Perverse Philosophers

Someone may be called "perverse" according the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary when they are "obstinate in opposing what is right, reasonable or accepted."  I think we can maintain that certain philosophers are perverse but not, as may be anticipated or believed by some, because they hold opinions relating to conduct which are perverse.  Would that they did concern themselves with conduct, but it is uncertain they would do so without first concerning themselves with what I think is the origin of their perversion.  Instead, they are perverse because of their extraordinary (un-ordinary?) beliefs regarding reality.  I refer to those philosophers who contend that we cannot know just what reality is; that what is real is unknowable.

What is immediately puzzling about these thinkers is that their conclusion appears to derive from what most would insist is real and which we rely on all the time, i.e. what is sometimes called "the evidence of our senses."  They manage to twist "the evidence of our senses" into a basis for their conclusion by noting the unremarkable fact that we cannot always rely on our senses.  Sometimes we experience illusions.  Sometimes we see mirages.  Sometimes we seem to hear things which cannot be heard by others.  A pencil in a glass of water seems "bent."  And so on and, regrettably, on.

The fact that we can rely on our senses in that they serve us well in acting and judging consequences in the great majority of cases, and have done so for hundreds of thousands of years, doesn't seem to impress these philosophers much.  I think this fact impresses most of us, though, and that it does so for very good reasons.  The only way we can reasonably judge their veracity is by testing the effectiveness of our senses, and the only way we can do that is by their successful employment in life.  All in all, they work rather well.

When they don't work well, there are usually perfectly good explanations readily available, which need not be dependent on the belief that what is real is unknowable.  We may be hallucinating because we're feverish.  We may be mistaken, and find on further consideration (closer examination or investigation) that we were mistaken.  We may not know or understand everything about the universe yet.

It requires a rather extreme disregard of the reliability of "the evidence of our senses", and otherwise plausible explanations for the instances when they "deceive" us ("deceive" is of course a very loaded word) to infer that we cannot know what is real.  I think someone who comes to that conclusion may justly be considered obstinate in opposing what is right, reasonable and accepted and therefore perverse.

As always, I wonder what it is that causes this strikingly persistent perversity.  Sceptics have been with us since ancient times, when philosophy as we know it first began, and there are famous examples of philosophers who have managed to convince themselves that what is real is unknowable, if not that there is no "real."  They litter the history of thought.

They seem in their philosophy to be disconnected from life.  We've no reason to believe that they lived differently from those simple folk who cheerfully felt that they were interacting with the real every moment of their lives, however.  This makes one wonder whether, as philosophers, they were participating in a willful disconnection, deliberately separating their philosophy from their lives.  If that's so, what would induce them to engage in such a futile task?  Perhaps even more interesting is the question why we continue to study them, and even to follow them on such an impotent path?

Are our lives so dreadful?  Is the task of bettering ourselves and our lives so daunting that we turn from it, convincing ourselves that we can't know what is the case?

Pragmatism and Personal Jurisdiction

In these glorious and (in certain respects in any case) united states--and perhaps even in less favored lands--a court can render judgment personally binding on a person only if it first obtains personal jurisdiction.  It does so by the service of process on that unfortunate individual.  Sadly for those so served, they need not necessarily reside or even be in the state in which the court is situated when presented with the papers, which act subjects them to the court's authority.  This authority is nonetheless imposed on them through what are called "long arm" laws, after the fabled and often irritating long arm of the law, I think.

I was surprised to find this expanded version of legal jurisdiction being addressed in Experience and Nature by "Big John" Dewey.  There was a time when jurisdiction was far more limited.  In those simpler times, a court's jurisdiction was limited to its particular location or an area around its location, e.g. within a 100 mile radius (one still finds such limitations on a court's subpoena power).  And the scope of the jurisdiction or authority of a state's laws were generally limited to those within the geographic area of the state.

This legal imperium grew, however, and Dewey is right I think in contending that it did so as a response by society in addressing a problem which required resolution.  It was generally felt inappropriate that a manufacturer could produce and sell in a state products which when defective would injure persons and property in that state, but escape the reach of the courts in that state, thereby rendering the effort of those injured to seek compensation difficult if not impossible.  Legislation was adopted to grant courts jurisdiction of these and others who by actions out of state caused injury in that state, at least in certain circumstances.

Dewey seems to use the expansion of legal jurisdiction in response to the development of commerce, society, technology and their impact to contrast the law favorably to philosophy, at least in that respect.  He felt philosophy remained fixated on questions and concepts which had fascinated thinkers who lived in other and very different times, and still relied on the same kind of reasoning and method employed before the experimental method was created, largely despite philosophy.  Jurisdiction had adapted to intelligently address problems which arose, expanding beyond geographical limitations when necessary; philosophers still spoke of ideas, perceptions, illusions as being "located" in the mind, as if displayed on some screen situated in the head or some less mundane location.  Philosophers remained convinced that the mind, or perhaps the real, lay somehow apart from the "external world" and that this realm rather than the "external world" was philosophy's domain.  The proper study of philosophers if not mankind was a mankind separate from the world instead of a part of it.

