A Contradiction in Donald Hoffman’s (Idealist) Fitness-Beats-Truth Theorem

Donald Hoffman claims that the “organism that sees reality as it is goes extinct”. So there is a reality after all? And how do this claim square with Hoffman’s idealism (or “conscious realism”)?

[Note: Donald Hoffman often speaks about his fitness-beats-truth (FBT) theorem. Yet perhaps the word “philosophy” or “theory” should really have been used in the title. That’s the case because although there is a mathematical theorem (which Hoffman claims has been “proved”) embedded in Hoffman’s general theory, it’s his overall philosophy which will be tackled in the following.]

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The main argument in this essay is that the cognitive psychologist Donald Hoffman (1955-) assumes the existence of what he calls “reality” at precisely the same moment that he’s at pains to reject it (i.e., as in his “the case against reality”).

But firstly it needs to be said that this essay isn’t about the correctness or incorrectness of evolutionary theory and evolutionary data: it’s about what Hoffman makes of all that. That is, it’s about how Hoffman uses evolutionary theory and biological data to advance his philosophical (perhaps even “spiritual” or religious — see later) position.

Indeed much of Hoffman’s evolutionary points and positions are fairly standard (i.e., not original to him) in the literature — at least in various respects. In other words, Hoffman often just states basic evolutionary theories — and the data from evolutionary biology — as a mere prelude to his philosophical position.

So now we need to know how closely connected all that evolutionary theory and biological data (as well as all the stuff he quotes from physics and mathematics) is to Hoffman’s actual philosophical speculations.

Hoffman’s Contradictory Position

Despite Hoffman’s consciousness-first (new brand of) idealism (what he calls conscious realism), he explicitly states (in various and many places) that some species died out precisely because they perceived reality (to use his own word) “truthfully”.

So here are some relevant passages from Hoffman. Firstly, in the paper ‘Objects of consciousness’ (2014), he wrote the following:

“According to evolution by natural selection, an organism that sees reality as it is will never be more fit than an organism of equal complexity that sees none of reality but is just tuned to fitness. Never.”

In that passage, Hoffman doesn’t explicitly state (or accept) that there’s a “reality as it is” or even that organisms have seen it. That is, he prefixes what he says with the words “[a]ccording to evolution by natural selection”.

Readers may wonder about Hoffman’s claim that there is a single stance on the issue of reality when it comes to evolution by natural selection. That can be very-strongly doubted. Basically, the nature of reality is, if anything, a side issue when it comes to evolution — and even when it comes to evolutionary theory . And even then, evolutionary theorists take different positions on the nature of reality (as Hoffman himself, elsewhere, makes very clear).

In any case, Hoffman does go on to state his own position. He explicitly acknowledges that a particular organism (or the species it belonged to) saw “reality as it is”… even if it eventually became “extinct”. He writes:

“When you analyze the equations of evolutionary game theory it turns out that, whenever an organism that sees reality as it is competes with an organism that sees none of reality and is tuned to fitness, the organism that sees reality as it is goes extinct.”

This is as explicit an acknowledgement of reality beyond the contents of consciousness as one can get.

To repeat: the passages above make it clear that Hoffman (if only implicitly) believes two things:

(1) That there is a reality. 
(2) That some species “saw reality as it is”.

All this must — or simply could — also mean that even today (or in principle) it’s still possible to see reality as it is. (I personally don’t accept the phrase “reality as it is”, but that’s another issue.)

So those passages above clearly work against Hoffman’s idealism (i.e., his consciousness-first philosophy).

To repeat. Hoffman contradicts himself because, according to his own philosophy, neither species which became extinct nor those species which passed on their genes saw reality — and that’s because, according to Hoffman himself, “reality does not exist”. In basic terms, all species (including Homo sapiens) have to go on are the “icons” in individual consciousnesses. Alternatively put: all we really have are interacting (what Hoffman calls) “conscious agents”.

This can be summed up in 4 points (i.e., which don’t constitute a linear argument):

(1) Hoffman repeatedly offers us his “case against reality”. 
(2) Hoffman argues that we don’t “see reality as it is” (we see icons, etc.). 
(3) Those species which saw reality “truthfully”(or correctly) died out (i.e., became extinct). 
(4) Thus, today, we human beings don’t see reality as it is.

Yet points (1) to (4) all include an implicit (or perhaps not so implicit) acknowledgement of two things which in other places Hoffman outrightly denies:

(1) That there is a reality which can be “seen” or perceived. 
(2) That some of species that saw reality truthfully died out — precisely because their perceptions were truthful (or simply accurate).

Thus there still is (not only was) a reality beyond the contents of consciousness!

Not only that: it must be possible — in principle — to perceive that reality because Hoffman himself tells us that some now-dead species did so!

What’s more, the fact that such species died out is almost irrelevant to Hoffman’s central ontological (or simply philosophical) thesis. That is, it certainly doesn’t back up his idealism. And that, to repeat, is because Hoffman actually recognises a reality and the fact that it was seen by some species… which then became extinct.

So what of Hoffman’s often-used phrase, “reality as it is”?

“Reality As It Is”?

Let’s just go over Hoffman’s usage of that phrase.

