Essays Critical and Clinical, Deleuze: My Lacking Vitality.

Today I’ll write with disillusion. I give many thinkers a pass, and I build up what I sense a lack in. If I am the one who creates an understanding out of ambiguity, what is it that actually is done in the act of writing philosophy, on the behalf of the philosopher. Is there always an aspect of this? That is, audience participation.

So to turn to the French thinkers, you have to endure a lot of ambiguity, propped up only on the moments of clarity, hidden deep within the quirkiness of eloquence. Writing, after all, is not a form imposed on the matter of lived experience, as Deleuze initiated his book “Essays Critical and Clinical” with. Literature is never finished, as philosophy, you could safely say, but is instead in a constant state of becoming, multiplicitous and changing, distinctive in its everlasting differentiation between various concepts.

“Writing is inseparable from becoming: in writing, one becomes-woman, becomes-animal or vegetable, becomes-molecule to the point of becoming-imperceptible.” (p. 1)

There is a specific type of becoming that Deleuze keeps in mind here. One does not become Man, he says, man is the supposed dominant form of writing, the imposing figure onto matter, a virtuality which twists the actual into its form. The conjecture of that is again to misrepresent Deleuze, but I suppose I can never quite solely present a thinker as they appear in themselves. In any case, woman, animal and molecule are not imposing, in Deleuze’s mind, they constitute lines of flight from the imposing figure of Man. This is how Man becomes, in moving from the confused idea of writing the lived into writing as experience, as becoming, as process, etc. Writing is a becoming-minor, you could say, a becoming indiscernible. But when deleuze says:

To become is not to attain a form (identification, imitation, Mimesis) but to find the zone of proximity, indiscernibility, or indifferentiation where one can no longer be distinguished form a woman, an animal, or a molecule – neither imprecise nor general, but unforeseen and nonpreexistent, singularized out of a population rather than determined in a form.” (ibid.)

Does he not stumble? To become is not to attain a form, but how is indistinction possible if that is the case? Is form not what makes possible an indiscernible quality? That is, a similarity? “Becoming is always between or among: a woman between women, or an animal among others.” What Deleuze is getting at, it seems to me, is the explication of the unique, the true becoming of an individual within a species. Literature makes this possible through the expressiveness of the author’s becoming of different beings, his movement in and out of characters and entities, from the movement of the insect to the seduction of a woman, none of which are the author, or lived experience as such, but a description of qualities and movements.

We describe in Deleuze’s literature entities which are not solid, which are not rigid, you could say. They are indefinite, always, always in a process of becoming, always incomplete. The animal is never an animal as properly defined and outlined, but animal as line of flight, as deterritorialized animal. What kind of animal is this? Have we not lost all semantic value here? What kind of woman is not a defined woman? Is woman the name of the entity we point to, “this woman here,” without actually saying anything about this woman in a holistic sense? Deleuze’s literature seems to be always open for any name to mean anything. But proximity implies a point to be proximate to, and how is that identified without a definite identity? We have to question this blabbering, it seems.

But there is undeniably sense in what Deleuze writes. What seems senseless is either a confusion on my end or on his end; it is unclear where the delirium lies, if not everywhere. “Language must devote itself to reaching these feminine, animal, molecular detours, and every detour is becoming-mortal. There are no straight lines, neither in things nor in language. Syntax is a set of necessary detours that are created in each case to reveal the life in things.” (p. 2) What is referred to here? Literature is becoming close to life, life as indefinite, life as impossible to universally or transcendentally describe. Life is amorphous, free even, to some extent, and it cuts through every definitive designator. Being mortal is life, here, or being mortal means there is a unique movement that escapes all territorial thinking. The Husserlian question would be to posit the same kind of argument Deleuze puts forth directed at the argument. How is this concept of a line of flight not just another territorialization, another rigid concept, another definition? Ambiguity is not fully equivalent to indiscernibility or the indefinite.

But there is an identity, however, it is de-oedipalized, it is ahistorical, in a way. It goes from “my father beats me” to “a child is being beaten.” The identifiers are always impersonal. This contradicts somewhat what was said above. The individuality explained in the concept of becoming is perhaps not that of a person, as in subjectivity or for an ego, but the individuality of traits, of the indefinite names of proximate entities. One have to ask what these refer to, in Deleuze, if not to actual entities with these traits of becoming-X and Y.

In this sense literature becomes symptomatology:

We do not write with our neuroses. Neuroses or psychoses are not passages of life, but states into which we fall when the process is interrupted, blocked, or plugged up. Illness is not a process but a stopping of the process, as in ‘the Nietzsche case.’ Moreover, the writer as such is not a patient but rather a physician, the physician of himself and of the world. The world is the set of symptoms whose illnes merges with man. Literature then appears as an enterprise of health: not that the writer would necessarily be in good health, but he posses an irresistible and delicate health that stems from what he has seen and heard of things too big for him, too strong for him, suffocating things whose passage exhausts him, while nonetheless giving him the becomings that a dominant and substantial health would render impossible. The writer returns from what he has seen and heard with bloodshot eyes and pierced eardrums. What health would be sufficient to liberate life wherever it is imprisoned by and within man, by and within organisms and genera? It is like Spinoza’s delicate health, while it lasted, bearing witness until the end to a new vision whose passage it remained open to.”

What a writer thus finds in lived experience and brings to literature is not the lived experience itself, but the sense or affect of that lived experience. The symptoms of those experiences. It’s a meekly escape from the lived, you could say, a being overwhelmed that turns into a less intense and more organized syntax, a grammatology, through an effort of the weak, the shamed, the animal, etc. Writing sounds like cowardice, at this point, but I am aware that this is not Deleuze’s intended end-point (there is no such thing). Writing as escape, and the writer as schizophrenic escapologist, works very well in my mind. (Whose mind?)

“Literature is a disease, the disease par excellence, whenever it erects a race it claims is pure and dominant.” (p. 4) This is one of those points of clarity. But it is as revealing as it is confusing. We realize the illness in erecting races, that is, generalities. Health is the opposite of this, the continual and healthy process of becoming. Disease stagnates in the formation of races, too broad generalities, etc. This has always been my take on Deleuze’s writing, a fight against rigidity in a Bergsonian manner. Literature is part of this fight, clearly. Literature needs its health to create a healthy removed people, a minority separated from the people as such. This shows the absolute creativity of literature as well, that it is fabulation as such we are dealing with, not fabulation in its relation to a real people or the main people. The writer is always removed from this process and writes in solitude, creating a people that is nowhere.

This minorization of language is also what creates a language within a language, the idiolects of the writer, one might say. “Syntactic creation or style – this is the becoming of language.” Language is thus in a way limited to itself, in Deleuze, which is clear from other books of his, perhaps especially in The Logic of Sense. A distinction is always made between the expressive act and the intuitive act (as far as I can remember). It seems Deleuze is moving very close to a holism here, which is very interesting! “The creation of words or neologisms is worth nothing apart from the effects of syntax in which they are developed.” (p. 5) So language becomes dependent on the over all syntax and the general language for its distinction, a Saussurean notion as well.

Literature has two aspects, Deleuze says: “So literature already presents two aspects: through the creation of syntax, it brings about not only a decomposition or destruction of the maternal language, but also the invention of a new language within language.” And he quotes: “The only way to defend language is to attack it. . . . Every writer is obliged to create his or her own language. . .” (p. 5 quoting Proust).

The third aspect touches on something very strange:

It stems from the fact that a foreign language cannot be hollowed out in one language without language as a whole in turn being toppled or pushed to a limit, to an outside or reverse side that consists of Visions and Auditions that no longer belong to any language. These visions are not fantasies, but veritable Ideas that the writer sees and hears in the interstices of language, in its intervals.”

Now what can be made from this? It seems as if Deleuze is here referring to not something beyond language, but something connected to but from the outside of language. Visions can mean a whole lot of things, but what kind of vision is this? It sounds naively referential at first glance, a reference to sense-data as some would say, a reference to a sense of movement or Idea that could be at the same time be seen as a writer’s Vision. Deleuze does not explain these terms, so what is there really to make of them? The important part is perhaps to realize that the writer seems to move as much inside language as outside, creating syntax with a coupling to Visions that are understood through the interstices of language. Where are these interstices? What are the intervals of language? Something mysterious is being referred to, and it can to my mind only be a brute experience of some kind, a sense for something as Deleuze would say. It’s not sense in the Fregean way, I do not think, nor the meaning of Husserl. “The writer as seer and hearer, the aim of literature: it is the passage of life within language that constitutes Ideas.” (ibid.) It seems to be a coupling here with sensual life and language, between life and its deep relation to language and literature. I fear it’s not so straight forward, but I have no way of getting around this ambiguity.

We sometimes congratulate writers, but they know that they are far from having achieved their becoming, far from having attained the limit they set for themselves, which ceaselessly slips away from them. To write is to become something other than a writer. . . . we see that, among all those who make books with a literary intent, even among the mad, there are very few who can call themselves writers.” (p. 6)

All these becomings lead us to an impersonal, still, a non-imposing singularity without identity. We are doomed to perception, to perceive and to be perceived, and to perceive ourselves as perceived. We are identified and distinguished in this, and we are made virtual and spiritual, we are removed from our vitality, our life, and we become Platonic Ideas (p. 26), as Deleuze puts it. A writer is concerned with becoming that is impersonal, that is impossible to congratulate, it is not possible to apprehend. There is an imperceptibility to us, that is us, that is our life, it seems:

When the character dies . . . it is because he has already begun to move in spirit. He is like a cork floating on a tempestuous ocean: he no longer moves, but is in an element that moves. Even the present has disappeared in its turn, in a void that no longer involves obscurity, in a becoming that no longer includes any conceivable change. The room has lost its partitions, and releases and atom into the luminous void, an impersonal yet singular atom that no longer has a Self by which it might distinguish itself from or merge with others. Becoming imperceptible is Life, “without cessation or condition” . . . attaining to a cosmic and spiritual lapping.” (ibid.)

Is Deleuze getting at an essence of existence here? One without perception, an attack on the Berkeleyean view that perception is essence. Is this imperceptibility immanent? Is this dark duration, this corkness in a moving element what constitutes our existence? Is this the ontology of Deleuze? The dark precursor, as he once put it. It seems like it. And it doesn’t seem transcendent, it seems to be immanent in that it is the perception of a non-perception. Is this not contradictory? We can say that “I do not see anything.” But is that to say that you see that you do not see anything? Language-confusions are arising very quickly at this point. At its core it seems to be a reference to something present before the clearcut perceptive qualities we impose on what appears in our experience.

To further go with this impersonality Deleuze says:

The ego has a tendency to identify itself with the world, but it is already dead, whereas the soul extends the thread of its living ‘sympathies’ and ‘antipathies.’ Stop thinking of yourself as an ego in order to live as a flow, a set of flows in relation with other flows, outside of oneself and within oneself. Even scarcity is a flow, even drying up, even death can become one.” (p. 51)

Symbolism is apparently related to this flow of the living, as well. The sexual and symbolic are the life of forces and flows. The soul is going through a process of flows continually, passively, as is highlighted likewise in the essay on Kant in the book. “The inalienable part of the soul appears when one has ceased to be an ego; it is this eminently flowing, vibrating, struggling part that has to be conquered.” (p. 52)

We remove the ego to be supplanted by the flows of pure life. Is this not a radical phenomenological reduction, if there ever was one? The flows of life is what constitutes the qualities of literature and knowledge alike, these are what truly in and of themselves are what directs all other activity. These flows are what lead to conjunctions and disjunctions between flows, thus for relations of life, relations between the flow of symbols and the flow of experiences, for instance, the flow of love and the experience of the loved. “Artifices matter little. But whenever a physical relation is translated into logical relations, a symbol into images, flows into segments, exchanged, cut up into subjects and objects, each for each other, we have to say that the world is dead, and that the collective soul is in turn enclosed in an ego, whether that of the people or a despot.” (ibid.)

So when I skirt the line of flows being connected, the symbolic act being connected to the experience-act, it is with extreme carefulness, so as to not confuse them in their forms, in their quality or matter, as Husserl would say in the Logical Investigations. But they do coincide, they are connected flows of experience, all immanent, with perhaps an arbitrary connectivity, but a connectivity nonetheless. This connectivity does not mean equivalence or necessary correspondence, but it means recognizing and not being discouraged by a great difference of acts of the mind and receptivity of the mind.

