We Socratic Philosophers Know that We Know Nothing

This book has an excellent preface (pp. 1-7): it provides prospective readers with the author’s presuppositions and aim, and with a succinct abstract. This helps them decide if they want to read the book. It also helps prospective reviewers with a solid skeleton for their reviews. I am going to use it as extensively as I can.

Gutting became a philosopher, he reports, as he looked for answers to the big questions of philosophy. Example: does God exist? He found out soon that “there was little likelihood of finding decisive philosophical answers to these questions” (p. 7). The word “decisive” mean conclusive, final, demonstrated. And decisiveness is central to his disappointment: the question (does God exist?) has two and only two known answers. It is the choice between them that has troubled Gutting. He repeatedly insists (i) that the questions that religion answers are most important, and (ii) that philosophical analysis is useful for holders of the different answers that religion offers. As to point (i), he does not discuss it at all. As to point (ii), the major part of his book is devoted to efforts to show that analytic philosophical techniques are useful for holders of answers to point (i)—which is everybody, as it includes believers of diverse sorts as well as skeptics. Since point (ii) obviously depends on point (i), it is hard to deny that this book is thoroughly evasive.

Still, this is not to deny that Gutting discusses a predicament, and a common one. Yet it takes its casualties to divergent destinations. Most of them desert philosophy, perhaps in order to seek decisive answers to questions in different fields; they then leave it as if it were unimportant. Others cannot let go of these questions. (Hence, perhaps Wittgenstein was right to say that asking philosophical questions is sick; but then his advice to let go of it is as useless as the advice to troubled minds to relax and let go of it.) Some of them, like me, still seek answers, even if not decisive and even if they allow their questions to change over time. Others, like Gutting, still seek decisive answers, but to subsidiary philosophical questions, as we will soon see. He is happy he has found so many of these (pp. 1, 7). As it happens, although he does not say so, one of them concerns God’s very existence: yes, “I have the intellectual right to accept” that He does exist, but only if I have a strong, “pre-philosophical basic conviction” (pp. 125, 233; see below). I read the relevant passages repeatedly, and I do not understand. Of course, we all have the right to accept any belief: this is a constitutional right in every democracy. I do not know what an “intellectual right” is. Do ideas need travel documents in the kingdom of the intellect? Is there an intellectual proscription to hold some views? Which? Why? Gutting speaks of arguments that fall short of proof. He even goes once out of his way and explains: “Intuitions that are utterly obvious, even after critical reflection, are the gold standard” (p. 100). This is the idea advocated by Descartes, whose standards of critical reflection are much more stringent that his (Gutting’s), and whose influence on the history of both philosophy and science was crucial and ceased only when Einstein won the day.

What answer—to any question—is decisive, then, and what not? What is Gutting’s criterion for the decisive? Instead of a criterion, he discusses his approach: he approves of philosophers and historians of science and wishes to emulate them: just as they reflect on the output of leading scientists, he wishes to reflect on the output of leading philosophers. Now, arch philosopher and historian of science Pierre Duhem said that researchers cannot offer a decisive view of research, as they hold different ideas about what it is. Duhem was a scientific researcher too, and he described research as he saw it. Did he not know what he did? No, said arch philosopher of science Michael Polanyi: asking scientists to report on their works is as useless as asking artists to do so: they cannot. And he was a scientific researcher too. Admittedly, artists and scientists offer reports on their works, and, admittedly, these are at times fascinating. But, Duhem and Polanyi agreed, these reports are never decisive. Gutting seems to agree. So how can he find succor in emulating philosophers and historians of science?