Hoffman essentially puts his foot in it when he uses the words “whenever an organism [] sees reality as it is”, then this or that happens to it. So, again, is Hoffman accepting that there is a reality as it is? No? Yes? True, Hoffman is also arguing that seeing reality as it is has been disadvantageous from an evolutionary point of view…

But what has that to do with reality as it is?

More relevantly, if some species saw reality as it is (and subsequently died out), then surely that must work against Hoffman’s conscious realism in which there is no reality as it is. All we have, instead, are the contents of minds (or “infinite consciousnesses”) and the subsequent interactions of conscious agents.

Of course anti-realists also argue that we don’t see reality as it is. But that’s not relevant here because Hoffman both does and does not believe that there’s a reality as it is. On the one hand, he does believe that there is a reality as it is when discussing dead species. On the other hand, he doesn’t believe there is a reality as it is when it comes to his philosophical position of conscious realism.

To repeat: Hoffman states that “our ancestors who saw reality accurately” died out. So Hoffman is still conceding that reality was seen accurately —even if only by those ancestors which were deselected by evolution.

Of course Hoffman may freely admit that he believes that these extinct species did indeed see reality — either in full or in part. (There was indeed a reality to see.) However, he may also believe that human beings today don’t see reality — either in full or even in part!

This (as already stated) leads us to the possibility that there may be organisms or species around today that do see reality! Perhaps these creatures, in turn, will be deselected (i.e., if Hoffman’s thesis is correct). That is, because evolution is an ongoing process, then that must mean that some (or even many) organisms around today do indeed perceive reality in some shape or form. It just so happens to be the case that these reality-seeing species will eventually be deselected (i.e., according to Hoffman’s take on the laws of evolution)…

But all that isn’t quite right.

According to Hoffman’s conscious realism, no organism or species could have ever perceived reality as it is. And that’s because Hoffman’s philosophical thesis has it that all there is to reality is what goes on in the heads (physical heads are also “icons”) of conscious agents — whether rudimentary conscious agents (say, snails or cats) or sophisticated conscious agents (say apes or human beings).

This basically means that Hoffman can’t have it both ways.

Conclusion

Of course the way out of this is to argue that reality simply is what we (as it were) discover either in our own consciousnesses or in some kind of collective consciousness (e.g., Hoffman’s interacting conscious agents) — and that seems to be Hoffman’s position.

To sum up.

For the idealist case, it doesn’t matter what natural selection favours or disfavours. More specifically, what Hoffman calls the “relational realm” (which is almost indistinguishable from Kant’s noumenal realm) can never be seen either in whole or in part (i.e., even when it came to those species which were supposedly deselected). And that’s because there is no reality (or relational realm) to see in the first place.

This means that even if we take Hoffman’s “deeper reality” (i.e., his relational realm) to be a real thing (see his criticisms of scientists ‘Dismissing God’), then that’s still not something that we can see, has been seen or which is perceptually available to any species at any time. And that’s why Hoffman himself believes that his deeper reality is actually only a fit subject for (to use his own words on this subject) “philosophy and religion”…

And that’s precisely what’s been argued in this essay.

Panpsychist Philip Goff’s Combination Problem: Little Conscious Subjects and Emergence

Philosopher Philip Goff writes: “Somehow little subjects, such as electrons and quarks, come together to produce big conscious subjects, such as human brains.”

[Note: it was difficult to decide whether or not to use the term “big conscious subject” or “big mind” in the following because Philip Goff often uses the words “conscious subject” and “mind” interchangeably in the paper commented on — despite them having different meanings or connotations.]

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The panpsychist philosopher Philip Goff doesn’t use the words “strong emergence” and “weak emergence” in his paper, ‘The Phenomenal Bonding Solution to the Combination Problem’. Nonetheless, that distinction is at the heart of at least some sections of his paper.

The basic question is whether or not a (to use hyperbolic capitals) Big Conscious Subject is more than the mere sum of “its” little conscious subjects. That is, does something additional happen when little conscious subjects are added (or “summed”) together to “constitute” a Big Conscious Subject?

Having made that point, it may well be the case that I’m barking up the wrong tree here. This is why.

In a seminar entitled ‘On Non-Compositional Panpsychism’, Philip Goff claims that the “mind is multiply located”. (Here Goff uses the word “mind”, not “subject”.) This, at first glance, seems to create a problem for much of what’s been written above. However, Goff (in the seminar) doesn’t really provide much detail for his position. And even if there are arguments in its favour, they may not make much of a difference to this essay.

Again, if the mind is multiply located and (as Goff also says) “wholly present many times in the brain”, then that does seem to create problems for the arguments expressed (by Goff) in the following.

So what does Goff’s claim mean?

Surely if the (singular) mind is multiply located, then that seems to go against claims about “little subjects”. It also seems to rule out any point of “bonding”. That is, if the mind is multiply located (as well as wholly present many times), then there doesn’t seem to be a strong requirement for either little minds or for their bonding.

Indeed this may be the reason why Goff prefers the word “composition” to “combination” (as in the combination problem). That is, does the word “combination” imply strong emergence; whereas the word “composition” doesn’t?

Strong Emergence?

