E.G.

Philosophers' Carnival #10.

I initially considered using Borges's famous taxonomy of animals to classify the posts in this Carnival.  I decided against this for three reasons: (1) Some people might be offended by having their posts classified as "belonging to the emperor"; (2) nearly all of these posts "look from a long way off like flies";  and (3) there doesn't seem to be any fair way of deciding whose post should get to fall into the "fabulous" category.  So I've decided to present these posts in no particular order at all.

(1) In this post from Dissoi Blogoi, Michael raises some questions:

Given developments in science since the time of Plato and Aristotle, are the accounts offered by these philosophers even close to being ones that we can regard as true?

and suggests that students of ancient philosophy are faced with a dilemma:

Either admit that you are simply doing history of ideas, or justify--in a way that contemporary philosophers and scientists would regard as reasonable, if not compelling--this talk of 'nature', 'form', 'matter', and 'ends'.

I think these questions should provoke an interesting discussion, so I hope that readers of this Carnival who are qualified to address Michael's points will do so in comments over at Dissoi Blogoi.

(2) A post on Peirce and common sense from Mormon Metaphysics touches on a bunch of interesting aspects of Peirce's thought, including his views of vagueness, the scientific method, signs, and more.

(3) There's an interesting post by Siris on Darwin's logic.  I think it's the first in a series of posts which will discuss Darwin's argument for evolution.

(4) At Philosoraptor, there's a post by Winston Smith on the "obnoxiousness" of discourse in analytic philosophy.  Winston thinks that many philosophers engage in "sophistry."  He provides an anecdote to support this claim.  He says that many philosophers follow the "Crossfire model" of discourse:

start the discussion with the goal of ending the discussion with the same position you started with. Any change of position signals that you have lost what is, in effect, a fight. When problems are raised for your position, the goal is not to consider them honestly, but to say something—anything—to muddy the waters or change the subject.

Winston's claim seems to be mainly about how spoken philosophy gets done, as when, e.g., papers are presented in public.  I'd be interested to know whether Winston has a similar view about written philosophy.  Would the same dirty tricks work in writing?  If not, does this mean that writing about philosophy is less likely to lead one into error than talking about it?

(5) In a post on thought experiments by Jonah at Bishop Berkeley, Jonah discusses the role of thought experiments in scientific theory-testing.  Jonah argues that thought experiments teach us "something new" about the world.  Among other interesting things, this post contains a list of historically-useful thought experiments, and some brief descriptions of competing views about the role of thought experiments in science.

(6) The inimitable Enwe has an interesting post at her meta-blog on a recent paper by Janet Levin on the proper role of philosophical intuition.  Apparently, Levin thinks that since the objects of philosophical inquiry aren't natural kinds, philosophers are better equipped to study them than non-philosophers (e.g. scientists) are.  Enwe gives reasons to think that Levin has failed to demonstrate this conclusion.  For instance, according to Enwe, Levin argues from intuitions for the view that intutions are useful in determining the essences of "philosophical kinds" (e.g. knowledge).  Enwe thinks that taking this line of argument is already to presuppose the intended conclusion.  I take Enwe's view to be that Levin's argument is thus methodologically circular -- i.e., it attempts to show the validity of a method by using the same method.

(7) In a post on personal identity, Richard of Philosophy, et cetera shows that what he calls the "common sense" conception of self is problematic.  He says:

The common-sense view seems to involve a separately existing 'self', or 'Cartesian ego', to which our bodies and minds belong. This ego is the subject of conscious experiences. We can imagine magically finding ourselves in someone else's body. We may even be able to imagine having total amnesia and a sudden change in personality. So neither physical nor psychological continuity seems necessary for the folk conception of personal identity. All that matters is that it's me that has the conscious experiences.

Richard goes on to raise a lot of interesting questions about personal identity.  Parfit comes up.  A follow-up post is located here.

(8) Here's a good post from Mumblings of a Platonist which is difficult to summarize.  A distinction between two different approaches to rationality is offered here.  I'm afraid to say anything more, for fear of misrepresenting a very interesting but inconclusive post. 

(9) There's a post on truth in fiction by Jonathan from Fake Barn Country.  Jonathan aims to show that David Lewis's account of fictional truth is flawed.  According to Jonathan,

Roughly, Lewis’s view amounts to this: a proposition is true in the fiction if and only if it is true in all of the possible worlds that are maximally close in which the fiction is told as known fact. With this theory we can hold, as we wanted to, that it is fictionally false that Harry put his left shoe on first, and false that he put his right shoe on first, but true that he put one shoe on first.