Gutting’s approach invites his choice of philosophers whose outlook he might examine: he chooses to study the output of the leading analytic philosophers of the last half-a-century. This is telling, and we should take it seriously, since it is impossible to accuse him of calling other philosophers sour grapes: as he has written authoritatively on some continental philosophers, he has shown his ability to do so; here he neglects them out of choice. And here he offers his reason: he disdains the predilection of Continental philosophers for a “tired romanticism of imprecision” he says, borrowing a phrase from Wallace Stevens (a justly admired poet, incidentally, but not for precision). Gutting confesses allegiance to analytic philosophy and he describes it thus: “We undertake to state exactly what we mean and prove with step-by-step lucidity that it is true” (p. 3). This claim demands to be taken seriously, but doing so would make quite redundant the whole of this book, as it comprises Gutting’s explications of the works of analytic philosophers—often going against the current, he claims. He whets our appetite: what is his standard of proof? Whom does he consider analytic? And whom does he consider leading as opposed to famous? Moreover, how is proof consistent with nonfoundationalism? What is more, his criterion of clarity agrees with philosophers and historians of science; but these are seldom analytic philosophers. Where does he place the clear philosophers who are not analytic?

Who are the analytic philosophers, anyway? Gutting’s choice is questionable. Possibly Quine is an analytic philosopher despite his famous contempt for Wittgenstein and his no less famous, respectful critique of Carnap. But then, surely, so is Quine’s best critic, Mario Bunge. Gutting discusses at some length the philosophical output of Kuhn, who was hardly an analytic philosopher. Nor does Gutting suppose that Kuhn is very original: he stresses that Kuhn boasts more fame than serious contributions (p. 151). Let me leave this matter open: authors are at liberty to choose their targets. It is Gutting’s criterion of choice that puzzles me. He calls Wittgenstein an analytic philosopher (p. 203); does he include Wittgenstein in the “we” of his “We undertake to state exactly what we mean and prove with step-by-step lucidity that it is true”? I may be mean to stick this silly question on Gutting, but this forces me to reinterpret this book: it has little to do with proof, I say, let alone “step-by-step lucidity” (although the book is comparatively well written and clear). It is the voice of an Establishment: read it and find out what you should say if you wish to stay on good terms with it. And do not speak of Bunge, not to mention Popper; do not even think about them. If you agree to consider the output of Philip Kitcher more valuable than theirs—at least as “a helpful starting point” (p. 3)—then perhaps this is just the book for you.

The leading text here is Quine’s, mainly his alleged refutation of the analytic-synthetic distinction. Gutting says it is no refutation but clarification. He is right, and even trivially so: distinctions are irrefutable: they are always permissible (even though not always useful). Quine refuted the thesis that this distinction is exclusive and exhaustive. He refuted the view that there are no overlaps and no borderline cases between the analytic and the synthetic (everywhere with the exception of purely formal systems). Similarly, the distinction between male and female survives the discovery of overlaps and borderline cases. (Quine stressed that “all humans are humans” is unquestionably analytic; this too is doubtful, but enough is enough.) Gutting’s discussion of this serves as proof that philosophers do know something: Quine’s “challenge to a distinction turns out to be a positive contribution to our understanding” (p. 5) of it. Thank Heaven for small mercies.

The study of the justification of knowledge-claims may have its value, yet, Gutting insists (p. 5), justification is “not a necessary condition for showing that philosophy has produced authoritative knowledge.” What is “authoritative knowledge”? It is, I suggest, what an authority decrees that it is, established views. Gutting claims that he can show that we know without being able to show how we know (p. 3). This seems to clash with his claim that “we undertake to state exactly what we mean and prove with step- by-step lucidity that it is true.” Gutting comes closest to saying what he means by “authoritative” as he rejects the standard criterion for the validity of “philosophical intuition”: “establishing the nature and reliability of any such faculty is not required to show that there is a body of authoritative philosophical knowledge” (p. 3). How does this square with “Intuitions that are utterly obvious, even after critical reflection, are the gold standard” (p. 100)? Of course, we may use any intuition if we view science as “knowledge without foundations” to use Feyerabend’s lovely neologism. But Feyerabend famously denied all authority. (No knowledge, no intellectual authority: Popper [1971, 137].) This is an impasse.