The connectivity is not natural, per se. In the essay on Whitman we find the notion of fragmentation, the world is a patchwork of heterogeneous parts, none of which belong together necessarily, none of which are same, none of which are totalizeable. Whitman, according to Deleuze, claims all the writer does is explicate the specimens, the examples, the samples, of their worlds. “Spontaneous fragments constitute the element through which, or in the intervals of which, we attain the great and carefully considered visions and sounds of both Nature and History.” (p. 60)

The essay on Heidegger and phenomenology pushes this fragmented aspect of being further. Deleuze goes beyond Husserl in making phenomena not something for a consciousness, thus intentional, but a world showing itself, “a world made up of remarkable singularities, or a world that shows itself.” (p. 92) It is a pure Being that arises in the phenomena, and it is self-evident, self-showing. “The Being of the phenomenon is the ‘epiphenomenon’, nonuseful and unconscious, the object of pataphysics. The epiphenomenon is the Being of the phenomenon, whereas the phenomenon is only a being, or life.” It is not Being, but the phenomenon that is perception – it perceives or is perceived – whereas Being is thinking. No doubt Being, or the epiphenomenon, is nothing other than the phenomenon, but it differs from it absolutely: it is the self-showing of the phenomenon.” (ibid.)

What do we make of this nonsense? Why is there an assumption of what Being is, underlying, or co-present with phenomenon? If Being is the self-showing of the phenomenon, is Being ever self-showed? Why is it assumed to be in play? A phenomenon shows itself, it is self-showing and it is exactly that, it is not mediated through a consciousness in the sense that we’d otherwise say, it is simply self-present, self-showing, self-evidently what it is and nothing more. “Metaphysics is the error that consists in treating the epiphenomenon as another phenomenon, another being, another life.” We are to think of it as nothing, a non-being, this Being in itself that is the self-showing. But why think of it at all? There is no way to make sense of, to me, something like: “withdrawing or turning away is the only manner by which it [Being] shows itself as Being, since it is only the self-showing of the phenomenon or beings.” (ibid.) How do we know it turns away, how do we know it withdraws itself? What does it even mean to refer to such a thing as Being? It is absolutely senseless, and that begs the question of why it is discussed by people like Heidegger and those that want to partake in his kind of discourse.

This pure immanence is something Deleuze gets back to in the portion on Platonism, making the strange Heidegger references somewhat pointless:

Every reaction against Platonism is a restoration of immanence in its full extension and in its purity, which forbids the return of any transcendence. The question is whether such a reaction abandons the project of a selection among rivals, or on the contrary, as Spinoza and Nietzsche believed, draws up completely different methods of selection. Such methods would no longer concern claims as acts of transcendence, but the manner in which an existing being is filled with immanence (the Eternal Return as the capacity of something or someone to return eternally). Selection no longer concerns the claim, but power: unlike the claim, power is modest. In truth, only the philosophies of pure immanence escape Platonism – from the Stoics to Spinoza or Nietzsche.” (p. 137)

This transcendence is the transcendence of judgment, putting the quality before the thing, before the experience, for instance. Having a transcendental sphere which is fulfilled by immanence, by immanent thing-experiences that only find their meaning in its relation to the transcendental judgment. This is the absolute enemy of all true and genuine philosophy, for Deleuze, and I think also, for me.

When Deleuze gets to Spinoza, things get awfully complex, but more lucid than normally. Signs are always effects, “the trace of one body upon another” (p. 138). We come into contact with these types of signs through sensations and perceptions, ideas. This sensual or perceptual contact with various states in duration are intensive, and move in gradients; differentiation comes from changing states, the movement from a preceding state to the current one, and so on. “These are passages, becomings, rises and falls, continuous variations of power that pass from one state to another. We will call them affects, strictly speaking, and no longer affections. They are signs of increase and decrease, signs that are vectorial (of the joy-sadness type) and no longer scalar like the affections, sensations or perceptions.” There is a difference between affections of bodies and affects on the duration, a change in the relation joy-sadness, hot-cold, more-less, and so on.

“Signs do not have objects as their direct referents.” (p. 141) Signs refer to signs, Deleuze says. Signs now in the sense of effects, effects in the sense of bodies interacting with bodies. Signs are again signs of bodies affecting other bodies. Is there room for language with its ordinary use here? What does it mean for epistemology? “We have knowledge of bodies only through the shadows they cast upon us, and it is through our own shadow that we know ourselves, ourselves and our bodies. Signs are effects of light in a space filled with things colliding with each other art random.” (ibid.) Does he mean this quite literally? A movement of things, a causality that always in current situation carries the sign of the preceding cause? The preceding casts a shadow on what follows from it, creating a sign. Do we find here a new type of causality as well, removed entirely from naivety and Humean skepticism? Bodies can only appear to us through their “casting of a shadow”, meaning the bodies as such are not what we experience. We experience affectations. This is right, it seems to me, but is it right to assume there is an object or body which casts a shadow? There is no Dark precursor, as Deleuze says as well, in Spinoza there is only light. It all is a matter of intensity, the degree of which we are affected by shadows.

Between signs and concepts lies an irreducible gap, Deleuze claims, an insurmountable distinction. The point is very fine, and hard to grasp for me. It all comes down to: “But insofar as concepts refer to concepts, or causes to causes, they follow what must be called an automatic chain, determined by the necessary order of relations or proportions, and by the determinate succession of their transformations and deformations.” (p. 143) What is this necessary order of relations? Relations involve all other relations, they are all immanent, the order of which varies with each relation, but relates to the rest nonetheless. That is the relation of all relations. The way we relate to various relations of bodies is through the passions, we come into agreement with a body, we find joy in our relation to a sign, it sparks or gives us a vitality, a life-force. Thus we come back to the notion of literature or signification as force, as joy and sadness, as power and weakness. This is the same idea explored in Proust and Signs, where we were as spiders in the web when dealing with language, a small touch in one way or another jolts us into action, into attempted discourse, into material cries.

Deleuze is a thinker that draws me in and puts me in a perpetual state of confusion. I follow a thought, then I am spun around and I land on my head; there is no way to make sense in such a state of spinning and nausea. I have no way of apprehending or even criticize a thinker like Deleuze in a consistent manner, I falter again and again in being critical, I am carried away by a great vital force, but don’t go all the way. I am left in the middle; inadequate. Funnily Deleuze ends with “The Exhausted”:

Being exhausted is much more than being tired. “It’s not just tiredness, I’m not just tired, in spite of the climb.” The tired person no longer has any (subjective possibility at his disposal; he therefore cannot realize the slightest (objective) possibility. . . . The exhausted person can no longer possibilize.” (p. 152)

I’m a perpetual failure. Exhausted at this point, philosophically, societally, without future. To keep writing even in misunderstanding, to further nonsense, to not kill it as it sprouts, that is contemptible. To attempt the again and again, to take up again and again the effort to do something, to produce, to become-machine. I use Deleuzian terminology without any grasp of its nuance. I talk shit. I produce shit. This writing is pure and rigidly pigshit, and not much else. Hopefully one day I can be done with it, I can’t make sense of anything as of yet.

Merleau-Ponty’s Primacy of Perception, a short commentary on a short essay

Merleau-Ponty was one of the earliest philosophers I found tried to get at the core of the history of metaphysical problems philosophy have dealt with. He didn’t fully get into either the postmodern French school of thought proper, although I believe he was part of its foundation, nor the analytic tradition of going fully into language philosophy. In general I think Merleau-Ponty could be described as an incredible moderate, he never quite falls into transcendentalism nor pure immanence as Deleuze, for instance, did. He had a clear guide, and this guide was perception, as our true interaction with being and existence, as in itself a showcasing of existence and being. Perception is always “in the world”, it is part of the world, it is the world. Thus, as human beings, perception becomes primary.

“The perceived world is always the presupposed foundation of all rationality, all value and all existence. This thesis does not destroy either rationality or the absolute. It only tries to bring them down to earth.” (p. 13)

There are endless complications within perception, however. Object-synthesis is a huge problem, as it was in Husserl, it is again in Merleau-Ponty. When we see one perspective of an object, the others become dormant. What is this mechanism, what is our relation to the unseen? Since they can be apprehended again, and experienced fully, they are not as such mere representations. Perhaps we can see them as such if we imagine them, but then they are imaginations, not experience, thus not objects in the world. This is a distinction Husserl was less worried about, but that Merleau-Ponty gave a lot of time to. The unseen side is exactly what it is, as we experience it, it is in our vicinity, it is in the horizon, it is in the moving of the lamp, the turning of the cube, etc. (p. 14) Our interaction with objects unseen is entirely practical, it is present in a sense that is more or less immediate (maybe that makes it not immediate, but close enough). This unseen is apprehended through a setting, an environment.

Something very interesting is said on page 15:

We observe at once that it is impossible, as has often been said, to decompose a perception, to make it into a collection of sensations, because in it the whole is prior to the parts – and this whole is not an ideal whole. The meaning which I ultimately discover is not of the conceptual order. If it were a concept, the question would be how I can recognize it in the sense data, and it would be necessary for me to interpose between the concept and the sense data certain intermediaries, and then other intermediaries between these intermediaries, and so on. It is necessary that meaning and signs, the form and matter of perception, be related from the beginning and that, as we say, the matter of perception be ‘pregnant with its form.’”

Can we make sense of this? Is there truth in it? Merleau-Ponty certainly gives way to the whole many times, to a kind of holism. A perception cannot be reduced to its sense data, since there is not necessarily something that lets us recognize in the silent sense data something conceptual or linguistic. It is very often the case when we look at items that they are recognized immediately as their setting, as their different modes immediately available. But how is such an availability of the object built up in the first place? Why could this not be a gradual process founded in the sense data? Or in the experiences of perspectival part-objects. We learn of a setting through experience, right? Is Merleau-Ponty trying to refer to something more mysterious here? Or he simply referring to the atomistic aspect of perception? That we cannot decompose a perception simply means that we cannot reduce it, it is immediately exactly whole and what it is. To decompose would be to go outside of experience, thus to no longer be faithful to its primacy.

I believe he is simply saying that the synthesis of perspectives that make up the setting of objects in the world is a passive synthesis. “What prohibits me from treating my perception as an intellectual act is that an intellectual act would grasp the object either as possible or as necessary. But in perception it is ‘real’; it is given as the infinite sum of an indefinite series of perspectival views in each of which the object is given but in none of which is it given exhaustively.” (p. 15) There is no completion of the object, thusly, and no objectivity in a true sense. There are only modes of an object, a directedness and its variations, perspectives on a point, a delimited object. And it cannot be intellectual, because it is immediate, and it is not grasping at the object itself as a real relation of the world. This is in part my conjecture.

This strictness of perception means that there cannot be such a thing as a thing in itself. It makes absolutely no sense for us to think it. “If I attempt to imagine some place in the world which has never been seen, the very fact that I imagine it makes me present at that place, I thus cannot conceive a perceptible place in which I am not myself present.” (p. 16)

So we are in some sense aware of the paradox of perception, as Merleau-Ponty calls it, that here is both an immanent aspect of it, and a transcendental aspect, objects appear and disappear, but we cannot necessarily say that the transcendental aspect doesn’t exist, since it is possible to re-apprehend it.

The world, then, becomes the “totality of perceptible things and the thing of all things, must be understood not as an object in the sense the mathematician or the physicist gives to this word – that is, a kind of unified law which would cover all the partial phenomena or as a fundamental relation verifiable in all – but as the universal style of all possible perceptions.” (ibid.)

If we follow this, we are finding that our worlds and thus our sensations become private in their most genuine form. How does our perceptions relate to other people’s perceptions? “If I treat them [perceptions] as acts of the intellect, if perception is an inspection of the mind, and the perceived object an idea, then you and I are talking about the same world, and we have the right to communicate among ourselves because the world has become an ideal existence and is the same for all of us – just like Pythagorean theorem.” (p. 17)

He continues:

“But neither of these two formulas accounts for our experience.” And this might just be a collection of quotes for a while.

“I will never know how you see red,” he says, “and you will never know how I see it; but this separation of consciousness is recognized only after a failure of communication, and our first movement is to believe in an undivided being between us.”