Jonathan thinks that this account has problematic consequences, which arise from its involving the phrase "told as known fact."

(10) A post on the theory-ladenness of observations, from Hugo at Studi Galileiani, argues that observations are theory-laden "all the way down."  Hugo argues that this is not as bad a thing as it has sometimes been taken to be.

(11) Chris from Mixing Memory has a post, "Concepts I," on the "classical view" of concepts.  It's the first in a series; the others are located in archives.  This post contains a useful overview of some historical views of concepts.

(12) Adam Potthast of Metatome has a post on teaching logic.  This post includes instructions and files to be used for creating a game of Fallacy Jeopardy for your students.

(13) Apparently, some people think that abortion is sometimes genocidal.  A Parableman post argues that

a good case can be made for the thesis that abortion is not just the decision of the individual person but is at least partially coerced in enough cases, particularly those of young girls and especially in lower-income environements, which is likely to include many of the cases that those using genocide-language have in mind.

(14) Jason Kuznicki, of Positive Liberty, has this post on "evolutionary psychology and the blank slate."  Here's a representative paragraph from the post:

Another take on tabula rasa may be that it is not a statement precisely about human minds--but rather about our capacity to know or to control the minds of our neighbors: We ought to think of people as if the proposition were true, for thinking of them otherwise tends strongly to bring out our worst authoritarian impulses. In this formulation, tabula rasa is not so much true as it is useful and good. It is no longer a scientific claim, but a moral one.

(15) Chris of Mumblings and Grumblings asks whether we perceive negative facts.  For instance: Chris wants to know whether we perceive that a box is empty, or merely perceive that the lining of a box is visible.

(16) At Obsidian Wings, Hilzoy examines a "confused" National Geographic News article and ends up asking some interesting questions from bioethics:

The one part of the body that really does seem to make us who we are is the brain. Now: no one is now proposing injecting animal neurons or neural stem cells into human brains, and if they did, I can't see how it would pass normal ethics review. But scientists are transplanting human neural stem cells (which go on to form human neurons) into animals. Is this wrong?

(17) A post at Universal Acid

tries to refute John Searle's "Chinese room" argument by using a combination of the Systems Reply and the Virtual Mind Reply. It also points out that the use of "Chinese room" as an intuition pump is somewhat racist and offensive.

(18) A post from Pragmatik suggests that dissatisfaction with Bush will drive people to read Sartre. 

(19) Max Goss has a post on conservatism and rootedness.  "Rootedness" is a condition attaching to an individual who is situated

firmly and, if possible, permanently - within a particular social network of family and neighbors where everyone knows you or, if not, can find someone who does.

Max argues that

conservatives, for the most part, share with the ancient Greeks a recognition that rootedness is an absolute prerequisite to both a civilized society and a cultivated individual, and that, consequently, the anonymous man can only be a bad man.

In the post, Max sketches the beginnings of a distinctively conservative view of the value attaching to being a "rooted man."  Max acknowledges that many liberals claim to value "community" -- a concept closely related to Max's "rootedness."  But Max gives reasons to think that conservatives approach rootedness differently than liberals would or do.

(20) At Left2Right, David Velleman has a post which draws on Nagel's views of privacy and sexual identity.  The title of the post was changed from "A Closet Heterosexual" to "A Closet Private Heterosexual" in response to commenters' objections to the original title.  This is an example of Velleman's generally admirable way of dealing with readers' criticisms.  Left2Right's commenters are notoriously passionate; a few of them are rude.  So Velleman's almost invariable willingness to take seriously all comers is commendable.

(21) Philosophical discussion occasionally transpires in comments over at 1 or 2.

(22) Finally, this post seems to have something to do with forgiveness.

The Philosophers' Carnival homepage is here.

Supererogation and consequentialism.

Here are four claims:

(1) Any outcome of any action is either more valuable than, less valuable than, or equally as valuable as any other outcome of any other action.
(2) When choosing among possible actions, one ought to do that action whose outcome has the greatest value.
(3) When choosing among possible actions, it is one's duty to do that action whose outcome has the greatest value.
(4) When choosing among possible actions, one ought most to do that action whose outcome has the greatest value; one ought least to do that action whose outcome has the lowest value; one ought more to do an action whose outcome has higher value than one with lower value; etc.

