For theocops in Saudi Arabia. (CHT LRC.)
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Wordgame
Okay, the main thing that caught my eye in this report is completely irrelevant to its topic. The first person to guess what silly thought crossed my mind wins what Stan Lee used to call a No-Prize.
The Enemy Within
Karen De Coster discovers her inner left-libertarian.
Now that must have been traumatic for her.
Itchy and Scratchy
I never actually knew what itching was for, so I looked it up. According to this article, its thought to be an evolutionary mechanism that is sending the signal something is happening on your skin thats like a bug crawling on your skin, so go flick that bug off before it bites you. (Of course, as is often the case with such mechanisms, it generates more false alarms than genuine ones.)
Interesting. But this next paragraph bugged me (pun not originally intended):
The same fibers that send itching signals are also used to send pain signals to the brain, which once led some scientists to believe that itching was a form of light pain. That notion has since been dispelled by research, which showed that pain and itching elicit opposite responses. Pain causes us to withdraw and itching causes us to scratch.
Now I havent read the research the article refers to; there may be better arguments in it than the one described here. But the one described here is not impressive.
First, and most obviously: pain just doesnt always cause us to withdraw; sometimes it does, but there are many different kinds of pain. People usually clutch their heads when they have headaches, for example; thats the opposite of withdrawing.
Moreover, even if, counterfactually, all pains did in fact cause withdrawal behaviour, its not obvious that this fact should be regarded as part of the essence of pain. Whats essential to pain, surely, is that it makes us want to avoid doing whatever causes the pain; but wanting to avoid touching the location of the pain seems a distinct and accidental feature (since touching the location of the pain does not always necessarily increase the pain).
In any case, if you find that case X differs from standard cases of Y by lacking feature Z, youre then faced with a choice of either denying that X is a Y or denying that feature Z is essential to being a Y. In this case, then, scientists were faced with the choice between either denying that withdrawal behaviour is essential to pain or denying that an uncomfortable sensation that inherently makes us want to get rid of it counts as a pain. Which is the more plausible choice?

More broadly, while the question of what physiological mechanisms underlie pain is presumably an empirical, natural-scientific question, the question of whether a particular kind of sensation is a pain seems more like a conceptual, philosophical question to which scientific research is irrelevant.
Heres my argument for that claim. Suppose that scientific experts announced tomorrow that headaches are not actually a form of pain. (I choose headaches because theyre more paradigmatically a form of pain than itches.). Headaches may feel like pains, these experts aver, but theyre really not pains, because they involve neuronal thingummy B instead of neuronal thingummy A. Would you take this seriously? Surely not, because feeling like pain is simply what we mean by pain its part of the conceptual grammar of the term. Anyone who talks of somethings feeling like pain but not being pain would have to be using the word pain with a new, nonstandard meaning, just as someone who talked of somethings being a regular quadrilateral but not a square would have to be using the word square with a new, nonstandard meaning. (Or else using some of the other words in the sentence nonstandardly.)
The researchers described in this article may well have confused constitutive with enabling conditions. And that takes me to a broader grump about scientists, namely, that scientists tend to be unaware that there is such a thing as a philosophical objection to a thesis. They tend to assume that anything that sounds like a coherent hypothesis (such as the possibility of time travel, or the suggestion that the universe we live in is actually 2-dimensional to pick a couple of actual examples) is thereby fit for empirical investigation, without considering that in such cases a) there is a prior question as to whether the thesis so much as makes sense (for if it does not, then those who take themselves to be performing an empirical investigation of it will actually not be investigating anything or at least not that), and b) the training and tools to determine whether it does makes sense are the specialisation of a field other than their own.
(But then, a still more egregious problem is the philosophers who are confused about this.)
Cops on Film
Cop violates freedom of guy filming cop violating freedom of other guy.
Hey, if the cop wasnt doing anything wrong, what was he afraid of? (To coin a phrase.)
R.I.P. Paul Hoffman
Im shocked to learn that Paul Hoffman, whom by eerie coincidence Id just blogged about the other day (after never previously mentioning him in a decade of blogging), has suddenly died on the very same day as my blog post. He was only in his fifties. Theres some more info here and here, but not much.

I was very fond of Paul; he was an excellent philosopher, a wonderful teacher, and a good person. Paul was the undergraduate philosophy advisor when I was at Harvard, as well as my professor for a Descartes-Locke-Leibniz course where he first converted me to his brilliant interpretation of Descartes. I was always amused by the contrast between his extreme interpretive charity toward Descartess darker sayings and his impatience with the same from Leibniz!
Paul was very egalitarian with his students and made them feel at ease; and I remember the festive atmosphere he provided when I climbed the stairs at Emerson Hall to turn in my senior thesis. He liked one of the examples I came up with in my honours exams for the major, and used to quote it in his classes. One of my roommates not a philosophy major took his modern philosophy course and spoke highly of it.
By another coincidence, Paul transferred to Cornell at the same time that I started my graduate studies there. (Hed also been one of my recommenders.) I took a Spinoza seminar with him that had just three attendees: a faculty member (logician Harold Hodes), a beginning grad student (myself), and an undergrad whod never had a philosophy course before. Such a diversity of audience must have been a daunting prospect, but Paul amazingly kept all three of us engaged.
I also TAd for Pauls moderns course; I still remember two things he would tell the class on the first day. Hed recount Descartess theory of birthmarks (the expectant mother sees a cow and so produces a cow-shaped birthmark, etc.) as an example of how really smart people can believe really dumb things; and hed urge the students to come to his morning class even if they fell asleep, because its amazing how much you can take in when youre half-asleep. (I think that this last must have been a noble lie.)
I also vividly remember, from both Harvard and Cornell, the tall blue mug he would always use to demonstrate the relation between form and matter. Im sure that for many generations of students hylomorphism and Paul Hoffmans blue mug are indelibly associated.
I cant remember when I last saw Paul; no doubt a quick handshake in passing at an APA meeting. Im very sad for his family; but Im glad that he at least lived to see his major lifework published.
