Book/Philosophical and Cultural Consequences of Amnesic Knowledge
Philosophical and cultural consequences of the average value: big words and magic words
Actual communication. Context amnesia and content amnesia. Testing for the presence of tautological content by rewriting the words to restore the definitions and contexts
The pieces of a mosaic form an accepted, if not confused, kind of coherence. The context that unifies them is implicit in the fact that a convention ties them to an interpretation. I call content amnesia the fact that this coherence doesn’t need a specific content to exist. This amnesia is not peculiar to Art. It affects knowledge in general.
At first sight, it seems as though these patterns of relationships are separate from elements. Think of the aisle of the cathedral. It is parallel to the nave, and next to it, it shares columns with the nave, it runs east-west, like the church itself, it contains columns, on ist inner wall, and windows on its outer wall. At first sight, it seems that these relationships are “extra,” over and above the fact of its being an aisle.
When we look closer, we realize that these relationships are not extra, but necessary to the elements, indeed a part of them.
We realize, for instance, that if an aisle were not parallel to the nave, were not next to it, were not narrower than the nave, did not share columns with the nave, did not run east to west, … that it would not be an “aisle” at all. It would be merely a rectangle of space, in gothic construction, floating free… and what makes it an aisle, specifically, is just the pattern of relationships which it has to the nave, and other elements around it.
When we look closer still, we realize that even this view is still not very accurate. For it is not merely true that the relationships are attached to the elements: the fact is that the elememts themselves are patterns of relationships.
❞The expression “at first sight” is indicative of our inclination toward amnesia. Take the following introduction to the concept of door:
When open, doors admit people, animals, ventilation, and light. The door is used to control the physical atmosphere within a space by enclosing the air drafts, so that interiors may be more effectively heated or cooled. Doors are significant in preventing the spread of fire. They also act as a barrier to noise. Many doors are equipped with locking mechanisms to allow entrance to certain people and keep out others. As a form of courtesy and civility, people often knock before opening a door and entering a room.
❞The context of a door is the coming and going of its users. So an essential part of the door is accessibility. If “doors normally consist of a panel that swings on hinges,” I expect the panel to be tall enough to let people through without crouching. I also expect it to be planted at or near floor level, otherwise it’s a window. But the Wikipedia description of the door makes abstraction of that. In fact, it applies to windows for the most part. The ambiguity is not because I quoted the first paragraphs: you won’t find these implicit, yet indispensable properties elsewhere in the whole article.
The diagnosis of amnesia emphasizes the gap between the intuited idea of what a door is, and what the description actually communicates. Sure, we implicitly know what the door is in relation to its context. But what we know and take for granted is not always what we actually communicate or involve in our conscious thought processes. It is not the door in particular that makes us forget. We forget all kinds of relations, and are tricked by the forgetfulness as in the Mars Climate Orbiter crash fiasco, where different teams of software engineers manipulated numbers with the expectation that they were always working on the same units of measurement.
Putting a door in relation to its context (including its users) won’t necessarily allow you to construct a perfect door, but will certainly help you reinstate the basics of a functional door.
When it’s not the door but words, context amnesia takes a particular quality. When the one “forgets” that some words originally refer to other things, this can lead to words being “thingified,” that is, to them not needing any kind of context to exist. We alternately call them either “big words” when the words in themselves acquire such a value that debates revolve around what they ought to mean, or “magic words” when they lead to believe in the real and practical implications of their conventional or tautological meanings. For example, defining “philosophy” a certain way is believed by Popper to inhibit people from thinking forward:
method of philosophy is the analysis of ordinary language seem to have lost this admirable optimism which once inspired the rationalist tradition. Their attitude, it seems, has become one of resignation, if not despair. They not only leave the advancement of knowledge to the scientists: they even define philosophy in such a way that it becomes, by definition, incapable of making any contribution to our knowledge of the world. The self-mutilation which this so surprisingly persuasive definition requires does not appeal to me. There is no such thing as an essence of philosophy, to be distilled and condensed into a definition. A definition of the word ‘philosophy’ can only have the character of a convention, of an agreement; and I, at any rate, see no merit in the arbitrary proposal to define the word ‘philosophy’ in a way that may well prevent a student of philosophy from trying to contribute, qua philosopher, to the advancement of our knowledge of the world.
❞Against this, I like to quote Faulkner:
It is not unusual for reasonings to depend on definitions or hypotheses when one would rather assume they are derived from facts. But each book or paper develops its own unique semantics. The statement “humans are apes” is not the same whether coming from Thomas Henry Huxley’s comparative anatomy studies, or from Darwin’s theory of natural selection. Moreover, it happens that many of these are not actually stated, meaning that the book’s actual content can only go as far as the lack of statements can lead it. This will be especially relevant in the sections where I look at answers to questions such as: “What is Science?”
The oversight in the communication of context is the basis of highly dispensable, yet widespread notions, a common one being, surprisingly, “objective reality.” Their pretext is the quest for the “core” of things, although such things only exist in their proper context—e.g., in the case of “objective reality,” the observer and instruments of scientific experiments are rountinely claimed to not exist and to never have had any influence on the experiment. The oversight becomes the foundation of false philosphical problems wasting generations of philosophical literature and, ironically, counter-literature, e.g., fallacious critiques of fallacious concepts. Take for example Guattari and Deleuze’s Anti-Œdipus, which criticizes Freud’s œdipian metaphysical speculation—the unconscious—which cannot be proved nor disproved (“unfalsifiable” in Popper’s words), only to offer a metaphysical proof of their own, the “productive unconscious.”
The effort to keep any discourse or text in perspective of its actual content can be mentally taxing, because the reader usually judges the actual content against what it speaks of, not the actual content itself, i.e., the “how is it told” as opposed “what is it talking about.” However, understanding the “how it it told” can be nothing short of eye-opening, for if one restores the actual context (one that is actually in the text, rather than one assumed or extrapolated by the reader) that surrounds big words and magic words—e.g., most of philosophy, really—one routinely reveals tautologies and arbitrary statements, often expressed in the form of deductions, while they are essentially consequences of previous definitions with no factual content. These definitions are usually implied and taken for granted in the context of beliefs and value judgments. When Berkeley deconstructs the concept of “object” versus “perception,” he does it in a culture where this separation is taken for granted, based on the strongest belief that the world does not need a “me” and will go on when I die. When Derrida deconstructs the concept of “nature” opposite “culture,” he does it in a culture where the general belief is that humans are noble creatures and animals are not.
