Author Archives: jbernal

Uneasy about ‘Language’ and ‘Thought’ as Entities

Recently someone asked me to look at an essay entitled “Language and the World.” Below I include some of my initial reaction to the idea, expressed in the essay, that we can talk meaningfully about the relation between the world and abstractions like “language” and “thought.”

Language, as an abstraction is just that: an abstract concept. Language does not have a separate and independent existence. It ‘grows’ out of the fact that there are cultures or groups of people who speak a language. In other words, language-using creatures (persons) and groups of people (cultures) come first, then we reflect on this phenomenon and refer to an abstract entity, namely, the “language” that they speak, e.g. English, Spanish, Latin, Russian, Chinese, etc. People speak specific languages, not language in general. If asked to do so, we can identify and describe specific languages; but I would be hard pressed to identify and describe this mysterious ‘entity’ called language in general.

So the question as to the relation between language and the world is for me a confusing question. Are we asking about the relationship between language-using-cultures and the world? Are we asking about the relationship between the world and specific languages, e.g. that between the world and Spanish? “Language,” as a general, abstract term, does not refer to a real entity that could have any identifiable relationship with the world, whatever that would mean.

Yes, I’m aware of the many philosophers who have spoken of the relationship between language and the world, e.g. Heidegger, Wittgenstein (of the Tractatus period), Nietzsche, and many others. I have read some of them and thought I understood what they meant, but now I’m not so sure. An analytical philosophers of the 20th century, A.C. Danto, even spoke of philosophy as occupying the space between language and the world, adding another questionable entity, ‘philosophy,’ into the mix. I read, enjoyed, and thought I understood what he was getting at. But now I’m not so sure.

I have an analogous problem with talk about ‘thought’ as something that may or may not exist independently of the language user who expresses it. Along the same line, I have a problem with worries or questions about the nature of thought: What is thought? What is the stuff of thought? Again, it seems to me that we’re dealing with an abstraction. Persons, or creatures capable of thought exist. Because we have evolved as creatures that can reflect on things, mull things over, and talk about it, we make reference to something called “thought.” It is only because there are such creatures, i.e., thinking persons — and the cultures they create — that we concoct the general notion “thought.” “I have many thoughts on the subject” can be restated “I have thought much about the subject.” The verbal terms (to think, to have thought about ..) seems primary. Later we concoct the substantive “thought” and then worry as to how this ‘entity’ relates to language or to the world.

I don’t mean to imply that all talk in terms of substantives (“language,” “thought”) lacks any useful application. I’m just expressing my unease with the tendency to use this talk of substantives as an excuse for quickly directing attention to a variety of metaphysical and ontological quandaries. Maybe we should look first at how we come to talk in this somewhat odd way.

Wittgenstein Questions a Presumption of Dualism

“Talk about behavior and talk about mental states are just two different ways of talking, each of which has practical application in appropriate circumstance; but they should not be interpreted as indicative of a dualistic view of personality.”

Paraphrasing an obscure Wittgensteinian scholar.

Most people who think about the question regarding human personality tend to adopt a dualistic view of humans in which the physical-corporeal aspect is distinct from the mental aspect. This seems to be the intuitive view about our existence in the world; after all, what we think, feel, imagine, dream and so on is surely a different process from our overt behavior, whether that behavior is physical behavior (action, movement) or linguistic behavior (our talking, writing, singing, etc.). Who would deny that I often do not express my thoughts or feelings? Who would deny that often what I do or say does not express what I think or feel? Nobody, it seems, from which many people draw the conclusion that dualism is correct: humans have both a physical and a mental aspect; and these are separate realities. The evidence can seem overwhelming.

But some philosophers have argued that the case for dualism is far from conclusive. There are a variety of ways of countering dualism. Some counter-arguments seek direct refutation of the dualist thesis; but some are modest attempts to raise doubts about some aspect of dualism. Before looking at one such modest questioning of dualism by Ludwig Wittgenstein, let us review some reasons for thinking that dualism is the true view of human personality.

We often find ourselves in situations in which we doubt that a person’s overt behavior accurately indicates what they’re really thinking. For example, we’re wise to be skeptical about the statements of an automobile salesman trying to sell us a new car or a politician trying to sell us on his candidacy. Are they being honest? Do their words really represent their thinking? What motives are they keeping hidden from us? Another example we can cite is the world of stage or film acting; surely we know that a good actor on the stage can make us believe that he really experiences specific feelings and emotions: an actress despairing over the loss of child is not really a woman in despair over the loss of a child. She is an actress skilled at simulating that situation for the audience. An actor who acts as somebody who believes his life is in danger is not really a person whose life is in danger. He is someone skilled at making the audience accept that situation as happening in the play. The point is that nobody denies that there are many situations in which we distinguish sharply between a person’s overt behavior and the person’s actual thoughts, feelings, motives; and these are situations in which we would deny that the observed behavior indicates the thoughts, feelings, or motives that are behind the overt behavior.

These kinds of situations can be presented as evidence for the dualist philosophy, which distinguishes between overt behavior and the mental life. According to the dualist, these two ‘realms’ might correspond in some way, but are separate realms of reality. Furthermore, except for a subject’s own report about his mental state, any knowledge we might acquire about another person’s mental state comes indirectly, by way of inference. We observe the overt behavior and infer the internal mental state; e.g., your telling me that you’re hungry allows me to infer that you really feel hunger pangs, although you could be fooling me.

On the other side we find the materialists and behaviorists who are skeptical about a philosophy which attributes dual reality to human personality. There are a variety of reasons for such skepticism, the chief among them being that the relevant sciences can account for human experience without positing a separate mental realm. The skeptics urge that we take a closer look at the doctrine that humans are have dual character, physical and mental. Furthermore, they question, if not reject, the idea that a subject’s overt behavior is an indication of the internal, mental reality; for example, they deny that ordinarily we infer that a person experiences pain from his behavior indicative of someone feeling pain. According to the philosophical ‘behaviorist’ perspective, in ordinary circumstances, a person exhibiting pain behavior is a person in pain.

In twentieth century philosophy two names which we can cite as philosophers who take this perspective are Ludwig Wittgenstein and Gilbert Ryle. However, their philosophical perspective should be kept distinct from the school of psychological behaviorism (e.g., John Watson, B.F. Skinner). Nevertheless, we can surely see a ‘behaviorist’ perspective in Gilbert Ryle’s argument rejecting the “ghost in the machine” and his general thesis in his book, The Concept of Mind, which undermines the relevance of mental processes underlying overt behavior. Likewise, the philosophical position implied by Wittgenstein’s reflections in the Philosophical Investigations seems to promote a ‘behaviorist’ perspective. In this context we can better understand Wittgenstein’s remarks questioning the tendency of the dualist to assume a sharp distinction between talk about inner mental processes and talk about overt behavior.

We find Wittgenstein doing this in Part II, Section V of the Philosophical Investigations. Here Wittgenstein presents a few remarks which can be read as an argument undermining the assumption that observation of a person’s overt behavior is always distinct from what we say about that person’s corresponding mental state; for example, when we observe a man exhibiting pain behavior (he grimaces and cries out) we observe only his behavior and then infer this mental state: his experiencing pain. Wittgenstein’s point is that in ordinary circumstances observation of pain behavior is the same as our observing a person in pain. In short, Wittgenstein raises doubts about the thesis of a dichotomy between our statements of a person’s overt behavior and our statements about a person’s mental states.

Wittgenstein’s style in presenting his arguments is cryptic and not always transparent. So I offer my attempt at a close interpretation and paraphrasing of Wittgenstein’s thesis.

He begins by remarking on the example of a moving point of light on a screen, and exclaims that one can draw a variety of consequences from the behavior of that point of light, depending on those aspects of its behavior that interest us. We might be interested in the velocity with which it moves, or in the path that it takes; or the number and frequency of stops that it makes. In short, the consequences we draw about the light’s behavior depends on how we our focus our attention. We’re selective in our observations taking only some parts of the light’s behavior as relevant and ignoring other aspects. Then he brings in the analogy to the observation of a person’s behavior. As with our observing the behavior of the point of light, so with our observation of a person’s behavior, we can draw a variety of inferences depending on our selective attention. For example, a tourist guide might recite some information about the place we’re visiting, while he seems to find something else humorous. As tourists we would likely ignore the behavior indicating that he finds something to be humorous, and just focus on the information he gives. But if we were a team evaluating his job performance, we might focus on his distracting ‘tics’ of humor or other indicators that he is bored. The inference we draw is not one about the information which he recites, but about the way he recites the information. We draw an inference, not about the place being visited, but about his qualifications to act as a guide.

At this point, Wittgenstein raises the obvious question:
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Then psychology treats of behavior, not of mind. – What do psychologists record? — What do they observe? Isn’t it the behavior of human beings, in particular their utterances? But these are not about behavior.

(Philosophical Investigations, trans. By G.E.M. Anscombe, Macmillan Company, 1953, p. 179)
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If the data recorded by psychologists are not “about behavior,” what are they about? Wittgenstein’s suggestion is that they are about the person’s state of mind.
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“I noticed that he was out of humour.” Is this a report about his behavior or his state of mind? (“The sky looks threatening”; is this about the present or the future?) Both; not side-by-side, however, but about the one via the other.

(ibid., p. 179)
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The description of behavior is our way of describing someone’s pain. When we make reference to his behavior we also make reference to his pain, in the same way our description of the sky as threatening is a way of predicting a storm. In short, this is how we talk about his mental state, his feeling of pain.
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A doctor asks: “How is he feeling?” the nurse says: “He is groaning”. A report on his behavior. But need there be any question for them whether the groaning is really genuine, is really the expression of anything? Might they not, for example, draw the conclusion “if he groans, we must give him more analgesic” — without suppressing a middle term? Isn’t the point the service to which they put the description of behavior?

