Golf balls, one-word exam responses, and the myths of Philosophy

Philosophy is my life, and I love it. But not everyone really knows what it is (this includes my immediate family, best friends, and seemingly everyone who isn't studying philosophy). I just hope they haven't gone online to try to find out what it is, and found these absurd myths.

Philosophy professor with life lessons 

A philosophy professor stood in front of the lecture theatre and picked up a large glass jar. Wordlessly, he proceeded to put golf balls into it, until the class agreed it was full. Then he poured in gravel; the gravel filled the spaces around the golf balls. Again, the class agreed the jar was full. Then he poured in sand, which filled the gaps around the gravel, and again the class agreed that the jar was now full. Finally, he picked up a glass of beer and poured it into the glass jar. The beer filled the remaining gaps and the class agreed that the jar was finally full. Then the professor said "The golf balls are the most important things in your life, like family. The gravel represents other things that are important to you, like your house, job, and car. The sand is all the other things in your life, like fixing the dripping tap or doing the laundry." "What about the beer?" asked a student. "Ah, the beer just goes to show that no matter how full you think your life is, there's always time for beer!"

If you have never heard this story before, I'm sorry to have put you through it. Because this is not a post about how we ought to prioritise our family (although we should), and nor is it a post about how there's always time for beer (there isn't). It's a post rant about how these ridiculous urban myths which circulate the internet and the real world are not just irritating, but offensive to philosophy as a discipline.

There is already confusion about what philosophy really is. I am recalling open days I've attended (both as a student ambassador, and as a teacher) where people have said things to me like "I'm not sure what philosophy is, but I think it sounds interesting" (I have never really figured out how something can be interesting when you don't know what it is!) or "Is philosophy like psychology, because the words sound a bit the same". I've also been asked (usually by parents rather than students) "What's your philosophy?" as though 'my philosophy' is some sort of belief I hold about life. Now it's OK that people don't know what philosophy is - the fact that metaphilosophy is a thing demonstrates that maybe even philosophers aren't really sure what it is either!

But whoever circulates these banal tales is exacerbating the confusion. I've been in the world of philosophy for 23 years, and never have I ever come across demonstrations with golf balls about the importance of beer. Nor even have I ever come across uplifting life advice about the importance of family and why we shouldn't sweat the small stuff. This is an important message, to be sure, but not really within the realms of philosophy. The latest crazes for mindfulness and meditation have further blurred the lines for the public about what philosophy is. And input 'philosophy' into any university search box and you will get dozens of results stating that the university wants the best for their students, and how students should balance work and play, - you'll have to really dig araound to find anything about the subject discipline of Philosophy.

One word exam answer gets top grade

A final philosophy exam paper asks students to define what courage is. A student responds with the single word "This." and receives the top grade.
A philosophy exam paper consists of a single one-word question: "Why?" A student responds by simply writing "Why not?" and receives the top grade.

These urban myths are simply absurd, and really make a mockery of the gruelling nature of philosophical study - and what's worse is that many people seem to believe them! I have had students who have asked whether they are true, even after a year of writing philosophy essays. One or two students have, over the years, told me that they had constructed some clever one-sentence answer for a question on solipsism, the external world, or determinism which they were sure would get them a grade A*. I of course told them that their idea was a recipe for disaster, and thankfully, to the best of my knowledge, no one ever attempted such a smart-Alec exam response. But still the myth persists (among non-philosophy students, at least) that philosophy is a subject where one can achieve a top grade with a clever one-word or one-sentence response.

There's no right or wrong answer

Philosophy has got a name for itself as a subject where there aren't any right or wrong answers, everything is just an opinion. Ethics is probably to blame for much of this problem - many children's first (and sometimes only) taste of philosophy is a discussion in English, RE or PSHE about whether abortion/euthanasia is right or wrong. People say their opinions, argue about it a bit, then the lesson ends. As an introduction to philosophy, this sort of lesson with youngsters is not too problematic, but when it still exists among second year BA students, it is more problematic.

