I don’t own a pet, but my roommate has a cat who pesters me when I’m home and a coworker has a chocolate Lab who pesters me when I’m at work. It’s now to the point where any smallish, annoying thing, including a child, gets marked in my mind with the dog’s name. We’ll call him Brownie (he actually has a better name). “Brownie,” I curse under my breath at the small child or at the cat, before remembering that this particular smallish, annoying thing has a different name.
Now, there’s a whole controversy in philosophy that goes back at least to Descartes about whether animals have “inner” or “mental” states (like pain, desire, fear) or whether they’re automata. I’m not nearly knowledgeable enough about this to say much about it, but I can definitely agree with whoever remarked that the only philosophers who hold the view of animals as automata must never have lived with pets.
I work near some fantastic Indian restaurants, and my coworkers and I get Indian takeout for lunch about once a week. When we do, Brownie is beside himself. He stands next to the lunch table expectantly, sniffing the air. He wags his tail vigorously. Then he sits, bolt upright. He glances back and forth between the food and your face. He licks his lips. He whines.
In other words, Brownie is acting like he wants the curry. What else should we call the state Brownie is in, if not “wanting the curry”? What other evidence could we have of his wanting? (Are we hoping to do some brain scan and find that his “wanting neurons” are activating? But how would we know to call them the “wanting neurons,” not just the “whining and sniffing in the presence of curry” neurons?)
This line of reasoning comes from Ludwig Wittgenstein and got him accused of behaviorism, the view that there are no mental states, really, just behaviors. And Wittgenstein was tempted into behaviorism in some of his remarks. But at its best, the Wittgensteinian argument here is just a refusal to play with the skeptic’s stacked deck: “Why call what Brownie is experiencing anything other than ‘wanting’? He’s doing everything we would associate with real wanting; is there some other evidence you require?”
The reason the automata view is tempting in this case is actually because we don’t require any more evidence about Brownie besides his behavior. Why attribute mental states when we’re always only talking about behaviors?
I don’t want to go into the automata view any further, but it brings up a key question: Why don’t we have to learn about anything more than a dog’s behavior? If we accept for the moment that dogs can desire, why don’t we have to ask whether a Brownie really wants the curry?
The interesting thing here is that dogs don’t ever conceal their desires. They can’t, it seems. Dogs can’t help but wag their tails when they’re happy; they can’t help but exhibit wanting-behavior when they want something. (This is circular if taken as an argument against the automata view, but I’d rather get to something interesting than spend time on that argument.) Even the most cunning dog is an open book to primates like us.
But that’s the thing — primates like us can do some tricks that dogs and cats can’t do. For example, we can want something and not show it. We can act like we want something when we don’t really.
One day I get a salad for lunch. A coworker gets curry. The curry smells fantastic; my salad smells like nothing, really. I’ve had the curry before, and I remember its taste — rich with spices and tomatoes, creamy on the tongue. But I don’t stand next to my coworker and sniff the curry or ask him for some. I eat my salad.
So there’s a good enough reason to talk about inner states, I think: inner states are what, when it comes to other humans, we have to guess at. They’re what we, others, could be wrong about. As opposed to the case of dogs, where we are confident in inferring desire from a wagging tail, a licking of lips, and a hopeful stare.
I knew you didn’t like me. You could’ve just come out and said it.
No, Scotty, you’re great, really.
so what else is it you’re trying (not) to disclose, dave? are you flirting with someone?
this is my favorite thing you’ve written in a while. not that i don’t like everything else — this just has a nice pithy tone to it that really works. b
Eff you Barber. We’re through.
How apropos, I’ve just finished sharing a plate of green-chilie enchiladas with my dog. While it is possible that she actually wanted to sample the dish — not to brag, but I must make the best New Mexico style enchiladas in Barcelona — it also may be that she just felt driven to demand food in order to fulfill her perceived role as dominant animal in the pack. So, tempting as anthropomorphism may be, as a dog owner I guess I fall into the behavioristic camp.
