What is Water? A Philosophical Inquiry into Natural Kinds

 

The classic case of a natural kind is water. This natural kind throws up many problems. These problems have been debated many times in — mainly analytic — philosophy. One main focus in this debate has been on the differences between water’s “microscopic” (or “microstructural”) properties and its “macroscopic” properties. More specifically, there’s been some kind of philosophical opposition which has been made between the microstructure of water and its “classical” (or macroscopic) properties. Added to that (though related to macroscopic properties) is the emphasis which has been made on our phenomenological (or phenomenal) experiences of water.

Even those who accept that there are natural kinds still acknowledge that some of the things which are taken to be natural kinds today weren’t taken to be so a hundred years ago (or even more recently). Now facts like that alone don’t give one a reason to be sceptical about the reality of natural kinds. Take mathematics as a similar case. Mathematicians (not just Platonists or realists) believe that there are determinate answers (or “solutions”) to mathematical “problems” even if in the past mathematicians have sometimes got the answers wrong or we don’t have the correct answers today. Similarly, even if we make mistakes about natural kinds; surely they must still be real.

But let’s firstly start off with one definition of “natural kinds” from the Internet Encyclopaedia of Philosophy:

“[I]t is commonly assumed that, among the countless possible types of classifications, one group is privileged. Philosophy refers to such categories as natural kinds. Standard examples of such kinds include fundamental physical particles, chemical elements, and biological species… Candidates for natural kinds can include man-made substances, such as synthetic elements, that can be created in a laboratory…. Groupings that are artificial or arbitrary are not natural; they are invented or imposed on nature. Natural kinds, on the other hand, are not invented, and many assume that scientific investigations should discover them.”

I won’t go into great detail about the definition above because much of it isn’t relevant to what will be discussed later. However, it can be said that it’s certainly the case that as a chemical substance, water (or a sample of H₂O molecules) is “privileged” by… well, (at the very least) philosophers. Yet water is privileged precisely because it’s seen — by philosophers — as being the classic natural kind. So that’s a kind of circular situation.

The passage above also says that natural kinds “are not invented” (i.e., unlike “groupings that are artificial or arbitrary”). There’s a problem here too. What a natural-kind term refers to (or is supposed to refer to) may not be invented. However, the natural kind term itself, and all the definitions which “belong” to it, most certainly are invented. (In a strong sense, this is a case of applying an anti-realist position to natural kinds.) And that may account for the problems we encounter in many discussions of natural kinds — that confusion (or conflation) of what natural kind terms refer to and natural-kind terms (along with their definitions) themselves. What natural-kind terms refer to may certainly be real (at least in most cases). Nonetheless, it’s taking them as natural kinds that’s the (philosophical) problem. And that problem lies at the heart of this piece.

Now considering what was said in the Internet Encyclopaedia of Philosophy definition of the term “natural kinds” above, it may seem strange to consider the possibility that what natural kinds are taken to be may be a somewhat contingent or even arbitrary matter. But, of course, many philosophers will now immediately state that if natural kinds are the result of contingent and/or arbitrary decisions (or even if they have a contingent and/or arbitrary nature), then they can’t be natural kinds at all!

All Samples of Water Contain Micro-Organisms

The philosopher George Bealer picks up on the microscopic-macroscopic-properties distinction (mentioned at the beginning) when it comes to water. He cites the classic twin-earth example of the opposition between XYX-as-water and H₂O-as-water. 

Readers must note here that Bealer’s following “thought experiment” is extremely artificial. However, that often doesn’t matter in philosophy because such cases are chosen to illustrate broader philosophical issues. And, in this instance, that broader philosophical issue is the — possibly? — contingent and/or arbitrary nature of natural kinds.

In his paper ‘Propositions’, Bealer firstly cites the possibility (or actuality) that

“all and only water here on earth is composed entirely of certain micro-organisms”.

Even if the factual claim that all samples of water contain “certain micro-organisms” is false, we can still argue that every sample of water will contain at least some constituents other than H₂O molecules — whether that includes “foreign” ions, dust, tiny bits of plastic, or Bealer’s micro-organisms. Now does that matter when it comes to to the nature of the natural kind water?

(It turns out that “nearly every body of water” here on Earth does contain microorganisms — see here. Despite that, one would intuitively believe that chemists must surely be able to create “pure water”. Yet, as it turns out, even chemists can’t do that — see here.)

Bealer states his broader position thus:

“If, like live coral or caviar, all and only water here on earth is composed entirely of certain micro-organisms, then on a twin earth a stuff which contains no micro-organisms whatsoever but which nevertheless contains the same chemicals as those found in samples of water on earth would not qualify as water.”

The general point here is that what we take water to be may be a contingent and/or even an arbitrary matter. Of course Bealer isn’t arguing that water here on earth isn’t H₂O. Or, more correctly, he isn’t arguing that all samples of water don’t contain mostly H₂O molecules. Bealer is saying that the fact that water contains mostly H₂O molecules is only a part of this (possible) story. In his example, literally all samples of water here on earth also contain micro-organisms. Now if every sample of water does contain micro-organisms, then why aren’t these micro-organisms part of the essence of water? Or, alternatively, why aren’t these micro-organisms constitutive of the natural kind water?