Sure, authors might have “forgotten” to rigorously provide all the details that would put an end to the accusations of tautologies and triviality. But if we are only supposed to rely on the text, which is the only material we concretely have, in the presence of big words and magic words, is a belief in words. It may happen that the author himself freely acknowledges the value judgment supporting his use of the big word. Such is the case with Popper’s proposal for a falsificationist science, the big word here being “science:”
to justify them, however, by representing them as the true or the essential aims of science. This would only distort the issue, and it would mean a relapse into positivist dogmatism. There is only one way, as far as I can see, of arguing rationally in support of my proposals. This is to analyse their logical consequences: to point out their fertility—their power to elucidate the problems of the theory of knowledge.
Thus I freely admit that in arriving at my proposals I have been guided, in the last analysis, by value judgments and predilections. But I hope that my proposals may be acceptable to those who value not only logical rigour but also freedom from dogmatism; who seek practical applicability, but are even more attracted by the adventure of science, and by discoveries which again and again confront us with new and unexpected questions, challenging us to try out new and hitherto undreamed-of answers.
❞But even the “freedom from dogmatism” and “practical applicability” that Popper so desires, despite being well-defined, don’t save the author from centering communication around the “aims of science.” “Freedom from dogmatism” and “practical applicability” could very well be “accepted by those who walue logical rigor” without deciding what the “aims of science” are. For what it’s worth, the latter could well be called the “aims of Karl Popper.” Yet, Popper has, for whatever reason, this need to define what the big words “aims of science” ought to mean.
Big words
Art
All discussions on the value of individual works usually culminate in the resigned acknowledgment that “it’s just a matter of tastes.” The same fate befalls Art.
“What is Art?”
“Is is Art?”
“It’s not <insert here>, it’s Art!”
It is rare for anything new to come out of a discussion or debate on Art. There should always be a courteous agree-to-disagree posture before the debate is even engaged—the famous “I respect your opinion,” which usually means “but no thanks, I’ll keep mine.” Nonetheless, people like to talk and have passionate arguments for the sake of having them. Each participant comes with his own definition of Art. Naively, one would expect every debate to start with a tacit agreement on the meaning of the terms before they are used. While the “tacit” part is fulfilled, the “agreement” part is not. People never base their usage of words strictly on dictionary definitions. Otherwise, there would hardly be any room for most philosophical debates. For example, are video games art? In a blog article of his Roger Ebert’s Journal, Ebert first contends that video games aren’t “worthy” enough:
But, what were we talking about exactly?
Plato, via Aristotle, believed art should be defined as the imitation of nature. Seneca and Cicero essentially agreed. (…)
Santiago now phrases this in her terms: “Art is a way of communicating ideas to an audience in a way that the audience finds engaging.” Yet what ideas are contained in Stravinsky, Picasso, “Night of the Hunter,” “Persona,” “Waiting for Godot,” “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock?” Oh, you can perform an exegesis or a paraphrase, but then you are creating your own art object from the materials at hand.
Kellee Santiago has arrived at this point lacking a convincing definition of art. But is Plato’s any better? Does art grow better the more it imitates nature? My notion is that it grows better the more it improves or alters nature through a passage through what we might call the artist’s soul, or vision. Countless artists have drawn countless nudes. They are all working from nature. Some of there paintings are masterpieces, most are very bad indeed. How do we tell the difference? We know. It is a matter, yes, of taste.
❞It is worth noticing that, had the definition of art been asked first, the debate would have become boring. It would amount either to quoting Wikipedia and cordially agreeing that video games are art according to definition, or to convening that whether this is art is a matter of value, which is the equivalent of asking “Are video games great?” Instead, we are treated to passionate debates that seem “profound” but in fact are disguised moral debates and taste contests as to what meaning some word ought to have—i.e., a “convincing definition of art,” as if art were not only a human-crafted word, but a thing beyond the conventions and powers of mankind, that had its own ontological definition and which mankind tried to “convincingly” match with its own, however imperfect. The debate therefore shrivels to no more than emotional arguing as to the meaning of the word “art,” with Ebert casually dropping the humble acknowledgement that “it is a matter, yes, of taste.” Meaning that the whole article was for nothing. The fact that something is bound to be liked or disliked is not very interesting, particularly when one agrees that arguments from authority are void. It is as profound as two scientists battling over whether one should call the blue color “blue” or “red.” The decision doesn’t affect the scientific value of the statements the word appears in, as long as the word usage is consistent—e.g., if one decides to say that the blue sky is “red,” then we would also say that “red has a shorter wave-length than green, which explains why the sea and the sky appear red to the eye.”
The rationale for the farce of inconsequential debates is easy. When people talk about Art or an artwork, they don’t talk about Art or the artwork.
- When it is about Art, it is actually about the magic word “Art.” At stake is whether the object of the discussion deserves to be called “Art”—i.e., “is Art ’Art?’”
- When it is about some work of art, the question becomes “is it Art?” in the sense of whether it “deserves to be called ’Art’.”
“Art” becomes a noble, sacred, high-spheres word that shall not be tainted by things one doesn’t like. The word finally becomes a thing in itself that predates its definition. Relate this to the word “good.” To mean anything concrete, the word would have to amount to something like a recommendation. If I say “this thing is good,” and mean it as “I recommend it to you,” and if someone hears it as such, then the word would be at least pragmatic. But today, this meaning is reversed: the word becomes the justification of the recommendation—“I recommend it because it is good”—thus losing all substance. “It is good” doesn’t mean anything unless one can elaborate. In fact, only the elaboration means anything objective. The word “good” has as much substance in itself as the statement “it is good because it is good.” The emptiness of the word brings to mind parents who insist on teaching their kids that “this is not a good thing to do” until the kids don’t listen anymore, because, well, if there is nothing to back it up that is more than taste or forms of secular social etiquette (e.g., holding the fork in the right hand), then it is the echo of an empty threat.