For me, however, the more interesting issue is not why the animal acts as it does, rather why we, the humans around the animal, want to label or understand the behavior/drive behind the action.
This argument seems to go in about a million different directions, so it’s awfully hard to pin down. There’s the inner state argument…whether or not animals (or human animals for that matter) have inner states, or qualia, and then there’s a slightly different argument about consciousness. I think that most people, even philosophers, will grant you that animals have some kind of inner states, like wanting, which are essentially pure emotion (though of course there are always plenty of philosophers who will grant you exactly nothing, as is their right as professional quibblers). Where far more complications arise is in the recursive notion of awareness of inner states, and, by extrapolation, attribution of inner states to other beings. In other words, a human not only wants the curry, but is aware of wanting the curry, and is aware of how it might seem to someone else to whine and look at the curry longingly, because we assume that other humans have both inner states and recursive awareness of their inner states. These extra layers of recursion are what’s usually thought of as being the dividing line between humans and other animals.
I spout all this because I just read a really fascinating book about baboons, and whether they might have inner states, self awareness, and a sense of ethics, based on some very careful studies. I highly recommend it: Baboon Metaphysics: The Evolution of a Social Mind, by Cheney and Seyfarth. That book also draws on another favorite of book of mine in this topic area: Consciousness Explained, by Daniel Dennett.
Okay, seriously: this semester I’m taking a seminar on the Frankfort School — fascinating stuff: the area where philosophy, politics, and psychology converge.
According to Horkheimer and Adorno, we behave the way we do because we are conditioned by society, which is a paradigmatic residue of the Enlightenment (which according to them is not a good thing). An overarching aspect of this paradigm is the desire-creation mechanisms of the “culture industry,” which constantly sends us messages as to what are acceptable and unacceptable behaviors. This concept ties into the Freudian concept of the superego (which keeps the id in check).
So the taboos our superego avoids are ultimately created by these “culture industry” messages. This is also the thesis of Marcuse’s One Dimensional Man.
Hey Robert, several years back I read an article in the SF Chronicle about how a group of baboons exacted revenge on a banana farmer who killed one of their cohorts. According to the article, they broke into his house and ripped his heart out.
It was pretty much the coolest article I’ve ever read.
Robert — I should attach a caveat (if it’s not clear already) that as philosophy, this post is total shit. And when I see the word “qualia” I reach for my gun. But yes, it’s these layers of recursion that separate humans from other animals. Dogs can’t lie about what they want because they don’t think about their desires, they just have them.
Dave, I wasn’t trying to hold you to a professional standard for an off the cuff Tuesday blog entry. I was just looking for any excuse to talk about the cool book I just finished. :)
Bryan — The thing is, I’m kind of like a dog in my inability to conceal my emotions. So I tend to favor a strategy of full disclosure, since I’m always giving myself away anyway. Or at least that’s how I experience myself — ridiculously transparent. What frustrates me is that other people are opaque.
Also, 7 brings up some very interesting stuff that I don’t have time to talk about right now. But don’t let that stop everyone else!
Also, baboon revenge!
Thank god Dave has gotten the curry-sniffing under control. It’s why he had to leave DC.
Robert, there was a really great interview with Dorothy Cheney (or the other author, but I think it was her) on NPR about a month ago. I just looked for it but couldn’t locate it – it was either on Science Friday with Ira Flatow or Fresh Air. It’s quite good, probably more so if you’ve read the book.
Dave, one of the things I’ve noticed after several years of having pets is that some are smarter and more emotive than others. I had two beagles (known to be less than brilliant), one of whom we were sure was a genius dog, the other was dumb as a box of rocks. But, to put it in perspective, they both begged incessantly and ate their own poo.
Seriously I tend to agree with Robert’s perspective, where ‘wanting’ is a pretty pure emotion and needn’t be equated with self-awareness.
