Anderson on Externalism (about moral knowledge).

Anderson has added another post to his blog. This time he presents a conversation about how we know what is good (vs. evil).

At the start of the dialogue that he presents the philosophical question seems to be the following.

Can someone do the right thing without knowing what is the right thing? 

The Tim character maintains an affirmative answer, but Socrates cross-examines him. Socrates wonders if Tim (or anybody for that matter) could be mistaken about what they believe is the right thing. This is sloppy (Anderson is frequently philosophically sloppy). Here's what I mean. In raising the very question, "can someone do the right thing without knowing what the right thing is?" you're supposing there is a right thing. The asker of this question and the one being questioned (call them the evaluators) had better have it as common ground (for the purposes of the discussion) that there is at least something that is the right thing to do. Otherwise, the question just doesn't make sense. Once we've fixed on something like that, for instance, that donating money to a reputable charity is the right thing, then we can ask of a third-party say, Billy-Bob, whether he could in theory donate to charity (so as to do the right thing) while not being aware that it is the right thing to do. And the answer to that question is an obvious, yes. Now, it might not count in Billy-Bob's favor that he has done the right thing, because maybe he did it by accident or because he mistakenly thought it would do harm to the recipient. That is to say, there's a separate question about whether a person who does the right thing (without knowing what is the right thing) is in some way worthy of admiration. But that's an entirely distinct matter.

So, Tim answers affirmatively that a person (say Billy-Bob) could, in principle, do what is right without himself (Billy-Bob) knowing what is right. Okay, so far so good. But then it doesn't really make sense that Anderson's Socrates in turn asks Tim whether he (Tim) might be mistaken about his beliefs concerning what is right. It doesn't make sense for two reasons. As noted above, where Tim and Soc (the evaluators) are talking about whether or not a person could do the right thing without knowing what is right, they are presupposing that there is a right thing to do and that they (Tim and Soc) know that this is so. Again, without this assumption, the question at the start becomes unintelligible (i.e., "can someone do what is right without knowing what is right?" presupposes as common ground that there is at least something we--the people having this conversation--can take for granted as right.) So it makes no sense or at least is moving into a very separate line of inquiry for Soc. to ask Tim whether he knows what's right or whether he could be wrong about what is right.

But the second and perhaps more substantive problem with Soc. line of questioning is that it shows nothing. Tim can have it both ways. That is, Tim can consistently believe that 1) people sometimes disagree and are sometimes wrong about what they believe to be right and 2) people do what is right without knowing what is right. There's nothing incompatible about the conjunction of 1) and 2). The problem that Anderson seems to be trying to get at is based on a confusion about the subject matter of the conversation.

What I suspect Anderson is trying to get at is that there are metaethical theories (in this case concerning moral epistemology) about how we know what is right. And on one family of views, we know by way of intuition (aptly named "intuitionism"). And yes there is a worry that there will be disputes that go unresolved or that if intuitionism is true, there isn't an independent way for us to verify when our intuitions are correct.

I want to say two things about this. First, this point is irrelevant to the very opening question that Tim and Soc. are supposed to be addressing. That question isn't at all about how a person like Billy-Bob can know that something is right. In fact, the question asks us to assume that a third party is ignorant (doesn't know) of what is right. So this metaethical stuff is really orthogonal.

The other thing is that every metaethical view has difficulties. Anderson and Gangadean have a very naive way of doing philosophy. They suspect that if any theory has any problems, then it is a bad theory--not worth accepting or believing. But that standard is both ignorant and entirely unfair and where consistently held, leads to skepticism.

It's important to keep in mind at this point that Anderson (and Gangadean) have their own metaethical views about how we can know what is right or good. What Anderson and Gangadean either fail to see or are just being dishonest about is that their own view also has serious problems. In fact, I will argue that a version of the very problem which Anderson intends to point out for Tim's view (the intuitionist view) exists for Anderson and Gangdean's view about how we know what is right/good!

On Anderson's view, right is a function of the good. So the right thing to do is to do what is good and the good for a thing is entailed by the nature of that thing. The problem of course is this. How do we know what the nature of a thing is? Well, according to Gangadean, we have some mysterious ability to grasp the essences of things--that's just what it is to "have" a concept. What's important here is that there is a standard of correctness. My particular concept of a chair might fail to reflect the essences of chairs and in that way it would be a concept gone awry (maybe Gangadeanians would rather say that in such a case I don't have a concept of a chair, properly). However, they choose to characterize what is going on when say I've got a concept of knowledge that differs dramatically from the concept of knowledge that Gangdaean has, so that one of us has got it wrong, a problem looms. Let me express this by way of a conversation.