As for the content, most art talks gravitate toward the mosaic of external factors: taste, comparable works, historical context, effort and merit, etc. In short, they beat around the bush, always in movement throughout the entire space of ideas but as though steered away from the content by centrifugal force. The discussed artworks are as valuable as what the reviewer puts into them, however bland the work. As Théophile Gautier said of Mona Lisa: “an open text into which one could read what one wanted; probably because she was not a religious image; and, probably, because the literary gazers were mainly men who subjected her to an endless stream of male fantasies.” I’d even argue that the text is so open that people get bored and ultimately feel obliged to conduct infrared scans to see what’s behind the surface, which is arguably as ground-breaking as a selfie on your smartphone (not to imply that your selfie isn’t great).
Reconnecting the word “Art” to the content appears the more legitimate and serious, the more one buys into the magic of the word. With “Art” believed to be an autonomous entity, it looks like a non-trivial but interesting exercise, although one’s “good“ will ultimately dictate what is “art,” and one’s “bad” what is “non-art,” involving mix-ups between subjective and objective discourses. For example, the Anus.com Heavy Metal FAQ makes an objective distinction between Art and non-Art, then makes a case for the strict righteousness of Art by relying on the consensus among “metal fans.”
from other forms of media, or works of communication. It does not tell you what it is telling you to think; it tells you what it is thinking, and requires you meet it half way. It is the high abstract, and functions by metaphor: jarring as if through drunkenness windows of physical confinement to reveal similarity in event, object, and ideal.
Understanding the related nature of structure brings an understanding of the function of nature, and in doing so, can address the pain and suffering and more importantly, the fear thereof that cripples before the disease hits, and bring a calm and peace to human existence.
The varied reactions people have to art confirms this. Despite a storm of protest, the only coherent comments are usually those who originate from the people who have identified with the art - who find ideas in the art or metaphorically similar ideas in the art that are constructive to their own.
Don’t get us wrong - the tools of art are always abused. Advertising, as an industry of convincing people to give up their own free will, uses artistry to convey simple messages. Political propaganda does the same, wrapping a bundle of thoughts around a single spindle and firing them off wildly in an emotional reaction. But art does not stoop this low.
And what is amazing? Metal fans at least can tell the difference. Consistently the albums that are pure cheese are popular for a few years, and fade, where the creations of the distinctive and bold and intelligent stand forth as classics for years. The ones that fade have a material significance: at that time they were new, and fulfilled a need for music with something plausible.
(…)
What Separates Art from Non-Art?
(…)
Art has no material objective. It is about abstract communication and nothing more. Propaganda is always directing different interests in a linear path to a physical world accomplishment.
❞“Art” never “stoops” to “having a material objective:” instead it is the “tools of art,” “artistry.”
material objective, except when it’s sold out, of course (Yes, argue with me all day - to your loss. Metallica’s first three albums have a quality what came after did _not_ in common observation: a passion from an emergent conception of existence and a fluidity of acceptance of its darkness).
❞But why would there be now an argument among “the metal fans,” they who “at least can tell the difference?” This is of course because Metallica’s … And Justice for All, and any other album for that matter, are subjected to taste. And when discussions about what is Art are infused with taste, the word “Art” consequently enters into a blurry zone where arguments about who’s got the more taste pose as “deep” arguments. A good art/bad art dichotomy is therefore healthier than a art/non-art dichotomy, if only because it shows off its dirty linen.
Now, not just “Art,” but “science,” “reason,” “nature,” “reality,” “truth,” “beauty,” are all magic or big words too.
Science
The “scientifically proven” or “clinically proven” tagline is ubiquitous nowadays. So is the tendency to explain things away by switching to a scientific rephrasing of the same thing. For example, one might explain the sky’s blue color by the scattering of the shorter wave-length light as it passes through the atmospheric gas. But, to the layman, this is just rephrasing the question in a more technical jargon. The blue color is the scattering of shorter wave-length light, and the sky is the atmospheric gas. But the answer doesn’t advance the matter one bit: the original question obviously implies that red or green isn’t scattered. It’s also kind of obvious that is has to do with the sky. The rephrasing just begs the question: why is the shorter wave-length light scattered? But most accounts won’t go much deeper. To demonstrate why this is just rephrasing to the person who accepts the answer, I would argue this person could do with it. Could they for example explain why the sun doesn’t look blue too? In fact, without knowing anything about this, I would reuse the same explanation: it’s yellow because of the scattering of certain wave-lengths when passing through the atmospheric gas. Most people that would accept this, won’t be able to do anything with this kind of answers beyond the intellectual satisfaction, basically meaning that terms were just translated. Actually, the people providing the answers are usually as incapacitated—having themselves once been on the asking end—making their answers pedantic. The only way then to arrive at a non-cosmetic understanding is to continue asking why, as children do.
Much of the big word phenomenon can be attributed to the science as a fashionable thing. But experiments made in the name of science are not equal just because they’re “scientific.” From one formulation of the problem and hypotheses to another, from one experimental protocol to another, there are fundamental differences in the believability of the conclusions. These differences alone shape up the practical implications, and do not depend on what one puts into the word “science.” This leaves the definition of “science” and what is science or not, to magic debate. Of course, not all classification attempts can be reduced to magic debate. When Popper says “psychoanalysis is not falsifiable,” he doesn’t do magic. Falsifiability is a well-defined term that isn’t subject to debate. But claiming that “psychoanalysis is not science” or the contrary, is typically referring to science as a big word, especially when it is presented with a “proof,” which is all the more ironical when the proof is part of a book that puts forth its own definition of science. Psychoanalysis itself is a big and a magic word. When one would naively believe that psychoanalysis is what the psychoanalysts make of it, others are willing to take the reverse approach:
So it’s not only the psychoanalysts that are doing bad science, but the inventor of psychoanalysis himself. Psychoanalysis, on the other hand, is science. Oh well.
Beauty
Despite being subjective, “beauty” is often appropriated and accessorized by claiming a scientific foundation which, of course, is “a good thing” because “science” is the Big Thing. Take a propaganda article advocating sexual freedom from patriarchal monogamy:
- The beautiful female has “feminine” features, harmonious and ample curves (breasts for feeding, hips for delivery). These are signs of fertility, health and survival ability, thanks to the right concentration of sexual hormones.
- The beautiful male has a prominent jaw, large shoulders, a certain hairiness, a manly body… These are signs of fertitily, health and survival ability, thanks to the right concentration of sexual hormones.
