{1} Monday

Gretchen Weirob welcomes Sam Miller and Dave Cohen for lunch and philosophical discussion.

Miller:	Something smells good!
Weirob:	Tomato soup. From fresh tomatoes, not a can. Enjoy!
	Let’s make sure I have our plan straight. Dave has the week off for spring break; he doesn’t have to attend classes. And I have the week off; I don’t have to teach classes. As a minister, Sam can pretty much do what he wants with his time, except on Sundays and when he has a christening or a funeral. So we are going to meet here Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to talk philosophy over lunch. I’ll provide the food, you guys provide the topics.
Miller:	My job is a bit more demanding than that, Gretchen. But I’m looking forward to lunch and philosophy.
Weirob:	No offense intended.
	So what’s our topic today?
{2} Cohen:	Sam and I have been talking about René Descartes*.1
Weirob:	You are trying to convince Sam he isn’t dreaming? Or he is trying to convince you? Or perhaps he is trying to convince you that one of Descartes’ arguments for the existence of God really works?
Miller:	None of those things really. Dave is trying to show me that Descartes’ arguments for dualism don’t work. I’m resisting. I like Descartes’ arguments. Especially his conclusion.
Weirob:	Cartesian dualism, huh? The mind is one thing, completely immaterial. The body, including the brain, is a very complicated physical object. We each have a mind and a body, until we die.
	I’m not surprised you like Descartes’ views, Sam. He thinks our bodies are material objects, doomed to return to dust and ashes. But our minds are immaterial. They can’t fall apart, because minds have no parts. Such immaterial minds are good candidates for immortal souls.
Miller:	You are exactly right. I think I have, or perhaps that I am, an immaterial immortal soul. So Descartes’ way of looking at it is very attractive to me.
	I assume you don’t think this, Gretchen. You’re happy to think that you’re just a physical being.
	{3} I don’t want to be just a physical thing. I don’t really understand why anybody would be happy merely being a physical being.
	Admit it, Gretchen, deep down wouldn’t you like to be immaterial and so possibly immortal? Then the three of us could continue to have these conversations in heaven someday!
Weirob:	I admit, that would be nice, assuming we all end up in heaven, which isn’t so obvious in my case. If we are simply immaterial souls in heaven, you wouldn’t have a mouth and I wouldn’t have ears, so conversaton might be difficult, but I suppose there is some more direct way of communicating in heaven. Actually, immortality might be a bit much. But maybe a few extra years of disembodied philosophical discussions would be fun. And perhaps I could learn to play a harp. Except if it is just my immaterial soul that survives, without any hands, that might be tricky.
Miller:	Sarcasm. I had a feeling you’d say something like that. You are such a materialist.
Weirob:	I plead guilty to being a materialist. But we need to be careful here. Some materialists are “eliminative materialists.” They think minds were part of a theory humans came up with a long time ago, when they didn’t know better. Minds were immaterial things of some sort. Now that we know how the brain and central nervous system work, we should just reject the theory, and “eliminate” minds altogether. Nineteenth-century chemists had a theory that included phlogiston, a special {4} substance that explained fire. Now we realize there is no such stuff, and the phenomenon of things catching fire can be better explained without it. Eliminative materialists think our concept of mind has the same status. We should put it in the dustbin and just talk about brains.
Miller:	So if you aren’t an eliminative materialist, what sort of materialist are you?
Weirob:	I think minds are more like stars. Our ancestors noticed stars and learned a lot about them. They observed constellations. They learned to navigate with the North Star. But they didn’t know what stars were. . . .
Miller:	Confucius said that stars were holes in the sky from which the light of the infinite shines. . . .
Weirob:	That’s an impressive bit of knowledge, Sam! So Confucius was right that there were stars, and he probably had names for many stars and for the constellations. But he had a very incorrect idea about what stars were.
Cohen:	I get your point. When we learned that stars were distant firey objects, and not holes in the sky, we didn’t eliminate stars and all we had learned about them from our thinking. We just understood them better. You think minds are like stars and not like phlogiston.
Weirob:	Exactly. It turns out that minds are not immaterial, but just brains. But we learned a lot about them even while not realizing what they really {5} were. We developed a huge vocabulary for thinking about the thoughts, beliefs, desires, illusions, and so on. We don’t need to eliminate any of this now that we know—or at least I think we know—that they are basically brains. Maybe we can improve it, because we’re just recently in a position to understand minds better.