And to your point Dave, I’m happy that most people, and myself, tend to regulate their desires and also keep some desires and basic emotions to themselves. I don’t think we could live in a society where every thought was articulated and every desire was acted out. That’s close to what happens in the Tenderloin everyday, and it’s a disaster.
Even if we attempt to conceal our desires (and are conscious of doing so), our bodies usually betray us. In that, we’re not that different than the dog wagging his tail.
Sexual desire is the most obvious, as most of us learned (perhaps painfully) in junior high. But it’s not just erections and stiff nipples that I’m talking about. Our pupils dilate, our respiration increases, we get flooded with adrenalin and endorphins. Maybe, when we smell a delicious curry, we even salivate. These are all involuntary, measurable responses, and depending on how perceptive we are, we can notice them in others. In fact, pretty much the only control we have is whether or not to advance, to grab the curry, to say, “Hey, I want you.” And sometimes we lack even that.
#15: Those might be measurable responses, but to say that perceptive people can detect a stranger’s wants and desires is probably just projection. It’s certainly more true in junior high than in adult life, but one of the marks of adulthood (so I’ve heard) is self-control and self-restraint.
I think you’d be making a mistake to assume that your interpretations of the behavior of people around you (especially strangers) suggests you can read them like a book. Even if you had the person hooked up to a bunch of instruments to read their physical responses, the question is what do those responses mean? That’s subject to debate, and ultimately only the subject can provide definitive answers…
Agreed, Brooke, and I certainly didn’t mean to claim that anyone can be “read like a book,” least of all a stranger. In fact, I believe that you can never truly know the totality of what’s in any person’s heart. I only wished to point out that despite our powers of abstraction, dissimulation, and concealment (and deception–even self-deception!), we’re still physical beings. We still encounter the world–and often respond to it–through our senses.
Best post I’ve read in a while. I agree with Rachel, in that I’m not good at deception, therefore I am pretty transparent.
If there hadn’t of been the anti-animal abuse posts a few weeks ago, I’d suggest an experiment: Kick Brownie hard enough, and often enough, and see if she still comes begging and whining for curry.
poor brownie.
is that another poop reference trixie? man, you’re really scatting out lately. is william potty training?
Marley Fan, I knew you were Michael Vick all along.
i’m just wondering why the dog needed a pseudonym. are you afraid its going to google itself, read your post, and then, like, never wag its tail at you again?
The dog guards his privacy closely.
Huh. This IS apropos; I have to engulf myself this week in research for a not-exactly-research paper (yep, done with prepositional phrases) and guess what my topic is on?
no, don’t guess. There are so many topics flying around here. Behaviorism.
Good job at reading my brain, Dave. I must be really transparent.
#20: as a matter of fact, yes. but i don’t think my scatologic references have increased as a result.
i just love poop, man.
don’t ever yuck someone else’s yum, right? that’s my motto (thanks sacha)
except for in your shower, by a lover–is this what was concluded at some point on TGW?
So Jeremy, maybe you can share with the class: didn’t you take a course over the summer called, “Do Dogs Smile?”
Well, do they?
7: Couldn’t what you’re discussing also be linked to Gramsci’s definition of hegemony? Although he and other Marxists would argue that the root of this “cultural conditioning” is the struggle for economic power and domination by the ruling class, I think we can apply the result of hegemony–the belief that we are unable to change current conditions–to the misrepresentation of what is or isn’t taboo. This applies to interpersonal comunication because certain cultural constructs (gender and class come to mind) often dictate how we can “acceptably” express our inner states, and we often accept these parameters without knowing we are doing so.
Ultimately, though, and probably even more in tune with the idealogy of hegemony, is that (I think, anyway) we typically conceal the physical manifestations of our desires when we feel that it will result in our vulnerability, not wanting to be dominated.
