Demon. Theories 
I just uploaded a new version of my induction paper. This draft rectifies a systematic problem with terminology. Although I still think that the arguments have implications for what John Norton calls material theories of induction, they most readily apply to demonstrative theories of induction.

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Kierkegaard and the sermon problem 
Academic philosophers typically write for a philosophical audience. There are problems that are understood, more or less, and you write to address them. If you want to reconstrue the problem, then you say as much.

This fact becomes a problem when academic philosophers write in response to one another until no one but the participants in the debate really care-- and even they only care for the next publication. Issues of substance can be tenderized into rarified word games by logic chopping.

Yet this fact is also the advantage of contemporary philosophy. Articles take place in the context of an ongoing conversation. Authors can begin by talking about what they mean to say.

I am teaching Kierkegaard now, and he is not like this. His writings-- almost all of them-- suffer from what I think of as the the sermon problem.

The sermon problem arises in church services in this way: The occasion of the sermon or the programmatic theme of the service require the preacher to begin with some motif. Yet the preacher wants to make some spiritual or religious point. For example, it is the special music service-- so the preacher begins with what is ostensibly a meditation about music, but steers it around to a more hifalutin topic like the human community. Typically, there is a rhetorical discontinuity along the way. The audience is left thinking that things would have been much clearer if we could have talked about God or the human community directly, rather than trying to find our way there through the laborious preamble.

The sermon problem can arise in contemporary philosophy, of course. Papers for themed conferences start out with a prescribed topic, and then often head off towards someplace the author cares to be. Papers in a Festschrift must begin with some eulogy for the honoree, but then seek after a more engaging topic. Sometimes authors are forced to begin talking about some hot topic, so as to be published, when in fact their aim is to talk about something less popular. However, these are not the usual cases. Typically, one means to write about X and so one does; X is in the abstract, the article is indexed for X, and so on.

Not so with Kierkegaard. The works that are billed by scholars as fine introductions or encapsulations of Kierkegaard's thought all suffer from the sermon problem. Fear and Trembling is a meditation on the Abraham story, but Abraham doesn't quite illustrate what Kierkegaard has in mind. The Present Age was written as a book review, and so at least a third of the essay is about issues that aren't Kierkegaard's real target. Kierkegaard's journals are filled with philosophy, but mixed indiscriminately with details of how his man servant left him, how he has been to see the king, and whatall else.

I have students reading Sickness Unto Death now-- not because I think it is the clearest thing he wrote, but because I think it is the among the most direct. The first few pages especially are written in a mock-Hegelian style, so I have been trying to explain how we can understand sentences like, "The self is a relation that relates itself to itself or is the relation's relating itself to itself in the relation." The claim is right to the point, however, once carefully parsed.

So, sermon problem or crypto-philosophy? I actually opted for some of both-- last week I had them read The Present Age.

As a caveat, I don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of Kierkegaard. There may be some other text that neither suffers from the sermon problem nor is rendered in mock-Hegelian locutions. If so, leave a comment; I'll take it under advisement for next time I teach existentialism.

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forall x, forsome x, forno x 
Today I received student comments from last term. Since it was the first time teaching with forall x, I asked a number of questions about the text itself. There aren't very many dust-jacket quality comments, but here is one: "Very clear. Not overly wordy. Great book to use."

The raw data looks like this:

Did the textbook explain matters clearly?
  yes         42
yes, but... 13
no 5

Did the textbook explain matters in sufficient depth?
  yes         37
yes, but... 9
no 13

Did the book provide enough practice problems of varying kind and difficulty?
  yes         45
yes, but... 1
no 10

Although I did not ask about it, 32 respondents said that there should be more solutions to practice exercises.

64 students responded, 2 of whom said that they had not used the book at all. I ignored incoherent responses such as "yes&no"; I counted answers like "mostly" as "yes, but..."

I also asked about lecture, and students were split in this regard. Many students said they would not have understood the book if they had not come to lecture. Others said that the book was a good study guide, filling in gaps and reinforcing things done in lecture. A few said that they were always confused by lecture and would be completely lost if it weren't for the book.

Altogether, the results are positive. I need to think more about adding to the solutions in the back of the book. I worry about making the book needlessly larger. Also, students can come to office hours to make sure they're getting it right. Hmm...

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forall x marches on 
A few random remarks about forall x:

(i) At the APA in December, I had a number of strange conversations about the book. People would say how great it was that I was making it available for free over the internet, but (they asked) what if someone used it as a course textbook? How did I plan on getting money from them?

I have tried to make the web page clearer on this point, but I fear that some people just don't quite get it. The book is available at no charge, which is to say that I'm not getting any money for it. There are too many logic textbooks already with an author, a publisher, a distributor, and a bookstore taking their cut at the expense of students who are basically a captive audience. Forall x is free because I think instructors should have the option of using a textbook that doesn't pass costs on to the students in that way.

