Why The Big Bang Theory’s Sheldon Cooper Gave Up on String Theory

Sheldon Cooper (of The Big Bang Theory) sorrowfully said that he’d “devoted the prime of [his] life to string theory” initially because it “seemed so elegant at the time”. He then came to “realize [that he] was just a simple country boy seduced by a big city theory with variables in all the right places”.

This piece is about the fictional character Sheldon Cooper (yes, he’s got his own Wikipedia page!) and his farewell to string theory. More particularly, it’s based on episode 20 of series 7 of The Big Bang Theory, ‘The Relationship Diremption’, in which Sheldon experiences a reverse Damascene conversion.

The character Sheldon Cooper is (or was) a theoretical physicist who studied at The California Institute of Technology (Caltech). He also studied for a year at the University of Keighley’s renowned Cooking and Media Studies Department in the United Kingdom’s Republic of Yorkshire…

So, I suppose, this is just a bit of fun.

However, I still agree with the “software architect” and prolific contributor to Quora, Viktor T. Toth, who stated the following:

“[T]his sitcom does a better job in some ways than many popular science documentaries that I have seen. So, while ‘accurate’ is not the word I would use, Sheldon’s description is not nonsense. [] One of the reasons why I like The Big Bang Theory is that it does not disrespect the science that it mocks.”

Sheldon Cooper and String Theory

Sheldon Cooper had been committed to string theory since he was a young teenager (or, perhaps, since he was a foetus?) and remained committed to it during 12 seasons of The Big Bang Theory. The character Leonard Hofstadter himself said (in the episode featured here) that Sheldon had been working on string theory “for the last twenty years”. That would take Sheldon back to 1994, when he was only 14. (Despite being a lowly experimental physicist and Sheldon’s best friend, Hofstadter could make people literally disappear, turn treacle into pure gold and reverse time in his bathroom.)

Sheldon Cooper and Leonard Hofstadter

Of course it needs to be said from the very start that Sheldon Cooper (or a real flesh-and-blood equivalent) being unhappy with his own research into string theory isn’t itself an absolute indictment of the theory. After all, if science is a communal activity, then string theory must also be a communal activity. Thus, one single individual giving up on string theory shouldn’t count for much — even if that individual is a self-proclaimed genius.

That said, not only Sheldon Cooper was unhappy with string theory back in 2014. Many physicists — including several Nobel prize winners — had already argued that string theory is a scientific dead-end. Yet, here again (i.e., as with Sheldon-the-individual-physicist), it’s not the case that simply because some — or even many — physicists are unhappy with string theory, then that must also mean that it really is a dead-end.

[Note: M-theory isn’t mentioned in this episode. However, a theoretical physicist working in 2014 would certainly have known about it. Indeed Sheldon himself refers to things which seem to be taken straight from M-theory, which dates back to 1995.]

Sheldon Cooper’s New Position on String Theory

Sheldon Cooper stated his new position (i.e., in 2014) on string theory in the following way:

“All right. I’ve devoted the prime of my life to string theory and its quest for the compactification of extra dimensions. I’ve got nothing to show for it, and I feel like a fool.”

He continued:

“I know. As hard as this is, I have to move on. I can’t keep postulating multidimensional entities and get nothing in return. I have needs, too.”

[For those nerds who’re interested in the “compactification of extra dimensions” and “multidimensional entities”, see here and here.]

Sheldon then gave a retrospective account of his youthful conversion to string theory:

“[String theory] seemed so elegant at the time, but now I realize I was just a simple country boy seduced by a big city theory with variables in all the right places.”

This chimes in with what many physicists themselves have stated over the last couple of decades.

Sociologically, it was indeed the case that in the 1980s (although Sheldon himself wasn’t born until 1980) many talented young physicists were encouraged (by their professors and teachers) to take up string theory.

Barry Kripke and Sheldon Cooper

Interestingly and kinda on the same theme, Sheldon’s rival, Barry Kripke, classed himself (in the same episode) as a “stwing pwagmatist”. What on earth is that? Kripke explained:

“I say I’m gonna pwove something that cannot be pwoved, I appwy for gwant money, and then I spend it on wiquor and bwoads.”

To which Sheldon responded:

“Do you think he is right? Am I wasting my life on a theory which can never be proven?”

All this happened largely as a result of the monumental claims and grand promises of string theory.

And now those formerly-young physicists are middle-aged (or older) tenured professors who’ve spent their entire professional lives devoted to string theory. (This is unlike Sheldon himself, who was about 33 — looking about 6 — in this 2014 episode.) So what else could these professors now do? And if they were to do something else, then would they still be able to pay their mortgages, go on as many holidays, etc?