(ibid., p. 179)
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Here Wittgenstein raises doubts about our inclination to separate observation about overt behavior from remarks about mental states. Ordinarily, when I observe someone groaning, I observe that he is in pain. The pain behavior does not represent internal pain; it is what we understand as a person in pain.
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“But then they make a tacit presupposition.” Then what we do in our language-game always rests on a tacit presupposition.

(ibid., p. 179)
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Do we have a “tacit presupposition” working here? Do we presuppose that this behavior represents internally felt pain? Wittgenstein asks that we consider whether our language-game of pain description rests on that presupposition. But the presupposition is part of the dualistic way of thinking. Maybe we should not assume that our way of talking is based on a presupposition.

Next he asks that we consider a case in which talk of a ‘presupposition’ makes good sense. This may lead us to think that in ordinary talk we presuppose a connection between behavior and mental state:
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I describe a psychological experiment: the apparatus, the questions of the experimenter, the actions and replies of the subject — and then I say that is a scene in a play. –Now everything is different. So it will be said: If this experiment were described in the same way in a book on psychology, then the behavior described would be understood as the expression of something mental just because it is presupposed that the subject is not taking us in, hasn’t learnt the replies by heart, and other things of the kind. —So we are making a presupposition?
Should we ever really express ourselves like this: “Naturally I am presupposing that . . . .”? — Or do we not do so only because the other person already knows that?

Doesn’t a presupposition imply a doubt? And doubt may be entirely lacking. Doubting has an end.

(ibid., p. 180)
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His point is that in ordinary circumstances we simply don’t doubt that a person exhibiting pain behavior is a case of a person in pain. Doubt is entirely lacking; but the notion that we presuppose a connection rests on the notion that there might be doubt about the connection, i.e., the notion that doubt has a place. But in ordinary circumstances doubt does not have a place. By noting that ordinarily this ‘presupposition’ business does not even apply, Wittgenstein suggests that implied dualism between our talk of behavior and talk about mental states may not even apply.

He follows with a comparison of our dualistic talk regarding behavior and mental states with the philosophical dualism between physical objects and sense-impressions.
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It is like the relation: physical object — sense-impressions. Here we have two different language-games and a complicated relation between them. — If you try to reduce their relations to a simple formula you go wrong.

(ibid., p. 180)
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Wittgenstein’s point is that, like the two different language games of physical objects and sense-impressions, which cannot be reduced to a simple relation of sense-impression representing a corresponding physical object (as sense-datum theories tried to do), talk of overt behavior and that of mental states are two language-games which cannot be reduced to a simple relationship of behavior (utterance) representing the mental state. The relationship between them is much more complicated.

But doesn’t this imply a dualistic framework? Only in the sense that can talk about behavior and we can talk about mental states. For the suggestion of a dualism (if that suggestion lurks here) only concerns language-games, i.e., only concerns the various ways we talk about behavior and mental states. And the way we talk about these may or may not reflect a dualistic reality of human personality.

Wittgenstein’s remarks in this section (Part II, Section V) of the Philosophical Investigations do not ostensibly advance a philosophical behaviorism. At most, his remarks raise interesting questions about some of the assumptions of the dualist regarding our talk about behavior and our talk about mental states. The argument that he makes is one that, if successful, undermines some important premises of the dualist thesis.

Arizona and the Menace of Ethnic Studies?

What gives in Arizona? First they reject the celebration of Martin Luther King Day; then the Arizona legislators submit a tough law targeting all who appear to be illegal immigrants; and now Governor Jan Brewer has signed a bill prohibiting the Tucson school district from offering certain types of ethnic studies in the high schools.

The Associated Press reported that the measure signed Tuesday (5/11/2010) prohibits classes that advocate ethnic solidarity, that are designed primarily for students of a particular race or that promote resentment toward a certain ethnic group. The courses prohibited include courses in African-American studies, Mexican-American studies and Native-American studies, which have been offered by the Tucson Unified School District (Associated Press story, 5/11/2010, by Jonathan J. Cooper). The justification is that such courses, while teaching ethnic solidarity, encourage resentment toward other groups. According to state schools chief, Tom Horne, these programs promote “ethnic chauvinism.” Moreover, some students who don’t belong to the ethnic group at issue have reported that they experienced antagonism by instructors and students.

These are some of the reasons given for the prohibition of such courses. But I would argue that there are plenty of reasons on the other side; many of us hold that such courses provide enough benefit to students that far outweigh the putative liabilities. Let’s consider the issue in more detail and try to see things from the perspective of the Arizona politicians. But before that, I have a few personal remarks to show that I don’t have a bias against the state of Arizona.

Arizona has always seemed a decent enough state. I love the natural beauty, the rugged desert landscape, and the incomparable Grand Canyon area. I have relatives and friends who live in Arizona, and the people generally seem friendly and intelligent. An Arizona State patrolman once went beyond the call of duty to help me and my wife when we had been involved in an automobile accident. So I retain positive feelings toward the Arizona law enforcement community; and I continue to believe that Arizona is a great state and largely populated by good people. However, next time I visit the state I must remember to take my passport along.

In light of the many positive qualities of the state, the actions of Arizona politicians are curious, to say the least. It is not an exaggeration to say that they appear to be antagonistic toward racial and ethnic minorities. For a time Arizona politicians refused to honor the great civil rights leader, Martin Luther King; thus giving insult to African-Americans and anyone who valued the work and progress of the civil rights movement in the 1960s and 1970s. Lately they have cited the facts of real trouble with drug cartels, violence, and drug smuggling at the border with Mexico to justify a new law requiring that anyone who “appears to be here illegally” provide documents proving their legal right to walk the earth inside the borders of the United States. “Appear to be here illegally”: I wonder what that could mean? Guess which ethnic groups that law targets? It surely won’t be all those northern Europeans and Canadians who might have overstayed their student or work visas. (You can bet there are plenty of those people in Arizona.) No, the targets will be poor, working class people who appear Mexican or Central American.

Returning to the ethnic studies issue, why forbid Native-American Studies? The various groups of Native-Americans in and around Arizona (Navajo, Hopi, Apache, etc.), who have probably suffered the longest at the hands of the more powerful white, European invaders, will likely wonder what they have done recently to be included in the group of undesirables. (?)

I have spent many years in class rooms of all sorts: elementary and secondary schools in Colorado, technical training in the U.S. Air Force; college courses in all levels of study in colleges and universities in California, and finally technical courses offered by governmental agencies and private corporations. But I have never had the privilege of an ethnic studies course of any kind. So I cannot speak from experience. I have neither gained any educational benefit nor suffered any ethnically inspired distortion of facts or values in such classes. In my high school days, ethnic studies courses did not exist. During the later periods of my college and university studies, ethnic studies courses were in their early phase; they were available but not too prominent in the college curricula. I was too busy with my formal and technical courses necessary to attaining my degrees; thus, I was not able to take advantage of any ethnic studies offered. But I surely would have profited from learning more about our history and social realities, studies which do not shy away from the ugly facts of such history and social reality.

Based on conversations with those who have taken such courses and recalling my reading about the experiences of others, I would say that students gain much educational benefit and do not suffer the alleged negative consequences (distortion of history and hostility to the oppressors of past periods of history) from such studies. Yes, I have heard from some white students who felt they were in hostile territory when they entered such classes and who experienced some resentment, even hostility, by the ethnic group in the course. But I have also heard from other students, of all ethnic backgrounds and races, who were grateful for such instruction because they learned much concerning the history of inter-ethnic and inter-racial interactions, tensions, oppression of one group by another and such. Surely, you would not argue that it is beneficial to keep people ignorant about those facts of our history?

During my high school years, history and social studies classes did not even mention my ethnic group; Mexican Americans and other Hispanics were invisible in the acceptable history and social studies taught at our schools. I don’t even recall that much, if any, mention was made of African-Americans (“Negros,” in the 1950s) or of the Native Americans (“Indians,” in the 1950s). History was taught as if the only important players were white males (mostly of Europeans descent) and that they alone contributed to our great nation. Furthermore; American History was taught as if everything our country did was admirable and noble. All ugly facts and periods of American history were simply neglected. We learned little or nothing about the treatment of Native Americans, the destruction of entire cultures, our country’s acceptance and promotion of slavery for many decades prior to Emancipation in the 1860s, and our long history of racism, bigotry, and oppression of minorities, not to mention the oppression of women. Those things simply did not contribute to patriotism and good citizenship, so those facts were simply ignored. Of course, there weren’t any suggestions that our country carried on unjust wars against other nations and that our government and international corporations contributed to the oppression and poverty in other countries. This simply did not happen according to the wisdom of the educational establishment of the time.

Maybe that kind of official bias in education is part of what the political establishment in Arizona is trying to revive. Don’t mention those bad parts of American history! After all, ethnic studies courses bring out those unsavory, ugly aspects of American history. Consider that Native-American studies will emphasize the experience of Native Americans since the invasion of Europeans, contrary to official versions of history which tell students about the heroic European explorers who discovered this part of the world and opened it up to European exploration, settlement, “civilization,” and enduring exploitation. The experience of the Native-Americans, whose cultures were destroyed, is not a happy one, and it is not one which puts American History in a flattering light. So maybe we should go easy on these Native-American studies, Arizona suggests. The intended purpose of such courses might be good; admittedly they attempt to give some understanding of the experience of Native-Americans and foster pride in being a member of that besieged group. But in the process, they also stimulate resentment against those who treated Americans in such a brutal fashion, so the Arizona politician tells us. This is the type of thing that we should either ignore or ‘whitewash’ in some way.

