Teleology and the normal/abnormal distinction

Believers in teleology also tend to believe in a distinction between the normal and the abnormal. I think teleology can be prised apart from a normal/abnormal distinction, however, if we do something that I think we should do for independent reasons: recognize teleological directedness without a telos-to-be-attained, a target to be hit. An example of such teleological directedness is an athlete trying to run as fast as possible. There isn’t a target telos: for any speed the athlete reaches, a higher speed would fit even better with the athlete’s aims. But there is a directional telos, an aim tlos: the athlete aims in the direction of higher speed.

One might then say the human body in producing eyes has a directional telos: to see as well as possible. Whether one has 20/20 or 20/15 or 20/10 vision, more acuity would fulfill that directional telos better. On this view, there is no target telos, just a direction towards better acuity. If there were a target telos, say a specific level of acuity, we could identify non-attainment with abnormalcy and attainment with normalcy. But we need not. We could just say that this is all a matter of degree, with continuous variation between 20/0 (not humanly available) and 20/∞ (alas humanly available, i.e., total blindness).

I am not endorsing the view that there is no normal/abnormal in humans. I think there is (e.g., an immoral action is abnormal; a moral action is normal). But perhaps the distinction is less often applicable than friends of teleology think.

Highlighted outcome structures

In the previous two posts, I have been arguing that seeing action as pursuing ends does not capture all of the richness of the directed structure of action.

Here is my current alternative to the end-based approach. Start with the idea of a “highlighted outcome structure”, which is a partial ordering ≤ on the set O of possible outcomes together with a distinguished subset S of O with the property that if x ∈ S and y ∈ O and x ≤ y, then y ∈ S. The idea is that x ≤ y means one pursues y at least as much as x, and that one’s action is successful provided that one gets an outcome in S.

To a first approximation, directed action is action aligned along a highlighted outcome structure. But that doesn’t quite capture all the phenomena. For one might aim along a non-existent outcome structure. For instance, I may mistakenly think there is such a borogrove, and seek to know about borogroves, the more the better, but in fact the word “borogrove” is nonsense, and there is no set of outcomes corresponding to different degrees of knowledge about borogroves.

So, at least to a second approximation, direction action is action aligned along a conception of a highlighted outcome structure. Ideally, there actually is a highlighted outcome structure that fits the conception.

Note that this allows for the following interesting phenomenon: one can defer to another person with regard to a highlighted outcome structure. Thus, a Christian might pursue the structure that God has in mind for one, and do so as such.

More on directed activity without ends

In my previous post I focused on how the phenomenon of games with score undercuts the idea that activity is for an end, for some state of affairs that one aims to achieve. For no matter how good one’s score, one was aiming beyond that.

I want to consider an objection to this. Perhaps when one plays Tetris, one has an infinite number of ends:

• Get at least one point.

• Get at least two points.

• Get at least three points.

• ….

And similarly if one is running a mile, one has an infinite number of ends, namely for each positive duration t, one aims to run the miles in at most t.

My initial worry about this suggestion was that it has the implausible consequence that no matter how well one does, one has failed to achieve infinitely many ends. Thus success is always muted by failure. In the Tetris case, in fact, there will always be infinitely many failures and finitely many successes. This seemed wrong to me. But then I realized it fits with phenomenology to some degree. In these kinds of cases, when one comes to the end of the game, there may always be a slight feeling of failure amidst success—even when one breaks a world record, there is the regret that one didn’t go further, faster, better, etc. Granted, the slightness of that feeling doesn’t match the fact that in the Tetris case one has always failed at infinitely many ends and succeeded only at finitely many. But ends can be prioritized, and it could be that the infinitely many ends have diminishing value attached to them (compare the phenomenon of the “stretch goal”), so that even though one has failed at infinitely many, the finitely many one has succeeded at might outweigh them (perhaps the weights decrease exponentially).

So the game cases can, after all, be analyzed in the language of ends. But there are other cases that I think can’t. Consider the drive to learn about something. First, of course, note that our end is not omniscience—for if that were our end, then we would give up as soon as we realized it was unachievable. Now, some of the drive for learning involves known unknowns: there are propositions p where I know what p is and I aim to find out if p is true. This can be analyzed by analogy with the the infinitely-many-ends account of games with score: for each such p, I have an end to find out whether p. But often there are unknown unknowns: before I learn about the subject, I don’t even know what the concepts and questions are, so I don’t know what propositions I want to learn about. I just want to learn about the subject.

We can try to solve this by positing a score. Maybe we let my score be the number of propositions I know about the subject. And then I aim to have a score of at least one, and a score of at least two, and a score of at least three, etc. That’s trivial pursuit, not real learning, though. Perhaps, then, we have a score where we weight the propositions by their collective importance, and again I have an infinite number of ends. But in the case of the really unknown unknowns, I don’t even know how to quantify their importance, and I have no concept of the scale the score would be measured on. Unlike in the case of games, I just may not even know what the possible scores are.

So in the case of learning about a subject area, we cannot even say that we are positing an infinite number of ends. Rather, we can say that our activity has a directedness—to learn more, weighted by importance—but not an end.

Panteleology: A few preliminary notes

Panteleology holds that teleology is ubiquitous. Every substance aims at
some end.

