Philosophy

A Brief Incursion into Epistemology (to be continued)

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I walk my dog in the mornings while typically listening to a news podcast. Sometimes I get tired of the news and listen to music or search for some other type of podcast to accompany my walk. Recently I listened to a few episodes of one called “European Intellectual History since Nietzsche,” which consists essentially of recordings of a class given at Yale by an Associate Professor of History called Marci Shore. I enjoyed the first few classes but soon some things didn’t sound quite right to me – admittedly, based on my very limited knowledge – and these issues were enough to make me stop listening. No demerit to the professor, this may only reflect my own limitations and I won’t get into what those issues were because what matters is that it got me wanting to learn more about the epistemology of different philosophers.

Before jumping into epistemology, here is a brief summary of what I got out of Prof Shore’s first two episodes with a broad overview of the Enlightenment and Romanticism.

I next spent some time trying to pin down the epistemological view of different philosophers making use of a few introductory sources: the Oxford Companion to Philosophy (Honderich 1995), which I found in a used book store, Wikipedia and ChatGPT. Yes, I went there. However, I had very little confidence in what I was getting from those sources.

So I finally shifted my efforts and went to my go-to philosopher – Bertrand Russell – for, rather than a history of epistemological thought, at least his own views. 

I should first clarify that epistemology can be defined in different ways, but it essentially refers to the branch of philosophy that addresses how we know. The Oxford Companion to Philosophy defines it differently in different entries written by different contributors. The entry for history of epistemology, written by Prof. D.W. Hamlyn of Birkbeck College, London, defines it as “the branch of philosophy concerned with the nature of knowledge, its possibility, scope, and general basis” (Honderich 1995, p. 242). The entry for problems of epistemology, written by Prof. Jonathan Dancy of Keele University, defines it as the “study of our right to the beliefs we have” (Honderich 1995, p. 245). I take these definitions, in combination, to be sufficient to convey what the focus of this post (and my interest) is.

Bertrand Russell has a little book called “The Problems of Philosophy,” published in 1912, and that largely focuses on epistemology. The book is not exclusively about epistemology, however, and wonders into ontological questions about the nature of reality (e.g. addressing in several parts the issue of “idealism”). I try to focus on the epistemology parts, but I do understand how the two issues are intertwined.

Here is my understanding of Russell’s views, based on the book.

What we perceive through our senses is only indirectly a physical object. We perceive what he calls “sense-data,” which are signals of the actual physical object. “Sensation” is the awareness of things through sense-data. The collection of physical objects is “matter.”

Russell distinguishes between knowing truths (e.g. savoir in French, saber in Spanish and Portuguese) from knowing things (e.g. connaitre in French, conocer in Spanish, conhecer in Portuguese). He then turns to focus on the knowledge of things.

We can “know” things directly or indirectly. The former he will call “knowledge by acquaintance,” the latter “knowledge by description.”

Knowledge by acquaintance can happen in several ways, such as through sense-data, through memory or introspection (self-consciousness, knowledge of self).

Figure 2 below summarizes his thought so far.

Figure 2. Knowledge of Things

The fact that we are able to generate inferences from what we know about things means that we are drawing on some general principles to do so. Examples are:

  • The principles of induction: the more two things are observed together, the more we expect them to be
  • The principles of logic. E.g.: if it is know that: a) if this is true that is true; and b) this is true; then c) that is true

Principles of inference are examples of what he calls “a priori” knowledge. Other examples are mathematics and knowledge as to ethical value (or the intrinsic desirability of things). Russell argues that these principles (or a priori knowledge) cannot be proved by experience. This is an old debate between empiricists and rationalists, and key in defining an epistemological view. The debate often uses the terms “innate” knowledge rather than a priori. Russell prefers to use a priori to innate because, although a priori knowledge cannot be proved by experience, he considers it to be elicited and caused by experience. In the debate between empiricists (e.g. Locke, Berkeley, Hume) and rationalists (e.g. Descartes, Leibniz), Russell considers that the rationalists were correct in that a priori knowledge cannot be derived from experience. But he thinks rationalists were incorrect in thinking that they could deduce what they know from a priori knowledge since, as mentioned above, the a priori knowledge are elicited and caused by experience.