I'm quite the antirealist when it comes to moral facts, aesthetics, and several other fields, but the notion that in philosophy "you can just argue anything - it doesn't matter what" is a tragic misconception, and far removed from antirealism. And this confusion is echoed by resrachers in other fields, who are aghast that we philosophers don't gather data.

Don't you gather data?

People in the sciences gather data, analyse their data, and draw a conclusion; the same is true of many people in the arts, humanities and social sciences. So many of them simply cannot fathom how one can conduct research without gathering data; they just can't seem to get their heads around it. I have been to numerous interdisciplinary conferences (for example, those organised by my funding body M4C, and those organised by the University of Nottingham, and the incredulity is rife.

When I have told interested people that I am studying how care robots should conceive of harm and consent, they ask me questions like "So what data are you gathering?" "Are you going to survey people to see how they think the robots should act?" or simply "What's your methodology?" Some people have been confused, and others incredulous, bemused or even horrified about the fact that philosophers don't generally gather data (xphi notwithstanding). "What, so you're just going to write about your opinions of how robots should act? Without even finding out what anyone else thinks?" they ask.

All disciplines suffer caricaturing

I suppose it's too much to ask that the general public - and perhaps even students in other disciplines - really understand how philosophy is conducted. After all, I'm perhaps woefully misguided about other disciplines. I guess any subject can be distilled into an excruciatingly dismissive soundbyte:

• Literature: you just read stories and say what you think about them
• Biology: you just look at animals and plants
• Maths: you just add up and take away
• Art: you just paint stuff
• History: you just read about the past
• Philosophy: you just say your opinion about stuff
• Sport science: you just run about and throw balls
• Business studies: you just look at how to make money
• Media studies: you just watch TV

I suppose when placed among these sorts of oversimplified and misguided bullet points, philosophy probably doesn't fare much worse than the other subjects do. I see philosophy as the essential foundation onto which all other knowledge is built (How can you study history without  understanding whether the past really exists? How can you study literature without knowing what language is?) But I suppose that many people see their discipline as the foundation of all others - psychology, language, history, sociology, physics, chemistry and biology can all make similar such claims (and probably lots of other subjects can too!) Nonetheless, it would be nice if people didn't belittle or caricature philosophy, my one true love.

PS - Stupid urban myths which belittle philosophy are infuriating, but if you'd like to see a collection of genuinely funny jokes about philosophy, check out see David Chalmers' website. But note that most of these will only be funny for someone well-versed in philosophy.

The value in atheists learning about the Bible

This morning, my son refused to go to school. Why? Because yesterday, his teacher had told the class the story about Jesus feeding the 5000 with only two fish and five loaves of bread, and it angered my son.

I am an atheist, and like most parents, I have shared my belief system with my offspring, and now he believes what I believe (ie there is no God). So this morning when he was flat out refusing to go to school (which is very unlike him) I tried to offer an explanation of (a) why I think the story was written in the Bible, and (b) why it might be useful sometimes to learn about things we don't believe in.

Man trying to catch lunch for him and his 4,999 friends

My son is only in Key Stage 1 of primary school, so my discussion with him was fairly basic. First I got him to consider how big a fish is. "Any size" was his very reasonable answer - for example, feeding 5000 people with two whale-sharks (the world's largest fish) is quite plausible, and to the best of my knowledge, the Bible does not describe what type of fish was shared out. Then I suggested to my son that a story can alter a little bit with each person who tells it: A describes Jesus as feeding a small group with two large fish; B describes Jesus feeding a group with two fish; C describes Jesus feeding a large group with two small fish; D describes Jesus feeding an enormous crowd with two tiny fish - etc.

So I'd explained why the story was in the Bible when it wasn't (as far as I'm concerned) true, but still my son said he didn't think there was any point in learning something that isn't real or true. I gave him simplified versions of the arguments I offer below. I'm not sure he was entirely convinced, and I'm not sure I'm really convinced there is value in knowing lots of stories from a religion one doesn't believe in. I know that as a parent I have the choice of whether to withdraw him from religious education, but I am reluctant to do so, and I said that it is sometimes worthwhile learning things even if we don't believe them.