Some of these issues can be found in Lee Smolin’s book The Trouble with Physics: The Rise of String Theory, the Fall of a Science, and What Comes Next. This book also contains a chapter called ‘How Do You Fight Sociology?’, which is relevant here. (This chapter’s title could be misread as being against sociology — it’s not.)

Lee Smolin on the Sociology of String Theory

Lee Smolin’s The Trouble With Physics was written eight years before Sheldon’s own rejection of string theory in 2014.

In his blog post ‘Response to Criticism’, Smolin wrote the following:

“To discuss some sociological issues in contemporary academic science which I argue are slowing the progress of science, and to propose solutions to them.”

In The Problem With Physics itself and on string theory specifically, Smolin wrote:

“String theory is a powerful, well-motivated idea and deserves much of the work that has been devoted to it. [] The real question is not why we have expended so much energy on string theory but why we haven’t expended nearly enough on alternative approaches.”

It’s worth noting here that Smolin’s (as it were) sociological view of string theory isn’t original to him: it dates back to at least 1987. In that year, American theoretical physicist and string theorist David Gross made the following controversial comments (as quoted by Peter Woit — see later) about some of the reasons for the popularity of string theory:

“The most important [reason] is that there are no other good ideas around. That’s what gets most people into it. When people started to get interested in string theory they didn’t know anything about it. [] So I think the real reason why people have got attracted by it is because there is no other game in town. All other approaches of constructing grand unified theories, which were more conservative to begin with, and only gradually became more and more radical, have failed, and this game hasn’t failed yet.”

The theoretical physicist Peter Woit (in his book Not Even Wrong: The Failure of String Theory and the Search for Unity in Physical Law) also viewed the academic, sociological and intellectual hegemony of string theory as being bad news for the future of fundamental physics. And perhaps even more sociologically, he argued that string theory’s popularity was at least partly a result of the financial and political nature of academia. More importantly and narrowly, the hegemony of string theory was partly — or even mainly — down to the mad academic competition for scarce resources.

In addition, in his book The Road to Reality, mathematical physicist Roger Penrose had this to say:

“The often frantic competitiveness that this ease of communication engenders leads to bandwagon effects, where researchers fear to be left behind if they do not join in.”

Some readers may now be wondering if the “string theory revolution” was itself a Kuhnian paradigm shift. The same readers may also wonder if it will take another revolution to shift away from string theory. That said, these claims may include a too broad and vague use of Thomas Kuhn’s notion of a paradigm shift. (Smolin himself discussed Kuhn on six different pages in The Problem With Physics.) And it will especially irk those physicists and philosophers who don’t accept this Kuhnian notion in the first place. Indeed it will also irk those string theorists who don’t see string theory as a paradigm shift at all. (String theory might well have been very important and also a huge advance in physics, yet still not have been a paradigm shift.)

In terms of Sheldon’s own history, psychology and sociology, his conversion to string theory was itself utterly contingent and based on happenstance.

Sheldon and the Emotional Appeal of String Theory

                                                                                                     God

In the episode ‘The Relationship Diremption’, Sheldon admitted that he “didn’t seek out string theory”. Instead, string theory “just hit [him] over the head one day”. In detail:

“A bully chased me through the school library and hit me over the head with the biggest book he could find.”

That book was on string theory.

Of course this biographical account is a joke… with an element of sociological and psychological truth.

Like many physicists, the fundamental and all-encompassing nature of string theory appealed to the young Sheldon. Indeed this is the kind of thing which drives many theoretical physicists. For example, take someone like Michio Kaku and his — to be rhetorical for a moment - obsession with finding a “theory of everything” (what Kaku calls “the God Equation”), which, like Sheldon, dates back to his childhood.

Sheldon himself expressed his position in his usual highfalutin and dismissive way in the following:

“You want me to give up string theory for something that’s less advanced? You know, why don’t you break up with Penny and start dating a brown bear?”

So clearly Sheldon was still (i.e., in this episode) having second thoughts about giving up string theory.

Many physicists — and commentators! — might have said (at least in 2014) that Sheldon made the wrong move. They might have argued that most worthy theoretical physicists still knew that string theory is the only feasible way of going beyond the overall framework of quantum field theory. Indeed they’d have gone further than that and also have argued that when it comes to a unified theory, there’ve been no other viable alternatives to string theory. Basically, then, they’ll have stated that there’s simply no alternative to string theory… In fact many string theorists, over the years, have stated precisely that!