(ii) Aaron Schiller is going to be using forall x at UCSD in the Spring. He prefers to use the squiggle for negation, the dot for conjunction, the horseshoe for conditional, and the triple bar for biconditional. No problem. Because all of the logical constants are defined in the style file, I only had to change four lines. I had an alternate version generated for him in a matter of minutes.

Actually, there was a complication... it was the dot. The default LaTeX bullet that I used the first time was a bit too big. Making an aesthetically satisfactory dot took some back and forth. Now that I know how to do it, it would be trivial to do again.

If you, the reader of this blog, are teaching a logic course and are looking for a textbook, note that forall x can be tailored to whatever symbols you like. (If you want to use the Staypuff Marshmellow Man as the symbol for disjunction, there might be some trademark issues.)

(iii) I ordered a copy from Lulu, a print-on-demand publisher. I was curious as to what their output looked like. It arrived this week, and the verdict is... cool.

At a cost of around ten bucks delivered, it comes as an immaculately printed, perfect-bound paperback. For an entire class, it makes more sense to take it to a local copy center-- but for a single copy, this is satisfactory.

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The d and the cog in d-cog 
Working on my distributed cognition paper, I have been thinking along these lines: We cannot treat the skin of an organism as the boundary of every cognitive activity in which the organism is involved; the boundaries of the cognitive system often must be drawn so as to include tools, parts of the environment, and other organisms. Two questions arise: (1) How far should the boundaries be pushed? (2) Why call the activity of these congeries 'cognitive'?

The answer to (1) will depend on the task we have in mind when we are describing the system. Consider doing long division with paper and pencil, a stock example of a d-cog activity. If we specify the task as long division, then the boundaries of the system need to include you plus the pencil and paper. We don't need to include the buckle of your belt, a nearby deep frier, or Olympus Mons. If we specify the task as doing a smaller division problem, writing down the outcome, carrying a digit, and so on, then the cognitive system just includes you.

Given the first specification, the task doesn't require there being paper at all; paper and pencil are part of the process that implements the task. Given the second, the task involves responding to and modifying the paper as part of the environment.

So, whether the process is distributed and how far depends on the task specification.

Ron Giere answers (2) by saying that 'cognitive' is just a term of art. D-cog might or might not be cognitive in an everyday sense, but it doesn't matter.

This only holds the problem at bay for a moment. We now need to ask what 'cognitive' means qua term of art.

I suggest in the paper that we can provide a rough and ready answer to this question in this way: Call an activity d-cog if (a) the task would count as cognitive if it were implemented in a single brain or mind and (b) the process that implements it actually extends beyond the boundary of a single organism. This allows us to leverage our ability to distinguish cognitive from non-cognitive tasks when considering individual cognition, extending the judgments to cover distributed cases which we might otherwise hesitate to call cognitive.

This handles long division, the examples offered by Ed Hutchins, and others besides. However, I am not sure that it will work in all cases. Nancy Nersessian and her collaborators have done extensive work on a specific research lab. The lab is studying blood vessels. She describes constructs and flow loops meant to simulate blood vessels. As she describes them, the constructs are 'mental models.' This language is partly just provocation, but she clearly thinks that the constructs are part of the cognitive system of the lab.

How should we specify the task that the lab is performing? Suppose we say that the task is learning about blood vessels. A single organism might pursue this task by constructing formal models and operating on them with its prodigious intellect. In so doing, the inquirer would learn about the models and-- if the models were sufficiently like real blood vessels-- learn about blood vessels as well. Certainly, this would be a cognitive task.

The scientists cannot do this, so they build physical models. They revise the physical models over time, much as the imagined inquirer would modify its formal models. And so the scientists learn about blood vessels.

Question (1) returns in this form: Does talking in this way make every experiment into part of the cognitive system that does the experiment? If so, then I think there is a problem. I want to say that many experiments are things we think about, rather than part of the system doing the thinking. Once we extend the cognitive system to include constructs and flow loops, how do we stop it from including everything?

I am not sure, but here is what I am thinking at the moment: The constructs are part of the system that implements the task of learning about blood vessels. Blood vessels are not part of that system, except in the trivial sense that the scientists themselves have blood vessels. Relative to this task specification, the scientists aren't thinking merely about the constructs. Rather, they are thinking about them qua models of blood vessels.

Suppose that a scientist is, on a given afternoon, working with a construct. If we characterize her task as learning about the construct, then we should not count the construct as part of the cognitive system. Since she relies on other instruments, then the process will still be distributed-- it just won't be distributed to the thing that she is trying to learn about.

I am tempted by this rule of thumb: If the task is learning about X, then don't include X as part of the process that implements the task.

It is only a rule of thumb, because it breaks down in cases of introspection. It also cannot clearly be applied to cases of mathematical inquiry.

The caveat about introspection has me worried that the rule of thumb is vacuous. We should only include X as part of the cognitive system if the cognition is introspective, but whether the cognition is introspective just depends on whether X is part of the cognitive system.


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