This edition first published 2011

© 2011 Matt Lawrence

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To anyone who has ever lifted a pint in philosophical contemplation, and to the brewers who make it possible.

Preface

A funny thing happened on the way to the monastery

I was driving down the southern California coast on my way to a meditation retreat, and thinking about the book of philosophical puzzles that I had been writing. My editor was enthusiastic about the project, but I still wasn't set on a title. Since it was a book of very short philosophical puzzles designed to whet the reader's appetite for philosophy, I tried to brainstorm titles based around small things, quick things, short things, wet things. Five-Minute Philosophical Puzzles? Bite-Sized Philosophical Puzzles? Forty-Eight Quick Conundrums? Obviously, I had to keep thinking. And then, out of nowhere, it hit me: Pint-Sized Philosophical Puzzles! After all, what goes better with a philosophical puzzle than a pint of good beer? And who loves philosophical puzzles more than beer drinkers? Like beer and football, or beer and pizza, beer and philosophy is a match ordained by the gods. One never knows quite how or why inspiration strikes, but, in retrospect, I realize that the idea came to me when I was just a couple of miles downwind of the Stone Brewery in Escondido, California. Surely the smell of fresh hops must have breezed through my open window. In any case, Philosophy on Tap was born – the first book ever to pair 48 great beers (two full cases) with 48 philosophical puzzles.

The basic idea of the book is to explain and examine each philosophical conundrum in no more time than it takes to drink the pint that accompanies it, and each pint has been selected expressly for its particular puzzle. For example, “Zeno's Paradox” is the oldest puzzle in the book from the Western philosophical tradition, so I've paired it with a beer from the oldest brewery in the Western world, Weihenstephan Original Lager. Plato's “Myth of Gyges” has been paired with a Greek lager that is quite appropriately called Mythos. And what would go better with the “Beer Goggles Paradox” than a Horn Dog Barleywine from the Flying Dog Brewery? In this manner you can explore 48 puzzles over 48 pints – preferably not all in one night. By the end of the book you'll be well versed in philosophy and in the great beers of the world.

About the Puzzles

In choosing the puzzles for the book, I have tried to cover the most central and perplexing questions of philosophy. Most are what can be fittingly called “life's biggest questions,” but several were included because of their relevance to the beer-loving philosopher. “Untangling Taste” is a good example here, as is “The Case for Temperance.” My aim throughout the book has been to “set up” the puzzles rather than to solve them. After all, half the fun of philosophy is to figure things out for oneself. So while I often suggest some possible solutions or relevant points to consider, the reader is generally left to reach his or her own conclusion, or, better still, to discuss it with friends at the pub.

About the Truth

You should be warned that I follow the well-established pub tradition of embellishing my stories. Occasionally I'll stretch the truth, and once in a while I'll tell a bald-faced lie. Of course this is all for your reading (and drinking) enjoyment. If you have a penchant for the truth, I suggest that you look for the “Truth be told” section that follows some of the puzzles. If there was a lie or “pub-stretch” somewhere in the puzzle, it is there that I will set the record straight.

About the Beer

In choosing the 48 beers that would become the “pints of the puzzles,” my primary aim was to find beers that fit the particular puzzles in interesting or amusing ways. As you'll soon see, there are all sorts of ways that beer and philosophy intersect. Another key concern was quality. I have tried to avoid bad beers – though this can be a bit of a gray area given that people's tastes differ. Generally you'll find that the majority of the beers that I've included are award-winning brews that stand among the very best in the world. But because they cover a wide range of styles, it is doubtful that you will be crazy about them all. Yet anyone who drinks all 48 will be sure to encounter a number of their old favorites and to discover many new ones. Since we've got two full cases to work with, we can break them down into four 12-packs.