Gutting realizes this: he suggests a way out. The question he has to answer is: how is knowledge with no certitude possible? It is standard in the twentieth century. This fact does not stand out as clearly as it should, as Wittgenstein, Schlick, Reichenbach, and Carnap declared that certainty is possible, boasting possession of a theory of meaning that proves it. This, says Gutting, is by now passé. How is knowledge with no certitude possible? The best answer in the market concerns scientific knowledge: the older good theory is a special case and an approximation to the newer and better one (Einstein, Popper). A much simpler answer is that knowledge rests on some generally received presuppositions. It is problematic (Musgrave 1993; Agassi [1972] 1975). Possibly Gutting has an improved version of it.

In this version “the central role played by pre-philosophical convictions in the development of this knowledge” (p. 5) is crucial. To see that, he says, we should note that the rejection of foundations allows the reintroduction of religion into philosophy. This is kosher, since “materialist or naturalist convictions” are central for some bona fide philosophical discussions (pp. 3-4). “Kuhn’s historicist challenge to the positive account of science” was his forcing peers to see “the rationality of science as pre-philosophical conviction” (p. 6).

This is it, then: rejecting the foundationalism that complied with the ancient theory of rationality as proof, nonfoundationalism Gutting-style replaces it with “pre-rational convictions.” This had to be: if Rorty and Kuhn have come, can religious revival be far behind? And so Bunge and Popper have to wait: they see rationality as criticism. If you can’t beat then, ignore them: their services are not required: all “pre-rational convictions” are rational or else a criterion for the distinction between right and wrong “pre-rational convictions” is called for; and then it will want us to “prove with step-by-step lucidity that it is true.” Instead, Gutting offers cases. John Rawls’ “development and defense of pre-philosophical . . . liberal democratic convictions about a just society” shows “how non-foundationalist argumentation can lead to philosophical knowledge” (p. 6). And Richard Rorty’s rejection of “philosophy as a body of disciplinary knowledge” (p. 6) “ironically” holds only for foundationalists, not for himself.

The book’s conclusion argues for the importance of philosophical knowledge “outside the discipline.” The best test case should be the application of its ideas to the philosophy and history of science, where he draws his inspiration, we remember. The case he discusses is that of phlogistonism (pp. 161-64) through Kitcher’s eyes. Problem: if paradigms are irrefutable, why did it die? We have here the standard confusion of oxygen with oxidizers (p. 162, line 1). This renders Lavoisier’s theory correct and Priestley’s phlogistonism “correct to some extent.” Why, however, do we employ Newton’s paradigm but not Priestley’s? Kuhn-style discussions of this matter, including the one here, are evasive.

The conclusion presents foundationalism as a theory of rationality and explains the need for an alternative to it. Unlike the traditional alternative to it, fideism, the positing of a prerational axiom, Gutting offers the positing of deep-seated convictions (p. 225). This is a variant that is nearer to David Hume’s appeal to psychology. He makes it plausible by observing that philosophy is traditionally concerned with basic convictions. Thus, Socrates is out, as he aimed at shaking convictions, not at establishing any. People with strong and clear religious convictions are in: Luther (p. 240), Pascal (p. 234), Wittgenstein (p. 234), perhaps also Alvin Plantinga (p. 233n) and Saul Kripke (p. 227). They are all welcome to the club, of course. Is anyone left out, though? Yes. To join, it seems, you must be able to scrutinize your views and even revise them if need be.

Seriously, Gutting takes for granted and uses as a bridge to his fellow philosophers the idea that, although logical positivism is as dead as a doornail, analytic philosophy has some glorious achievements. He tries hard to pin them down, and, it seems to me that he finds only clarifications. Perhaps I am an unsympathetic reader whose judgment does not count. Still, it seems to me he sees these clarifications as philosophical knowledge. And then perhaps there is no disagreement between him and me except that in my books clarifications are good exercises before breakfast, that the real meal is the study of problems, other proposed solutions, and their criticism.