Now if we provisionally accept that all samples of water contains micro-organisms, then if what passes for water on Twin Earth doesn’t contain any micro-organisms, then surely it can’t be water. (At least it can’t be water, according to people on earth.) Yet here there seems to be an obvious distinction which can be made here between water (or H₂O molecules) and what else we may find in water. And that’s still the case even if we always find the same given x (other than H₂O molecules) in water.

For example, simply because all trees have fungi, moulds or lichen on them, that doesn’t mean that we have a joint tree-fungi/etc. natural kind. Similarly, if every sample of gold has microscopic particles of dirt on it, that wouldn’t mean that we have a joint gold-dirt natural kind.

The fact that a distinction can be made between water and what else is found in every sample of water may not matter when it comes to Bealer’s central point. That is, why do we (or why do philosophers) exclude these micro-organisms from the natural kind water if they occur (or exist) in literally every sample of water? Having said that, just as all samples of water contain micro-organisms (at least in this case), so every example of water also contains hydrogen atoms. Yet although each H₂O molecule includes two hydrogen atoms, they’re not actually the same thing. Similarly, why conflate micro-organisms and water simply because the former can be found in all samples of the latter?

Let’s look at this another way.

Even if water (or a collection of H₂O molecules) is diluted with whiskey (to invert things for this example), then it’s still water that’s being diluted. Similarly (as earlier), if every tree has fungi/mould/lichen/etc. growing on it, then that doesn’t mean that trees literally are fungi/mould/lichen/etc; or that taken together trees and fungi/mould/lichen/etc. constitute a joint natural kind.

So a summary of Bealer’s argument can be posed in the form of this question:

What if literally every sample of water contains something that isn’t H₂O?

Well, that depends. In one case, a sample of water may contain x and another sample may contain y. So, yes, it may be the case that every sample of water contains something that’s over and above H₂O molecules. But what if water always contains the same x that’s over and above H₂O molecules? That seems to be Bealer’s argument.

Bealer further stresses the contingent and/or arbitrary nature of natural kinds in his Twin Earth example. He continues:

“[T]hen on a twin earth a stuff which contains no micro-organisms whatsoever but which nevertheless contains the same chemicals as those found in samples of water on earth would NOT qualify as water.”

Now we’re in the absurd (or simply possible) situation in which all the samples of a substance that’s entirely made up of H₂O molecules may not be deemed — by people on earth at least — to be water! Why is that? It’s because these samples don’t contain any micro-organisms. Yet intuitively it would seem that the “water” (note the scare quotes) on Twin Earth has more right to be deemed a natural kind (or simply as water) than water on actual Earth. (Still bear in mind the supposition that all samples of water here on earth contain micro-organisms.) Indeed why can’t Twin-Earthers reverse the earthling position by claiming that water on earth is not water precisely because each sample of it contains micro-organisms!

The Microscopic and Macroscopic Properties of Water

Bealer offers us another possibility.

He makes a distinction (mentioned in the introduction) between water’s microscopic (or microstructural) and its macroscopic properties (i.e., rather than between water’s possible different microstructural properties). Bealer writes:

“If every disjoint pair of samples of water here on earth have different microstructural compositions but nevertheless uniform macroscopic properties, then on a twin earth a stuff which has those same macroscopic properties would qualify as water.”

We can of course ask about the chances that “every disjoint pair of samples of water” could have “different microstructural compositions”. Wouldn’t the chances of this be virtually zero? And why choose pairs — rather than triples or n-tuples — of water samples in the first place? The passage above also seems to assume that water can be water even if each member of “every disjoint pair of samples” has a different microstructural composition. In any case, here it’s being argued that microstructure isn’t the only factor to consider when it comes to water’s being water. Indeed if each member of every selected pair of samples contains a different microstructural composition, then microstructure simply can’t be a factor at all!

Bealer stresses water’s macroscopic properties in this example.

The water on Twin Earth has the same macroscopic properties as the water here on Earth. However, is it likely that a chemical substance on Twin Earth with a completely different microstructure would have the same macroscopic properties as water here on Earth? Well, it is of course possible. That is, I’m assuming here that Bealer is at least partly referring to experiential (or phenomenal) properties — such as water’s transparency, wetness, liquidity, variant temperature (as registered by the sensory-systems of human beings), thirst-quenching qualities, etc. (The properties of water which chemists cite are very different to these. They include polarity, surface tension, cohesion, adhesion, evaporative cooling, etc.) Now could something that isn’t made up of H₂O molecules be wet, transparent, quench thirst, etc. in exactly the same way that water here on Earth is and does? Well, as before, I presume that all this is possible. (What biological or physiological effects would Twin-Earth water have if a earthling drank it?)

So now we can sum up Bealer’s position with another simple question:

When it comes to natural kinds, why shouldn’t macroscopic properties (i.e., rather than exclusively microstructural properties) be what is important?

Again, isn’t it somewhat arbitrary and/or contingent that philosophers see only microstructural properties as being constitutive of natural kinds (i.e., at least when it comes to natural kinds like water), rather than seeing macroscopic properties in the same way?