Miller:	You are a noneliminative materialist, but still a materialist. Still seems absurd to me.
Weirob:	Actually I prefer the term “physicalist.” I’m a noneliminative physicalist. But that name won’t make my view seem less absurd to you, Sam!
Miller:	You are right about that.
Weirob:	But look, I have an open mind. Maybe you can convince me of dualism. What are Descartes’ arguments? Strike that—I don’t want a list. Just give us his best argument.
Miller:	That argument starts in the first two Meditations, and goes on through the sixth—the last—Meditation. Descartes doubts the existence of the whole material world, including his own body. He might be dreaming, or perhaps an evil demon is fooling him into thinking there is a material world.
Cohen:	Then we get cogito ergo sum—“I think, therefore I exist.”
Weirob:	He doesn’t really say that in the Meditations, Dave. That’s from the Discourse on Method.
{6} Miller:	Well, whatever. He says things to the same effect. His point is that even if he suspends belief in the whole material world, he can’t doubt that he exists. He must exist even if he is only dreaming, or an evil demon is fooling him with the illusion that there is an external world full of material objects.
Weirob:	Some philosophers don’t even think he got that right. All he had a right to say is “thoughts exist” or something like that. But I’ll let that pass.
Miller:	Thank you.
Cohen:	Just to show that I know my Meditations, even though I had the quote’s source wrong, let me tell you what comes next. He asks what this I, the existence of which he can’t doubt, amounts to. Since he doubts that his body can exist, but can’t doubt that he thinks, and so exists, he concludes that he is essentially a mind. And what he can’t doubt about himself and his mind is that it thinks, imagines, remembers, and perceives—or at least seems to.
Miller:	Quite right. He thinks that his mind—which he takes to be his soul—can exist, even if his body, including his brain, doesn’t exist. From that he concludes that the mind—the thing that thinks, imagines, perceives, and the like—is not a material thing. It’s not extended—it doesn’t take up space. Taking up space is the essence of material objects. They don’t think. Thinking—being conscious—is the essence of minds. Minds are not extended.
{7} Weirob:	That seems to show, at best, that he doesn’t know that the mind is a material thing. He can doubt that it’s a material thing. But we can’t go from not knowing that the mind is material, and being able to doubt it, to knowing that it’s not material.
Cohen:	You called that the “fallacy of misplaced negation” once in class. I do not know that Topeka is the capital of Kansas. For all I know it might be Wichita. But that doesn’t mean I know that Topeka is not the capital of Kansas.
Weirob:	Exactly right. Descartes’ argument seems to commit the fallacy of misplaced negation. Just for the record, though, Topeka is the capital of Kansas.
Miller:	We have to be fair to Descartes here. He doesn’t claim, in these early parts of the Meditations, to have proven that the mind is not a material object. He’s just established the possibility. He leaves the conclusion until the last Meditation, the sixth. By then he has shown, or thinks he has shown, that an all-powerful God created and runs the universe. That God, being benevolent, won’t fool us as long as we are careful. . . .
Weirob:	Actually, it’s never been clear to me why a completely benevolent God would want to fool us, even if we are careless. . . .
Miller:	Can we leave that for another day, Gretchen?
	As I was saying, we carefully consider our mind and its operations—thinking, imagining, perceiving, and so on. We don’t notice anything material {8} going on. We carefully study the body and brain, and we don’t notice anything like a thought or an image, just material processes. From all this, Descartes thinks we have a right to conclude that the mind is one thing, whose essence is thinking, and the brain something quite different, whose essence is being extended, taking up space, just like any other material object. While alive, a human is a combination of the two, but what is essential is the mind, which can survive death.
Weirob:	But if we don’t accept all of Descartes’ deep thinking about the certain existence of an all-perfect God, aren’t we still just where we were at the end of the second Meditation? The mind doesn’t seem very much like a brain, and the brain doesn’t seem very much like a mind. So what? Superman doesn’t seem to be very much like Clark Kent. But, in fact, they are one and the same. Maybe I shouldn’t say “in fact” with regard to fictional superheroes. But you get my point.