The main objection to panteleology is the same as that to panpsychism: the incredulous stare. I think a part of the puzzlement comes from the thought that things that are neither biological nor artifactual “just do what they do”, and there is no such thing as failure. But this seems to me to be a mistake. Imagine a miracle where a rock fails to fall down, despite being unsupported and in a gravitational field. It seems very natural to say that in that case the rock failed to do what rocks should do! So it may be that away from the biological realm (namely organisms and stuff made by organisms) failure takes a miracle, but the logical possibility of such a miracle makes it not implausible to think that there really is a directedness.

That said, I think the quantum realm provides room for saying that things don’t “just do what they do”. If an electron is in a mixed spin up/down state, it seems right to think about it as having a directedness at a pure spin-up state and a directedness at a pure spin-down state, and only one of these directednesses will succeed.

Panteleology seems to be exactly what we would expect in a world created by God. Everything should glorify God.

Panteleology is also entailed by a panpsychism that follows Leibniz in including the ubiquity of “appetitions” and not just perceptions. And it seems to me that if we think through the kinds of reasons people have for panpsychism, these reasons extend to appetitions—just as a discontinuity in perception is mysterious, a discontinuity in action-driving is mysterious.

Towards a great chain of being

Here is one way to generate a great chain of agency: y is a greater agent than x if for every major type of good that x pursues, y pursues it, too, but not vice versa.

Take for instance the cat and the human. The cat pursues major types of good such as nutrition, reproduction, play, comfort, health, life, truth, and (to a limited degree) social interaction. The human pursues all of these, but additionally pursues virtue, beauty, and union with God. Thus the human is a greater agent than the cat.

Is it the case that humans are at the top of the great chain of agency on earth?

This is a difficult question to answer for at least two reasons. The first reason is that it is difficult to identify the relevant level of generality in my weaselly phrase “major type of good”. The oak pursues photosynthetic nutrition, the dung beetle does its thing, while we pursue other forms of nutrition. Do the three count as pursuing different “major types” of good? I want to say that all these are one major type of good, but I don’t know how to characterize it. Maybe we can say something like this: Good itself is not a genus but there are highest genera of good, and by “major type” we mean these highest genera. (I am not completely sure that all the examples in my second paragraph are of highest genera.)

The second reason the question is difficult is this. The cat is unable to grasp virtue as a type of good. A cat who had a bit more scientific skill might be able to see an instrumental value in the human virtue—could see the ways that it helps members of communities gain cat-intelligible goods like nutrition, reproduction, health, life, etc. But the cat wouldn’t see the distinctive way virtue in itself is good. Indeed, it is not clear that the cat would be able to figure out that virtue is itself a major type of good, no matter how much scientific skill the cat had. Similarly, it is very plausible that there are major types of good that are beyond human knowledge. If we saw beings pursuing those types of good, we would likely notice various instrumental benefits of the pursuit—for the pursuit of various kinds of good seems interwoven in the kinds of evolved beings we find on earth (pursuing one good often helps with getting others)—but we just wouldn’t see the behavior as the pursuit of a major type of good. Like the cat scientist observing our pursuit of virtue, we would reduce the good being pursued to the goods intelligible to us.

Thus, if octopi pursue goods beyond our ken, we wouldn’t know it unless we could talk to octopi and they told us that what they were pursuing in some behavior was a major type of good other than the ones we grasp—though of course, we would still be unable to grasp what was good in it. And as it happens the only beings on earth we can talk to are humans.

All that said, it still seems a reasonable hypothesis that any major type of good that is pursued by non-human organisms on earth are pursued by us.

A physicalist argument for proper functions in biology

1. We have beliefs.

2. A belief is a mental state with the proper function of reflecting reality.

3. Our mental states are biological states. (Follows from standard physicalism)

4. So, some biological states have a proper function.

Another problem with evolutionary accounts of teleology

The crucial thought behind evolutionary accounts of proper function or teleology is that organisms succeed in reproducing because they are fulfilling a function, and wouldn’t have reproduced otherwise. In a paper with Koons, I offer a Great Grazing Ground objection to all such accounts.

Here, I want to offer a perhaps neater objection. Imagine Twin Earth just like Earth, with a biological history just like ours. But there is an extremely powerful alien, akin to Frankfurt’s counterfactual intervener, who has a script for all the details of biological history on that planet. That script, completely by chance, matches all the events on both Twin Earth and Earth. But the counterfactual intervener has the following immovable policy: if there is any deviation from the script on Twin Earth, the alien restores conditions to the same ones that would have resulted according to the script. Moreover, the alien’s restoration would occur before there is any deviation in reproduction or survival. But, by good fortune, no intervention is ever needed: everything actually follows the script.

Imagine, for instance, that a bird is attacked by a predator. On Earth, it escapes on its wings and reproduces. The same happens on Twin Earth. But on Twin Earth, had the bird not flown, the alien would have intervened, moved the bird out of danger, and then restored everything to the post-flight situation in the script. Consequently, on Twin Earth, it is false that had the bird not flown, it wouldn’t have reproduced. Indeed, apart from trivial cases like “Had x not reproduced, it wouldn’t have reproduced”, on Twin Earth the counterfactuals allegedly defining proper function or teleology hold. Yet events on Twin Earth are just as on Earth, and the alien doesn’t do anything but watch. And it is deeply implausible that simply by watching the alien destroys proper function or teleology.