I think that a person who believed none of these claims could not properly be called a consequentialist.  Many consequentialists, I think, believe all four of these claims, but I take claims (1) and (4) to be the most "central" to consequentialism.  (2) may follow from (4).  (3), I think, does not follow from the others.  In the course of this post I will try to give reasons to think that consequentialists should to reject (3).

Actions are "supererogatory" when they "go beyond the call of duty."  If moral reality were a high school class, then supererogatory actions would be done for extra-credit points.  You wouldn't lose points if you failed to perform these actions; you could pass the class without ever once performing one.  But you'd certainly be encouraged to perform them, and all the best students would perform them.

Sometimes it is said that consequentialists are unable to classify any actions at all as supererogatory.  This would be bad for consequentialism, since supererogation seems to occupy a central place in everyday moral reasoning.  I think (3) is likely to commit consequentialists to this bad result, but I think that if consequentialists reject (3), then they can avoid this bad result.

Consider the following example.  Suppose that, after Monica has budgeted for groceries and other necessities, 30% of her annual income is unaccounted for.  Monica is trying to decide how to spend that 30%.  She has four choices:

(a) Give the money to a charity.
(b) Spend the money on an expensive car.
(c) Throw the money into a river.
(d) Give the money to a fascist dictator.

Let's assume that these choices are presented in descending order of value, so that if Monica wants to maximize the amount of value resulting from her action, she will choose to do (a).  In that case, if (3) is true, then doing (a) would be Monica's duty.  And in that case, there does not seem to be any room for supererogation.  For the only possible supererogatory actions left are (b), (c) and (d).  But these actions all result in less value than would the action we have identified as Monica's duty.  It seems highly unlikely that one could go beyond one's duty by doing something with a outcome than one's duty itself.

Suppose, then, we reject (3).  Then Monica's duty is not necessarily to do (a).  Perhaps she has no duty.  I think this would be consistent with (1), (2) and (4); after all, those claims do not mention duty.  Or perhaps Monica does have a duty -- perhaps her duty is to do (b).  This is also compatible with (1), (2) and (4).  In that case Monica would be going beyond her duty to do (a), since doing (a) would result in greater value than doing her duty itself, i.e. (b).  So, by rejecting (3), it appears that room is made for supererogation, at least in the example just discussed.

What would a consequentialism without (3) look like?  Obviously, it would be a consequentialism according to which one's duty is sometimes to do something other than maximize value.  This might sound like a non-consequentialist theory.  But I would still want to classify it as a consequentialist theory if it held on to (1), (2) and (4).  For if it held on to those claims, then it would say that one could always morally do better by maximizing value, and it would say that one always ought most to do whatever must be done in order to maximize value.

There appears to be an inconsistency between (2) and the denial of (3).  For if one always ought to maximize value, as (2) says, then how can it be that one's duty is not always to maximize value, as not-(3) says?  I think it is true that one ought always to do one's duty.  But I think it is also true that one ought always go beyond one's duty.  "Duty" seems to be a kind of moral "zero-marker."  Any action "below" one's duty is "negative," and ought not be performed; any action "above," or "at," one's duty is "positive," and ought to be performed.  This means that if one always ought to maximize value, then maximizing value is either one's duty, or is beyond one's duty.  So, if one holds (1), then one can consistently deny (3), as long as one continues to classify actions which maximize value as beyond duty.

Posting.

My apologies for the lack of posts.  I've been a little busier than normal recently.  Regular posting will resume shortly.

Philosophers' Carnival.

The next Philosophers' Carnival will be up on the 28th, hosted here at E.G.  If you'd like to submit a post, you can do so here.

More on the "Stolen Photo" problem.

In this post, I won't really answer any of the insightful objections that have been raised against my "Stolen Photo" argument.  I'm writing this post in order to improve my own understanding of what is at stake in the problem or pseudo-problem of "Stolen Photo."  I hope none of those who have offered objections to the previous argument will be annoyed when I repeat the same errors here.

Value is often a function of morality.  The "Stolen Photo" case is a case where value varies inversely with moral status.  Before discussing that case, and its possible implications for consequentialism, consider another case in which value varies positively with moral status. 

(a) I assign value to an act of charity A.  A receives 1 value-point for being such that it helps others, receives 1 point for invariably giving me a warm feeling inside, and receives 1 point just in case it is the right thing to do.  Thus, its total value is equal to 3 in cases where A is the right thing to do, and is equal to 2 in cases where A is the wrong thing to do.

