Sonntag, 12. März 2017

Kernfunktion der Sprache:

Sprache ermöglicht es dem Menschen Ereignisse und Ereignisketten abzubilden.

[Beim Abbilden kommt es nicht darauf an, einen Gegenstand so zu belassen wie er ist, sondern darauf, je nach Bedarf bestimmte Züge bewusst herauszuarbeiten.]

[Was lässt sich sprachlich gut abbilden? Was lässt sich sprachlich nur unzureichend abbilden?]

[Das explizite Denken bildet Gegenstände, Ereignisse und Ereignisketten der Um- und Innenwelt ab, und konstruiert anschließend, am Leitfaden der Erfahrung, zwischen den Abbildungen vielfältige Beziehungen.]

Montag, 6. März 2017

Tipp zum Lernen und Lesen:

>Man gewöhne sich daran, über alles, was man gelesen hat, sich Rechenschaft zu geben. Besonders bei schwerer Lektüre genügt das bloße Durchlesen überhaupt nicht, um sich den Inhalt einzuprägen. Man prägt sich alles Gelesene am besten dadurch ein, dass man kurz, womöglich laut, sich selbst oder anderen einen kleinen Vortrag darüber hält.

... auch ein bloßes Referat ohne Hörer ist eine gute Kontrolle darüber, ob man die Sache, über die man spricht, verstanden hat. Selbst der geübte Leser meint oft, etwas verstanden zu haben und merkt erst, wenn er darüber sprechen soll, wie viel er nur "ungefähr", d.h. unvollkommen verstanden hat.

Sehr zu empfehlen ist auch die schriftliche Reproduktion, indem man Gelesenes oder Gehörtes nachher zu Papier bringt.<

Richard Müller-Freienfels

Montag, 27. Februar 2017

Beobachten als Befragen:

"Am fruchtbarsten ist alles Wahrnehmen und Beobachten dann, wenn man mit ganz bestimmten Interessen und Fragestellungen an die Welt herantritt. Der gute Beobachter lässt die Welt nicht bloß auf sich wirken, er befragt sie."

Richard Müller-Freienfels (1951)

[Siehe auch - Immanuel Kant: >Reason must approach nature with the view, indeed, of receiving information from it, not, however, in the character of a pupil, who listens to all that his master chooses to tell him, but in that of a judge, who compels the witnesses to reply to those questions which he himself thinks fit to propose.<]

Donnerstag, 23. Februar 2017

William James on Conversion:

>... If you open the chapter on Association, of any treatise on Psychology, you will read that a man's ideas, aims, and objects form diverse internal groups and systems, relatively independent of one another. Each 'aim' which he follows awakens a certain specific kind of interested excitement, and gathers a certain group of ideas together in subordination to it as its associates; and if the aims and excitements are distinct in kind, their groups of ideas may have little in common. When one group is present and engrosses the interest, all the ideas connected with other groups may be excluded from the mental field. The President of the United States when, with paddle, gun, and fishing-rod, he goes camping in the wilderness for a vacation, changes his system of ideas from top to bottom. The presidential anxieties have lapsed into the background entirely; the official habits are replaced by the habits of a son of nature, and those who knew the man only as the strenuous magistrate would not "know him for the same person" if they saw him as the camper.

If now he should never go back, and never again suffer political interests to gain dominion over him, he would be for practical intents and purposes a permanently transformed being. Our ordinary alterations of character, as we pass from one of our aims to another, are not commonly called transformations, because each of them is so rapidly succeeded by another in the reverse direction; but whenever one aim grows so stable as to expel definitively its previous rivals from the individual's life, we tend to speak of the phenomenon, and perhaps to wonder at it, as a "transformation."