For this to work, Merleau-Ponty claims it is vital for us to see others as another “myself”, as another being whose world is available to us in the same way our world is available to them. “I espouse my thoughts because this other, born in the midst of my phenomena, appropriates them and treats them in accord with typical behaviors which I myself have experienced.” This is what constitutes the perceived world inhabited by intersubjective beings. We see ourselves in others, as they do in us. Our behavior is similar enough for recognition and ability to grasp the thought and directionality of objects that lead us to having practical and functional communication. This is a very pragmatic viewpoint, only it operates without neglecting the whole sphere of experience that people like Rorty sometimes do. The failure to communicate an experience is a failure in communication, not in the truthfulness of what is experienced. If two people are unable to experience the same truth, though, what do we make of such a situation? Is that simply due to an irreducible difference of perspectives or perhaps of physiology? Merleau-Ponty does not go into this in the current book. We confer on objects a new dimension, the dimension of intersubjectivity. These are “the elements of a description of the perceived world” (p. 18).

Another important aspect comes from the relationship between the notion of unreflected and reflected experience or thought. It seems closely related to intellectual and perceptual consciousness, it would be a different way of wording it. “It is true that we discover the unreflected. But the unreflected we go back to is not that which is prior to philosophy or prior to reflection. It is the unreflected which is understood and conquered by reflection. Left to itself, perception forgets itself and is ignorant of its own accomplishments.”(p. 19) This is the simple relationship of the reflected and unreflected, at the core level, they do not oppose each other, but the reflection is simply a directness towards the unreflected, as it always is in its pointedness towards the world. However that’s also in part my conjecture and completion of a thought solely for my own sake. Merleau-Ponty simply wants to point to the origins of reflection, which in genuine knowledge always lie in the perceptive acts and the unreflected aspects of our experience. The reflection serve mostly to add things to this experience and make it into something intersubjectively or subjectively knowable.

This reflection ultimately finds a cogito, a self, a self which Merleau-Ponty describes as: ”I am a thought which recaptures itself as already possessing an ideal of truth (which it cannot at at each moment wholly account for) and which is the horizon of its operations.” This self is in a constant progress of working itself out, it is not truly in touch with a truth, immediately, it creates it. The self feels itself as a thinking entity, it notices itself in its acts.

Such is the basic outline of the phenomenology of perception. There is much more depth to this idea, that shall be explored once more in the future, surely, if it comes.

Hope in place of Knowledge?

Another pragmatist book by Rorty. Truth becomes replaced by descriptions and warranted assertibility. It is justification which leads us in thought, because there is no final way to become satisfied, no way to end discussions and arguments, no way to finally prove the correspondence between knowledge and nature, or whatever else. It is difficult to disagree with this, because when we do study representationalism and correspondence theories and verificationist theories, there are always quite severe problems.

There are many ways to come to a pragmatist conclusion. One would be simply through defining truth, like Davidson seems to do, through its way of coming about. Truth is the process of coming to a true statement in regards to something. In that way, truth is always in the process. The process is more or less made up of justification. To replace truth with justification is to in a way make philosophy wholly atheistic, and do remove any notion of essentiality, which is another aspect to Rorty’s book. There is no essence in the world we can come across that cuts through the limitations of mankind in relation to a thoughtless universe. Instead there are people justifying things in a free democratic society, with only each other as judges, no Gods, no Nature, no correspondence to and fro man and object, or subject and object.

In a way there is a monism underlying this as well, buttressed entirely by intersubjectivity. The ridiculousness of pragmatism, in the way presented by Rorty, is that we have no way of knowing what it is that makes up justification, or what in us determined thinking a statement is justified or not. What exactly is there to guide us in this endeavor, if we have nowhere to look for security? What assumptions operate under this philosophy? An object’s variability between people does not matter to a pragmatist, since the description of it will be what guides our relation to it. We suspend the will to know it in itself. It seems to prop itself up on intuition, though, the intuitive way we relate to objects in our shared space. Knowledge of an objects is knowledge of what can be done with it, what kind of tool it can be, how it can be described, what kind of manipulations it allows for; all this is what Rorty calls relational. Our way of talking about objects is not truth-based or relating to a Nature in itself, or an Absolute way that thing are, but is simply talk about our way of relating to it and our ways of using those objects. Likewise, our talk of the objects is teleological in kind, it’s done with a specific purpose or function in mind. “I want food” is not some kind of attempt to describe the physicality of hunger, it is simply the description of a certain wish. Obviously the example is in some way slanted.

If we were to make a final justification our goal, a Rortyan pragmatism would end up calling it useless and hopeless. Mostly on the ground of past failures. It seems like Rorty is looking for some kind of happiness outside of the bitterness that philosophy harbors against the failures of epistemology. This same bitterness is what Rorty thinks fuels the fight against pragmatism. Perhaps a good way to turn pragmatism on itself is to look for its justifications. When Rorty uses pragmatism as a way to get away from epistemology, he doesn’t as such solve anything, he simply devolves to quietism, in a beautiful way, but nonetheless in a dissatisfying manner. Is happiness an automatically justifiable endeavor? Why not remain in the torture of an epistemological attitude? What justifies the absolute freedom of justifiable statements?

Objectivity was described as the ease of which somebody can agree to something, or the degree of agreeability of something. That which has a lesser degree is more subjective, that which has a higher degree of objectivity holds a higher chance of being accepted universally, or at least with more ease. But is objectivity even an ideal for a pragmatist? Is science something to hold dear in this pragmatist sense, where all it does is create a way of walking, unveil ways of using things, and a method of justification. Justification does not seem detached from epistemology, it seems the same problems remain, with the sole difference being that useless terms like “truth” have been curtailed.

What is it that we should hope for in the future? What is this “happiness”? Is it material contentness we are speaking of? Intellectual satisfaction? Pragmatism again operates through some kind of pleasure principle. I really don’t quite understand what fuels it. Does this reflect poorly on the state of my mental health? Or is it simply not a good justification for a move to hope, where certainty and knowledge become jettisoned?

The hope for the future is indeed a hope to gain tools where we can approach the inapproachability of certain off-limit aspects of reality. This hope is put on science, I imagine, since it is the only methodical approach that seems to attempt knowledge of a non-human kind, an entirely machinic-objective approach. An approach that claims to unveil the reality of nature itself. But what is the point in hoping for such a future, and not participating in it actively, alongside science, if need be, but in reality simply through an epistemology? Why shut down the enterprise? Who do we leave it to? I don’t understand the usefulness of hope.

But I think it’s easy to agree with the pragmatist denial of essences of certain kinds. Pragmatism seem to stand for an openness to a changing variety of justifications, or a becoming. It moves along with the new. It denies the Greek notions of a human essence (p. 39) and leaves humanity indefinite, always “improving”, developing, gaining more and more pleasure, happiness, freedom, and whatever other value is highlighted and held as important in pragmatism.

A thing I really agree with however is the notion that there is no essence, as should be clear. Our relational way of being in the world without any necessary way of telling which relation is “correct” or the most true makes it so that relationality is something characterized by a great amount of freedom. That which we know of objects is made up of our descriptions of them. This relationality itself is infinite, says Rorty, but to say “indefinite” would be more accurate in this sense, since we know nothing of infinitude, we know only a limitlessness. In this sense I do not think Rorty’s attempt to appeal to numbers in showing how nonessentialist thinking works, since all you have to do is ask the essentialist “where is the essence, and what constitutes it?” You will find their answer is never going to be satisfactory, since it will be entirely arbitrary without any sliver of self-awareness, thus not justified, thus not necessarily true, either, if we are to remain in that mindset.

Relationism is not simply descriptive, in my mind, but it holds true for an empirical or phenomenological approach as well. That all experiential relationships are at their core non-hierarchical, they are all immanent and to some extent differ perhaps mostly in how much they can inform what is said about the object, or inform the descriptive statements. This is something lacking in Rorty, which I am not sure I like.

Because we have to ask ourselves, what does a relation description refer to? It surely is referential, so what is referred to here? Is each relation not an essence, as it is in Husserl? This essence is then what a description refers to. But this is not an essence in the sense of being the one true essence of an object, but simply the essence of what makes a descriptive act possible. It is simple the grounding of a description in something other than itself. Without this I would say a description is senseless, but it still maintains the democratic and non-hierarchical view of knowledge or relations.

If we want to explore the world, or explore the way we explore the world, what does pragmatism suggest? Science is one description among many, it seems, according to Rorty. But how do we explain our descriptive behavior? How do we explore what constitutes a referential act, and so on? What would pragmatism allow for? Everything? Everything is open in the war of ideas, and they will live and die in that war, through some kind of historical dialecticism. I have no way of navigating this kind of space.

“We seem to have become more than human, to have distanced ourselves from our own humanity and viewed ourselves from nowhere.” (p. 49)

This is a very important aspect, in this case in regards to psycho-physical explanations of the world. We should always be wary of describing the world from outside of our own human groundedness and our needs. I mostly stand for such a statement in an epistemological sense, that we are never not human, our concepts are never devoid of a body, etc. We are always human, no matter how much we try to think the inhuman. What “human” in this sense means to me simply the experiencing entity we can see ourselves as, the way things appear to us, and how we interact with things with a particular directness and relationality. This is very important to realize, and to not lose track of in the psycho-physical scientific world explanations. All our scientific concepts are constructions, a constructivist social order.

To have usefulness be the measurement of which to use in epistemological or ethical matters can be turned, I think, into a return or directedness of this to being useful in truth matters. “Is this description useful to show whether or not something is true?” could be the pragmatic epistemological questions. “Is this useful if we want to know this object?” In a way that is already how anyone interested in these questions operate, we’d spot it right away if something was not fruitful. But does “truth” have utility in itself? For philosophers like Descartes it was the starting point for a whole geometrical edifice, a ground certainty could build almost anything, in a mathematical manner, a move from axiom to elaborate proofs, and so on. Is this not still possible? Have we absolutely forsaken this notion? Obviously there is no need to follow in the footsteps of mathematics, but would it not be possible to build proofs based on core truth-concepts. If there is a truth such that “when we see X we say ‘Z’”, is that not something we could work with? A solid knowledge of a predictable behavior. Or are we to skeptically approach this as well? Could there really be an axiomatic theory of truth with appeal to the self-evident? Whatever it could be it would be subject to the same pragmatist view of justification-based discourse, and I don’t see that as necessarily a problem, it simply displaces the goal of philosophy, a goal I don’t think is actually active in the mind of anyone doing philosophy, since all philosophy involves itself with is textual analysis and argumentation, even when it exlaims to unveil truth, the former is its actual societal act.

Pragmatism does seem to be liberating to a large extent, however, especially the therapeutic kind that Rorty posits, but it seems equally a simple acceptance of failure, or an attempt to avoid hardship for the sake of comfort or happiness. Perhaps it is strange to want to remain in a state of discomfort or intellectual torture, but it seems more interesting to stumble and fail than to accept a non-satisfying arbitrary set of descriptions and justifications based on nothing but the propositions that constitute them. Pragmatism doesn’t do enough for me, but that is not that say that it couldn’t. I suppose we shall see, but not yet.

Derrida’s “The Problem of Genesis in Husserl’s Philosophy,” a weak commentary by (me)

Attempting to deal with Derrida is an arduous task. Despite his clear direction at times, his expressions delve into, or at least very close to, nonsense, or contradictions inherent to language, but where you need to make up for it with his particular sense. To properly make something out of Derrida, I imagine it’s best to do as much as possible with the moments of clarity.

Derrida’s earliest major piece regards Husserl’s philosophy, in particular the problem of Genesis. Husserl’s major claim is that he wants to restart philosophy with a proper ground, a new beginning based on the self-evidence of the phenomenologically reduced experience. This were to be the start of philosophy and a more so a start for a philosophically informed science. Derrida understood this notion very well, and as with many good philosophers, they used the starting point of another philosopher to overthrow that very philosopher. I believe Derrida did just that, he radicalized Husserl, and made the acts of the Husserlian philosophy into what they truly were. Husserl never did put an emphasize of what it meant for an act to be descriptive, and how it would truly work in regards to what it is he tried to describe, and all the difficulties that would arise in such an endeavor, and much worse, the infinitude of such an endeavor. These are among other things what Derrida elucidates in his preface to The Problem of Genesis in Husserl’s Philosophy. “How can philosophy, if it is engendered by something other than itself, lay claim to an originary autonomy?”, he asks. How does philosophy look outside of itself to create itself? Of course there are answers we could give based on a study of Husserl, but for a moment let’s suspend these thoughts to see what Derrida is attempting to do.