Therefore, beauty is a general sign of genetic health. Males are instinctively programmed to impregnate as many females as possible, by choosing the most beautiful ones, therefore the ones with the better genes. Females are instinctively programmed to pass down the better genes, therefore to accept the semen of the more beautiful males. Through this natural aesthetic selection, the genetically healthiest males and females reproduce. The genetic health of a population is thus maintained. Sexual freedom (multiple and unconditional relationships) is therefore necessary in order to preserve the genetic health of a population.
❞But as much as features, curves, fertility, etc. are objective characteristics, the concept of “beautiful female” encompasses more, possibly the subjective details. The only way to define a perfectly objective beauty is to define the beautiful female as the female having “feminine features, harmonious and ample curves,” and nothing more. But then, rewriting the text with this definition of the word “beauty” in place of the word alone immediately shows how tautological the discourse becomes:
- The male with a prominent jaw, large shoulders, a certain hairiness, a manly body has a prominent jaw, large shoulders, a certain hairiness, a manly body… These are signs of fertitily, health and survival ability, thanks to the right concentration of sexual hormones.
Therefore, having signs of fertility, health, and survival ability is a general sign of genetic health.
❞The text only tells something non-tautological if the word “beauty” is used with other connotations which contradict the claimed scientific foundation.
Another example: beauty implies a “right concentration of sexual hormones.” What is the definition of “being right?” It is susceptible to the rewriting technique: the concentration of hormones is “right” if and only if it entails fertility, health and survival ability. Rewriting the text, we get that beautiful people show “signs of fertility, health and survival ability, thanks to the concentration of sexual hormones that entails fertility, health and survival ability,” which is tautological. The evocation of “hormones” brings nothing but a scientific coloration to the discussion.
As a result of the claims to scientificity, sexual freedom, thanks to its reliance on “scientific” beauty, gains an objective, scientific foothold, as a “sign of genetic health.” But scientificity only stands if beauty is entirely objectivized, i.e., if sexual freedom is exactly about pursuing fertility, health, and survival ability. If that was the case, the statement that “sexual freedom be therefore necessary in order to preserve the genetic health of a population” would be a tautology rather than a deduction ostentated by the adverb “therefore.” It would be the same as saying that the freedom to pursue genetic health is necessary in order to preserve the genetic health of a population.
How the scientifically moralized sexual freedom effectively applies to real life is something else altogether, but revealing. Those adhering to this sexual freedom are not saying to themselves “I want to have the most genetically healthy babies” when they are dating. A beautiful woman with small breasts and a narrow waist, even sterile, will perfectly do as a mate. They just don’t want the shackles of marriage and strictly monogamous relationships to get in the way. Tellingly, the article I quoted begins with 2 photographs, one of a classy-looking woman, and the other of a nerdy-looking woman wearing glasses and dental rings. To say that the first is more beautiful, and therefore has more chances to be fertile (more fertility genes, in pseudoscientific jargon) than the second, would be as unscientific as the claims of physiognomy to “detect male homosexuality by looking at hair whorls in the scalp” (English Wikipedia, w:Physiognomy). It makes one wonder what the article would be worth to a Westerner, if the photo of the beautiful woman were of one of those very fertile, big-breasted, very fat African women whose beauty strays far off the western canons. Add to this that it is quite possible for the nerdy-looking woman to have a voluptuous body more ready for childbearing than the skinny classy-looking woman, and you get the idea that the big word “beauty” is big precisely in how it seduces the theorician into confusing the scientific concept with the subjective concept.
As in many other fields, when the theory becomes practice, the scientific justification will be forgotten, and the only thing that will be retained from the article is that “beauty” is an essential criterion to build society around, without really retaining what precise definition of “beauty” was used in the article. Later, if the associated political movement ever gains traction, the concept of beauty will likely fall back to its more common definition. The main message is: marriage and monogamy are bad, so we remove them. Now you can sleep with anyone. They don’t say “sleep only with the most genetically healthy.” Who spoke about genes, hormones, fertility, genetic health or survival ability?
A myriad variations of this big-word discourse exist. An ecologist will say that a green Earth is beautiful, and that beauty is scientific. Another will defend against racial interbreeding, saying that racial and cultural diversity are scientifically beautiful and natural, while others may want to claim the exact opposite: racial interbreeding is beautiful and natural because it looks over a wider gene pool with better combinatorial opportunities, thus giving a better chance for survival, right? In general, value judgments shape the words to the argumentator’s liking. Going natural is the way to go when it is about natural food, fitness, etc., but magically becomes a negative when one farts or when the law of the fittest is too cruel to endure.
Some magic debates
The debates about what the unconscious is (or should be)
Any object can always be considered under two aspects: as a product, or as something constantly being produced. E.g., a finished product such as a pen can be seen as forces constantly exerting themselves to hold the atoms of the pen together. In a way, it is “constantly being produced” by forces. The same kind of consideration applies to the unconscious. However, psychoanalysts and philosophers made a point of talking of the unconscious as the “unconscious” and only the “unconscious,” which doesn’t go well with Deleuze and Guattari:
So the unconscious is being equated to its productions rather than to its representations. The “replacement” of the productions with the representations is the object of the authors’ criticism. But in the same text, one can read that (œdipian) representations, as part of “social repression,” can also be unconscious:
Even if it is “fake” or lacks “independence,” the representation “ceases to be conscious.” So the representative unconscious which “can only express itself” coexists with the productive unconscious, but this relation of coexistence is overshadowed by a relation of replacement subject to multiple value judgments sprinkled throughout the book: “The great discovery of psychoanalysis,” “unconscious that could only express itself,” “fake image,” knowing that the latter expression is a pleonasm, since all images and representations are fake by definition in the deleuzian universe.
As a result, the whole book is oriented toward the thesis that “unconscious” should designate the “unconscious as factory” rather than the “unconscious as theater.” The whole edge of this magic debate would evaporate if the book only consisted in telling that there is an unconscious production which is about production itself rather than about what is being produced—which is about as interesting as criticizing the word “pen” because it designates more the object than the atomic forces that solidify it. The reasoning is only saying something insofar it creates an edge from nothing, in the sense that the authors take the expression “unconscious as…” to mean “unconscious should be considered as…” Not only is the claim supported by value judgments, but it can always be made independently of any clinical material, including material that validates Œdipus, to the authors’ own admission: “True, it is not psychoanalysis that makes us believe: Œdipus and castration, we ask for it, again and again, and these needs come from elsewhere and from deep within.”