The arguments I make below are:
(a) It's interesting to learn stories even if we don't believe them
(b) It's useful to know the sorts of things other people believe

It's interesting

Part of our job as parents is to point out
what's real and what's not real.

I don't believe in fairies, pixies, unicorns, gods, or dragons, but sometimes it is interesting to know stories about these things. Stories about magic and impossible events can be exciting and marvellous. Reading about fictional beings, people and events can make for a great story. In fact, just about all of the best stories known to man are fictional, so fiction is obviously great.

God can seemingly do the impossible in the Bible, so that makes for a fun story. The Red Sea parting, turning water into wine, immaculate conceptions, man coming back from the dead, and indeed feeding 5000 people with two fish - these are fantastical stories which it can be fun to learn about.

That's what I told my son anyway.

But for my own part, I hated learning about religion in school: by age 7 or 8, I began to feel irritated and cheated when a story was presented to us as if it were fact, when I was pretty sure that it wasn't. For example, I recall being told several of Aesop's fables in this way, and I was particularly annoyed when we were told the story about How the Tiger got his Stripes. The teacher read it to us in assembly and prefixed it by saying it was a true story: upon hearing the title and that it was a true story, I remember being eager to find out why tigers have stripes, because I didn't know. And then when he told us the story - that the big cat had been tied to a tree and the ropes set on fire, and the black lines are where the ropes burnt into its fur - I felt cheated. He'd said it was true, but I knew it couldn't have been, because I realised that one tiger being burnt wouldn't make all tigers have stripes. And whenever we were told a religious story, I felt exactly the same: the teachers said it was fact, but I felt sure that it wasn't. (I went to a Church of England primary school, so there was plenty of religiosity each week - and my parents sent me to Sunday School for a couple of years, which was torturously dull.)

So I had sympathy for my son being annoyed at being told that Jesus had fed 5000 people with two fish and five loaves of bread, and he was insisting to me: "It's not possible to do that, so why did they say it was?" I felt for him, but I said that sometimes it's fun to learn a new story even when we know it's not real. I'm not sure whether I convinced him, but I didn't convince myself.

The difference between learning a Bible story and a story about dragons is that teachers don't suggest that the dragon stories are real. As a parent, I think that kids learning Bible stories is OK when it's prefixed by "There's a story which says that..." or even "Some people believe that..."  I think I would have been OK with that as a child, and I think my son would have been OK with hearing the Bible story had it been prefixed in such a way. My son - like me as a kid - is quite happy to hear stories about talking animals, goblins, wizards etc. so fiction isn't the problem; the problem comes when a story is presented as fact when it is entirely at odds with what seems plausible. So by all means tell kids the Bible stories, but suggesting that they are factual isn't reasonable.

It's useful

Now I argue that it's useful to know about religions that we don't believe in for three reasons:

1. To be sensitive to others' beliefs and live in harmony with those around us
2. For the sake of general knowledge
3. To help reinforce our own beliefs and know what we're arguing against

Firstly, we live in a diverse society in terms of religious beliefs: the 2011 census found that 59% of people in the UK identify as Christian, and 25% identify as no religion. We also have plenty of Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs and other religions, and in the spirit of living in harmony with others around us, it's useful to know some things about different religions. For example, it's useful to know that Muslims may fast during Ramadan (and when Ramadan falls in a given year), in order to be sensitive towards anyone who is fasting. Similarly, it's useful to know that Christians might give up something for Lent, or they might want a day of peace or prayer on Easter Sunday. Although I must note that it seems to me that far more than a quarter of UK residents (the atheist population) 'celebrate' Easter by purchasing chocolate eggs, and so perhaps some people who identify as Christian are less concerned about Jesus rising from the grave than they are about chocolate eggs rising in price. Nonetheless, it seems useful to know a thing or two about the religions of those around us, particularly in the case of people who actually practise their religion. Knowing about others' religions enables us to be respectful even if we disagree with their beliefs.

