Introduction

Introduction

So… What Do Philosophers Do All Day? (Hint: It’s About Arguments)

If philosophy is all about asking deep questions—about justice, reality, knowledge, and how to live—then arguments are how we make progress.

Not the shouting-on-the-internet kind of arguments. We’re talking about philosophical arguments—reasoned chains of thought that try to show why a certain answer to a question might be more reasonable, more coherent, or just plain better than the alternatives.

Philosophy aims at knowledge and understanding, but it’s not always about finding definite answers. Sometimes, we hit the limits of what we can know for sure. But even then, there’s still value in the journey. We can learn a lot by figuring out why we can’t be certain, and by examining the different reasons that can be given for or against a position.

This is where arguments come in. Once we ask a philosophical question—say, “What is justice?” or “Is free will real?”—we don’t just toss around opinions. We start building arguments. We lay out reasons, evaluate them, compare them, and test how well they hold up.

Some arguments are strong and well-constructed. Others fall apart under pressure. Philosophy teaches you to spot the difference. In fact, one of the best ways to describe what philosophers do is this: they formulate and evaluate arguments.

Philosophy = Mental Gym
Studying philosophy isn’t just about memorizing what famous thinkers said. It’s also about learning how to think like a philosopher—how to build, break down, and improve arguments. It’s a skillset you’ll use in all kinds of fields, not just philosophy.

Enter: Dialectic

So you’ve got an argument. Now what?

Time to test it through dialectic—a fancy word for the back-and-forth process of questioning, clarifying, and evaluating arguments.

Dialectic looks a lot like debate, but it’s not about winning. It’s not about scoring points or dunking on someone with a clever comeback. Instead, the goal is inquiry—to actually learn something new. In dialectic, your “opponent” isn’t your enemy; they’re your collaborator. In fact, the person who challenges you the most might be the one who helps you the most.

Through this process, even bad arguments become useful. Why? Because evaluating a flawed argument can point the way toward better ones. It’s a recursive, never-ending loop of refining and rethinking—a kind of intellectual co-op mode.

So, if you want to know what philosophy is really about—it’s this. Asking the right questions. Building thoughtful arguments. Poking holes in those arguments. Then doing it all over again.

And if that sounds slow, messy, and maybe even frustrating… welcome to the club. But also—welcome to the kind of thinking that actually moves us forward.

Dialectic: A.K.A. The Socratic Method

You might hear dialectic called the Socratic Method—named after the OG question-asker himself, Socrates. This guy didn’t just lecture people; he grilled them (respectfully… most of the time) with questions designed to uncover contradictions, challenge assumptions, and dig deeper into the truth.

You’ll get a front-row seat to this method in action when we dive into some of Plato’s dialogues, especially The Apology, where Socrates defends his life of constant questioning. It’s the perfect intro to how the Socratic Method works—curious, relentless, and just a little bit dangerous (as Socrates found out the hard way). [Link back to reading?]

What Is Truth, Anyway?

When we think about philosophy—or science, for that matter—it’s pretty natural to assume we’re after one thing above all: truth. That’s the whole point, right? Figuring out what’s really real, what’s actually the case, what’s true.

But truth can be slippery. So before we dive too deep into philosophical arguments, we need to get a grip on what truth even is, and how we can tell when we’ve found it.

Let’s break it down with two big questions:

What does it mean for a claim to be true?

How can we know when a claim is true?

What Does It Mean for a Claim to Be True?

At first glance, this seems simple. A claim is true when the world matches what the claim says. If I say “Snow is white,” and snow is white, then that claim is true. That’s called the correspondence theory of truth—truth is about whether a statement fits the facts.

Easy enough. But don’t confuse this with knowing that something is true. That’s an entirely different question—one about knowledge (which belongs to epistemology). A claim can be true even if no one knows it, believes it, or even thinks of it.