The magic debate of empirical science: the epistemological “problem” of induction and the so-called “direct” opposition between inductivism and falsificationism
As David Hume argues in his Treatise of Human Nature, “even after the observation of the frequent constant conjunction of objects, we have no reason to draw any inference concerning any object beyond those of which we have had experience.” Or, as Karl Popper puts it:
Now it is far from obvious, from a logical point of view, that we are justified in inferring universal statements from singular ones, no matter how numerous; for any conclusion drawn in this way may always turn out to be false: no matter how many instances of white swans we may have observed, this does not justify the conclusion that all swans are white.
The question whether inductive inferences are justified, or under what conditions, is known as the problem of induction. The problem of induction may also be formulated as the question of the validity or the truth of universal statements which are based on experience, such as the hypotheses and theoretical systems of the empirical sciences.
❞Since it is indeed impossible to logically justify universal statements, induction cannot demarcate science from metaphysics. Instead, Popper identifies falsifiability/testability as the criterion of demarcation of science. He “directly opposes” his “deductivist” theory to induction:
But empirical testability is not at all incompatible with inductive science. I already quoted: “It is usual to call an inference ‘inductive’ if it passes from singular statements (sometimes also called ‘particular’ statements), such as accounts of the results of observations or experiments, to universal statements, such as hypotheses or theories.” Of course, “observations” and “experiments” are forms of testing, and obviously, testing implies testability, unless the scientist cheats—whether themselves or their audience. So Popper’s proposal amounts to little else than insisting that one should only test what is testable. The so-called “direct opposition” actually correlates his deductive method to induction. Despite that, Popper never acknowledges that induction is ever present in his characterization of empirical science, at least as ubiquituously as the principle of causality. Let’s see what he makes of the latter:
not really matter much. Yet it may be worth mentioning in this connection that not a few doctrines which are metaphysical, and thus certainly philosophical, could be interpreted as typical hypostatizations of methodological rules. An example of this, in the shape of what is called ‘the principle of causality’, will be discussed in the next section. Another example which we have already encountered is the problem of objectivity. For the requirement of scientific objectivity can also be interpreted as a methodological rule: the rule that only such statements may be introduced in science as are inter-subjectively testable. It might indeed be said that the majority of the problems of theoretical philosophy, and the most interesting ones, can be re-interpreted in this way as problems of method.
❞He further develops his stance on the principle of causality as a method:
can be causally explained—that it can be deductively predicted. According to the way in which one interprets the word ‘can’ in this assertion, it will be either tautological (analytic), or else an assertion about reality (synthetic). For if ‘can’ means that it is always logically possible to construct a causal explanation, then the assertion is tautological, since for any prediction whatsoever we can always find universal statements and initial conditions from which the prediction is derivable. (Whether these universal statements have been tested and corroborated in other cases is of course quite a different question.) If, however, ‘can’ is meant to signify that the world is governed by strict laws, that it is so constructed that every specific event is an instance of a universal regularity or law, then the assertion is admittedly synthetic. But in this case it is not falsifiable, as will be seen later, in section 78. I shall, therefore, neither adopt nor reject the ‘principle of causality’; I shall be content simply to exclude it, as ‘metaphysical’, from the sphere of science.
I shall, however, propose a methodological rule which corresponds so closely to the ‘principle of causality’ that the latter might be regarded as its metaphysical version. It is the simple rule that we are not to abandon the search for universal laws and for a coherent theoretical system, nor ever give up our attempts to explain causally any kind of event we can describe.
❞He has “excluded [the principle of causality], as ‘metaphysical’, from the sphere of science.” But in his own words:
So methodology “characterizes” empirical science, and so does the proposed methodological version of the principle of causality, although he “excluded [the latter] from the sphere of science.” So we moved from “excluding A from B” to “characterizing B with the methodological version of A.”
Now, just as the principle of causality is metaphysical, so is induction, leading us to the fact that it “can be re-interpreted as a problem of method:”
govern the method of induction, and hence that of the verification of theories. But this attempt fails, for the principle of induction is itself metaphysical in character. As I have pointed out in section 1, the assumption that the principle of induction is empirical leads to an infinite regress. It could therefore only be introduced as a primitive proposition (or a postulate, or an axiom). This would perhaps not matter so much, were it not that the principle of induction would have in any case to be treated as a non-falsifiable statement. (…)
Thus if we try to turn our metaphysical faith in the uniformity of nature and in the verifiability of theories into a theory of knowledge based on inductive logic, we are left only with the choice between an infinite regress and apriorism.
❞The method representing the principle of causality is “the simple rule that we are not to (…) ever give up our attempts to explain causally any kind of event we can describe.” Analoguously, the method representing induction would be the simple rule that we are not to abandon the search for universal statements. And—surprise!—the search for universal statements, of the kind induction is precisely enamoured with, is precisely what helps science for Popper:
numerically universal cannot be settled by argument. It is one of those questions which can be settled only by an agreement or a convention. And in view of the methodological situation just referred to, I consider it both useful and fruitful to regard natural laws as synthetic and strictly universal statements (‘all-statements’). This is to regard them as non- verifiable statements which can be put in the form: ‘Of all points in space and time (or in all regions of space and time) it is true that…’. By contrast, statements which relate only to certain finite regions of space and time I call ‘specific’ or ‘singular’ statements.
❞But although universal statements, the search of which is induction as method, are “both useful and fruitful,” Popper thinks induction “does not help us:”
way. For example, we may consider and compare two different systems of methodological rules; one with, and one without, a principle of induction. And we may then examine whether such a principle, once introduced, can be applied without giving rise to inconsistencies; whether it helps us; and whether we really need it. It is this type of inquiry which leads me to dispense with the principle of induction: not because such a principle is as a matter of fact never used in science, but because I think that it is not needed; that it does not help us; and that it even gives rise to inconsistencies.
