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Peter Hacker asks: Why Philosophy?

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HACKER

Why should someone choose to study philosophy? Oxford philosopher Peter Hacker explains.

Physicists study matter, motion, and energy. Chemists study substances and their forms of combination, interaction and decomposition. Biologists study living things. And so forth. But what do philosophers study? One common answer throughout the ages is that as physicists study physics, philosophers study meta-physics. Philosophers, or at any rate the deepest of philosophers, we are told, are meta-physicists. Physicists study the contingencies of the world – things that happen to be so. Meta-physicists study the essential, necessary features of all possible worlds.

For many reasons, this reply is unconvincing. For one thing, if it were so, it would need a great deal of explaining to vindicate philosophy. For while physics has produced libraries of well established results (and chemistry and biology yet more libraries), we can look in vain for trustworthy books entitled Established Truths of Metaphysics or A Handbook of Philosophical Facts. Moreover, there is more than an air of absurdity to the thought that chemists discover that water consists of H2O, and that philosophers then discover that this is not a contingent truth, but a necessary one; or that physicists discover that E=mc2, and meta-physicists then discover that this is true in all possible worlds. Finally, if we look at the kinds of results that meta-physicists do produce, it is evident that they are little more than paradox (time is unreal; solid objects are not really solid; coloured objects are not really coloured), absurdity (we cannot know the thoughts or intentions of another; we are nothing more than a bundle of perceptions) and systematically contested to boot (there are (or are not) universals; moral truths are all absolute (or all relative)). So let us discard this foolishness.

Metaphysics is an illusion that besets philosophers (and philosophically minded scientists) from generation to generation, which it is the task of good philosophy to dispel. But although periodic fumigation is recurrently necessary for intellectual health, what apart from that is there for philosophy to do? What can it achieve? In the sense in which the sciences have a subject matter, it seems, philosophy has none. In the sense in which the sciences construct theories that are confirmed or infirmed by experiment or observation, there are obviously no theories in philosophy. In the sense in which the sciences make discoveries about the world around us, philosophy clearly does not. So what is its task?

We must challenge the thought that philosophy aims to contribute to human knowledge of the world. Its task is to resolve philosophical problems. The characteristic feature of philosophical problems is their non-empirical, a priori character: no scientific experiment can settle the question of whether the mind is the brain, what the meaning of a word is, whether human beings are responsible for their deeds (have free will), whether trees falling on uninhabited desert islands make any noise, what makes necessary truths necessary. All these, and many hundreds more, are conceptual questions. They are not questions about concepts (philosophy is not a science of concepts). But they are questions that are to be answered, resolved or dissolved by careful scrutiny of the concepts involved. The only way to scrutinize concepts is to examine the use of the words that express them. Conceptual investigations are investigations into what makes sense and what does not. And, of course, questions of sense antecede questions of empirical truth – for if something makes no sense, it can be neither true nor false. It is just nonsense – not silly, but rather: it transgresses the bounds of sense. Philosophy patrols the borders between sense and nonsense; science determines what is empirically true and what is empirically false. What falsehood is for science, nonsense is for philosophy.

Let me give you a simple example or two: When psychologists and cognitive scientists say that it is your brain that thinks, then, rather than nodding your head and saying ‘How interesting! What an important discovery!’, you should pause to wonder what this means. What, you might then ask, is a thoughtful brain, and what is a thoughtless one? Can my brain concentrate on what I am doing – or does it just concentrate on what it is doing? Does my brain hold political opinions? Is it, as Gilbert and Sullivan might ask, a little Conservative or a little Liberal? Can it be opinionated? or narrow minded? – What on earth would an opinionated and narrow-minded brain be? Just ask yourself: if it is your brain that thinks, how does your brain tell you what it thinks? And can you disagree with it? And if you do, how do you tell it that it is mistaken – that what it thinks is false? And can your brain understand what you say to it? Can it speak English? – If you continue this line of questions you will come to realise that the very idea that the brain thinks makes no sense. But, of course, to show why it makes no sense requires a great deal more work.