Thought Check:
There either is or isn’t intelligent life on other planets. We don’t know the answer yet, but that doesn’t stop one of those claims from being true right now. That’s the power of truth—it doesn’t depend on our beliefs, feelings, or guesses.

So truth isn’t relative to belief, knowledge, or opinion. But what about language? Isn’t truth kind of… tied to how we say things?

Here’s the twist: while sentences are part of language, propositions—the meanings they express—are not. Sentences are just tools we use to express propositions, which are the actual truth-bearers.

Example Time:
“Snow is white” and “Schnee ist weiss” are different sentences (one English, one German), but they express the same proposition. That proposition is true because snow is, in fact, white. It’s not the words that matter—it’s what they mean.

Truth, then, lives at the level of propositions. A proposition is true when it represents the world the way it actually is. Misunderstand a sentence, and you miss the claim it’s making—which means you’re not really engaging with the argument.

If that last part made your head spin, you’re not alone. This is one of those ideas that takes a few passes to really settle in. That’s the nature of philosophy—it’s more like rock climbing than a stroll. But the good news is, you can always try again. No scraped knees from falling off a thought.

How Do We Know When a Claim Is True?

Knowing something is true is a whole different challenge. Most of the time, we rely on reasons—observations, logic, evidence, experience.

Sometimes it’s simple: “My tire is flat” seems pretty solid when you hear air hissing out of it. But often, especially in philosophy, it’s more complicated. That’s why we’re going to spend a lot of time learning how to build and evaluate arguments—to figure out which claims deserve our belief and which ones don’t.

Bottom line? Truth is about how things are. Knowing the truth is about figuring out how to tell. Philosophy helps us with both—and now that we’ve got a grip on what truth is, we’re ready to start working on how to uncover it.

Arguments—How Philosophy Actually Works

Philosophy is full of big, head-scratching questions. But how do we even start answering them? Simple: we use arguments.

Not the kind where people yell over each other in a group chat. A philosophical argument is just a tool—one that helps us figure out whether we should believe something.

Here’s the idea: an argument is a group of statements (called claims). One of these claims is the conclusion—what the argument is trying to get you to believe. The rest are the premises—the reasons you’re given to believe that conclusion.

Quick Breakdown

Premises = the reasons or support

Conclusion = the claim those reasons are trying to prove

What Makes a Good Argument?

Not all arguments do their job well. A good argument needs to do two things:

• The premises must give real support to the conclusion
• The premises must actually be true

Let’s look at two examples:

1.

Taylor has a coffee from BrewLab every morning.

People who drink BrewLab coffee daily are usually caffeine fanatics.

→ Taylor is probably a caffeine fanatic.

2.

Taylor has a coffee from BrewLab every morning.

BrewLab is located next to a Tesla dealership.

→ Taylor probably drives a Tesla.

The first one gives a decent reason for the conclusion. The second one? Not so much. Just because Taylor drinks BrewLab coffee doesn’t mean they can afford a luxury car. That’s a bad argument.

Now try these:

3.

Campus is in Austin.

Austin is in Texas.

→ Campus is in Texas.

4.

Campus is in New York.

New York is in Canada.

→ Campus is in Canada.

Structurally, both look okay. But the second one has a major problem: New York is not in Canada (despite how far north it feels in winter). So the premises matter, too.

TL;DR – What Makes an Argument Good?

Are the premises true?

If they are, do they support the conclusion?

That’s the formula.

The Web of Reasoning

Sometimes you need more than one argument to figure out if a premise is true. It’s like a chain—or a big spiderweb—where each part supports another. This is why some arguments get really complicated. One claim leads to another, and another… until you either find a solid foundation or get stuck in a maze of “but why?” questions.

Example:

“I should major in business.”

Why? “Because it pays well.”

Why does that matter? “Because I want to be financially secure.”

Why do you want that? …and so on.

Even as kids, we understood this “why” chain. Philosophers just never grew out of it.