I sense many misconceptions of Husserl in the way Derrida writes, unfortunately. At least they are misconceptions to my mind. In the preface again, Derrida speaks naively of being, and having the originary philosophy reveal being, which is never really the case in Husserl. What is presented in Husserl is never anything metaphysical, to my mind, or from what I know of Husserl, but it is simply what it is, in its self-evident nature. What we do with it beyond that point is all subject to bracketing, which is something Derrida also writes, but still uses words like “reality” and “being” with a fair amount of liberty. The same goes with “dialectic”, which seem to have little meaning in regards to Husserl, since there is no dialectical process going on in Husserl’s philosophy. Derrida is clearly coming at Husserl from a very strange angle. But Derrida conjures dialectics through the following relationship, “it unites in one single act the originary transcendental subjectivity and the transcendent ‘sense of being’ that it constitutes, with, on the other hand, that absolute which is of a piece with every originarity.” So in reality it seems more like we are talking about a synthesis, ignoring what it is he says in its content and just looking at the conjunction. First of all, how does the transcendental subjectivity constitute a sense of being? What could this possibly be mean? In Husserl we do not need a sense of being to know what is being presented to us, but if we have to call something “being”, it would be this very transcendental subjectivity of Husserl, if we are to follow phenomenological traditional thinking. I cannot give a sense to “that absolute which is of a piece with every originarity”, however, unless he simply means that every originary sense of being, that is every experience of the egological kind (that is experience of the self, in the reduced sense of late Husserl), is absolute in the sense that it is independent and self-sufficient. But in Husserl there is no difference between the former and the latter of this supposed “dialectic”, so what guides Derrida in saying this? Again, I have a sneaking suspicion that Derrida is confused about something, and it is turning me off to this whole project.

Again, further difficulties arise with the next line (p. xxix in the preface):

In a word, the question we will put to Husserl could become the following: Is it possible to ground, in its ontological possibility and (at the same time) in its sense, an absolute dialectic of dialectic and nondialectic? In this dialectic, philosophy and being would blend together the one in the other, without definitively alienating themselves one in the other.

First of all, what is absolute in dialectical relationships? Secondly, Husserl never tried to ground anything ontologically. To think being is to no longer think phenomenology, I would say, at least not in accordance with Husserl. So what makes this a good question to “put to Husserl”? Derrida is thus far quite upsetting to read.

Derrida still attempts to criticize the Husserlian doctrine, but it seems he is basing them mostly on misunderstandings:

For example, in order to be totally intelligible, the transcendental reduction, reversal, and recommencement of the naive attitude must cancel or remove from its effective existence the whole history that has made its way toward it; the transcendental reduction, to live up to its phenomenological value, to appear to itself as the act of a transcendental freedom, must suspend everything which could have seemed to have “motivated” it. But the paradox is that in order to be intelligible in its very “demotivation” and to give itself as intentional originarity, it is, in its very actuality, reduction “of” something which was and still is effectively “already there.”

So the problem with this is a fundamental misunderstanding of Husserl, and the reasons will be laid out. Obviously it is hard to cut through the density of Derrida’s writing, but if you know Husserl, things appear somewhat clearer. Basically what is said here is that Husserl, in his attempt to remove “improper” claims to knowledge, reduced knowledge-claims to their essences, which would be the direct experience, subjective experience, this is all that could be seen as self-evident and thus proper knowledge. When Derrida thinks he is making anyone stumble in his reference to a preceding world in which the phenomenological reduction, in reality he is just showcasing his poor understanding of the Husserlian philosophy’s goal. The goal is not to ground existence or reality, Husserl does not say things such as “phenomenology is the study of being as it is in itself,” as far as I can remember, but this is what an argument that Derrida is taking issue with would sound like. Husserl does the opposite, in fact, and there is not “dialectic” between existence and non-existence, positive experience and negation of those experiences, or whatever else. What is at stake in Husserl is PROPER knowledge, justified knowledge, knowledge of the kind we can hold for certain. So when Husserl performs a phenomenological reduction, he does not suspend his belief in a preceding world, he suspends the preceding world’s philosophizing claim to hold proper and genuine knowledge. To not understand this nuance of Husserl is to not understand him at all, in my mind. I hope for my own sake that this is not something which Derrida continues to hold on to, or maybe, even more likely, that I am misunderstanding Derrida. It just seems to me that Derrida is under the impression that originarity has to do with metaphysical or some kind of origin of a natural kind. It is solely and entirely the origin for genuine knowledge that is in question here.

Further on he goes: “the genetic interpretation of Husserl’s thought which would attach itself only to the creative or ‘radical’ aspect of genesis would disperse it in an infinite multiplicity of absolute beginnings that are neither temporal nor atemporal nor historical nor suprahistorical. This interpretation suppresses what every genesis constantly implies and what it refers to as to one of its foundations: the essential rootedness in the continuity of being, in time, in the world.” (p. xxxii) For something to be neither temporal nor atemporal is a simple logical error, something Derrida partakes in often. It’s an attack on the notion of bivalence without justification. Going further into it, what would it mean for the beginning to be an infinite multiplicity? Clearly there is no such beginning in Husserl, since the beginning does not come from the phenomenological reduction itself, but the decision to perform it and view life through a phenomenological lens. The best criticism of such a position would be that there is no phenomenological experience that constitutes the beginning, and it would be correct, but this is not exactly what Derrida is saying here. Derrida is, it seems, claiming that each phenomenological experience is of their own a beginning, an originary experience of being (which is nonsensical, as has been explained already). In this sense there would be an infinite multiplicity of beginnings, but the beginning is in reality One, and it is the directionality towards the phenomenological description as a mode of thought, as an intentional object, as a descriptive task to be performed. Still there is an adherence in Derrida to something more metaphysical, without properly being warranted or justified. It is unfortunately unclear whether or not Derrida is describing a misconception of Husserl or if he is partaking in one, since it seems when he explains the issues with how others interpret Husserl and when he himself takes a position, they both falter in some fundamental way, only Derrida with a bit more subtlety. Derrida speaks of a antepredicative world, and this is where the notion of origin arises within. This is something Husserl is aware of, he clearly writes about the prepredicative world, but this world has no value to a search for knowledge, which still is the intention of Husserl, not to ground us metaphysically in the pre-predicative. There is no antepredicative notion that is not predicative, that is the problem with this kind of talk in itself. It’s in itself a contradiction to speak of the silent world, to some extent, unless you first build a proper system of reference, the possibility of which is highly uncertain.

Derrida’s search for a Husserl to follow, and his expressing that it is very difficult to synthesize Husserl, since a lot of what he does seem to change. But even in this effort, I am unclear on where it is Husserl changes so radically that he cannot be synthesized more or less with ease, nor why it is necessary to do so. Husserl does not necessarily need to be reduced to an origin, or one system, however. We can either agree with certain notions of his or we can dismiss them. There is no sense in holding a thinker together in this sense, I say this even knowing that I have the tendency to do so. In Husserl’s case it takes a different kind of genius to keep all the nuance in mind to be able to clearly differentiate the different Husserls. In my mind the directionality of Husserl is clear, and very consistent, in the same way Deleuze is, in that they express the same notion throughout their life with very few nuances, but mostly with the same directionality. What changes is the various applications and implementations of their system of thought, and what different concepts that can be created through this initial directionality.

This will be another work of pure repetition on my end, since I will belabor endlessly about the fact that knowledge and existence are two separate categories of thought. Epistemology and metaphysics are not the same. “But the attempts [the attempts at phenomenological reductions] are unfaithful to him to the degree that these reductions end in a pure and simple expelling of existence, in the methodological destruction of empirical facticity.” (p. xxxviii) Again, I have to question this, since in Husserl there is never, that I know of, an attempt to grasp existence as such. There is never talk of existence, there is talk about presentations and what can be known, about self-evident qualities, about experience, egology, etc. There are no metaphysical determinations in Husserl’s philosophy, because his goal is epistemological, he wants to know. So there is nothing unfaithful to Husserl in expelling the notion of existence, the opposite is in fact true. While we can invoke the notion of existence like Derrida does, in the sense that no originary sense of phenomenology can be thought in any other way as existing, I would say the interesting thing about Husserl is that this is a superfluous movement. In reality, we cannot deny the existence of that which presents itself to us as self-evidently there, making any determination of existence purely formal and dependent on that which fills up this concept. All those things which we put into existence are things apprehended through experience, they are one and the same, at least in the Husserl of the Logical Investigations. “All that exists can be experienced,” is the phrase, I believe. It denotes the epistemological notion of existence as that which is available to us and knowable by us, as opposed to the antepredicative brute world that Husserl is clearly aware of, but not interested in.

Surely these naive misunderstandings cannot really be ascribed to Derrida. His research of Husserl is chronological, to an extent, and every change is described on a historical level, in a way, the move from the “disappointed mathematician” to the transcendental egologist.

If we really get down to it, what is meant by Derrida’s “Genesis”? Because so far I’ve made ungrounded assumptions of what it is Derrida means. The Genesis is used in a more concrete sense than I first imagined it, as I keep on reading. It’s not only the genesis for knowledge or a genesis into the world as such, the latter of which is the naive position I’ve been criticizing. There is no One genesis in this book. There is a genesis of concepts, one for intentionality, one for synthesis and unity of the multiplicity. But I still can’t make sense of what it is Derrida means by the term “genesis”, or why it is problematic in Husserl’s philosophy.

Derrida nonetheless goes through Husserl’s philosophy in a competent way, he shows the crucial relationship between concrete and abstract, particular and general; importantly that there cannot be a generalization without a set of particulars. This is of note because our use of abstractions can only have a sense with its relation to a set of particulars with similarity. Concepts, as intentionality, is always about something, even the abstract concepts: they are related to their concrete multiplicities, and serve as a kind of totality of them. Of course this is quite easily attacked, Merleau-Ponty for example argued against this quite effectively, and showed that there was in fact no such thing as a general “red”, only the redness of each object we perceive as red. The redness of our jacket, the redness of that car, etc. This may be true in general, that there is no red that is not particular, but there is something going on that allows us to identify redness, and that, I think, is what Husserl elucidates with his notions on generality and its relation to the particulars. So in that sense you could easily fault the more direct notion of particularity in that it makes it impossible to direct the assent or dissent of redness unless you had some kind of identifier of that quality. The identifier could perhaps be a comparison with past particularities, but clearly this is not what we do when we recognize a quality, we do not play past experiences in our mind and compare the current one to them, it is more immediate and readily accessible. Of course there is room for more arguments here, but this text might have more to do with Derrida’s Husserl. Let’s see if we can do something with this.

Derrida chronicles the movement of Husserl quite well. How intentionality goes from being psychical to being phenomenological, the problems that lead up to Husserl making that development. Intentionality must be that which is originary for objects to arise, if we are to properly understand what it is that gets created. Totalities appear already as identifiers of a multiplicity of phenomenological experiences, they all refer to and link back to one intentional object. This is one important aspect of Husserl’s phenomenology you have to bear in mind, that objects are not immediate, but always implied to some extent.

In the Logical Investigations Derrida tells us, which is also clear from volume 1, that Husserl breaks off from the psychologism of The Philosophy of Arithmetic to replace it with Logicism, with a logical normative science. A science of sciences, that which orders and sees over other sciences, that which tries to unite them and provide a sort of completed picture of things. Derrida does not mention another important aspect of this work, however, which is the notion that before any science of whatever kind, there is already a logical order of things at work. This is what prevents psychology from being a proper science to Husserl, because before any of their descriptions, we already have the logical-phenomenological experiences to deal with. To say that we are a subject experiencing the world is to go one step beyond – a disingenuous step – what we naturally experience and logically apprehend. Before there is a subject, there is experience and logic, and that which determines subjectivity is already existing, logic, and thus phenomenology later on, predates any science of the subject. Psychology gets things backwards, you could say, in this sense, according to Husserl.