The Fifth Way, remixed even more

In the previous two posts (here and here) I offered interpretations or remixes of Aquinas’s Fourth and Fifth ways read as ways of showing how a theistic Aristotelianism solves a pressing problem that the basic Aristotelian metaphysics cannot solve.

Here I want to do again for the Fifth Way, but now I will depart further from the text, and so while the previous two posts might have been interpretations, this one is much more of just a remix of the Fifth Way, with some ingredients from my version of the Fourth Way thrown in.

On Aristotelian metaphysics, each substance aims at its own good. The good of a substance is defined by the substance’s form, and the form points the substance at that good. But this good is just an internal good of the substance. Think of this internal good as akin to MacIntyre’s internal goods of a practice. The directedness at the internal goods is largely a matter of a priori metaphysical reasoning about substance. But now let’s go back to the things themselves—for, after all, the Five Ways are supposed to be empirical. If we do that, we come across two facts I want to stress.

First, the internal goods of substances tend to be intelligible to us as goods independently of the forms of these substances. Squirrels grow and reproduce. We understand growing and reproduction as valuable features. Imagine that squirrels instead characteristically scratched themselves to near-death. Even if their nature specified such self-scratching as their end, without a further more comprehensive story such self-scratching wouldn’t be intelligible to us as a good. Now, it is true that we tend to judge things by ourselves: it is also our human good to grow and to reproduce, and so it is easy for us to recognize that as good in squirrels. But I do not think we should say that when we judge squirrels’ growth and reproduction as a good thing independently of the form of the squirrel we are simply mistaken—and yet if we were just imposing merely human standards, we would be mistaken.

We might make the point as follows. It is good for a squirrel to fulfill its form by growing and reproducing. But it is also good, in a different sense of “good”, that the squirrel’s form includes growth and reproduction. This different sense of “good” is missing from basic Aristotelianism, a point central to my reading of the Fourth Way.

So we have something that calls for an explanation: Why is the squirrel’s form aimed at something that is actually good in this further sense?

And here is a related and but less abstract question. The teleology of a squirrel harmonizes to a significant extent with the goods of other species. We have an ecology. A “circle of life”.

The squirrel’s activity, thus, is not only directed at its internal good, and that internal good is intelligible as a good apart from its internal form, but the pursuit of that internal good harmonizes with the goods of other things in nature. This coordination between the ends of different species is something that basic Aristotelianism has a serious difficulty explaining.

There are thus two senses in which there are external goods found in nature: first, the internal goods are themselves typically intelligible as goods independently of the forms that define them; second, the end-directed activities of the organisms are good for the ecology at large. Both of these call for an explanation, and Aquinas’ suggested explanation seems excellent: “Therefore some intelligent being exists by whom all natural things are directed to their end.”

Note that the ecological dimensions might be explained evolutionarily, as long as we have an explanation of the coincidence between the normative and the statistical, a coincidence that forms the heart of my previous reading/remix of the Fifth Way.

The Fifth Way, also remixed

Thomas writes:

We see that things which lack intelligence, such as natural bodies, act for an end, and this is evident from their acting always, or nearly always, in the same way, so as to obtain the best result. Hence it is plain that not fortuitously, but designedly, do they achieve their end. Now whatever lacks intelligence cannot move towards an end, unless it be directed by some being endowed with knowledge and intelligence; as the arrow is shot to its mark by the archer. Therefore some intelligent being exists by whom all natural things are directed to their end; and this being we call God.

Central to Aristotle’s thought is the normative thesis that all substances have proper functions or ends defined by their immanent forms. Moreover, Aristotle makes the statistical claim that for the most part things things function correctly—they function to fulfill their ends.

The statistical claim is epistemologically important: that an activity or structure is usually exhibited by members of a kind is a central piece of evidence for that activity’s or structure’s correctness. But logically the statistical facts and the normative facts are independent: it is logically possible for all sheep to be three-legged, or for only a few pecan trees to produce pollen.

To see that we are committed to the connection between the normative and the statistical facts, consider the ridiculousness of the hypothesis that one of the ends of salmon is to prove theorems about high-dimensional topology. The utter unsuitability of the salmon brain to that end is conclusive evidence against the hypothesis. But this is only if we think there is a connection between the normative and the statistical facts—without such a connection, we could simply suppose that all salmon fall short of their topological researcher nature.

Note, too, just how massive the coincidence between the normative and statistical facts is: we see it across millions of species.

As Aquinas concedes, in intelligent substances we have some hope of an explanation of the coincidence: the intelligent substance consciously aims at its self-fulfillment. (Though leaning on this may be too much of a concession, because we still need to explain why this aiming isn’t futile, like a crank’s attempts to trisect angles.) But why do unintelligent substances’ activities in fact harmonize with their self-fulfillment, and do so massively, across all the millions of species we have? Why is it that we do not salmon-like fish with mathematical activity as their purpose, snake-like reptiles with flying as their end, and apes whose primary purpose is turning their bodies into gold by exposure to solar radiation?

A theistic explanation of the massive coincidence is compelling, and it provides another theistic solution to the shortcomings of a pure Aristotelian system.

"In the right way"

When I was in grad school, we were taught that one should abandon all hope of solving “in the right way” problems, such as the problem of how exactly an intention has to result in an action in order for the action to be done from that intention.

I think that with a robust metaphysics of causation, the problem is soluble.