We can imagine similar remarks made regarding African-American studies and Mexican-American studies (sometime called “Chicano studies”). African-American studies focus too much attention on the institution of slavery, the struggle of human beings to escape slavery and to gain some measure of civil rights. This, in turn, focuses too much attention on the failings of our laws and institutions until the recent past. It is best not to spend too much time there. Mexican studies courses also spend too much time talking about ethnic bigotry and injustice of the past; and recent efforts to improve the lot of Hispanic minorities. Again, this underscores too much the extent to which society and our institutions have not succeeded in treating everyone justly, regardless of ethnicity and skin color. This could inspire resentment with regards to past practices and the oppressors of those times. This is not good for our contemporary society.

Better to bypass all that! While we’re on the subject, maybe we should take a closer look at those courses which emphasize the experience of women and the Feminist movement. After all, our wonderful country did not see fit to grant women the right to vote until the 1920s. Surely that fact does not inspire patriotism and greater love for country. Better sweep all that under the rug! So speak the Arizona political establishment.

Trying to give some credit to this perspective of the Arizona politicians, we might add that we should not subject naïve young students to the harsh disillusion that might result from learning the facts of history and social relations. After all, many young and impressionable students, including some of minority ethnic groups, have bought completely the myths and white-washed history that the ‘patriotic’ establishment promotes. You have surely heard the main points of this mythical history: American promotes freedom and opportunity for all; America is the best society in the world; in our international relations, we only try to bring freedom to others nations. In short, American has always done what is good and continues to do only what is good. This is the version of history promoted by Ronald Reagan and repeated by the likes of G.W. Bush. People who have bought into such myth might be confused and hurt if they’re exposed to the types of things taught in Ethnic studies courses. So it is better, for the good of all concerned, to avoid such courses. Surely, we should not endorse such courses in our educational system.

But doesn’t all this begin to resemble regimes that rewrite history and keep people ignorant about that which can hurt the established order? Isn’t this the type of thing one would expect in the old Soviet Union or in some totalitarian theocracy where all must think only the State-approved thoughts, or risk annihilation?

The study of Ethnic Courses does not result in people who are subversives and antagonistic to our democratic form of government. Such study, like all legitimate education, results in people who are informed and operate on the basis of realism and enlightenment. If that represents a threat to the Arizona political establishment, maybe it is time that the good people of Arizona take a closer look at the types of individuals they elect to office.

Mark Twain’s Little Bessie & The Problem of Evil

I thought of posting something on the problem of evil. It is a problem I have studied and thought much about; eventually I will post some of my thoughts on the issue. But presently I thought that a piece from Mark Twain would do. He was a master at presenting hard philosophical, social issues by way of sympathetic and interesting characters. In this case, he uses a precocious young girl, Bessie, to present a number of issues regarding the traditional attempt to explain why bad things happen in light of a faith that a good, all-powerful God is in control.

Enjoy and think about the difficulties that Bessie’s mother encounters when she gives her standard replies to the child’s probing questions.

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“Little Bessie would assist providence…”, from the writings of Mark Twain:

Little Bessie was nearly three years old. She was a good child, and not shallow, not frivolous, but meditative and thoughtful, and much given to thinking out the reasons of things and trying to make them harmonize with results. One day she said:

“Mama, why is there so much pain and sorrow and suffering? What is it all for?”

It was an easy question, and Mama had no difficulty answering it:
“It is for our good, my child. In his wisdom and mercy the Lord sends us these afflictions to discipline us and make us better.”

“Is it He that sends them?”

“Yes.”

“Does He send all of them, Mama?”

“Yes dear, all of them. None of them comes by accident. He alone sends them, and always out of love for us and to make us better.”

“Isn’t it strange?”

“Strange? Why no, I have never thought of it in that way. I have not heard anyone call it strange before. It has always seemed natural and right to me, and wise and most kindly and merciful.”

“Who first thought of it like that, Mama? Was it you?”

“Oh no, child, I was taught it.”

“Who taught you so, Mama?”

“Why really, I don’t know — I can’t remember. My mother, I suppose, or the preacher. But it’s a thing that everybody knows.”

“Well anyway, it does seem strange. Did He give Billy Norris the typhus?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“Why to discipline him and make him good.”

“But he died, Mama, and so it couldn’t make him good.”

“Well, then, I suppose it was for some other reason. We know it was a good reason, whatever it was.”

“What do you think it was?”

“Oh, you ask so many questions! I think it was to discipline his parents.”

“Well then, it wasn’t fair, Mama. Why should his life be taken away for their sake, when he wasn’t doing anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know! I only know it was for a good and wise and merciful reason.”

“What reason, Mama?”

“I think … I think … well, it was a judgment; it was to punish them for some sin they had committed.”

“But he was the one that was punished, Mama. Was that right?”

“Certainly, certainly. The Lord does nothing that isn’t right and wise and merciful. You can’t understand these thing now, dear, but when you are grown up you will understand them, and then you will see that they are just and wise.”

(After a pause:)

“Did He make the roof fall in on the stranger that was trying to save the crippled old woman from the fire, Mama?”

“Yes, my child. Wait! Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. I only know it was to discipline some one, or to be a judgment upon somebody, or to show His power.”

“That drunken man that stuck a pitchfork into Mrs. Welch’s baby when …”

“Never mind about it, you needn’t go into particulars; it was to discipline the child — that much is certain, anyway.”

“Mama, Mr. Burgess said in his sermon that billions of little creatures are sent into us to give us cholera, and typhoid, and lockjaw and more than a thousand and other sicknesses and — Mama, does He send them?”

“Oh certainly, child, certainly. Of course.”

“What for?”

“Oh, to discipline us! Haven’t I told you so, over and over again?”

“It’s awful cruel, Mama! And silly! And if I….”

“Hush, oh hush! Do you want to bring the lightning?”

“You know the lightning did come last week, Mama, and struck the new church, and burnt it down. Was it to discipline the church?”

(Wearily) “Oh, I suppose so.”

“But it killed a hog that wasn’t doing anything. Was it to discipline the hog, Mama?”

“Dear child, don’t you want to run out and play awhile? If you would like to ….”

“Mama, only think! Mr. Hollister says there isn’t a bird or fish or reptile or any other animal that hasn’t got an enemy that Providence has sent to bite it and chase it and pester it and kill it and suck its blood and discipline it and make it good and religious. Is it true, Mother — because if it is true why did Mr. Hollister laugh at it?”

“That Hollister is a scandalous person, and I don’t want you to listen to anything he says.”

“Why Mama, he is very interesting, and I think he tries to be good. He says the wasps catch spiders and cram them down into their nests in the ground — alive, Mama! — and there they live and suffer days and days and days, and the hungry little wasps chewing their legs and gnawing into their bellies all the time, to make them good and religious and praise God for his infinite mercies. I think Mr. Hollister is just lovely, and ever so kind; for when I asked him if he would treat a spider like that he said he hoped to be damned if he would; and then he — Dear Mama, have you fainted! I will run and bring help! Now this comes of staying in town in this hot weather.”

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Obviously Mark Twain held a low opinion of the standard, Christian attempts to explain the reality of evil and suffering in a world created and controlled by an all-powerful, perfectly good deity.

Robert Wright and “The Rose Mary Woods Stretch”

Much of Robert Wright’s thesis in his latest book, The Evolution of God, invites comparison to a famous case of stretching to make a weak case seem credible. This is the famous “Rose Mary Woods Stretch.”

Some of you might remember this from Watergate fame. But for those unfamiliar with it: Rose Mary Woods was President Richard Nixon’s personal secretary during the Watergate scandal of the 1970s. Apparently Nixon and his aids (Haldeman, Erlichmann, Mitchell) decided to place the blame on Rose Mary for some of the 18.5 minutes blanked out of the crucial, taped conversation between Nixon and his staff, which likely incriminated Nixon himself. Poor Rose Mary, ever loyal to her masters, agreed to take the blame for erasing five minutes of that tape. But in order to demonstrate to reporters how she accidentally erased the tape, she had to show how — while sitting at her desk and having to answer the telephone — she could have stretched and twisted so that her foot still reached the controls of the dictating machine several feet away. Poor Rose Mary had to stretch and twist herself in ways seldom seen outside of circus acrobatics. Of course, the people of the press were very skeptical that she really could have accidentally erased the tape. (Later investigations identified five to nine separate erasures.)

I see Wright as performing the equivalent to the “Rose Mary Woods Stretch” in trying to show that “God evolved,” that history really discloses a moral order in the universe, and that this objective moral order is evidence for some kind of divinity.

But first let us look at a tactic that Wright uses in the closing pages of his book in an effort to bolster his claim for a “scientific” argument for the reality of a transcendent deity.

Would you be impressed by an argument for the reasonableness of belief in God based on an analogy between the reality of electrons and that of God? The argument simply stated is that if we believe in the reality of electrons, which presumably we do, then we have as much reason for believing in the existence of God. This is precisely what Robert Wright argues in the AFTERWORD of his book The Evolution of God. Obviously, the analogy is weak and does very little to justify belief in God; but Wright and others think otherwise. So let us take a close look at this analogical argument.