Derrida does provide some new information to me, since I have not been able to get all the texts of Husserl yet, which I appreciate. Husserl’s writing on time, for instance, is something I have not studied. But, which is beautiful, Derrida’s account of Husserl’s notion of time is very much in line with Husserl in general. That is truly the beauty of a consistent thinker. Again, all transcendental notions, like objective time, are suspended and made pointless, subsided by the rigidity of a concrete lived time, a subjective time. “It is not clear how an originarily atemporal experience, identical to itself in an absolute and flawless present, can afterward receive a temporal determination from the outside.” (p. 59)

The future and past would further, in Derrida’s account of Husserl’s account, be hopelessly confused, in that the future and past would both be based on imagined scenarios, where a sign of the past would be a sign of a past event and non-accessible existence, and the future would be a baseless projection. It is only the present which cannot be imagined or construed falsely, at least no in the sense that the future and the past can be. We have to identify the degree of confusion that could be ascribed to each temporal direction (ibid.). It is unclear if the present truly is as straight forward as we think it is, as Donald Davidson it was not, we could easily be mistaken in perceptive matters (of the present).

The ‘eidos’ of lived time is itself temporal, constituted in a temporality. It appears static only if it is uncoupled from the temporality where it is founded.” (p. 60) Here Derrida prematurely appeals to the noema-noesis relationship, where time is seen as noematic as related to a noetic experience. This basically means that time apprehends something statically as a noema, as constituted object, through the noesis, the constituting conscious act.

At first I was worried about Derrida’s ascribing ontological traits to Husserl’s philosophy, but as I go through the writings of Derrida, more and more signs arise that Derrida actually does ascribe a lot of ontology to what Husserl does. “Are not the empirical or ontological geneses both essentially implied in the analyses of lived experience?” (p. 61) Is this for pedagogical purposes? Or does it imply Derrida thinks they should intuitively be considered both implicative in experience? In either case it’s ridiculous to claim to know what somebody means in this sense, especially with someone like Derrida, so perhaps there is no real point in this exercise.

There are so many things Derrida says that you could break down with a simply “why is that?” I am not sure at all what justifies many of his statements. But some statements hold up as justified through Husserl: “Subjectivity is time that itself is temporalizing itself. Time is subjectivity fulfilling itself as subjectivity.” (p. 66) This denotes the freedom and acts that constitute our notions of time in the concrete sense.

Quickly things fall back into demands for ontological grounds, however: “In order for the immanent consciousness of time not to be a subjectivist illusion, in order for the essence of time not to be a concept, for them both to be consciousness and essence of an actual time, they must be linked by an originary synthesis to time and to being constituted a priori.” (p. 69) Why is this? What does Derrida here mean by “essence of an actual time”? And what is it to link consciousness and ‘actual time’? Is not what Husserl tries to do to avoid this notion of ‘actual time’ for something more solid? I will have to acquire this book and research this myself, but it seems very un-Husserl-like to talk of things like ‘actual time’. Actual in this sense seem to denote that real substrate that underlies our subjective illusions or appearances, something that Husserl, to my knowledge, always opposed. Have I missed something crucial in Husserl, or is Derrida adding these requirements of his own will? Transcendentality in Husserl never seemed to take this form, in my mind, the discussions of transcendental egos and such are never put as something that is not immanent expressly. I have a hard time understanding where Derrida is coming from.

He seems to still want to fault Husserl for a psychologism, even in the Ideas, when bracketing and the epoché really starts to form. But when Husserl writes:

Because the reader already knows that the interest that dominates these meditations regard a new eidetics, he surely should expect that the world as a fact is struck by the disconnect, but by no means the world as eidos, likewise neither any of the spheres of essences. The disconnection of the world does not mean for example that the series of numbers and the arithmetic that adheres to this is disconnected. This road we however do not fall in line with, neither in this direction is our goal, that we could also characterize as to win a new, in its uniqueness heretofore never delimited sphere of being, which in likeness with each genuine region constitutes a region of individual being.

Derrida takes this to mean that Husserl is still within a mindset that consciousness is still consciousness within a natural world, thus an empirical psychology. But if the world that we use in epistemological purposes is eidetic, thus reduced to the experiences of consciousness, not in a world, but a consciousness as constituting the experienceable world, as the world reduced to the assemblage of experiences, how is this so? What idea of the world is Derrida using here to make Husserl seem to perform a relation between consciousness and world? Because clearly, if you read carefully in Husserl, the “sphere of being” has strange implications, but is secondary, if not tertiary or even completely irrelevant, to the notion of reduction of natural attitudes in favor of a phenomenological analysis of consciousness.

The problem Derrida finds in Husserl is the same problem I seem to find in him, the pedagogical efforts. Husserl’s genesis in the relation between a natural world and a reduced phenomenological description of experience, is simply there to carry with him the people still stuck within the natural attitude. There is no “beginning” in the natural world, as such, it is a reference to an attitude of human beings, a naivety, etc. This needs to be understood, and should be clear from Husserl’s writing, since never does he speak of the natural world as being originary, it is simply there as that which we in attempting to genuinely ground knowledge, have to no longer utilize. It is not a negation, there is no dialectic involved, there is simply a reference to an attitude that needs to be cut away, reduced, delimited, delineated and so on.

Derrida must understand this to some extent, so it is unsure if he is confused or simply moves along a line of progressive understanding in a chronological reading of Husserl. He shows signs of understanding when he says: “The noematic objectivity replaces real objectivity. In the same way, the time of the world, which is harmonized with immanent time through the intermediary of ‘temporal objectivities,’ is not real time but noematic time originarily in correlation with a noetic time.” (p. 79)

But could what is a nonintentionality be only a product? That’s impossible, and in contradiction with the fundamental principles of phenomenology?” Noetic experience is direct and actual, it is also the most genuine and full experience you can have. It is immediate, whereas the intentional objects that arise out of these sections of real immediate experience are secondary and products of this first hand experience. This is the fundamental principle of phenomenology as Husserl has developed it from the Logical Investiations. Derrida is once again showing some kind of confusion in his attempt to criticize Husserl. The distinction between noema and noesis is not clear, by any means, but it is clear enough to avoid this misguided question. “What is going to be the status of the moments of lived experience which are ‘real’ but not intentional? Where, when, and through what will they be constituted?” (p. 86) Do they need constitution? Is this not a misguided question? Why do we need to look for an origin or genesis? The question is irrelevant for phenomenology, but it could nonetheless be answered through phenomenology. To look for the origin phenomenologically would be to look for the moment where actual direct experience first arise, and it would be to finally close the circle of phenomenology, but it is entirely unnecessary, since the goal is not a genesis, but a secure ground for knowledge. Even if it might be true that we are subjects within a material world, whose experience is explainable through scientific descriptions and explanations, it would do nothing to reduce phenomenological experience. Husserl’s decision to attach himself to these notions are again their self-evident nature, and their genuine presentation to us, their automatic presentation, their innate and incorrigible appearance. To look for their origin is to assume there is something constituting the immediate experience. There might very well be such a constituting event, but it would be ridiculous to assume it is something we can know before the deepest of studies of it, and it would be premature to assume it does anything to weaken phenomenology.

This is the first argument that I found truly compelling from Derrida, though, and that does serve as a proper problem. The question is not too out of line, “What is it that constitutes immediate experience?” But is this not a question that would be scientific in nature? “What is the origin of the universe?” and so on. If we put this question at the forefront of philosophical research or epistemological efforts, we have already lost our ability to create a method. And perhaps this is Derrida’s ultimate goal. But to ask the question without the possibility of answering it, without a method of which to use to understand the meaning of such a question, is senseless. The core of Husserl’s philosophy lies in this: whether it is constituted or not, whether it stems from a consciousness as seen by psychology or neurobiology, whether it is a consciousness given to us by God (obviously I do not believe this), it is irrelevant, because what is presented to us is there in its full form regardless of what traits we happen to ascribe to it. Derrida never truly leaves the natural attitude when he poses this question, and in that he makes his entire enterprise shaky and again, senseless. We could follow Hume in this also, and simply claim that in an atomistic view of consciousness, this immediate experience is what constitutes the bottom level of any methodology whatsoever. To look for a further primordiality is to assume too much. If there is distinction between constituting and constituted, then the constituting blocks of which the constituted are built, cannot be themselves made up of building blocks endlessly. I believe Hume does have some very compelling arguments along these lines, but they are also based in empiricism, or perception alone. Derrida seems to be looking elsewhere, towards something wholly transcendental. But what justifies this other than the ability to ask for a further ground for the ground already offered by Husserl? I do not see it as justified as of now, but it is compelling nonetheless.

Is not neutralization originarily a ‘disappointment,’ that is to say, the moment when the ‘I’ ‘removes itself” from facticity, without however denying its existence? Does not the predicative judgment presuppose a certain negation of the sensuous antepredicative, subsumed under one or several concepts?” (p. 117)

Without the possibility of negation or disappointment, intention or intentionality would not be possible.”

Derrida is infuriating, since he does not explain statements like these. In what way would negation at all take place in moving from antepredication to predication. It’s simply a change in form, it is not a dialectic. What is Derrida getting at? What am I missing? Is it right for me to view this as absolute nonsense? One activity does not exclude the other, atemporality does not exclude temporality, since atemporal experience can clearly be viewed temporally. A simple sensuous experience is atemporal, it might have duration, but it is not immediately retentional or protentional, or past and future, it is merely present. This present is retained, what is retained becomes a retentional experience, thus there is a difference between present experience directed towards an object and retentional experience of the same object. “Same” in this sense simply denoting a similarity in direction, a pointedness, etc.

It might be the case that Derrida confuses contrasts with contradictions. Experience is not always immediate in the sense that would make mutual exclusion a necessity. Life as temporal can include what we’d otherwise consider to be mutually exclusive experience without acting as a kind of mediative negation (whatever that means). It’s not even certain that there is mediation between these different types of experiences, the atemporal and temporal, for instance. What provides their difference could simply be a simply adjustment in perspective, a change in focal point. Extreme points by no means exclude each other by any sense of necessity, and they certainly do not lead automatically to a dialecticism. What is Derrida trying to get at?

The same goes for active and passive experience, which I am unsure whether or not is a properly Husserlian way to put it. They do not exclude each other, but the important aspect of Husserl’s philosophy is how they interact with each other and how the active experience is constituted by the passive, and how they are synthesized and assimilated and intermixed. This is an immense oversight from Derrida, it seems, which spoils my possible enjoyment of this current book. He seems confused, and perhaps for good reason, Husserl often confuses me, but he does not seem even sure of the rigidity of which he uses his own terms. The flailing around with the term “Genesis” is still something that threatens to undermine his whole project. His search for an ontological ground and confusion of it in regard to a philosopher’s work whose main goal was not an ontological but epistemological ground is certainly quite tragic. But this cynical view I am positing seems to mostly show that I surely have to be still caught in some kind of misunderstanding, but it does not stem from an unwillingness to see greatness in this work, it is due to the inability to have terms be clear and consistently utilized.

There are many things I am still unclear about. The term transcendence in Husserl has always been puzzling to me. The “transcendental ego” was never clear to me. When Husserl describes historical teleology as the movement of philosophy in his Crisis, it likewise confused be greatly, it seemed to broaden phenomenology to a cultural level. It was not enough for him to on a personal level restart our epistemological efforts, but it was necessary to understand it from the beginning of a phenomenologically grasped history. In this sense, when Derrida takes issue with the genesis of Husserl’s epistemology, I can see the confusion. There is a great deal of confusion in Husserl’s various attempts to basically do the same thing. His directionality was always the same, but he perpetually failed and restarted. I am still yet at a point where I think this confusion spoils phenomenology, and I believe its core direction is genuine. The only thing which binds us to a world is our experience, and the experience is what should be adhered to, all else is nonsense. How we do this, or whether it is possible or not, is another question. But if we deny the possibility of this, we deny any further philosophizing, and we might as well stop writing.

I’ll end as Derrida does, with a quote from Husserl:

I did not know that it might be so hard to die. And yet I have tried so hard right through my life to take out all futility . . . ! Right up to the moment when I am so penetrated with the feeling that I am responsible for a task, to the moment when, in the Vienna and Prague lectures, then in my article (Die Krisis), I have exteriorized myself with such complete spontaneity and where I have realized a weak start – it is at that moment that I have to interrupt things and leave my task incomplete. Just when I am getting to the end and when everything is finished for me. I know that I must start everything again from the beginning. . .