One interesting virtue of panpsychism — at least on some readings — is that it doesn’t appear to require any form of emergence. That is, according to panpsychism, consciousness (or experience) doesn’t suddenly emerge from the physical: it’s there from the very beginning (i.e., in the very small parts of the brain). Yet, on the other hand, when it comes to the combination problem, it can be argued — and sometimes is argued — that new aspects of consciousness or experience (strongly?) emerge from these little pockets of experience. (This will be discussed later.)

How does that (possible) rejection of what’s called strong emergence actually work?

Take x.

x is simply the sum of a, b, c…

Thus x doesn’t emerge from its parts in any strong sense.

In terms of the brain and consciousness (or experience). The latter doesn’t emerge from the former.

Are the brain and consciousness one and the same thing? Or, less radically, are the brain and consciousness one and the same thing under two (to use Frege’s phrase) “modes of presentation”?

This is how Goff puts his position:

“[M]y mind is a macroscopic entity which derives its nature from the microscopic entities which compose it, ultimately from the entities that fundamental physics talks about, which the panpsychist takes to be conscious subjects.”

Here we have loads of little “entities” making up a big x. Again, x doesn’t emerge from these little entities. It equals (or is) these little entities. That is, if consciousness (or mind) is found even at the micro-scale; then consciousness (or mind) can’t be separate from the brain — it is simply the “combination” (or “composition”) of all these phenomenal brainparts. That is,

the combination of phenomenal little conscious subjects = the Big Conscious Subject

Or:

consciousness/the mind doesn’t emerge from the brain’s various — and many! — phenomenal or experiential brainparts. It is those various — and many — phenomenal or experiential brainparts.

Less schematically, little pockets of phenomenal experience (metaphorically?) get together to create a big subject of consciousness. Yet even though we have a sum, a composition or a combination, there’s still no emergence of any kind. Or as Goff puts it:

“Somehow little subjects, such as electrons and quarks, come together to produce big conscious subjects, such as human brains.”

Again, although the Big Conscious Subject is the combination (sum or composition) of little conscious subjects, there’s still no emergence of the former from the latter…

… But not so quick!

The problem is that Goff does cite an example of strong emergence.

Goff does so when he gives the example of “little subjects” actually “seeing” all the “colours of the spectrum” — individually. Then, when these little conscious subjects are taken together (as a single Big Conscious Subject), Goff postulates that they may bring about “a visual experience as of seeing white”. In other words, we have little conscious subjects experiencing the various colours of the spectrum separately summing together to produce a Big Conscious Subject which experiences the colour white. This Big Conscious Subject’s experience of white is, therefore, over and above the many and varied experiences of all the little conscious subjects which constitute or (to use Goff’’s term) “compose” it.

Surely this is an example of strong emergence.

This means that in all the above respects, Goff’s panpsychism (at least at it impinges on the mind or consciousness) can be a taken as a kind of monism. More controversially, however, it can also be seen as a new version of the identity theory of mind. That is, little conscious subjects are instantiated in the brain’s many and various (physical) parts, and their sum equals a Big Conscious Subject. And that Big Conscious Subject, in turn, is instantiated in the brain as a whole.

It’s certainly the case that Goff is well aware of the problems that this kind of phenomenal combinatorialism faces.

Weak and Strong Emergence

Goff states the problems in various places. For example, Goff writes:

“Small objects with certain shapes, e.g. Lego bricks, can constitute a larger object with a different shape, e.g. a Lego tower. But it is difficult to see how, say, seven subjects of experience, each of which has a visual experience as of seeing one of the colours of the spectrum, could constitute a distinct subject of experience having a visual experience as of seeing white [].”

Four matchsticks put in random places — even if close together — won’t constitute a square shape. However, they can be arranged to make a square shape. Nonetheless, the square shape is entirely a product of the four matchsticks…

There’s no strong emergence here.

Goff concedes that when it comes to little pockets of experience and a Big Conscious Subject, then we have something different. But is it strong emergence?

Goff’s own scenario (as already stated) is about the sum of the little-subjects’ experiences creating an entirely different experience — that of a Big Conscious Subject. Thus each little conscious subject is like a little matchstick. Taken on its own, each little matchstick can’t constitute a square. Taken together with three other little matchsticks, they can constitute a square. Similarly (or nearly so!) with little pockets of experience. Taken individually they “see” different “colours of the spectrum”. Taken together (at least in theory) they may bring about “a visual experience as of seeing white”...

… Yet these examples aren’t of a kind.

A matchstick square is nothing over and above the individual four matchsticks which constitute the square. In Goff’s case, we have little conscious subjects experiencing various colours of the spectrum — summing together to produce a Big Conscious Subject which experiences the colour white.

There is a spectrum of colour. However, does it follow from this that even if little conscious subjects did experience the individual colours of the spectrum individually that that their sum would necessarily — or even hypothetically — bring about a Big Conscious Subject which experiences the colour white? (It’s hard to make physical, scientific and/or neuroscientific sense of all this.)

Goff himself seems to make a distinction between weak and strong emergence when he cites his own Lego example. He writes:

“Take the case of seven Lego cubes placed on top of each other to make a rectangular tower. The mere existence of those bricks, each having a specific shape and location, necessitates the existence of the tower having the shape and location it has.”

More technically:

“The existence of a group of spatial objects, O¹….On, with certain shapes and locations, can necessitate the existence of a spatial object with a shape and location different to the shape and location of each of O¹… Oⁿ.”