American craft beers (lighter brews)

American craft beers (darker/stronger brews)

Beers of the world (lighter brews)

Beers of the world (darker/stronger brews)

As you might imagine, some of the amber beers and strong ales resist classification in terms of simply light or dark, so please don't take their designation here too seriously. But I hope you'll appreciate the fact that I've tried to give you a rather balanced beer drinking experience through a wide range of beer styles from a number of different countries. Since half of them are American brews, only an American could find this assortment to be geographically “balanced” by any stretch of the imagination. But since American craft brewing has undergone such a revolution over the past 20 years, and has produced so many great and interesting beers, I hope you'll enjoy their prevalence nonetheless. I've also tried to create a balance between well-known beers and the more esoteric beers. Some of the latter may be tricky to find. Searching them out might strike you as a worthy and challenging quest – perhaps something to put on your “bucket-list” (beers to drink before you “kick the bucket”). But if you'd like to minimize the search, I've arranged several “Philosophy on Tap” beer packages with Hi-Time Cellars. They have one of the largest selections of bottled beer on the planet, and can ship them to your doorstep. You can order online at . Just select the tab for “beer” and search alphabetically for “Philosophy on Tap.” At the end of each puzzle, you'll also find a space for your tasting notes, so that you can keep track of your new-found favorites. You can also visually document the flavors using the spider-web graph. Mark low-flavor values closest to the center, and high-flavor values toward the outside. The sample shown here is from a Belgian Dark Ale.

With your beer and book in hand, you're ready to begin. But please remember:

Drink in moderation. Think in excess.

Cheers,

Matt Lawrence

Personal Acknowledgments

I'd like to offer a toast to all the people who made this book possible or helped with its fermentation. First and foremost, I want to thank my family: my wife Lisa and sons Jacoby, Jeremy, and Keenan, for their unwavering support despite the sacrifices that writing a book inevitably entails. If they hadn't each helped out in their innumerable ways, this book would never have come to be. An extra thanks to Jeremy for the use of his artistic talents on some of the illustrations, and to Jacoby for his helpful feedback and for proofreading the entire manuscript two times over. Randy Firestone's comments on early drafts were invaluable, and his enthusiasm for the project really helped to keep me going. Randy, I'm sure I owe you a few pints more. Thanks to Matt Sanders and Will Heusser for their aid (and good taste) during several beer tasting expeditions (I'll always keep a couple of craft brews cold for you guys), and to Will and Eric Cave for their thoughtful comments on the initial manuscript, as well as to Peter Lange for his proofreading and editing feedback.

Many of the ideas in the book, along with the manner of their presentation, were developed (sans beer) in the classroom, so I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my students at Long Beach City College. Their questions, comments, enthusiasm (and occasional boredom) have had a dramatic effect on my approach to philosophy, teaching, and writing. And thanks to members of the Long Beach City College Philosophy Club, who read and discussed a number of the chapters, and especially to Danny Wilson and Joe Shumsky, who not only had great ideas about the puzzles, but also laughed in all the right places. And to Randy Firestone's Philosophy Club at El Camino College, where a number of these puzzles were also put to the test.

Thanks to the team at Wiley-Blackwell. To Nick Bellorini who brought me on board (again), to Jeff Dean who saw the project through to its completion, to Sarah Dancy for her careful editing, and to everyone else who worked behind the scenes to bring it all together.

And finally, thanks to my mom. She inspired my love of philosophy long before I even knew what philosophy was. She will be missed.

Acknowledgments

The editors and publisher gratefully acknowledge the permissions granted to reproduce the following images in this book:

Chapter 7	Potential shapes of the universe. Used with permission from NASA/WAMP Science Team
Chapter 11	Flavor wheel. Used with permission from the American Society of Brewing Chemists
Chapter 12	Thinking about beer. Used with permission from Jeremy Lawrence
Chapter 14	Duck-rabbit. Used with permission from the Duck-Rabbit Craft Brewery, Inc.
Chapter 14	Maps. Used with permission from Jeremy Lawrence
Chapter 21	Skeleton with ring. Used with permission from Jeremy Lawrence
Chapter 25	Pineal gland. © Raúl González III
Chapter 30	Faces. © Raúl González III

Chapter 1

Transporter Troubles

Shall we beam up another round?

If you have ever seen the classic television show Star Trek, you are surely familiar with Captain Kirk's famous line, “Beam me up, Scotty.” As the Chief Engineer aboard the Starship Enterprise, Mr Scott would use the ship's transporter to make crew members disappear in one location and reappear in another. Since Star Trek's debut in 1966, “teleportation” has become a staple of science fiction films.

Although teleportation is strictly science fiction today, it may one day become possible – perhaps in our lifetimes. If so, would you use this technology? Of course it sounds great. Who wouldn't want to have a fresh Guinness Stout transported straight to their easy chair from the St. James Gate Brewery in Dublin, Ireland? Or, better yet, why not transport yourself over to Dublin to take the brewery tour? (FYI: Everyone who takes the tour gets a complimentary pint of Guinness at its conclusion.) Well, before “beaming” yourself across the globe, perhaps you should first consider how these teleportation devices might work.

