Managing Riskin InformationSystemsPowered by vLab Solu.docx

Managing Risk
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JONES & BARTLETT LEARNING INFORMATION SYSTEMS
SECURITY & ASSURANCE SERIES
LABORATORY MANUAL TO ACCOMPANY
VERSION 2.0
INSTRUCTOR VERSION
Copyright © by Jones & Bartlett Learning, LLC, an Ascend
Learning Company - All Rights Reserved.

1
Introduction
The task of identifying risks in an IT environment can become
overwhelming. Once your mind
starts asking “what if…?” about one IT area, you quickly begin
to grasp how many
vulnerabilities exist across the IT spectrum. It may seem
impossible to systematically search for
risks across the whole IT environment.
Thankfully, a solution is at hand that simplifies identifying
threats and vulnerabilities in an IT
infrastructure. That method is to divide the infrastructure into
the seven domains: Wide Area
Network (WAN), Local Area Network-to-Wide Area Network
(LAN-to-WAN), Local Area

Network (LAN), Workstation, User, System/Application, and
Remote Access. Systematically
tackling the seven individual domains of a typical IT
infrastructure helps you organize the roles,
responsibilities, and accountabilities for risk management and
risk mitigation.
In this lab, you will identify known risks, threats, and
vulnerabilities, and you will organize
them. Finally, you will map these risks to the domain that was
impacted from a risk management
perspective.
Learning Objectives
Upon completing this lab, you will be able to:
Identify common risks, threats, and vulnerabilities found
throughout the seven domains of a
typical IT infrastructure.

Align risks, threats, and vulnerabilities to one of the seven
domains of a typical IT
infrastructure.
Given a scenario, prioritize risks, threats, and vulnerabilities
based on their risk impact to the
organization from a risk-assessment perspective.
Prioritize the identified critical, major, and minor risks, threats,
and software vulnerabilities
found throughout the seven domains of a typical IT
infrastructure.
Lab #1 Identifying Threats and Vulnerabilities in an IT
Infrastructure

4 | LAB #1 Identifying Threats and Vulnerabilities in an IT
Infrastructure
Risks, Threats, and Vulnerabilities Primary Domain Impacted
Unauthorized access from public Internet
Hacker penetrates IT infrastructure through
modem bank
Communication circuit outages
Workstation operating system (OS) has a
known software vulnerability
Denial of service attack on organization’s e-
mail server
Remote communications from home office
Workstation browser has software vulnerability
Weak ingress/egress traffic-filtering degrades
performance

Wireless Local Area Network (WLAN) access
points are needed for LAN connectivity within a
warehouse
Need to prevent rogue users from
unauthorized WLAN access
Doctor destroys data in application, deletes all
files, and gains access to internal network
Fire destroys primary data center
Intraoffice employee romance gone bad
Loss of production data server
Unauthorized access to organization-owned
workstations
LAN server OS has a known software
vulnerability
Nurse downloads an unknown e-mail
attachment

Service provider has a major network outage
A technician inserts CDs and USB hard drives
with personal photos, music, and videos on
organization-owned computers
Virtual Private Network (VPN) tunneling
between the remote computer and
ingress/egress router
Some risks will affect multiple IT domains. In fact, in real-
world environments, risks and their direct consequences
will most likely span across several domains. This is a big
reason to implement controls in more than one domain
to mitigate those risks. However, for the exercise in step 6 that
follows, consider and select only the domain that
would be most affected.
Subsequent next steps in the real world include selecting,
implementing, and testing controls to minimize or
eliminate those risks. Remember that a risk can be responded to
in one of four ways: accept it, treat it (minimize
it), avoid it, or transfer it (for example, outsource or insurance).

Pages from 9781284058680_ILMx_Risk20
Chapter 7. The Mind-Body Problem
Chapter 7. The Mind-Body Problem
Chapter 7
The Mind-Body Problem
During week 5 read the first half of this chapter (Sections 1-5).
During week 6 read the second half (Sections 6-end).
Copyright by Paul Herrick, 2020. For class use only. Not for
distribution. This chapter: 32 pages of reading.
1. Are You Your Brain?
Sometimes we refer to our brains; other times we refer to our
minds. BJ the Chicago Kid titled his second album In My Mind.
But Screeching Weasel titled its third studio album My Brain
Hurts. Are the mind and the brain two different things? Or are
they one and the same? To put the question another way: Are
thoughts, sensations, mental images, and such nothing more

than physical events or processes of the physical brain? Are
they just neurons (brain cells) firing or something like that? Or
is the mind an immaterial, nonphysical entity distinct from the
brain but interacting in some way with it? In philosophy, these
and related questions make up the mind-body problem.
Since ancient times, the common view has been that the mind—
the part of us that is conscious, that thinks, that makes choices,
that bears moral responsibility—is immaterial and cannot be
physically seen, touched, weighed, or otherwise directly
detected by instruments. On this view, the mind--often called
the “soul,” “spirit,” or “self”—is not the brain or any part of the
body or any physical thing at all. However, since mind and body
obviously interact, the common view has long been that the
mind or soul can affect the body and the body can affect the
mind. More specifically, the immaterial mind can cause changes
in the physical body, through the interface of the physical brain,
and the brain can cause changes in the mind.
In philosophy, this traditional view is called “mind-body
dualism” (“dualism” for short) because it claims that mind and
body are two distinct things. The common view is sometimes
also called “mind-body interactionism” because it claims that
mind and body, though distinct, interact. Philosophical dualists
argue that the universe divides into two radically different kinds
of substances—mindless matter and thinking mind or, as some
prefer to put it, matter and spirit, or as still others put it, matter

and consciousness.
Most religions of the world teach a dualist account of human
nature. Each human being, they generally claim, is composed of
an immaterial mind or soul joined to a material body. On the
religious view, the mind, or soul, rather than the material body
is the part that will be judged by God in the end. As the basis of
moral responsibility, the soul is the root of one’s identity as a
person. In other words, the soul is the true self; the material
body is merely the soul’s temporary lodging place during its
journey on earth. Most religions also teach a doctrine of
immortality, or survival—the claim that the immaterial soul
lives on in a higher realm after the death and disintegration of
the material body.
If dualism is true and your immaterial mind, or soul, is the seat
of your identity—the real you--then your soul, not your brain or
any part of your body, is what you refer to when you use the
word I. If each of us is an immaterial soul, then we are not what
we initially appear to be from the outside—a merely physical
being composed of nothing but matter.
Although dualism has been the common view throughout
history, more and more people today reject dualism and accept
“materialism” (also called “naturalism” and sometimes
“physicalism”). Essentially this is the view that nothing but
matter exists, with matter defined as that which science in

principle recognizes—atoms, subatomic particles, molecules,
quanta of energy, forces, fields, and everything composed of
such things. Some opponents of dualism put the claim this way:
Nothing exists outside the system of nature recognized by
science. Still others put it this way: Nothing but physical
objects exist. According to materialism (or naturalism or
physicalism), nothing supernatural exists: There is no such
being as God; and heaven, immaterial souls, spirits, angels and
such things do not exist. On the materialist view, the mind is
nothing more than the physical brain or (as some materialists
put it) the functioning of the brain or (as still others claim)
observable behavior caused by the brain.
Many materialists today identify the self with the brain. On this
view, when we say “I,” we are referring to our physical brains.
When we say, “I did it,” we are in effect saying, “My brain did
it.” (But notice that the very word My in the sentence “My brain
did it” implies that the self is not the brain but rather is
something distinct from the brain that “owns” the brain, which
reflects a dualist view of the self.)
Our discussion will begin with the dualist position. Socrates and
Plato gave philosophical arguments for mind-body dualism, and
for survival (the immortality of the soul). But the big arguments
under discussion today in universities across the world
originated in Europe during the early modern period (i.e., the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries). The first historically

significant modern argument for dualism was given by the
French philosopher René Descartes (1596-1650), the founder of
modern philosophy.
2. The Case for Dualism
In his Meditations—the book that broke with the past and
launched the modern era in philosophy--Descartes observes that
there is a great difference between a mind and a body, because
the body, by its very nature, is something divisible, whereas the
mind is plainly indivisible. For in truth, when I consider the
mind, that is, when I consider myself in so far only as I am a
thinking thing, I can distinguish in myself no parts, but I very
clearly discern that I am somewhat absolutely one and entire;
and although the whole mind seems to be united to the whole
body, yet, when a foot, an arm, or any other part is cut off, I am
conscious that nothing has been taken from my mind; nor can
the faculties of willing, perceiving, conceiving, etc., properly
be called its parts, for it is the same mind that is exercised in
willing, in perceiving, and in conceiving, etc. But quite the
opposite holds in corporeal or extended things; for I cannot
imagine any one of them which I cannot easily sunder in
thought. This would be sufficient to teach me that the mind, or
soul, of man is entirely different from the body, if I had not
already been apprised of it on other grounds.
This famous line of reasoning, known today as “Descartes’s

divisibility argument,” makes more sense once it has been
fleshed out in contemporary terms.
Descartes’s Divisibility Argument
1. The human mind has a property (an attribute or
characteristic) that the human brain—and any other physical or
material object—lacks.
2. Necessarily, for any x and for any y, if x has a property that y
lacks, then x and y are not one and the same entity; rather, they
must be two distinct entities.
3. Therefore, the human mind and the human brain are not one
and the same entity; rather, they must be two distinct entities.
4. It also follows that the human mind is not identical to any
physical or material part of the brain, the body, or the material
world.
5. Therefore, mind-body dualism is certainly true.
The presence of the word certainly indicates that Descartes’s
argument is deductive. His claim is therefore that if the
premises are true, the conclusion must be true. In addition, the
argument is clearly valid. That is, its conclusion must indeed be
true if all its premises are true. The only way to attack
Descartes’s argument, then, is to give an argument against one

of its premises, that is, an argument for the conclusion that one
of his premises is false. But before we proceed, each premise
can be supported by a subargument.
Argument for premise 1
I am assuming here that by “part” Descartes means a “stand-
alone” part—a part of a whole that can be detached so as to
stand apart from the whole.
1a. Every macroscopic part of the human body—including every
part of the human brain—is divisible into stand-alone parts.
1b. The human mind is not divisible into stand-alone parts.
1c. Therefore, premise 1 is true.
Argument for premise 2
2a. Necessarily, for any x and for any y, if x and y are
numerically identical (are one and the same entity), then every
property of x is a property of y, and every property of y is a
property of x.
2b. Therefore, premise 2 is true.
Argument for premise 1a