In the “Afterword,” on pages 446-448, Wright lays out his analogy between subatomic physics and theology, which rests on the thesis (evolution of morality and God) which he has argued in the main body of his book. [Please excuse the extended quote; but I want to show the full effect of Wright’s way of proceeding.]
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“It’s a bedrock idea of modern physics that, even if you define “ultimate reality” as the ultimate scientific reality — the most fundamental truths of physics — ultimate reality isn’t something you can clearly conceive.” (Electrons as particles? Electrons as waves?) “Sometimes it’s more useful to think of them as particles; sometimes it’s more useful to think of them as waves. Conceiving of them as either is incomplete, yet conceiving of them as both is … well, inconceivable. (446)
“(If we can’t conceive of an electron accurately, what are our chances of getting God right?) The good news is that the hopelessness of figuring out exactly what something is doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Apparently some things are just inconceivable — and yet are things nonetheless.” (447)

“At least, some physicists believe electrons are things. The fact that nobody’s actually seen an electron, and that trying to imagine one ties our minds in knots, has led some physicists and philosophers of science to wonder whether it’s even accurate to say that electrons do exist. You could say that with electrons, as with God, there are believers and there are skeptics. (447)

“The believers believe there’s something out there — some “thing” in some sense of the word “thing” – that corresponds to the word “electron”; and that, though the best we can do is conceive of this “thing” imperfectly, even misleadingly, conceiving of it that way makes more sense than not conceiving of it at all. They believe in electrons while professing their inability to really “know” what an electron is. You might say they believe in electrons even while lacking proof that electrons exist.

“Many of these physicists, while holding that imperfectly conceiving subatomic reality is a valid form of knowledge, wouldn’t approve if you tried to perform a similar maneuver in a theological context. If you said you believe in God, even while acknowledging that you have no clear idea what God is —and that you can’t even really prove God per se exists — they would say your belief has no foundation.

“Yet what exactly is the difference between the logic of their belief in electrons and the logic of a belief in God? The perceive patterns in the physical world — such as the behavior of electricity — and posit a source of these patterns and call that source the “electron.” A believer in God perceives patterns in the moral world (or, at least, moral patterns in the physical world) and posits a source of these patterns and calls the source “God.” (447) “God is that unknown thing that is the source of the moral order, the reason there is a moral dimension to life on Earth and a moral direction to time on Earth; “God” is responsible for the fact that life is sentient, capable of good and bad feelings, and hence morally significant; “God” is responsible for the evolutionary system that placed highly sentient life on a trajectory toward the good, or at least toward tests that offered the opportunity and incentive to realize the good; in the process “God” gave each of us a moral axis around which to organize our lives, should we choose to (447-48) Being human, we will always conceive of the source of this moral order in misleadingly crude ways, but then again you could say the same thing about conceiving electrons. So you’ll do with the source of moral order what physicists do with a subatomic source of the physical order, such as an electron — try to think about it the best you can, and fail. This, at least, is one modern, scientifically informed argument that could be deployed by the believer in God.

(448)
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Here we have Wright’s use of an analogy between the idea of an electron in sub-atomic physics and the idea of “God” in theology to argue for God’s existence. It is true that he attempts to “weasel out” with the final sentence by stating this as an argument “that could be deployed by the believer…” Whether Wright subscribes completely to this argument or not, he clearly claims that scientists’ acceptance of the reality of electrons is analogous to believers’ acceptance of the reality of God. In short, despite his puzzling qualification, Wright endorses this analogical argument.

There are a number of specific points in Wright’s analogy that simply cry out for criticism. Exposing all these would require a complete paper. Presently, we can note that an electron, like a photon, in subatomic physics serves a specific function. There are many phenomena which we could not explain without reference to electrons; and quantum physicists can measure the energy levels of electrons and photons to incredible degrees of accuracy. Electrons and photons are not mere hypothetical entities; but represent scientific conceptualizing of sub-atomic physical forces and dynamics, which nobody questions. It is true our ordinary intuitions and terms (e.g. object, continuous motion) result in paradoxes when we try to apply them to this sub-atomic realm. But entire sciences and technologies are based on the reality of electrons and photons. By contrast, none of this applies to the concept of a deity, even in a loose analogy.

In what follows, I shall mention a small, unscientific survey which I conducted and then try to show that Wright’s general thesis in The Evolution of God, in much a case of Wright engaging in his own version of the “Rosemary Woods Stretch.”

At weekly Friday lunch meeting of retired college instructors, an engineer, and an artist, I posed this question: What you think of an analogy that Robert Wright uses to try to show that, if we believe in the reality of electrons, we should also accept the reality of God?

The group — which included two college science instructors (physical sciences, life sciences), one anthropology instructor, a retired philosophy instructor, an engineer, and a professional artist — were unanimous in rejecting the analogy as remotely close to a reasonable argument for belief in God. “Phony-baloney,” seemed to be the consensus. The retired philosophy instructor was particularly critical, submitting this email reply to my question:

“The analogy is so poor it shows that those who bring it up are either ignorant if how analogies operate as inductive proofs, or know nothing about the history of science which deals directly with electrons. What do they think moves along electrical circuits, lights up televisions, etc.? Where is the physical evidence for God, comparatively speaking?”

According to Wright, the physical evidence for God lies in that objective moral order in history which he claims to have found. The analogy works if you agree with Wright that it is only on the basis of transcendent order – hence, a transcendent designer of that order — that moral phenomena in the world can be explained. But, he never makes a good case for saying that morality can only be explained this way; and he does not even come close to making good a persuasive case for an objective moral order disclosed in history. We could allow, as some have noted, that if we look at some aspects of history (but only some aspects) like the advance of women’s rights or the general recognition that humans have a right not to be enslaved, then we could grant that some parts of history suggest limited moral progress. But there are many other aspects of history which suggest the contrary (history of warfare, the horrendous technology of war, genocides of the twentieth century, continued poverty, suffering, and oppression in large parts of the world while people in other parts enjoy luxury and physical comfort, etc.). But even if you ignore these discouraging aspects of history (as Wright does in his book), you shall be hard pressed to find that Wright provides a good case for his conclusion that morality can only be explained by positing a God, i.e, a real, objective supernatural “Logos.” Hence, his analogy between electrons and God does not even come close to supporting belief in God.

Having closely read Wright’s book, I’m impressed by the tactics that he employs: the stretching and twisting of concepts and terminology, the repeated equivocation on “God” and God (Daniel Dennett remarked that Wright constantly commits the use-mention fallacy throughout his book), the selective reading of early periods of religious history, emphasizing those aspects which served his purpose and ignoring everything else.

Because of such considerations, I find that Wright performs his version of the “Rose Mary Woods Stretch” as he tries to show that the same God has evolved through history, that history really discloses a moral order in the universe, and that this objective moral order is evidence for some kind of divinity. Then, not content with this bizarre twisting and stretching, he throws in that really weak and mostly irrelevant analogy between electrons and God. Like the press said about Rose Mary’s stretch, I say about Wright’s twisting and stretching: It is not very believable! I say this even if we concede that by arguing for his peculiar brand of theism Wright has not shown himself to be crazy.

“You might say that love and truth are the two primary manifestations of divinity in which we can partake, and that partaking in them we become truer manifestations of the divine. Then again, you might not say that. The point is just that you wouldn’t have to be crazy to say it.”

(459)

But that is faint praise, to say the least.

Ah, Mr. Robert Wright! He wants so badly to say he believes; but seems embarrassed by it. So in the end all he can say is that you don’t have to be crazy to believe.

My reply: No you don’t have to be crazy, but it helps if you let your intellectual conscience fall asleep and buy into sloppy, somewhat primitive, philosophical thinking.

A View of Humanism: Humanity Without Crutches

Recently I have had several people express curiosity about humanism. “What is humanism?” they ask. Off course, there’s a great deal of information available on the internet. Any search engine will turn up detailed information on and definitions of humanism. There are many websites dedicated to a variety of humanistic organizations. A few include the American Humanist Association,Corliss Lamont Website, and Paul Kurtz’s Council for Secular Humanism site. People who call themselves humanists come in a range of variety, from the secular humanist who is often an agnostic or atheist to the more inclusive type of humanist, such as many in the Unitarian Church, which even includes believers in some form of deity. The internet even gives you access to ‘Humanist Manifestos,’ of which my favorite is the first one composed in 1933. However, It refers to humanism as a religion, which many of us contemporary humanists would deny.

Because of the great amount of information floating about in the net on humanism, much of which might be confusing to someone trying to learn just a few basics about humanism, I have tried to summarize my view of humanism. Hopefully, this will not add to the reader’s confusion.
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HUMANISM: (my personal view of humanism)

Humanism is simply a general philosophy of life which focuses on human reality and bases knowledge of our world on reason and the methods of science. In most forms, it rejects the theism of the major religions (belief in a deity who plays an active role in human life) and supernaturalism, or the belief in an otherworld, a reality separate from the natural reality, the world disclosed by science, ordinary experience and rational inquiry.

Some general points of this view of humanism include the following:

• humans are on their own; i.e., they build their world for better or worse, without any reliance on deities or the supernatural; and
• we gain knowledge of our world and our existence by our experience, use of reason, and use of scientific methods;
• such knowledge informs us that we have evolved into somewhat-intelligent, somewhat-rational beings in a physical environment, a world partly brought about by natural, evolutionary processes and partly created by cultural and historical processes.
• we lack knowledge of “supernatural realm”, including all gods, angels, or demons of much traditional religious culture.

Historically, humanistic thought focused on human reality instead of realm of God and theology.

• It dealt with human achievement, the sciences and the arts, human society and secular values.
• It left “other worldly” concerns to the churchmen, theologians, mystics and astrologers.
• The precursors of modern science: rationalism (the view that the human mind alone, without divine assistance, can discover truth) and empiricism (the view that careful observation and study of nature are the ways of learning about our world) involved elements of a naturalistic, humanistic philosophy.

Generally, humanism implies a secular, naturalistic perspective on reality:

• It focuses on this life: on happiness, fulfillment and meaning to be found in this life, not in some other-worldly paradise.

“Critical Humanism” or “Rational Humanism” implies a philosophy of critical thought that aims to explain reality, human reality and experience on the basis of reason, factual evidence, and scientific method, and not on the basis of religious faith or ancient scriptures.