According to Star Trek: Next Generation Technical Manual, the Star Trek's transporter works by scanning and recording the state of all of the subatomic particles within your body. The scan destroys the atomic bonds that hold the particles together and then sends the particles to your chosen location by way of a subatomically de-bonded matter stream. Upon arrival, your subatomic particles are reassembled using the atomic blueprint that was recorded by the scan. Suppose that 20 years from now a transporter is invented using this type of process. Thousands of people have now tried it out and there have never been any injuries. Everyone who has been transported agrees that they look and feel totally normal when they reach their destination. Would you give it a try? One possible reason for hesitation is the fact that the transporter is going to KILL YOU! By tearing apart all your subatomic particles, the transporter will quite literally blow you to bits. On the upside, of course, it will put you back together again, as good as new. Death and resurrection all within a few microseconds.

There are some other ways in which a transporter might work. Suppose that instead of sending your subatomic particles to your chosen destination, the transporter simply destroys them. What it sends is just the recorded scan of your atomic blueprint. Then, at your destination, the transporter reassembles your body using all new subatomic particles. In this case, you awaken at your destination with a completely new body – although it will look and feel exactly like your old one.

Consider one more possibility inspired by the Oxford philosopher Derek Parfit. Suppose that you are beaming from Los Angeles to Dublin. You've used transporters many times before, so you're not the least bit nervous. You step onto the pad and give the engineer the “ready” signal. You watch as she flips the switch and the blue light of the scanner moves down your body. You expect the usual “flicker” of unconsciousness before finding yourself in Dublin's St. James Gate Brewery Transport Center, but it never happens.

You look at your engineer inquisitively, and she says “Okay, you're all set. Please step off the pad and down the stairs on your left.”

Puzzled, you reply, “But I'm supposed to be in Dublin – this is LA!”

“Oh, but you are in Dublin,” she says. “Just look at the monitor.”

To your amazement, you look up at the monitor and see yourself in the St. James Gate Brewery Transport Center stepping off the “arrivals” platform. The engineer explains: “You must not have known that this is the new ST101 Transporting System. As with many of the older systems, we send only your body scan to your chosen destination. In Dublin you were reassembled using entirely new particles. Of course, things went perfectly, and you are feeling quite yourself in Dublin.” See, look again at the monitor. You're lining up for the Guinness tour.

“Yes, but I'm still here,” you protest.

“That's the difference with the ST101,” she continues. “While some of the older machines would destroy your body right here in order to use its atomic energy to deliver your body scan at light speed, the ST101 doesn't require that much energy. So instead, what I need you to do is to follow the yellow line to the elevator. Once inside, the red button will take you down to the power-plant level. When the door opens, your body will be instantly obliterated for you. Sorry about the extra wait, but this will allow us to use your atomic energy for Los Angeles's ever-increasing energy needs.”

Slowly you walk to the elevator. Inside there is only one button, the red one. You know that by pushing it you will be delivered to your death. You know that the obliteration will be painless, and try to take comfort in the fact that your “new self” is already in Dublin soaking up the sights and sounds of the Guinness Storehouse. Nevertheless, it seems pretty obvious that “you” are still here, and are about to die.

Will you push the red button?

What do you think?

• The ST101 requires you to walk voluntarily to your own death, but isn't that true of the first two examples as well? Is the ST101 any “worse” than the other methods of teleportation?
• Would you push the red button?
• If you were to push the red button, would that be your death? Suppose that your friends were waiting for you in Dublin. What would they think?
• If your body is reassembled using all new particles, is that body still “yours?”
• Do you have a soul? If so, how is it related to your body? Would your soul travel to Dublin, or would it be “reborn” there? Or, would only some kind of mindless zombie arrive at the Guinness Storehouse?

Did you know?