Solution 1: Causal powers have a teleology: to produce a certain effect in a certain way. That teleology is metaphysically written into the causes. The “in the right way” condition may be infinitely complex, but it has a metaphysical home: it is found in the causal power. What makes it be the case that William James’ mountaineer who intended to kill his buddy by dropping the rope, and then dropped the rope because of the nervousness resulting from the intention did not intentionally drop the rope is because the outcome of events is a mismatch to the description in the teleology of the causal powers constituting the intention.

Solution 2: It is a Thomistic maxim that the effect is the actuality of the cause qua cause. This maxim I suspect needs a qualification: the proper effect—the one that happens in the right way—is the actuality of the cause qua cause. So now we have a neat and simple criterion for when a cause C has caused an effect E in the right way: this happens precisely when E is the actuality of C qua cause. (See here for more discussion.)

I think the reason we were taught to eschew the problem of “in the right way” conditions was because of an implicit reductionistic metaphysics. If we think that the cause is just an arrangement of particles, it is hopeless to have a distinction between proper and improper effects.

Two ways to pursue y for the sake of z

The phrase

1. x pursues y as a means to z

is ambiguous between two readings:

2. x pursues y-as-a-means-to-z

and:

3. x’s pursuit of y is a means to z.

Case (2) is the standard case of means-end relationships: Alice goes on the exercise bike to keep her healthy.

But (3) can be a different beast. Bob’s psychologist has told him that it would be good for him to secrete more adrenaline; maybe striving to win at tennis is the most efficient of the safe methods for secreting adrenaline available to Bob; so, Bob relentlessly pursues victory in tennis. It is not the victory, however, that releases the adrenaline in my hypothetical story: it is the pursuit of that victory. In that case, it is Bob’s pursuit of victory that is a means to (mental) health. Moreover, it could be the case that what secretes adrenaline most effectively is the non-instrumental pursuit of victory:

It looks to me like in all these cases what we have are instances of final causation, where y’s endhood is caused by z’s endhood. In case (2), it is y’s instrumental endhood that is caused by z’s endhood, while in some cases of (3), like Bob’s adrenaline-releasing pursuit of victory, it is y’s non-instrumental endhood that is caused by z’s endhood.

There can also be cases where y’s instrumental endhood is caused by z’s endhood, but y is not a means to z. For instance, we could imagine that Bob’s psychologist told him that given his peculiar motivational structure, the most efficient way for him to release adrenaline would be to strive to gain money by winning at tennis. In that case, Bob pursues winning at tennis instrumentally for the sake of gaining money, but this pursuit is finally caused by his pursuit of adrenaline. So, the victory’s instrumental endhood is finally caused by adrenaline’s endhood, but the victory is instrumental to money, not adrenaline.

Note, also, that normally a case of (2) is also a case of (3): when x pursues y-as-a-means-to-z, then x’s pursuit of y is also a means to z. But there are pathological cases where this is not so.

Instances fo (3) that are not instance of (2) look like cases of higher order reasons. But they need not be cases of reasons at all. For case (3) can be subdivided into at least two subcases:

1. x voluntarily chooses to pursue y in order that z might be achieved by the pursuit

2. The unchosen teleological structure of x (e.g., the nature of x) is such that x’s pursuit of y is ordered to z.

In type (a) cases, indeed z can provide a higher order reason. But in type (b) cases, there need be no reasons involved. Lion cubs pursue play in order that they might grow strong, let’s say. But growing strong doesn’t provide lion cubs with a reason to pursue play, because lion cubs are not (let us suppose) the sorts of beings that can be responsive to higher order reasons. Nonetheless, there is final causation: the end of strength causes play to be an end.

Isomorphism of inputs

For simplicity, I’ll stick to deterministic systems in this post. Functionalists think that if A is a conscious system, and B is functionally isomorphic to B, then when B receives valid inputs that correspond under the isomorphism to A’s valid inputs, B has exactly the same conscious states as A does.

Crucial to this is the notion of a functional isomorphism. A paradigmatic example would be a computer built of electronics and a hydraulic computer, with the same software. The electronic computer has electrical buttons as inputs and the hydraulic computer uses valves. Perhaps a pressed state of a button has as its isomorph an open valve.

But I think the notion of a functional isomorphic is a dubious one. Start with two electronic systems.

• System A: Has 16 toggle switches, in two rows of 8, a momentary button, and 9 LEDs. When the button is pressed, the LEDs indicate the sum of the binary numbers encoded in the obvious way by the two rows of toggle switches.

• System B: Has 25 toggle switches, in three rows, of 8, 8 and 9, respectively, a momentary button, and 9 LEDs. When the momentary button is pressed, the LEDs indicate the positions of the toggle switches in the third row. The toggle switches in the first two rows are not electrically connected to anything.

These two systems seem to be clearly non-isomorphic. The first seems to be an 8-bit adder and the second is just nine directly controlled lights.

But now imagine that the systems come with these instructions:

• A: 8-bit adder. To use, move the toggle switches in the two rows to correspond to the bits in the two input numbers (down=1, up=0), and press the momentary button. The input state is only validly defined when the momentary button is pressed.

• B: 8-bit adder. To use, move the toggle switches in the two rows to correspond to the bits in the two input numbers (down=1, up=0), move the toggle switches in the third row to correspond to the bits in the sum of the two input numbers, and press the momentary button. The input state is only validly defined when the momentary button is pressed and the third row of switches contains the sum of the numbers in the first two rows.