Are There Different Kinds of Water?

One needn’t be a chemist or a layperson to find the position that “there are other kinds of water” odd (as some philosophers have done). More concretely, if these other kinds of water share nothing with H₂O molecules, then why are they water at all? Alternatively put, is it possible that “not all water has the same microstructure”? All that may depend on what’s meant by the words “share nothing”. For example, in one scenario it is the case that all rival samples of water do share macroscopic properties; though not microstructural properties. (We can of course debate how the sharing of macroscopic properties actually cashes out.)

In actual fact, not all water here on Earth is made up exclusively of H₂O molecules. As Alex Barber puts it in his book Language and Thought:

“[I]ndeed, we knew this already, since it would surely be stipulative to deny that heavy water (D₂O) is really water.”

Here we’re back to our contingent and/or arbitrary (i.e., “stipulative”) decisions concerning natural kinds. After all, it’s quite possible that some chemists don’t see D₂O (or “heavy water”) as water. In other words, what’s to stop them from deciding that D₂O isn’t water? More clearly and obviously, if D₂O isn’t H₂O, then surely D₂O and H₂O can’t both be water. However, it is the case that the molecules H₂O and D₂O do share some things — they both include an oxygen atom, protons, electrons and other chemical/atomic elements/forces. But does all that matter? Is all that enough?

(A D₂O molecule includes a “heavy” hydrogen atom. It’s heavy because it contains an extra neutron in its nucleus, along with the standard proton. The light hydrogen atom, on the other hand, only contains a single proton.)

Of course one way to “solve” this particular problem is simply to see water’s macroscopic properties as being constitutive of it being a natural kind. Thus, in this case at least (as stated), both H₂O and D₂O do have exactly the same macroscopic properties! (Or do they? Yes; H₂O and D₂O have the same macroscopic properties when it comes to the sensory — or phenomenal — experiences of human beings. But they don’t do so when it comes to chemical analysis — see here.)

So if D₂O is water, then why can’t Twin Earth’s XYZ (along with H₂O and D₂O) also be water? After all, XYX does, at least hypothetically, have the same macroscopic properties. (At least it’s taken to do so in the philosophical literature.)

Conclusion

It’s precisely because of these problems that some philosophers have argued that the word “water” is not a natural kind term at all. However, that may well still mean that the symbol “H₂O” itself does actually symbolise a natural kind. So what natural kind does symbol “H₂O” symbolise? Water? Perhaps, then, in order to avoid this circularity all we really have left is this:

The symbol “H₂O” = (or refers to) H₂O

(Of course the mathematical identity/equality sign above can’t be taken literally. A symbol can’t literally be identical to what it symbolises.)

Or, at the the very least, all we have is this:

The symbol “H₂O” = a molecule made up of two hydrogen atoms and one oxygen atom (plus lots of other molecular, quantum, bonding, etc. stuff)

So is heavy water (or D₂O) a genuine natural kind? And if we take H₂O as a natural kind, then are both D₂O and H₂O genuine natural kinds? Indeed are they the same natural kind (if with slight microstructural differences)? But, again, which one is truly water? Both? Alternatively, perhaps neither is a natural kind.

Alan Turing Believed the Question “Can machines think?” to be Meaningless

 

Can machines (or computers) think?

What did Alan Turing have to say to that question? Well, he believed that the question is too “meaningless to answer”. In full, he wrote:

“The original question, ‘Can machines think?’, I believe to be too meaningless to deserve discussion.”

In other words, how can we even answer that question if we don’t really know what thinking actually is in the first place? After all, is forming a mental image in one’s mind thinking? Is recalling someone from one’s past an act of thinking? What about simply surveying (both non-verbally and non-subvocally) a scene in front of you or picking up a book from the floor? If all these cases are examples of thinking, then what do they all share? Indeed do they share anything at all?

So now let’s also take the newer word “cognition”, which is a kinda synonym for the word “thinking”. In 1966, Ulric Neisser (the “father of cognitive psychology”) wrote these words:

“[T]he term ‘cognition’ refers to all processes by which the sensory input is transformed, reduced, elaborated, stored, recovered, and used. It is concerned with these processes even when they operate in the absence of relevant stimulation, as in images and hallucinations.”

Then Neisser concluded in the following way:

“[G]iven such a sweeping definition, it is apparent that cognition is involved in everything a human being might do; that every psychological phenomenon is a cognitive phenomenon.”

Thus, because of these and other complications, Alan Turing suggested bypassing the question “Can a machine think” entirely. Or at least he didn’t attempt to define the word “think”. Instead, he asked us whether or not a person would ever believe that he/she was having a conversation with another person (say, by letter, phone, behind a screen, etc.) when, in fact, he/she was actually conversing with a computer.

This was Turing’s well-known “test” of what it is to think (i.e., the Turing test).

Kurt Gödel would have nothing to do with this purely (as it were) behaviourist answer to the question “Can a machine think?” To him it didn’t matter if a computer or machine could (as it were) hoodwink people. What mattered to him was whether or not a computer can… well, really think.

Of course this position takes us back to square one.