❞I noted that Popper criticizes the impossibility of positive corroboration through induction (the logical justification of universal statements). This means that the inductivist makes sure his theories must be “justified,” “valid,” “verified,” “established as true,” “conclusively decidable.” By contrast, the deductivist scientist make sure his theories must be “tested,” “corroborated,” “stand up to the demands of practice,” “accepted,” “passed their test,” “proved their mettle.” How similar. And if Popper claims that his insistence on falsification rather logical justification—a theory cannot be conclusively proved, but only conclusively disproved—saves him from dogmatism, it doesn’t, by his own admission.
accept as satisfactory, and as sufficiently tested, have admittedly the character of dogmas, but only in so far as we may desist from justifying them by further arguments (or by further tests). But this kind of dogmatism is innocuous since, should the need arise, these statements can easily be tested further. I admit that this too makes the chain of deduction in principle infinite. But this kind of ‘infinite regress’ is also innocuous since in our theory there is no question of trying to prove any statements by means of it. And finally, as to psychologism: I admit, again, that the decision to accept a basic statement, and to be satisfied with it, is causally connected with our experiences—especially with our perceptual experiences. But we do not attempt to justify basic statements by these experiences. Experiences can motivate a decision, and hence an acceptance or a rejection of a statement, but a basic statement cannot be justified by them—no more than by thumping the table.
❞Note the precision “but only in so far we may desist from justifying them by further arguments (or by further tests),” which perfectly applies to the dogmatism of induction. But what is interesting is that Popper claims that there is “no question of trying to prove any statements by means of it.” But in fact the act of falsifying is already to try to prove (positively corroborate) a “falsifying hypothesis:”
single occurrences are of no significance to science. Thus a few stray basic statements contradicting a theory will hardly induce us to reject it as falsified. We shall take it as falsified only if we discover a reproducible effect which refutes the theory. In other words, we only accept the falsification if a low-level empirical hypothesis which describes such an effect is proposed and corroborated. This kind of hypothesis may be called a falsifying hypothesis.
❞So the scientist must, if not “prove” or “logically justify,” at least “reproducibly” “corroborate” a universal statement, as, says a footnote, a falsifying hypothesis is universal: “the falsifying hypothesis can be of a very low level of universality (obtained, as it were, by generalising the individual co-ordinates of a result of observation (…)).” This is as challenging as practical induction, which is arguably as legitimate as Popper’s “practical falsification.”
Even if inductionists did think highly and dogmatically of their inductive inferences, and did believe that induction was truly “logically possible”—e.g., they would say all swans are white if an awful lot the observations heretofore confirmed it—they necessarily did it non-logically, since it is not logically possible! And thus, they somehow had to do as Popper prescribes. In fact, Popper often derives his definitions from what the physicist necessarily does in reality. But, for the sake of exposing the magic, let us ask what would happen if the principle of induction was taken at face value by scientists. That is, if they threw caution to the wind, denying that their conclusions must have the status of “provisional conjecture” that Popper is quick to cloak his “appraisals” with:
and which describes them as ‘provisional conjectures’ (or something of the sort) has the status of a tautology. Thus it does not give rise to difficulties of the type to which inductive logic gives rise. For this description only paraphrases or interprets the assertion (to which it is equivalent by definition) that strictly universal statements, i.e. theories, cannot be derived from singular statements.
❞Suppose that we appraise the theory that “all swans are white.” All swans were white, up until now. A few black swans have appeared and falsified the theory. What happens? Obviously, as Popper says, a conventionalist could say that “swan” actually means a kind of swan with a certain beak shape. Suppose that, in fact, all the black swans that have been observed don’t fit the description. Now the conventionalist’s theory is safe, but it is not really the same theory as before: it has to be regarded as a new theory, the older theory being now falsified. The older theory actually meant: “all swans, regardless of beak shape, are white.” And the new: “All swans with this particular beak shape are white.” Inductivist or deductivist, conventionalist or not, the theory is testable and falsifiable, provided that all honestly agree on the terms used. As to potential problems about the principle of induction in itself, there weren’t any more than there is in Popper’s method. Suffice to remember that Popper never so much elucidated the problem of induction as accepted it as a methodoloy, with a few rather unexpected interpretations. For example, how does one prove that there are white ravens, so as to falsify the assertion that all ravens are black?
often has an effect to be actually reproduced in order to be a ‘reproducible effect’ (or a ‘discovery’)? The answer is: in some cases not even once. If I assert that there is a family of white ravens in the New York zoo, then I assert something which can be tested in principle. If somebody wishes to test it and is informed, upon arrival, that the family has died, or that it has never been heard of, it is left to him to accept or reject my falsifying basic statement. As a rule, he will have means for forming an opinion by examining witnesses, documents, etc.; that is to say, by appealing to other intersubjectively testable and reproducible facts.
❞To Popper’s criticism that “no matter how many instances of white swans we may have observed, this does not justify the conclusion that all swans are white,” wouldn’t it be nice if the inductivist could also respond with: “in some cases, we don’t need to observe even once” ?
The fact that methodological induction is ever present in Popper’s science can even be read in Popper’s view of metaphysics as useful:
that I am making the mistake of which I have accused the positivists—that of trying to kill metaphysics by calling it names. I do not even go so far as to assert that metaphysics has no value for empirical science. For it cannot be denied that along with metaphysical ideas which have obstructed the advance of science there have been others—such as speculative atomism—which have aided it. And looking at the matter from the psychological angle, I am inclined to think that scientific discovery is impossible without faith in ideas which are of a purely speculative kind, and sometimes even quite hazy; a faith which is completely unwarranted from the point of view of science, and which, to that extent, is ‘metaphysical’.
❞Or in the “bold ideas, unjustified anticipations, and speculative thought” he assimilates with the advances of science:
perceptual experiences accumulate in the course of time. Nor is it due to the fact that we are making ever better use of our senses. Out of uninterpreted sense-experiences science cannot be distilled, no matter how industriously we gather and sort them. Bold ideas, unjustified anticipations, and speculative thought, are our only means for interpreting nature: our only organon, our only instrument, for grasping her. And we must hazard them to win our prize. Those among us who are unwilling to expose their ideas to the hazard of refutation do not take part in the scientific game.
❞Popper’s magic debate comes from the “direct opposition” between actually complementary concepts (inductivism and deductivism), and its presentation as a mutually exclusive choice. And it directly feeds into the part where Popper wishes to identify “empirical science” with the anti-inductivist definition, while admitting to value judgments and to the big word syndrome:
Thus anyone who envisages a system of absolutely certain, irrevocably true statements as the end and purpose of science will certainly reject the proposals I shall make here. And so will those who see ‘the essence of science… in its dignity’, which they think resides in its ‘wholeness’ and its ‘real truth and essentiality’. They will hardly be ready to grant this dignity to modern theoretical physics in which I and others see the most complete realization to date of what I call ‘empirical science’.