There is now an isomorphism between valid inputs of A and B. Thus, the valid input of A:

• 00000001,00000001,momentary pressed

corresponds to the valid input of B:

• 00000001,00000001,000000010,momentary pressed.

Moreover, the outputs given the isomorphically corresponding valid inputs match: given the above inputs, both devices show (left to right) seven LEDs off, one LED on, and one LED off.

So it seems that whether A and B count as functionally isomorphic depends on what the instruction manuals specify as valid inputs. If the only valid inputs of B are ones where the third row of inputs corresponds to the sum of the first two, then B is an 8-bit adder. If that restriction is removed, then B is no longer an adder, but something much less interesting.

This point generalizes. Any computational system can be made isomorphic to a much simpler system with a more complex instruction manual.

This is all well and good if we are dealing with computers and software that come with specifications and manuals. But it is disastrous for the functionalist project. For the functionalist project is supposed to be a contemporarynaturalistic naturalistic account of our minds, and given naturalism, our brains do not come with specifications or manuals if contemporary naturalism is true. (If we have Aristotelian naturalism instead, we might get something akin to specifications or manuals embedded in our teleology.)

Objection 1: We need only allow those systems where the specification of valid inputs is relatively simple in a language whose linguistic structure corresponds to what is perfectly natural (Lewis) or structural (Sider), or only count as an isomorphism something that can be described in relatively simple ways in such a language.

Response: First, where is the line of the “relatively simple” to be drawn. Precise specification of the position of a toggle switch or water valve in the language of fundamental physics will be very complicated.

Second, System A is a bona fide electronic 8-bit adder. Imagine System A^* is a very similar bona fide hydraulic 8-bit adder. It is very likely that a specification of what counts as a depressed toggle switch or an open valve in the language of microphysics is quite complex (just describing electricity or the flow of water in microphysics is really hard). It is also quite likely that the specification of one of these inputs is quite a bit more complex than the specification of the other. Let’s suppose, for simplicity, that A^* is the system where the microphysical specification of how valid inputs work is quite a bit more complicated. Intuitively, fluid dynamics is further from the microphysics than electricity. Then the specification of the valid input states of System B may welll turn out to be closer in complexity to the specification of the valid input states of System A than that of the hydraulic A^*. If so, then counting A^* as isomorphic to A would force one to likewise count B as isomorphic to A.

Objection 2: The trick in the argument above was to use the notion of a valid input. But perhaps functional isomorphism needs a correspondence between all inputs, not just valid ones.

Response: This is implausible. Amongst invalid inputs to a human brain is a bullet, which produces a variety of outputs, namely death or a wide variety of forms of damage (and corresponding mutations of other behaviors), depending on the bullet trajectory. It is too stringent a requirement on an isomorph of the human brain that it should have the possibility of being damaged in precisely the ways that a bullet would damage a human brain, with exactly isomorphic mutations of behaviors.

More generally, the variety of invalid inputs is just too great to insist on isomorphism. Think of our electronic and hydraulic case. The kind of output you get when you press a toggle switch too hard, or too lightly, is unlikely to correspond to the kind of output you get when you open a valve too much, or too little, and such correspondence should not be required for isomorphism.

Conclusions: We need a manual or other source of specifications to talk of functional isomorphism. Functionalism, thus, requires a robust notion of function that is incompatible with contemporary naturalism.

Supervenience and natural law

The B-properties supervene on the A-properties provided that any two possible worlds with the same A-properties have the same B-properties.

It is a widely accepted constraint in metaethics that normative properties supervene on non-normative ones. Does natural law meet the contraint?

As I read natural law, the right action is one that goes along with the teleological properties of the will. Teleological properties, in turn, are normative in nature and (sometimes) fundamental. As far as I can see, it is possible to have zombie-like phenomena, where two substances look and behave in exactly the same way but different teleological properties. Thus, one could have animals that are physically indistinguishable from our world’s sheep, and in particularly have four legs, but, unlike the sheep, have the property of being normally six-legged. In other words, they would be all defective, in lacking two of their six legs.

This suggests that natural law theories depend on a metaphysics that rejects the supervenience of the normative. But I think that is too quick. For in an Aristotelian metaphysics, the teleological properties are not purely teleological. A sheep’s being naturally four-legged simultaneously explains the normative fact that a sheep should have four legs and the non-normative statistical fact that most sheep in fact have four legs. For the teleological structures are not just normative but also efficiently causal: they efficiently guide the embryonic development of the sheep, say.

In fact, on the Koons-Pruss reading of teleology, the teleological properties just are causal powers. The causal power to ϕ in circumtances C is teleological and dispositional: it is both a teleological directedness towards ϕing in C and a disposition to ϕ in C. And there is no metaphysical way of separating these aspects, as they are both features of the very same property.

Our naturally-six-but-actually-four-legged quasi-sheep, then, would differ from the actual world’s sheep in not having the same dispositions to develop quadrapedality. This seems to save supervenience, by exhibiting a difference in non-normative properties between the sheep and the quasi-sheep.

But I think it doesn’t actually save it. For the disposition to develop four (or six) legs is the same property as the teleological directedness to quadrapedality in sheep. And this property is a normative property, though not just normative. We might say this: The sheep and the quasi-sheep differ in a non-normative respect but they do not differ in a non-normative property. For the disposition is a normative property.