(b) In circumstance C, I have to choose between act of charity A, and act of selfish indulgence B.  If I choose B, the total value which results will be equal to 2.7.  (Suppose this resultant value of B is fixed by factors other than morality, so is not dependent on whether B is right or wrong.)

(c) According to consequentialism, I ought to maximize value.  (Assume, for present purposes, that to "maximize value" is to maximize my own value assignments.)  Suppose consequentialism is the correct moral theory.

(d) If A is right, then A results in a total value of 3.  In that case, A is right according to consequentialism, since the alternative course of action produces only 2.7 units of value.  If A is wrong, then A results in a total value of 2.  In that case, A is wrong according to consequentialism, since greater value could be produced by pursuing action B.

Is there a problem for consequentialism here?  I don't think so.  There is nothing contradictory about (d).  (d) may sound weird, but I don't think (d) is incoherent.  Perhaps the lesson we should learn from (d) is just that consequentialism "underdetermines" rightness -- that is, that consequentialism cannot always say whether a given act is right or wrong.  But this is not really a knock against consequentialism.  Many other moral theories are "incomplete" in this way, and need to be supplemented by other considerations in order to produce a determinate result.  There's no reason to think consequentialism won't be similar in this regard.

Now consider another case.

a) I assign value to an artwork A.  A receives 1 point for being beautiful, receives 1 point for being fabulous, and receives 1 point for having been produced in an immoral way.  Thus, A's total value is equal to 3 in cases where A has been produced in an immoral way, and is equal to 2 in cases where A has not been produced in an immoral way.

(b) In circumstance C, I have to choose between financing the production of A, or spending my money on selfish indulgence B instead.  If I choose B, the total value which results will be equal to 2.7.  (Suppose this resultant value of B is fixed by factors other than morality, so is not dependent on whether B is right or wrong.)

(c) According to consequentialism, I ought to maximize value.  (Assume, for present purposes, that to "maximize value" is to maximize my own value assignments.)  Suppose consequentialism is the correct moral theory.

(d) If financing the production of A is right, then financing the production of A results in a total value of 2.  In that case, financing the production of A is wrong according to consequentialism, since the alternative course of action produces 2.7 units of value.  If financing the production of A is wrong, then A results in a total value of 3.  In that case, financing the production of A is right according to consequentialism, since no greater value could be produced by pursuing action B.

I think the consequentialist does need to deny (d).  Assuming that any given action is either right or wrong, (d) results in a contradiction.  If your moral theory results in a contradiction, then it is probably false.  I suppose the best thing for the consequentialist to do, in this case, is to deny that (a) is possible; (b) and (c) seem clearly possible.  I, for one, don't see any reason to think that (a) is impossible.  However, the consequentialist does seem clearly committed to denying the possibility of (a).  So if nothing else, this argument seems to show that consequentialists are committed to deny that value can increase in inverse proportion with immorality, or at least to deny something along those lines.  For consequentialists who accept desire-satisfaction theories of value, this amounts to the declaration that wrong-doing cannot be a component of anyone's desires.  But I think this declaration would probably be false.  People do seem to be able to perversely desire that wrong is done.

Fake badgers.

Fake badgers are now officially below the median.  I'm afraid this is my fault, at least in part.

A potential objection against consequentialism.

I've been thinking about Mark Miller's paintings (discussed in the previous post).  I think I might have been a little unfair to Miller in that post.  However, I think a case like that of Miller's paintings can be constructed for the purpose of mounting an objection against consequentialism.  Here's the kind of case I have in mind:

Clark Schmiller, a painter, steals a roll of photographs and uses them as a source for a painting.  Schmiller's painting, entitled "Stolen Photo," becomes a huge hit in the art world; collectors are willing to pay thousands of dollars for the painting.  Collectors find it interesting to contemplate a beautiful painting whose production required the commission of an immoral act.  In other words: Collectors value "Stolen Photo" because it is (1) beautiful, and (2) produced in an immoral way.  Collectors say that if "Stolen Photo" were either not beautiful or not produced in an immoral way, then the painting would have very little value.  In fact, they say that if the painting were either not beautiful or not produced in an immoral way, then it would be disgusting.

Suppose that stealing the photographs produces very little harm; they were stolen from someone who didn't really value his privacy, and wasn't much bothered by being deprived of his photos.  Suppose also that producing the painting produces a huge amount of good; contemplating the painting produces a nearly ecstatic experience in many people.