• In June 2002 a team of scientists at the Australian National University successfully teleported the photons of a laser beam. Using a process called quantum entanglement, the team effectively teleported a radio signal contained in the laser beam from its location to a location one meter away. While this was the teleportation of photons, as of yet no one has been able to teleport a material object.
• David Page Mitchell's 1877 story “The Man Without A Body” may be the earliest use of the concept of teleportation in science fiction. His story told of a scientist who discovered a way to disassemble a cat's atoms, transmit them over a telegraph wire, and then reassemble them at a new location. When the scientist tried transporting himself, however, the telegraph's battery died when only his head had been transmitted.
• The Bible tells a story of what might be called the “miraculous teleportation” of Philip from Gaza to Azotus. In Acts 8:36–40 we find the following: “Then both Philip and the eunuch went down into the water and Philip baptized him. When they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord suddenly took Philip away, and the eunuch did not see him again, but went on his way rejoicing. Philip, however, appeared at Azotus and traveled about, preaching the gospel in all the towns until he reached Caesarea.”
• The Guinness Storehouse is located inside the St. James Gate Brewery, and its architecture is that of a giant pint glass. It has seven floors, the top of which is The Gravity Bar. (This is where you pick up your complimentary Guinness at the end of the tour.) If filled, this giant pint glass would hold 14.3 million pints of Guinness.
• Guinness Extra Stout can be used to make great cocktails. The classic Guinness cocktail is half champagne and half Guinness Extra Stout, served in a flute glass.

Recommended reading

• Derek Parfit, Reasons and Persons (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984).
• Richard Hanley, The Metaphysics of Star Trek (New York: Basic Books, 1997).

Chapter 2

Zeno's Hand to Mouth Paradox

How does the glass ever reach your mouth?

Before you take a sip of this historic brew, think about this. In order to take that sip, the pint must first be hoisted up to your lips. Suppose that this distance is a mere 12 inches. That should be simple enough. But notice that before it gets to your lips, your pint must pass through the halfway point between its resting spot on the bar or table and your mouth.

But once it reaches that halfway point, there is another halfway point between it and your lips. You cannot drink your beer until the pint passes through that point also.

And, once the pint reaches that halfway point, it must pass through another halfway point between that former point and your lips. And, once it arrives there it must pass through another halfway point, and so on.

The problem, you now realize, is that in order to drink this pint, you are going to need to lift it through an infinite number of halfway points (since any distance can always be divided in half). And since it is impossible to pass through an infinite number of points in a finite amount of time, you will never get to taste this beer!

The Ancient Greek philosopher Zeno of Elea came up with this paradox (sometimes called the paradox of bisection) in the fifth century BC. Now, I know what you are thinking. Something has got to be wrong here. We know for a fact that the pint does reach your lips. In fact, I expect you have already proven that Zeno is wrong. (Refutation tastes pretty good, don't you think?) But Zeno would be unimpressed by the fact that you are currently sipping your beer. He thought that since reason shows us that the pint cannot reach your lips in a finite time (much less in a few seconds) our senses must deceive us. In a showdown between reason and the senses, he believed that we ought to choose reason. Zeno's conclusion: motion is impossible – no one ever drinks anything!

As you sit there drinking in the clean hop bitterness and light malty sweetness of your Original Lager, I expect that you believe that reason is on your side. But can you articulate those reasons? If Zeno is mistaken, where did he go wrong?

If you need a little help, here are a couple of ideas that you might do well to consider. First, must the beer really move through an infinite number of points in a finite amount of time? After all, can't we do the same sort of bisection concerning time? The two seconds that you took lifting the glass to your mouth can be divided at its midpoint, as can the next half of the journey, and the next, and so on. So we are left to suppose that while your pint passed through an infinite number of spatial points, it had an infinite number of temporal points in which to do so. No hurries – no worries. This reply may still leave us a bit uncomfortable (and Zeno smiling in his grave), because we are left wondering how the pint moved through infinite points (special or temporal) in only two seconds.

Another possibility, radical as it may seem, is to conclude that Zeno is right. Maybe objects don't really move at all. Some contemporary theories of space–time seem to support this idea. According to tenseless theories of time, all of time is “laid out” in both directions. It is inaccurate to say that the past is “gone” and that the future is “yet to be.” Rather, both exist, just at different points within the space–time continuum. (For more on this, see chapter 29, “Time's Conundrum”). According to this theory, objects don't really move through space–time. Instead, your pint simply exists at a variety of points in the space–time continuum. For instance, the pint is sitting on the bar at one point in time, it is halfway to your mouth at another, it touches your lips at another, etc. The pint doesn't move from one point to the next. Instead, it simply exists at all these place-times. In this case, the appearance of motion would be just an illusion of your experience caused by the fact that you are unable to see the string of your pint's past and future place-times as a single whole.

What do you think?