Of course string theorists — who include several Nobel prize winners — have fought back against all the criticisms. Among other things, they’ve told us that string theory has led to many important breakthroughs in both mathematics and in physics.

Sheldon and Fowler’s Super-Asymmetry Theory

Amy Fowler Fowler and Sheldon Cooper

Perhaps the biggest joke at string theory’s expense (in The Big Bang Theory) is the story of Sheldon Cooper and Amy Fowler Fowler publishing a paper on what they called “super-asymmetry”. This theory was meant to be true of (or refer to) precisely nothing in the actual (or real) world, but which nonetheless won them a Nobel Prize.

Of course super-asymmetry doesn’t actually exist in physics. What’s more, super-asymmetry (even if real) wouldn’t — strictly speaking — be a purely string theory… theory. However, it would still be closely related to string theory.

All that said, the script writers of The Big Bang Theory did talk to their “science consultant”, Professor David Saltzberg. They requested that Saltzberg come up with a fictional theory which was worthy of a Nobel Prize.

This is how Don Lincoln (a senior scientist at Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory) put it:

“To begin with, there is no real theory called Super Asymmetry. However, there is a theory called supersymmetry, which is a very popular extension of the standard model of particle physics — our best current theory of subatomic matter. While there has been no experimental confirmation of supersymmetry — which proposes that every particle identified in the standard model has a supersymmetric partner — it is well enough regarded that there exist over 10,000 scientific papers on the topic. So, except for the poetic license on the name change, we’ll give them that.”

Dr. Saltzberg himself put it this way:

“Theoreticians love symmetrical equations, but the world around us is clearly asymmetrical. What theoretical physicists often do is create a theory with lots of symmetry, but then break it, to explain our world. [] The brilliance of Sheldon and Amy was to include asymmetry into their theory from the start.”

At the end of the series, Sheldon and Amy win the Nobel Prize (see here) for their super-asymmetry theory.

Final Note

It’s now worth stating that in 2017 (i.e., some 4 years after the episode featured in this piece) Sheldon Cooper still seemed to be flirting with string theory. (See series 11 episode 13, The Solo Oscillation.) For example, his renewed excitement about string theory occurred during a conversation with Penny.

In that conversation, Sheldon explained (in response to Penny’s questions) that there are no knots in more than four dimensions. (See the mathematics here.) So, instead, he thought of them as sheets or branes. This shows us a partly fictitious addition to string theory (partly because branes were first discussed as early as the 1980s), which rode alongside the many (still fictitious?) additions which have been constructed by real-life string theorists.

Contemporary Philosophers Both Big Up and Play Down Metaphysics

Philosopher David Manley claims that “most contemporary metaphysicians are concerned with the reality that is represented” and not with “language and thoughts”. Other (analytic) philosophers argue that much (analytic) metaphysics is “shallow” and “merely verbal”. More technically, they argue that such metaphysicians make claims which simply aren’t “truth-evaluable”.

Professor David Manley (at the University of Michigan) believes that

“[m]ost contemporary metaphysicians think of themselves as concerned, not primarily with the representations of language and thoughts, but with the reality that is represented”.

David Manley goes on to write that this

“approach in mainstream metaphysics [has] only come to ascendancy lately, and is still widely challenged”.

David Manley

Manley also tells us that metaphysics “is concerned with the foundations of reality”. He continues:

“It asks questions about the nature of the world, such as: Aside from concrete objects, are there also abstract objects like numbers and properties? Does every event have a cause? What is the nature of possibility and necessity? When do several things make up a single bigger thing? Do the past and future exist? And so on.”

So what if a philosopher were to say, to take just one possible retort, the following? -

The idea of there being “foundations of reality” is preposterous.

It can even be said that talk of “the nature of the world” (rather than, say, the plural natures) raises a few questions too. In addition, why accept any distinction at all between abstract and concrete objects? Or, alternatively, perhaps there are other kinds of objects other than those which are abstract and concrete. Perhaps some metaphysicians even question that there are events in the way that others question the existence of objects. And so on.

Possibly all these questions can legitimately be asked, and it still be acceptable to talk about “the foundations of reality”, “the nature of the world”, etc. After all, the discussion must start somewhere. And even if a metaphysician rejects everything contained in Manley’s short descriptive account of metaphysics, then these basic distinctions may still be accepted by many — or even most — metaphysicians.