This premise is not controversial. Each cell in the brain, like
every cell in the rest of the body, can be removed and placed on
a microscope slide to be viewed at high magnification. The
same can be said for each subcellular part of the brain and each
subcellular part of the rest of the body.
Argument for premise 1b
The ordinary parts of the mind—thoughts, beliefs, hopes,
images, ideas, wishes, sensations, and the like—have never been
surgically removed from the mind and placed on a lab bench or
microscope slide to be viewed apart from the mind. No scientist
has ever claimed to have removed a patient’s belief—for
instance a belief that 1 + 1 =2--from the patient’s mind and
placed it on a microscope slide. No scientist has ever claimed to
have removed a patient’s hope—for instance a hope that
tomorrow will be sunny--from the patient’s mind and placed it
in a test tube. Indeed, the very idea of such a thing happening is
conceptually incoherent. Therefore, conscious mental states
cannot possibly be physically removed from the mind, mounted,
and studied using scientific instruments. The mind’s parts are
not stand-alone parts.
Before we assess this argument, the term numerical identity
needs to be clarified and the second premise needs an

explanation. As many people know, Bob Dylan (born in Duluth,
Minnesota, on May 24, 1941) and Robert Zimmerman (born in
Duluth, Minnesota, on May 24, 1941) are one and the same
person; they are not two different people. In logic, x and y are
numerically (or quantitatively) identical if they are one and the
same entity and not two different entities. Bob Dylan and
Robert Zimmerman are thus numerically identical, for they are
one and the same entity.
Contrasts are always important when learning an abstract
concept. Be careful not to confuse numerical identity with
qualitative identity. Two things x and y are qualitatively
identical if they have exactly the same properties, or qualities.
Two separate whiteboard dry erase markers that look exactly
alike (same color, same shape, same brand, etc.) are
qualitatively identical, although they are not numerically
identical (because they are two distinct markers, not one and the
same marker).
Now to Premise 2. This premise is a theorem of the branch of
logic called “quantificational logic with identity.” An
application will help make the premise clear. Suppose that the
police claim that Joe Doakes robbed the local bank and they
offer video surveillance footage to prove it. Now suppose that
upon further investigation, the police determine that the robber
in the video is six feet tall, while Joe Doakes is only five feet
tall. In this case, Doakes has a property or attribute that the

robber lacks, namely, the property of being five feet tall.
Common sense says that if the robber has an attribute (being six
feet tall) that Joe Doakes lacks (he is only five feet tall), the
robber and Joe Doakes must be two different people, not one
and the same. Despite its technical appearance, premise 2 is
simply a formal logical expression of a commonsense idea
employed in everyday life.
The supporting premise 2a is an axiom of logic known as
“Leibniz’s law” (it is also known as the “principle of the
indiscernibility of identicals”). The name sounds forbidding, but
the principle is actually common sense. In plain terms,
Leibniz’s law states that if x and y are numerically identical
(are one and the same thing), then any property possessed by x
is also possessed by y and vice versa. The claim sounds self-
evident, doesn’t it? For a fictional example, since Clark Kent
and Superman are numerically identical (one and the same
person), then any property possessed by one is possessed by the
other. So, if Clark Kent is standing, then Superman is standing,
if Clark Kent has black hair, then Superman has black hair, and
so forth. It can be proved using modern symbolic logic that
premise 2 is logically implied by Leibniz’s law.
The second premise is on very solid logical ground. Descartes’s
argument is complete.
Objections from Cognitive Scientists
Some cognitive scientists challenge the supporting premise 1b--

the claim that the mind cannot be divided into stand-alone parts.
Their argument goes like this:
1. The mind contains ideas, memories, thoughts, and sensations.
2. Each of these can be thought of or imagined (and then
studied) in some sense apart from the mind itself.
3. Therefore, the mind, too, contains stand-alone parts, and 1b
is false.
4. But if 1b is false, then premise 1 lacks support.
5. Therefore, Descartes’s first premise lacks support, and his
argument fails.
This line of reasoning sounds promising until it is examined. It
is true that the parts of the mind cited—thoughts, ideas,
memories, feelings, hopes, and the like—can be thought of and
studied analytically. However, thoughts, hopes, memories, and
such cannot be surgically removed from a mind and physically
placed on microscope slides to be viewed outside that mind.
Your memory of last Christmas cannot be surgically removed
from your mind and placed in a test tube. The very idea of a
hope or a belief separated from a mind and sitting all by itself
on a lab bench or mounted on a microscope slide is conceptually
incoherent. The reason for this is intriguing. It makes no sense
at all to imagine an ownerless thought standing completely apart
from a mind currently thinking it. A thought that is not part of a

mind, sitting alone by itself on a table, makes no sense at all.
So, if the mind has parts, the way in which it has parts is
radically different from the way in which the brain has parts, in
which case it still follows that the mind has properties the brain
lacks. If so, then the mind and the brain must be two distinct
entities. It also follows that the mind is not numerically
identical to any other part of the body or to any material,
natural, or physical object.
Descartes’s central claim--that the mind cannot be divided into
stand-alone parts--has also been challenged by scientists who
put forward dissociative identity disorder (multiple personality
disorder) and split-brain syndrome as counterexamples. They
argue that in these cases, the mind appears to split into separate
parts that can be studied individually. Does this imply that 1b is
false? Let’s examine.
Split-brain syndrome occurs when the corpus collosum (a
bundle of nerve fibers connecting the two hemispheres of a
person’s brain) is damaged or severed and the individual
experiences what seem to be two separate streams of
consciousness, each wholly or partly unaware of the other. In a
case of dissociative identity disorder, the mind appears to
divide into two or more separate personalities, or streams of
consciousness, each wholly or partly unaware of the other.
According to these critics, both disorders are cases in which the

mind breaks down into stand-alone parts—contrary to
Descartes’s claim. Their argument goes about like this:
1. In cases of dissociative identity disorder, the mind appears to
divide into two or more separate personalities, or streams of
consciousness, each wholly or partly unaware of the other;
2. In cases of split-brain syndrome, the mind appears to divide
into two separate streams of consciousness;
3. Both disorders are therefore cases where the mind breaks
down into stand-alone parts;
4. If the mind can break down into stand-alone parts, then
Descartes’s premise 1b is false;
5. Therefore, Descartes’s premise 1b is false.
Not so fast, reply Descartes’s defenders. In the split-brain
cases, the two streams of consciousness cannot be physically
removed, separated, stained, and placed on different microscope
slides; nor can they be mounted side by side on a lab bench.
Indeed, it makes no sense to think of a stream of consciousness
physically sitting on a table like a beaker full of chemicals. If
there are two separate streams of consciousness within one
mind, they cannot physically stand alone in isolation from the
mind they belong to. Likewise, for cases of multiple personality

disorder: the different personalities cannot be physically
removed from the mind they belong to and placed side by side
in separate test tubes on a lab bench for close viewing. The very
idea of a personality, or even a part of a personality, sitting on a
table apart from a mind, makes no sense at all.
It follows, again, that the way in which the mind has parts is
radically different from the way in which a material object such
as the brain has parts. Therefore, the mind has properties the
brain lacks. But if so, it logically follows, by the deductive
reasoning we have examined, that the mind and the brain are
two distinct substances, and mind-body dualism must be true.
Princess Elisabeth’s Famous Question
Shortly after Descartes’s Meditations was published, he
received a letter from an avocational philosopher who was also
a member of the royalty. “Tell me please,” wrote Princess
Elisabeth of Bohemia (1618–1680), “how the of a human being
(it being only a thinking substance) can [move] the bodily
spirits and so bring about voluntary actions.” In other words,
how can two substances interact if they are as radically
different as mind and body are said to be? How can an
immaterial soul possessing no solidity shape, or weight move a
solid physical object such as the brain? What great questions!
4. Five More Aspects of Consciousness That Defy Materialist

Explanation
During the twentieth century philosophers identified many
additional aspects of consciousness that cannot in principle be
explained materialistically, that is, in terms of nothing but
particles of matter and quanta of energy in motions governed by
the laws of physics and chemistry. The following are five being
discussed by experts in the philosophy of mind today, including
such leading researchers as Thomas Nagel, David Chalmers, and
Frank Jackson.
e "Mental-Image Argument" Qualia
Close your eyes and imagine a stop sign. What color is the
experienced image? If you imagined an ordinary stop sign, the
image in your mind is experienced as red (and white). You are
aware of its color directly, from the inside of your
consciousness. Philosophers call experiential mental states such
as the experienced color of a sunset, the taste of chocolate, the
smell of a rose, the sound of a bell, and the feel of velvet
“qualia” (singular: “quale”). Now, as you experience this red
image in your mind—this quale--certain physical things are
occurring in your brain at the same time. However, if a brain
surgeon were to open your brain at the moment you are
experiencing the red image, she would not see a red spot shaped
like a stop sign physically in, or on, some part of your brain
like an image on a movie screen. Your brain is normally gray.
Nothing in your brain turns from gray to red when you form and

experience a red image in your mind. It follows, by the theorem
of logic which states that if x has a property that y does not
have, then x and y are two different entities, that the quale—the
red image you directly experience inside your consciousness—is
not numerically identical to any physical part of your brain. The
image is a part of your mind but not a part of your brain.
Therefore, your mind has a property that your brain does not
have. It follows that your mind and your brain are two different
entities, not one and the same thing. It follows, in short, that
mind-body dualism is true. More formally:
The Qualia Argument against Materialism and for Dualism
1. When I form an image in my mind of a red stop sign, I
directly experience within my consciousness an image of a red
stop sign.
2. But a red stop sign that can be observed by scientists does
not appear visibly on the surface of my brain or anywhere inside
my brain.
3. Therefore, when I form an image in my mind of a red stop
sign, my mental image has properties (experienced redness and
the experienced shape of a stop sign) that no part of my brain
possesses and that no other part of my body possesses.