Versions of consequentialism may have a difficult time explaining what is going on here.  Let's define "consequentialism" as the view that one ought always to maximize the amount of value in the world.  According to consequentialism, should Schmiller have stolen the photos in order to produce his painting, or not?  Since stealing the photos did very little harm, and producing the painting did an awful lot of good, it appears that according to consequentialism, Schmiller ought to have done what he did.  But in that case, (2) above is false -- the painting was not produced in an immoral way.  This means the painting does not have great value after all; in fact, the painting is disgusting.  In that case, Schmiller ought not have stolen the photos, since doing so caused some (small) harm to the owner of the photos.  But this means the painting is produced in an immoral way; therefore, on a consequentialist view, Schmiller was right to do what he did.  Etc.  It appears that, unless this circle can be interrupted, the consequentialist cannot say whether Schmiller ought to have done what he did or not. 

There are probably several ways in which consequentialists can interrupt this circle.  For one thing, consequentialists could simply deny the value-assignments in the example; they could say either that stealing the photos does great harm, or that the painting itself does not have great value.  If this strategy doesn't work, then consequentialists can say that the painting's great value does not, strictly speaking, derive from its having been produced in an immoral way.  Rather, it has value because people think it was produced in an immoral way.  The consequentialist can say that people will probably go on thinking that it was produced in an immoral way no matter what the truth of the matter turns out to be.  In that case, the value of the painting ceases to be "unstable"; it becomes fixed by people's perceptions, and by fixing the value of the painting, the circle is interrupted.  It becomes the case that Schmiller was right to produce the paintings.

I don't know if this response is adequate; its adequacy depends on questions about the nature of value.  People do seem to sometimes value facts and states of affairs themselves, apart from their perceptions of them.  It is possible that this is the case for the collectors.  The collectors might value the immorality of Schiller's act, wholly separately from their perception that the act is immoral.  That is, it is possible that, for the collectors, the painting has great value if and only if it really is both (1) beautiful and (2) produced in an immoral way.  If this turns out to be the case, then its value again becomes "unstable": If it really is produced in an immoral way, then (assuming that it also really is beautiful), it has high value.  But in that case, Schmiller can be excused for stealing the photos, so it is not produced in an immoral way.  Thus it now has low value.  But in that case...etc.

I am not sure that the case of Schmiller and "Stolen Photo" is the best one to illustrate the sort of "value-instability" I have in mind here.  Maybe the case from the Confessions, in which a young St. Augustine who steals pears is pleased by the act of stealing "all the more because it was forbidden," would work better.  I believe, though, that with some work, a case adequate for the present purpose could be constructed.

"An invasive and hostile act."

[For Weatherson readers: You may also be interested in my follow-up post here, which is the one at which Richard's objection is aimed.  And by the way, while you're here: If one of you happens to provide a way to solve this problem, I will be much obliged.]

Via CSOTD, I came across the website of Mark Takamichi Miller, a painter.  Miller has produced a series of paintings which have an interesting origin.  Costco, a retail store, offers film-developing services.  Apparently, at one time, you could claim a set of developed prints without having to provide any proof that they were yours.  So Miller just walked into a Costco store and claimed a set of prints at random.  Miller paid for the prints, but they weren't his; he stole them.  Then he took the prints home and used them as a source for his paintings.

It is wrong to steal photographs.  Miller acknowledges this.  But Miller seems to think that, in this case, he was justified in stealing them because he needed to do so in order to produce his paintings.  The idea, I take it, is that stealing the photos didn't do much harm, whereas producing the paintings did a lot of good.  So, when you tally everything up, you're supposed to think Miller can be excused for his actions.

A problem arises, however, when we consider that the wrongfulness of stealing the photographs seems to be part of the value the paintings are supposed to have.  Consider this passage from Miller's website: 

These are private photos not intended for public viewing. I looked at them very carefully as I reproduced them as paintings for public viewing. This was an invasive and hostile act and is inherent to the work. They are intentional. They expose as an unwilling documentary the private lives of the subjects and the social rituals they engage in. But they also invade someone's privacy. There is no excuse for it except to say that the abrasive hostile act has always been one of the primary attractions to doing and viewing art. ... But this does not excuse the action. After doing this project, even I am afraid someone will have done something with my photos I leave for development. However, within the hostility, the paintings marry the engaged to the mundane, and in doing so make something beautiful where it was not.

There's a lot in this passage that seems unintelligible to me; I don't know what it means to "marry the engaged to the mundane," for instance.  But I get the impression that Miller thinks that the paintings are interesting precisely because they represent a wrongful invasion of some random person's privacy.  In other words: The paintings are good precisely because the way in which they were produced was wrong.