One may therefore assume that Gödel believed that he had a/the correct definition of the word “think”. (Precise definitions of the word “think” may not matter that much in these cases anyway.) And that’s because he rejected Turing’s claim that computers will, in time, be able to think just as human beings think.

Simulation, Replication, Duplication

The following are some helpful definitions of certain relevant words within this context. These definitions also show us the interdefinable nature of these words and the fact that they constitute what may be called a “vicious circle”:

“simulation” — noun. imitation or enactment, as of something anticipated or in testing. the act or process of pretending; feigning. an assumption or imitation of a particular appearance or form; counterfeit; sham.

“replication” — it generally involves repeating something. (Students of biology will know that the word is often used to indicate that an exact duplicate has been made, such as chromosomes that replicate themselves.)

“duplicate” — something that is an exact copy of something else.

“imitation” — something copied, or the act of copying.

To go into more detail on Gödel’s position.

Gödel believed that Turing had conflated the simulation of thought with genuine (human) thought. This may be analogous to the manner in which a computer-screen simulation of a fire is not a fire itself. (Gödel never used such an example.) However, is this analogy perfect? Not really. Sometimes when you simulate you actually replicate (or duplicate) what it is you’re supposed to be simulating. Thus if I simulate someone running, then I will actually be running. (That’s if I actually physically move my legs in the same manner as someone running; rather than, say, comically pretend to be running or create a computer simulation of me running.) Similarly, if I “simulate” someone jumping off a cliff, then I will actually be jumping off a cliff.

So, in this context at least, perhaps the words “imitate” and “copy” are more accurate than the word “simulate”. So what about imitating (or copying) someone running? Well, that would actually be running too. More relevantly, what about a computer imitating (or copying) human thinking? Wouldn’t that itself be a case of thinking?

In any case, the word “imitation” was used by Turing himself in the following passage from 1950:

“I believe that in about fifty years’ time [I.e., in the year 2000] it will be possible to programme computers, with a storage capacity of about 10–9, to make them play the imitation game so well that an average interrogator will not have more than 70 per cent. chance of making the right identification after five minutes of questioning.”

It can be seen that Turing’s claims above aren’t too grandiloquent at all. Firstly, Turing gave it fifty years (i.e., up to the year 2000) before a machine could successfully “win” the imitation game. And that’s even though crude computers had already been built when Turing wrote these words. (Computers date back to the 19th century — and arguably before that — with Charles Babbage’s computer; and Turing himself began designing his own “practical universal computing machine” in 1945.) Secondly, Turing only gives “an average interrogator” around a “70 per cent. chance of making the right identification”. Added to that, this interrogator is given “five minutes of questioning” in order to determine whether or not he’s talking to a machine. So one would intuitively believe that most people might have spotted the fake conversationalist immediately.

Now what about the words “”duplication” and “replication”?

If a computer successfully (or even unsuccessfully) adds 2 to 2 and get 4, then surely that is a duplication (or replication) of what humans do. Gödel, again, didn’t think so. That was mainly because he believed that when a computer carries out that addition, it is “merely” following a programme or abiding by a set of rules. (As the mathematical physicist Roger Penrose puts it, the computer doesn’t actually understand the “meanings” of the symbols “2” and “4” — see note at the end of this piece.) But isn’t that also — at least partly —what humans do? What is it that humans do — in the case of addition — that computers don’t do? Sure, there may be additional things which occur in a human mind when he/she adds 2 to 2. However, none of that is essential to that act of addition. Thus a human may be imagining 2 apples being added to 2 apples. Or he/she may be hearing music when in the process of addition. However, all this is over and above the act of adding 2 to 2.

As it is, Gödel had something else in mind here. He believed that when it comes to thought and mathematical reasoning (or at least when it comes to the “seeing” of a mathematical “truth” — see here), human beings transcend mere rule-following (or go beyond “algorithms” and the purely “mechanical”) and enter into another (as it were) realm… But that’s a subject for another day!

Note:

“[T]here is also a mystery about how it is that we perceive mathematical truth. It is not just that our brains are programmed to ‘calculate’ in reliable ways. There is something much more profound than that in the insights that even the humblest among us possess when we appreciate, for example, the actual meanings of the terms ‘zero’, ‘one’, ‘three’, ‘four’, etc.” — Roger Penrose (from his Road To Reality)

 

What Do the Words “Ultimate Reality” Mean?

Professor Peter van Inwagen

 

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Aren’t the words “ultimate reality” somewhat poetic and highfalutin? What do they mean?

Just a word of warning here. Some readers may be disappointed by this piece because the title may be somewhat misleading. Rather than the following being my own personal position on the nature of “ultimate reality” (or even a piece which argues that such a thing can’t be discovered), it’s actually about a particular philosopher’s stance on ultimate reality. That philosopher is Professor Peter van Inwagen.

The words “ultimate reality” aren’t often used by professional philosophers. On the other hand, they are often used by well-known writers of “spiritual” bestsellers and by popular-science writers. 

Van Inwagen himself is keen on the words “ultimate reality”. Or, more correctly, he’s keen to tell us that there is such a “thing” as ultimate reality. This immediately raises the question as to whether van Inwagen makes a distinction between (mere) reality and ultimate reality. If there is such a distinction, then is ultimate reality something over and above — something more than — (basic) reality?