4. Therefore, my mind has properties that my brain lacks and
that any other part of my body lacks.
5. If x has a property that y lacks, then x and y are two different
entities and not one and the same thing.
6. Therefore, my mind and my brain must be two different
entities.
7. Furthermore, it also follows that my mind is not identical to
any other physical part of my body.
8. If the mind is not identical to the brain or to any part of the
body, then mind-body dualism is true.
9. Therefore, dualism is most certainly true.
In What Does It All Mean?, Thomas Nagel argues that science
will never show, and cannot possibly show, that mental images
and other mental states are numerically identical to brain states
or that the mind simply is the brain.
When we discover the chemical composition of water, for
instance, we are dealing with something that is clearly out there
in the physical world . . . When we find out it is made up of
hydrogen and oxygen atoms, we’re just breaking down an
external physical substance into smaller physical parts. It is an

essential feature of this kind of analysis that we are not giving a
chemical breakdown of the way water looks, feels, and tastes to
us. Those things go on in our inner experience, not in the water
that we have broken down into atoms. The physical or chemical
analysis of water leaves them aside. But to discover that tasting
chocolate was really just a brain process, we would have to
analyze something mental—not an externally observed physical
substance but an inner taste sensation—in terms of parts that are
physical. And there is no way that a large number of physical
events in the brain, however complicated, could be the parts out
of which a taste sensation was composed. A physical whole can
be analyzed into smaller physical parts, but a mental process
can’t be. Physical parts just can’t add up to a mental whole.
Intentionality
Some kinds of mental states possess a property that
philosophers of mind call “intentionality.” (This property is
also called “aboutness.”) This is a very difficult notion to
understand. A mental state is intentional if it is about
something. That which an intentional mental state is about is
called that state’s “intentional object.” For instance, my belief
that Sir Paul McCartney lives in Scotland is about Paul
McCartney, and Sir Paul is the intentional object of my belief.

My hope that tomorrow will be sunny is about tomorrow’s
weather. The aboutness of thought is a directly experienced
mental property that is hard to deny. The problem for
materialists is that for a number of reasons it seems certain that
intentionality, or aboutness, cannot possibly be a property of a
purely material, or physical, object. Why?
First, the aboutness, or intentionality, of a thought is not a
property recognized within current physics. Aboutness does not
appear in any of the physics manuals listing measured physical
properties. Furthermore, the latest science indicates that the
physical nature of any material object will one day be fully
explained in terms of standard physical properties without
mentioning intentionality at all or anything remotely like it.
Think about it: an atom, or clump of atoms, or a quanta of
energy, or a force field, considered merely as a physical object,
isn’t about anything; it just is.
A word of caution is called for here. The word “intentional” in
philosophy of mind has nothing to do with “intending” to do
something or with having a “purpose.” The intentionality of the
mental is merely the property of being about something, as in
“My thoughts are about you at the moment” or “I was thinking
about last week.”
The question dualists put to materialists is therefore this: How
can an atom, or a neuron, or a chemical in someone’s brain, or a

clump of nerve fibers in a person’s frontal lobe, be about Paul
McCartney? Or about tomorrow? Which physical properties
would make a bundle of neurons a belief about McCartney
rather than about Ringo Starr? About tomorrow rather than
about next week? No one in neuroscience has the slightest idea.
No one in neuroscience has ever successfully explained how
intentionality can be reduced to (explained solely in terms of)
neurons, electrochemical brain signals, molecules, chemicals, or
any other purely physical objects. Laurence BonJour writes:
There is no reason at all to think that the internal structure of
my physical and neurophysiological states could somehow by
itself determine that I am thinking about the weather rather than
about the Middle East or the stock market.
These thoughts give rise to another argument for dualism:
The Intentionality Argument Against Materialism and for
Dualism
1. Some mental states possess intentionality but nothing in the
brain or body possesses intentionality.
2. If x has a property not possessed by y, then x and y are not
numerically identical.

3. Therefore, the mind is not the brain or any part of the brain
or body.
4. If so, then mind-body dualism is true.
5. Therefore, mind-body dualism is certainly true.
Argument for premise 1:
1a. Many kinds of mental states are intentional—they are about
something.
1b. No physical states are intentional.
1c. Therefore, premise 1 is true.
Materialists agree that science has not yet explained
intentionality. However, they argue, hopefully scientists will
someday succeed, and we will then see that the supporting
premise 1b is false. BonJour replies:
Here we have a piece of materialist doctrine that again has a
status very similar to that of a claim of theology. It is obvious
that no one has even the beginnings of an idea of how to
actually carry out an investigation that would yield a result of
this kind—that the only reason for thinking that this could be

done is the overriding assumption, for which we have found no
cogent basis, that materialism must be true.
Subjectivity
In recent years, Nagel, Jackson, and other prominent
philosophers specializing in the study of consciousness have put
forward a new argument for dualism. Their case begins with the
claim that mental states have a directly experienced, subjective
quality that cannot be fully expressed quantitatively, that is,
objectively in the language of any of the physical sciences. In
the case of any conscious mental state, they argue, there is
something it is like to be in that state. For instance, there is
something it is like to feel nostalgic, to taste chocolate, to
remember last summer fondly, to hope for snow, to be in love.
Nagel calls this subjective aspect of consciousness the “what it
is like” quality of the mental.
However, these contemporary dualists argue, this subjective,
experienced aspect of consciousness cannot possibly be reduced
to (explained without remainder in terms of) particles of matter
and quanta of energy moving in space and time under the
governance of the laws of physics and chemistry alone. It
follows, they argue, that the conscious mind and the physical
brain are not one and the same thing. It also follows that the
mind is not identical to any physical object.

Nagel argues that the reason why science has not, and never
will, explain the subjective nature of consciousness is that
science, by its very nature, explains everything from an
objective or third-person, public perspective. But the
subjectivity of consciousness can only be understood from
within a first-person perspective.
Contemporary dualists describe the subjectivity of the mental in
depth in their philosophical writings; one must read their books
and scholarly articles to get the full idea. There is no doubt that
they are right on one crucial point: The subjective or “what it is
like” quality of the mental is not one of the recognized
properties of matter. It does not appear in any of the handbooks
of physics or chemistry. This makes sense: How can a physical
pile of atoms, or a quark or field, have a subjective, qualitative
awareness? How can there possibly be “something it is like” to
be a proton, an atom, a sugar molecule, or a potassium ion?
Scientists haven’t the foggiest idea. The subjective aspect of
consciousness appears to be yet another mental property that
cannot be reduced to matter in motion governed by the laws of
physics and chemistry as they apply to the brain. More
formally:
The Subjectivity Argument against Materialism and for Dualism
1. Conscious mental states have a subjective, …

Chapter 5. What Can We Know?
Chapter 5
What Can We Know?
Copyright by Paul Herrick. For class use only. Not for
distribution. This chapter: 16 pages of reading.
To abandon facts is to abandon freedom. If nothing is true, then
no one can criticize power, because there is no basis upon
which to do so. If nothing is true, then all is spectacle.
— Timothy Snyder, On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the
Twentieth Century.[endnoteRef:1] [1: Timothy Snyder, On
Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century (New
York: Tim Duggan Books; 1st ed. (February 28, 2017). I was
drawn to this passage by the professor Tom Taylor, Seattle
University, during a history conference at the University of
Washington in August 2017. ]
1. Relativism, Skepticism, and the Birth of Epistemology
Many people today claim that there is no such thing as objective

truth. Truth, they confidently say, is relative to each person. By
this they mean two things: First, each person has a unique
perspective. Second, each person’s perspective is equally valid
because there is no objective basis for saying that one person’s
belief is true and another’s is false. Thus, if you believe
something is true, that makes it true for you and no one has any
objective basis for saying that your belief is false. Likewise, if I
believe the opposite is true, that makes that true for me and no
one has any objective basis for saying that my belief is false.
So, for example, if Fred believes that global warming is a hoax,
that is his truth. If Susan believes that global warming is real,
that is her (alternative) truth, and there is no objective fact that
decides the matter one way or the other. Both are right.
In philosophy, this view is known as “alethic relativism” (from
the Greek word aletheia for “truth or disclosure”). It is also
called “relativism about truth.” According to the advocate of
this view, those who believe in objective truth are mistaken.
The real truth about truth is that truth is relative to each person.
There is no such thing as an objective truth that is the same for
everyone or that can be accessed by everyone. Of this the
alethic relativist is certain.
Relativism about truth sounds exciting to many today,
especially to those who have an adversarial attitude toward
traditional ideas. The claim that truth is relative can be found,
in one form or another, in the writings of philosophers who call

themselves “postmodernists.” It can also be found in the
writings of those multicultural theorists who copy their basic
premises from relativistic postmodernist philosophy. Some of
these multicultural theorists go further and relativize truth not
to each person but to each racial or ethnic group. If one group
believes such and such, then that makes such and such true for
that group and the group’s belief cannot be criticized by anyone
outside the group for there is no objective fact of the matter that
is the same for everyone across all groups. If another group
believes that so and so, then that makes so and so true for that
group, and that group’s belief cannot be criticized by anyone
outside that group (for the same reason). Each group, on this
view, has a unique perspective that cannot be assessed or
criticized on objective or rational grounds by members of
another group.
However, whether in the individual or group form, relativism
about truth has severe problems. When the relativist asserts that
truth is relative,isn’t he making an objective claim about the
nature of truth? Isn’t he saying that (being relative) is the way
truth really is—“really is” in a non-relative way? Isn’t he
saying that, in fact,truth is relative and we all should agree? In
other words, isn’t the relativist in effect claiming that it is
objectively true for all of us that truth is relative? If so, isn’t he
contradicting himself? But if a theory cannot even be asserted
without self-contradiction, why believe it?