Firstly Goff puts this position without mentioning consciousness or anything else directed related to it. He argues that

“the defining characteristic of constitution being that constituted states of affairs are nothing over and above the states of affairs which constitute them”.

That is a statement of weak emergence.

Clearly, at a prima facie level, weak emergence won’t do the job that panpsychists want it to do. A Big Conscious Subject is something more than a mere sum of little conscious subjects (or of tiny pockets of experience).

Then Goff puts that weak emergence position as it may relate to consciousness. He writes:

“Constitutive panpsychism — O-phenomenal facts are constituted by, and hence are nothing over above, the micro-phenomenal facts.”

Here again, that position doesn’t do the job that panpsychists want it to do.

Thus Goff puts the strong-emergence position as it directly relates to panpsychism and consciousness. He writes:

“Intelligible emergentist panpsychism — O-phenomenal facts are intelligibly produced by, but are something over and above, the microlevel facts.”

Clearly now we need to account for that strong emergence. (Philosophers and scientists attempt to account for strong emergence in many cases outside of the issue of consciousness.)

Here, instead of the usual problem of the sum of the brain’s purely physical parts accounting for mentality or consciousness, we have a similar problem of the sum of the brain’s little conscious subjects accounting for a Big Conscious Subject.

Goff explains this in terms of what he calls “bonding”. This means that not only have we to explain the bonding of little conscious subjects: we also need to explain how the sum of such little conscious subjects can create a Big Conscious Subject which is over and above that sum.

In any case, at least that sum of little conscious subjects only includes those entities which exist within the brain. And that’s why Goff has a problem with what he calls “unrestricted phenomenal composition” (see unrestricted composition) . He writes:

“According to unrestricted phenomenal composition, for any group of subjects, say, the particles forming your nose, my teeth and the planet Venus, those subjects are related by the phenomenal bonding relation and hence produce a further subject.”

Goff doesn’t accept such examples of unrestricted phenomenal composition; just as most people believe that the fusion (or simple juxtaposition/joining) of your backside, the coffee cup you’re holding at present, and the moon above you don’t together constitute yet another bona fide object.

Goff writes:

“Obviously, some form of restricted phenomenal composition, according to which some but not all subjects are such that they bear the phenomenal bonding relation to each other, will be more in keeping with pre-theoretical common sense.”

Goff believes that all the relevant little conscious subjects must belong to the same brain. (As Goff puts it, the little conscious subjects must belong to “the brains/central nervous systems of organisms”.) There are of course innumerable other little conscious subjects in the panpsychist universe (e.g., in a thermostat or deep within a sea of a distant planet) which aren’t at all relevant when it comes to the constitution or composition of the Big Conscious Subjects that are individual human persons.

Richard Rorty’s Crude Generalisations About Analytic Philosophy

Richard Rorty claimed that “analytic philosophy is still committed to the construction of a permanent, neutral framework for inquiry, and thus for all culture”.

Much of what Richard Rorty (1931-2007) wrote is insightful and a breath of fresh air — at least when taken within the context of many other (academic) analytic philosophers.

So now it must be said that even if Rorty didn’t end up as an analytic philosopher, then he certainly began as one. More specifically, when he wrote Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (which is the focus of this essay) in 1979, he was still an analytic philosopher…Of course, what exactly that last claim amounts to isn’t going to be debated here.

So the following essay should be taken within those contexts.

Importantly, because Rorty was committed to what he called “irony”, commentators are left in a difficult position as to how to interpret his words. (That said, the situation is far better than with a philosophers like Wittgenstein, Derrida and Deleuze.) Put simply, it may be the case that none of the passages quoted in the following should be taken literally. Instead, perhaps they should be taken ironically, poetically and/or even politically.

Yet, being a pendant, I am going to take them literally… That said, who’s to say that Rorty didn’t intend the quoted passages to be taken literally?

What also needs to be said here is that if there is (as Jacques Derrida argued) “nothing outside the text” (Il n’y a pas de hors-texte — which I’m not saying Rorty completely subscribed to) and that “the conversation” itself is what matters (which was Rorty’s actual position), then the following critique must itself be taken as being part of Rorty’s conversation.

Philosophy or Analytic Philosophy?

One problem with interpreting Richard Rorty’s words (if not his actual positions) is that he quickly shifted from writing about “philosophy” to writing about “analytic philosophy”. This meant that, at least in some cases, when Rorty used the word “philosophy” he actually meant “analytic philosophy” — at least in the case of Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature. That said, he was also guilty of generalising about philosophy-as-a-whole too.

Rorty himself gave the game away when he confessed that his problem with analytic philosophy was mainly (what he called) “biographical”. That is, Rorty just happened to have studied and written about analytic philosophy for the first 35 (or so) years of his career. Indeed he also wrote that the “therapy [he] offered” was

“parasitic upon the constructive efforts of the very analytic philosophers whose frame of reference [he] was trying to put in question”.

One single example (among many) of the fact that, at least at certain points, Rorty didn’t only have analytic philosophy in mind is when he mentioned Kant, Frege and Husserl — all in the same passage. Here is that passage:

“[T]he kind of philosophy of philosophy which stems from Russell and Frege is, like classical Husserlian phenomenology, simply one more attempt to put philosophy in the position which Kant wished it to have — that of judging other areas of culture on the basis of its special knowledge of the ‘foundations’ of these areas.”

