How to Argue - Induction & Abduction: Crash Course Philosophy #3 Video Lecture | What is Philosophy - Science or Religion? - Self Help Learning

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How do you know that aspirin will take care
of your headache?
Why do you really want to see the new Marvel movie,
even though you haven’t heard anything about it, good or bad?
Your ability to do things like predict how
a medication will affect you, or what movie
you might like, or even things like what the
perfect gift might be for your best friend,
or what’s the fastest way to get to campus
–- all of this stuff, you know through induction.
Deductive arguments are great because they
give us certain answers.
But unfortunately, much of the world cannot
be summed up in a neat deductive proof.
Deduction requires a fair amount of general
information to give you a specific conclusion
that is, frankly, probably kind of obvious.
So, philosophy -- and basically, you know, life as well --
require that you have other ways of reasoning.
In addition to knowing how one fact leads
to another, you also need to take what you’ve
experienced before, and use that to predict
what might happen in the future.
And you need to be able to rule out what can’t
be true, so you can focus on what can.
Through these kinds of reasoning, you’re
not only able to figure out stuff like how
to fix your headache, and why your roommate
might be acting weird. You can also come up
with better, more skillful arguments — and
counterarguments — which are some of the
most important maneuvers in the philosophical
game.
And maybe the best part is, you already know
how to use these techniques.
In fact, I bet you’ve used them this very
day. You know this!
[Theme Music]
If you possess any ability to really predict the
future, it lies in your ability to reason inductively.
Inductive reasoning relies on the predictability
of nature to reveal that the future is likely
to resemble the past, often in important ways.
For example, there’s tons of research to
support the knowledge that aspirin -- acetylsalicylic
acid -- is an effective treatment for pain,
like headaches.
And you probably have personal experience
with the effects of aspirin, too.
So, you believe that this aspirin tablet will
cure the headache you have right now, because
countless aspirin tablets have cured countless
headaches in the past.
Likewise, you want to see the new Marvel movie,
because you liked most of the other ones,
so you believe that they’ll continue to
deliver for you, entertainment-wise.
But it’s important to remember that, unlike
deduction, where true premises entail true
conclusions, inductive premises only mean
that the conclusion is likely to be true.
Inductive arguments don’t provide you with
certainty. Instead, they work in terms of probabilities.
And they’re useful for more than predicting
what’s going to happen. For example:
Most men in ancient Athens had beards.
Socrates was a man who lived in ancient Athens.
Therefore, Socrates probably had a beard
This is an inductive argument, because it
starts with what we already know – about
the grooming habits of ancient Athenian men,
and about the time and place in which Socrates
lived – and makes an educated guess based
on that information.
There’s no guarantee that the conclusion is correct,
but what’s known would seem to support it.
Reasoning like this is incredibly useful, which is
why it’s so common. But there’s also a problem.
The future doesn’t always resemble the past.
And every pattern has its outliers.
So induction always has the potential to produce
false results. Aspirin might not work on a
really bad headache. The new Marvel movie
might be awful. And, yeah, maybe a specific
guy in Athens had a beard but it’s possible
he didn’t!
While the world tends to work according to
predictable rules, sometimes those rules are violated.
And you know what you need when that happens?
A little Flash Philosophy. Off to the Thought Bubble.
Contemporary American philosopher Nelson Goodman
confronts the problems of induction, using
a thought exercise about a hypothetical substance
called grue.
According to Goodman’s scenario, grue is
anything that’s the color green before a
certain time, a time that we will call t.
And another property of grue is that, while
it’s green before time t, it’s blue after it.
Now, let’s assume that we’re living in
a time before t. T could happen a hundred
years from now or tomorrow, but we know that
all of the emeralds we’ve ever seen are green
So, inductive reasoning lets us conclude that
all emeralds are green, and will remain green
after time t -- since emeralds haven’t been
known to change color.
BUT! All emeralds are grue! Because it's not yet time t,
and they're green, which is part of the definition of grue.
So we have no choice but to conclude that
the emeralds will be blue after time t arrives.
Now we’ve got a problem. Because inductive
reasoning has led us to conclude that emeralds
will be blue after time t, but inductive reasoning
also tells us that they’ll remain green.
Goodman’s riddle reminds us that inductive
evidence can be flawed, or contradictory.
It can make you think that you can predict
the future, when of course you can’t.
So, there are times when you need to get at
the truth in other ways. Like by eliminating
what’s obviously not true, and considering
what’s most likely.
And for this, we turn our attention to one
of the most important philosophical figures
of 19th century England: Sherlock Holmes.
In chapter six of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The
Sign of the Four,” Mr. Holmes says, and I quote:
“When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever
remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”
This is probably the best, most succinct description
ever given of the kind of reasoning known as abduction.
Which I know, it sounds like we’re talking
about a kidnapping or something, but abduction
is a thought process sometimes described as
“inference to the best explanation.“
Abduction doesn’t reason straight from a premise to
a conclusion, as we’ve seen in deduction and induction.