Derrida does not, in most cases, spew nonsense. I think he gets confused at times, as we all do, but his direction is clear. I take issue with his ontological focus, when nowhere that is the main focus of Husserl. This text could be summed up with just that. Perhaps that is also what it should have been summed up as. To take out all futility. . . to avoid the otiose. That could be my goal, as well. . .

Is philosophy futile?

Dummett’s The Seas of Language and my Moronic Skepticism.

It’s difficult to go from philosopher to philosopher and try to get an idea of what it is they are trying to do in general. After getting into philosophers you think get to the core of epistemological problems, to delve back into strange metalanguage studies is quite tiresome. Michael Dummett does not seem to be a straight forward thinker. The Seas of Language prefaces itself with the fact that the views expressed in several of the essays contained within are no longer accepted by the writer himself. That makes problematic the attempt to really get into a thinker with the idea of any consistency or ground that drives the thought of the thinker. Instead, it seems, the analysis will have to consist of attacking or bolstering specific lines, without necessarily relating any of it back to a system of thought.

Even in disparate or non-coherent essays you can find some key thoughts or sentences that spark something, or can be worth considering. Even in the worst of thinkers there can be points of salience, there can be accidental genius, great expressions, and so on. Despite not wanting to, it might be good to read through the torture, if only to better know what makes the experience so miserable.

Dummett does have his moments: “To give an adequate explanation of the capacity in question [the capacity for knowledge], the account must do more than simply specify the fact that must be known: it must indicate how, in particular, awareness of that fact must have been attained, that is, what process of derivation is required for it to count as knowledge, in the strict sense.” (p. 10) Of course, this is something I can agree with and something many philosophers try to respond to. What is the causal progress towards knowledge, and what, more than awareness, is required for it to be counted as such? It is not enough to simply become-aware of something, that is not communicable or interesting on its own. It seems Dummett have a similar idea, and that it is closely linked to language-use. To know is not simply to be aware of or apprehend mentally (whatever this could mean), but it is to talk about and talk about it correctly. A lot of Dummett starts from a point of view from the Wittgensteinian behavior approach to language. You know a language when you know how to use it. But this does not solve the notion of meaning. What does each component of a language mean, and how is it determined? When Dummett speaks of metalanguages it really does nothing to get closer to an answer to this question. To understand the truth of something like “’The earth’ denotes the earth” is entirely tautological and pointless to say. It does absolutely nothing. Things like this are what make philosophers of the analytical tradition quite tedious at times, since it seems they create a level of problems that are no longer connected with the core problematic. Although this might not be an analytical problem, just a problem with confused philosophy.

So when Dummet writes “anyone who knows the use of ‘denotes’, and who knows that ‘the Earth’ is a singular term in English, must know that the sentence “’The Earth’ denotes the Earth” is true, even if he does not know what, specifically, the phrase “the Earth” means or what it denotes.” (p. 12) he does nothing but show that people can understand a sentence that has nothing to do with knowledge or meaning proper. It’s on par with knowing that 1+1 = 2, it has no real value for any type of knowledge theory other than to make a distinction between truths of the mental kind, thoughts corresponding to each other logically, and meaning as it is created concretely in the world as relation to a world. But you have to also ask yourself if it’s even true. How can you know the truth of a term if you do not know what it means? Does just saying “The Earth” denote anything? It seems to me that a phrase does not necessarily have to be intended as directionality towards an object. How can we know how to use the Earth if we do not know what it means? There is something about the above-mentioned sentence that just doesn’t work. It seems devoid of concretion, and very far removed from the world of actual language-use.

“One can say only that the knowledge of the entire theory of truth issues in an ability to speak the language, and, in particular, in a propensity to recognize sentences of it as true under conditions corresponding, by and large, with those stated by the T-sentences.” (p. 16) But again, what exactly does it mean to be able to speak a language, and what does it mean for truth-sentences to correspond to particular conditions?

His first essay “What is a theory of Meaning?” does not in fact go into the notion of what that would be. But seem to be a preliminary dealing with various forms of meaning and the criteria which would then later, once you’ve been guided by these criteria, lead to an idea of meaning. Holism cannot be it, since it does not sufficiently ground meaning. Holistic semantic views seem very difficult to understand in any concrete sense, to me. I am not quite sure what it means to talk about holism. A one-word sentence surely carries meaning on its own, to some extent, if only to notify somebody of the existence of some thing in their field of experience. We explain meaning through reference to or with further language-use, but if we keep testing the meaning of what we are trying to get at, we are eventually coming down to very basic observation sentences, and the notion of denotation, where what is denoted is no longer language, but some kind of truth-condition, or condition, state of affairs, experience, observation, etc. Surely this is where meaning is formed as its most primitive and fundamental core, as the atoms that then give meaning to larger attempts at language-use. This progression is how we acquire language, and thus the meaning (if meaning is language-use, that is, proper language-use) of speech acts. Dummett seems to hold a similar view, based on his concluding words in the essay, but I am not at all sure about what lead him to this point, although there are phrases I can get behind (p. 21):

I am not objecting to the idea of a theoretical representation of a practical ability as such, and certainly not to the representation of a mastery of language by means of a deductive theory: I am saying only that such a representation is devoid of explanatory power unless a grasp of the individual propositions of the theory is explained in terms of a specific practical capacity of the speaker. I do not know whether this is possible; I do not know that holism is an incorrect conception of language. But I am asserting that the acceptance of holism should lead to the conclusion that any systematic theory of meaning is impossible, and that the attempt to resist this conclusion can lead only to the construction of pseudo-theories; my own preference is, therefore, to assume as a methodological principle that holism is false.

I would agree with this by virtue of what was said before the quote. But even more important is what precedes it, which also informs the quote above:

In many contexts, we may take as unproblematic the ascription to someone of awareness of some fact, since we may credit him with an understanding of language, and the manifestation of his awareness will consist primarily in his ability to state the fact or his propensity to assent to a statement of it. But, where we are concerned with a representation in terms of propositional knowledge of some practical ability, and, in particular, where that practical ability is precisely the mastery of a language, it is incumbent upon us, if our account is to be explanatory, not only to specify what someone has to know for him to have that ability, but also what it is for him to have that knowledge, that is, what we are taking as constituting a manifestation of a knowledge of those propositions; if we fail to do this, then the connection will not be made between the theoretical representation and the practical ability it is intended to represent.

So to say you have knowledge and proper language-use, you have to have some kind of theoretical approach on how this could come about. There cannot simply be coherence without any way to determine coherence, obviously. Understanding is not clear whatsoever, and it does not come about through assent alone, I don’t think, despite the partial agreement I have with Quine’s notion of it. Because one always have to ask what informs the assent or dissent, and I am not too sure I’d be happy to leave this answered by intuition alone, since there are conscious ways of explicating this process, first-hand, even. Again, recourse to Husserl would be suitable. One context of language-use is understood, despite being removed from other contexts where similar or the same words are being used, in my view. And this is a core principle, because it makes language possible to ground somewhat outside of itself, in a way that incorporates experience, apperception and thus intentionality. We clearly often forget past language-use, and that is not always what grounds our use of language. Although it might be included in how we see a language’s meaning in general, as a collection of different times of use and their respective contexts, in each moment we do not recall each such past moment. There is something much quicker in place, a habitual speed, a much more accessible thing, which informs our use. It is not as such the past contexts that inform our use, it is whatever remains of these past usages that can be carried with us in everyday language-use that makes expression and meaning possible. Dummett makes similar comments on page 31, the appendix to the first essay “What is a theory of Meaning?” on the second paragraph. It might be worth quoting:

If a speaker’s mastery of his language consists in an implicit grasp of a theory of meaning for that language, then, if the theory is holistic, he must be aware of the judgements which comprise the base totality. Even when the language is his own personal idiolect, therefore, that totality cannot contain a multitude of casual judgements which he has made but has subsequently forgotten; it can, at any given time, contain only such judgements as can be elicited from him at that time. This still makes it grossly improbable that the totality can be sufficiently extensive to determine the references of all the words in his language.

But of course I am fucking flailing helplessly trying to understand this, and it would be a lot nicer if I was not a complete idiot with no ability to properly focus and retain philosophical concepts in a way that is necessary to even remotely have worthwhile things to say regarding these topics.

Dummett comes closer to an idea of meaning that is constructive in his second essay, “What is a Theory of Meaning? (II)”. Here meaning are things like inductive specification, which is the same as reference, it seems. “The meaning of a sentence is the method of its verification” is another way Dummett puts it. So in this essay Dummett decides to fall completely into the systematic approach, where meaning is more clearly defined. That the meaning of a sentence is the method of its verification means it is possible to create a rigid definition of specific meaning in specific sentences. To say “this is a tree” can be verified by pointing to a tree. Or “this is what we call a tree”, would perhaps be more suitable example. The truth-condition is then the ostensive act coupled with the speech act, and so on. He simply wants to denote by this kind of view that there is a commonality to the ways we use language, and perhaps even, although not quite expressly said, that there is a structure to the way we form sentences in relation to various conditions: “there is some uniform means of deriving all the other features of the use of any sentence from this one feature, so that knowledge of that one feature of a sentence is the only specific piece of knowledge about it that we need to know its meaning.” (p. 41)

Holism does need to be considered in a different light, because it’s unsure whether or not the view Dummett calls holism is the fairest one. The problem with an idea of meaning having to relate back to the entirety of a language is quite obvious, Dummett puts it: “there can be nothing between not knowing the language at all and knowing it completely.” (p. 44) And this is right. But is the idea of holism not that language as explained, as language of explicated meaning, that it needs more language to do so? That further justification is always carried within the language itself, and that there is no real way to atomistically butcher it up. And does it need to be “language as a whole” in the sense of langue (Saussure), why not just the full scope of possible language-use in each individual, which would then carry each individual’s ability to justify and explain what they mean, exactly insofar as their language ability reaches. I don’t see as many problems with a modified holism, since it is in line with the pragmatism of Donald Davidson, by way of Rorty, which operates under very different assumptions. This does not make it a decent or true idea by any means, but it seems that the holism Dummett talks about is a wildly naive one. It might be one held by people, but I am unsure how they would not see the obvious flaws in it. So the core notion is instead here that to determine the meaning of one sentence, you usually have to refer back to other sentences and your language-capacities as a whole, sometimes, depending on the complexity of meaning. A meaning of a word, when attempted to be explained in a social setting, requires more words, further justification in the form of added sentences. This seems far less ridiculous, to me, at least. Even with this view, of course, you have to question what it means to truly justify something, and if it’s not entirely circular and spurious to go from language game to language game. Where would the meaning finally arrive at? This is why Quine went into the observations and experience, or at least that is where I think we find the resting place of finding more meaning. The atom of language lies in the experience that prompts certain responses, you could say. After that point, we are in a very complex web of expressions and justifications, that might lead us to some kind of holism, albeit buttressed by something much more solid (experience, observation-sentences, etc.).

Dummett makes use of terms like “recognition” and “verification”, but we really do not go further with these terms than bolstering them with assent/dissent. When we recognize something as true, what is it we recognize? Where is the correspondence, what objects do we imagine we recognize? This is especially egregious when you think about the fact that each situation is unique, and the problems that come with that fact. So in reality, do we not need an explanation of what it is we verify and what it is we recognize? If this is entirely intuitive, then I am not sure we can truly claim we know what it is we are doing when we partake in verificationist theories of truth. It works, practically, obviously, without marking each of the traits that make up our recognition, but I would not call this practice knowledge of truth-conditions. Nor would I say meaning is clearly put in such a theory. Meaning comes before verification. Meaning is in my view what makes verification possible, you mean to claim something, a statement carries a meaning, this meaning itself is what is tested. Meaning can thus not be linked to the notion of truth, since truth is what applied to a meaningful statement. This subsequently makes it hard to follow anything Dummett does in his essays on meaning. But then again I am entirely clueless on the nuance of his writing, and clearly we do not share the initial starting point, since he seems Fregean at his core. Dummett nonetheless shows signs of agreeing with the lackluster nature of a theory of reference, at least: “. . . a theory of sense is needed to characterize that in which a speaker’s knowledge of the meanings of expressions of the language, as determined by the theory of reference, consists.” (p. 85) There is a requirement to explain firstly what a speaker knows in his referencing, but also how this knowledge manifests itself, that comes from Dummett’s modification of the Fregean point of view.