So even though analytic philosophy was especially problematic to Rorty, then it only was so because it is (to use his own words) “one more variant of Kantian philosophy”.

In any case, there’s a strong case for arguing that Rorty’s later p̶h̶i̶l̶o̶s̶o̶p̶h̶y̶ was more a case of post-philosophy than of postanalytic philosophy. In other words, like Heidegger and Derrida before him, Rorty had a problem with the whole damn show that is (Western?) philosophy. Indeed it can be argued that Rorty’s position became more (openly and obviously) political, historical and/or sociological than, strictly speaking, philosophical. That said, a position that rejects philosophy in toto can’t help but be philosophical — in some or in many ways — itself. Indeed Rorty would have happily admitted that. (Jacques Derrida, whom Rorty admired, did admit that.)

Rorty’s Biographical Philosophy

In 1979, when most of the words quoted in this essay were written, Rorty was shifting away from analytic philosophy — and even philosophy generally — to embrace literature and a more explicitly pragmatic political/ethical, sociological and/or historical stances on philosophical issues (in the style of John Dewey). So, if all that was indeed the case, then perhaps there would have been no need to defend his (rhetorical) generalisations or offer (explicit) arguments.

Indeed Rorty did sneer at the (not his own words) “fetishization of argument” in his book Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature (just as many “continental philosophers” have done in the 20th and 21st centuries). In other words, perhaps the passages quoted later owe more to literature than they do to philosophy. It might even have been the case that Rorty would have admitted that.

Yet despite the implicit digs at the (again, not Rorty’s own words) “mindless analysis”, etc. referred to a moment again, in Rorty’s Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature there’s quite a lot of analysis! (For example, Rorty spends over nine pages analysing behaviourism and over twelve pages analysing — of all arcane things — the various theories of reference.) Indeed in an interview conducted by Wayne Hudson and Win van Reijen, Rorty stated the following:

“I think that analytic philosophy can keep its highly professional methods, the insistence on detail and mechanics, and just drop its transcendental project. I’m not out to criticize analytic philosophy as a style. It’s a good style. I think the years of superprofessionalism were beneficial.”

[Even when Rorty seemingly praised analytic philosophy, he couldn’t resist slipping in the ironic phrase “[i]t’s a good style”.]

Yet perhaps the technical detail, analyses and arguments which can be found in Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature were nothing more than Rorty’s means to back up his metaphilosophical ends.

How do I know that? Well, Rorty (more or less) says as much in that book (as well as elsewhere).

Thus Rorty (as it were) joined in various debates within analytic philosophy in order to show his readers (or so he believed) that they’re all … well, pointless. (He uses synonyms of the word “pointless” — in relation to analytic philosophy or at least many of its concerns — many times in that book.)

Rorty on Analytic Philosophy as a Natural Kind

To use Rortyesque poetic rhetoric, it can be (self-referentially) argued that the American pragmatist took a Platonist position on analytic philosophy. And, at the very same time, Rorty saw all of analytic philosophy as being (essentially) Platonist. This means that when Rorty talked of analytic philosophy you can almost hear his capitalised classification — Analytic Philosophy. That is, Rorty talked about analytic philosophy as it it were a natural kind with a determinate and known (at least known to Rorty himself) essence.

Of course one may be willing to accept that there are at least some — perhaps many — things which draw all analytic philosophers together. However, Rorty made it seem as if every analytic philosopher belongs to a small and narrow tribe whose members all have virtually identical views — as least on the issue of what philosophy actually is.

Rorty also made it seem that every analytic philosopher is as metaphilosophical, philosophically self-conscious and historically-minded as he was.

Yet, despite stating all that, it can be argued that Rorty was writing not about the detailed work of analytic philosophers, but about the historical tradition of analytic philosophy (see here).

But which aspects of that tradition? All aspects of that tradition?

And which particular analytic philosophers? All analytic philosophers?

Indeed did (or do) all analytic philosophers have an philosophical essence in common?

And let’s not forget that philosophical analysis (broadly speaking) occurred well before the analytic tradition got under way. That is, what is it that Aristotle, Hobbes, Descartes, Locke, Hume, etc. did if it wasn’t — at least in part — philosophical analysis?

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Generalisation 1

Richard Rorty took the view that analytic philosophy has as its primary aim the creation of a form of knowledge which grounds all other forms of knowledge.

This is odd.

It’s true that much traditional philosophy has placed various philosophical domains in the position of what used to be called First Philosophy. (It was once metaphysics, then epistemology, then language, then mind…) However, in the 20th century this was far from being the case. Indeed analytic philosophers specifically (as well as non-analytic philosophers) — throughout the 20th century — actually argued against the need for (or nature of) a first philosophy.

So here is Rorty again talking about philosophy in the singular. He wrote:

“Philosophy as a discipline thus sees itself as the attempt to underwrite or debunk claims to knowledge made by science, morality, art, or religion.”

This is so obviously false that perhaps even Rorty himself would have admitted that the statement’s primary purpose was (to use Rorty’s word about his own work) “therapeutic”. Indeed even some of the philosophers Rorty admired and wrote about didn’t fit the generalisation above.