Perhaps this suggests that the natural lawyer should weaken the supervenience claim and talk of differences in features or respects rather than properties. That would allow one to save a version of supervenience. But notice that if we do that, we preserve supervenience but not the intuition behind it. For the intuition behind the supervenience of the normative on the non-normative is that the normative is explained by the non-normative. But on our Aristotelian metaphysics, it is the teleological properties that explain that actual non-normative behavior of things.

Leibniz: a reductionist of the mental?

Leibniz talks about all substances having unconscious perceptions, something that threatens to be nonsense and to make Leibniz into a panpsychist.

I wonder if Leibniz wasn’t being unduly provocative. Let me tell you a story about monads. If Alice is as monad, Alice has a family of possible states, the Ps, such that for each state s among the Ps, Alice’s teleological features make it be the case that there is a state of affairs s^* concerning the monads—Alice and the other monads—such that it is good (or proper) for Alice to have s precisely insofar as s^* obtains.

This seems a sensible story, one that neither threatens to be nonsense nor to make its proponent a panpsychist. It may even be a true story. But now note that it is reasonable to describe the state s of Alice as directly representing the state of affairs s^* around her. Teleological features are apt to be hyperintensional, so the teleological property that it is good for Alice to have s precisely insofar as s^* obtains is apt to be hyperintensional in respect to s^*, which is precisely what we expect of a representation relation.

And it seems not much of a stretch to use the word “perception” for a non-derivative representation (Leibniz indeed expressly connects “perception” with “representation”). But it doesn’t really make for panpsychism. The mental is teleological, but the teleological need not be mental, and on this story perceptions are just a function of teleology pure and simple. In heliotropic plants, it is good for the plant that the state of the petals match the position of the sun, and that’s all that’s needed for the teleological mirroring—while plants might have some properly mental properties, such mirroring is not sufficient for it (cf. this really neat piece that Scott Hill pointed me to).

If we see it this way, and take “perception” to be just a teleological mirroring, then it is only what Leibniz calls apperceptions or conscious perceptions that correspond to what we consider mental properties. But now Leibniz is actually looking anti-Cartesian. For while Descartes thought that mental properties were irreducible, if we take only the conscious perceptions to be mental, Leibniz is actually a reductionist about the mental. In Principles of Nature and Grace 4, Leibniz says that sometimes in animals the unconscious perceptions are developed into more distinct perceptions that are the subject of reflective representation: representation of representation.

Leibniz may thus be the first person to offer the reduction of conscious properties to second-order representations, and if these representations are in fact not mental (except in Leibniz’s misleading vocabulary), then Leibniz is a reductionist about the mental. He isn't a panpsychist, though I suppose he could count as a panprotopsychist. And it would be very odd to call someone who is a reductionist about the mental an idealist.

Of course, Leibniz doesn’t reduce the mental to the physical or the natural as these are understood in contemporary non-teleological materialism. And that’s good: non-teleological naturalist reductions are a hopeless project (cf. this).

Life and non-life

Assume a particle-based fundamental physics. Then the non-living things in the universe outnumber the living by many orders of magnitude. But here is a striking fact given a restricted compositionality like van Inwagen’s, Toner’s or mine on which all there are is in the universe are particles and organisms: the number of kinds of living things outnumbers the number of kinds of non-living things by several orders of magnitude. The number of kinds of particles is of the order of 100, but there are millions of biological species (they may not all correspond to metaphysical species, of course).

Counting by individuals, living things are exceptional. But counting by kinds, physical things are exceptional. Only a tiny portion of the universe is occupied by life. But on the other hand, only a tiny portion of the space of kinds of entities is occupied by non-life.

I am not sure what to make of these observations. Maybe it is gives some credence to an Aristotelian rather than Humean way of seeing the world by putting the the kinds of features as teleology that are found in living things at the center of metaphysics.

Teleology and the direction of time

It would be depressing to think that one will never swim as fast as one is swimming today. But it would uplifting to think that that one has never swum as fast as one is swimming today.

I used to think the direction of time was defined by the predominant direction of causation. That may be the case, but if one takes humanistic cases like the above as central, one might think that perhaps the predominant direction of teleology is a better way to define the direction of time. Of course, telê are there to be achieved, and so the direction of teleology needs to fit well with the direction of causation, at least in the case of things that concern us. Moreover, there is some reason to think that teleology is behind all causation—causation aims at an effect.

Moral failure and naturalism

Tripping while walking or acquiring an unjustified belief does not entail that we are in any way defective. It’s just not in human nature to walk steadily all the time—there is a tradeoff between perfect steadiness and the need to look for more distant dangers, or just the need to think about more important matters. Likewise, we sometimes need to acquire beliefs more quickly than checking the evidence carefully allows.

But a moral failure seems different. Acting immorally is always a defect. This tells us something interesting about nature: our nature has tradeoffs, but morality is never among the tradeoffs.

(A curiosity: If it is our nature never to act immorally, but it isn’t our nature never to trip, we would expect that tripping would be much more common than immoral activity. But it’s not like that.)

It is difficult, I think, to reconcile the special role that morality plays in us—the fact that moral failure is always a defect—with naturalism. On an evolutionary picture, we would expect tradeoffs to be everywhere in our nature. If we were meant by nature never to trip, we would expect to have an instinct that makes us always look down in front of us—but of course then we wouldn’t see distant danger, so instead we have a tradeoff where we scan the environment in all directions as well as looking down in front of us.