In a very basic sense, then, what Manley describes seems to be classic metaphysical realism — however you slice it. Thus, some philosophers may be surprised that this is still the current paradigm (or fashion) for contemporary metaphysicians. Then again, (metaphysical) anti-realism (to take just an alternative) has also only ever been one (other) option in metaphysics.

It can be added here that even though these realist (or non-deflationary— see later) metaphysicians are concerned with “the reality that is represented”, they may still be interested in what contemporary science has to say on reality (or the world). After all, if, as W.V.O Quine argued, it is physics which tells us “what there is”, then surely a metaphysical realist needs to listen. That said, metaphysicians who’ve been strongly committed to the findings of science have also taken various anti-realist positions and positions which are critical of metaphysical realism.

Manley himself stresses the importance of science (actually, physics) to metaphysical realists too when he writes:

“And the preferred methodology for answering these questions is quasi-scientific, of the type recommended by W. V. O. Quine, developed by David Lewis [].”

Strong Deflationism

Many people who are suspicious of what’s now called “analytic metaphysics” will be sympathetic to the position of what Manley calls “strong deflationism”. (That’s if people who dislike metaphysics will even care about a position which criticises it.) So it’s worth stating a few words on analytic metaphysics here.

Analytic metaphysics (see here, here, here, and here) isn’t metaphysics done by analytic philosophers, as the name may suggest. Analytic metaphysics is deemed to be a particular kind of metaphysics within analytic philosophy. In other words, not all metaphysicians who are analytic philosophers also do analytic metaphysics. (Of course some philosophers will reject this distinction and they’d probably even question whether there is such a thing — at least as just described — as analytic metaphysics.)

If we return to strong deflationism. (This term is also used by the American philosopher Theodore (Ted) Sider in his paper/chapter, ‘Ontological Realism’.)

The position of strong deflationism is still a metaphysical position. Indeed whatever position you take on the world (or on anything else for that matter) will contain some assumptions (or even explicit beliefs) which are metaphysical in nature.

So what is strong deflationism? According to Manley, it’s

“[m]otivated in part by intuitions of shallowness, they argue that the dispute is merely verbal, or that the disputants are not making truth-evaluable claims at all”.

Is all (analytic) metaphysics “merely verbal”?

Perhaps not.

One is tempted here to make the (possibly inconsequential and therefore trite) point that there must still be the way the world is.

So:

1) Sure. We talk about the world with words, concepts and theories. We also rely on our embodied/embedded nature and our contingent sensory systems. Etc. However, there is still the way the world is.

2) We may not even be able to (as it were) get at the world unless we use words, concepts or theories, sensory systems, etc. which “distort” or simply change it. However, there is still the way the world is.

Furthermore, what does analytic metaphysics displaying “shallowness” mean here? What are (realist) metaphysicians shallow about? What can they say — metaphysically or otherwise — which isn’t shallow?

Can it really be the case that a dispute — any dispute — can be “merely verbal”? Is that possible — even in principle? (See the final section on David Chalmers’ position later.)

What’s more, if the (analytic) metaphysicians’ claims aren’t (to use Manley’s term) “truth-evaluable”, then what sort of metaphysical (or simply philosophical) claims are truth-evaluable? And what would make them truth-evaluable?

These questions will require answers which must, at least in part, include answers with metaphysical components. (The critics of metaphysical realism may not, and probably will not, deny that they’re committed to at least some form of metaphysics.)

Despite my own questions and points, Manley goes on to say that

“[i]n its new forms, strong deflationism poses as serious a challenge to metaphysics as ever”.

Mild Deflationism

The “mild deflationist” position (as expressed by Manley) is difficult to grasp. Manley tells us that mild deflationists “admit that there is a genuine dispute at issue”. However, they also believe that “it can be resolved in a relatively trivial fashion by reflecting on conceptual or semantic facts”. Moreover, “nothing of substance is left for the metaphysician to investigate”.

So how does all that work?

If these mild deflationists admit that there are “genuine disputes” here; then how can they be entirely resolved by “reflecting on conceptual or semantic facts”?

Of course concepts and semantics are important. However, they can’t possibly tell the whole story.

Indeed can any dispute be merely verbal in any literal sense? That is, can any dispute be entirely “due to differences in the way the disputants are using certain terms”?

So perhaps the problem here is taking the words “merely verbal” too literally. That is, in the sense that surely no one really believes that any dispute is literally all about semantics and/or language… Yet, perhaps, that’s unless any remainder is — by (semantic) definition — “trivial” (or “nothing of substance”).

The only situation in which I can conceive of this position (as it has been stated) working would be when it comes to the position of linguistic idealism or perhaps some other form of idealism — and even then, it’s not clear that it would work.