Secondly, in terms of general knowledge, it is useful to know different facts about religion in the same way that it's useful to know geography, history, literature, languages, artworks and so on. If one goes around thinking that Muslims routinely wear turbans or that Hindu women wear the hijab, one is ill-informed. Aside from being little use in a pub quiz, this kind of ignorance can fuel hatred and bigotry. I seem to recall that after the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001 by Muslim terrorists, there was a spate of violence against Sikhs! So we owe it to ourselves, if not others, to have some knowledge of different religious views.

Thirdly, as John Stuart Mill wrote in On Liberty, "He who knows only his side of the argument knows little of that" (ref: Chapter II, paragraph beginning 'If the intellect and judgment of mankind...') Mill is one of my all-time favourite philosophical authors, and I think he's spot on with many of the things he writes, and his stance on knowing both sides of argument is no exception. If we atheists wish to enter into a debate with theists, it helps to know what their beliefs actually are. In knowing them, we can strengthen our own arguments and reaffirm our own (lack of) faith. To be misinformed about a theory is not a reason to disbelieve it: we should find out about the theories that exist (whatever they are) and then we can make an informed choice about what we believe, and construct arguments to show why our beliefs are more plausible than others'.

Source: The Atheist Dose

A fourth possible usefulness of hearing Bible stories is one which Christians might suggest, but that I do not subscribe to: "it's useful for non-Christian children to hear Bible stories so that they can hear 'the truth' and then change their views accordingly and convert to Christianity". I think it's definitely useful for children (and adults) to hear a range of viewpoints, but whenever one shuns fact in favour of fantasy, nothing worthwhile has been achieved. But then, I suppose a Christian might make the same argument about someone abandoning Christianity in favour of atheism!

Conclusion 

So should my son have to sit through Bible stories? Well, I think that when told sparingly and prefixed by "Some people believe that..." then there is a definite benefit for him to hear such stories. When the Bible stories are presented as if they were facts, I can understand why he finds it irritating, as I myself did at the same age. No child should be told that unverified (and unverifiable) theories are facts.

In case you're wondering, I spoke to my son's teacher this morning and asked whether they'd be learning more about Jesus today and she said no, yesterday's story was just a one-off - so my son was happy to attend school today! I'm just glad I didn't send him to the Catholic school not far from our house!

Going to teach Year 4 philosophy

I’ve just been given the go-ahead by my son’s headteacher to go into the school and teach some philosophy to a year 4 group. I’m offering my services for free, partly for my own gain – to have the enjoyment of stimulating discussion with young minds and introducing them to big ideas – and partly for the gain of the kids / school – so that they can have the opportunity to learn something out of the ordinary, where ‘right answers’ aren’t always easy to come by. The headteacher is going to choose some of the highest achievers to be stretched and challenged by yours truly, so hopefully they'll be enthusiastic and attentive - we shall see!

Hands up if you couldn't be bothered
wearing school uniform today.

I took the headteacher through some possible topics we could cover – ethical, epistemological, metaphysical – and he seemed very enthusiastic. He said he’s willing to give me free rein with regard to topics, so that nothing should be shied away from, which is music to my ears. Religion, gender, reality, existence; it's all up for grabs. He did say that for the first few weeks, steer away from death until we’ve got the kids and parents on board with the whole thing, then by all means I can talk about death. Only then did I realise just how many thought experiments seem to involve death, violence or threats thereof!

Anyway, he asked me to begin with punishment (as a topic for discussion, not as something I inflict on the kids), so it’ll be interesting to see whether I can teach the philosophy of punishment without any reference to murder or capital punishment. I might go with a free will / determinism angle and discuss whether we should punish people before they commit crimes.