Furthermore, if the relativist gives us reasons to believe that
truth is relative—in hopes we will see the light and agree on the
basis of common grounds—doesn’t that contradict his claim
(that truth is relative)? For common reasons given for a view—
reasons available to all--would have to be nonrelatively true,
wouldn’t they? But if no good reasons can be given for the
view, then why believe it?
The question, What is objective truth? is examined in
metaphysics, the branch of philosophy that seeks a rational
account of the most fundamental aspects of reality. (We’ll
examine the concept of objective truth in a moment.)
The concepts of truth and knowledge are closely related. When
we say that someone “knows” something, for instance, “Pat
knows that the moon has mountains,” we ordinarily mean, in
part, that the claim said to be known (in this case, the
proposition that the moon has mountains) is true in an objective
sense. As we will see in more detail in a moment, we also
ordinarily suppose that the knower has a sufficient reason to
believe that the claim is true. It follows that if objective truth
does not exist, then neither does knowledge in the traditional
sense of the word.
It should be no surprise, then, that those who deny the existence
of objective truth usually also reject the traditional concept of
knowledge. “Knowledge with a capital K is a myth,” some say.
“Nobody really knows anything. All we have are opinions, and

one opinion is as valid as any other.” Those who make this
claim usually sound so confident that they give the impression
they really know what they are talking about.
Time for another definition. A skeptical person is someone who
is hard to convince. A skeptic with respect to a particular
subject is someone who is hard to convince on that subject. A
religious skeptic, for instance, is hard to convince on matters of
religion. In philosophy the denial of all knowledge is called
“global skepticism.”
If the global skeptics are correct, knowledge as we normally use
the term is a total mirage. Which raises an interesting question.
If knowledge does not really exist, then what are people doing
when they claim to know something? The answer some
postmodernist global skeptics give echoes an idea first stated by
global skeptics in ancient Greece who debated and opposed
Socrates. A claim to knowledge, they claim, is in reality just a
sinister power grab. When someone claims to know something,
they are simply trying to bully you into agreeing with them. In
other words, they are trying to get their way. In most cases,
they are attempting to gain power over you. As some of the
ancient Greek Sophists put it, victory, not truth, is the hidden
goal of every claim to knowledge. Or so say many critics of the
traditional concept of knowledge.
However, if the global skeptics are right, then isn’t their
confident assertion—that a claim to knowledge is merely a

disguised power grab unrelated to real truth—also a disguised
power grab unrelated to real truth? When they try to convince
us to agree with them, aren’t they merely doing what they claim
to hate? Isn’t their skepticism also nothing but a sinister power
grab? If it is, why believe it?
Furthermore, if all we have are unsubstantiated opinions, and if
one opinion is no better than another, then the postmodernist
rejection of the traditional notion of knowledge is just one more
unsubstantiated opinion. If so, then why believe it? These
critics of tradition can give no solid reason for their view
without contradicting themselves. But if postmodernist
relativism cannot support itself without contradicting itself,
then it is an irrational viewpoint unworthy of a serious critical
thinker.
I meet students every quarter who subscribe to these relativistic
and skeptical postmodernist views. The traditional concepts of
objective truth and traditional knowledge are under attack today
in some quarters of the academic world. Knowledge and truth,
many academics now believe, are collective delusions,
throwbacks to primitive times, or (worse) mind-control tools
imposed by the ruling class, “the man,” or the establishment.
Are these critics of tradition right? Or can the traditional
notions of truth and knowledge be defined in plausible terms
and rationally defended in the twenty-first century? That is the
question before us in this chapter.

For clarification we’ll begin with the underlying metaphysical
question, What is truth? After that we’ll turn to epistemology
(from the Greek word episteme for “knowledge”)—the
philosophical study of the nature, scope, and limits of
knowledge. What exactly is knowledge? How (if at all) does it
differ from mere opinion? What (if anything) can we know?
What is the relationship between knowledge and truth?
Socrates, as recorded in Plato’s dialogues, was the first to ask
these questions in a philosophical context and to propose
precise answers within a systematic theory of
epistemology.[endnoteRef:2] His student Plato was the first to
examine them in depth and work out a unified theory in written
form. The ancient Greeks are the founders of epistemology as
an academic subject. [2: Stated most clearly in Plato’s Meno
and in his Theaetetus. ]
2. What Is Truth?
The most widely held definition among philosophers today is
the account first expressed by Socrates in the dialogues of Plato
and stated more formally in the logical works of Aristotle:
A proposition is true if it accurately corresponds to the facts; it
is false if it does not.
Truth, in short, is correspondence with the facts. In philosophy,

this is known as the correspondence theory of truth.
Notice the way each of the following true statements accurately
corresponds to, or specifies, the relevant facts:
· There are craters on the Moon.
· The White House is located in Washington DC.
And notice the way the following false statements fail to
correspond:
· There are large cities with skyscrapers on the Moon.
· The White House is located in Minnesota.
Although most philosophers throughout history have thought
that the correspondence theory of truth is simply common sense
made precise, two alternative theories have been proposed.
According to the coherence theory of truth, what makes a
proposition true is that it belongs to a coherent system of
propositions. A system of propositions is coherent if its
members are (a) logically consistent and (b) stand in a
sufficient number of explanatory and logical relations to one
another. A well-written novel is an example of a coherent
system of propositions.
However, the coherence theory faces an objection that nearly all
philosophers find decisive. It is possible to specify two equally

coherent systems of propositions that are related in such a way
that one contradicts the other. Since the two systems are
contradictory, they cannot both be true. Yet both are equally
coherent. If so, then truth cannot be mere coherence.
A second alternative to correspondence is the pragmatic theory
of truth. According to this theory, truth is usefulness. A
proposition is useful if belief in the proposition serves a human
purpose. The pragmatic definition also faces an objection that
most philosophers find fatal. Some propositions are useful in
the pragmatic sense, even though they are clearly false. Hitler’s
racial theories, for example, were useful to him in the sense that
people who believed them helped him attain power, yet his
theories have been proven false. But if a theory can be useful
and yet false, then truth is not simply usefulness. For many
reasons, the correspondence theory remains the mainstream, as
well as the commonsense, view.
<Box> Objective and Subjective Truth Contrasts are always
helpful when learning an abstract concept. Philosophers draw a
distinction between objective and subjective truth. Roughly, a
truth is objective if that which makes it true—its “truthmaker”--
is an objective fact or feature of reality—a fact that exists on its
own, independently of what anyone may or may not believe. A
truth is subjective if that which makes it true is a subjective
aspect of a person’s consciousness. Suppose I believe that
strawberry ice cream tastes better than vanilla ice cream, and I

state my opinion. My opinion is subjectively true because it is
true by virtue of my personal or subjective sense of taste. It is
not true (that strawberry ice cream tastes is better than vanilla)
for those who dislike the taste of strawberry, and it will no
longer be true for me if my taste changes. There is no objective
fact of the matter, existing independently of my subjective taste,
that makes the statement true. That which makes my opinion
true for me is my inner sense of taste—a subjective aspect of
my consciousness alone. An objective truth, on the other hand,
is true by virtue of the facts, which are what they are regardless
of what people may or may not believe or like. For example, it
is objectively true that the moon has mountains. This
proposition will remain true even if a dictator takes control of
the world and convinces everyone that the surface of the moon
is as smooth as silk. The proposition (that the Moon has
mountains) will remain true even if everyone believes it is false,
for its truthmaker is a fact about the Moon—a fact that exists
independently of what people may or may not believe. In this
way, some truths are objective, and some are subjective. On the
standard interpretation, the correspondence theory of truth is a
theory of objective truth.
<Box>The claim "Everything is subjective" must be nonsense,
for it would itself have to be either subjective or objective. But
it can't be objective, since in that case it would be false if true.

And it can't be subjective, because then it would not rule out
any objective claim, including the claim that it is objectively
false.” -- Thomas Nagel, The Last Word<End Box>
3. What Is Knowledge?
There are many different kinds of knowledge. We may say that
a person “knows” how to drive a car. This is practical, or how-
to, knowledge. We say that a carpenter “knows” how to build a
house. Call this “craft-knowledge.” We often say that one
person “knows” a second person. This is acquaintance
knowledge. There is also “public knowledge” (information that
has been made public) and “common knowledge” (facts known
by most people).
But we also say things like “I know that there are an infinite
number of prime numbers” and “I know that the moon has
craters.” Epistemologists call this “propositional knowledge”
because a proposition or statement (rather than a skill, a person,
etc.) is that which is known.[endnoteRef:3] In Plato’s
Dialogues, Socrates seems quite interested in craft knowledge.
However, when he works out a strict definition, his focus is
propositional knowledge. This is understandable, since the
context in the dialogues is intellectual. From here on, by
knowledge we’ll mean the propositional kind. So, what exactly

is propositional knowledge? [3: Recall that a proposition is not
the same thing as a sentence. Two different sentences can
express one and the same proposition. Technically, a
proposition is the claim expressed by a declarative sentence.
You won’t go wrong if you think of a proposition as the
meaning of a declarative sentence. When two different
sentences mean the same thing, they express the same
proposition. ]
In his Dialogues, Plato portrays Socrates seeking an answer to
the following question: When is it correct to say that someone
“knows” something? Socrates’s first observation, put in modern
terms, is that we would not ordinarily say a person knows that
some proposition P is true if the person does not believe that P
is true, i.e., corresponds to the facts. (Socrates and Plato
accepted the correspondence theory of truth.) Surely believing P
is a necessary condition for knowing P. If I sincerely state that I
do not believe that whales are mammals, then it would not be
correct to say that I “know” that whales are mammals.
Next, Socrates observes, we do not ordinarily say that a person
knows some proposition P if, in fact, P is not true. For a
contemporary example, some people actually believe that the
earth is flat. They claim to have credible evidence. However,
the earth is not flat. This is why we do not say, “They know that
the earth is flat.” Rather, we say, “They believe that the earth is