Humanistic moral values include the following:
• Intellectual honesty – search for truth and understanding within a rational context;
• Concern with justice and fairness – moral imperatives that respect the value and dignity of human individuals;
• Moral evaluation of actions and policies based on the consequences of those actions; e.g. Utilitarian principles such as greatest happiness for the greatest number as a way of working to minimize suffering, hunger, deprivation and the disparity between rich and poor;
• Personal happiness by way of continuous striving, progress and achievement.

Humanity within a natural context . . . That’s all we have; that’s all we can really know.

The reality that we (human beings) can know and experience is comprised of the
natural realm, featuring natural processes, disclosed by physics, chemistry, geology and astronomy; the evolution of life and higher intelligence on this planet; the workings of the brain and the emergence of minds; the micro-universe disclosed by quantum physics, and so on;
and the cultural/social realm, a world brought about by human work, human thinking, historical and cultural processes.

This includes science, technology, engineering, the arts, literature, philosophies, religions, god(s), political states, governments, war, social institutions, laws, conventions, moralities, myths, legends, so on & so on….

This reality (created by human culture) also includes all “religious products” of human thought, work and experience (including mystical experience): religious doctrines, holy scriptures, so called “divine revelation,” and even the deity himself along with all other deities found in countless religious cultures.

Illegal Immigration: Just a Legal Issue?

As an Hispanic child growing up in Northern New Mexico in the 1940s I recall being surprised one day on hearing my Aunt Josefina say to my grandparents that, contrary to what they thought, we were “Americanos” too, just like the ‘gringos’ and ‘gabachos’ in and around our little village. “¡También somos Americanos!” (We’re also Americans!), I shouted my brother. We had believed all along that the “Americanos” were those big, well-to-do white people who spoke a strange language; but now we were those guys too. What a revelation! Now, why would identification as American sound surprising to people who had lived for multiple generations in that part of the country?

I thought about this as the news about Arizona’s tough immigration law was breaking, inspiring action and reaction around the country. New Mexico is not Arizona, but a next-door neighbor with a different history; but coincidentally, Arizona, like New Mexico, was not admitted into the union until 1912.

I do not have a solution for our difficult illegal immigration problem, and I seriously doubt that anyone else has the answer. A complete sealing of the border is not a practical possibility, and draconian laws against anyone likely to be undocumented (like Arizona has proposed) will also likely fail and produce unacceptable consequences. Immigration is a problem for the federal government; eventually Congress will get around to passing legislation which hopefully will at least be a partial solution to the problem, maybe something similar to legislation of the 1980s which granted a path to legal residency and eventually allowed naturalization to millions of undocumented people already in the country.

But the problem of mass migration of people, with or without proper documentation, is an historical problem and a worldwide problem. Surely it is not one special to the United States. Consider the immigration problems that Western European countries also face. As long as certain regions are poverty-stricken and offer few prospects for a decent standard of life and other regions offer better opportunities for desperate people, there will be migrations of peoples.

But let me return briefly to my family’s situation in New Mexico in the first half of the twentieth century. Why would my grandparents, my brother and I be surprised to hear that we were Americans too? After all, we were not new comers to New Mexico, far from it as our family lines went back to the time of Oñate’s original entry into the region back in 1598. My guess is that part of the answer is historical and part is linguistic. My grandparents were born in the territory of New Mexico before it officially became a state (47th in the union ) in 1912. Citizenship supposedly came for the residents with statehood. But my grandparents were descendants of people who had lived in the area for several centuries and who had been vanquished by the invading U.S. Army in 1846. For these people the “Americanos” were the invaders and the foreigners. It took a major change in perspective to see themselves as “Americanos.” Furthermore, my grandparents’ people spoke Spanish; the Americanos spoke English. Even the name “Americano” was not typically understood as designating a citizen of the United States, but more as designating those outsiders who conquered us and took over. My grandfather participated in his community as a Justice of the Peace and voted in U.S. elections; but he did not see himself as an “Americano.” Our family, except for a younger son who joined the military, spoke Spanish primarily and exclusively. We were dark skinned, poor working class, Spanish-speaking people. We would have been primary targets or for Arizona-Maricopa County Sheriff Arpaio’s deputies, out searching for those who do not look “American.”

So what does this have to do with illegal immigration and smuggling across the border with Mexico today? Don’t the United States and individual States on the border have not only the right but the obligation to protect the border and enforce immigration laws? Don’t all countries, including Mexico, do this? Doesn’t Arizona, over-run by illegal immigrants and drug smugglers, and having to deal directly with the violence and social cost of all this, have the right to legislate relevant laws and take steps to protect its citizens?

The answers to the last three questions is “yes,” the U.S. and individual States do the right and obligation to take legal steps to deal with illegal immigration and other violations of the national border. But when we acknowledge this we should not oversimplify the problem and think that legislation and tough enforcement will solve the problem. It won’t; and even defining the “social problem” is problematic. Contrary to what our ‘super-patriots’ contend, the problem is not simply one of legality and enforcement of the law.

But, what does the situation of my ancestors and grandparents in New Mexico have to do with the problem of illegal immigration today?

Historically, the immigration problem in the Southwestern U.S. must be understood in the context of three-to-four centuries of interaction between the peoples of that region of the world, original pre-Columbian Americans (the real “Americans”); the invaders from Europe, Spaniards, English, French, and other European colonial nations. From these came the people of mixed-ethnicities and races, people who became the Central Americans and Mexicans, residing for centuries in Central America, Mexico and even in North America (those parts later conquered by the United States). During this period there were always invasions by superior military powers, redefining of borders, mass migrations and mass re-definitions for peoples. For much of this period national borders might have defined where the territory of one nation ended and that of another started; but they did not prevent people from their natural and historical migrations and travels.

After the U.S. invasion and conquering of Texas and the southwest, Spanish-speaking people in those areas (Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, California, etc.) consisted of long-time natives (like my grandparents) whose families can be traced back to the 1700s and later immigrants to the area, who attained legal residency and eventually were naturalized as citizens; and finally the later immigrants who migrated to the U.S. without the legal documentation. Many of these assimilated to the North American culture, adopted English as their primary language (in some cases, as their only language) and became full-fledged U.S. citizens. Others retained many aspects of their Hispanic culture (in California and New Mexico, for example) or Mexican culture, speaking Spanish as their primary language. The attitudes toward illegal immigration and undocumented immigrants coming across the border with Mexico of these people vary, with some agreeing with the establishment classes that tougher enforcement of immigration laws are needed, especially when the criminal problem of drug smuggling is considered. But among these people (as among other groups) there are those who tend to have more feeling for the human element of the problem. This is more noticeably the case among those who have been recent immigrants themselves or have closely associated with the struggles of the poverty-stricken immigrating from south of the border.

When we take into consideration the human element, we’re likely to emphasize that undocumented immigrants are mostly just human beings trying to improve their lives and that of their families, humans who have reluctantly left their homes, families, and friends to migrate to a different part of the world (which may not welcome them) in order to survive and hopefully flourish, something that all humans desire. When we take the human element into consideration we’re likely to emphasize the difference between honest, hard-working people just looking for better prospects in life and the criminals who exploit and prey on the weak in all societies, including the societies of immigrants themselves. When we take the human element into account we’re likely to oppose draconian laws which turn all poor, unfortunate, undocumented individuals into criminals to be treated the same as the drug smugglers, violent felons, and cheaters among the immigrant population.

When we take into account the human element we’re likely to focus on questions of moral justice and dignity of the individual, and not just the question of violation of immigration law. Recognition of the narrow legality involved and the need for nations to enforce their immigration laws does not tell us anything about broader questions of universal justice and morality. For someone conscientious about the philosophical and moral questions, what justification is there for policies that give preferential treatment to some segments of humanity and exclude others from the comfort and rewards of a more organized, prosperous society? We are likely to say to the law-and-order person: “All right, so you’re straight about the legality of the problem, but what about the morality? In other words, the problem of illegal immigration is not simply one about ‘justice’ in a legal sense, but ‘justice’ in a moral sense. Draconian laws like those instituted in Arizona don’t help at all in this matter.

Our law-and-order citizens may insist that the only relevant question concerns the fact that so many immigrants are “illegales” (i.e., persons do not have proper documentation for legal entry). So the only relevant issue concerns legality, not morality? We can imagine the same proposition advanced by someone defending the state laws at the time of legal slavery in the South: all that counts is the fact that this Negro is the property of the slave owner; i.e., all that counts is the legality of the situation, not the morality. At a later period of Europe’s history, we could imagine a citizen of the Third Reich in Germany arguing that the only relevant issue when confronted with Jewish people being shipped to the “work” camps was the legal issue: German laws had been passed requiring this relocation of Jewish people. The question of the justice and human dignity was set aside as a secondary question. Does a similar situation apply to our illegal immigrants today?

Historically, we can ask how the policies of the U.S. government in relation to poor countries in our hemisphere have affected the economic status of those countries, and affected the living conditions that afflict the majority of people in those countries. It would be comforting to believe that our country has always done well in this respect, contributing positively, not only to economic growth, but also to rising living standards in those countries. But studies of the problem might lead us to contrary conclusions, and might lead us to conclude the policies of our government and our international corporations have contributed to the bad economic and social conditions that compel people to migrate to richer nations, whether they have legal admission or not. Furthermore, we should not overlook the periods in our history when immigration from Mexico and Central America has been encouraged by employers, both farming and non-farming employers, eager to have a good supply of cheap labor.