To answer this, with recourse to Frege, Dummett writes:

In knowing the sense of the sentence, he knows that it expresses a certain thought, i.e he knows that the sentence is true if and only if a certain condition obtains; so, in coming to accept the sentence as true, the thought which he takes as expressing represents the information he has acquired, the information, namely, that the condition for the truth of the sentence is satisfied; how that information was obtained in the first place is an altogether different matter, which belongs to epistemology and not the theory of meaning at all.

It’s curious how often Dummett uses the word “know” without thinking meaning relates to epistemology. We just assume the information is there as such, and that it can be conveyed without issue, it seems. If we are not questioning this knowledge, what can we say about a theory of meaning? Knowledge and meaning seem to be inextricably linked concepts to me, that is, if we do not assume a correspondence theory of truth or a verificationist theory of truth. And even things like “thought” and “information” are wildly vague terms. But at the same time I can’t help but think of it in Husserlian terms, where intentional objects that are synthetic and thus non-actual correspond to and find its obtainment in the actual perceptive acts. And that is where you obtain the truth-conditions that inform the noematic objects, or the virtual objects, the one we “carry” with us, the ones we use as a basis for meaningful expressions in most language-scenarios. And to be really pedantic we may have to question the idea of reference as well, in this sense. How do we ascertain the ability for one human being to convey information to another? Where a linguistic act refers back to a piece of cognitive information, how do we for certain see that it remains similar enough for recognition? To answer things like this we’d have to go deeply into the ways human beings relate to objects in our supposedly shared environment, and a notion of recognition on an intersubjective level would have to be created. How would such a thing take place? It is not enough to say that we share language, because that would be to share only the surface of what language does, to have similar enough word-sounds, etc. To say we share cultural objects and ways of living would be to get closer to it, but then you’d have to get into how we share these objects that make up the intersubjective world, or the objective world, even. To what extent are they shared? And how does it correspond with cognitive content, or information, or thoughts (to use Dummett’s terms)? If it does not correspond, what does language truly consist of?

To move on:

On either a verificationist or falsificationist theory, we should have to say that a grasp of the sense of a name consisted in a capacity to recognize whatever is to be taken as conclusively establishing, of a given object, that it is the bearer of the name. On a realistic theory, however, even this is too restricted an account: we must say, rather, that a grasp of the sense of a name consists in a knowledge of what has to be true of any given object for it to be the bearer of the name; and, since the condition to be satisfied by the object may be one our apprehension of which will transcend our capacity to recognize, in special cases, whether or not it obtains, an understanding of the name, as so conceived, will not, in general, be something that can be fully manifested by the use of the name (p. 92).

Here there is an interesting point, which has been brought up before in different words, in Dummett’s essays on meaning. “The sense of a name consists in a knowledge of what has to be true of any given object for it to be the bearer of the name”. So I know for a tree to be called a “tree”, it has to have leaves, a trunk, bark, etc., and that makes up the sense of the object which for me bear the name “tree”. But these things also need to be true, in this view, which seem besides the point, because each of these objects of sense all make up objects with their own sense, and so on ad infinitum. Perhaps that is what brings on a holism. But there might be a stop somewhere, and it would most likely stop with the inability to further see any difference between objects being described, or whatever other atomistic theory we’d end up supporting in this line of thinking.

The quote above also serve as an alternative to Wittgenstein’s idea of meaning being determined by language-use. What knowledge of what has to be true of any given object for it to be the bearer of a name consists of is very tricky. And it is not something Dummett tries to go into properly. His initial essays on meaning seem mostly to outline the shaky ground of which philosophers stand on in these matters. And ultimately, that might be worthwhile, but it does not do much more than that. Destructive theories are tedious, to some extent, even if they are important. Their relevancy, however, is unfortunately very limited. Perhaps only ones which propagate the various theories discussed here will have a proper insight into the elucidation of their respective shakiness.

In the essay “What do I Know when I Know a Language?” Dummett goes deeper into the ideas brought up in the ones dealing with meaning proper. Some distinctions between different types of knowledge are brought up, for instance one between things like learning a language and learning to swim, where knowledge of what it is to swim can exist without knowing how to swim, according to Dummett, but language cannot be known without speaking it. This is not something I agree with, since clearly you can think of what it would mean to speak a language that is foreign to you in different ways without engaging in it, the same way you can do with swimming. “To speak Swedish would be the thing you would most likely be doing if you were from and lived in Sweden,” for instance. While there are distinctions of what it means to know, there is clearly more interesting examples than this. The difference between practical and theoretical knowledge is clearly a good one, since they are of very distinct kinds, where the practical involves a more behavioristic and explicit act, while the theoretical can be kept entirely implicit but still hold firm as a mere possible behavior, or as holding the explicit aspect of it latent. This is more or less what Dummett gets at, but I am not sure if it’s precisely the same thing he is getting at. The distinction is mainly between explicit and implicit knowledge, and different ways of manifested knowledge, where one is a manifestation of an implicit already-existent knowledge, the other a manifestation of the knowledge as such, which only exists as explicit.

An interesting explanation of the goal of the philosophy of language is offered, though, one that I agree with:

What the philosophy of language has to explain is what gives this character [the significance of word-sounds] to the sounds they utter what makes their utterance expressions of thought and all these other things?

Which he then responds to with:

The natural answer is that what makes the difference is the fact that both speakers understand or know the language. Each has, so to speak, the same piece of internal (mental) equipment, which enables each to interpret the utterances of the other as an expression of thought, and to convert his own thoughts into sentences that the other can likewise understand. It thus seems as though the key to the explanation of the expressive power which makes a language a language is an individual speaker’s mastery of the language: and this mastery, as we saw, requires the notion of knowledge for its explication (p. 96-97).

The first half of this quote seems like a naive but not very uncommon view of language. What is this “internal equipment”? And how do we know it corresponds between people? Obviously this is something I ask over and over again, and it gets tiresome, but it is never answered to (as if me writing here is going to answer it, I’m sure as hell not answering it). A philosopher by the name of Georg Henrik von Wright talks about the possibility of shared “mental equipment” quite well, and came to the conclusion that there cannot be such a thing as the same pain for two different people, and this is something I’d like to extend to any sensual activity. It cannot be the same because there is no sameness to be found. There is resemblance and likeness, but that is different, and operates under different principles, and most importantly, has a lot more leeway when it comes to discussing conveying of information. But the key of expressive power does lie in explicating the mastery or knowledge we have of language, that much I can agree with. Because where else would it lie? If we want to explicate what is meaningful or expressive in an expressive or linguistic act, we have to explain what it is we know or what it is we do when we use language as a practical tool.

But as he says this about shared mental equipment, and ability to convey information and expressive power, he still wants to conflate language use with its significance or meaning. Not to say it is not for good reason. Meaning without language is expressionless and mute, it does nothing, it is of an entirely brute existence. And this is a compelling argument, because despite the possible existence of such a thing as prelinguistic concepts or whatever else, we can make no use of it, since it is outside of our sphere of practice: “thought requires a vehicle.” (p. 99) The vehicle here being language. It’s a more invasive thought, that to study thought or experience, is to study language. But this cannot be exactly what Dummett is saying, because that would mean language is self-contained, which it isn’t. Our “thought” or conscious experience seem to always point to things outside of language, objects in shared space, emotions, etc. But all the things I could list here that I claimed were outside a language, are in a language, because they have to be, because that is currently what I am doing. But if reference works as intended, if language if functional, it is functional in the sense that it can show how it is not self-sufficient, which I do not think it is. I do not think thought requires a vehicle, but I do not think “thought” is a good term. Because we don’t as such “think” a concept that is later expressed through language. The much simpler example would be experience, let’s say visual experience. It is right there in front of us before and linguistic attempt to describe or apprehend it, I think we can all to some extent assent to such a claim. And when we try to describe our experience, it is not a straight forward affair whatsoever.

Yet Dummett attaches himself to this strange notion of Fregean sense, but modified into a psychologistic sense: “The principle which Frege opposes to psychologism is that of the communicability of sense. Of some inner experience of mine, a sensation or a mental image, I can tell you what it is like. But, in the case of thought, I do not have to confine myself to telling you what it is like to have a thought that I have had: I can communicate to you that very thought. I do this by uttering a sentence which expresses that thought, whose sense is that thought, without any auxiliary contact between mind and mind by any non-linguistic medium.” (p. 102)

So there is something Dummett and others like him find very obvious in the use of language. But I can’t seem to see the obviousness. Sure there is a shared experience to some extent, in that we understand ostensive acts and references efficiently and these lead us to practical similarity or satisfaction. But satisfaction is not necessarily the same as knowledge of the same kind of the same object: “the assumption, which is, indeed, required if we are to be able to communicate by means of our utterances, that we are talking the same language, a language that we both understand: but that in which our understanding of the language consisted would lie open to view, as Frege maintained that it does, in our use of the language, in our participation in a common practice.” (ibid.) A common practice. I am not sure if I can buy the impossibility of referring to or expressing implicit knowledge. To express something implicit is not to make that implicit thing explicit and thus linguistic, let’s say to say: “I see a tree”, or “I am holding a ball”. Both of these instances of explicit language are not at all the same thing as actually doing those things. We can even express the difference linguistically, but only by reference to something not inherently linguistic. We have to understand this difference between sense-experience and linguistic acts, it is very clear. And I do believe we may have to take the issues that come with such a decision to allow for private concepts. It would be absurd to reduce pain to explicit or expressed pain, and it would be to forgo a large aspect of experience to only let that which is intralinguistic be discussed. But perhaps there is an extralinguistic aspect to this common practice. Perhaps the commonality of objects is also a thing, and the commonality of pain, due to shared “mental” equipment, but we have no way of determining such a thing, as Dummett also writes. So what is it that we share, what is common to us in language use? The form of the language? The prompting of similar responses in similar circumstances? Ultimately Dummett seems to claim, in the essay on “What do I Know when I Know a Language?” that there are answers to these questions. And that language use, and its subsequent aspects that are knowable, are available to reflection. A lot of his concluding words are words I agree with:

If this is right, it follows that the notion of knowledge cannot, after all, be extruded from the philosophy of language. It has also a further consequence for the criterion of success in constructing a theory of meaning for a language. For it follows that such a theory is not open to assessment in the same way as an ordinary empirical theory; it is not judged correct merely on the ground that it tallies satisfactorily with observed linguistic behaviour. Rather, the only conclusive criterion for its correctness is that the speakers of the language are, upon reflection, prepared to acknowledge it as correct, that is, as embodying those principles by which they are in fact guided. Such a theory cannot be arrived at by observation alone, but requires reflection; and it is by reflection that is must be decided whether it succeeds or fails (p. 105).

Again, the problem is shifted, and we are left somewhat unsatisfactorily with the notion of reflection as a “what?” I am not sure who it would be clear to, through reflection, what a theory of meaning could be. In reflection alone, in its most radical form, which would be a form of phenomenology, we do not find answers that lead to a genuine practical language. But that more often than not, if we can ascribe people like Deleuze with a type of radical empiricism or phenomenology (they are different, but can sometimes have similar results in their applications, it seems), leads to language not having its intended function. Reference does not work as intended, since we can always say we see the two aspects of reference, let’s say word and visual perception, but never the link between them. Husserl claimed we could, but it is not at all a vivid experience of the same kind, and clearly not self-evident, which would to some extent leave it open to the later Husserl’s epoché.

In the essay “Language and Truth” Dummett tries to explicate the relationship between language-use and its deep connection to truth in a more rigid sense than what has been attempted in the earlier essays. Firstly he takes up the idea of “thoughts” again, in their full vagueness (thoughts about what?). Sentences are expressions of thoughts, or better, thoughts are what different language-acts stand for. “We could not grasp what it is for a sentence to be true if we did not regard it as expressing a thought and understand what it is for a thought to be true.” (p. 128) The truth of a thought seems simply determined by recognizing it as such, a thought is recognized as true or false. This recognition, however, does not seem to be explained in any real manner. This is all with the help of Frege, and it is sometimes unclear where Frege ends and where Dummett begins. All we get in ways of explaining recognizing something as true is that it consists solely in assertoric statements, that is, in explicit sentences.