It’s not surprising, then, that Manley rounds off his description of mild deflationism by stating that

“mild deflationists tend to be motivated more by intuitions of triviality than by the intuition that nothing is really at issue in the dispute”.

Here again we see the word “triviality”. Moreover, Manley hints that if these mild deflationists aren’t motivated “by the intuition that nothing is really at issue in the dispute”, then doesn’t that mean that they may well believe that something really is (or could be) at issue? And if that’s the case, then how is this mild-deflationist circle squared?

Manley’s second point is more telling.

He states that mild deflationists claim that “[n]either side” in a metaphysical dispute “succeeds in making a claim with determinate truth-value”. Surely here the mild deflationist has moved away from the merely verbal if he’s now also talking about truth-values. In other words, if neither metaphysical position x nor the alternative (or conflicting) metaphysical position y (on the same subject) can be given a truth-value, then surely that must mean that the mild deflationist is — even if only tacitly — making a metaphysical statement about the nature of the world. That is, surely he’s arguing that the world couldn’t possibly provide an answer to the question of whether or not position x or position y has a “determinate truth-value”. Thus, that would mean that the mild deflationist is still firmly in the domain of metaphysics.

Let’s now go into a little detail as to the nature of some of these metaphysical issues (i.e., of the kind which are either played up or played down by contemporary philosophers). David Chalmers’ examples are worth considering.

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David Chalmers on Verbal Disputes and Metaphysical Trivia

The Australian philosopher David Chalmers’ once wrote a paper called ‘Verbal Disputes’. (He also gave a seminar on this subject, which could be found on YouTube.) Many other philosophers have also tackled the problem of whether certain philosophical issues are “merely verbal disputes” (see here). This debate actually goes back through the centuries. And perhaps it was best highlighted by the criticisms of metaphysics by the logical positivists in the 1920s and 1930s.

In terms of contemporary philosophy, the notion that some philosophical issues are merely verbal has often been levelled at analytic metaphysics (as discussed above). Chalmers himself tackles some of these issues. That said, Chalmers never names any names and he certainly doesn’t use the term “analytic metaphysics”.

More particularly, Chalmers discusses such things as whether or not a “random booklike” x is… well, a book. (Or, to use the contemporary jargon, is x only a collection of “particles arranged” bookwise?)

The following is more or less Chalmers’ position on such verbal disputes — at least as I’ve interpreted him and added some detail of my own.

Firstly, let’s take two philosopher-scientists: Smith and Jones.

Philosopher-scientist Smith has access to all the facts, laws, information, etc. about spatiotemporal slice (or state of affairs) A and says that it is x. Philosopher-scientist Jones has access to all the same facts, laws, information, etc. about the same spatiotemporal slice (or state of affairs) A and says that it is y. Yet both Smith and Jones agree on the facts, laws, etc. Thus, this must mean that what Smith and Jones say about A is over and above the facts, laws, etc. In addition to facts, laws, etc., Smith and Jones must have brought in theory, prior beliefs, conceptual decisions, semantics, etc. into the discussion.

The given facts may well be determinate. However, it doesn’t follow from this that what we say about them is also determinate. Or, in another manner of speaking, the facts alone don’t entail what we say about them…

But hang on a minute!

One may now wonder how this clean and neat distinction between facts and what we say about them can be upheld. After all, aren’t the facts (or simply what we take to be the facts) themselves somewhat dependent on what we say?

In any case, David Chalmers himself doesn’t only argue that what we say is indeterminate. He also argues that “the facts [themselves] are indeterminate”.

Much of what’s just been said is fairly standard in science and in the philosophy of science. That is, the very same facts, data, observations and/or evidence may engender different theories. Indeed some philosophers have argued that the very same facts, data, observations and/or evidence could engender a (possible) infinite number of theories. (This situation is called the underdetermination of theory by the data and it’s been widely discussed in philosophy.)

And here again we can question the clean and neat separation of empirical data from the theories which, it seems to be supposed, come later.

Now Chalmers often mentions what he calls “stipulation” in these respects.

The basic point is that if we stipulate what we mean by a particular word, then the answers to the questions about facts, data, evidence, what x is, etc. must — at least partly — follow from such stipulations. Of course some people will be horrified by the argument that acts of stipulation are decisive when it comes to what we take to be matters of fact…

Yet it’s not that simple.

Of course there is a problem with over-stressing the importance of stipulation; or even with simply emphasising the importance of stipulation at all. Chalmers sums up this problem with a joke. He wrote:

“One might as well define ‘world peace’ as ‘a ham sandwich.’ Achieving world peace becomes much easier, but it is a hollow achievement.”