It is true that the federal government should reform immigration laws and do a better job of controlling our borders (not just the one with Mexico). The United States has to do a better job of controlling illegal immigration and a better job of reducing the entry and presence of criminals, drug smugglers, and terrorists. But doing this should not require that we treat others who simply seek work and a better life as sub-humans, unworthy of the ordinary values of human dignity and fair play.

How Randomness and Luck (Good and Bad) Affect Our Lives

“What incredibly bad luck!” I thought a few years ago when reading a news story about a bizarre, fatal accident suffered by a commuter on a multiple-level freeway exchange (in a California city). He was driving home after work on a lower level of the freeway when a dog fell from a higher level through his windshield killing the driver. Apparently the dog, a large breed, had fallen out of the bed of pick-up on the higher level and then been hit by oncoming traffic and knocked over the barrier, falling onto the lower level and through the windshield of the unfortunate driver below. This unfortunate person was killed by a random event, ‘random’ in the sense that nobody could have predicted it.

I was reminded of this tragic meeting at an ‘intersection’ between driver and falling dog when I started reading a book, The Drunkard’s Walk, by Leonard Mlodinow which, among other topics, deals with those random events which have significant impact on our lives. It is an understatement to say that the bizarre freeway accident significantly altered the lives of the unfortunate commuter and his family. But not all such meetings at ‘intersections’ are bad ones; let’s look at one that directly affected Mlodinow himself.

In the opening chapter of his book, Mlodinow recounts another ‘intersection,’ with great potential for tragedy but which proved a fortunate one. This happened when his father was a young man and in a Nazi concentration camp in Europe. The young man, a Polish Jew, was the only survivor of his family (his wife and children had already been killed by the Nazi); he survived the concentration camp through a very unlikely event in which his theft of bread resulted in a good job with the German baker, instead of bringing him an immediate execution, as normally happened in such cases. The upshot was that the father survived the Nazi concentration camp and migrated to the United States after the war ended, where he met and married Leonard’s mother and raised a second family. That unlikely intersection between the father and the German baker, who just happened to be in the mood to spare the life of a prisoner and award him a good job, allowed the eventuality that our author, Leonard Mlodinow, was born and went on to become a physicist, who writes interesting books.

So we could say Leonard Mlodinow has a personal interest in one of the themes of his book; this is role that randomness, accident, and contingency play in nature and in our lives. But why select this title, The Drunkard’s Walk? As Mlodinow states it, the wildly meandering, unpredictable path of a drunken person can be seen as a metaphor for our lives. Very few things turn out as we had planned them. Random events which we can never foresee or predict often determine the course of our lives: where we get our education or training, what line of work we get into, the spouse we marry, and so. Unpredictable accidents can change the course of our lives.

This is contrary to how many of us tend to think about the ways of the world and our lives’ prospects, at least when we were starting out. Prior to suffering the accidents and contingencies that life brings, or on the fortunate side, prior to be enjoying the rewards that equally accidental and unpredictable events bring us, we might think that we mostly control how things turn out: that we can plan and predict with fair accuracy much that happens in our lives. Undeniably there are people who can honestly say that much of their life went according to plan. Yes, there were unpredictable events they could not have predicted, but the plans were flexible enough to allow for unforeseen contingencies. Here we might think of the U. S. Constitution and the way it was framed so that the laws and governmental structures based on it were flexible enough to deal with all those subsequent contingencies that nobody could have predicted back in the years immediately following 1776.

But for the greater majority of us, it is reasonable to say that many events came into play that we never expected or planned, or could have controlled; yet these events greatly altered the direction that our lives took. So many of us can agree with Mlodinow when he characterizes most people’s life as resembling a drunkard’s walk: willy-nilly, bouncing here and there and not following any predictable path. How many of us can claim that our lives turned out as we might have imagined and planned (or as our parents planned) when we were finishing high school? Did we really manage to marry that beautiful young girl who was our “true love” in high school or college, or did we end up marrying someone completely unforeseen, in many cases a fortunate intersection in our lives with someone from a different part of the world? Did we really think that we would end up as computer professionals when we didn’t even know what computers were when we planned our moves following high school? “We were headed to college to become engineers and teachers; but an accident occurred and we ended up in the military, where we were trained in electronics. Then there was a great need for computer programmers. And next thing we knew, there we were busy writing computer code.” For many of us, when we reflect on the path our lives have taken, we shall agree with Mlodinow: in many ways our life’s path has resembled the haphazard path of a drunken sailor.

But Mlodinow goes beyond affirming that much is chance occurrence and uncertainty in our lives; he also asserts that we often overstate the degree to which we control things; the degree to which our successes are due to talent and hard work and our failures due to incompetence. He claims that chance and randomness play as great a role in determining success and failure in much of what we do. His examples to support these claims cite cases in which too much credit is given to the CEO for a company’s success (or to a coach for the football team’s success) and too much blame on the same CEO when the company doesn’t do so well. As he states it, often the results are not due to our talent, intelligence, hard work and planning, as we would like to believe. Again, his over-riding point is that randomness, chance, accident and generally unpredictable conditions play a much greater role than most people admit. Anyone who follows sports, e.g., the fortunes of NBA teams, knows that Mlodinow’s view is mostly correct. A team’s success or failure hinges on many factors, some include the talent of the players, the cohesiveness of the team, and coaching tactics. But many of the factors are unpredictable: injuries or illness to key players, personal issues and psychological problems that reduce team “chemistry,” the effects of age, the rise of young talent on opposing teams, even the economy and political situation can affect a team’s fortunes. Just ask any sports gambler about the randomness and unpredictability of such things.

Whether Mlodinow is correct in his general theme of randomness and chance occurrences in nature is an interesting question that we could touch on. Scientists and philosophers debate whether the apparent randomness in nature is really an aspect of nature or is just a result of our limited knowledge of the workings of nature. Many quantum physicist see uncertainty as integral to physical nature; but others, notably Albert Einstein, see it as just an indication of our limited knowledge. (Einstein quoted as saying that he could not imagine that God would play dice with the universe.) Mlodinow himself seems to equate randomness with unpredictability, which suggests that randomness is an epistemological issue, i.e., a matter of the limits of our knowledge. This would imply that the apparent randomness might not really show as a real property of nature. But plenty of debate remains among scientists and philosophers of science on this point; and quantum physics, at least, seems to indicate that at the sub-atomic level physical nature is inherently random and indeterminate

I shall defer discussion of this important scientific and philosophical issue. Presently, I will elaborate some on Mlodinow’s view of the randomness and uncertainty with regard to historical and social reality. Setting aside the deeper scientific and metaphysical issues regarding the ontological status of randomness in nature, I believe that there is general agreement that ‘randomness’ as unpredictability is a fact. In other words, events which are humanly unpredictable are common both in nature and in history, and can have fateful consequences for people’s lives. Examples are fairly easy to cite. Natural catastrophes such as earthquakes, hurricanes, droughts, floods, volcano eruptions can have disruptive effects on whole societies and alter significantly the lives of countless people. In this connection, think of recent events such as the hurricane Katrina, which hit New Orleans and other parts of the gulf area; and consider the mostly tragic consequences for so many people in that city and in that area. Then as the year 2004 came to a close the Indonesian people suffered a Tsunami that killed tens of thousands and greatly changed the lives of millions.

Earlier in our history of the twentieth century, we had the dust bowl and drought which uprooted the lives of many people in the southwest. More recently, think of the earthquake that devastated the capital of Haiti and devastated also the lives of millions of its inhabitants. From the perspective of most human society, including those humans most directly affected by these catastrophes, the events were examples of those aspects of nature that shatter the illusion that the world is regular and predictable, that humans can plan for all contingencies, and expect things to work according to plan. The fact is that sometimes we can; but sometimes we cannot. What we can manage is often analogous to a roll of the dice at a Las Vegas casino, and our best intentions and best efforts are often secondary factors in comparison to the uncertainty and randomness that nature has in store for us. We tend to get accustomed (and become somewhat complacent) to the regular seasons and patterns in our world; we expect them to continue their regular, predictable pattern indefinitely; and when this pattern is interrupted we are left shocked and devastated. We’re much like Bertrand Russell’s chicken, which was fed regularly (like clockwork) every morning and never expected that fateful change in pattern, when one day instead of being fed as usual, the farmer wrung its neck.

When we turn to human-made catastrophes it becomes even more apparent that our best thought-out plans are often rudely and tragically disrupted and canceled. History gives us many examples in which war, economic depression, conflict between groups, genocide, conquest, and defeat in the competition of economies and technologies result in tragic disruption of ordinary existence. Does anyone doubt or deny that much death, suffering, dislocation, enslavement and oppression result from each of the many wars that human society engages? The extent and character of the resulting tragedy are never fully predictable beforehand. If they were, people would never assent to their nation’s penchant for aggressive policies and military adventures. In each case we have situations in which both good and bad luck (the roll of the dice, the draw of the card) significantly affect the direction that people’s lives take.

From recent history, consider the fate of the young men and women unlucky enough to have be born at a time that threw them into any of the following situations: pre-Columbian Americans (in a Caribbean Island, in Central and South America, Mexico and North America) who happened to be in the path of invading Europeans who eventually (with the help of diseases to which the Americans had no immunity) destroyed the cultures and lives of entire generations. If you were a healthy, young West African living at the time of ‘Slave Economies,’ there was a fairly good chance that you would be captured by slave traders and shipped across the Atlantic where the rest of your life would be one of enslavement; and your children and theirs would likewise spend their lives as the slave property of some slave owner. Later, in the 1860s in the U.S., a tragic and deadly civil war would be fought before slavery could be officially abolished in the United States. Many young Americans, both in the North and in the South, unlucky enough to come of age at the wrong time, lost their lives or had their lives brutally disrupted by this event, one which could not be predicted in terms of its deadliness, destructiveness, and consequences. Here you have a number of major historical events and trends, none of whose exact nature and effects could have been predicted beforehand; and all of which proved fateful for millions of lives.