These alternations are the completest of the ways in which a self may be divided. A less complete way is the simultaneous coexistence of two or more different groups of aims, of which one practically holds the right of way and instigates activity, whilst the others are only pious wishes, and never practically come to anything. Saint Augustine's aspirations to a purer life, in our last lecture, were for a while an example. Another would be the President in his full pride of office, wondering whether it were not all vanity, and whether the life of a wood-chopper were not the wholesomer destiny. Such fleeting aspirations are mere velleitates, whimsies. They exist on the remoter outskirts of the mind, and the real self of the man, the centre of his energies, is occupied with an entirely different system. As life goes on, there is a constant change of our interests, and a consequent change of place in our systems of ideas, from more central to more peripheral, and from more peripheral to more central parts of consciousness. I remember, for instance, that one evening when I was a youth, my father read aloud from a Boston newspaper that part of Lord Gifford's will which founded these four lectureships. At that time I did not think of being a teacher of philosophy, and what I listened to was as remote from my own life as if it related to the planet Mars. Yet here I am, with the Gifford system part and parcel of my very self, and all my energies, for the time being, devoted to successfully identifying myself with it. My soul stands now planted in what once was for it a practically unreal object, and speaks from it as from its proper habitat and centre.

When I say "Soul," you need not take me in the ontological sense unless you prefer to; for although ontological language is instinctive in such matters, yet Buddhists or Humians can perfectly well describe the facts in the phenomenal terms which are their favorites. For them the soul is only a succession of fields of consciousness: yet there is found in each field a part, or sub-field, which figures as focal and contains the excitement, and from which, as from a centre, the aim seems to be taken. Talking of this part, we involuntarily apply words of perspective to distinguish it from the rest, words like "here," "this," "now," "mine," or "me"; and we ascribe to the other parts the positions "there," "then," "that," "his" or "thine," "it," "not me." But a "here" can change to a "there," and a "there" become a "here," and what was "mine" and what was "not mine" change their places.

What brings such changes about is the way in which emotional excitement alters. Things hot and vital to us to-day are cold to-morrow. It is as if seen from the hot parts of the field that the other parts appear to us, and from these hot parts personal desire and volition make their sallies. They are in short the centres of our dynamic energy, whereas the cold parts leave us indifferent and passive in proportion to their coldness.

Whether such language be rigorously exact is for the present of no importance. It is exact enough, if you recognize from your own experience the facts which I seek to designate by it.

Now there may be great oscillation in the emotional interest, and the hot places may shift before one almost as rapidly as the sparks that run through burnt-up paper. Then we have the wavering and divided self we heard so much of in the previous lecture. Or the focus of excitement and heat, the point of view from which the aim is taken, may come to lie permanently within a certain system; and then, if the change be a religious one, we call it a CONVERSION, especially if it be by crisis, or sudden.

Let us hereafter, in speaking of the hot place in a man's consciousness, the group of ideas to which he devotes himself, and from which he works, call it THE HABITUAL CENTRE OF HIS PERSONAL ENERGY. It makes a great difference to a man whether one set of his ideas, or another, be the centre of his energy; and it makes a great difference, as regards any set of ideas which he may possess, whether they become central or remain peripheral in him. To say that a man is "converted" means, in these terms, that religious ideas, previously peripheral in his consciousness, now take a central place, and that religious aims form the habitual centre of his energy.

Now if you ask of psychology just HOW the excitement shifts in a man's mental system, and WHY aims that were peripheral become at a certain moment central, psychology has to reply that although she can give a general description of what happens, she is unable in a given case to account accurately for all the single forces at work. Neither an outside observer nor the Subject who undergoes the process can explain fully how particular experiences are able to change one's centre of energy so decisively, or why they so often have to bide their hour to do so. We have a thought, or we perform an act, repeatedly, but on a certain day the real meaning of the thought peals through us for the first time, or the act has suddenly turned into a moral impossibility. All we know is that there are dead feelings, dead ideas, and cold beliefs, and there are hot and live ones; and when one grows hot and alive within us, everything has to re-crystallize about it. We may say that the heat and liveliness mean only the "motor efficacy," long deferred but now operative, of the idea; but such talk itself is only circumlocution, for whence the sudden motor efficacy? And our explanations then get so vague and general that one realizes all the more the intense individuality of the whole phenomenon.