I have one worry about the above line of thought. Perhaps immoral activity is not always a defect. Maybe it is only a defect when isn’t innocently ignorant. Think of the extremely difficult cases that come up in medical or military ethics where one needs to act very quickly. In those cases, there just isn’t enough time to always figure out what the right solution is, and it does not seem to be necessarily a defect when the conscientious doctor or officer acts immorally, if she has given the matter as much thought and are as there was time for and innocently done what appeared right.

Maybe that’s right. It’s still surprising on a naturalistic picture of our nature and origins that it is always a defect to act knowingly immorally. We would expect our nature to exhibit tradeoffs even there.

And maybe the innocent ignorance cases aren’t a problem. Maybe in such cases, the action is to be described in terms that makes it right, like: “Performing an operation that after the due amount of investigation appeared most in keeping with the salient goods.”

Of course, some naturalists simply deny that there is any coherent concept of “defect” to be applied to us. The above line of thought may be grist for their mill. Another view might be to bite the bullet and say that we are riddled with tradeoffs through and through, and it is no defect when we occasionally act immorally. On the contrary, sometimes (say, when it causes great harm to one’s genes getting passed on) acting morally is a defect—but we should be guided by what is right or wrong, not by what is or isn’t a defect in our nature. This latter view is not, I think, very popular, but one finds it in Andrea Dworkin’s idea that “the God who doesn’t exist” (nature? evolution?) has designed us so that until recent times we could only reproduce by means that, according to Dworkin, are innately oppressive to women.

The problem of priors

Counterfactuals about scientific practice reveal some curious facts about our prior probabilities. Our handling of experimental suggests an approximate flatness in our prior distributions of various constants (cf. this). But the flatness is not perfect. Suppose we are measuring some constant k in a law of nature, a constant that is either dimensionless or expressed in a natural unit system, and we come back with 2.00000. Then we will assign a fairly high credence to the hypothesis that k is exactly 2. But any kind of continuous prior distribution will assign zero prior to k being exactly 2, and the posterior will still be zero, so our prior for 2 must have been non-zero and non-infinitesimal. But for most numbers, the prior for k being that number must be zero or infinitesimal, or else the probabilities won’t add up to 1.

More generally, our priors favor simpler theories. And they favor them in a way that is tuned (finely or not). If our prior for k being exactly 2 were high, then we wpould believe that k = 2 even after a measurement of 3.2 (experimental error!). If our prior were too low, then we wouldn’t ever conclude that k = 2, no matter how many digits after the “2.” we measured to be zero.

There are is now an interesting non-normative question about the priors:

• Why are human priors typically so tuned?

There is, of course, an evolutionary answer—our reasoning about the world wouldn’t work if we didn’t have a pattern of priors that was so tuned. But there is a second question that the evolutionary story does not answer. To get to the second question, observe that our priors ought to be so tuned. Someone whose epistemic practices involve the rejection of the confirmation of scientific theories on the basis of too strong a prejudice for simple theories (“There is only one thing, and it’s round—everything else is illusion”) or too weak a preference for simple theories (“There are just as many temperature trends where there is a rise for a hundred years and then a fall for a hundred years as where there is a rise for two hundred years, so we have no reason at all to think global warming will continue”) is not acting as she ought.

So now we have this normative question:

• Why is it that our priors ought to be so tuned?

These give us the first two desiderata on a theory of priors:

1. The theory should explain why our priors are tuned with respect to simplicity as they are.

2. The theory should explain why our priors should be so tuned.

Here is another desideratum:

3. The theory should exhibit a connection between priors and truth.

Next, observe that our priors are pretty vague. They certainly aren’t numerically precise, and they shouldn’t be, because beings with our capacity couldn’t reason with precise numerical credences in the kinds of situations where we need to.

4. The theory should not imply that our having those priors we should requires us to always have numerically precise priors.

Further, there seems to be something to subjective Bayesianism, even if we should not go all the way with the subjective Bayesians. Which we should not, because then we cannot rationally criticize the person who has too strong or too weak an epistemic preference for simple theories.

5. The theory should not imply a unique set of priors that everyone should have.

Next, different kinds of agents should have different priors. For instance, agents like us typically shouldn’t be numerically precise. But angelic intellects that are capable of instantaneous mathematical computation might do better with numerically precise priors. Moreover, and more controversially, beings that lived in a world with simpler or less simple laws shouldn’t be held hostage to the priors that work so well for us.

6. The theory should allow for the possibility that priors vary between kinds of agents.

And then, of course, we have standard desiderata on all theories, such as that they be unified.

Finally, observe the actual methodology of philosophy of science: We observe how working scientists make inferences, and while we are willing at times to offer corrections, we use the actual inferential practices as evidence for how the inferential practices ought to go. In particular, we extract the kinds of priors that people have from their epistemic behavior when it is at its best:

7. The theory should allow for the methodology of inferring what kinds of priors we ought to have from looking at actual epistemic behavior.

Subjective Bayesianism fails with respect to desiderata 2 and 3, and if it satisfies 1, it is only by being conjoined with some further story, which decreases the unity of the story. Objective Bayesianism fails with respect to desiderata 5 and 6, and some versions of it have trouble with 4. Moreover, to satisfy 1, it needs to be conjoined with a further story. And it’s not clear that objective Bayesianism is entitled to the methodology advocated in 7.