Miller:	I didn’t expect you to accept the God part, Gretchen. For Descartes, proving the existence of God removes his reasons for doubting the existence of the external world, and so restores his faith in his senses. I assume you have your own reasons for not doubting the external world, and trusting your senses. But given that you do trust them, don’t you readily infer that things with radically different properties, as different as a pain or a thought or a whole mind, and a convoluted lump of gray stuff, aren’t the same? After all, it seems to me Superman and {9} Clark Kent have a lot in common, compared to my brain and my mind. They are both visible, tangible, speak English, and alike. Lois and Jimmy would certainly be surprised to learn that Clark was Superman. But it wouldn’t seem absurd as it would be if Clark turned out to be a number. But it seems to me that the mind being the brain is just about that absurd.
Weirob:	But your mind and your brain do have a lot in common. Your mind is surely not an abstract object, like a number. Both the mind and the brain are part of the “causal realm.” They change, and their changes have causes and effects. Your mind and your brain are both affected by the external world when you perceive. Both are involved in causing your actions. When you decide to do something, you form an intention, your mind changes. According to dualists like Descartes, this has an effect on your brain. Your brain changes in ways that affect your nervous system, muscles, and so on, causing your limbs or your mouth or whatever to move, in ways that will put your intention into effect. Doesn’t this suggest that there is just one thing, with two names, “the mind” and “the brain”?
Miller:	But look. If you follow Clark Kent around all day, eventually you will see him duck into a phone booth and put on his cape and tights and the rest. If you observe him carefully, that is, you will see that one single thing does have Superman’s characteristic properties as well as Clark Kent’s. So you can conclude there is only one person.
	{10} But it seems to me however carefully you inspect a brain, you won’t find a thought or an image there. And however carefully you pay attention to your mind while thinking, you won’t find a mass of gray matter. The brain and the mind are certainly coordinated; as Descartes says, they are constantly interacting. When you see something, what happens in your eyes and brain causes what happens in the mind. When you act, your decision or volition in the mind causes changes in the brain, and then in the rest of the body, resulting in movements. But that doesn’t make them the same.
Cohen:	Leibniz* gave you some help here, Sam. Leibniz imagines enlarging a brain so it is big enough to walk around in. No matter how carefully you inspect what is going on, he says, all you will see is material structures doing material things. I suppose nowadays he would say that all you will see is chemical and electrical activity in a big maze of neurons and axons and the like. But you won’t see a thought, or a mental image, or an emotion.
Weirob:	Another philosopher, A. C. Ewing*, makes the point this way. He suggests that if you’re a materalist, you should grab a red-hot piece of iron. You will experience a severe throb of pain. If you carefully reflect on the throb of pain, you will surely notice that it isn’t like anything you would see if you were looking at a brain.
Cohen:	A little passive-aggressive, I would say.
Weirob:	I thought Sam might like that.
{11} Miller:	Well, not really. I don’t want you materialists to suffer. I just want you to repent and give up your amazingly implausible view.
Cohen:	That all reminds me of something a little less erudite than Leibniz or Ewing—a movie you may have seen, Fantastic Voyage.
Miller:	I sort of remember it. Raquel Welch was in it, and Arthur Kennedy.
Weirob:	It’s a great movie. It has a perfectly believable Cold War plot. A Russian scientist comes over to the West with an important secret to divulge. But before he can divulge it, he has a stroke.
Miller:	That’s right. The usual procedure would be to aim a laser at the blood clot responsible for the stroke and dissolve it or explode it or whatever. But they think that if they do this, they will probably destroy the part of the brain that holds the important secret information. They don’t want to do that.
Cohen:	So they do the obvious thing. They put Raquel Welch and Arthur Kennedy and a laser gun into a submarine. Then they shrink the submarine and everything in it down to the size of a grain of sand, or smaller, and inject it into the scientist’s bloodstream. Their mission is to travel up the bloodstream to the injured part of the brain, and use their miniaturized laser gun to blast the clot in a precise shot that won’t affect the important information held in nearby parts of the brain.
{12} Miller:	A great movie. I have a clear memory of Raquel Welch in her latex jumpsuit, looking beautiful and scientific at the same time.
Weirob:	I didn’t think men of the cloth noticed such things.
Miller:	Well, surprise, we do.
	So, Dave, I suppose your point is that it’s like Arthur and Raquel were inside a brain as large as a factory, except that the brain is normal size and they are tiny.