Anyway, I’m starting at the start of the summer term, and I’m pretty excited about it. I’ve not taught in nearly a year, and it’ll be great to get back to corrupting inspiring youngsters again.

Labouring under a delusion? The post-PhD job market

I would love to be a philosophy professor at a university – but then, it seems, so would every other philosophy PhD student! Many areas of academia – physics, social policy, musical composition, psychology, archaeology – have corresponding industries which one could enter upon completion of a PhD. I would imagine that this attrition clears significant space in universities for those who wish to pursue careers as professors, but it occurs to me that, given the lack of philosophical industry, we philosophy postgraduates are forced through a bottleneck whereby a career in academia is perhaps the only career choice in which we’d be able to continue to practice our subject. This is in stark contrast to someone who has a PhD in, say, chemistry or psychiatry; I can only assume that this is at least part of the reason that the nature of the job market for philosophy professorships is so horrendously competitive.

Just add another 300-600 androgynous
plasticine figures, and that'd be about right. 

How many of us undertake a philosophy PhD hoping and believing that we will be able to secure academic careers afterwards? Quite a few, I suspect. From what I have gathered from talking to a few people in the know (um, I mean “networking”), it is not uncommon for a university to receive 300-600 applications for one job opening. All things being equal, that means each person will have to apply for 300-600 jobs before being offered a position. I don’t know how many years it would take to apply for that many jobs, but I think it would take a fair few.

“Don’t be choosy” and “Take any job you can get” are direct quotations from professors at UoN when they were talking about the job market to a group of us grad students hoping for academic careers. It’s all too easy to see these successful professors and think to ourselves “They’ve all managed to secure academic careers, so it’s obviously doable” but this would be like attending a party for people who’ve won Lotto, looking around and thinking “They’ve managed to win the lottery, so it’s obviously doable”. Looking around the department, we are looking at the winning tickets; the success stories. The people with PhDs and a less than illustrious non-philosophical careers tell a different story. We must do whatever we can to tip the scales in our favour, but it would be naïve and ignorant to be immune to the statistical likelihood of not securing the job we would like. Like I say, I would love to be a university professor, but the statistics are not in my favour – nor indeed in anyone’s favour. So am I labouring under a delusion in undertaking a philosophy PhD?

My friends and I never did this at our undergrad graduation and I
feel suitably cheated. When I complete the MA and PhD, I'll
be throwing my cap into the air at the drop of a... hmm...well... hat.

Well, no. I really enjoyed my undergrad degree; I’m really, really enjoying my MA, and no doubt I will really, really, really enjoy my PhD (how could I not – getting to spend 3 years writing about something I love; for me that’s heaven!), and so whether or not an illustrious career awaits me upon completion is in some sense irrelevant. I have always felt that education is an end in itself, and whilst I would hope that it is also a means to an end for me, that is not a necessity in order for me to be able to look back on my years as a philosophy student and feel they have been worthwhile.

Here goes...

I'm feeling a huge amount of pressure to create an amazing, inspiring and poignant first blog post. The source of that pressure is, of course, myself. What follows will almost certainly fail to live up to expectations - both yours and mine. This blog will be my unfettered and uncensored philosophical thoughts, which may decline in to rants and ramblings, but I can live with that. It's not like anyone is ever going to read this, right?

I am and will always be a student of Philosophy with a capital P. Yes, I've been a teacher of (A-Level) Philosophy for a number of years, but I'm primarily a student, and barely a day goes by where I'm not dumbfounded by how little I know.

Some students standing around UoN whilst talking and laughing and
reading and writing, which is exactly what we all do, all the time.

I'm currently a postgrad student at the University of Nottingham, and the experience is quite something. I am constantly surrounded by people who are far more astute, far more well-read, and often far younger than me. It's humbling, but not (always) humiliating to be struggling to appear adequate in such a place. As for whether I am genuinely out of my depth, or whether I'm suffering from an acute case of impostor syndrome, I'll leave that up to you to decide
based on my forthcoming posts.

No pressure at all then...