What we need is something in between subjective and objective Bayesianism. Here is such a theory: Aristotelian Bayesianism. On general Aristotelian principles, we have natures which dictate a range of normal features with an objective teleology. For instance, the nature of a sheep specifies that they should have four legs in support of quadrapedal locomotion. Moreover, in Aristotelian metaphysics, the natures also explain the characteristic structure of beings with that nature. Thus, the nature of a sheep is not only that in virtue of which a sheep ought to have four legs, but also has guided the embryonic development of typical sheep towards a four-legged state. Finally, in an Aristotelian picture, when things act normally, they tend to achieve the goals that their nature assigns to that activity.

Now, in my Aristotelian Bayesianism, our human nature leads to characteristic patterns of epistemic behavior for the telos of truth. From the patterns of behavior that are compatible with our nature, one can derive constraints on priors—namely, that they be such as to underwrite such behavior. These priors are implicit in the patterns of behavior.

We can now take the desiderata one by one:

1. Our priors are tuned as they are since our development is guided by a nature that leads to epistemic behavior that determines priors to be so tuned.

2. Our priors ought to be so tuned, because all things ought to act in the way that their nature makes natural.

3. Natural behavior is teleological, and our epistemic behavior is truth-directed.

4. The the priors we ought to have are back-calculated from the epistemic behaviors we ought to have, and our behaviors cannot have precise numbers attached to them in such a way as to yield precise numerical priors.

5. Nothing in the theory requires that unique priors be derivable from what epistemic behavior is characteristic. Typically, in Aristotelian theories, there is a range of normalcy—a ratio of length of legs to length of arms between x and y, etc.

6. Different kinds of beings have different natures. Sheep ought to have four legs and we ought to have two. We are led to expect that different kinds of agents would have different appropriate priors. Moreover, animals tend to be adapted to their environment, so we would expect that in worlds that are sufficiently different, different priors would be appropriate.

7. Since beings have a tendency towards acting naturally, the actual behavior of beings—especially when they appear to be at their best—provides evidence of the kind of behavior that they ought to exhibit. And from the kind of epistemic behavior we ought to exhibit, we can back-calculate the kinds of priors that are implicit in that behavior.

This post is inspired by Barry Loewer saying in discussion that I was Kantian because I think there are objective constraints on priors. I am not Kantian. I am Aristotelian.

Cerebrums, animalism and teleology

Suppose you are essentially an animal. If your cerebrum were transplanted into a vat and the rest of your body—including, of course, the brain-stem—were to maintain circulation, nutritive functioning, muscle tone and so on, where would you go? Would you go with the cerebrum in the vat, with the rest of the body, or would you be just plain dead?

Here’s a line of thought. There are more primitive animals that don’t have a cerebrum, but still have a circulatory system, a nutritive system, etc. Thinking about these animals makes on think that the survival of an animal has to do with maintenance of the lower level homeostatic functions. So, we go with the parts of the body responsible for such things.

But an Aristotelian animalist can resist the analogy to primitive animals on teleological grounds. For instance, our circulatory system’s physical resemblance to the circulatory systems of primitive animals misses out on a crucial metaphysical difference: our circulatory system has the support of the life of the mind as its central telos, and it supports the life of the mind by supporting the cerebrum. The teleological structure of primitive animals and human animals is different: functions that are close to the teleological center of the life of a primitive animal are further from the teleological center of human life. It may be the case that when an animal is divided, it goes with the parts that are teleologically more central. If so, then in the initial thought experiment, you would go with the cerebrum.

[By the way, this post represents a new workflow. I am using John MacFarlane pandoc, writing the post as a text file, and then running a script that does pandoc -S filename | iconv -f utf-8 -t utf-16le | clip and pasting it in. This should make math less painful to type.]

Final causation

A standard picture of final causation is this. A has a teleological directedness to engaging in activity F for the sake of producing B. Then B explains A's engaging in F by final causation. This picture is mistaken for one or two reasons. First, suppose that an interfering cause prevents B from arising from activity F. The existence of an interfering cause at this point does nothing to make it less explicable why F occurred. But it destroys the explanation in terms of B, since there is no B. Second, and more speculatively, it is tokens of things and events that enter into explanations, but teleology typically involves types not tokens. Thus, if B enters into the explanation of F, it will be a token, but then A's engagement in F won't be directed at B, but at something of such-and-such a type. In other words, we shouldn't take the "for the sake of" in statements like "A engaged in F for the sake of ___" to be an explanation. For if it's to be an explanation, the blank will need to be filled out with a particular token, say "B", but true "for the sake of" claims (at least in paradigmatic cases) have the right hand side filled in with an instance of a type, say "a G".

I think there is something in the vicinity of final causation, but it's not a weird backwards causation. Rather, in some cases A engagement in F produces B in a way that is a fulfillment of a teleological directedness in A. In that case the engagement in F to produce B in fulfillment of a teleology in A is explained by that teleology. In less successful cases--say, ones where an interfering cause is present--we can at least say that A's engagement in F is explained by that teleology. In these less successful cases, there is in one way less to be explained--success is absent and hence does not need to be explained--but there is still a teleological explanation (and there will also be an explanation of lack of success, due to interfering causes). But in any case, there is no backwards-looking causation.