Many problems are reasonably dissimilar. Case in point: a mathematical problem and an emotional one. How much more different can they be? To resolve a problem of either type entails a particular approach and a specific degree of expertise. In addition, the issues dealt with are simply of another nature. Nonetheless, despite these unequivocal differences, diverse sorts of problems often do share something crucial: namely that they can be solved. If everything is carried out correctly, it should always be the case.
Other problems are not quite like that. Some have stood the test of time and remained essentially unanswered. A lot of these are considered philosophical problems. Problems of this nature often deal with particular themes which subsequently entail a host of consequences. For instance, an important philosophical issue is the issue of free will. If it exists, it would mean X and if it does not, then it would mean Y. Thus, an issue of this sort can and should impact the way we deal with situations. However, to paraphrase William Alan Gabbey, the deal with problems of philosophy is that they do not promise firm and solid answers. This is important, as hinted previously, for it might as well mean that we will never be certain of many things about ourselves and the world we inhabit.
This seemingly unfortunate distinction is not the only thing that differentiates a philosophical problem from other kinds of problems. Another important one is that the former is dealt with in a very peculiar way. For example, a biologist would use the scientific method in an experiment. The scientific method is a paradigmatic example of an experience-based way of dealing with things. This does not occur only in natural sciences, but also in social sciences and other fields. Philosophical problems are not analyzed in such a way. Philosophy is, obviously, very theoretical and the “experiments” performed are many times thought-based. For instance, the paradox of Buridan’s Ass deals with an animal placed from two equidistant haystacks. It deals with free will and is a classic thought experiment. The reason as to why a philosophical problem must be dealt with in ways like these is yet another feature that distinguishes them from other problems.
Philosophical problems are unique in that they somehow seek to investigate what lays at the ground of many different fields, such as those based on experiential notions (among others—see next example). For instance, a philosophical problem would be to investigate the nature of mathematics in order to evaluate the subject’s validity and/or build a new foundation on which to base all subsequent additions, subtractions, and multiplications. Many of the tenets presumed in different areas are not presumed in philosophy. Rather, these things are studied by philosophers. Other examples are the concepts of liberty and equality—things we accept by nature. This is what makes the scope of philosophical problems very rich, because basically what we consider the “big questions in life” are the ones which fall under the category. We will look at two pairs of contrasting notions, namely “appearance and reality” and “necessity and contingency” to get a feel for how to deal and look at philosophical problems.
With regards to the topic of appearance and reality, we can begin by asking “What can be considered real?” In terms of common sense it would seem as if anything we observe can be deemed as such. But if we stop and think for a moment, it is certainly true, as Descartes writes, “that the senses are sometimes deceptive” (60). Furthermore, one’s frame of reference can differ from another’s and what we observe can be consequently different even if it is regards to the same object. For instance, from one angle a rectangular table may have one leg and from another it may have four legs. Is one particular view correct? Is there possibly a ten-leg angle that we cannot even perceive? We thus see that some issues can and do get hairy when over-analyzed.
Descartes dealt with the issue of reality and appearances in his short classic Meditations on First Philosophy. His method for figuring things out is appealing and very philosophical. At the beginning of the text he attempts to rid himself of many presumptions scientists and others take for granted. He writes “I will attack straightaway those principles which supported everything I once believed” (Descartes 60). He then proceeds to figure out what he can still know regardless of the situation and manages to deduce the following: “it must be finally established that this pronouncement “I am, I exist” is necessarily true every time I utter it or conceive it in my mind” (64). From then on he goes to explain other things. So what he does is build a foundation of well-grounded arguments and towards the end of the book confirms that the things outside the mind are real because of the God he presumably proved in the earlier sections. So in his system he gets a firm and solid answer. The problem, of course, is that there are many systems in philosophy.
Michel de Montaigne wrote the following about the writings the ancients: “the one I am listening to always seems to me the strongest; I find each one right in his turn, although they contradict each other” (Popkin 75). This can happen in modern philosophy as well. A possible case in point is George Berkeley, whose ideas on matter were radical and contrary to Descartes’. For Berkeley, as he writes in A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge, “it is indeed an opinion strangely prevailing amongst men, that houses, mountains, rivers, and in a word all sensible object have an existence natural or real, distinct from their being perceived by the understanding” (Berkeley 24). Later on he claims that “there is not any other substance than spirit, or that which perceives” (25). Clearly then, either both philosophers are wrong or one is right. That is why philosophical problems, to reiterate a previous point, do not promise firm and solid answers.
With the other issue, namely that of necessity and contingency, we also see problems and contradictions that can leave thinkers in a despairing state of aporia. Before seeing why, however, it appears best to give cursory definitions of the two terms. When something happens by necessity, it could not have been otherwise. When something contingently happens, it could have been otherwise. Are our actions all contingent or necessary? If the latter, it would appear as if we are bound to a certain destiny and ultimately lack free will. If they are contingent, it sounds liberating but slightly contradictory when seen in the light of a possible God who knows the future and should consequently know what you will do in the future. What possible way, then, is there to prove that what we do is either necessary or contingent? Some may speculate that our actions are contingent since we tend to think things out before executing them. But it might as well be possible that we were necessarily going to think about two options and end up picking a specific one. This is already delving into the other philosophical problems of determinism and free will. And from yet another standpoint we can see the problems of necessity and contingency in the light of synthetic (not necessarily true) propositions and analytic propositions. Is a mathematic proposition necessary or contingent? Is it synthetic or analytic? Issues like these, either dealing with our everyday actions or other abstractions will keep philosophy running for a long time.
Thus we now know how philosophical problems are different from other types of problems. The themes dealt with often form the bases for other problems yet nonetheless do not guarantee us truths with a capital “T.” Theories can look convincing from two different and opposed points of view and may leave us more lost than we were at first. This does not mean, however, that we are to quit since it is to no avail. On the contrary, by building a history of ideas we may still retain hope to approximate some truths like never before.
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