Here's the problem.  If the value of the paintings really does excuse the way in which they were produced, then the way in which they were produced is not wrong.  This makes the paintings valueless, or at least quite a bit less valuable, since the wrongful "abrasive hostility" of the act is supposed to be one of the "primary attractions" of his art.  But since the paintings are now much less valuable, their value probably no longer excuses the way in which they were produced.  So now the way in which they were produced is wrong.  This wrongfulness gives the paintings back their value.  But now we are where we started.

I don't know how or whether this circularity can be interrupted.  In any case, I think Miller is just wrong if he thinks that the invasiveness of his paintings makes them valuable.  I think their deliberate invasiveness makes them sort of depraved.  The fact that stealing people's photographs is nearly harmless adds a pettiness to the act which somehow makes it seem worse.  I am reminded of this passage from Augustine's Confessions:

There was a pear tree close to our own vineyard, heavily laden with fruit, which was not tempting either for its color or for its flavor. Late one night -- having prolonged our games in the streets until then, as our bad habit was -- a group of young scoundrels, and I among them, went to shake and rob this tree. We carried off a huge load of pears, not to eat ourselves, but to dump out to the hogs, after barely tasting some of them ourselves. Doing this pleased us all the more because it was forbidden. Such was my heart, O God, such was my heart -- which thou didst pity even in that bottomless pit. Behold, now let my heart confess to thee what it was seeking there, when I was being gratuitously wanton, having no inducement to evil but the evil itself. It was foul, and I loved it. I loved my own undoing. I loved my error -- not that for which I erred but the error itself. A depraved soul, falling away from security in thee to destruction in itself, seeking nothing from the shameful deed but shame itself.  (Book 2, chapter 4)

Kiddofspeed.

I came across this site maybe a year ago, when it was circulating around the internet.  It disappeared; I think it was an Angelfire page and was overloaded by the number of visitors.  But it's back now.  Also, it seems that the same person has two other sites: The Serpent's Wall and Stolen Election.

Are there any trivially luminous conditions?

I don't know the answer to this question.  I suspect the answer is no, but I hope the answer is yes.

If a condition is "luminous," then if one is in that condition, one is in a position to know one is in that condition.  For instance: If "feeling cold" is a luminous condition, then whenever one feels cold, one is in a position to know that one is cold.

A condition would be "trivially luminous" if it were luminous by definition.  For instance, "feeling cold" would be trivially luminous if it were part of the definition of "feeling cold" that one who feels cold is in a position to know one feels cold. 

It seems that there must be trivially luminous conditions.  In fact, "feeling cold" seems like it might well be one of them; I suspect that many people would say that if one is not in a position to know that one feels cold, then clearly, one does not and could not feel cold.  Nevertheless, even if "feeling cold" is not trivially luminous, it seems surely possible to invent a trivially luminous condition.  For instance: Suppose "feeling cold" is not luminous.  In that case, it is not contradictory to say that one feels cold but does not know one feels cold.  But it seems that one could easily invent another condition -- call it "schmold" -- and say that one is schmold if and only if one feels cold and knows it.  In that case, it appears that "schmold" would be trivially luminous.

Here's the problem.  If we define

Schmold1: The condition of feeling cold and knowing that one feels cold

then "schmold1" is not trivially luminous.  For one could conceivably feel cold and know that one feels cold (and therefore be "schmold1"), yet without being in a position to know that one is schmold1.  But if "schmold1" were trivially luminous, then it would be a contradiction to say that one were schmold1 without being in a position to know that one were schmold1.

So, we can try again:

Schmold2: The condition of feeling cold and knowing that one is schmold

"Schmold2" appears to be trivially luminous.  The problem now, though, is that "schmold2" is problematically self-reflexive; it includes itself in its own definition.  To see why this is a problem, notice that the above definition of "schmold2" can be expanded out, as follows:

Schmold2: The condition of feeling and knowing that [one is in the condition of feeling cold and knowing that [one is in the condition of feeling cold and knowing that [...

Since we never get a chance to close off the brackets, "schmold2" appears not to specify a real condition.

These are the only two attempts I've made at defining a trivially luminous condition.  I'm having trouble thinking of a third way to try.  It seems like it should be possible to specify a trivially luminous condition; as I indicated above, there initially seems to be a chance that "feeling cold" is one.  But in light of these two failures, I'm not so sure.  Anyone have any ideas?