How Russell argues that the general principles cannot result from experience alone is central to his understanding of how we know. His main argument seems to be that any generalization from experience (induction) presupposes some general principle. Therefore, no general principle can be proven by experience. He gives the example of a chicken who expects food every time it sees the person who feeds it. Every day the expectation is confirmed….until the day the person breaks the chicken’s neck. There is no logical reason that simple repetition should guarantee its continuity, no matter how much we expect it to be so, unless we associate to that expectation some general principle (e.g. a logical principle). A note: Russell does not mention causality in his argumentation, but it is my understanding that all causal argumentation presupposes logical principles, so Russell’s argument is consistent with someone bringing causality into the discussions to justify expectations based on experience. The point made in this paragraph seems simple enough, but it is key to establishing an epistemological view and, as mentioned in the previous paragraph it addresses a long standing epistemological debate. On this point, Russel makes a lot of sense to me.

A consequence for scientific thought:

“The general principles of science […] are as completely dependent on the inductive principle as are the beliefs of daily life […]. Thus all knowledge which, on the basis of experience tells us something about what is not experienced, is based upon a belief which experience can neither confirm nor refute […].” (Russell 1912, p. 40)

Deduction then also plays a part in the building of our knowledge, because we can often know general principles without inferring it from its instances (e.g. 2+2=4). Deduction starts from the general to the general or to the particular; induction starts from the particular to the particular or to the general.

Russell then asks himself how a priori knowledge is possible. Here the discussion seems to veer again quite a bit into ontological questions, since it becomes not just how to “know” a priori principles but also about the nature of a priori principles. 

He first explains Kant’s view, which states that a priori knowledge is generated from the interaction of ourselves and physical objects (the “things in themselves”), what he calls “phenomenon.” We cannot know a thing in itself, only to the extent that it conforms with our own nature. If I understood Russell’s explanation, according to Kant a priori knowledge would be a product of our interaction with physical objects. This view would not quite fit empirical views, because we are not just observers, but our own nature is part of what generates our knowledge, just as much as the things in themselves and the perception we have of them. Kant’s view on this makes a lot of sense to me.

Russell, however, proceeds to make a point that I find less immediately obvious and that I am still not sold on. He argues that we should not think of our part in this phenomenon as reflecting the nature of our minds but rather, that a priori knowledge must have a nature that is neither material nor an idea. He gives as an example the law of contradiction (nothing can both be and not be), which he argues is not just a statement about our beliefs (our minds) but of the things themselves. I do not see how this necessarily follows. Why would the law of contradiction not be something that we take for given because of the structure of our minds? How do we know that, in fact, this law must apply to things, if we cannot even perceive things directly? I do not follow Russell’s argument here. At the same time, this is an ontological question and, therefore, not of particular interest to me. Whether the law of contradiction is imposed on things by our minds or is something that exists beyond matter and ideas it does not seem to have immediate consequences for how we know, in any practical way. On this matter, for now, I will stick to Kant’s view, which is more intuitive to me.

Russell then goes on to discuss the nature of a priori knowledge as being neither material, nor a product of our minds. To do so, he reaches out to Plato. To avoid thinking of a priori knowledge as an “idea” he suggests using the term “universal,” and states that the essence of universals is that they do not arise from a given sensation. He goes on to discuss the nature of universals, which I will jump here, both because he lost me and because it seems like too much of a deep dive into ontological questions for this post.

Russel’s next step is to suggest that our knowledge of universals can also be acquired by acquaintance or by description, just like our knowledge of particulars. Through acquaintance, we come to many different types of universal knowledge, such as sensible qualities (e.g. “whiteness), relations (e.g. before and after, above or below, greater or smaller than) and he states that all a priori knowledge deals with relations of universals (Russell 1912, p. 63). 

Figure 3 below modifies Figure 2 to include universals in the picture, the nature of which will remain a mystery to me for now. I must say, however, that there is more to be discussed regarding the knowledge of truths. Russell’s book contains a few more chapters on this, including on intuitive knowledge, truth and falsehood, probable opinion and the value and limits of philosophy. I stopped before these, however, since the discussion of the nature of universals already stumped me and is, in any case, as far as I am willing and have time to go at the moment.

Figure 3. Knowledge of Truths*

*There is more to discuss regarding the knowledge of truths based on Russell’s book. To be continued.