In the end we fall back on the hackneyed symbolism of a mechanical equilibrium. A mind is a system of ideas, each with the excitement it arouses, and with tendencies impulsive and inhibitive, which mutually check or reinforce one another. The collection of ideas alters by subtraction or by addition in the course of experience, and the tendencies alter as the organism gets more aged. A mental system may be undermined or weakened by this interstitial alteration just as a building is, and yet for a time keep upright by dead habit. But a new perception, a sudden emotional shock, or an occasion which lays bare the organic alteration, will make the whole fabric fall together; and then the centre of gravity sinks into an attitude more stable, for the new ideas that reach the centre in the rearrangement seem now to be locked there, and the new structure remains permanent.

Formed associations of ideas and habits are usually factors of retardation in such changes of equilibrium. New information, however acquired, plays an accelerating part in the changes; and the slow mutation of our instincts and propensities, under the "unimaginable touch of time" has an enormous influence. Moreover, all these influences may work subconsciously or half unconsciously. And when you get a Subject in whom the subconscious life--of which I must speak more fully soon--is largely developed, and in whom motives habitually ripen in silence, you get a case of which you can never give a full account, and in which, both to the Subject and the onlookers, there may appear an element of marvel. Emotional occasions, especially violent ones, are extremely potent in precipitating mental rearrangements. The sudden and explosive ways in which love, jealousy, guilt, fear, remorse, or anger can seize upon one are known to everybody. Hope, happiness, security, resolve, emotions characteristic of conversion, can be equally explosive. And emotions that come in this explosive way seldom leave things as they found them. ...<

[Source: The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902) -  Lecture IX - Conversion]

Mittwoch, 22. Februar 2017

Self-Control & Empathy:

"Self-Control Is Just Empathy With Your Future Self"

"Science Says When Self-Control Is Hard, Try Empathizing With Your Future Self"

"Why don't people save for the future? According to a future self-continuity account, if one views the future self as a stranger, she should be no more motivated to save for her future self than to give money to a stranger (Parfit, 1971 , 1987)."

"impulsivity is often just acting unkindly toward your future self."

"self-control may be more aptly described as behaving altruistically toward your future self."

[According to this perspective, a smoking person doesn't really care if his future self will suffer from lung cancer. Due to this lack of empathy he neglects to protect his future self from severe pain and suffering.]

Dienstag, 21. Februar 2017

On Planning:

"A decision is a choice of action - of what to do or not to do."

"Planning is decision making, except that it does not result in immediate action."

"Many of our decisions require us to choose between satisfying our goals for the immediate present and our goals for our futures ..." "We can think of [such conflicts as analogous to social dilemmas:] Instead of a conflict between self and other, the conflict is between a >present self< and a >future self<. A basic problem we have in such conflicts is that we are biased in favor of our present self. Our future self, like >others< in social dilemmas, is distant and has less claim on our attention. We begin to be aware of this problem in childhood, and we develop methods of self-control."

"We can think of decisions about the future as plans or policies. A plan is a decision to do something at a future time. When we cook a meal, we usually have some plan in mind. We do certain things at one time and put off other things for the future. The crucial step here is that we decide now to do something at a later time. There would be no point in planning if we were unable to hold ourselves to this decision. The study of planning, therefore, is intimately tied up with the study of self-control. A policy is a plan that binds us to perform a certain action regularly or under certain conditions. We might establish a policy of practicing the violin for half an hour every day, for example, or a policy of never picking up hitchhikers. A plan is not a policy when it involves only a single, isolated decision, such as planning to go to the movies on a certain day. A policy applies to a whole class of behavior that recur regularly in our lives."

Thinking and deciding
Jonathan Baron (1988)

Montag, 20. Februar 2017

J. S. Haldane on the Mathematics of Evolution:

"One of the studies which is rapidly becoming mathematical is that of evolution. Darwin thought in words. His successors to-day have to think in numbers."

Everything has a history (1951)