As it is, Chalmers only applies his joke to a single case: consciousness. So perhaps it can also be applied to other cases (such as the cases of a random cup, a non-biological virus, etc.). Clearly, even someone who argues that stipulation is important won’t also accept that we can define the words “world peace” as “a ham sandwich”. In turn, some philosophers and laypersons will feel just as strongly about claiming that, say, a “computer virus is alive” or that “bacteria learn”.

The philosopher P.M.S. Hacker, for example, holds a very strong position on the philosophers and scientists who use such terms (or words) in ways which are radically at odds with everyday usage (see Hacker’s ‘Languages, Minds and Brain’ in Mindwaves). Many physicists, on the other hand, are very keen on using old words (or terms) in very different ways. (Think here of “information”, “space”, “time”, “intelligence”, “law”, “string”, “hole”, etc.)

Now let’s look at two examples from David Chalmers which are right up the street of analytic metaphysicians: a “cup-shaped object” and a “random book-like entity”.

What are Cups and Books?

David Chalmers asks:

“Is a cup-shaped object made of tissues a cup?”

Now take this question:

Is it the case that if any x functions as a cup, then surely it is a cup?

Here’s another question:

What if this cup-shaped object (or “particles arranged cupwise”) wasn’t designed to be cup?

Well, does that matter?

If any given x holds liquid, and even looks like a cup, then surely it is a cup. Why does it matter whether or not it wasn’t designed to be a cup?

So is whether it does or doesn’t matter a purely stipulative matter? In other words, is the following the case? -

x can only be classed as a “cup” if it were designed to be a cup.

This would mean that any natural object which were used as a cup could never be classed as a “cup” or even be a cup. Yet all sorts of natural things are used as functional devices and which we then name according to their functions (e.g., a stick classed as a “weapon”, extracted venom classed as a “poison”, etc.). Does their natural status stop them from being named “weapons”, “cups”, etc?

In any case, whether people call x a “cup” or not, they’re all still talking about the same x. (This seems to be Chalmers’ central point.) Not only that: all people agree that it looks like a cup and can be used as a cup. The only difference, then, is what Chalmers calls “terminology”.

Here’s another question from Chalmers:

“Is a booklike entity that coagulated randomly into existence a book?”

This strange book’s very existence (or its mere possibility) is a little like the infinite monkey theorem in which, after an infinite amount time in which an infinite number of monkeys play with a typewriter, at least one of them will produce the complete works of Shakespeare. (In an infinite amount of time, surely an infinite number of monkeys will produce the entire works of Shakespeare an infinite number of times.)…

Such is the nature of the logical possibility which Chalmers is so keen on.

In any case, it can be presumed that Chalmers doesn’t argue that x is book-shaped or arranged bookwise. Surely something that’s only shaped like a book can’t be a book. That’s because, after all, it may not have any words in it. Then again, if stipulation rules, then why can’t shape alone be a necessary and sufficient condition for bookhood?

But let’s say that this random book does contain words. Not only that: it contains words which make sense. Here again we can ask the following question:

Is it relevant that this “booklike entity” is natural and that it wasn’t written and produced by a human being?

After all, if it looks like a book and contains grammatical sentences, a coherent story, etc., then surely it must be a book…

And such is the nature of certain debates in analytic metaphysics.

There Are No Conceptual Schemes

Philosopher Donald Davidson once wrote that conceptual schemes are deemed to be “ways of organizing experience”; as well as “systems of categories that give form to the data of sensation”. What’s more, “they are points of view from which individuals, cultures, or periods survey the passing scene”. From this line of reasoning (which Davidson himself rejected), we pass on to such things as “linguistic relativity” (or the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis) and, perhaps (!), Kuhnian paradigms and Wittgensteinian language games.

Let’s start off with Donald Davidson’s take on what conceptual schemes are supposed to be. Davidson wrote the following:

“Conceptual schemes, we are told, are ways of organizing experience; they are systems of categories that give form to the data of sensation; they are points of view from which individuals, cultures, or periods survey the passing scene.”

This passage can be found in Davidson’s paper ‘On the Very Idea of a Conceptual Scheme’. That paper at least partly inspired the following essay.

Donald Davidson (1917–2003)

Davidson (who died in 2003) was primarily responding to the thesis that different “individuals, cultures, or periods” have different conceptual schemes. What’s more, these schemes are said to be at odds — or even in conflict — with each other.