The aims of science which I have in mind are different. I do not try to justify them, however, by representing them as the true or the essential aims of science. This would only distort the issue, and it would mean a relapse into positivist dogmatism. There is only one way, as far as I can see, of arguing rationally in support of my proposals. This is to analyse their logical consequences: to point out their fertility—their power to elucidate the problems of the theory of knowledge. Thus I freely admit that in arriving at my proposals I have been guided, in the last analysis, by value judgments and predilections. But I hope that my proposals may be acceptable to those who value not only logical rigour but also freedom from dogmatism; who seek practical applicability, but are even more attracted by the adventure of science, and by discoveries which again and again confront us with new and unexpected questions, challenging us to try out new and hitherto undreamed-of answers.
❞How can endowing the big words “empirical science” with a certain definition help anything? Independently of the accepted definition of science, scientists can always agree on their own “choice of purpose” and put it into practice. On the other hand, it is not an accepted definition that would change the level of critical predisposition that “people who value logical rigour” should maintain toward any self-proclaimed scientific paper anyway, not the least ironically in the field of “modern theoretical physics in which I and others see the most complete realization to date of what I call ‘empirical science’.” It is part of big wording to want to be able to claim: “the Bogdanov papers are not science,” rather than just “the Bogdanov papers are not logically rigorous.” Sure, there may be a heightened sense of nobility and tradition involved when one claims to do “science” rather than “severely tested science”—or not, if “science” is associated with inductive logic.
The definition of big words may be a real problem, insofar words, like insults, do indeed cause real problems, even though they are “just” words. But the “solution” consisting in agreeing upon a universal convention will always be as dangerous as the blind confidence one accords to any person because he wears a white lab coat.
Absolute/relative space
In The Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, Newton treats his readers to an “absolute space [which], in its own nature, without regard to anything external, remains always similar and immovable.” But one can only move relatively to something. I call this something the forgotten context leading to the magic of absolute space. Tellingly, Newton writes the following contorted demonstration:
But even Newton concedes that absolute space is untenable for human purposes:
The intrinsic flaw of the absolute space concept is contained in the impossibility when Newton first writes: “But because the parts of space cannot be seen, or distinguished from one another by our senses, therefore in their stead we use sensible measures of them,” and then later: “ in philosophical disquisitions, we ought to abstract from our senses, and consider things themselves, distinct from what are only sensible measures of them.” So, if I understand correctly, from being unable to see things, we use sensible measures of them, but then we ought to get rid of them to get to the things themselves…
And even though Newton has the tactfulness to warn that « it may be that there is no body really at rest, » it doesn’t prevent him from forgetting one in his famous bucket experiment designed to showcase absolute motion. If a bucket containing water is hung by a twisted cord and the cord is released, the bucket rotates and communicates its motion to the water, until the water is at rest relative to the bucket. However, although the water does not move relative to the bucket, how does one explain the concavity of the surface of the water while the bucket rotates? For Newton, “the true and absolute circular motion of the water, which is here directly contrary to the relative, discovers itself, and may be measured by this endeavour.” For Ernst Mach and most careful observers, « Newton's experiment with the rotating vessel of water simply informs us that the relative rotation of the water with respect to the sides of the vessel produces no noticeable centrifugal forces, but that such forces are produced by its relative rotations with respect to the mass of the earth and other celestial bodies. » Of course, Newton knew that, but he somehow had a fit of context amnesia. As already quoted: « For from the positions and distances of things from any body considered as immovable, we define all places; and then with respect to such places, we estimate all motions, considering bodies as transferred from some of those places into others. »
Phenomenon/noumenon
An object always occurs in a context—e.g., it takes up space. Even in the wildest imagination, it must be differentiated from surroundings, however empty, and it must include the observer. When this context is lost in thought, we suddenly recover the concept of external world/reality, e.g., Kant’s noumenon, or “the thing we can never know [with our senses],” although, strangely enough, we have a word for it, and some philosophers even managed to tell what it was, e.g., Schopenhauer’s “Will.” Nietzsche describes the evolution of the idea of “true world:”
(The oldest form of the idea, relatively sensible, simple, and persuasive. A circumlocution for the sentence, “I, Plato, am the truth.”)
2. The true world — unattainable for now, but promised for the sage, the pious, the virtuous man (“for the sinner who repents”).
(Progress of the idea: it becomes more subtle, insidious, incomprehensible — it becomes female, it becomes Christian. )
3. The true world — unattainable, indemonstrable, unpromisable; but the very thought of it — a consolation, an obligation, an imperative.
(At bottom, the old sun, but seen through mist and skepticism. The idea has become elusive, pale, Nordic, Königsbergian.)
4. The true world — unattainable? At any rate, unattained. And being unattained, also unknown. Consequently, not consoling, redeeming, or obligating: how could something unknown obligate us?
(Gray morning. The first yawn of reason. The cockcrow of positivism.)
5. The “true” world — an idea which is no longer good for anything, not even obligating — an idea which has become useless and superfluous — consequently, a refuted idea: let us abolish it!
(Bright day; breakfast; return of bon sens and cheerfulness; Plato’s embarrassed blush; pandemonium of all free spirits.)
6. The true world — we have abolished. What world has remained? The apparent one perhaps? But no! With the true world we have also abolished the apparent one.
(Noon; moment of the briefest shadow; end of the longest error; high point of humanity; INCIPIT ZARATHUSTRA.)
❞However, this philosophical progress is not parallel to science, and the same error persists in one form or another (e.g., Newton’s absolute space), which is why scientists should always be advised to get in touch with the history of philosophy.
The race between big words
Classical oppositions (of which we just saw a small sample, e.g., absolute / relative space, or phenomenon / noumenon) often end up furthering the hegemony of the big word. In Of Grammotology, Derrida did as much while exploring oppositions such as nature / culture, source / supplement, southern language / northern language, in order to rehabilitate “writing” w.r.t. “spoken language,” as the former fell out of favor in Rousseau’s Essay on the Origin of Languages among others. Derrida criticizes phonocentric “writing” as “vulgar:”
Schematically, Derrida criticizes a “vulgar concept of writing,” leading him to reform the plain “concept of writing.” It is further exposed in a quiet shift from “writing” to “arche-writing” in the following passage:
So “arche-writing” is not “vulgar writing.” But why would Derrida want it to be called “writing” in his desire to “reform” the latter? He says that “arche-writing” is a “language.” So, how about “arch-language,” as arche-writing is actually independent from the graphical:
So we have an “arche-writing,” or “writing,” as Derrida likes to call it, independent of the graphical property. Nonetheless, this doesn’t deter Derrida’s “urgency” to reform the big word “writing:”
That “writing” was what it was “some twenty centuries” ago is obviously a prerequisite to the “slow movement.” That it “never was” is quite contradictory.