And all that is one reason why Rorty did probably meant “analytic philosophy” when he wrote “philosophy”. That said, he does also state such generalisations about Kant, Husserl and other philosophers too… so it’s hard to tell.

So here are just a few philosophers (often mentioned by Rorty himself) who most certainly didn’t fit into Rorty’s neat little box: Nietzsche, Wittgenstein, Kierkegaard, William James, John Dewey, etc… This may mean, then, that Rorty was, after all, only talking about analytic philosophers.

Generalisation 2

Now take this massively-general claim from Rorty:

“For analytic philosophy is still committed to the construction of a permanent, neutral framework for inquiry, and thus for all culture.”

This is simply false and it’s false on many levels.

But, firstly, even if a particular analytic philosopher (or a set thereof) believed that his analyses of this and that were absolutely true (or simply correct), it still wouldn’t follow that he must also be “committed to the construction of a permanent, neutral framework for inquiry, and thus for all culture”.

In any case, perhaps because Rorty simply grew bored with analytic philosophy and philosophical argument, and then began to embrace other (not his own words) “modes of knowledge” such as literature and art (as he often stated himself), then that statement above might only have been intended as a simple rhetorical and poetic device designed to simply stop (à la Wittgenstein) the entire Analytic Philosophy Show. In fact Rorty stated as much in various ways and in various places. Indeed he even called himself an “ironist”.

In detail (if Rorty even cared, at this point), virtually no philosopher saw analytic philosophy in terms of the “construction of a permanent, neutral framework for inquiry, and thus for all culture”. Of course some analytic philosophers might have done so subconsciously. Yet, as already stated, Rorty’s take on analytic philosophy — and its relation to other parts of what Rorty called “culture” — is very metaphilosophical, self-conscious and historical. The problem is, this isn’t also true of all — or even most — analytic philosophers.

Generalisation 3

It may be pedantic to say that when Rorty wrote that

“[philosophy — not even analytic philosophy] purports to [underwrite or debunk claims to knowledge] on the basis of its special understanding of the nature of knowledge and of mind”

perhaps he should have written the following pluralised and qualified version instead:

Different philosophers purport to do this on the basis of their various and different special understandings of the nature of knowledge and of mind.

Indeed not all analytic philosophers have concentrated on “knowledge and mind” in the first place.

So it’s odd that during his admonitions of (capitalised) Philosophy’s neat and tidy ways of (as it were) mirroring the world, Rorty should have offered his very own neat and tidy (even essentialist) mirroring of analytic philosophy… and, indeed, his mirroring of philosophy generally.

Generalisation 4

Now for an outrageous generalisation that claims that all all analytic philosophers were committed to the notion of the a priori… in a big way! Rorty wrote:

“It is the notion that human activity (and inquiry, the search for knowledge, in particular) takes place within a framework which can be isolated prior to the conclusion of inquiry — a set of presuppositions discoverable a priori [].”

Rorty’s slipping in of the term a priori at the end of the passage above was surely yet another rhetorical move on his part.

Various and many analytic philosophers have written large amounts of stuff against the notion of the a priori.

Of course Rorty might have meant a priori in a purely metaphilosophical sense, not in a detailed (or technical) sense. That is, even though many analytic philosophers have offered telling critiques of the notion of the a priori, Rorty’s (somewhat implicit) argument might have been that they still saw philosophy itself as an a priori discipline. That is, a discipline which “discovers” and “isolates” this and that even before (as it were) any details are in… So where does this place the many analytic philosophers who’ve also been naturalists?

And then Rorty took all analytic philosophers to be foundationalists too. He wrote:

“Philosophy can be foundational in respect to the rest of culture because culture is the assemblage of claims to knowledge, and philosophy adjudicates such claims []”

Clearly, many analytic philosophers have been anti-foundationalists.

Yet, as with the a priori case a moment ago, perhaps Rorty was making a distinction between a commitment to foundationalism within philosophy and a commitment to foundationalism when it comes to philosophy’s role itself.

[This is somewhat like Michael Williams’s terminological distinction which has it that epistemological realism “is not a position within epistemology [it is a] realism about the objects of epistemological inquiry”. In other words, this is a realism about epistemology, not a realism within epistemology.]

So, when it comes to the latter case, Rorty was on much stronger ground.

To put Rorty’s case another way. A philosopher may be anti-foundationalist when it comes to, say, epistemology, but foundationalist when it comes to philosophy itself. That is, an analytic philosopher may, at the very same time as being an anti-foundationalist, also be committed to the idea that “philosophy can be [or is] foundational in respect to the rest of culture”.

But, yet again, this is all very metaphilosophical. Rorty assumed that all analytic philosophers paint with the same broad brush strokes that he himself painted with. This means that Rorty wanted to have his cake and eat it. That is, in one breath he warned against (not his own words) “mindless analysis”, a “concern with minutia”, “conceptual pedantry”, etc. Yet, in the next breath, he claimed that all analytic philosophers had metaphilosophical dreams about — and positions on — philosophy itself and, more broadly, on philosophy’s vital relation to culture as a whole.

Bizarre and Trivial Analytic Metaphysics… and Clenched Fists

Philosopher Craig Callender believes that “many debates in analytic metaphysics are sterile or even empty”. Is he right about this?