The position that Davidson was at least partially arguing against is what’s called the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. (It’s worth stressing here that Davidson certainly wasn’t doing anthropology, history or political commentary.) The following is one definition of that hypothesis:

“The simplest Sapir-Whorf hypothesis definition is a theory of language that suggests that the language a person speaks determines or influences how they think. According to Sapir-Whorf, a person’s native language has a major impact on how they see the world.”

This means that Davidson’s clause “we are told” (in the opening passage) gave his game away…

That game being his rejection of the very idea of a conceptual scheme.

Davidson’s position was that there is only one conceptual scheme.

This basically means that, in a strong sense, there are no conceptual schemes at all… Or at least there are no conceptual schemes as such things came to seen by certain philosophers — and, indeed, by various social scientists.

Crudely speaking, this particular take on conceptual schemes (i.e., the one which Davidson had a problem with) partially mirrors Thomas Kuhn’s notion of a scientific paradigm and Ludwig Wittgenstein’s notion of a language game. However, if anything, a conceptual scheme has been deemed to be much deeper and far broader than a (scientific or otherwise) paradigm or a language game. Indeed it can even be argued that paradigms and language games must themselves belong to (or be embedded within) broader conceptual schemes.

All that said, I won’t be commenting on Davidson’s paper or even on anything specific within it. The main reason for that is that Davidson had a particularly epistemological take on this issue. (See the note at the end of this essay.)

We can start here with the American philosopher Thomas Nagel.

Nagel advanced the view that we can divorce ourselves from our conceptual schemes and even from our concepts. (It must be stressed here that the position which Nagel advanced is quite unlike Davidson’s.)

Thomas Nagel, Thomson Clarke and Steven Stitch

In his book The Last Word (1997), Thomas Nagel argued that the “obsession with language” and conceptual schemes has “contributed to the devastation of reason”. He went on to argue that if philosophers and laypersons stress the importance of language and conceptual schemes generally (which are, after all, contingent), then they’re in effect stressing the contingencies of psychology and culture too. And it’s this approach, Nagel concluded, which “leads to relativism”.

All this raises the following two questions:

(1) How many (broadly speaking) differences are required to create a separate conceptual scheme?

(2) How many differences are required to make two different conceptual schemes mutually incompatible or even incommensurable?

If a distinction were to be made between two different conceptual schemes, then the boundary between them may well be vague. So how deep must conceptual variance go before something is christened a conceptual scheme? Would it necessarily mean that a new conceptual scheme would — or could — never (metaphorically) look out at other (possibly rival or competing) conceptual schemes in order to judge (or simply evaluate) them?

Clearly, simple differences in beliefs can’t themselves constitute different conceptual schemes. If that were the case, then we’d all belong to different conceptual schemes. In fact each individual would have his or her own conceptual scheme.

So perhaps it’s when concepts and/or beliefs begin to link up together and have mutual implications and entailments that the question of different conceptual schemes arises.

Take the following technical distinction which was made by the American philosopher Steven Stitch (1943-) in his paper ‘The Problem of Cognitive Diversity’. He wrote:

“[T]he Yoruba do not have a distinction corresponding to our distinction between knowledge and (mere) true belief.”

In this essay’s context, this raises the question as to whether or not having (or accepting) the distinction between knowledge and true belief itself entails, implies or generates other concepts which, in turn, partly help form a distinctive conceptual scheme. (Of course we can also ask if this is just a philosophical distinction that not even all members of “our own” culture — whatever we take that to be — share.)

Firstly, a belief in true belief or knowledge isn’t itself really a single belief. It’s a belief made up of other beliefs.

Again, the main question is whether or not we can stand outside our conceptual scheme (or conceptual schemes) and evaluate other conceptual schemes (or other cultures and historical periods).

Perhaps the American philosopher Thompson Clarke (1928–2012), for one, believed that we can. In his paper ‘The Legacy of Scepticism’, he wrote:

“Each concept or the conceptual scheme must be divorceable intact from our practices, from whatever constituted the essential nature of the plain. […] [O]bservers who usually by means of our senses, ascertain, when possible, whether items fulfil the conditions legislated by concepts.”

So did Thompson Clarke himself step outside his own conceptual scheme into other conceptual schemes in order to evaluate them? Alternatively, did he adopt a God’s-eye view (or “view from nowhere”) of what he called “the plain”?