Cohen:	Exactly. As you recall, Arthur Kennedy and Raquel Welch have many adventures on their way to the blood clot. For one thing, they take the wrong fork at one point and end up in the inner ear, which is very noisy. But there are also some pleasant parts of their voyage. During one of these, as they are gliding through the brain in their submarine, they look out of the window of the submarine at the amazing scene the scientist’s brain presents to them. They see some bluish bubbling in the distance.
Miller:	I think I remember that.
Cohen:	Arthur Kennedy puts his arm around Raquel Welch and says, “Look. That’s a thought. We are the first people ever to see a thought!” So here they are, in basically the situation Leibniz imagined, but they don’t see anything strange about seeing a thought.
{13} Miller:	Are you sure you have that right? I don’t think submarines have windows.
Cohen:	Well, of course I’m not sure I have it right! For crying out loud, this is a philosophy discussion, not an oral exam in modern cinema. Maybe they were looking out of a periscope. But I have it basically right. Kennedy says something like that, and Raquel Welch finds it perfectly normal.
Miller:	That was a great movie. But if Leibniz or Ewing were in the submarine with Arthur and Raquel, they surely would not have agreed. Perhaps Ewing would say, “You guys are seeing the physical correlate of a thought, very possibly the cause of the thought. But you are not seeing the thought itself.” Who are we going to believe? Astute philosophers like Ewing and Leibniz? Or Arthur Kennedy and Raquel Welch?
Weirob:	Suppose I accept the point that you and Leibniz and Ewing are making. That doesn’t force us to say that the mind is not the brain. We could simply conclude that, in addition to their physical properties, brains have nonphysical properties. We can’t see these properties when we look at brains, but if we have brains, we experience them. We aren’t forced to accept Descartes’ conclusion, that the mind is one thing, and the brain is another. At most we have to accept that the brain has nonphysical properties of some sort.
Cohen:	You are suggesting that Aruthur and Raquel and Leibniz and Ewing could compromise. They could agree that they are seeing a thought, and would {14} even see an intense pain, if the scientist were to awake and grab a red-hot poker while they were in his brain. But they would not see the properties that made the event they saw a thought or a pain.
	Here is an analogy of sorts. You might hear a criminal say, “I was at home in bed when the robbery occurred.” The event you are seeing is a lie, but you don’t see the facts that make it a lie. So, maybe it’s a bit like that. Arthur and Raquel see a thought, but they can’t see the properties that make what they see a thought.
Miller:	I see that there is room for such a compromise. But I’m not sure I see the point. Gretchen, suppose you were willing to compromise and admit that pains and emotions and thoughts and decisions are nonphysical, in that these events have nonphysical properties that are essential to what they are. Why wouldn’t you go further and simply accept Descartes’ conclusion? If there were nonphysical properties, wouldn’t it be reasonable that the things that have them and the events that involve them, are also nonphysical?
Cohen:	I’m not so sure. Historically, long before very much was known about brains, a lot of philosophers thought the weak part of Descartes’ picture was the mind and the body were two things that causally interacted. There was a brilliant princess. . . .
Weirob:	Princess Elizabeth of Bohemia.* . . .
Cohen:	Yes, Princess Elizabeth. She corresponded with Descartes about this. She said that it didn’t make {15} sense for a physical object to have an effect on an immaterial object, something with no extension, because physical objects have effects on each other through contact. They bump into each other. Or physical light rays bounce off of them, which affect the eyes. Or they produce sound waves that affect the ears, and so on. But how would any of this affect the mind, if minds are immaterial and unextended? You can’t bump into an immaterial object. Even the smallest particle or the most powerful wave can’t very well affect something that is unextended, can it?
Weirob:	Princess Elizabeth also couldn’t see how an immaterial object, like Descartes took the mind to be, could affect a physical object, like the brain. Maybe she would have found it a bit more intelligible, if it were simply the physical and nonphysical properties of the same thing interacting.
Miller:	Well, Princess Elizabeth made some very interesting points, I guess. But Descartes must have had good answers.
Weirob:	Not ones that convinced much of anyone. The problem of interaction was actually a big crisis in philosophy. Many philosophers couldn’t accept that part of Descartes’ picture and wanted to avoid dualism. Some advocated materialism. But a number of rather brilliant philosophers turned to idealism.
Miller:	Like Berkeley*, I guess. He said the physical world was really all mental, just patterns of ideas.
	{16} Sort of a shared illusion—although he wouldn’t have put it that way.