Instead, it reasons by ruling out possible
explanations until you’re left with the
most plausible one, given the evidence. Consider
this:
Anna told you she failed her physics midterm.
Anna hasn’t been in physics class since
your teacher graded the exams.
Anna has been in sociology class, which meets
right after physics.
Anna dropped physics.
Now, with only these premises, we can’t
deductively or inductively prove our conclusion
– that she dropped physics.
But, it’s a justifiable conclusion, because,
given what we know, dropping the class is
the most plausible explanation of events.
We know she’s not sick – because she’s
still going to sociology – and we know she
had good reason to withdraw from the class,
because she was unlikely to pass.
Concluding that she dropped the course makes
the most tidy use of our information, without
leaving any loose ends. So let’s look at
another one:
You and your roommate ate sushi last night.
You both wake up with violent stomachaches.
You and your roommate ate some bad sushi.
The mere fact that you’re both sick doesn’t
prove that the sushi caused the sickness.
But, given that you both ate the same thing
and you both have the same symptoms – absent
other information, like that a stomach virus
is going around your dorm – the best explanation
is that the sushi caused your intestinal anguish.
Now, like induction, abduction doesn’t give
us certainty.
But it is a really useful way to get through
puzzling situations when you don’t have
clear evidence from the past to help you out.
Doctors use abduction a lot when they’re
diagnosing illnesses, and detectives of course
use it when piecing together evidence.
You probably use it pretty often too – just
beware, because abduction must be used carefully!
It uses only information you have at hand
-- that’s why doctors and detectives work
so hard to dig up more data, and re-create events from
the past, so they can help draw better conclusions.
All right, now that we’ve looked at some
argument types, let’s find out how philosophers
use arguments to interact with each other.
Because, philosophers don’t argue like other
people do.
It’s not like the conversation you have
around the dinner table about whether the
Patriots are better than the Seahawks, or
why plain M&Ms are superior to peanut, which
is clearly a preposterous position to take.
Philosophers hold each other to different,
higher standards.
They don’t teach each other get away with
saying, “I reject your argument because
I don’t like its conclusion.” Or, “That’s
preposterous, peanut M&Ms are so good.”
Instead, if you disagree with a conclusion,
you need to give reasons, just like the first
person did when they made their case.
Both people involved in this kind of exchange
are known as interlocutors, because we have
to name everything. The first one advances
an argument, and the second one can either
accept it, or offer a counterargument, which
is just what it sounds like – an argument
offered in opposition to another argument.
Think back to Socrates and the beard.
You think Socrates had a beard, and your reasoning
is that most men in his time and place had them.
I, however, think you’re wrong. So I give
you a counterargument.
Gorgias, a contemporary of Socrates, said
Socrates couldn’t grow a beard and that
he would sneak into barbershops and steal
discarded clippings to fashion fake beards
for himself. Therefore, Socrates didn’t
have a (real) beard.
And I just want to point out that this is
an actual philosophy conspiracy theory.
Gorgias was a real guy, who differed with
Socrates on many things, and the dispute was
said to have gotten personal.
According to accounts of the time, Gorgias
actually spread the rumor that Socrates wore,
like, a beard-wig, in an effort to shame and
discredit his rival. I mean, how could you
be a good thinker if you weren’t a good
beard-grower.
Gorgias’ gossip didn’t go over well with
everyone, and in this instance, let’s say
you are skeptical about it too.
So you counter my counterargument with a counter-counterargument.
Gorgias was known for being a gossip, and
for hating Socrates, and trying to make him
look bad. His fake beard tale seems wildly
unlikely. Therefore, we can’t take Gorgias’
statement seriously, so we should fall back
on the best information we have, which is
that most of the men in his time and place
had beards.
And as you can see, arguments of different
styles can be used in the same exchange.
Like, the original argument, about Socrates
probably having a beard, was inductive.
But this last counterargument is abductive.
And that’s fine.
Arguments are meant to be useful, so we don’t have
to use the same kind of reasoning when we argue.
This way of exchanging ideas through dialogue
was popularized by Socrates, and so has become
known as the Socratic method.
Socrates thought dialogue was the best way
to learn, and to get at truth.
And it’s important to note that, while philosophers
have a reputation for being an argumentative
lot, they don’t think of the Socratic method as
something that results in a winner and a loser.
Rather, it’s an exercise that brings both
interlocutors closer to the truth.
The goal of the philosopher is not to win,
but to find truth, so you shouldn’t be disappointed
if someone presents a counterargument that
you can’t find a response to.
When that happens, a good philosopher will
be grateful to their interlocutor for helping
them reject false beliefs and build stronger
ones.
Today you learned about two more types of
philosophical reasoning, induction and abduction.
You’ve seen their strengths, and their weaknesses.
And you’ve also learned about counterarguments,
and the Socratic method.
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