flat.” The truth of the proposition said to be known is clearly a
necessary condition for the presence of knowledge.
Finally, we do not normally say that a person “knows” that
some proposition P is true unless the claim that P is true is
anchored to reality by good reasoning showing that P is
certainly or at least very likely true. For example, imagine that
during a drawing I believe that Ann will win the door prize, and
she, in fact, does. However, suppose that I had no reason to
believe that she would win; my belief was a lucky guess. In that
case we would not say that I “knew” (beforehand) that she
would win, for guesses are not justified by credible evidence. In
general, a true belief only rises to the level of knowledge if it is
tethered to reality by reason, that is, by an argument making it
certain or very likely that the proposition said to be known is
indeed true.
In sum, three conditions need to be satisfied before we
ordinarily say that a person or “subject” S knows that a
proposition P is true:
1. S believes that P is true. (This is called the “belief
condition.”)
1. The proposition P is true. (This is called the “truth
condition.”)
1. S has an adequate justification for believing that P is true,
where the justification for a claim P is “a sufficiently strong
reason or justification for thinking that P is

true.”[endnoteRef:4] (This is called the “justification
condition.”) [4: Laurence Bonjour, Epistemology: Classic
Problems and Contemporary Responses (New York: Rowman
and Littlefield, 2010), 15.]
The epistemologists Ernest Sosa and Laurence BonJour
summarize all three conditions compactly in the following
words: “Ever since Plato it has been thought that one knows
only if one’s belief hits the mark of truth and does so with
adequate justification.”[endnoteRef:5] [5: Laurence BonJour
and Ernest Sosa, Epistemic Justification: Internalism vs.
Externalism, Foundations vs. Virtues (Oxford: Blackwell,
2003), 1.]
For example, Jane knows that Jupiter’s atmosphere is mostly
hydrogen and helium only if (a) she believes that the
atmosphere of Jupiter is mostly hydrogen and helium, (b) it is
true that the atmosphere of Jupiter is mostly hydrogen and
helium, and (c) she has adequate justification for her belief in
the form of a sufficiently strong reason for thinking that her
belief is true.
Socrates and Plato argued that the belief, truth, and justification
conditions are jointly sufficient and individually necessary for
the presence of knowledge. Some terminology is required before
this will be precise. A condition is a sufficient condition for X

if its presence all by itself guarantees X. For example, jumping
in Green Lake is a sufficient condition for getting wet. A
condition is a necessary condition for some X if it is a
requirement for X, which means that without it, X cannot exist.
For example, oxygen is a necessary condition for human life.
Here’s a shorthand way to think of it: a sufficient condition is a
guarantee; a necessary condition is only a requirement. Notice
that oxygen is necessary but not sufficient for life (you need
more than oxygen), while jumping in a lake is sufficient but not
necessary for getting wet (there are other ways to get wet).
So, the Socratic and Platonic claim is that if all three conditions
are satisfied, knowledge is present (the person knows that P),
but if even one condition is not satisfied, knowledge is not
present (since each condition is required). Because this was the
first philosophical theory of knowledge, it is also called the
“classical account of knowledge.” Today it is also sometimes
called the “JTB theory of knowledge” because it may be
summarized with the slogan that knowledge is “justified true
belief.”
The justification condition is the only one of the three that is
difficult to understand. People can have many different kinds of
justifications for holding a belief. Someone might believe a
proposition simply because he finds the belief comforting—
although the person might not realize that comfort is the
unconscious reason he accepts the belief. The belief serves as

an emotional crutch. The reverse, of course, is also possible:
someone might reject a proposition simply because he doesn’t
want it to be true. These are emotional justifications for belief.
Some beliefs are held for self-serving reasons. For instance,
someone benefits greatly from a certain economic system, and
this—rather than a reasoned argument--is the real reason why
the person believes that the system is best.
A belief might also be accepted because it is useful—although
the believer might not realize that this is the unconscious reason
he accepts the belief. This would be a pragmatic reason to
accept a belief.
Emotional, self-interested, and pragmatic justifications do not
satisfy the JTB justification condition for knowledge because
neither kind of justification is intrinsically related to the goal of
the cognitive enterprise, which is the attainment of objective
truth. The fact that believing P comforts you or makes you
happy does not make it likely that P is true. Just because you
want P to be true, or hope that P is true, does not make it
certain, or even likely, that P is true. A belief could be useful
and yet false. (Hitler’s racial beliefs, for instance.) In short,
emotional, self-interested, and pragmatic justifications of a
belief do not satisfy the JTB justification condition for
knowledge because there is no intrinsic connection between
unexamined emotions, feelings, ego, self-interest, or usefulness,
and actual truth.

Today epistemologists call the type of justification required for
knowledge “epistemic justification” to distinguish it from other
kinds of justification. Epistemic justification consists in
reasoning that make it certain or likely to a sufficient degree
that the belief said to be known is true. Epistemic justification
is thus reasoning that is truth-conducive. As BonJour, a leading
contemporary epistemologist, puts it, epistemic justification
“increases or enhances to an appropriate degree . . . the
likelihood that the belief is true.”[endnoteRef:6] This is
appropriate because (again) only this kind of justification is
aimed at the goal of cognition, namely, the attainment of truth.
[6: Bonjour, Epistemology, 35.]
For a plain example, my (epistemic) justification for believing
that it is snowing outside right now is that (a) I clearly seem to
see snow coming down, (b) my senses are not impaired, (c) I am
in a lucid frame of mind, (d) I have no reason to think someone
is tricking me, and (e) I already know what snow is. For another
example, my justification for believing that the Beatles’ last
concert was at Candlestick Park, San Francisco, on August 30,
1966, is that (a) I read an account in a reputable book written by
a trusted author, (b) the book contained documentation, and (c)
I have no reason to doubt its accuracy. The supporting reasons
for both beliefs make it very likely, if not certain, that each
belief is true. Thus, in each case I know.

<Box> The Value of Knowledge
Reflecting on some of the lessons he had learned in life,
Socrates once said:
And isn’t it a bad thing to be deceived about the truth, and a
good thing to know what the truth is? For I assume that by
knowing the truth [we] mean knowing things as they really
are.[endnoteRef:7]
[7: See Plato’s Apology in the second part of the Interlude
“Socrates at Work.” ]
Do you agree with Socrates? Isn’t knowledge valuable? And
isn’t it valuable because it puts us in touch with reality, which
we all seek? Don’t we value truth over falsehood, reality over
illusion? <End Box>
4. Why Accept the JTB Theory?
Socrates and Plato based their theory of knowledge on
observations of the way we use the verb to know in
propositional contexts. With this in mind, let’s briefly examine
the conditions one by one. An obvious reason to accept the
belief condition is that we do not ordinarily say that someone
“knows” that a proposition P is true if the person does not
believe that P is true. Certainly, believing that P is true is a

necessary condition—a requirement—of knowing that P is true.
Why accept the truth condition? The main reason is that we
ordinarily do not dignify a belief by calling it “knowledge” if
the belief is false. For example, if someone claimed to know
that George Washington is still president today, we would reply,
“That may be your belief or your opinion, but it is not genuine
knowledge.” (And the reason the belief is not knowledge is that
it is false, right?) Certainly, truth is a necessary condition if a
belief is to qualify as real knowledge.
Turning to the third condition, imagine that a fortune-teller
reads a crystal ball and predicts that it will snow tomorrow.
Suppose that she believes her own prediction and her prediction
comes true. Nevertheless, we would not say she knew that it
would snow. For she had no good reason connected to reality to
conclude that it will snow. She just made a lucky guess, and a
lucky guess is not genuine knowledge. Lacking justification, her
true belief does not count as real knowledge. In everyday
discussion, a true belief only rises to the level of knowledge
when it is solidly anchored to reality by reasoning that makes it
certain, or at least very likely, that the proposition believed
really is true. We know that there are craters on the dark side of
the moon because we have good evidence solidly linking the
proposition to reality.
I mentioned but did not examine the distinction between opinion
and knowledge. With the JTB theory in hand, that distinction

can now be clarified. An opinion (or a guess or a hunch) is a
belief that does not rise to the level of knowledge because it is
not solidly grounded in reality by a sufficiently strong reason to
believe it is true. In other words, an opinion is not real
knowledge because it is not epistemically justified.
5. Objections and Replies
Some argue against the belief condition by pointing out that we
sometimes say, “I know it, but I don’t believe it.” They suppose
that statements such as this show that knowing does not require
believing. However, when someone makes such a statement, the
person normally does not intend to be taken literally. It’s just a
way of saying, “I'm astonished.” The objection fails.
A common objection to the truth condition runs like this: “In
the Middle Ages, it was common knowledge that the sun circles
the earth. But the proposition (that the sun circles the earth) was
false; therefore, we can know that which is false.”
This argument is flawed. We misuse the word knew if we say
that people in the Middle Ages “knew” the sun circles the earth.
It is more accurate to say that in the Middle Ages, people
claimed to know that the sun revolves around the earth. It would
be even better to say, “In the Middle Ages, it was commonly
believed that the sun circles the earth.”
Some have argued that the justification condition is not needed.