Cohen:	I think of Berkeley’s view like this. God and humans are sharing a video game. God is in control of the game, but allows us to make moves. He doesn’t need any electronics to do this. It’s a very good game, so, at least until we read Berkeley, we think we are in touch with a world of mind-independent things. Of course, Berkeley wouldn’t call it all a game!
Miller:	What’s a video game?
Cohen:	I’ll show you later.
Weirob:	You can show me, too. Sam and I are from a different era, Dave. If we play a game, it’s usually bridge, or gin rummy.
	Leibniz had a similar view that was in some ways similar to Berkeley’s. He thought the world consisted of a lot of minds, or mindlike things—maybe an infinity of them, I’m not sure. He called them monads. God arranges things so their states are all synchronized, as if there were a physical world they were all perceiving in common from different perspectives. As you say, sort of a shared illusion. Or a shared video game, I guess. But with no real interaction between bodies, which are part of the illusion, and minds, which are not.
Miller:	And all of this was to avoid the problem of interaction?
{17} Weirob:	That would be an oversimplification. But it’s sort of right.
Miller:	I’d love to understand Leibniz, but it probably won’t happen in this lifetime. And I must admit I like Berkeley. But I don’t think you are going to be convinced by his arguments for idealism. So maybe we can also set Berkeley aside, at least for now. . . .
Cohen:	So where does that leave us?
Miller:	I admit that interaction is a problem. But it really seems that Ewing’s point was right. So perhaps I should just stick with the position Gretchen suggested, at least for the purposes of our discussion. So now that’s my official view: mental states and activities are immaterial or nonphysical properties of the brain that influence and are influenced by the physical properties of the brain.
Cohen:	Philosophers have a name for that position—it’s “property dualism.” Descartes was a substance dualist: there are two basic kinds of things, minds and bodies. Property dualists think there is just one kind of thing: brains are minds. But they are minds in virtue of their nonphysical properties. Property dualism is becoming a pretty respectable view these days.
Miller:	Well, then maybe Gretchen and I can agree to be a property dualists.
Weirob:	That would be nice. But I don’t think there are any very good arguments for property dualism.
	{18} It’s a bit more palatable than substance dualism, I’ll give you that. And I’ll admit, for the sake of argument, that interaction between physical and nonphysical properites of the same thing is more plausible than causal interaction between material bodies and immaterial minds—although I have my doubts about that. Even assuming that, I don’t think I want to accept property dualism.
Miller:	Well, it was worth a try.
Cohen:	There is another problem for you, Sam. I don’t think property dualists think their view alone provides a reason for belief in anything like immortal souls. They think there are just material objects, but some of them, like the brain, have two kinds of properties. Experiences and thoughts do occur in the brain, even though they are not physical properties of the brain. So it’s at least not obvious that these mental properties could continue to exist on their own, when the brain that has them has returned to dust and ashes. So, property dualism doesn’t seem to lead to immortal minds or souls, at least not in any obvious way. Sorry, Sam.
Miller:	That’s disappointing. But it would still be a relief to know that when I have experiences, when I consciously think and reason, or when I am in the midst of a difficult moral decision, it’s not just a totally material brain at work in a mechanical way, like a computer inside my head. I really think there is more to me than that. If I can’t be an immaterial substance, I at least want to have some properties of the sort that rocks and robots don’t have.
	{19} So what exactly do you have against property dualism, Gretchen?
Weirob:	Let’s reconstruct Ewing’s experiment to see if I should be convinced. I’ll be the materialist. You guys outfit me with some version of Herbert Feigl’s* auto-cerebroscope. . . .
Miller:	Auto-cerebroscope . . . ?
Cohen:	If I remember my Feigl, that’s a device that allows one to examine his own brain visually, at the same time he is having experiences. Kind of like a miscroscope in one’s own brain, hooked up to a TV set outside the brain.
Weirob:	That’s it. The kind of auto-cerebroscope I have in mind is like the submarine in Fantastic Voyage, but without Arthur and Raquel. We control it from the outside. I can send it to any part of my brain to see what is going on there.
Miller:	Okay, so you grasp the red-hot poker. In spite of the incredible pain, you remain focused on philosopical issues. Maybe you release the poker, the pain abates, then you grab it again. You send the submarine to different parts of your brain until you find a spot, or spots, where there is a difference in brain activity. You examine these spots closely. You don’t see anything that resembles the experience you are having.