Another example: there is a letter once attributed to Mozart in which he wrote that sometimes, when in the fever of creativity, he could hear the whole concerto that he was composing in a flash – all he then had to do was to write it down. On hearing this tale, you may nod your head wisely and think: what an amazing genius! How could he possibly do such a thing? Roger Penrose, a distinguished scientist and mathematician, reflecting on the same letter, thought that we shall only be able to understand this remarkable phenomenon when we have an adequate theory of quantum gravity and a better understanding of time. – Ah, you may think, how true! How amazing! But you should pause, not to wonder whether what Mozart allegedly said is true, nor to wonder how he could do something so amazing – but to wonder whether this form of words means anything at all. After all, if he could hear the whole concerto in his imagination in a flash, all he would have imagined hearing was a crashing chord, not a concerto! In fact, the famous letter is a forgery. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that the only sense that can be given to the phrase hearing the concerto in one’s imagination in a flash is that it means that he suddenly realised that he knew how to complete the concerto he was writing, not that he had already completed it in his imagination. The sudden dawning of an ability is not the same as its high speed exercise, and to have a Eureka-experience is not to rehearse the whole solution to a problem in a flash, but to know that one can rehearse the whole solution, on request, at normal speed.

So, why study philosophy? There are many reasons, and many different kinds of reason. At a very general level, it is a unique technique for tackling conceptual questions that occur to most thinking people: questions concerning the existence of God, of an afterlife, and of free will. Also questions concerning human nature: what is the mind? how is the mind related to the body? Do we have a soul? For although these look as if they are factual questions, they are not. They are purely conceptual questions that are to be resolved by conceptual inquiry. Philosophy also gives us techniques for handling fundamental methodological problems concerning explanations of human behaviour: what is the difference between being caused to do something, being made to do something, and acting for a reason? These in turn are pivotal for understanding the rights and wrongs of allocating responsibility. And philosophy is the sole subject that confronts questions about how we ought to live, what kind of society we ought to aspire to, and what system of laws befits rational beings living under the rule of law.

At a more specialized level, philosophy is a technique for examining the results of specific sciences for their conceptual coherence, and for examining the explanatory methods of the different sciences, natural, social and human. The sciences are no more immune to conceptual confusion than is any other branch of human thought. Scientists themselves are for the most part ill-equipped to deal with conceptual confusions. One great task of philosophy is to function as a Tribunal of Sense before which scientists may be arraigned when they transgress the bounds of sense. For when a neuroscientist tells us that the mind is the brain or that thinking is a neural process, when an economist tells us that to act rationally is to pursue one’s desire-satisfaction, or that human felicity is the maximization of utility, when a psychologist claims that autism is the consequence of the neonates’ failure to develop a theory of mind, then we need philosophy to constrain science run amok.

The history of philosophy is an capital part of the history of ideas. To study the history of philosophy is to study an aspect of the intellectual life of past societies, and of our own society in the past. It makes a crucial contribution to the understanding of the history of past European societies. Equally, to understand our contemporary forms of thought, the ways in which we look at things, the study of the history of philosophy is essential. For we cannot know where we are, unless we understand how we got here.

The study of philosophy cultivates a healthy scepticism about the moral opinions, political arguments and economic reasonings with which we are daily bombarded by ideologues, churchmen, politicians and economists. It teaches one to detect ‘higher forms of nonsense’, to identify humbug, to weed out hypocrisy, and to spot invalid reasoning. It curbs our taste for nonsense, and gives us a nose for it instead. It teaches us not to rush to affirm or deny assertions, but to raise questions about them. Even more importantly, it teaches us to raise questions about questions, to probe for their tacit assumptions and presuppositions, and to challenge these when warranted. In this way it gives us a distance from passion-provoking issues – a degree of detachment that is conducive to reason and reasonableness.

