A personal discussion on the aesthetics of philosophical disagreement, and notes on an intuitionist epistemology.
S.R.,
I have always, more or less, been fond of Plato’s use of myth.
I’ve often been reminded, at times, of what we commonly refer to as his “Noble Lie,” that, in order for his theoretical politeia (which we often translate in this case as “republic”) to be governed well, a kind of ” opportune falsehood” need be disseminated amongst the denizens.
Plato’s Noble Lie – a metaphor for our individual psychologies
This, Plato phrases, among others, in the following way:
“While all of you in the city are brothers, we will say in our tale, yet God in fashioning those of you who are fitted to hold rule mingled gold in their generation, for which reason they are the most precious – but in the helpers silver, and iron and brass in the farmers and other craftsmen.”
(Plato, Republic III. 415a, translated by Harold North Fowler et al.)
A horrifying image when taken literally, though Plato calls the fiction:
“Nothing unprecedented… but a sort of Phoenician tale, something that has happened ere now in many parts of the world,as the poets aver and have induced men to believe, but that has not happened and perhaps would not be likely to happen in our day and demanding no little persuasion to make it believable.”
(Plato, Republic III. 414c, translated by Harold North Fowler et al.)
There is some truth, however, if one reads the myth in terms of psychological dispositions, or penchants, or archetypes (far be it from me to disseminate some folk psychology).
It is the case, trite to say, that people differ, and no two have the same interests, experiences, passions, aversions, etc.
I think it goes without saying that these vast differences originate in our individual biological and psychological make-up.
Philosophical disagreement – the result of disposition, not reason
I am of the opinion, which I imagine is or would be quite unpopular, that much of the disagreement one finds in Philosophical discourse on any subject, is the result of our psychological dispositions (i.e., understood broadly as informed by our experiences and limited knowledge).
Disagreement, in other words, isn’t necessarily brought about by conflicts of reason, so much as conflicts of passion, or emotion. (This acknowledging, but setting aside, the fact that reason is greatly impinged upon by the emotional and perceptual aspects of our lived experience.)
Philosophy is ostensibly an edifice populated of and defined by rational discourse.
I’m not so sure that the reasons we give are as rational as we would have ourselves believe: our reasons for our positions, our analyses of ‘the facts,’ our interpretations of arguments and counterarguments, in a word, the great extent of our attempts at truth, objectivity, or simply ‘answers.’
The discourse, of course, plays itself out rather nicely, in that we have thoughts and beliefs that are more or less justified in comparison to other beliefs, and this is revealed when one reckons with the evidence (e.g., the natural world), or when one reckons with others (e.g., in argument).
I think, however, that when we attempt to deconstruct the whole web of beliefs that one has (no position exists in isolation from other positions), the ultimate question of ‘Why?’ or ‘Why do you believe that?’ or ‘What proof do you have for that?’ rests on, ultimately, rationally untenable intuitions (i.e., that these beliefs are extra-rational).
All of these ideas we subscribe to, I think, are more or less founded upon some irrational clinging or longing that we largely express – perhaps sublimateis the better term – in rational and logical terms.
Some of us, I might say, are more inclined to scepticism than others, some more inclined to virtue-ethics than utilitarianism, some more inclined to an idealist rather than a physicalist ontology.
This claim I make largely based on anecdotal evidence (as if there were really anything else I could draw on).
Why is there disagreement at all? Is it just a cultural matter?
Imagine, if you would, a class of bright-eyed students of Philosophy. Imagine that these students are introduced to various ethical theories over the course of a semester.
All are presented with the same material (though the coursework may be altered in vivo), and the same instruction, and yet the impact on each student differs.
The natural assumption is that they would each take a stance on some position, some problem, and that, out of the perhaps twenty of them, some disagree, some would align, but no two be identical. When asked for justifications, these differ one from another (even if they two students hold the same position), and though some may be better articulated than others, these justifications, I would think, have some root that reaches far back – beyond the class, beyond the semester, beyond the years.
Extend this to the whole edifice of Philosophy.
One could easily chalk this disagreement up to individual differences: no two people have the same experiences, and so no two people, necessarily, have the same beliefs.
The variables involved are countless, and even if individuals were analyzed into the sum total of what they’ve done, thought, and felt, I don’t think that analysis would be sufficient to draw out what they would believe (i.e., that is, the analysis could not service as a predictive model) if presented with certain material or a certain problem.
The history of Philosophy is populated by different perspectives on what is, essentially (though not accidentally), the same material: the natural world, the lives and experiences of human beings. Nothing is, so to speak, novel – the world may take various forms, but nothing so unfamiliar as to be incomprehensible.
I would be hesitant to say, however, that the accidents which characterize a certain age necessarily bring out a certain kind of Philosophy, e.g., the Hellenistic ‘Age of Anxiety’ engendered by Alexander the Great’s empire and its dissolution necessarily led to the development of Hellenistic Philosophy, e.g., the influence of the Industrial Revolution on the Utilitarianism of Mill and Bentham, e.g., the antecedent and aftermath of the Second World War and Camus’ Absurdist Philosophy, or Sartre’s Existentialism.
I would rather say that what is, I think, a perennial Philosophy, has come to prominence at a certain time, in a certain place; there have always been existentialists, utilitarians, absurdists.
Philosophical belief is founded on intuition
If we subtract milieu and personal experience (I find it hard to stomach a causal relationship between experiences and ultimate beliefs), we are left with something vague and amorphous that takes shape only (to my argument) in penchants and aversions, and their derivatives.
My position, in a word, is this: our Philosophies and positions vary by our innate intuitions.
(These intuitions I would prefer to term ‘aesthetic,’ and are very much so akin to the tastes and disgusts of our everyday lives.)
Farewell.
Sincerely,
George