“We divide analytic metaphysics into naturalistic and non-naturalistic metaphysics. The latter we define as any philosophical theory that makes some ontological (as opposed to conceptual) claim, where that ontological claim has no observable consequences. We discuss further features of non-naturalistic metaphysics, including its methodology of appealing to intuition, and we explain the way in which we take it to be discontinuous with science.” -

— — From ‘What is Analytic Metaphysics For?’

According to the philosopher Craig Callender (in his paper ‘Philosophy of Science and Metaphysics’), it’s the case that

“mainstream analytic metaphysics has moved further away from scientific concerns at the same time that philosophy of science has moved closer to science”.

Prima facie, Callender’s position is similar — though obviously not identical — to that expressed by the logical positivists (in the 1930s and 1940s) when it it came to various (or even all!) metaphysical issues and disputes.

Callender continues:

“The reason is that it’s hard to imagine what feature of reality determines whether a fist is a new object or not. How would the world be different if hands arranged fist-like didn’t constitute new objects?”

The begged answer is: No difference whatsoever.

Take also the case of the English philosopher A.J. Ayer (1910–1989) when he was writing about the rival claims of metaphysical pluralism and monism. In his book Language, Truth and Logic, he wrote:

“[T]he assertion that Reality is One, which is characteristic of a monist to make and a pluralist to controvert, is nonsensical, since no empirical situation could have any bearing on its truth.”

Since logical positivists have just been mentioned, it seems clear that Callender is also asking for a kind of positivist answer to his questions. That is, he’s asking if these questions can — at least in part! — be answered by experience. The analytic metaphysician, of course, would say that such “positivist” questions are themselves… well, meaningless. Of course experience (or the empirical) is irrelevant to these questions. Or, at the very least, experience alone can’t answer them. Indeed experience alone couldn’t even answer any of the logical positivists’ questions. And that’s because experience alone can’t answer any question.

Not that all those who have a problem with analytic metaphysics also have a problem with metaphysics when it’s seen more generally.

Not All Metaphysics is Bad

Callender puts the case that one can be against much (or even all) of what’s called analytic metaphysics and yet still not be against metaphysics itself. He states:

“I come at the question simultaneously convinced that many debates in analytic metaphysics are sterile or even empty while also believing that metaphysics is deeply infused within and important to science.”

Moreover, it’s not only that one must accept metaphysics even when one also places science in an — or the — important position. It’s simply that one simply can’t avoid metaphysics — not even in science itself.

Callender continues:

“[W]e have these concepts, ‘metaphysics’ and ‘sciences’. There is no sharp difference between the two. To a rough approximation, we can think of metaphysical claims as more abstract and distantly related to experiment than scientific claims.”

And finally:

“I think that what we conventionally call science in ordinary affairs is inextricably infused with metaphysics from top (theory) to bottom (experiment). If this is right, metaphysics is deeply important to science. Laying bare the metaphysical assumptions of our best theories of the world is a crucial and important part of understanding the world.”

Yet, seemingly, not all analytic metaphysicians ignore science.

Analytic Metaphysics and Science

Take the American philosopher Ted (Theodore) Sider.

Sider claims not to ignore or disparage science. He also sees (much?) analytic metaphysics as being “quasi-scientific”.

In his paper ‘Ontological Realism’, Sider writes:

“[Analytic metaphysicians’] methodology is rather quasi-scientific. They treat competing positions as tentative hypotheses about the world, and assess them with a loose battery of criteria for theory choice. Match with ordinary usage and belief sometimes plays a role in this assessment, but typically not a dominant one. Theoretical insight, considerations of simplicity, integration with other domains (for instance science, logic, and philosophy of language), and so on, play important roles.”

It may also be interesting to mention panpsychism and idealism here.

Panpsychists and idealists (or at least some of them) have the same position as Sider on this aspect of the debate. That is, they see their own isms as being quasi-scientific. For example, analytic metaphysicians stress

“competing positions as tentative hypotheses about the world, and assess them with a loose battery of criteria for theory choice”.

And panpsychists and idealists too emphasise “simplicity”, “integration” and (to use a word often used by panpsychists) “parsimony” (see here).

This isn’t a surprise.

All sorts of unlikely candidates have been seen as being quasi-scientific — or indeed, just plain scientific. To take two obvious examples (i.e., other than idealism and panpsychism): Marxism and Freudianism were — and sometimes still are — seen as being scientific. Indeed the Austrian-American philosopher Paul Feyerabend (1924–1994) even stressed the scientific nature of astrology and voodoo (see here).

For example, in his book, The Trouble With Physics, the theoretical physicist Lee Smolin (when he was discussing what makes something a science with Feyerabend himself) wrote:

“Was it because science has a method? So do witch doctors. Perhaps the difference, I ventured, is that science uses math. And so does astrology, he responded, and he would have explained the various computational systems used by astrologers, if we had let him… Newton had spent more time on alchemy than on physics. Did we think we were better scientists than Kepler or Newton?”

All this means that we need to be careful when philosophers and theorists drop scientific technical terms into their writings. Or, alternatively, we need to be careful when theorists or philosophers include only certain aspects of science; though who, at the very same time, ignore (or reject) what could very well be far more scientifically important or relevant when it comes to the legitimacy of their non-scientific (or strictly philosophical) claims.

