Reading: What is Philosophy?

AI Edited Transcript: This means that the written text might not match exactly the professor's words, and variations of meaning may occur. 

Philosophy is a captivating subject. We'll begin at its inception, exploring the very first theories ever proposed. We'll conclude with some of the most influential theories ever put forward, notably those of Plato and Aristotle.

Their theories still hold significant influence today. They carry enormous weight in many fields. It might surprise you, but we've not entirely escaped their influence. I say this with grudging admiration, not endorsement. I don't concur with them. In fact, I'll argue that their theories are fallacious, and no Christian should adhere to them.

Yet, many do. It's vital for us to understand these theories thoroughly. Let's first clarify the term "philosophy". What do we mean when we say we're studying philosophy? In university catalogs or these series of lectures, it implies a specific type of theory, not just any casual policy or attitude. So, to clarify, when we discuss philosophy, we're referring to a particular kind of theory.

What do we mean by "theory"? A theory is essentially an educated guess, aimed at explaining something unknown or not immediately apparent.

Sometimes, we come across such guesses in non-academic settings. Imagine colleagues discussing a boss's unusual behavior, hypothesizing the reason based on a damaged car in the parking lot. That's a theory—a guess as to why the boss was upset.

Another term you might encounter is "hypothesis". While some use "theory" and "hypothesis" interchangeably, others differentiate between them, reserving "theory" for a collection of hypotheses and their supporting reasons.

Both terms, however, revolve around making educated guesses to explain phenomena.

Unlike the straightforward guess about the boss's mood, philosophical theories are more abstract. They focus on specific aspects of reality and abstract from that. For instance, when mixing red and blue paint resulting in purple, the focus—or abstraction—is on the color, not the paint's other properties. Questions arise: Why does it turn purple and not green or streaked? The answers aren't always apparent.

Thus, when delving into philosophy, we engage with these abstractions and seek deeper understandings of reality's complexities.

Which, if I knew, would lead to the conclusion that the paint turns purple. What other factors are involved? And what might they be? That's where we insert our guesses and come up with a theory as to why mixing red and blue produces purple paint. My initial guess is that paint is composed of tiny particles called molecules. It's not an original assumption, but that's my starting point. These molecules bond in specific patterns and shapes.

So, I hypothesize that paint appears red because it's shaped in a way that reflects the red wavelength of light. Similarly, I theorize that blue paint reflects the blue wavelength due to a different molecular shape. When mixed, they produce a new configuration, which reflects the purple wavelength of light. Collectively, these assumptions form a theory explaining the color transformation.

However, let's consider an alternative explanation: I have red paint and blue paint. When mixed, the paint turns purple. My theory here is that within the paint reside invisible entities called "paint pixies". Paint pixies of varying colors despise one another, causing them to "spit" purple at each other, hence turning the paint purple. While this is technically a theory, it's arguably not a robust one.

What makes one theory more valid than another? We won't dive deep into the philosophy of science now, but one criterion for a good theory is its testability. It should make predictions that we can validate. For example, based on the molecular shape theory, we could predict the resultant color from mixing other paints. In contrast, the behavior of imaginary paint pixies is unpredictable.

A point of contention might arise here: we can't visually detect either molecules or paint pixies. But these represent explanatory hypotheses crafted to make sense of a phenomenon we want to understand.

In outlining this, I've presented it as a logical argument—premises leading to a conclusion, such as, "Therefore, the paint turns purple." This deductive form of explanation is common, but not all arguments are purely deductive.

Consider this:

1. Most corporate lawyers are conservatives.
2. Miriam is a corporate lawyer. 
3. Conclusion: Miriam is probably a conservative.

Some might argue this structure isn't deductive because it produces a probability, not certainty. However, the overarching structure remains deductive—it's deductively certain that the conclusion is probable. This is referred to as a "deductive-nomological" explanation in literature, meaning a deductive format utilizing laws.