Entire generations of young men in England, France, and Germany who happened to come of military age as World War I was starting and who ended up as the millions of casualties in futile battlefields in Europe. None of these young people planned early, brutal deaths; but the tragic contingencies of history brought them that fate. In the twentieth century history of the United States, the financial collapse of the late 1920s followed by the Great Depression of the 1930s had great and lasting consequences for millions of lives.

Consider the later periods of the twentieth century when World War II brought untold tragedy and devastation. Admittedly, World War II gave us great technological progress in many areas which eventually were beneficial to societies; but it also wrought great advances in the technology of war, death and destruction, along with the general acceptance by ‘civilized’ nations of battle tactics that no longer distinguished between combatants and civilians. Consider the emergence of totalitarian nations that adopted policies of genocide. We cannot ignore the millions of victims (mostly Jews) of the Nazi Holocaust and the genocide carried out by Stalinist Soviet Union. Let us not forget the millions of people in Europe, in North American, in Japan and China who were victims of war, whose lives were destroyed and uprooted by events not of their own choosing or for which they could have planned. A young Jewish couple planning marriage and children, but trapped in Europe in the early 1940s; a young Russian peasant farmer just working to support his family, but who fell into disfavor with the ruling group at the Kremlin; a young Japanese girls who just happened to live in Hiroshima at the time of the Atomic bombing of that city. Chance and bad luck put these individuals in the path of event which they could not predict and which disrupted (to state it mildly) their lives in tragic ways. Again, chance and the roll of the dice determined what awaited these unfortunate human individuals.

The events of September 11, 2001 when the World Trade Center in New York city and the Pentagon were attacked offers another example of a happening that affected the lives of many of us. Our paths intersect with the paths of others in a variety of ways. Some are good intersections, as when we meet by accident that person who comes to be our inspiration or who becomes our life’s partner. But some are unfortunate accidents (an automobile collides with us) and tragic, as those ‘intersections’ in people’s lives as a result of the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001. We have not forgotten the tragedies of all those unfortunate victims (those occupying the Twin Towers at the time the airliners impacted the buildings; those who happened to board the same flights (American Airlines, United Airlines) as the terrorists) whose paths intersected. Little can be said to lessen the pain and loss of the survivors and the families of the direct victims. In addition, millions of people’s lives were greatly affected by the aftermath of the attacks; much of this in unpredictable ways. Here think of the consequential wars in Afghanistan and Iraq; the increased security and restrictions of the Patriot Act, and the resulting economic conditions. Many of us employed by United Airlines at the time of the attacks saw our company’s condition deteriorate, until it had to declare bankruptcy. Many of us lost our positions with United or had to retire early. The affects of an unforeseen attack on the US on Americans and many people in other nations are still with us; and cannot be completely accounted. But who, if anyone, foresaw in 1999 or 2000 the likelihood of such an event? Very few to be sure. Most of us were caught once again by that “roll of the dice” which Mlodinow talks about.

Mlodinow calls such events as war, genocide, and economic depression extreme events which can greatly affect the lives of millions of people. But, as he notes, it does not require extreme events to bring out the role that randomness, unpredictability, and chance occurrences play in our lives. Within the context of larger events, extreme or otherwise, there are countless accidents, contingencies, and unforeseen “meetings at intersections” that greatly influence the paths our lives take. Many of us can recount events and choices in our own lives which bear out what Mlodinow says concerning the general nature of human lives: that they are generally marked by chance occurrences, fateful accidents, and contingencies we never could have foreseen or predicted. This does not imply that we don’t have any control over the direction our lives take; but it does suggest that we can do a better job moving in the direction we choose if we recognize the role that luck, chance occurrences and randomness play in our lives.

Concerning Wittgenstein’s Rejection of Private Language

Recently I stated in writing my general agreement with Ludwig Wittgenstein’s view that a ‘private language’ is not a tenable idea. Upon reading this, one of my correspondents expressed opposition by stating his view that we can discern ideas in certain writers which are not entirely communicable (and which could comprise a language). He wondered whether these wouldn’t count as counter examples to Wittgenstein’s thesis.

Besides my correspondent, other people disagree with the conclusion that a ‘private language’ is impossible; they find this to be a controversial and doubtful claim. After all, they argue, can’t a person have certain ideas, and even some ‘words’ expressing those ideas, which he never discloses to anyone else? Couldn’t he mentally retrieve these ideas and privately held ‘words’ when he desires or requires them? Don’t some artists, poets, and composers have ideas which only they fully comprehend and which they attempt to express in their art? Can’t we call such privately held ideas a ‘private language’?

Other examples which might qualify as ‘private language include those religious experiences called speaking in tongues (Pentacostals?) in which the ‘speaking’ seems to be nothing but gibberish but which the speaker claims as the Holy Spirit ‘speaking’ through him. Would this be a ‘private language’?

One more candidate as a private language is the case in which all speakers of a language have died except for one person who knows the language, can speak it and understand it perfectly; but nobody else understands a word. (This actually happens with some small native American cultures which gradually die out.) Wouldn’t this be case of a ‘private language,’ private to the one survivor?

Before I reply to my correspondent and to these purported counter-examples to Wittgenstein, I need to do a simple exposition of Wittgenstein’s claim regarding private languages.
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The notion of a private language is taken up by Wittgenstein in Part I of his Philosophical Investigations. As with most ideas in philosophy, you can find some philosophers who agree with him and others (e.g. the English philosopher A.J. Ayer) who disagree with Wittgenstein’s view that a private language is impossible. Let’s see what we make of this important issue in philosophy of mind and that of language.

What does Wittgenstein contend with regard to the issue of private language? Based on my study of his remarks on the issue (mostly in his book, Philosophical Investigations) and my reading of some of the vast commentary on his philosophy, the main point concerns the meaning of terms. For any language to function in communicating and expressing ideas, concepts, thoughts, etc., the words and sentences of that language must have a relatively stable meaning, and this requires that users of that language observe rules of meaning. This means that we should be able to make sense of cases in which we get the meaning right and those in which we don’t. In other words, the notion of a rule seems to imply the possibility of correct and incorrect usages. And the notion of meaning implies the application of some rule.

Wittgenstein asks whether the application of a rule makes any sense with regard to a putative private language, one exclusive to the subject alone. How could the private individual, without any objective reference to other speakers or to a rule book or to some standard apart from his own private impressions, make any sense of getting a meaning right or getting it wrong? He argues that this makes no sense when applied to a strictly private context.

The important point is that one try to conceive of this ‘private’ language as strictly or completely private. When one attempts this it becomes evident that one must refer to standards or rules of meaning outside the private ‘stage’ to make any sense of following the rules, and to make any sense of getting the meaning of the words right, and to make sense of the possibility of making errors in our use of words; and thus to make any sense of the very notion of a language.

This is how I interpret Wittgenstein’s position, which I find rationally compelling. The very idea of language implies inter-personal communication and expression. Even the most subjective poets and mystics, when they attempt to express their inner most experiences, must rely on some form of language that can at least partly be understood by others. This implies the observance of some rules of meaning, which implies a social practice. Others, besides the private thoughts of the speaker-writer, are essential to the practice.
(The etymology of the word “language” itself, the Latin “lingua” refers to the tongue, thus to speech. With the invention of writing this function of the tongue includes also the hand, whether manipulating a pen or a keyboard. In any case, whether speech or writing, language is a way of inter-personal communication and expression. It is a social phenomenon, not at all a strictly private, mental one.)

Others disagree with this view; but, frankly, I cannot make much sense of their position. It is true that individuals claim styles of expression which nobody really understands and which therefore might be called a ‘private language’ of sorts. But this would be using the word “language” in an extended, metaphorical sense. It would be the type of expression and ‘language’ which you’re free to take anyway you please. My view is that a ‘language’ which one is free to take any way one pleases is not any kind of language at all. Even the most secret, cryptic code requires at some stage rules of interpretation. Otherwise, it would not have any function as a means of communication and inter-personal expression.

On reading this, my correspondent raised a question about the language used by writers like Nietzsche, for example, who in his famous book Thus Spoke Zarathustra, refers to Zarathustra’s eagle and serpent: “What is Nietzsche alluding to by these images? Could it be the Apollonian and Dionysian dualistic forces? Or is it a reference to different aspects of creation?” The point the questioner is making concerns the notion that Nietzsche’s language in that work is private to him in the sense that we cannot be sure of all the aspects of his meaning.
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This raises an interesting issue about the writings of people like Nietzsche. How exactly (if “exactly” even applies) do we interpret all the allusions, metaphors, imagery, analogies, etc.? This makes for much interpretive work for scholars and other writers (e.g. Walter Kaufmann offers excellent interpretations of Nietzsche). Yes, this style of writing, like much literary, poetic work, raises interesting problems of interpretation and meaning. Consider the centuries of debate over different interpretations of religious texts (Old Testament, New Testament, the Koran, etc.). Most great works of literature have multiple levels of meaning; and it takes good critics and scholars to give good interpretations of all that the writer is about. And there will always be a variety of different, even opposing, interpretations.

But these facts about literature do not say anything about the possibility of a strictly private language; at most they remind us that any individual can keep certain things private and not give full expression to his exact meaning. (Maybe he really intends to express ambiguity and a degree of vagueness? After all, in literature these surely have their function.) I doubt that Wittgenstein would deny any of this. Writers like Franz Kafka and Martin Heidegger often claimed that nobody truly understood them. We might then say that an important part of what they meant to say remained private to them. But this is simply a version of a secret or something I cannot reveal to others, for one reason or another. Sometimes I cannot reveal it because I lack the words or the talent (e.g. the talent of a Shakespeare) to express what I really mean. Sometimes I choose to keep my ideas obscure and hard to interpret. But notice that none of this requires a “private language” as such. In fact, it presupposes language as a tool of my culture by which I express my ideas and experiences to others, and sometimes intentionally impose limitations on the extent of that expression.