• Can you solve Zeno's paradox? Do you find either of the proposed solutions to be satisfactory?
• Is Zeno correct to think that a moving object would have to cross an infinite number of points in a finite amount of time in order to arrive at its destination?
• When push comes to shove, should we follow reason, or go with our sense experience?

Did you know?

• Zeno was a student of Parmenides who taught that both plurality and change are illusions. Zeno used his paradox of bisection to support Parmenides' view that reality is an unchanging, indivisible unity which he called “Being.”
• Zeno is sometimes referred to as “Zeno of Elea” so not to be confused with “Zeno of Citium,” the founder of Stoicism. (The name “Zeno” has obviously declined in popularity over the years.)
• Established in 1040 AD, the Weihenstephan Brewery predates the Christian Crusades, the first of which was preached in 1095 AD.
• Beer is one of the world's oldest prepared beverages and may date back as far as 9000 BCE. Many cultures learned to make beer before they knew how to bake bread.
• The Dogfish Head Brewery boasts the oldest beer recipe. Their Midas Touch is a recreation of the roughly 2,700-year-old residue found in a Goblet from King Midas's tomb. It contains barley, honey, grapes, and saffron. While not your standard ale, I found it rather tasty.

Recommended reading

• Joseph Mazur, Zeno's Paradox: Unraveling the Ancient Mystery Behind the Science of Space and Time (New York: Plume, 2008).
• Nicholas Fern, Zeno and the Tortoise: How to Think Like a Philosopher (New York: Grove Press, 2001).

Chapter 3

If a Pint Spills in the Forest …

If no one is there to hear it, would it still make a sound?

Here's a classic philosophical question that you may have heard before:

If a pint spills in the forest and no one is there to hear it, would it still make a sound?

This question often gets pulled out at parties and pubs when someone wants to “wax philosophical.” Although most of us are inclined to think that of course it would make a sound, the point of the question is that we cannot really be sure. If no one was there to hear it, then we have no evidence either way.

Before you start trying to invent ways to settle the issue (e.g., hidden recording, devices, sign-language adept chipmunks, etc.), let's consider what the Irish philosopher and bishop, George Berkeley (1685–1753), had to say on the matter. Bishop Berkeley's philosophy can be summed up by his famous dictum: “To be is to be perceived.” By this, he meant that objects (such as spilling pints of ale) exist only in the minds of those who perceive them. This is a pretty radical thesis. If correct, it entails that if no one was there to perceive it, not only would the spilling pint fail to make a sound, it would fail to exist at all!

Berkeley's metaphysical view denies the existence of matter, insofar as we mean “stuff that exists outside of and independently of our minds.” All that truly exists in Berkeley's metaphysics are minds and the ideas, perceptions, or sensations of minds. This, of course, flies in the face of what almost everyone takes to be true – the existence of a material world outside our minds with which our senses interact. We might therefore suppose that a strong burden of proof falls on Berkeley to justify his view. But he maintained that it is those who believe in matter who need to justify their position. It is their position that contradicts our experience. As Berkeley put it:

It is indeed an opinion strangely prevailing amongst men, that houses, mountains, rivers and in a word all sensible objects, have an existence natural or real distinct from them being perceived by the understanding. … For, what are the aforementioned objects but the things we perceive by sense? and what do we perceive besides our own ideas or sensations? and is it not plainly repugnant that any one of these, or any combination of them, should exist unperceived?

In order to understand Berkeley's point better, let's take a specific example. Consider, for a moment, what you know about the Sierra Nevada Pale Ale that sits before you. You know, for instance, that it has a beautiful golden hue that lies somewhere between a summer straw and a Malibu sunset. You know that its temperature is cool, that it is wet to the touch with a gently bubbly texture, and, when you put your ear to it, you can hear the ever so slight sound of those bubbles popping. But if you think carefully about this, you will realize that all you are really noticing are your own perceptions or sensations. When you perceive your beer's color, you are having a sensation of gold. When you perceive its temperature, you are having a sensation of coolness. And, when you perceive the bubbles on your tongue, or by putting your ear up to the glass, you are having certain tactile or auditory sensations. In fact, all that you know about this beer (or any beer) is limited to your sensations. But where are these sensations? In your mind, of course. You are having the sensations of golden, cool, wet, bubbly, etc. Certainly these sensations are not in the beer. They are simply a part of your awareness. Nevertheless we tend to insist that the pint of ale exists outside our minds. But on what grounds? Do sensations inside our minds really tell us what is going on outside our minds?