 

Sources

Russell, Bertrand. 1912. The Problems of Philosophy. Printed version of work in the public domain.

Honderich, Ted (Editor). 1995. The Oxford Companion to Philosophy. Oxford University Press

Shore, Marci. 2024. European Intellectual History since Nietzsche. Podcast with recording of classes offered at Yale in 2023. Available on Spotify. Accessed: January 2025

Continue ReadingA Brief Incursion into Epistemology (to be continued)

All Things Shining Part II

He deals the cards as a meditation

And those he plays never suspect

He doesn’t play for the money he wins

He don’t play for respect

 

He deals the cards to find the answer

The sacred geometry of chance

The hidden law of a probable outcome

The numbers lead a dance

 

– Shape of My Heart, Sting

So, even after skipping to the final chapter and registering my initial thoughts on this site (see below my post “Initial Thoughts on ‘All Things Shining’”), I went back to the other chapters and finished reading the book (yep, I actually did). Doing so gave me a lot more context on where the authors are coming from and simultaneously served as an organized introduction to some philosophers and literature pieces I knew little or nothing about.

Grossly oversimplifying, their main point, as I understand it, is that there are opportunities to experience the sacred in a Godless world. There is no need to believe in a God (or Gods) to do so, only the predisposition to perceive and experience “moods” in the world around us, be part of those moods that come and go like a wave (“whoosh”) and nurture our capacity to do so like an artisan nurture’s its craft. They contrast their view with that of other philosophers and writers, briefly describing a history of western thought that evolved from a polytheist experience of “moods,” such as those in Homer’s work, to a more monotheistic type worldview in classical Greece, and then through two paradigm shifts (Jesus Christ and Christianity and the Enlightenment and Renee Descartes) that gradually brought us to a nihilist reality, centered on the self-sufficient individual (I find my own pretense of summarizing much of a book in one paragraph astonishing, but…there it is!). For my own benefit, I attempted to organize my understanding of their portrayal of this history of philosophy in Figure 1 below (including a few of my unresolved questions).

Figure 1 – Notes that likely only I am able to follow


There seems to be: a)  an essential assumption in the authors’ reasoning, and b) an essential observation.

The assumption is that meaning is to be found outside of ourselves. We cannot successfully impose it. They make this argument in the second chapter of the book, when discussing David Foster Wallace’s Nihilism and his proposition that we can impose meaning on our reality. They state this possibility is “the most demanding and the most impoverished all at once” (p 47):

  • Most demanding because:
    • It raises the stakes for happiness and demands a kind of bliss that supersedes any kind of earthly condition (ps. 47-48). They later equate this with the Buddhist concept of Nirvana (see ps 163-164).
    • It demands that bliss be constant and achieved at all times (p. 48)
  • Impoverished because there is no place for gratitude (p.48)

They reject this option as a source of meaning and re-emphasize on several occasions throughout the book. For example, on p 142: “The history of the last 150 years suggests that we are not the proper source for meaning in the world”

I, quite frankly, don’t see how they deduce any of the points above. The fact that they seem convinced that they have made their case and discuss the rest of the book as if meaning must be found outside the self, to me, unfortunately, weakens the entire book that, otherwise, I find very interesting, illuminating even. To top it off, as mentioned in my previous post below, they take the cheap shot of using the example of David Foster Wallace’s suicide to emphasize that this is the only possible ending. Thinking back, if all this had sunk in while I was reading the book, I probably would have stopped right there. But I am glad that I continued reading and can enjoy the rest of the book by thinking of the above as an assumption made by the authors, not something they were really set to demonstrate. I can live with that and address the assumption elsewhere.

The observation I can easily agree with. The observation is that we cannot control everything that happens outside of ourselves. We do not fully control our world and the events that surround us. This seems to me to be patently and observably true. It is even arguable that we do not control everything about ourselves (such as quick, intuitive thinking, and involuntarily biological processes).

Given the “assumption” and the “observation” (by the way, these designations are mine, not the authors’), this leads them through a path of wanting to be in-sync with, immersed in, aware of this uncontrolled and uncontrollable environment, and the external “moods” that are generated with the idea that, in doing so, we generate an opportunity to experience meaning, something we can call sacred. I see the appeal of this way of thinking and I see parallels with oriental philosophy that, for some reason the authors seem to want to negate.