A trained dog like Brownie (I’m assuming) will show it’s vulnerability, the desire for the food that is not within it’s own command to consume, because he/she has been conditioned to believe that it’s owner is the pack leader. An untrained dog probably wouldn’t wag it’s tail or lick it’s lips, but would dive for the food and eat it without showing the amount of physical desire that the trained dog may. This could be because the untrained dog doesn’t view the individuals around him/her as dominant. I’m not sure, pehaps someone else knows, whether or not dogs show the same amount of physical reaction around other dogs. Perhaps they have their own way of flirting as well?
I know this argument gets a little extreme, but I’m ultimately fascinated by the ways in which issues of power and domination influence how we emote.
Scotty: actually, no, dogs don’t smile. But neither do people.
Personally, I don’t believe in smiles.
now Jeremy why don’t you believe in smiles
#22. My favorite comment this year.
I also think that “Chocolate Lab” is a psuedobreed, they usually are not small dogs. And, was it red or green curry?
basically, i can’t wait to meet dave and see what reaction he’s unable to conceal. i, however, plan to be as opaque as possible.
…i’m sure that my dog abi smiles. also, cynthia, jeremy does believe in smiles, just not smiles where you show your teeth.
The dog we had when I was a kid smiled. She learned it from us — it looked pretty unnatural on a dog, but she did it.
Interestingly enough, too, in light of the Frankfort School ideas discussed here, is that the flip side of ascribing true desires to animals is ascribing misdirected desires to human beings in the form of false consciousness. “You don’t really want to watch ‘Dancing with the Stars’! You just watch that because you’re told to watch it by the culture industry. You should be out organizing against multinational corporations instead!”
Is it “Frankfort” or “Frankfurt” School? (Not that I’ll ever be writing about it, and I guess I can make the vowels sound similar enough in cocktail-party exposition.)
Oops, I think you’re right: Frankfurt it is. As a little mnemonic, just think “hot dogs”.
Or, “the city in Germany with the really big airport.”
“Hot dogs” (frankfurters) works better for me. It signifies intellectual showing off (hot-dogging), plus one of the quintessential mass-produced popular foodstuffs.
Dogs can’t lie about what they want because they don’t think about their desires, they just have them.
Huh. I have a (in some respects) moderately well-trained dog, who doesn’t beg for food from the table, because she knows she’s not getting anything until we’re done. She also knows that if she doesn’t bug us, there’s a good chance she’ll be allowed to lick the plates clean before they go in the dishwasher (apologies to anyone who may end up eating off our china who’s grossed out by this). So she doesn’t beg, but she does sit very quietly near the table waiting until we’re done.
Is she lying? She’s doing something like it, I’d say.
Is she lying? She’s doing something like it, I’d say.
I’ve seen this almost-lying behavior in dogs, too. We could either say that the dog is lying but we’re so much more sophisticated than the dog that we see right through the lie, or that the dog has just learned that a certain behavior is effective in getting what she wants. There’s some kind of slyness to dogs, certainly, but it’s hard to know what to say about it.
Hey, Dave:
Wittgenstein on dogs and philosophy. Thought you might enjoy.
Thanks, LT. I actually saw that movie years ago, being a big Wittgenstein fan and something of a Derek Jarman fan. I guess I should have done some actual research before I wrote this post.
Also, in the spirit of the staircase, it occurs to me that the correct response to 22 is that, on the Internet, no one knows he’s a dog.
the most amazing thing about living with my dog, is that she does not lie. she is, in that sense, a pure animal. she has no higher controls or capabilities to deceive. its a bit of a responsibility to have someone around that doesn’t lie.
but the second most amazing thing about a dog is that they _choose_ to obey. they choose to sit by the dinner table until the humans are done. they choose to walk on the leash at the exact same pace as the human when they can easily do just about anything they want.
a poet i once knew the name of, told a story about when the gods were done creating all the humans and the animals, a great chasm started to divide them. and the chasm got wider and wider…and at the very last moment –as the chasm was nearly too big to cross, the dog jumped across to be with the humans.
and I see that everyday in my dog.
she chooses us.
would it be wrong for me to disclose the real name of the original annoying, pestering creature?
Depends–can it read?