When we take a materialistic view of the world, we are asserting that we know what is outside our minds. For instance, that there are pints of beer “out there” shimmering in tones of gold, amber, or brown, wet and bubbly, and which make splashing sounds when they fall. But have you ever been “outside” your mind? Of course not. Wherever you go, you take your mind with you. So, why do you think that you know what is out there? And, what reason do you have for thinking that there is any beer “out there” at all?

What do you think?

• If a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale spills in the forest and no one is there to hear it, would it still make a sound?
• If no one was there to taste it, would it still have a taste?
• Suppose that you intentionally place a pint of ale in the forest in such a way that it will inevitably tip and spill. You place a tape recorder next to the pint. The next day you return to see that the pint has spilled (and no one was there to hear it). You play the tape and sure enough you hear the pint tip over and splash onto the forest floor. Does this disprove Berkeley's thesis? Why/why not?
• What is the strongest argument for the existence of matter? Does the fact that everyone seems to perceive beer the same way prove that beer exists outside of our minds?
• Even if we suppose that beers are “out there,” should we believe that they are really golden, wet, bitter, and delicious? Or is this just how we perceive them to be? Do you suppose that all creatures perceive beer in exactly the same way?

Did you know?

• Metaphysical idealism is the name given to views such as Berkeley's, which maintain that only minds and ideas exist.
• Berkeley maintained that objects do not cease to exist when we stop perceiving them. This is because God (infinite mind) still perceives them.
• In 1734 Berkeley was made Anglican bishop of Cloyne, Ireland, where he served for most of the remainder of his life. He was so popular among the townspeople that even today, more than 250 years after his death; he is still affectionately referred to as “the bishop.”
• Pale Ale is the flagship beer of the Sierra Nevada Brewing Co. It has won repeated gold medals at the Great American Beer Festival.

Recommended reading

• George Berkeley, A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge. Available online through Oregon State University:
• George Berkeley, Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 1979).

Chapter 4

The Beer Goggles Paradox

Is beauty in the eye of the beerholder?

We've all seen it. In fact, I'm sure that many of you have lived it. You know what I'm talking about. “Your friend” goes into a bar – let's call him Joe – and he complains all night: “There are just no good-looking women here. We might as well go home.” Knowing that Joe hasn't had a date in a while, you suggest some possibilities. “Ugh! Not a chance!” is his reply. But the evening wears on, you have a few more beers, and, by the end of the night, Joe's whole perspective seems to have changed. The same woman, let's call her Joanne, whom he (quite insensitively) referred to as “butt-ugly” just a few hours ago, is now (apparently) quite attractive to him. He's saying that she's “pretty hot” and the next thing you know Joe and Joanne head out the door together.

This phenomenon regarding a person's changing perception of beauty is widely known as “the beer goggles paradox” or the “10@2 paradox.” How does a person who was a “2” at 10.00 p.m. become a “10” at 2.00 a.m.? One thing is obvious: when Joe left the bar with her he must have had his “beer goggles” on. But physically and phenomenologically, what exactly has happened? One explanation is that Joe has simply “lowered his standards.” While this certainly can, and often does, happen, it is not the kind of case I have in mind with Joe. He's not thinking, “Well, she's ugly, but I'm not leaving here alone.” Rather, he's excited about her now. He really seems to think that she is rather attractive (at the moment). He doesn't need to lower his standards. If she had stirred this sort of mental state in him at his very first glance, it might have been love at first sight.

In order to better sort out Joe's case, let's consider another case of changing perceptions and attitudes. In Consciousness Explained, Daniel Dennett describes a similar phenomenon regarding the taste of beer. Beer is an acquired taste, Dennett observes. People don't generally like it straight off; they train themselves, or somehow simply come to enjoy the flavor. But what flavor? The flavor of the first sip? Dennett imagines a couple of ways that the beer drinker might explain it:

No one could like that flavor [an experienced beer drinker might retort]. Beer tastes different to the experienced beer drinker. If beer went on tasting to me the way the first sip tasted, I would never have gone on drinking beer! Or, to put the same point the other way around, if my first sip of beer had tasted to me the way my most recent sip tasted, I would never have had to acquire the taste in the first place! I would have loved the first sip as much as the one I just enjoyed.