P. M. S. Hacker

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Tags: Metaphysics
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dondeg on 09/03/2013 11:56pm

How about: philosophy is a bare naked expression of our ignorance of the conditions of our existence. The operative term being “bare naked”. Almost all human activities are expressions of this ignorance, but what distinguished philosophy from almost all other human activities is an unceasing wandering and meandering though the infinite labyrinth and byways of the mind; a constant reflection on the thoughts and echoes, and the echoes of the echoes of this experience we call “mind”; a constant struggle trying to convert this experience into words, then getting tangled in the thicket of words and how they string together to express meaning, which we all intuitively know but do not know why we know it intuitively. Put in Plato’s terms: philosophy is that subject that studies, not the shadows, but the cave wall itself in such utter detail it periodically needs to be reminded it is studying the cave wall, and also has the job of reminding others involved in the other forms of human ignorance that they are merely studying some shadow or another on the cave wall. Philosophy is a grand expression of human ignorance in all its naked glory. Yay!

freeyourmindinsc on 30/01/2013 12:18am

Interesting as this article is, its view of the enterprise of philosophy is short-sighted. The question one may ask is, What does philosophy actually contribute to civilization? In answering this question, it hardly seems helpful to characterize its task as "to solve philosophical problems." That's not quite circular, but it's dangerously close.

Allow me to single out one of Professor Hacker's paragraphs which might shed light on the problem: the paragraph on whether our brain thinks. Obviously it sounds odd to say that my brain thinks, along with Professor Hacker's other musings: whether my brain can be liberal or conservative, etc. Here's the problem: most scientists, including a lot of cognitive scientists, are materialists in at least the operational sense of that term if not in the metaphysical sense, and some are out-and-out metaphysical materialists. That is, they believe that materialism in some sense affords us the best body of ideas about what kind of world this is, what reality is limited to physical entities or systems in some sense of those terms that obey mathematically describable laws--the idea needs more elucidation, I am aware, but this is a blog comment and not a refereed journal article; one must start somewhere. Consider the possibility that materialism is true, however we define it. In that case, given that my brains is where my cognitive activity takes place (processing experiences from my senses, reasoning about them, etc.), then from a scientific standpoint it is entirely reasonable to say that it is my brain that thinks; and if linguistic philosophy has a problem with that, then so much the worse for linguistic philosophy.

Cognitive scientists who subscribe to materialism believe they have solved the problem of whether mind and brain (or, perhaps, brain-and-central-nervous-system) are one and the same. Eliminative materialism, of course, holds just this, adding that our "folk psychological" descriptions of ourselves as thinking, having beliefs, etc., is just plain wrong scientifically, that it reflects nothing more than the ability to command a vocabulary--the equivalent of our saying "The sun is rising" when the scientific truth is that the Earth is turning so that the sun is coming into view from our location.

How should the philosopher respond to this on its own terms? To my mind the most responsible way of handling this line of reasoning is to realize that the rejection of metaphysics, still very much in vogue in mainstream Anglo-American philosophy even if the positivism that gave rise to it is dead and buried, was premature. Metaphysical propositions in fact demand study on their own terms. Materialism is in fact a metaphysical global perspective or worldview; it is more of a premise than a proper conclusion of any empirical science based on inferences from scientific data or replication or logical extrapolation. Metaphysics thus should be revived as a viable domain in which the advantages or disadvantages of materialism in its various guises can be discussed; and if we have figured out that certain metaphysical theses cannot be formulated and defended consistently--if, that is, their truth would render truth-attaining cognitive activity as impossible--in effect "sawing off the conceptual tree limb they are sitting on," this would be a discovery of the first importance. It would be, moreover, not an empirical discovery but a philosophical one, and it would be about a very general feature of the world (the necessary existence of nonmaterial agencies) and not simply an unpacking of our concepts.