The private language issue is a conceptual issue. It simply asks that one think carefully about what language entails; and then try to apply this to a strictly private phenomenon or experience, one limited to the individual’s immediate experience and making absolutely no reference to anything beyond that. Wittgenstein argues that when you engage in this though experiment you will find that the notion of a strictly private language is ultimately an untenable one. A poet or a Nietzsche who writes works in which they attempt to express their ideas to the reader are not engaged in a private language. How could they be? In philosophy, the notion of a language that purports to be private might be applied to Descartes in his Meditations when he purports to reduce all his thinking just to his private ideas, with no reference whatsoever to material world. A metaphysical idealist, who claims all reality is nothing but ideas present to his mind (solipsism?) also purports to engage in private “meaning” (viz., language), insofar as he tries to express his strange perspective of things. But Wittgenstein would argue that Descartes and the idealist really do not accomplish what they claim to do. I agree.
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Finally some quick replies to the purported counter-examples posed at the beginning. First let’s consider the one that asks whether a person can have certain ideas, and even some ‘words’ expressing those ideas, which he never discloses to anyone else. Could this count as a private language? No, not in the primary sense of the word “language.” People can keep different secrets they never disclose to anyone, and even invent some private technique by which they remember to themselves these secrets. But as soon as they attempt to communicate these or try to express them to others, some form of language is required; and it cannot be ‘private’ in the strict sense of that term. Second, we have the case of speaking in tongues, which nobody can understand. At best, others can surmise that the person is having a highly emotional, religious experience in which they give expression to some feeling or other. But so long as none of this makes sense to others (there’s no translation key), this also fails as a language of any kind, private or public. Third, the case of one, lonely surviving speaker of a language that is dying out does not prove the reality of a private language either. It is an accident of history that only one person can speak and understand the language; but the language is a public one. There were accepted rules of usage that members of the tribe recognized and applied, and which the one surviving member of that unfortunate tribe also accepts, understands, and could apply should there be a situation calling for its use. These are the hallmarks of a public language, not a private one.

I conclude that Wittgenstein was correct in arguing that the notion of a private language is untenable.

PHILOSOPHY, SCIENTISM, AND DEEP REALITY?

Recently I had an exchange of views on the issue of the function of philosophy with a couple of philosophical acquaintances, Spanos and Pablo. It went something like this:

Spanos started our exchange:

“My view is that the center of all philosophy is the question about “reality in itself”, past present and future. When Aristotle wrote,

“And indeed the question which was raised of old and is raised now, and is always the subject of doubt viz. what being is, is just the question, what is substance?”

he stated the very heart of all the different subjects he had been pursuing. He had seen that they all lead back to this central issue. In my view, that is as true for us today as it was for him then.”
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My (Juan’s) response:

What is being? What is substance? What is “reality in itself”? Questions like these, you say, are at the center of all philosophy. The issues they raise, you seem to say, are the central issues of all philosophy. This is a very surprising view about the nature of philosophy, one which I don’t share.

Surely there aren’t any good reasons or evidence to support this claim about all the work in philosophy. Do you really want to say that these questions of traditional metaphysics are the central issues for any philosophy practiced by any philosopher? For example, they were not the central issue for a large group of 20th century analytical philosophers, like Russell, GE Moore, L. Wittgenstein, Gilbert Ryle, and John Austin. They were not the central issue for pragmatists like William James and John Dewey, or the later pragmatists Sidney Hook and Richard Rorty. Such questions were not the central issue for existentialist philosophers like J.P. Sartre and Albert Camus, nor for their precursor, Friedrich Nietzsche. Nor were such questions the central issue for two philosophical writers, Walter Kaufmann and Eric Hoffer, for whom I have great respect; nor are such questions of any importance for one of the better philosophers in areas of evolutionary thought and philosophy of mind, Daniel Dennett. Do you claim that what these people practice is not really philosophy?

At best, your claim about the “central issue” of philosophy only applies to a certain brand of metaphysics, a brand of metaphysics which has some historical interest, but not much besides that.
Any philosopher who interests me limits his reference to reality as understood and apprehended by human beings; and he uses those tools which human culture has developed: natural science, mathematics, historical analysis, logic, linguistic analysis and such. You might say that this reality is only a human-based phenomenon, and not ‘reality in itself.’ But I have yet to hear much that is truly interesting or relevant to “real world issues and problems” by those who talk about something called ‘reality in itself.’

(I guess many people never learned one of the really important points brought out by Kant’s critical philosophy, that speculative metaphysics is not viable. I suppose people want to emphasize Kant’s mistake of leaving “the door open” for those who wish to ‘explore’ transcendental realms.)

Furthermore, the arguments which purport to show that we can never grasp reality are themselves suspect and nowhere close to cogent. (I have argued elsewhere that they all arise from the false assumption that Descartes gave Western philosophy: namely, that we need to justify all knowledge from a subjective perspective.) Of course, there are limits to our “cognitive powers” and we should pay attention to “the nature of our abilities.” But science and scientifically oriented philosophies admit this much. It is in such areas that the real work, “the heavy lifting”, is being done, as opposed to a few remaining traditional philosophers still searching for “sky hooks” that will pull them up into the land of ‘Being,’ ‘substance’ and ‘reality in itself’. In short, there is a lot of exciting and relevant work being done by scientists and informed philosophers; and this has absolutely nothing to do with traditionalists, metaphysical notions of the Being, Substance, or ‘reality in itself.’
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Pablo steps in:

Though I agree with Juan’s suggestion that we limit what we can and cannot talk about meaningfully, he comes dangerously close to making the claim that if it isn’t scientifically meaningful, it simply isn’t meaningful at all. That’s close to the view of scientism which I can’t accept. I think much in the realm of philosophy is meaningful though, unfortunately, some is not. The problem is how to separate the two categories which is itself a philosophical issue. More importantly, there are human intellectual issues that simply cannot be resolved by science and I insist the only place left for their resolution is in clear, coherent philosophical argumentation using all of the philosophical tools at our disposal.

Scientists represent, in their equations, a simple ‘t‘ to represent time. They use ‘l‘ to represent length and ‘l-cubed‘ to represent space. But we all know there are volumes that have been written about space and time which are the result of different philosophical perspectives, not to mention other issues involved in the philosophy of science. So it seems to me clearly unfair to reject certain locutions in philosophy –as Juan has done — as being meaningless unless some kind of clear-cut demarcation can be instituted to do the job. I do make distinctions between what I claim entail meaningful philosophical discussions (I would exclude much of Existentialist writing as an example, especially Heidegger) but I would be hard-pressed to put forward a clear-cut algorithm to separate the wheat from the chaff, unfortunately.

So even granting that much has been done in philosophy without getting bogged down in metaphysical disputes, it doesn’t follow that what has been done is useful, or true, or the only way to go. I’m afraid metaphysics is here to stay (a while longer at any rate) and from its groin has come some very useful concepts and principles we can use in our everyday lives from practical ethics to political systems, to knowledge and on and on.
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My response to Pablo:

No, I don’t claim that science establishes the limits of meaningful talk. I am not a Logical Positivist in that sense. After all, I have studied both sides of these issues, e.g., the young Wittgenstein’s Tractatus (which many logical positivists read as an attempt to set the limits of meaningful discourse, and which Wittgenstein denied) and the writings of the later Wittgenstein (Philosophical Investigations), who surely did not argue that science sets the limits of meaningful discourse. But if your philosophy purports to say something about the nature of reality or the nature of humanity, then it should at least take into account what the relevant sciences have to say; and it wouldn’t hurt if your philosophy at least imitated certain aspects of scientific inquiry, such as respect for facts, evidence, and peer evaluation. That’s the only sense in which I would argue that science is relevant to work in philosophy. But I am sure that I leave myself open to much rebuttal here.

My reply to Spanos was mostly limited to the questions regarding ‘being,’ ‘substance,’ and ‘reality-in-itself’ (throw in the mysterious “nothingness” too). We have discussed these issues for some time; and none of you have showed me that such notions have any clear application. This does not deny that historically such concepts have had good play and some of our great figures in philosophy might have used such concepts in interesting ways. I simply don’t see that they apply much to most of our contemporary issues.

However, with regard to claim that philosophy should model itself (in most respects) on the natural sciences (sometimes called “scientism”), the philosophers and writers that I admire (e.g., Ludwig Wittgenstein, Gilbert Ryle, John Dewey, Walter Kaufmann, Richard Rorty, Daniel Dennett, Friedrich Nietzsche, and various others) surely do not make that claim, and I don’t recall making it either (other than the in the restricted way stated above). Of course, you qualify your statement by asserting that I come close to the position of the early Logical Positivists: that only scientific-based statements are meaningful. This interpretation of my position is false.

There is plenty in philosophical literature which is not just analysis or elaboration of the work of science, and which is not modeled on science. What I stress is that philosophical discourse should at least strive for honesty, clarity and coherence, and that philosophers should not make obscurity a virtue, and should not offer vagueness and equivocation as profundity. I don’t have much patience for the pretentious type of speculative metaphysics which often parades as profound philosophy. Traditional metaphysics may have historical value, but when metaphysical writers indulge — past or present — see metaphysics as yielding a picture of ‘deep reality,’ philosophy suffers in the eyes of the contemporary intellectual world, in my view. But I accept the fact that others disagree and see much philosophical value in metaphysical speculation. I simply do not.

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