But firstly, here are a few biographical words on Peter van Inwagen himself.

Van Inwagen is an American philosopher and John Cardinal O’Hara Professor of Philosophy at the University of Notre Dame. He was also the president of the Society of Christian Philosophers from 2010 to 2013. Van Inwagen has also been a major player in the debate about free will. Indeed he introduced the term ‘incompatibilism’ to stress the position that free will is not compatible with determinism. Van Inwagen has also taken part in the “afterlife debate”. (He wrote a piece called ‘I Look for the Resurrection of the Dead and the Life of the World to Come’.)

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Ultimate Reality/Context-Independent Reality

If Peter van Inwagen himself hasn’t got access to Ultimate Reality (I’ll be using platonic capitals from now on because they seem very apt), then who has? God? Indeed, even if we assume that God exists, then we’d still have the problem of explaining how he communicates his own view of reality to mere mortal human beings like… Peter van Inwagen.

This is similar to the truths (mathematical and otherwise) which “exist” (or have being) in the Platonic realm. Even if such a “place” exists (or has being), then there would still be a question as to how human beings get hold of its pristine “truths” without polluting them with terrestrial or contingent detritus. That is, even if God’s view or the Platonic Realm exist, we fallible human beings may still not have even the slightest access to such things. And even if we did have access to such things, how would we know that we did? On the other hand, why should we ever accept that other individuals have access to God’s View or the Platonic Realm — even if we don’t?

One may ask if van Inwagen himself has tapped into God’s View of reality. (I’m attempting not to be too ironic here.) Van Inwagen would, I presume, deny that. However, he would still say that such a view of reality is at least possible. That is, the quest for Ultimate Reality is actually a philosophical ideal. It’s something we must strive toward even if we can never get there. In that sense, perhaps van Inwagen is echoing the following often-quoted words (written in 1931) from Albert Einstein:

“To know what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty which our dull faculties can comprehend only in their most primitive forms — this knowledge, this feeling is at the center of true religiousness.”

Like the words “ultimate reality” themselves, the passage can of course be taken as some kind of purely poetic expression — not as philosophy and certainly not as science. So if van Inwagen accepts that the phrase “ultimate reality” is a poeticism, then that’s fine and we can move on from there. In other words, acknowledging the aesthetic (or emotional) power of the phrase “ultimate reality” doesn’t automatically mean that it should be rejected as having no philosophical content whatsoever. Nonetheless, it’s still helpful to lay one’s cards on the table about its poetic nature.

In any case, van Inwagen also uses the term “context-independent reality” as a virtual synonym for “ultimate reality”. Here again, we’d need to know what (alternatively put) reality without any context (or reality which has no context) actually means.

It’s hard to imagine or even conceive what a context-independent reality could even be — never mind what it would “look like”. Thus such a thing may well fail the test of conceivability. (see David Chalmers here.) That may not matter much. After all, many things could exist (or have being) which we could never conceive of. (Say, in the manner argued by the philosopher Colin McGinn in his philosophy of mind — also see here.) Nonetheless, we may still have grounds for being skeptical about the reality of a context-independent reality (or Ultimate Reality). More prosaically or pragmatically, what point does the idea of (or the thing) Ultimate Reality serve? Where does it take us?

Whichever attitude one has, the words “context-independent reality” themselves almost read like Spinoza’s sub specie aeternitatis or Thomas Nagel’s own “view from nowhere”.

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Appearances

So what does Peter van Inwagen take “ultimate reality” (or Ultimate Reality) to be?

He believes Ultimate Reality is what (to use his own words)

“lies behind all appearances”.

For a start, Inwagen obviously believes that “appearances” aren’t everything. That rules out idealism. However, even if there is something (or some things) “behind appearances”, then does that also mean that appearances aren’t part of reality? So why aren’t appearances part of reality? That is, if appearances aren’t part of reality, then what are they part of? They surely aren’t unreal. And appearances aren’t abstract either. Thus, even if appearances do lie (as it were) in front of Ultimate Reality, then that means that they must still be something. Appearances are still… well, real. And if appearances are real, then they must be part of reality.

But are appearances part of ultimate reality? Van Inwagen clearly believes not. Why is that?

I quoted van Inwagen’s word “behind” (i.e., as in “lies behind all appearances”) a moment ago.

Is that word a metaphor? I can’t see how it can be anything else but a metaphor. This may seem facetious, but if Ultimate Reality lies behind all appearances, then it could (at least in principle or if we take the word literally) lie on top or below appearances too. After all, the word “behind” is usually — though not always — used as a spatial term. Sure, we also have phrases such as “What’s behind your actions?” in which the use of the word “behind” hasn’t a literal spatial meaning. However, in van Inwagen’s case, the word “behind” most certainly does seem to be being used in its spatial sense.

So, again, what is it for Ultimate Reality to lie behind all appearances?

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Objective Truth and Real Metaphysics

Van Inwagen ties what he calls “objective truth” to Ultimate Reality. That is, objective truths are truths about Ultimate Reality. To use van Inwagen’s own words:

“[T]hose statements would be objectively true that correctly described the ultimate or context-independent reality.”