So now let’s take a few seemingly extreme positions in analytic metaphysics (or plain metaphysics, for that matter).

Take Peter van Inwagen.

Bizarre Analytic Metaphysics: Craig Callender’s Clenched Fist

The American philosopher Peter van Inwagen (1942-) believes that only elementary particles and living organisms exist. That is, he believes that cups, tables, planets, etc. don’t exist…

In his book Material Beings (1995), Van Inwagen argues that all material objects are either elementary particles or living organisms. (It’s the case that every “composite object” — by definition! — is made up of elementary particles.) Van Inwagen concludes by arguing that tables, chairs, bikes, etc. don’t exist.

We can immediately ask three questions here:

1) Does Peter van Inwagen believe that such …s don’t exist?

2) Does he believe that …s don’t exist qua objects?

3) Is it simply that van Inwagen believes that we have the wrong philosophical conceptions of …s?

Mereological nihilists also believe that only elementary particles (if not also living organisms) exist; or that they’re the only genuine objects.

Mereological universalists, on the other hand, believe that any arbitrary combination of otherwise separate objects can — or do — constitute a further object. (That means that your own left butt cheek and the sun above it can — or do — constitute a single object.)

It’s the nature of these metaphysical beliefs which are often deemed to be “bizarre” and “trivial”. (Can the trivial and bizarre exist side by side?)

And, as already mentioned, Craig Callender (quoting Eli Hirsch) asks the following question:

“[W]hen I bend my fingers into a fist, have I thereby brought a new object into the world, a fist?”

Well, it’s certainly true that something must have changed when Callender bent his fingers into a fist. For a start, his hand changed its shape. So did that change — in and of itself —help constitute or bring about a different (or new) object?…

Does anyone know?

Does it matter?

Does this fist-clenching involve something (as Callender himself puts it) “deep [and] interesting about the structure of mind-independent reality”?

It’s hard to say because it’s difficult to understand the question. And even if the question can be understood, how would we know how to find a determinate (or even any) answer to that question?

We can excuse analytic metaphysicians by saying that this example — or other less bizarre ones — may provide us with the means to establish what an object is; as well as how we can decide that issue.

To repeat. We have a hand… surely that’s an object. Or is it?…

Then that hand has formed a clenched fist.

Is that clenched fist a different object?

If it is a different object, then why is it so?

If it’s the same object with a different shape, then why is it still the same object?

In any case, if we christen a clenched fist as a “new object”, “the same object”, or even “not an object at all”, then what ontological (or plain philosophical) difference would that make? That is, it certainly makes no practical or scientific difference; though is it still metaphysically “deep” or “interesting”? If it is, then exactly why is it deep or interesting?

We may agree with the Australian philosopher David Chalmers (1966-) here and say that this is merely a “verbal” dispute (see here); or a dispute primarily about definitions. That is, we are free to define a clenched fist as a separate object to a hand if we want to. On the other hand, we may decide not to do so.

So how could we decide which definition (or position) is the correct one?

Can we decide that issue — even in principle?

More relevantly, does this issue take us beyond the verbal and tell us something about the “structure of mind-independent reality”?

Indeed forget mind-independent reality:

What does this clenched-fist issue or position tell us about reality — full stop?

A mereological nihilist will (or may) argue that neither the hand nor the clenched fist are objects.

So does this position take us beyond the verbal or definitional? And if it does, then how and why does it do so?

The four-dimensionalist will (or may) argue that the clenched fist is a “temporal part” of the hand.

Again, does this position take us beyond the verbal or definitional?

A mereological universalist will (or may) argue that the clenched fist and the iron glove it comes in together make an object; which also includes the moon above the clenched fist in its iron glove.

So is this position taking us beyond the verbal or definitional?

Indeed if all these positions are essentially about definitions and verbal descriptions; then, arguably, we can conclude that they aren’t genuinely metaphysical positions at all!

Straw Targets?

If Craig Callender hadn’t chosen what can be seen as bizarre and absurd examples, then perhaps we can take such metaphysical positions more seriously.

The question is: Are they simply bizarre and absurd?

Take Callender’s next example.

This example seems even more bizarre and absurd than the one just cited. Callender writes:

“[W]hether a piece of paper with writing on one side by one author and another side by a different author constitutes two letters or one [].”

One’s first reaction to this may be:

I simply can’t be bothered with it! Does it matter? Are there really metaphysical implications to this question? Is it, again, all verbal or definitional?

Nonetheless, one of Callender’s other examples does appear to be a reference to a more (as it were) concrete case. It was originally cited by W.V.O. Quine in his paper ‘Ontological Relativity’ (1968). Callender writes:

“[W]hether rabbit-like distributions of fur and organs (etc.) at a time are rabbits or merely temporal parts of a rabbit.”

Quine — when talking about ontological relativity and the inscrutability of reference — used the example of rabbits in a specific field of vision. Yet this odd scenario was primarily motivated by the issue of interpreting the utterances of aliens — and even people here on earth — who spoke a language the researchers didn’t understand. Thus, in one respect, this isn’t (strictly speaking) a metaphysical issue at all. It’s either an issue in semantics or one in epistemology (perhaps both).