Other beer drinkers might insist that, no, beer did taste to them now the way it always did, only now they like that very taste.

We can raise the same question regarding Joe's experience. Does Joanne look rather different to him now (e.g., her hair more lustrous and face more delicate), as illustrated on the next page? Or, does he see essentially the same image that he first set eyes on, but somehow arrives at a different set of judgments about what he sees? That is, does she look the same, but now he likes that very look?

Which of these is the better explanation of Joe's experience may be tough to sort out, and I'll leave you to puzzle over it yourself. But let me first offer a third alternative so that you can be more thoroughly informed (and much more confused). Dennett contends that there is something altogether misguided in questions of the sort: Was it how she looked that changed or was it what he liked? The problem, according to Dennett, is that there is no such thing either as “how she looked at 10.00 p.m.” or as “how she looked at 2.00 a.m.” And, there is no “image” or “representation” that is separate and distinct from Joe's judgments about what he likes.

Dennett's theory of consciousness is what he calls a multiple drafts model. It denies that there is some center of experience or “Cartesian Theater” where the final stream of conscious experience unfolds under “our” gaze. “We don't directly experience what happens on our retinas, in our ears, on the surface of our skin,” he argues. Instead, any experience, from “tasting a beer” to “gazing into Joanne's big dark eyes,” is accomplished in the brain by “parallel, multi-track processes of interpretation and elaboration of sensory inputs” and is under continuous “editorial revision.” There is no “final edit,” and no “ghost in the machine” to view some mythical final product that might be called “how she looked at 10.00 p.m.” or “how she struck him at 2.00 a.m.” Instead, there are simply many independent streams of data and habits of reaction.

Dennett's theory of consciousness is admittedly anti-intuitive. He believes that most of us are too entrenched in a Cartesian Theater type of view of the mind to comprehend this alternative easily, and it would certainly take more than one pint of beer to treat it adequately here. You might conclude, “Well, I'll just drink four or five Horn Dogs and carefully observe the experience for myself.” But Dennett would argue that this won't cut it either. The very problem with understanding the mind through subjective reflection is that appearances are deceiving. It is as if you were trying to understand a film projector by reflecting on how it seems when you watch a movie on the silver screen. Your experience would lead you to believe that the projector is emitting a single fluid moving picture. It is only by studying the projector and film that you would come to realize that the movie is just a series of still pictures flickered in succession. By the same token, Dennett contends that you cannot understand conscious experience just by examining your lived experience. You've got to look at how the brain, senses, and central nervous system work. And unfortunately, four or five Horndog Barleywines are not going to help you engage in that sort of investigation.

What do you think?

• What is the best explanation for Joe's attitude change toward Joanne? With his beer goggles on, does he see her differently, judge her differently, or both (or neither)?
• Do you agree with Dennett that there is no such thing as “how Joanne appears to Joe at 10.00 p.m.?”
• Are there any important differences between the case of Joe's perception of Joanne and the case of the beer drinker's acquired taste for beer?
• Consider the fact that a person may seem more beautiful to you after you get to know them – when their “inner beauty” shines through. (Or, conversely, when their personality may make them seem less attractive.) How should our analysis of this sort of case differ from the beer goggles case?

Did you know?

• One difference we should note between Joe's change of heart and the experienced beer drinker's change of taste is that, for the beer drinker, the change turns out to be rather permanent. Joe, on the other hand, is likely to revert back to his original attitudes toward Joanne tomorrow morning when his beer goggles have come off.
• Our introspections about consciousness seem to suggest that when we look at a person, we see a rather steady image of their face or body. But studies have shown that a person's eyes actually dart about rapidly, making about five fixations every second. The steadiness of the visual field that we seem to experience is due to editing in the brain.
• Horn Dog Barleywine was a Gold Medal Winner at the 2009 Great American Beer Festival. In addition, the Flying Dog Brewing Company won the “Mid-Sized Brewery of the Year” award.
• If the artwork on Flying Dog bottles looks vaguely familiar, that is because it is done by Ralph Steadman, who provided illustrations for Hunter S. Thompson's Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. It was Thompson who introduced Steadman to Flying Dog Brewing's co-owner George Stranahan.

Recommended reading

• Daniel Dennett, Consciousness Explained (Boston: Little Brown, 1991).
• Nancy Etcoff, Survival of the Prettiest: The Science of Beauty (New York: Anchor Books, 1999).