So perhaps the words of the English mathematical physicist and mathematician Roger Penrose will help us here because he too uses the words “objective”, “dependent” and he also hints at Ultimate Reality. Penrose writes:

“Platonic existence, as I see it, refers to the existence of an objective external standard that is not ‘dependent’ upon our individual opinions nor upon our particular culture.”

Thus we must conclude that subjective (or non-objective) truths mustn’t be about Ultimate Reality. But surely that must also mean that they aren’t truths at all. In addition, if subjective (or non-objective) “truths” are not about reality, then what are they about?

Alongside van Inwagen’s commitment to Ultimate Reality is his parallel belief that

“metaphysics is the attempt to discover the nature of ultimate reality”.

At least van Inwagen uses the word “attempt” in the statement above. This must mean that van Inwagen acknowledges that metaphysical realists may not take us — all the way? — to Ultimate Reality; though at least that’s their overall aim. Whichever way, it’s only metaphysics itself that can take us to this destination. According to van Inwagen, anti-realism, on the other hand, is a “denial of [this] possibility”.

Indeed van Inwagen doesn’t even exclude idealism from this metaphysical attempt to discover Ultimate Reality. It’s just that the (lower-case) reality which idealists attempt to discover is (to simplify and generalise) what's contained in the heads of either individual human beings or the collective heads of human beings. So even though van Inwagen rejects idealism and embraces metaphysical realism, he still deigns to see idealism as at least an attempt to discover Ultimate Reality. Anti-realism, on the other hand (as already stated), is not “a metaphysic” at all because van Inwagen believes that it rejects both “the possibility of metaphysics” and therefore the possibility of discovering Ultimate Reality.

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Conclusion

One may also ask exactly how we can “discover [the] nature of ultimate reality”. What philosophical (or otherwise) tools must we use to do so? It’s not enough to say that we must — or can — do so through metaphysics. And neither is it enough simply to say that metaphysical realism is the best shot at discovering Ultimate Reality. We’d also need to know why metaphysical realism is the best shot.

That is, simply because a metaphysical realist (or Peter van Inwagen) is committed to the existence (or being) of Ultimate Reality (and also believes that metaphysical realism is the means to discover Ultimate Reality), that doesn’t necessarily mean that metaphysical realism is the means to discover Ultimate Reality.

So which philosophical and logical tools, concepts, emotional or personal standpoints, ways of thinking (other than thinking that metaphysical realism is the way), etc. are used by metaphysical realists? And why do they — or why can they (at least in principle) — take us to Ultimate Reality? Again, it’s no use ostentatiously proclaiming that metaphysical realism is the means to discover what lies behind all appearances if that claim isn’t backed up with results that other philosophers, scientists, and laypeople can agree upon. In other words, we’d need to know how such philosophical and logical tools do lead us to something as grand as Ultimate Reality.

Empty “Analytic Metaphysics”: Michael Loux’s Vicious Circle of Modal Properties

 

The American philosopher Michael J. Loux seems to be a master of playing games with modal terms — at least within this particular 2002 discussion of bare objects (i.e., within ontology).

Now it’s often been said that modal terms form a “closed circle” in that the definition of one term must include reference to all, some or at least one other modal terms (i.e., they’re necessarily interdefinable). And since I’m going to be sceptical about the use of modal terms (if only within the context of what Michael Loux has to say), here’s the English philosopher Bob Hale on the sceptic’s position on necessity and how it must bring in (at least part of) the aforesaid closed circle of modal terms or properties:

“It is difficult to see how his scepticism about necessity could be so much as expressed without employing the notion of possibility. And once a notion of possibility has been granted houseroom, the intelligibility of a correlative notion of necessity can hardly be denied.”

More particularly, Loux (as it were) fuses different modal terms (or properties) in that he believes that the acceptance (or use) of one must bring on board at least one other modal term (or property).

Just to cite another example of this modal (as it were) fusion, take Loux’s fellow American philosopher Alvin Plantinga. He also goes in for using modal terms together when he tells us that “some properties” are “necessarily essential to all objects”. (He offers us the examples of the properties self-identity and existence.) Plantinga also makes the statement that “a necessary proposition is just a proposition that has truth essentially”.

In the specific case Michael Loux tackles here, the terms “essentially”, “necessarily” and “contingently” are played around with. And these terms are played around with in the specific context of the ontology of bare objects (or bare particulars).

The words “essentially” has just been mentioned. It’s worth saying here that there is some dispute as to whether the word “essence” (or “essentially”) is a modal term and what its precise status is. (For example, E.J. Lowe argues that “rather than attempt to explain essence in term of necessity, we need to explain necessity in terms of essence”.) Some modal theorists claim that “essence” (or “essentially”) isn’t actually a modal term and therefore that it isn’t a modal property. However, Michael Loux himself strongly connects essential properties to the other modal properties. Yet, in terms of the passage above, one may have no problems with what Bob Hale says about necessity and possibility and still have problems with Loux’s shoehorning of essential properties into these modal domains.

Loux is committed to essential properties. And he — at least partly — arrives at this commitment via necessity. For example, Loux writes:

“[N]ecessarily everything has some properties essentially.”