There is a hint in the above passage that Clarke believed that he could become free of both concepts and conceptual schemes when he asked “whether [sensory] items fulfil the conditions legislated by concepts”. Thus, these sensory items (contrary to the note on Davidson at the end of this essay) seem to come first — at least in this instance. In any case, Clarke was certainly committed to the world’s “essential” nature when he wrote about “the essential nature of the plain”.

Some readers may now ask what “truth in all discourses” (if not in all conceptual schemes) actually is. It may also be asked if truth can be external to all conceptual schemes.

Truth in All Conceptual Schemes

What if a member of each conceptual scheme has his/her own version (or versions) of the nature of truth? And what if each member of such conceptual schemes also has his/her own truths?

Wouldn’t this create difficulties in communication… or worse?

That said, if different conceptual schemes can accept or believe (discounting different languages) the same claims (for example, that 2 + 2 = 4 or that Napoleon was an Emperor of France), then why can’t they agree on other more esoteric, recondite or controversial things too? Indeed it could be the case that from the fact that different conceptual schemes accept the non-contentious, then they may then (mutually) accept the contentious too.

Think here of how easy it is to agree on the weather, “established facts”, etc., and yet how hard it sometimes is to agree on politics, morality, art, music, etc.

More particularly, if different conceptual schemes can discuss and even agree on the weather, when Hitler died or what is the largest body in the Solar System, then perhaps they can also discuss and agree upon more contentious issues…

Or are there language games about the weather, historical facts and astronomy too?

Let’s get back to truths (or indeed facts) which are external to conceptual schemes.

If a conceptual scheme is chosen (rather than, say, born into) by an adult individual, then it must be so for reasons which are external to that conceptual scheme. Similarly, an individual may reject his — or a — conceptual scheme for reasons external to that conceptual scheme.

Now let’s (perhaps) be a little naïve here. Take these three simple logical examples and statements:

(1) A = A (in all conceptual schemes)

(2) A = B = C ⊃ A = C (in all conceptual schemes)

(3) P ⊃ Q
P
∴ Q

(in all conceptual schemes)

Similarly, does the schema (if not the actual content)

The sentence “Snow is white” is true if and only if snow is white.

hold in only one conceptual scheme?

More factually and empirically.

If everyone — or almost everyone — believes that Napoleon was an Emperor of France, then they must also believe many other things which can be — or are — derived from (or dependent upon) such a belief. For example, that France exists. That France did indeed have an Emperor. That there was a time when France didn’t have an Emperor. (This last belief isn’t logically derived from the initial belief.) And if we all believe that Napoleon was an Emperor of France, then surely we may then also mutually believe that there were specific reasons as to why he became such a leader. So perhaps there can be agreement on those reasons too.

Those simple bits of logic above were intended to show that the contentious can be derived from the uncontentious. This itself may shows that if conceptual schemes share the uncontentious, then there’s nothing to stop them — in principle — from sharing the contentious too.

All this, in turn, casts doubt on the incommensurability (see also Kuhnian incommensurability) and untranslatability theses when applied — specifically — to conceptual schemes. And, if that’s the case, then perhaps the idea of different — or even rival — conceptual schemes is flawed.

That said, none of the above need imply that there’s a possibility of escaping from all conceptual schemes into Thomas Nagel’s or Thomson Clarke’s wilderness of Nowhere — the view from where we can see the world As It Truly Is

*********************

Note: Donald Davidson’s Own Take

It’s worth stressing here that Donald Davidson’s own position (which is quite unlike anything advanced in the essay above) was grounded on purely epistemological and philosophy-of-mind considerations, not on denying (or, for that matter, stressing) anthropological, historical and/or cultural differences.

That grounding can be found in the following passage (from the paper ‘A Coherence Theory of Truth and Knowledge’), in which Davidson wrote:

“The relation between a sensation and a belief cannot be logical. Since sensations are not beliefs or other propositional attitudes. What then is the relation? The answer is, I think, obvious: the relation is causal. Sensations cause some beliefs and in this sense are the basis or ground of those beliefs. But a causal explanation of belief does not show how or why the belief is justified.”

Another passage (from the same paper) is even more apposite in this context. Davidson continued:

“Accordingly, I suggest that we give up the idea that meaning or knowledge is grounded on something that counts as an ultimate source of evidence. No doubt meaning and knowledge depend on experience, and experience ultimately on sensation. But this is the ‘depend’ of causality, not of evidence or justification.”

Basically, then, if this distinction between (as it were) pure and given “experiences” (or “sensations”) and later beliefs is rejected (as Davidson did), then the idea of conceptual schemes being free to (metaphorically) make sense (in multiple different ways) of those pure and given sensations is much harder to defend.