Soc. How do you propose that we know what is good?

Andy. You can just reflect on the nature of things and good (for a thing) is according to the nature of a thing.

Soc. But might you be mistaken about the nature of a thing? After all, people disagree about the nature of humans, the nature of right, or even the nature of knowledge, for instance. So how do you determine which belief of yours about natures is correct and which is incorrect?

Andy. Think transcendentally. If we assume that we cannot know the nature of things, then thought and talk are not possible. But thought and talk are possible so, we can know the nature of things.

Soc. You're being thick headed and cutting things with a butcher knife when what you need is a razor blade. Let's suppose what you have said is true--all that gives me is a very general claim that for some natures, we can know them. That doesn't tell me which of my beliefs about the nature of things in particular, is in fact, correct. Here's an analogy. I want to find a good babysitter for my children and ask you what criteria I should use to distinguish the good from the bad. You respond with, "well, it must be the case that we can know that some are good and others are bad." You will not have answered my question in the least.

Andy. Okay, we can distinguish our correct beliefs about the nature of things from our incorrect ones by thinking presuppositionally--from the less basic to the more basic via good and necessary consequences.

Soc. You tire me with your vague pronouncements. Must I really do all the work? Show me exactly how "thinking presuppositionally" answers my particular question. What about presuppositional thinking brings you to your definition of 'man' as 'rational animal' or even your own definition of 'rational'? I don't see how thinking basically gets us there.

And while you're at it, how do you know when you're actually thinking presuppositionally as opposed to falsely believing that you're thinking presuppositionally? After all, it seems possible that you might be mistaken. Relatedly, how do you identify something as more basic vs. less basic? What method do you use to adjudicate disputes about what is more basic. And whatever is that method, Andy, do tell me how you know that this method is to be trusted or authoritative.

Andy. It's just obvious--if you just think about the nature of man, you will discover him to be a rational animal.

Soc. So in other words, it's something like an immediate apprehension which you can't prove.

Andy. Yes, at the very basic level, we have immediate knowledge of things.

Soc.  But could in theory be mistaken about even those judgments, right? You might be mistaken about what the essence of a human is (after all, people disagree, so somebody has got to be wrong). If so, then you're no better off than Tim (the intuitionist). You're calling it something else, but basically you're resting your case on an intuition which you can't independently verify as reporting to you truth. And if you're tempted to just flat-footedly respond that you simply can't be mistaken about the claim that the essence of humans is to be rational, then I wonder why Tim can't do the same about some of his own beliefs about what is right or about the reliability of his moral intuitions? Either way, your view suffers all the same problems as Tim's, it just took a little work to see that. All of this is starting to smell like "knowledge without proof" which is what you were riding Tim about.

Soc. Oh and before I go, notice you didn't answer a number of my questions about what method or faculty you use to determine that you are in fact, thinking presuppositionally (or determining something to be more basic than another)---and about how you know that you're not mistaken!

Anderson on Reason and Faith.

I happened across Owen Anderson's blog, Renewal Philosophy. In a recent post, he speaks briefly of the relationship between faith and reason. At the start, in speaking about the question of interest (what is reason?) he writes,

I am asking for a definition of “reason” in itself, not reason as defined by how it is used by some humans. Just like we might define “good,” or “real,” in themselves rather than giving examples of good or real things.

As is, this is sloppy. This is running two things together--although they are certainly related in important ways. On the one hand, he seems to be asking about what reason is in itself (a metaphysical question about the very nature of reason), but on the other, he speaks of definitions which is a property of words/expressions. A chair (the concrete object) doesn't have a definition, but 'chair' (the word) may have a definition. To conflate the linguistic with the metaphysical is to make a category mistake. So what he should really be saying is either

(i) I am asking for a definition of 'reason' (the single quotes indicate we're talking about the word/expression as opposed to using it).  

or 

(ii) I am asking for a theory of reason (note we're not talking about words or concepts here, we're talking about something presumably non-linguistic and its very nature). 