Loux believes that this metaphysical fact (if we can use the word “fact” in this ontological context) is a way of “refuting” what he calls “anti-essentialism”. Here again Loux displays his closed circle of his modal terms. That is, according to Loux it is a necessary metaphysical fact that all things have at least “some” essential properties. (We also have some kind of non-Quinian modal universal existential quantification in the quote above. See here.)

What are Properties?

Michael Loux assumes (at least within the passages quoted) the existence of essential properties. And, from that assumption, almost everything else in his general argument follows.

For a start, if there are essential properties, then there must also be contingent properties. After all, the postulation of essential properties literally makes no sense without also postulating contingent properties. So, to paraphrase a well-known statement (usually about an entirely different subject), take the following:

If all properties were essential (or contingent), then no properties would be essential (or contingent).

(It must be said here that in the Leibnizean position on objects and their essences it is argued — at least by some — that all an object’s properties must be taken as being essential to it. See here.)

And in which way do such properties “belong” to objects? Do they “inhere” in objects? How, exactly, do these specific properties belong or inhere in objects? Within this context, what do those words actually mean?

Trivial Properties?

Michael Loux argues that “everything” has essential properties. (This isn’t the Leibnizean position that all an object’s properties are essential to it.) So which kind of properties must everything have? Loux firstly cites “trivially essential properties”. They’re

“properties like being self identical, being red or not red, being coloured if green and being either identical with or distinct from the shape of triangularity”.

Now I don’t mind saying here that I have a very strong aversion to these ostensible properties. Or, more correctly, I have a very strong aversion to them being used in philosophical arguments. Having said that, I don’t want to be a philosophical philistine about them. So perhaps there are profound logical and philosophical consequences to be had from accepting these properties. Then again, Loux may simply accept them because he believes that they are real (or that they have being)— full stop.

So what if the property having no properties (cited by Loux later) is not actually a property at all? Similarly, what if properties like being self-identical or being red or not red (two more examples from Loux) are not properties at all? This must depend on what properties are actually taken to be. In this sense, then, they’re surely abstract if they’re anything. That is, one can’t observe, touch, kick, smell, experiment upon, etc. the property being self-identical or being red or not red.

As stated, all this may entirely depend on what a property actually is. Or, more accurately, all this may entirely depend on what properties are taken to be in these very specific modal and ontological contexts.

From a cursory point of view, it can quickly be seen that trivial properties (of the kind that Loux accepts) must be infinite in number. After all, if there is the property being red or not red, then there must also be the property being blue or not blue. Similarly, if there is the property being either identical with or distinct from the shape of triangularity (an example from Loux himself), then there must also be the property being either identical with or distinct from the shape of a banana. Finally, if there’s a property being colored if green, then there must also be the property being an animal if a human being… and so on ad infinitum.

And then we also have weirder properties such as not being self-identical. And what about the conjunctive property being self-identical and being an apple?

Impure Properties

The American philosopher Albert Casullo refers to what he calls “impure” properties. These are similar — though not identical — to Loux’s trivial properties. He cites “being identical with individual A” as an example.

Now the property being identical with individual A (as well as other impure properties) is different to the trivial properties which Loux argues all objects must have; as well as being different to the properties that just some objects must have (such as being coloured if green). That’s the case because only one object can “have” the property being identical with individual A (at least according to the identity of indiscernibles thesis). Thus the property being the number 4 also fits into this category. Indeed Casullo states that “such properties are obviously unshareable”. Of course a property being unshareable doesn’t automatically make that property suspect. However, it may be suspect anyway.

Casullo himself uses the words “[i]mpure properties, if such there be”. That at the least hints at a degree of scepticism on Casullo’s part.

In any case, Casullo seems to countenance impure properties because he uses them as a means to another philosophical end. (In his case, it’s to show that “individuals [] are ontologically derivative from properties” — see note at the end of this piece.) So perhaps Loux himself is countenancing his own trivial properties for other philosophical ends too. In other words, fake, silly, trivial or impure properties are smuggled into these arguments in order to advance various philosophical arguments which are independent of these supposed properties. Clearly, Loux uses these properties to reject bare objects and to advance his own essentialism. (In Casullo’s case, he uses his impure properties to advance an argument against the bundle theory.)

To give one more example.

I mentioned Alvin Plantinga earlier and he too offers his own seemingly genuine property: existence. This subject has been well-debated in philosophy and Plantinga is fully aware of that fact. So he tells us that “[s]ome philosophers have argued that existence is not a property”. However, Plantinga himself believes that “every object has existence in each world in which it exists”. Here again I’ll only mention Plantinga’s philosophical position on the property existence in passing because it seems similar to Loux’s own positions.

Examples

Example 1

The following is a perfect example of Michael Loux seemingly fusing properties which are contingent with properties which are essential. He writes:

“[T]here is another property they [bare objects] have essentially — the property of having merely contingently the property of having no properties essentially.”

Apart from that passage being hard to understand and it being very strange (at least intuitively), here the terms (or properties) “contingently” and “essentially” are intimately linked to one another.