They observe that people sometimes make lucky guesses—based
on no grounds or evidence whatsoever—and then say, “See, I
knew it!” It follows, they conclude, that justification is not a
necessary condition for knowledge. The problem is that
examples such as this are not cases of genuine knowledge.
People can say that they have knowledge, but saying so doesn’t
make it so. In the absence of any grounds or evidence, such
cases do not constitute real knowledge.
Let’s now return to the global skeptics who claim that genuine
knowledge doesn’t exist. All we have, they say, are unjustified
opinions (and one opinion is as valid or true as any other). But
isn’t it a matter of common sense that many beliefs are
epistemically justified (while many simply are not)? Aren’t we
justified in believing that there are craters on the moon? That
electrons have a negative charge? That basketballs are bigger
than atoms? And that many diseases are caused by viruses and
bacteria? Don’t we know these things? Don’t we know them
because we have very good reason to believe that they are true?
And aren’t the following three beliefs epistemically unjustified?
Cancer is caused by witches. A secret civilization of green
giants inhabits the center of the earth. The sun orbits the moon.
Can we give up the traditional notions of objective truth and
knowledge and still make sense of our world?
Furthermore, if the claim that …

Chapter 2. The Design Argument
Chapter 2
The Design Argument
The first half of this chapter: sections 1-5
The second half: sections 6-11.
distribution. The chapters you are about to read online this
quarter are excerpted from a textbook that will be published
later this year. This chapter: 37 pages of reading.
The heavens declare the glory of God; And the firmament shows
his handiwork.”— Psalm 19, King David
What could be more clear or obvious when we look up to the
sky and contemplate the heavens, than that there is some
divinity of superior intelligence? —Marcus Tullius Cicero,
Roman philosopher, lawyer, statesman, De Natura Deorum
1. A Philosophical Tale
On the first morning of summer in the year 430 BC, the sun is
coming up and an old philosopher is sitting on a hill above
Athens, Greece. Observing. Listening. Reflecting on the cycles
of life. The sun continues to rise, revealing the flowers in
bloom. On a nearby hill, a sheep gives birth. A small stream

gently makes its way to the sea. As he has observed many times
before, he thinks again:
Each thing within nature has its own unique role to play within
the overall order of things.
He reflects on nature’s order:
Within the system of nature, the many parts are intertwined and
balanced like the notes of a song. Nature is a system of
interconnected parts functioning in harmony.
Nature certainly does reflect an underlying order. We make
predictions on the basis of that order every time we take a step,
sit on a chair, drink a cup of water, or take a breath of air.
The old philosopher now looks at the city below. Athens is
beginning to awake. Farmers are transporting their produce
along roads leading into the city. People are gathering in the
center of town, waiting for the agora (marketplace) to open. His
thoughts continue:
Each part of the city has its own unique role to play within the
overall economy of the city-state. Roads lead into the city so
that farmers and merchants can transport their goods into and
out of town; the marketplace serves people buying and selling;
public speeches are given at city hall. The whole wouldn’t
function properly if each part within the whole did not serve its
intended purpose.

What holds it all together?
Like nature, Athens has an underlying order. Day by day the
city, like the system of nature, goes through its cycles,
intertwined parts balanced in an overall harmony.
In a nearby grove of olive trees, a shepherd plays a flute. The
melody causes the old philosopher to think:
Each note in the song contributes to the harmony and beauty of
the whole. Each note is placed on purpose for the unique role it
will play.
The balance and harmony of the song reminds him of a recent
experience. As he was standing in front of a temple in
downtown Athens, he was deeply moved by its beauty.
Each column, each piece of marble, each statue, each
architectural element makes its own contribution to the overall
harmony of the whole; the beauty of the structure emerges from
the way in which the parts are arranged.
This calls to mind an argument he recently heard his friend and
fellow philosopher Socrates give. The argument went
approximately like this:
Nature, like a magnificent building, a beautiful song, or a city
plan, is a system of intertwined, balanced parts functioning in
harmony. We know the cause of the temple’s order: it was
designed by an architect to reflect a purpose. Similarly, the
orderly arrangement of Athens is due to the work of city
planners. The harmony in a song is crafted by the composer. In

each case, when we trace cause and effect back, the ultimate
cause of order is an intelligent designer. Since the deep order
we see in nature is similar in form, and since it is common
sense that similar effects probably have similar causes, the
cause of nature’s order—like the cause of the order displayed
by a temple, city plan, or a song—is probably also an intelligent
designer, although one great enough to have crafted the entire
cosmos. The most reasonable conclusion to draw is therefore
that the cosmos owes its deep order to an intelligent
designer.[endnoteRef:1] [1: In his memoirs, Socrates’s student
Xenophon reports hearing his teacher give this argument. See
Xenophon, Conversations with Socrates (New York: Barnes and
Noble, 2005), “Socrates Proveth the Existence of a Deity,”
chap. 4.]
The Greek word cosmos is very significant here. To the ancient
Greeks the word meant not simply the “universe” but “the
universe understood as an orderly, harmonic, and beautiful
system.” Our modern word cosmetics is derived from the same
Greek root. It was the majestic order of the universe as a whole
that especially caught Socrates’s eye and pointed his thoughts to
a divine, presiding intelligence above it all.
Upon hearing a philosophical argument, the first thing to do is
to understand it. There will be plenty of time to criticize after it
has been understood. Recall that an inductive argument aims to

show that its conclusion, although not completely certain, is so
probable or likely that it is the most reasonable conclusion to
draw based on the premises. The placement of the word
probable near the conclusion of Socrates’s argument indicates
that it is inductive in nature. Socrates’s claim is that the
conclusion, although not mathematically certain, is the most
reasonable conclusion to draw from the data. But there are
different kinds of inductive argumentation. Logicians call
Socrates’s induction an “analogical” inductive argument
because it starts with an analogy, or similarity, between two or
more things. Let’s pause to clarify the structure of this very
common form of reasoning.
Boiled down to essentials, an analogical inductive argument
follows this general format:
1. A and B have many properties, or characteristics, in common.
2. A has property x.
3. B is not known not to have property x.
4. Therefore, B very probably has property x as well.
5. Therefore, the most reasonable conclusion to draw is that B
also has property x.
Here is an example from medical science:
1. Monkey hearts are very similar to human hearts.
2. Drug X cures heart disease in monkeys.
3. Drug X is not known not to cure heart disease in humans.

4. Therefore, drug X will probably cure heart disease in
humans.
5. Therefore, the most reasonable conclusion to draw is that
drug X will cure heart disease in humans.
This example of analogical reasoning is perhaps more familiar:
1. I’ve taken three of professor Smith’s classes and I learned a
lot in each one.
2. Professor Smith has a new class scheduled for next quarter.
3. I have no reason to think his new class will be different in
quality from his other classes.
4. Therefore, I will probably learn a lot if I take his new class.
5. Therefore, the most reasonable conclusion to draw is that I
will learn a lot if I take his new class.
Here is Socrates’s analogical argument translated into
“textbook” (step-by-step) form:
1. The deep order we observe in the universe is similar in form
to the deep order we observe in songs, buildings, city plans, and
works of art, namely, many parts fit together to form an
improbable, interrelated, complex system that functions in an
identifiable way.
Comment: The orderly nature of the universe is evident in the

predictable events, natural cycles, and complex but stable
systems that characterize the world from the smallest scales to
the largest. Thanks to the discoveries of the Greek
mathematician Pythagoras (570-495 BC), the ancient Greeks
even knew that orderly mathematical substructures exist within
nature at levels too fundamental to be
observable.[endnoteRef:2] [2: For one example, Pythagoras
discovered that musical harmony is a reflection of precise
mathematical ratios.]
2. When we trace things back, the root cause of the underlying
order we observe in buildings, cities, songs, and works of art is
always found to be an intelligent designer.
Comment. The ultimate source of the building’s design plan is
the chief architect; the song’s composer is the source of its
melody; the artist is the source of the painting’s order, and so
forth.
3. The deep order of the universe is not known not to be the
result of intelligent design.
4. Therefore, the cause of nature’s deep order is probably also
an intelligent designer, although one great enough to have
designed the entire cosmos.
5. Therefore, the most reasonable conclusion to draw is that the
source of nature’s deep order is an intelligent designer. The
order of the cosmos, in short, is the expression of a rational

mind.
We reason by analogy all the time. Suppose Pat gets sick and
has a specific set of symptoms. The next day his sister Maria
gets sick and shows the same symptoms. When the doctor
discovers that the cause of Pat’s illness is a flu virus, she
naturally concludes by analogy that the cause of Maria’s illness
is probably also a flu virus. Or, a teenager prepares to buy his
first car. He doesn’t have much money, but he wants it to be
reliable. He reasons analogically: “Dad’s car is a Chevrolet, and
it’s reliable. Mom’s car is a Chevrolet, and it’s reliable. The car
for sale down the street is also a Chevrolet, so it’s probably also
reliable.” Analogical reasoning, in short, is part of our shared
common sense. Applied to nature, this universal pattern of
inductive reasoning points logically to the existence of an
intelligent designer of the cosmos. So argued Socrates.
<Sidebar> Is analogical thinking the “fuel and fire” of all
thought?
In their fascinating book, Surfaces and Essences: Analogy as
the Fuel and Fire of Thinking, Douglas Hofstadter and
Emmanuel Sander argue that “analogy is the core of all
thinking.” From an advertisement for the book on Amazon.com:
Why did two-year-old Camille proudly exclaim, “I undressed
the banana!”? Why do people who hear a story often blurt out,
“Exactly the same thing happened to me!” when it was a

completely different event? How do we recognize an aggressive
driver from a split-second glance in our rearview mirror? What
in a friend’s remark triggers the offhand reply, “That’s just sour
grapes”? What did Albert Einstein see that made him suspect
that light consists of particles when a century of research had
driven the final nail in the coffin of that long-dead idea? The
answer to all these questions . . . is analogy-making—the meat
and potatoes . . . the fuel and fire . . . of thought. Analogy-
making, far from happening at rare intervals, occurs at all
moments, defining thinking from . . . the most fleeting thoughts
to the most creative scientific insights.[endnoteRef:3] [3:
Douglas Hofstadter and Emmanuel Sander. Surfaces and
Essences: Analogy as the Fuel and Fire of Thinking (New York:
Basic Books, 2013). ]
<End Sidebar>
2. Introducing the Design Argument
The argument given by Socrates and by the old philosopher on
the hill above Athens is known in philosophy as the “argument
from design” (or the “design argument”). It is also called the
“teleological argument” (from the Greek word telos for
“purpose,” or “end state”) since it claims that the overall order
of the universe appears purposive, that is, intentionally directed
toward an end state. In general, an argument from design is a
philosophical argument that begins with the orderly nature of

the material universe and reasons from there to the conclusion
that an intelligent designer is the ultimate source of that order.
Most philosophers throughout history have agreed with Socrates
that an analogy exists between the order of a song, a building, a
city plan, or a mechanism such as a clock, and the deep order of
the cosmos. Most philosophers throughout history have also
agreed that the most reasonable conclusion to draw is that the
deep order of nature is the product of a rational mind. Thus, an
argument from design can be found in the writings of almost
every major philosopher of the ancient, medieval, and modern
periods, starting with the pre-Socratics, and after them Plato,
Aristotle, the Greek and Roman members of the Stoic school of
philosophy, and following the Stoics such towering figures as
Augustine (354–430), Aquinas (1225–1274), Leibniz (1646–
1716), Hume (1711-1776), and Paley (1743–1805). Versions of
the design argument can also be found in the Jewish, Hindu, and
Muslim philosophical traditions. The list of recent philosophers
East and West who have defended the design inference is very
long and includes many of the most eminent philosophers and
scientists of our time. In short, this argument is not only
historically important and mainstream, it is also very
contemporary!
Some may object at this point: Why not many designers instead
of just one? After all, it takes many architects to design a
skyscraper; and John and Paul wrote most of the Beatle’s hits.