This isn't just me being pedantic, either. There's a deep methodological issue at stake and one that Gangadeanians commonly gloss over. I've been in many a conversations with them where I question how they know that their definitions are the correct ones. To that, the response is sometimes basically, "I don't care what the word means, I'm interesting in the nature of things not words." The problem here is that we just can't do philosophy without getting into the meaning of expressions. This is because arguments are expressed via words/expressions. First-order propositional logic (the one that gives us rules like modus ponens and modus tollens) is also known as "sentential logic" (i.e., the logic of sentences). We draw inferences from words that express propositions. So suppose Anderson wants to talk about the nature of reason (so as to adopt (ii) above), the question is whether he can shun (i). And that just seems silly. He's using the word 'reason' in order to talk about reason in itself and he wants you to come along for the ride which requires that you understand the word he is using and the manner in which he is using it (remember their mantra "meaning is more basic than truth"? Gangadean claims that you can't know whether a statement is true, without first knowing what it means!). This is abstract meta-philosophical stuff (philosophy about philosophy). And I've never been able to get any Gangadeanians to appreciate the issues, here--though academic philosophers deal in this stuff quite regularly. But the payoff is this: insofar as we express ideas/concepts via a language (as opposed to say, telepathically) in order to do philosophy, or analysis (it's called "conceptual" analysis, for a reason), we are going to have to get into definitions.

So let's assume that before we can talk about the very nature of reason, we need to figure out what the word 'reason' even means. Anderson says he wants a definition, but doesn't care about how "some" people define it. This raises an important methodological point--just whose definition should we go with? I've written on this a lot so I won't rehearse those considerations here. The slight of hand on the part of Anderson and Gangadean here is that they are being linguistic chauvinists. Without ever being explicit, and without argument, they simply assume their definition of a word like 'reason' in order to provide an analysis of reason. They never tell you this of course, and sometimes I think they just haven't been reflective enough to realize that this is just what they are doing. But basically this is what they are asking you to do when they give their spiel: "look we're just going to ignore what *some people define as 'reason', but here's our definition---and you should just take it on blind faith." Again I've hammered this point more than once before as it concerns the meaning of other important key terms like 'knowledge,' 'eternal,' 'infinite,' 'good,' evil,' 'God,' 'matter,' 'spirit,' and the like.  As I noted the importance of the meaning of words is that we evaluate many deductive inferences and ultimately arguments (as either valid or not) based on what the words mean (arguments are presented via sentences which are comprised of words/expressions). So there's a lot at stake. 

My point is that we shouldn't just take it on faith because really what they are claiming (tacitly) is that the definitions which they attach to these words are the correct ones---it's what the words mean in  English. But they do this without any arguments. But as I've mentioned before, if you want to argue that a word means X, then you had better do some empirical work to see how people use the words in the language in question. That's why Anderson's line here is so suspect. 

My point then is is that the above quote about dismissing how "some people use the word reason" should equally apply to the way that Anderson and Gangadean use the word. In other words, this is just another instance of where Anderson proposes a standard which he applies to others, but fails to apply to his own theory---it's intellectual hypocrisy. 

The Intellectual Hubris of Ending Discussions.

Lately, I've been thinking about the common practice of Gangdeanians to effectively end conversations with those with whom they fundamentally disagree. I've been wondering of the psychology involved in such a process--which is also epistemically informative. The express reason that Gangadeanians cite is that some of us are in effect, denying reason or some basic truths which are necessary for intelligible conversations. That is, further discussion, at some point, according to Gangadeanians is pointless. There are some things that we must affirm, if discussions are to have a point or even to be intelligible.

I've noted before that there might be something to this--that is, I don't necessarily disagree. But Gangadeanians play fast and loose with the term 'affirm' in this connection. To affirm a proposition, by their lights, is to in some suitable sense, fully convinced that it is true and to believe for the reasons which make it a guaranteed truth (excepting of course, when we get into their shady realm of "self-attesting" truths). But as I've pointed out elsewhere, the term 'affirm' is ambiguous in English. You might for instance, assume a claim to be true for the purposes of a discussion or investigation (as when a scientists assumes a hypothesis to be true, to see what might follow). Philosophers are no strangers to this approach--we assume, entertain, or imagine, or suppose premises all of the time in order to see what might follow from them in terms of logical implications and beyond. That's the heart of a reductio ad abusrdum for instance! None of this requires that the one affirming is certain or believes or knows (in the Gangadeanian sense) the proposition in question. So at the very least Gangadeanians do great violence to the semantics of 'affirm'. Maybe they've got some technical notion in mind---but the question is why we should follow them in adopting that special dictionary of theirs. 

The payoff is that discussions can indeed be purposeful, elucidating, instructive and the like even if we don't affirm (in the Gangadeanian sense) the basic beliefs of the Gangadeanians. At the very least, they haven't shown us that this contention is false. 