Loux is arguing here that a contingent property is “essential” to (in this case) a bare object. That is, the contingent property having no properties essentially is essential to the bare object which has that property. What’s more, that essential property is the very property having no properties essentially. Thus a property which is — at least initially — deemed to be contingent is shown to be an essential property. In other words, when an ontologist commits himself to an object which is bare, he’s also committing himself to an object which has no properties. However, Loux argues that this commitment to an object with no properties is an implicit and necessary commitment to that bareness itself being an essential property. It is essential because it’s deemed necessary (if implicitly) that a bare object be bare. And if a bare object is deemed to have no properties necessarily, then it must also have at least one property essentially: the property having no properties essentially.

Of course this may simply be Loux showing us that this position (on bare objects) leads to absurdity (or to a contradiction). That’s unless he’s actually arguing that a bare object has a property that is both contingent and essential. (His other conclusion is that there is no such thing as a genuinely bare object — and that’s precisely because it must have at least one property.)

As hinted at earlier, what if the believer in such a bare object doesn’t see having no properties as being a property at all? What’s more, if he doesn’t believe having no properties is a property, then (by definition) he won’t accept the modal having no properties essentially is a property either.

To go into more detail. Why does Loux stick the word “essentially” on the end of “having no properties”? If the ostensible property having no properties can — at least initially — be seen as being suspect, then the property having no properties essentially is surely an even more suspect property. Yet, of course, Loux is attempting to show us that the commitment to the idea that a bare object must have no properties is also to be commitment to accepting that such a bare object must have no properties essentially.

Thus, is the property having no properties essentially what Loux calls a “trivial essential property”?

Example 2

Michael Loux also asks this question:

“Does a thing with no essence have the property of being essenceless essentially?”

Here again it’s assumed that being essenceless is a property. And because Loux sees it as being a property, then it follows (as least in Loux’s own scheme) that the property being essenceless must be a property of some particular kind. That is, it must either be an essential or a contingent property.

Loux’s first question generates his next statement:

“If not, then apparently it [a bare object] could have had an essence [].”

Loux is arguing that if a bare object having no essential properties is a contingent metaphysical fact, then it’s also possible that this very same bare object could possibly have had an essential property. Thus it’s not necessary that this bare object is without essential properties. Indeed, as we’ve already seen, according to Loux’s scheme this bare object must have at least one property. Indeed that one property turns out to be an essential property!

Loux’s argument (at least here) is specifically about bare objects. However, it still shows us Loux’s fusion of modal terms; as well as his assumption that essential properties are real (or have being). Thus, from seemingly showing that bare objects must have at least one property, Loux then concludes that that at least one property could be an essential property. Taken together, then, Loux offers an argument against the bareness of bare objects; as well as an argument which supports (some kind of) essentialism.

Loux then goes one step further in his fusion of modal terms by bringing in necessity and possibility. He writes:

“[B]ut, then, on any plausible understanding of the notions of necessity and possibility, there is another property that is essential to [this bare object]— that of being possibly essenceless.”

Loux believes that he’s just established that this bare object could possibly have an essential property. Now he simply makes the obvious conclusion that this same bare object could possibly be essenceless. Here we have another property — being possibly essenceless. But what kind of property is that? It seems to be (to use Loux’s own word) trivial.

So Loux is attempting to show that it’s impossible for an object (even an ostensibly bare object) to be essenceless. Yet here he’s discussing the property being possibly essenceless. And of course the property being possibly essenceless can itself be seen as being an essential property!

As earlier, I would question the reality of the property being essenceless. What’s more, being possibly essenceless seems to be an even more suspect property.

Example 3

Michael Loux concludes by saying that

“[n]ecessarily every object has every one of these properties essentially”.

In this particular example of the vicious circle of modal terms we have Loux tying necessity to essence

Loux also tells us that that

“it is a necessary truth that every object has many such properties essentially”.

In other words, Loux has chosen properties that every object must “have”. Specifically, Loux says that every object must be self-identical, red or not red, etc. However, that doesn’t apply to his other example of “being coloured if green”. (Obviously, that property only applies to objects which are green.)

Having said that, Loux does provide us with essential properties which don’t belong to “every object”. He gives the examples of the properties being distinct from the number nine and being non-human. Clearly, the number nine isn’t distinct from the number nine. And humans can’t have the property being non-human.

Finally, Loux arguments are all designed to lead to the following conclusion:

“So it is impossible that there be any entities with no properties essentially.”

Loux’s position that bare objects must have at least one property arises because each bare object must have the property not having any properties. More relevantly, Loux is specifically advancing the position that the property having no properties is an essential property. That is, being committed to an object having no properties is, by default, also a commitment to it having at least one property: having no properties. This leads to contradiction and/or absurdity. Thus Loux concludes that bare objects — and all objects — must have at least one property. Not only that: all objects must have at least one essential property.

To sum up. Loux argues against the position that bare objects have no properties as a means to advance his essentialist position on all objects. That is, Loux believes that all objects must have at least one essential property. Thus Loux is advancing ontological essentialism.

Note:

Casullo’s argument is that the property being identical with individual A incorporates a reference to an individual — individual A. Thus individuals — not properties — seem to be primary.