentieth-century philosopher has said that all philosophy is a footnote to Plato. Plato is the real beginning of philosophy. There isn't much in philosophy that Plato didn't intelligently comment about. So if we want to follow in the footsteps of the great philosophers, we'll want to begin with Plato.
Thirty or forty years ago, a common attitude of Christians to philosophy was "Bah, philosophy." But then some Christians began to realize that the alternative to philosophy was not to not have a philosophy at all, the "alternative" to philosophy was to have a bad philosophy. And studying philosophy doesn't necessarily make you proud. As Christians we want to develop the virtue of humility, but the opposite of humility is pride, not ignorance. Lewis says in one of his most famous books that God requires us to love him with all that we are, and that includes our mind. The command to be good requires that we be as intelligent as we can.
In college, almost all of the criticisms you'll hear about Christianity will be philosophical ones. It might seem otherwise but it's not. Has science really shown that Christianity is false? Well, that's a philosophical question, not a scientific one. Can we really understand the text of the Bible because, after all, don't we have biases when reading the Bible? Again, that's a philosophical question, not a literary one. Is there such a thing as the soul, or can I be just reduced to my brain and nervous system? A philosophical question, not a psychological or neuroscientific one.
So can studying Plato help you in your Christian walk? Yes, most definitely. Will an understanding of good philosophy help you become a better disciple of Jesus Christ. Yes, most definitely. And that will be a very exciting thing; it won't be boring at all.
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