The magic doesn’t stop at the big word. It also powers the word “man,” with some ethical consequences:
So if we now say that “writing” is a “certain type of writing” that is “arche-writing,” then we, the occidental people, may need to treat these primitive people as men, and finally become aware of the fact that they use forks and cook their food. Conversely, if we say that “writing” is Rousseau’s (phonetic writing), then the primitive people who, by this definition lack “writing,” suddenly seem very primitive. That is magic.
One might want to cut Derrida some slack, and maybe venture into saying—and ironically disregarding Derrida’s own precepts—that the word “writing” has some sort of “intrinsic” power that makes definitions more legitimate from one era to the next. The following passage says as much:
But even then, Derrida shows how easy one does away with the necessity of a certain “world with a certain concept of the relationships between speech and writing:”
All it takes is a “moment that one considers” and a “if.” Of course, one can play a lot of tricks when one starts to consider taking the “irreducible kernel of the concept” as the whole concept itself. For Derrida, this isn’t a first, and he is notable for his propensity to equalize everything in the high abstract, which Richard Wolin is keen to point out in Derrida’s arguments painting Heidegger as a non-Nazi by abstracting away the distinction between humanism and anti-humanism:
The far-fetched and illogical conclusion we are left to draw from the line of argument pursued by both Lacoue-Labarche and Derrida is that it was a surfeit of metaphysical humanism (later abandoned) that drove Heidegger into the Nazi camp! But in the end, this interpretive tack amounts only to a more sophisticated strategy of denial. The entire specificity of the relationship between Heidegger’s philosophy and National Socialism is theorized away once the distinction between “humanism” and “anti-humanism” is so readily blurred. The “Volk” for which Heidegger became the spokesman in 1933 is an eminently particularistic entity, unlike the category of “mankind” or “humanitas” with which one associates tradition humanism.
❞Force, power, necessary connexion
Dating back to Newton and refuted by David Hume, there have been arguments about forces being “real things” and not only mathematical vectors, and this leads to questions as to what the “true nature of force” is. Proponents argue that the force can be perceived, e.g., through muscular sensation. But this line of arguments is not only unnecessary with regard to Newton’s work; it is also contrived without regard to it. Newton’s “forces” are defined through indeterminate expressions such as “power” and “that by which:”
(…)
A centripetal force is that by which bodies are drawn or impelled, or any way tend, towards a point as to a centre.
❞Later, he makes “forces” a synonym for “measured quantities:”
The accelerative quantity of a centripetal force is the measure of the same, proportional to the velocity which it generates in a given time.
The motive quantity of a centripetal force, is the measure of the same, proportional to the motion which it generates in a given time.
These quantities of forces, we may, for brevity’s sake, call by the names of motive, accelerative, and absolute forces; and, for distinction’s sake, consider them, with respect to the bodies that tend to the centre; (…)
❞Such quantities as “the velocity which the force generates in a given time” are obviously “perceptible”, i.e., “real.” There is no debate there. The fact that “muscular sensation” was brought up as some kind of scientific proof of existence is more a sign of Newton’s definitions being overlooked. As to forces being “things” or a kind of “matter,” let’s just quote Newton:
Says Hume about the dilettantism of the “new philosophy” with respect to Newton’s work:
Exchange-value versus use-value as the basis of greedy capitalism
In The Capital, Marx draws a line between capitalism and other economic formations such as the “patriarchal family,” based on the concept of exchange-value as opposed to the use-value.
In use-value-based societies, surplus-labour is “limited by a given set of wants.” What Marx didn’t specify here but later does, is that the use-value is always the use-value for someone:
On the other hand, they must show that they are use-values before they can be realised as values. For the labour spent upon them counts effectively, only in so far as it is spent in a form that is useful for others. Whether that labour is useful for others, and its product consequently capable of satisfying the wants of others, can be proved only by the act of exchange.
❞So even capitalist exchange-value-based societies need to pay attention to its surplus-labour. They may not be “limited by a given set of wants” as in non-capitalist societies, but they are limited by the “wants of others,” if there’s any difference.
The amnesic structure of Marx’s distinction between capitalism and non-capitalism with respect to surplus-labour is the difference between “use-value” and “use-value for someone.” Whether intentional or not, conscious or not, this difference is not a mere mind trick. People only need to believe in it to make it count and change the course of mankind.
Numbers without counting
Numbers are an intuitive representation of the counting act. While it is fundamentally indifferent to people why the word “cat” denotes a cat and not a bat, people would certainly object if I were to reform the number system in such a way that “1” is greater than “111 111.” That is because numbers abide by useful rules such that, for example, the magnitude of a number can be intuited in the length of its representation.
Now it is easy to forget the counting act. Since a number cannot be talked of without its representation which reflects the counting, Frege’s definition of the number as a concept without observable properties treats us to an awkward philosophical moment akin to someone looking for the glasses he is wearing:
But isn’t “777 864” the very “special fact” he is looking for, and a “[large] collection of things which can be split up” as well? More precisely, “777 864” is a collection of decimal digits representing a collection of 1’s, which obviously one can split up for oneself. Indeed, Frege treats 777 864 like it was x or α. The quote would retain its meaning if rewritten as follows:
A man who calculates with arbitrary letters representing actual physical facts would, indeed, be a thing of wonder.
The intuitive nature of 777 864, or rather the convention that allows it, is the context that Frege forgets. The magic is in the process of making 777 864 independent of its context.
But Frege doesn’t just forego the context for the pleasure of foregoing it. Because Frege only talks of 777 864 in the high abstract, Frege could conceptualize it as something untainted by any “observed” meaning implied by the lowly “mechanical” counting, and could finally argue that numbers appeal to the highest intellectual faculties of mankind beyond the reach of animals.