Moving beyond this fairly elementary oversight in reasoning, I started thinking about what it takes to truly understand or know what your ideological opponent believes. The fact is, there's a real problem of self-knowledge---not everything we know or believe is transparent to us. We can be fooled into thinking we believe one thing while actually believing the opposite---and I think even Gangadeanians need to grant this since they believe in such a phenomenon as "self-deception." How much more then for the beliefs that others hold. Of course, it's one thing if we're talking about very mundane beliefs. There's something of a presumption of truth when it comes to human testimony: we assume the words of others are innocent unless we have reason to think otherwise. So when I tell you that I really like sushi, then you should (in terms of epistemic rationality) believe that I like sushi. But what happens when it comes to beliefs concerning philosophical theories? I think things get much more complicated. The opacity problem that I sighted above is much more serious in this context, I think, because philosophical theories can get quite involved and convoluted. There is so much room for misunderstanding what the other person actually believes, what their views entail and what doesn't follow from their commitments and the like. I'm reminded of this quite frequently in doing philosophy. It's quite easy to, in subtle ways, misconstrue the views of another when you're playing the game of raising criticisms, even if you do so in good faith. 

It's no surprise then that philosophers frequently discuss their work with others. Before I invest too much work in a project, if I'm arguing against another philosopher, I will try to reach out to them to see if I've really understood their views, and also to see if they've got a ready response to what I am about to say. When I find a surprising view (for instance, one that seems strange or false to me) I try my best to understand why they believe what they believe---because I suspect there will be at least some considerations that lead them there that aren't entirely crazy. And sometimes, the process teaches me that I've got it all wrong and have made a mistake (big surprise, right?!). We are fallible beings. We make mistakes in reasoning, even those of us that do philosophy for a living. This is particularly the case when the material in question is very involved, depends on subtle distinctions and has many conceptual moving parts. 

So what does this have to do with the Gangadeanians? I highly doubt that they could in felicity say that they really understand where I stand on matters. What is more, based on conversations I have had with Gangadeanians, they frequently misconstrue my positions---often conflating them with nearby views in order to push over strawmen. Philosophy is hard. Knowing and understanding what someone believes about say the nature of knowledge, epistemic normativity and the like is really really hard. It takes a lot of work. It takes patience and a lot of back and forth and some humility. 

But Gangadean and his kin are frequently so quick to dismiss their critics (to end conversations) that I think there is a good chance they simply misunderstand them. I had a few conversations with Gangadean for instance, and he frequently misrepresented my views back to me, and yet still had the audacity to tell me just where we disagreed and why we couldn't continue to talk. A similar thing happened with me and some other Gangadeanians--ones that had at one time been among my friends. They simply didn't put the requisite time and effort in to really understand where I was coming from and what it was that I really believed. Instead, I suspect they simply took Gangadean at his word---and trusted that he charitably characterized my positions. Furthermore, I've been informed by multiple sources that Gangadeanians effectively ignore my arguments (and are dissuaded from reading my blog) on the basis of what their church deems as my questionable moral character. Of course that's nothing more than an ad hominem. 

I think this approach is regrettable, but more importantly it suggest some important vices. How confident they must be in their ability to understand and diagnose what another believes, to quickly cut-off dialogue and to ignore criticisms. That doesn't speak of intellectual integrity. It doesn't show a commitment to getting to the truth. No, it suggests unsubtle thinking, overinflated confidence, fear and ignorance.  

I was thinking about the asymmetry of my response in comparison to that of the Gangadeanians. And one thing I realized is that it has always been that Gangadeanians end conversations/contact. First it was Gangadean, who, after spending just a few hours talking with me, decided there was no more room for discussion because he diagnosed me as a full blooded skeptic. Then it was some of my former friends who strangely seemed to sparsely read my blog, but never bothered to talk to me about its substantive contents and instead kept arguing with me about my motivations for keeping the blog, or what they perceived as the "harsh" tone with which I wrote. Strangely, they too, one day decided in the end, that on the basis of core philosophical disagreements, we could no longer be friends. But in each case, it was their doing... I remained committed to continuing dialogue, to getting clearer on the source of our disagreements, and to understand their views, but these were clearly not shared values.

If I end conversation/relationship with you because we disagree (particularly, on complicated matters), then I close myself off from ever learning that I was mistaken. True, the chances of my error might be small depending on the context (for instance, I'm fairly confident that I understand the core of Gangadean's views because I spent years studying them), but that doesn't mean it should be dismissed outright. To have integrity on intellectual matters, to seek the truth in part, involves a commitment to not only understanding our own views or even the views that feel comfortable for us, but also to understand those views that differ from ours. It is unlikely to be realized within echo-chambers or by hiding from our critics.