Weirob:	That’s the idea. . . .
{20} Miller:	This seems like a rather picturesque way of making Ewing’s point, or Leibniz’. You won’t see an experience. Or, since I am now a property dualist, maybe I should say that you’ll see the event that is an experience, but you won’t see the properties that make it an experience. But you can see all the physical properties. So the properties we are aware of when we have experiences aren’t physical. Well done. You’ve done a great job destroying your own position.
Weirob:	But have I? I’m not so sure. We need to distinguish between materialism and physicalism. Materialism is an eighteenth-century view. Take an ordinary material object, like a rock. What Locke* would call its “primary qualities” are size, shape, motion, position, distance from other objects, solidity, things like that. Materialism is the view that that’s all the properties anything has, including us and our brains.
Cohen:	But of course we now know that’s not right. . . .
Weirob:	Modern science recognizes all sort of other properties that are needed to explain what goes on at the microscopic and less than microscopic levels. The things that quantum physicists deal with don’t just have primary qualities. Some of them don’t really even have a position, as I understand it.
Cohen:	I know there are quarks, some of which have “charm,” and also leptons. But I don’t really know what those things are. But they aren’t material objects.
{21} Weirob:	My point is that all I can see, even with my auto-cerebroscope, are material properties. I can’t see what’s going on at the quantum level. I can’t see all of the physical properties. When we do our thought experiment—when you imagine the three of us looking at the screen of the auto-cerebroscope as I grab and release the poker—what are we looking for? Aren’t we just looking for material properties, little bits of gray matter moving and changing with respect to their material properties and relations? But if experience-properties are physical properties that are not material properties, if they involve quarks being charming and the like, that won’t show anything.
Cohen:	That’s not very convincing, Gretchen. None of us would know what to look for. But suppose you have three brilliant neuroscientists of the future conducting the experiment, with an incredible auto-cerebroscope that can focus on any part of the brain with any degree of precision. It can focus on things too small to see, even with a microscope, and somehow construct images to put on the screen of the auto-cerebroscope that represent the physical properties of these tiny events. The screen displays informaton about electrical phenomena. It can replay events in slow motion. These guys know the difference between the physical and the merely material, and they would know what to look for. But it still seems to me that there is nothing that would appear on the auto-cerebroscope that would resemble the feeling of pain, or even come close.
{22} Miller:	Good point.
Weirob:	Dave, I admit that is a good point. But here’s a more important consideration that I think gets at my main misgiving about the argument. Suppose Maude is the neuroscientist who holds the poker and has the pain. Then the argument is that Maude can see, via her auto-cerebroscope, everything that goes on in her brain, material or physical. And she feels her pain. She can’t find anything going on in her brain that looks like her pain feels. But what does that show? She is basically comparing two experiences, the experience of feeling the pain and her visual experience of seeing her brain, or at least the image on the auto-cerebroscope. I agree that they are quite dissimilar experiences. But why should the experience of having a pain resemble the experience of seeing a pain?
	Suppose Sam puts a bit of warm chocolate on his tongue while holding his mouth open and looking in the mirror. Then he can see and taste the same bit of chocolate. Two experiences that are quite different, but both are experiences of the same piece of chocolate. You wouldn’t argue that what Sam is tasting is not what he is seeing, would you? I don’t know that Ewing’s argument, even the way you have spiced it up, is any better than that. I’ll bet Maude would agree with me.
Miller:	I think I’m getting my mind, immaterial as it may be, around your way of looking at things. According to you, having a pain, or a nice taste {23} sensation, is just being in a brain state—having certain kinds of physical activity in your brain. Ewing is right, that having that experience is quite unlike seeing it on an auto-cerebroscope or in any other way. But you are saying that doesn’t prove his point. There is no reason to suppose that being in a brain state would be anything like perceiving that very same brain state.
Weirob:	Yes, that is exactly my view.
Miller:	It seems preposterous.
Weirob:	You see a contradiction? Or some other kind of incoherence in it?
Miller:	I can’t say that I do. I need to think about it.
Weirob:	It’s getting late. When we meet for lunch Wednesday, Sam can try to convince me to be a property dualist.
Cohen:	Maybe I’ll lend him a hand. I’m not sure whether or not I want to be a property dualist, but I’ll help Sam with the arguments and then we’ll see what Gretchen does to them.
Miller:	It’s a deal.