TOoT on 14/01/2013 10:58am

The above article offers a rather fragmentary view of philosophy. This, however, is only to be expected: It appears to be written from an institutionalised view rooted in the analytic tradition, on the one hand, while it also suffers from the general fragmentation so characteristic of human thought, on the other.
The article neither reflects the fairly common notion that philosophy might just have to do with enquiring, with looking at serious questions with an open mind and heart. Instead of such openness we are told, somewhat authoritatively, “how things are.” For example, we are told that metaphysics is an illusion that ‘besets philosophers from generation to generation’, which illusion needs to be ‘dispelled by good philosophy’. But isn’t that an implicit claim of absolute certainty, a ‘god-like knowledge’ of what is true, right, just, etc.?
An even more immediate concern is that whilst apparently the article purportedly sets out to explain why anyone should choose to study philosophy, it is riddled with incoherent notions and inconsistent arguments. As a direct consequence, the article simply isn’t particularly meaningful.
The physicist turned philosopher Prof. David Bohm often approached the question of meaning from the point of view of coherence; the word ‘coherence’ coming from the Latin cohaerent-, meaning ‘sticking together’. For instance, it is easy to see that if elements of a story do not “stick together” well, then the story as a whole will not be particularly meaningful. Furthermore — and no doubt importantly with regard to a discussion on philosophy — we may also glimpse here briefly the implication that ‘wholeness’ is obviously connected with coherence and meaning.
If philosophy is indeed concerned with ‘how we ought to live, what kind of society we ought to aspire to, and what system of laws befits rational beings living under the rule of law’, then it is obviously aimed at looking at the general coherence and wholeness of human life. In which case, however, it is clearly far more than just a ‘unique technique’ — as also suggested in the article — that does not ‘contribute to human knowledge’ but “simply” aims to resolve “problems” basically around the way people use words.
And surely neither is ‘good philosophy’ (as defined and apparently represented by the author) the only field of human endeavour that confronts questions like how we ought to live, what kind of society we ought to aspire to. Obviously, both the major fields of art and religion (fragmentary as these also tend to be) also claim to do just that.
One possible conclusion is that maybe the same way as ‘the sciences are not immune to conceptual confusion’, neither is the ‘good philosophy’. But the reason for this lack of “immunity” might actually be rather simple: Philosophy itself is obviously a product of human thought.
Indeed, I would suggest that it all in fact comes down to thought — and I wonder whether the general task of philosophy, in our age, should not be precisely to enquire into the system of fragmentary thought, which system is not only common to and is shared by just about all human beings, but has come to dominate our lives with disastrous results.
As Prof. Bohm suggested — no doubt following on from his numerous discussions with the extraordinary philosopher, J. Krishnamurti — there is a pervasive fault in thought, affecting all areas of thought and everything thought does, including everything thought creates. Which, as I wrote elsewhere, ‘is obviously an awful lot — pun half intended. Society, culture, our various world-views, religion, philosophy, nationalism, the law, the financial system, technology, authority, jealousy, greed, aggression, hope, notions of individualism, a feeling of self, the "me", etc., are all put together by thought and rely on thought. To all of these and more, any fault and incoherence in thought is inevitably passed on. The pollution upstream affects everything downstream: If there is a general incoherence in the movement of thought, it is there at every turn.’ [source: www.theorderofthought.com]
It is plain to see that the general fragmentation so characteristic of thought has been wreaking havoc in all fields of human endeavor for rather long now and, if I may suggest respectfully, maybe it is time philosophers, and all of us interested in philosophy, the human condition, etc. started to pay attention to what is actual.
For instance, what Sir Ken Robinson described as the ‘catastrophic division’ of intellect and emotion has been one major consequence of the fragmentary activity of thought. However, instead of unearthing and exposing (or at least mentioning) this pertinent issue — which obviously has a great deal to do with the widespread incoherence and the general loss of wholeness, holiness, and meaningfulness of human lives — the article even asserts the necessity of this assumed division: We are told that ‘good philosophy’ needs to be distanced from the “passionate half” of human beings, philosophy needs a degree of detachment to make reason and reasonableness possible.
But if “philosophy”, thus circumscribed, obviously isn’t and cannot ever claim to be concerned with the wholeness of human beings and the wholeness of life, could such philosophy, or philosophising even, ever be at all coherent or meaningful? The answer follows, doesn’t it, even purely logically…

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