Now here is where my thoughts go next: what if we look at the whooshing, the moods, the physis we are exposed to as being generated by random events? We can even choose to look at our own choices and the choices of those around us as generated by random events or being individual outcomes of random events (leaving aside the fact that, in that case, we probably wouldn’t discuss them as “choices”). If we think about the examples the author’s give in these terms, how would our outlook on meaning differ?

To use one of the author’s examples, say we are at a sporting event and collectively experience an athlete “in the zone.” We all realize what is happening and collectively feel we have been a part of something special. For this special moment to occur, we need to have gone to the sporting event, and we need to have been open to experience the athlete’s performance as something special. In addition, those around us need to have done so as well, and at least one athlete must have been “in the zone” on that day. We can look at the aspects of this experience that we do not control as random events: the choices and behaviors of others attending the game, and the likelihood that at least one athlete will be “in the zone.” In that case, our special experience, our experience of the “sacred,” would be one possible outcome of a joint probability distribution of the random events we are exposed to. Why is there a stronger argument to feel gratitude in this case, then in any other outcome of the joint distribution?

In the end, it seems to me what really matters is what the authors’ assumed away in the first two chapters of the book: whether meaning can be attributed from within, whether it needs to be defined in relation to something outside ourselves, and whether meaning should be attributed at all, at least if we look at the world as one that can be described by joint distributions of random events. It is as if the author’s efforts to propose an alternative to today’s nihilism relies on first simply assuming away nihilism as a viable outlook on life. It seems to me the central question is to what extent we think of what we experience in the world as being random or deterministic.

The discussion above takes me to a memory of my father. My father was an engineer. He was very intelligent and liked math. He was also very Catholic. I have this recollection of a period when he was logging into a table the results of the national lottery where he lived. The idea was that, perhaps, he could find a pattern in the lottery numbers. A pattern that would maybe signal some higher order or something he could be “in-sync” with, tuned into. I am sure he would have liked to win the lottery, and he would have interpreted it as a gift from God. Many Catholics view the world as a place where everything happens for a reason. But I honestly think that the discovery of a pattern itself would have been way more rewarding to him than any payments he would have received from winning the lottery. It would have proven the existence of a higher order and at the same time provided some personal intellectual gratification. It is possible to think of my father’s attempt, and it seems to me of the entire book discussed above, as ultimately stemming from a kind of wishful thinking. One that is not unappealing to me, yet difficult for me to accept. One that is difficult for me to accept, yet not unappealing to me.

I don’t think my father knew much statistics, or perhaps didn’t care much for it. And, spoiler alert, to my knowledge he never found a pattern in the lottery numbers, or at least not one that proved successful in winning the national lottery. Interestingly enough, he did many years later win a car in a lottery from the club he belonged to: it was close to Christmas time and he did quite desperately need a new car. He interpreted it as a gift, perhaps even as a reward for his faith, and I am sure he was thankful. Relevant to the discussion above: he did not pick the numbers.

Reference:

Dreyfus, Hubert and Sean Dorrance Kelly. 2011. All Things Shining. Reading the Western Classics to Find Meaning in a Secular Age. New York: Free Press.

Continue ReadingAll Things Shining Part II

Initial Thoughts on “All Things Shining”

I started reading “All Things Shining: Reading the Western Classics to Find Meaning in a Secular Age,” by philosophy professors Herbert Dreyfus (Berkeley) and Sean Dorrance Kelly (Harvard). At the end of the second chapter, after using authors David Foster Wallace and Elizabeth Gilbert to illustrate contrasting views on how meaning is generated or attributed in our daily lives, they end with the following paragraph:

“The question that remains is whether Gilbert and Wallace between them have completely covered the terrain. In Wallace’s Nietschean view, we are the sole active agents in the universe, responsible for generating out of nothing whatever notion of the sacred and divine there can ever be. Gilbert, by contrast, takes a kind of mature Lutheran view. On her account we are purely passive recipients of God’s divine will, nothing but receptacles for the grace he may choose to offer. Is there anything in between? We think there is, and we will try to develop it in the final chapter of the book.” (p. 57)

Needless to say, I skipped to the final chapter.