Defenders of the design argument reply that the highly
integrated unity of the cosmos as a whole points to one supreme
designer, not many. Modern astrophysics supports this reply
with its discovery of massive evidence pointing to the existence
of one “grand unified theory” of the cosmos—a system of
mathematical equations uniting every material aspect of the
universe under one principle.
If you reject the conclusion of the design argument, then you
face an extremely difficult philosophical question. How do you
explain the fact that the material universe as a whole is orderly
and predicable rather than not orderly? More specifically, How
do you explain the fact that the trillions and trillions of
particles of matter and quanta of energy that compose our
universe are not randomly and aimlessly flitting about with no
predictable pattern but instead exhibit a deep order—a unity
that can be expressed with mathematical equations? Put even
more sharply, how do you explain the fact that the behavior of
the many particles of matter and quanta of energy that compose
the material universe can be described using a single system of
interrelated differential equations that is intelligible to a
rational mind?
Let’s consider this question for a moment. Physicists have
discovered that the behavior of matter and energy can be
expressed with intricate differential equations. It now appears
almost certain that the equations fit together into one unified

system of interconnected formulas stemming from a single
source. But physicists—in their capacity as physicists--have
never explained why this mathematically expressible, unified
order exists. Why isn’t motion entirely random or unpredictable
all the way down to the subatomic level? Of course, if the
universe were to be unpredictable we would not exist (no
structures at all would likely exist for more than a nanosecond).
But we can imagine the possibility and ask the question.
Physicists have also not explained why the universal order is
accessible to rational minds. Look at a college physics textbook
and you’ll see hundreds of equations describing the predictable
behavior of matter and energy across every domain; what you
won’t see is even an attempt at explaining—within the domain
of physics--why matter obeys an intelligible system of laws
rather than no laws at all. Even the technical condition
scientists call “chaos” is governed by laws that can be
expressed with equations (fractal mathematics).
Sidebar. Try to imagine a state of complete disorder--no laws of
nature, no regularities, no persisting structures, and units of
matter distributed so randomly that no predictions are possible.
Here is an interesting question: How could a stable state of
order such as the observable universe arise out of such a state?
The problem actually cuts deeper than this. Atoms are composed
of subatomic particles (electrons, protons, neutrons, quarks,

etc.). Molecules are composed of atoms. Each quanta of energy
and each particle of matter in our universe functions in accord
with mathematical laws. Years of calculus and other fields of
advanced mathematics are required just to understand the
mathematics of subatomic particles such as the proton, neutron,
and electron. Further study is required to understand the
mathematics of the quarks that compose protons and neutrons.
The universal order runs deep. Why is nature orderly rather than
not orderly? What underlying reality explains the order we
observe? Why this order rather than another logically possible
order? These are among the questions that drive further research
into the design argument today. End sidebar.
These questions suggests a different kind of design argument,
called an “inference to the best explanation” or a “best
explanation argument” for a designer of nature. A best
explanation argument is an inductive argument that fits the
following abstract format:
1. D is a collection of data (facts, observations) in need of
explanation.
2. Hypothesis H, if true, would explain D.
3. No other hypothesis can explain D as well as H does.
4. Thus, D is the best explanation available.
5. Therefore, it is probable that H is true.
6. Therefore, the most reasonable conclusion to draw is that H

is true.[endnoteRef:4] [4: I am indebted to the logician and
philosopher of science Stathis Psillos (University of Athens) for
this particular way of stating the logical form of inference to
the best explanation. ]
When we decide which explanation is best, we employ rational
standards such as the following:
· A good explanation is consistent with already known facts.
· A good explanation is internally consistent, i.e., it is not self-
contradictory.
· One explanation is better than another if it explains a wider
array of facts.
· If two explanations explain the very same set of facts, the
simpler explanation—the one that makes fewer assumptions or
posits fewer entities or both—is the more reasonable choice.
Comment, Generally, the simpler of two explanations that
explain the same data is the more reasonable choice for three
reasons. (1) Because it makes fewer unnecessary assumptions, it
is less arbitrary. (2) If it is less arbitrary, then it is more
intelligible. (3) On the assumption, necessary for science and all
rational thought, that the universe is intelligible, it follows that
the simpler (more intelligible) of two explanations--when both
explain the same data--is more reasonable.
Here is Socrates’s design argument translated into contemporary

terms in the form of an inference to the best explanation rather
than an analogical induction.
1. Observation indicates that the universe from the smallest to
the largest scale is orderly rather than not orderly.
2. The evidence from physics indicates that the universal order
is highly unified.
3. The evidence from physics indicates that the universal order
stems from a single source.
(Premises 1,2, and 3 constitute the data in need of explanation.)
4. One possible explanations of the data is that the universal
order is the product of a mind--an intelligent designer.
5. A second possible explanation is that the universal order is
the product of absolute, blind, unstructured, undirected random
chance.
6. No alternative hypothesis—scientific or otherwise—is
conceivable.
7. The design hypothesis makes the best sense of the data.
8. Intelligent design is therefore the best explanation.
9. Therefore, the most reasonable conclusion to draw is that the
order of the universe is ultimately the product of an intelligent
designer.
Argument for premise 1. Current physics reveals that the
cosmos, from the smallest observable particles to the largest
sheets of galaxies, is orderly in the sense that its operations are

predictable and can be expressed with mathematical
equations.[endnoteRef:5] [5: See George Seielstad, Cosmic
Ecology: The View from the Outside In (Los Angeles:
University of California Press, 1983). In Chinese philosophy,
Taoism also holds that the universe is a purposive, orderly
whole whose parts are in delicate balance.]
Argument for premise 2. The latest research in big bang
astrophysics indicates that the universal order of cause and
effect is highly unified—the equations that describe the way the
universe functions appear to constitute a single interconnected
system.
Argument for premise 3. In Dreams of a Final Theory, the
theoretical physicist and Nobel-prize recipient Steven
Weinberg, one of the greatest physicists of our time, writes:
Think of the space of scientific theories as being filled with
arrows, pointing toward each principle and away from the others
by which it is explained. These arrows of explanation have
already revealed a remarkable pattern: They do not form
separate disconnected clumps, representing independent
sciences, and they do not wander aimlessly—rather they are all
connected and if followed backward (to deeper levels) they all
seem to flow from a common starting point.[endnoteRef:6] [6:
Steven Weinberg, Dreams of a Final Theory (New York:
Vintage Books, 1994), 6. Most leading physicists today believe

that the universe displays one overall, comprehensive order. See
James Trefil, Reading the Mind of God: In Search of the
Principle of Universality (New York: Doubleday, 1989); Paul
Davies, The Mind of God: The Scientific Basis for a Rational
World (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1992); P. C. W. [Paul]
Davies, The Accidental Universe (New York: Cambridge
University Press, 1982), chap. 2; and J. H. Mulvey, The Nature
of Matter (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981).]
This is an amazing statement worth pondering for a moment or
two: All the evidence indicates that the universal order, as
revealed by modern astrophysics, originates from a single
cause.
Argument for premises 4 and 5. Both are obvious possibilities.
Argument for premise 6. No one within science has ever given a
scientific explanation for the fundamental fact that the universe
is orderly rather than not orderly and no one in science ever
will. There is a reason for this. Every scientific explanation
presupposes the intelligibility as well as the orderly nature of
the universe and then attempts, on that basis, to explain how
one part or another of the orderly universe functions. Science,
in short, takes the universal order for granted. It follows that
science cannot explain why the universe is orderly rather than
not orderly--that question is simply too fundamental to be
handled by the method of science alone. Philosophers from the

start have probed the question, and no hypothesis that does not
involve mind at a fundamental level has ever succeeded in
making even the slightest sense of the fact that the universe is
orderly rather than not.
Argument for premise 7. Imagine that you walk into class one
day to find 100 colorful leaves arranged on the floor in the form
of the following English sentence: “The professor is sick today;
class is cancelled.” Which hypothesis makes the best sense of
the data:
H1. The wind blew the leaves in from outside and they formed
the sentence by sheer, blind, random chance.
H2. An intelligent being with a knowledge of English arranged
the leaves on purpose, namely, to convey a message.
Does H1 make logical sense of the data? Isn’t H2 the more
reasonable explanation?
What are we to make of this version of the design argument?
The first thing to note is that this kind of inductive reasoning is
also common. We give best explanation arguments all the time
in everyday life. For example, Jan comes home hungry and finds
that the leftover cauliflower soup is gone. She reasons, “My
roommate Joe hates soup. My roommate Sue can’t stand
cauliflower. The cat would eat it, but he can’t get into the
refrigerator. However, my roommate Chris loves cauliflower
soup, and he has done this before. The best explanation is
therefore that Chris ate the leftover soup. The most reasonable