Now, there are misconceptions about theories to address. A prevalent one suggests that in science, or perhaps philosophy, we propose hypotheses, test them, and subsequently confirm their validity. It implies that a successful test proves a theory. In reality, it's more intricate. No finite number of tests can unequivocally verify a hypothesis. To clarify, I'll introduce a simple logical principle:

This states: If P is true, then Q is true.

P is true.

Therefore, Q is true.

Here's another example:

If P is true, then Q is true.

Q is not true.

Therefore, P is not true.

Both of these are valid logical rules.

However, the next one isn't:

If P is true, then Q is true. Q is true. Therefore, P is true.

Let's see why. Consider the first statement: If it rains, the sidewalk gets wet. It rained, so the sidewalk got wet.

The next one posits: If it rains, the sidewalk gets wet. The sidewalk didn't get wet, so it didn't rain.

But this third one, which I argue isn't valid, goes: If it rains, the sidewalk will be wet. The sidewalk is wet, so it must have rained.

But we know better, don't we? Multiple factors could cause a wet sidewalk – a garden hose, a sprinkler, or even a flood. This last one isn't a valid form of argument.

Now, consider someone asserting that experiments validate a theory. Their argument might be: If the theory is true, the experiment will succeed. The experiment did succeed, so the theory must be true.

This is the same invalid form we just discussed. In essence, it doesn't logically follow.

The truth is, the more successful experiments we conduct, the more confidence we gain in the theory. But no finite number of experiments can conclusively prove a theory beyond all doubt.

Experiments are crucial, but they cannot affirm a theory's truth with absolute certainty as popular science might suggest.

So, what theories does philosophy propose?

Some find this aspect of philosophy perplexing, while others find it fascinating. Think of the numerous disciplines and branches of knowledge: mathematics, geometry, physics, biology, psychology, logic, linguistics, economics, ethics, and more.

With all these disciplines independently explaining phenomena within their domains, what then is the role of philosophy?

That is a profound question. What indeed is left for philosophy?

Well, often I have this list on a blackboard for a class. When I ask them to contribute to it, we usually get a much longer list. I don't have room to put more things down, but you've got a pretty big list there.

They stare at it for a while, and usually, someone comes up with something insightful. A student might say, "Could it be that philosophy is about how all of these hang together? How they all relate to each other?"

In which case, I respond, "You get the gold star today! Exactly. These are all different facets of reality. Philosophy wants to know something general about them all. If these are all facets of reality, what is the underlying reality they are facets of? What do they all have in common? What are they all different expressions of?"

That brings us to the first thing philosophy is: a theory of reality. And by that, I mean a theory about the nature of reality. The different disciplines study the mathematical, physical, ethical, logical sides of reality, and so on. But what is reality itself? What's the nature of the reality that has all these different facets?

This is ontology. It's a term you might not be familiar with. Its other name is metaphysics. Don't be intimidated by it. After Aristotle passed, his students compiled their class notes into what we know as Aristotle's writings. The class notes on physics came first, followed by the ones on the nature of reality, which they titled "Metaphysics" (after physics). Metaphysics thus became synonymous with the study of reality.

Then there's a second kind of theory that addresses how all the different disciplines cohere: a theory of knowledge. Not only are there different facets of reality, but there are also different kinds of knowledge. Philosophical theory aims to determine the nature of knowledge common to them all. It asks questions like, when can we be certain of something? How do we differentiate between certainty and probability?

Another question in epistemology is: What is truth? How do we know it? Philosophy is essentially about these two theories: a theory of reality and a theory of knowledge. Through these lenses, we gain perspectives on how various disciplines and sciences relate.

We'll explore how philosophy began, the theories posited, the arguments made for them, and the resultant disagreements. Even from the beginning, there were sharp controversies about the nature of reality. Early theories, like those of the Pythagoreans, proposed the world was made up of numbers, non-physical entities. As time progressed, knowledge became a focus, especially by the time of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle.

Before theories, people explained the world through myths, narratives that helped make sense of the world without requiring empirical evidence. Then, figures like Thales introduced theories. Thales, for instance, hypothesized that wind shifts caused the Nile to overflow, not some mythical entity.

Once theories gained traction, they began to replace myths.