Matheus Silva

In this paper I argue for a doctrine I call ?infallibilism?, which I stipulate to mean that If S knows that p, then the epistemic probability of p for S is 1. Some fallibilists will claim that this doctrine should be rejected because it leads to scepticism. Though it's not obvious that infallibilism does lead to scepticism, I argue that we should be willing to accept it even if it does. Infallibilism should be preferred because it has greater explanatory power than fallibilism. In particular, I argue that an infallibilist can easily explain why assertions of ?p, but possibly not-p? (where the ?possibly? is read as referring to epistemic possibility) is infelicitous in terms of the knowledge rule of assertion. But a fallibilist cannot. Furthermore, an infallibilist can explain the infelicity of utterances of ?p, but I don't know that p? and ?p might be true, but I'm not willing to say that for all I know, p is true?, and why when a speaker thinks p is epistemically possible for her, she will agree (if asked) that for all she knows, p is true. The simplest explanation of these facts entails infallibilism. Fallibilists have tried and failed to explain the infelicity of ?p, but I don't know that p?, but have not even attempted to explain the last two facts. I close by considering two facts that seem to pose a problem for infallibilism, and argue that they don't

The paper discusses a prominent one of Kratzer's (1986, 1991, 2012) arguments against material implication analyses of the denotation of (indicative) conditional sentences. This is the argument based on the sentence _Most of the time, if a man buys a horse, he pays cash for it_. It is shown that material implication makes a prediction that does conform to speakers' intuitions, contrary to Kratzer's claim. The paper also argues that Lewis's (1975) attack on material implication analyses of conditional sentences based on examples where the conditional is embedded under the adverbials _sometimes_ and _never_ does not have much force given that the interpretation of such sentences is subject to inferential pragmatic operations in addition to the recovery of their denotation.

Accounts of how the concept of temperature has evolved typically cast the story as ancillary to the history of the thermometer or the history of the concept of heat. But then, because the history of temperature is not treated as a subject in its own right, modern associations inadvertently get read back into the historical record. This essay attempts to lay down an authoritative record not of what people in the past thought about what we call ‘temperature’ but of what they thought about what they called ‘temperature’ (or one of its cognates), from medieval times to today. I find that invention of the thermometer had little impact on the concept of temperature. Much more significant were Fahrenheit’s invention of a reliable instrument and William Thomson’s effort to make a degree of temperature a unit of measure. Overlapping definitions of temperature then emerged in the late nineteenth century, and twentieth-century scientific developments forced physicists to reconsider temperature’s conceptual boundaries. It turns out that the concept of temperature has evolved through stages that correspond to four increasingly sophisticated types of measurement. Its maturation and its maturity shed light on the philosophy of conceptual change.

Bruce Charlton describes in trenchant tone and terms the state of contemporary modern science in what I've called its decadent third stage (Bauer 2013). Lacking citations, the book is really an extended essay, but no informed observer will doubt the comprehensive accuracy with which Charlton points to present-day careerism, bureaucracy, overspecialization, dysfunctional incentives, and snowballing dishonesty; there is too much "science" (Bauer 2014) and too much influence of self-interested forces from outside science (commerce, politics, the media), and insiders fear to rock the boat even when they recognize that it needs rocking. All of that is in the starkest contrast to the popular misconception of science (Charlton's "Real Science") as a disinterested search for truth. Charlton dates the "extraordinarily rapid-yet dishonestly concealed-collapse" from that ideal Real Science (in my view accurately [Bauer 2013]), from about the middle of the 20th century, paralleling what has happened outside science (Barzun 2000). Though Charlton describes his aim as "opening eyes to the obvious, of clarifying the already-known" (p. 135), the book nevertheless illuminates causes and connections in ways that can be fresh and useful, for example in asserting inevitability: "The main problem is that when science becomes big, as it is now, the social processes of science come to control all aspects of science" (p. 116).

Quantum mechanics is humanity's finest scientific achievement. It explains why the sun shines and how your eyes can see. It's the theory behind the LEDs in your phone and the nuclear hearts of space probes. Every physicist agrees quantum physics is spectacularly successful. But ask them what quantum physics means, and the result will be a brawl. At stake is the nature of the Universe itself. What does it mean for something to be real? What is the role of consciousness in the Universe? And do quantum rules apply to very small objects like electrons and protons, but not us? In What is Real?, Adam Becker brings to vivid life the brave researchers whose quest for the truth led them to challenge Bohr: David Bohm, who picked up Einstein's mantle and sought to make quantum mechanics deterministic, all while being hounded by the forces of McCarthyism; Hugh Everett, who argued that everything, big and small, must be governed by the same rules; and John Bell, who went to great lengths to eradicate the power of the god-like observer from the core of quantum physics. And they paid dearly, their reputations, careers, and sometimes lives ruined completely. But history has been kinder to them than their contemporaries were. As Becker shows, the brave intellectual giants have inspired a growing army of physicists and philosophers intent both on making a philosophically more satisfying theory of the universe and a more useful one as well. A gripping story of some of humanity's greatest ideas and the high cost with which many have pursued them, What is Real? is intellectual history at its passionate best.