This contrast between the law and philosophy is pleasing to a lawyer, it must be admitted.  But Dewey thought that philosophers (perhaps even like the wiser and more practical lawyers!) could and should deal with the world made up of people and the other constituents of nature and the many problems which result from their inevitable interaction.  Although it is probably unreasonable to think that the achievements of philosophers will ever rival those of lawyers (yes, I'm trying to be amusing), even when philosophers turn their thoughts to what is "out there" in the world, I hope they'll do so more and more.  I hope this because philosophy, or at least philosophy as I was taught it too long ago, is a great source of and instruction in critical, analytic thinking (as is the law) and that is something we can use more of in these increasingly unthinking times.

The Delight in and Problems with Instantly Laying Blame

The Fort Hood shootings prompted concerns among the politicians, pundits and preachers that infest us regarding the existence of anti-Muslim sentiment in America and in its foreign policy which, it was proclaimed, caused them in some unclearly defined sense.  The shootings in Tuscon have prompted them to pronounce balefully on the violent and inflammatory tone of political discourse in our great republic, especially that of right-wing politicians, pundits and preachers, which, it is proclaimed, caused them in what I think is an equally undefined sense.

It may be that we are compelled by some irresistible tendency to loudly and insistently blame those we despise for tragedies.  Scapegoats have been the focus of anger for events for a very long time.  Now, when technology allows us to express our opinions on every subject on a world stage, scapegoating has become commonplace.  Those invested in the media and those who otherwise benefit from its use may be especially disposed to lay blame, as they seem to feel that their purpose is to lay blame or they are in any case called upon to do so.

Unfortunately, our eagerness to lay blame leads us to do so in a very thoughtless and simplistic manner.  Sarah Palin is a disturbing figure in certain senses, but it's unreasonable to blame her for the shootings.  The killer in this case seems to have been incensed against the congresswoman he shot since 2007, some time before Ms. Palin came upon the scene.  He also seems to be a very unstable person, who became particularly odd within the past few years.

Ms. Palin's response to those blaming her was largely ineffective, particularly as a result of her weird reference to the "blood libel", but also because it was generally an unintelligent, almost petulant, exercise in political theatre.  Nevertheless there was buried in this inept performance a truth; that neither she nor right wing politicians generally nor the shriekers and pontificators who make their living on talk radio can reasonably be said to have caused these shootings.

While one may regret the atmosphere during the memorial attended by the President, his views regarding this tragedy as expressed in his speech are far more reasonable than those of the many others we've heard from, willingly or unwillingly.  He rightly spoke against the efforts all too clearly being made to reap a political benefit from the shootings.  He condemned the simple-mindedness of those who lay blame.

The tone of our political discourse is inflammatory.  Some truly hateful things are being said by certain people.  Responding to this by blaming them as accessories to murder, however, doesn't exactly raise the level of discourse. 

It seems that one thing we are not inclined to do much anymore is "stop and think."  Where instant responses are eagerly made and sought, not much in the way of thought takes place.  Very few of us can think rapidly and well.  Yet (almost) the first thing we do when something bad happens is place blame on someone or something.  This is stupid, and useless.

The sensible reaction to such events is to take steps to prevent them from happening in the future.  We won't achieve this by silencing those with whom we disagree, however strongly.  There is much more involved.  Thinking and planning is called for; unfortunately, it seems our willingness to engage in the kind of effort required to do what is needed appears to be waning as we rush to judgment in a world where we believe our thoughts should be expressed as quickly and simply as possible, and are subject to the views of others expressed in the same unreflecting manner

On the Pretensions of Art

Somewhere in Anthony Burgess' wonderfully entertaining novel Earthly Powers the narrator, Kenneth Toomey, observes in some exotic location a bird carefully painting something, a nest I think, using a kind of stick or twig or brush it holds in its beak.  "So much for the pretensions of art" is Toomey's comment on the scene.

Non-human animals can and are apparently being encouraged in some cases to "do art."   Cats, I know, are making paintings, some of which seem colorful and interesting.  I'm not sure just what this is supposed to mean beyond the fact that non-human animals can in some cases create what we humans would call "art" which sometimes, if we be honest, is more attractive than items created by humans which they and other humans claim is art.  This in and of itself doesn't suffice to establish that there is nothing peculiar or special about human art, but it does lead one to wonder about the sometimes extraordinary claims made regarding human art by human artists and others. 