In that chapter they suggest there is present, today, in our culture, opportunities to generate a kind of experience where, we neither need to impose meaning on our world, nor passively await for meaning to descend upon our lives.

They start by suggesting that there are often collective experiences of marvel, bliss, exhultation. Experiences like those where expectators attending a live sporting event witness an athlete “in the zone” and are collectively taken by the experience. Or when, also collectively, we rejoice in a skilled orator’s speech. They equate these experiences with moments of realization of Homer’s notion of physis: how the world is in as much as it presents itself to us. They also suggest the exhultation of these collective experiences come and go as a wave. They use the term “whoosh” to describe it.

They then recognize the dangers of “whooshing,” like when the collective experience is dominated by some type of mass mentality and pack behavior, and where rational self-control is obliterated.

But they claim there is another type of experience available to us, which also offers an opportunity for experiencing meaning in our physical connection to the world, and which, in addition, can be used to discern between “good” and “bad” whooshing. They equate that experience with the Aristotelian term: poiesis. Poiesis captures a craftsman’s like practice of developing an intimate understanding and relationship with some aspect of our world. A relationship characterized by a “feedback loop between craftsman and craft” (p.211) and through which meaning also arises.

But “poiesis” too has its limitations, in that, in our world, it is under attack by technology. Technology that reduced our need to deeply understand our world to reach our goals. An example they give is that of GPS, through which we can move from one place to another, simply by following orders, and with never building significant knowledge of our surroundings.

The authors then argue that it is up to us to discover, in what we already care about, the opportunities for poiesis. Whether it is in drinking a cup of coffee in the morning, enjoying a walk, or the company of a friend. In other words, discovering it in our relationship to the world, and then nurturing it, transforming routine into ritual. They argue that is the realm of the sacred that exists currently in our world: a rich polytheistic world where the sacred manifests itself through physis and poiesis, and where technology has its place, without completely erasing the opportunities for the sacred.

I am very much enjoying the book, and intend to read the chapters in between (really…at some point), but here are a few thoughts based on the three chapters I read already:

  • In trying to describe how we can discover what we care about and build rituals around routines to nourish our experience of being in this world through poiesis, they use the example of having coffee each morning. They suggest asking what we like about this routine, whether it is the warmth of the coffee, the striking black color, the aroma. That is, they appeal to the senses. This appeal to the senses is very similar to how I have learned to practice mindfulness, to be present in this world, based on my understanding of the practice and the teachings of Thich Naht Hahn. Other parallels to eastern ways of thinking could be made when discussing Wallace’s “This is Water” commencement speech in chapter two. Yet, the authors do not seem to be interested in discussing these potential parallels, at least not in the parts I have read.
  • In discussing Wallace’s nihilism, they propose that, to the extent that he can see any space for the sacred, his attempt to reach it is by imposing meaning on experience, creating this meaning out of nothing, and constantly doing so. There are no constraints on the meaning Wallace can impose on his experience. They suggest this self-imposed task is not humanly possible. In fact, they state that “in such a world, as Melville understood, grim perseverance is possible for a while; but in the end suicide is the only choice” (p.50). I a) do not see how or why “suicide is the only choice,” and b) find this statement actually in bad taste, to say the least, since Wallace did commit suicide. His example is rather an unfairly picked choice, unnecessarily making use of someone’s suicide to make their argument.
  • The authors describe Wallace and Gilbert as having a similar view of the purpose of writing: translating life, conveying what it means to be human, becoming less alone. If the interpretation of our world and our condition is actually an intrinsic and inseparable part of our human condition, one could argue that storytelling is not just interpreting what it means to be human, but actually contributing to creating that condition. Storytelling would then be a way of creating rather than just interpreting our world. I have for a while found this way of thinking appealing, and it is different from what the authors claim to be the views of Wallace and Gilbert. It is perhaps more in tune with Mario Vargas Llosa’s story in his book “El Hablador.” Perhaps something I will explore further in the future.

Reference:

Dreyfus, Hubert and Sean Dorrance Kelly. 2011. All Things Shining. Reading the Western Classics to Find Meaning in a Secular Age. New York: Free Press.

Continue ReadingInitial Thoughts on “All Things Shining”

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