conclusion to draw is that Chris is the culprit.”
Best explanation arguments are also common in both civil and
criminal courts of law. When a jury finds the defendant guilty,
it is usually because the hypothesis—that the defendant
committed the offense—best explains the verified facts
presented by the prosecution.
Inference to the best explanation is also routinely employed in
the physical sciences and in every one of the social sciences.
For example, the arguments Einstein gave for his general and
special theories of relativity, like the argument Darwin gave for
his theory of evolution and the arguments economists give for
their theories, are best explanation arguments. (In the
conclusion of his greatest work, the Origin of Species, Darwin
explicitly claims that his theory is reasonable because it is the
“best explanation” of the facts.) The case for every large-scale
scientific theory ultimately boils down to the claim that the
theory at hand provides the best explanation of the data.
So, reject best explanation reasoning and you will have to give
up much if not most of what you believe about the world—if
you are consistent. Inference to the best explanation is a very
useful form of reasoning. Many philosophers believe that the
design argument is more compelling when stated in the best
explanation form rather than as an analogy. Compare the two
kinds of design argument and decide for yourself.
One thing is certain: In either form—analogical or best

explanation—the conclusion of the design argument contradicts
nothing in physics. Indeed, the design argument complements
physics and science in general for it adds a level of depth to all
explanations. But is intelligent design really the best
explanation of the universal order? Let’s turn to the first known
critique of the argument.
Does Blind Chance Make Better Sense of the Data?
In the fifth century BC, Leucippus of Miletus founded the
school of philosophy known as “atomism” based on the
hypothesis that every observable material object is composed of
tiny, indivisible particles too small to be seen, which he named
“atoms” (from the Greek word for “uncuttables”). Leucippus’s
atomic hypothesis anticipated modern physics by over two
thousand years. He was as aware as anyone else that the
universe is amazingly orderly. In place of intelligent design,
however, he proposed the following explanation, which I
paraphrase:
There is no intelligent designer. The most reasonable
explanation of the unified order of nature is that it is just one
giant accident. Long ago, billions and billions of primeval
atoms randomly falling through the void (empty space)
happened by sheer random chance to fall into the predictable
patterns we observe in nature—for no reason at all. Blind
random chance is the ultimate explanation of all

order.[endnoteRef:7] [7: Epicurus hypothesized that this
happened an infinite number of times in the past. Given this
assumption, every possible combination of atoms has existed an
infinite number of times. An infinite number universes are a lot
to hypothesize.]
Leucippus’s critique targets premise 7 of the best explanation
design argument as we have stated it. Let’s reflect on his
proposal for a moment. Suppose we are playing poker and I am
dealing. Imagine that I deal myself an ace-high straight flush
fifty times in a row and win every game. When you finally
question my honesty, I reply, “It was just an amazing run of
pure, dumb luck—one big chance accident.” Would that be a
reasonable and intellectually satisfying explanation of my
winning streak? Would that make sense of the highly
improbable pattern of the hands I have dealt? Would you keep
playing? Or would intelligent design—in this case the
hypothesis that I cheated—make better sense of the data?
Defenders of the design argument ask, If blind random chance is
not a good explanation for a small-scale order, such as a
winning streak in a crooked game of cards, why is it a
reasonable explanation for the largest, deepest, and most
persistent order of all, the order of all orders, the order of
nature that has persisted for billions of years? [endnoteRef:8]

[8: But notice that even a single partical of matter such as an
electron or a proton is a highly organized (and intelligible)
entity—even if it is as smooth and round as a billiard ball. A
particle of matter has a definite boundary between itself and the
rest of the world. Every proton has the same physical properties
and obeys the same set of physical laws, interacts with the same
set of particles, and so forth. The atomists knew that even
single particles of matter are complex—they argued that each
atom has hooks and flaps by which it attaches to other atoms.
Given the huge number of atoms held together in a single
macroscopic object such as a rock or a planet, it was obvious
even in ancient times that atoms must have something like
hooks and buckles if they are to attach to each other and stay
together. My point is that it is obvious to plain common sense
that atoms, if they exist, cannot be simple objects but instead
must be very complex entities. Upon reflection, astonishing
order is apparent at the most fundamental material …
Chapter 1. Three Things to Know before You Dive into
Philosophy
Chapter 1
Three Things to Know before You Dive into Philosophy

distribution. The chapters you are about to read online this
quarter are excerpted from a textbook that will be published
later this year. This chapter: 28 pages of reading.
Part 1. How Philosophy Began
1.1 From Mythos to Logos
In all ages of recorded history, human beings around the world
have asked fundamental questions. Why are we here? Why does
the universe exist? What is truth? How do we distinguish
knowledge from opinion, reality from illusion, right from
wrong? What is justice? Universal questions like these are
fundamental in the sense that the answers we give to many other
questions depend on the answers we have already given to
these. The “fundamental questions of life,” as they are
sometimes called, are important because the answers we give
form the foundation of our worldview—our general
understanding of the universe and our role within it. And
whether we realize it or not, the choices we make in life all
reflect, to one degree or another, our worldview.
At the beginning of the sixth century BC, most people around
the world turned to their society’s myths (from the Greek root
mythos) for answers to the fundamental questions of life. The

ancient myths presented authoritative answers in the form of
colorful, easily memorized stories that could be handed down
orally from generation to generation. Here are three, from
ancient Egypt, China, and Africa, respectively.
· A god named Khnemu, depicted as a man with a ram’s head,
built an egg. When the egg hatched, the sun popped out.
Khnemu then “sculpted the first man on a potter’s wheel.” This
is the origin of man.[endnoteRef:2] [2: . “Khnemu (Khnum),”
Ancient Egypt: The Mythology, last updated April 11, 2017,
http://www.egyptianmyths.net/khnemu.htm.]
· In the beginning “there was darkness everywhere, and Chaos
ruled. Within the darkness there formed an egg, and inside the
egg the giant Pangu came into being. For aeons, safely inside
the egg, Pangu slept and grew. When he had grown to a gigantic
size he stretched out his huge limbs and broke the egg. The
lighter parts of the egg floated upwards to form the heavens and
the denser parts sank downwards, to become the earth. And so
was formed earth and sky, Yin and Yang.”[endnoteRef:3] [3: .
“Chinese Myths: Pangu and the Creation of the World,” Living
Myths, last updated April 12, 2016,
http://www.livingmyths.com/Chinese.htm.]
· In the beginning there was only darkness, water, and the great

god Bumba. One day Bumba, in pain from a stomach ache,
vomited up the sun. The sun dried up some of the water, leaving
land. Still in pain, Bumba vomited up the moon, the stars, and
then some animals: the leopard, the crocodile, the turtle, and,
finally, some men. This is the origin of man.[endnoteRef:4] [4:
. “African Creation Myths,” last modified July 24, 1999,
http://www.mythome.org/creatafr.html. ]
The ancient Greeks, too, had a rich collection of myths offering
explanations of everything from the origin of the universe to the
nature of justice. Most people took the myths for granted.
However, not everyone was satisfied with the answers they
offered. Beginning in the early sixth century BC, a group of
independent Greek scholars rejected the customary myths of
their society and proposed a new way to make sense of the
world. Their motivation sounds surprisingly modern: Although
myths contain answers to some of the most fundamental
questions of all, they argued, those answers are not backed by
any supporting evidence or logical reasoning. But if there is no
reason at all to believe the answers they offer are true, then why
believe them?
Seeing no good reason, these independent thinkers turned their
thoughts in a radically new direction. Each human being, they
said, has a mind and the power to reason, observe, and learn.
Why rely on unsubstantiated stories contained in myths when

we can think for ourselves? With that, they rejected the myths
and sought to answer the fundamental questions of life using
their unaided cognitive abilities alone, including reason (Greek:
“logos”).
This reliance on reason may sound commonplace today; it was a
radical innovation in the early sixth century BC. The ancient
Greeks named these independent thinkers “philosophers” (from
the Greek words philo for “love” and sophia for “wisdom,”
literally “lovers of wisdom”) and a new subject was born:
philosophy—“the love of wisdom.”[endnoteRef:5] As the
Greeks originally defined it, philosophy is the attempt to answer
the most fundamental questions of all using unaided reason and
careful observation alone, thus without reliance on
unsubstantiated myth, blind faith, unquestioned authorities
telling us what to believe, and the like. [5: According to a well-
attested story, the word philosophy began to circulate after
someone asked Pythagoras (c. 570–c. 495 BC), one of the early
philosophers, “What are you?” and he replied, “I am a lover of
wisdom.” ]
Introducing the Founder of Philosophy
At the beginning of any endeavor, someone has to get the ball
rolling. We know very little about the lives of most individuals
around the world in the sixth century BC. However, we know

quite a bit about the life and thought of the very first person in
recorded history to reject the myths of his society and pursue
reason-based answers to the fundamental questions of life
because the ancient Greeks preserved the names, biographical
information, and thoughts of their leading thinkers to an extent
unparalleled in ancient times.[endnoteRef:6] For the details, we
turn to Aristotle (384–322 BC), one of the greatest of the
ancient Greek philosophers and the author of the first history of
philosophy.[endnoteRef:7] (We’ll meet Aristotle later in this
chapter.) [6: The ancient Israelites of the Old Testament period
are a second exception to this generalization: they too preserved
in much detail the names, dates, and biographical information of
their major figures. The ancient Hebrews also reflected deeply
on the big questions of life. The Book of Job is only one of
many examples. Their writings, however, are not considered
philosophy because although they were not based on unargued
myth they also were not based on independent or stand-alone
philosophical arguments. The Old Testament is a religious
rather than a philosophical collection of writings. ] [7: The
collected writings of Aristotle fill two 1,200-page volumes,
both still studied and discussed by scholars today. However,
only one-fifth of his written works were preserved. We know
from ancient lists that his complete writings would fill
approximately fifty thick volumes in a modern university
library if they had all survived. Some ancient commentators

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