Works of art can be inspiring and the skill required to create them can inspire a kind of awe, as well.  Great paintings and music, poetry and novels, films, are among the most remarkable artifacts of our species.  They can mean a great deal to people, because their effect can be profound.  They can therefore influence human conduct profoundly.  This much is clear, I think.

But does (or should) art have some kind of special status?  It's obviously something humans do, and humans do many things.  Certain humans do certain things better, even much better, than others.  Should art's status be similar to the status accorded to other things humans can do which require a great deal of skill, e.g. commanding armies or nations?  We often call those who are particularly skilled in doing something we don't normally consider art an "artist" in that particular field.

Unless we accord art a kind of inherent value, we must judge it by its consequences--what it does to and for us.  To the extent it has consequences which render it special to us, we are justified in considering it special in that respect.  I'm not inclined to ascribe to a class of things inherent value, as I think when we value something we do so based upon a consideration of it in particular circumstances.  We may learn from experience that certain things having a resemblance to each other generally do things to or for us we find valuable, of course.

Perhaps art is a certain kind of conduct or the result of a certain kind of conduct which effects us in a special way; a way different from the effect resulting from other conduct.  Or, perhaps art doesn't create a special effect, but is a special kind of conduct which creates remarkable effects, or effects similar to those created by other kinds of conduct but more intense, or somehow different.

We tend to romanticize art and artists, like we romanticize heroes (artists in a sense can be heroes, of course).  There is nothing necessarily wrong in doing this, but it can be useful to remember now and then that even great artists are humans engaged in human conduct.  They may be extraordinarily skilled, and we may find their work extraordinarily rewarding, and it is on these bases that artists and their work may reasonably be judged.

Homage to J. L. Austin

I recently located my copy of Sense and Sensibilia, and began rereading it.  I know that somewhere there lurks my copy of How to do Things with Words, and will try to find it.  I downloaded onto my otherwise admirable nook Philosophical Papers, and am infuriated that I can't read it, for reasons thus far unknown, to me at least.

I'm reminded of just how enjoyable it is to read Austin.  He seems to me to be, as far as philosophy is concerned, the proverbial breath of fresh air.  I remember I found him astonishing, all those years ago.  I also found him irritating, apparently, at least at first, judging from the notes I scribbled in the margins on the first few pages of Sense and Sensibilia in those distant days.

Austin, you see, demolishes (I hate the word "deconstructs" and all its derivatives) many of the beloved old chestnuts of philosophy--specifically those related to perception in that particular book.  In the course of doing so he demolishes the work of certain philosophers.  I think I may have just read Ayer's Language, Truth and Logic and been impressed by it if my margin notes are any indication.  I seem to have been annoyed by Austin's comments regarding that book which, curiously, I have been able to download and can read without difficulty on my nook.  However, the more of Austin one reads, the more surprised one becomes that Ayer and so many others thought as they did/do, and indeed could have come to the conclusions they come to.

Austin's demolition efforts seem similar to those of Wittgenstein in that they focus on the use and misuse of words, and the assumptions which arise thereby almost necessarily.  By using certain words in certain ways, philosophers in effect load the deck with which they're playing.  Something was obviously going on the 20th century which prompted some philosophers to pause and wonder what the hell it was philosophy was doing so unsuccessfully and indecisively for the prior 2500 or so years.  Dewey was similar to Austin and Wittgenstein in this respect.

Dewey thought that philosophers had managed to confound themselves and others for millenia primarily as a result of social conditions which obtained when philosophy as known in the West began, i.e. in ancient Greece.  The philosophical Greeks tended to belittle the changeable.  They denigrated that which was not immutable, feeling that only the immutable could be "true" and "worthy."  The more subject to change, the less "real."  Dewey felt that this point of view was a kind of virus which spread and was sustained in various respects throughout history, spawning the dualisms which confused philosophy and rendered it ultimately irrelevant.

I find it interesting that although Austin, Wittgenstein and Dewey seem to have come to similar conclusions based on different considerations, one thing they have in common is a belief that philosophy and philosophers have gone so far astray at least in part due to a kind of contempt for the ordinary. Philosophers seem to enjoy distinguishing what they think from what they believe is thought by "ordinary men"; distinguishing what is real from "ordinary life" or the "ordinary, day-to-day world"; distinguishing the proper language of philosophy from "ordinary language."

It's hardly surprising then, that "ordinary people" come to believe that philosophy and philosophers have little or nothing to do with the "ordinary world" which is, for good or ill, the only one we have, much as we may like to think otherwise.  One hopes it is not the case that philosophy is nothing more than a kind of refined, intellectual escape from the mundane.  There is nothing wrong with such things, but philosophy has always had pretensions to being much more than that.  There's no reason to think it must be so limited.   Perhaps it would be a good idea for philosophers to devote more attention to the ordinary.