There is an interesting distinction created in all this confusion, though. Truth-predicates as they relate to what language stands for and the sentences themselves:

True” in the sense which Frege considered primary, as a predicate of what sentences stand for, is expressible in his formal language, and, even if not taken as primitive, would be definable in it. “True in what he considered the derivative sense, as a predicate of sentences, is not expressible in it, principally because the language does not contain a means of expressing the relation between symbols and what they stand for.

This to some extent echoes what I mentioned earlier on the notion that it is not possible to within language validate language. If language is not about something, or does not stand for something, it does nothing whatsoever, and no truth can be gathered from its sentences.

But to avoid the circularity of a holism, and to still find an extralinguistic aspect of linguistic acts, Dummett comes to say:

[A]n explanation of the meaning of a sentence may presuppose the meanings only of sentences of a lower complexity, and will perhaps be given simultaneously with the explanation of certain sentences of equal complexity: it will never involve explaining or presupposing the meaning of any sentence of higher complexity. An understanding of any sentence will involve, on this hypothesis, an understanding of some fragment of the language, a fragment which could, moreover, exist as a language on its own; but an explanation of the language as a whole could be constructed without circularity by starting with sentences of minimal complexity (the observation sentences) and completing the explanation of the sentences of any degree of complexity before proceeding to the explanation of those of the next degree (p. 139).

This mirrors (excuse the imagery) wonderfully the acquisition of language, and this is very important. And I do not at all think this would be something Quine would object to awfully, which is something Dummett thought. A holism based in originally atomistic sentences, that started in observation sentences, thus in sense-experience, is something very valid to me. In this sense, we can only find meaning in one sentence by referring to another, and ultimately, by referring to objects in shared space. What complexity here means, though, is unclear. If degree of complexity is the same as degree of elaborateness, then I might have some clue on what is going on here. But we still have to refer to extralinguistic behavior, such as pointing, and the implicit grasp of such acts by children. So the atoms of a holistic language would be just these things, the ostensive acts, the observation sentences and what is built upon this foundation. Obviously the problem still exists on what it would mean for an observation sentence to correspond with the respective sense-experience, and how they relate to each other when the behavior is not there. What does the link consists of? To invoke Husserlian intentional objects of reference and association would be an easy way to go about it, but it would leave us open to the vagueness and difficulty of actually obtaining such an experience of linkage. The experience in a natural or real sense would be the one of pointing and being directed towards salient points in space, in the way described by Quine. If we suspend skepticism for a moment, it is hard to see the flaws of such a system, since it seems to run in tandem with how language is acquired and how it is used in everyday life. When you are confused about the meaning of something, what resolves the confusion usually ends up being a demonstration of some kind, which in other words would mean forming an observation sentence through an act of observation. “This. . . is what ‘Red’ is”, “This . . . “ being the ostensive act and all the implicit aspects involved in such an experience.

To keep constructing such a notion, we could form almost a natural Husserlianism. The intentional objects as such would simply be the observation sentences’ objects, and their directionality, this directionality then being represented by the ostensive act. This directionality is clearly carried with us beyond the ostensive act itself, which make the object of our directionality outside the actual act something internal to us. This would, it seems to me, mean that there is some kind of intentionality in the Husserlian sense, which should not be denied in general, but I know it is by many philosophers of the Wittgensteinian tradition (the later Wittgenstein, that is).

But in this view of lower complexity sentences to higher complexity sentences, Dummett gets closer to an idea of meaning and verification. A more complex sentence finds its meaning in lower complexity sentence. And you verify the meaning of a sentence by looking into what a full sentence’s constituents are. “A direct verification of a sentence like “There are nineteen eggs in the basket” will consist of counting.” (p. 142) So here we have a structure based on observation sentences on a very basic level. And verification comes about through understanding what goes into creating a complex sentence, and especially what goes into its lower level sentences. I may be extending Dummett’s view here, but you obtain the meaning of things like this through a phenomenological analysis, really. That is exactly what is going on here, in my view.

Ultimately this view might just be possible to work with, but it may not be unproblematic enough to fully develop. And Dummett, in his version of it, is still not ready to adhere to any of the possible theories he describes. Yet again focus is shifted away from solid answers, and the focus is on destructive philosophy and lamenting the inability to come to a conclusion:

I am not asserting that the notion of truth, as employed in the theory of meaning, cannot be wholly explained in terms of those of verification and of consequences. I hope very much that it will prove to be able to be so explained; that would constitute a final resolution of the philosophical problem of truth. If, however, the notion of truth can be explained in terms of those notions, it can also be replaced by them, and would be better so replaced. More exactly, in such a case a truth-conditional theory of meaning could, and preferably should, be replaced by one in terms of verification or of consequences. If this cannot be done, we have the alternative of accepting, as essential to an account of our understanding of our language, a notion of truth which in principle resists complete elucidation, or of admitting radical error in accepted modes of reasoning. Perhaps fortunately for our peace of mind, we are not yet in a position to say whether we need face this choice or not (p. 146).

In “Truth and Meaning” Dummett continues his attempts to respond to what meaning, truth and language-use is all about. He gets closer to a behaviorist view this time, similar to Quine in fact, in that he refers to the situation where a child is taught to use a word or phrase in the “right” circumstance. But what is unsatisfying in such a reference is that we still do not have any sense of what is the connection between what is said and the supposedly correct circumstance other than, again, the word “recognition” and assent from a parent. Surely, again, and again and again, we need to go into what recognition is and how language at all can evoke these different responses, and how language is even connected to the state of affairs at hand. When we talk about it in this roundabout way we do not actually explain what is going on with the people involved in these games.

But it seems as if with each essay, Dummett gets closer to a proper statement regarding the issues and guidelines of our problem: “A theory of thought must give an account of whatever is involved in the activity of thinking; a theory of meaning must describe the practice of speaking a language.” (p. 159) But the activity of thinking, or mental acts, on their end is explained through their mental content, which are the thoughts, and the sense of sentences. So in what way is this not just a circuitous circularity? What do we actually gain from these movements back and forth between terms? I don’t see it. The wonderful thing about it, however, is that it apes after the interesting aspect of Davidson’s philosophy, again, as I wrote about above, in that it wants to make the description of practice a vital part of meaning. And this is more than a mere “meaning is use” kind of ordeal, it is a self-reflexive source of knowledge, a direction towards one’s own actions and usage as explanation. But the question turns around on this entire situation as well, and we have to ask how the language we use to explain these things work, still, for the explanation of our practice – which comes about linguistically – can hold any power. And to go further, it also applies to what I am doing now, in writing. Isn’t it tiresome?

According to Dummett, it seems as if he does not want to be interpreted in a “crudely behavioural manner.” (p. 161) At least he does not want the specific theories he is trying to ground to be seen as such. “That is to say, you could not, by observing the speakers of a language you did not know, decide what they treated as justifying the assertion of any given statement, or what they regarded as involved in accepting it: you would have to know quite a lot of the language before you could discover that.” (ibid.) So if this is the case, what is the point in appealing to language acquisition scenarios and things that have been talked about above? An argument against this would be the easy question of: How does a child acquire language if it is impossible to penetrate from the outside? Are we going to pretend that thought and language are so similar that there is a straight forward move from the one to the other? If thought is highly linked up with language, now using Dummett’s terminology for the sake of it, how would we ever acquire language? If language cannot be explained through the non-verbal signs of intersubjectivity, how does it arise? What internal process leads to its manifestation? I don’t see how language can come from anywhere but the outside. Surely we have a predilection towards acquiring it, since we can and other beings cannot. This seems more like an ability to understand non-verbal communication intuitively to a higher degree than other species, than it seems to be a sign of some kind of innate language springing out of nothing. Clearly this is not the case. So what is Dummett getting at?

Sure, justification is a complex process which require a deep knowledge of language. But lower level justification, which comes about through simple reference, is surely a behavioristic process. The justification of calling something you perceive as red as “red” is not justification in any philosophical sense, but simply an establishment of rules, guided by parental decree and assent/dissent. Perhaps it could be claimed that this lower level language is not justified in its use. But if this is the core of language, how is what is built upon this acquired language justified whatsoever? I am clearly confused in some kind of way.

In “Language and Communication” the notion of thought becomes more prominent. Finally Dummett provides the reader with some notion of what thought is, and how it can be properly seen: “For a thought does not resemble a mental image or a sensation: it has the distinctive feature of being, or at least of being capable of being, true or false, and thus relating to reality external to the mind.” (p.170) So thought is thus a relation to an external event or object, that is, external to the mind. This relation seems to come either from a direct relation or an indirect relation by way of an object in external reality causing a mental image which then represents the object that caused it. Dummett does not think this explanation suffices for them to carry a truth-value, however, which should be clear to anyone invested in these philosophical problems. Obviously objects change around the mental image we have of them, if we can now assume that mental images are one-to-one correspondences with objects, which is uncertain. And then we can even question the notion of imagery being possible mentally, as if the mind carried photographs, which is clearly not the case either if you just spend some time with introspection. The word “image” is wholly unfit for a discussion like this, since we are not dealing with mental images. This doesn’t even take into account the antirepresentationalist views of people like Rorty and Deleuze which would entirely break down a correspondence theory of truth before it could be established.

Dummett moves on from a representationalist view as such, and talks of language as expressive, as opposed to coding thought. This is an attempt to make language closer to what it refers to and its meaning.

There is a fundamental difference between expressing a thought and using some conventional means to identify it. Given an invalid argument, the phrase “the weakest additional assumption needed to render the argument valid” picks out a unique thought; but it does not express that thought, since it is possible to understand the phrase without knowing which thought it picks out. A sentence expressing the thought, on the other hand, cannot be understood without knowing what thought it expresses. It is an essential feature of anything properly called a ‘language’ that its phrases and sentences genuinely express their meanings. That is the difference between a language and a code; and that is why the mastery of a language enables a speaker to grasp new thoughts expressed in it.” (p. 173)

The meaning for Dummett of language lies in knowing what thoughts are being expressed, then. Meaning seems to be the respective thoughts that are expressed in any sentence and its content. In following Frege, however, sense is always expressible fully. A difference in sense also means a difference in language, as when two people use the same proper name but have disparate sets of knowledge about the object or person in question. Let’s say we are looking at the same square, but on your side it is yellow, in my side it is red, we have a conception of a cube in front of us, and can call it “The cube in front of us”, but what constitutes its sense differs to the point where we are not truly speaking the same language, in that language is constituted always by its content, thus its set of senses.

In the essay “Frege and Husserl on Reference” Dummett discusses the difference between Frege’s and Husserl’s ideas of reference. For some reason Dummett is motivated to conflate the two. Specifically the Husserl of the Logical Investigations is what Dummett thinks can be seen as similar to Frege, when it comes to reference. But the difference is simple to state. Even in the Logical Investigations, Husserl avoids hierarchical existence, and it does not seem he even wants to admit such a thing as non-existence. “Everything that exists can be experienced” is the phrase that resonates most strongly in accordance with this. Frege and Husserl have similarities in that sense and intentional objects are apprehended somewhat similarly, they are at their core almost descriptive. And they both refer to specific objects. But when we think of the term “object” between the two philosophers, we have to really look at the nuance. It was a while ago since I read Frege, but if I recall correctly, his reference is in regards to actual objects in the world. Whereas this would be to say too much for Husserl. The objects of Husserl are not objects in this naive sense that Dummett conflates his objects to be. There is an intended object, and this is what determines an experience’s materiality (again, try not to think of this in the naive ontological sense), but all of these objects are of equal validity in experience. So even if you think of something that cannot be actually or directly perceived visually, you cannot claim that it does not exist, but what you can claim, according to Husserl (and I agree with this), is that there is a fundamental difference in quality of experience. Direct experience is self-evident, and it comes closest to the intended object, since it’s the first-hand experience of the object, but this is by no means the only way of apprehending or experiencing an object, or even the same object. I think the fundamental difference, though, between Frege and Husserl’s references, is the depth of which they go into it. Husserl is not content with simply thinking that the object is what is referenced as such, but explains what the object is in great detail and how it is synthesized through experience. Frege is more straight forward, and does not avoid ascribing ontological attributes to experience. Husserl’s notion of experience is all there is to the world within Husserl’s experience, since the fundamental question is what knowledge is and how it finds it foundation in experience and is then developed and manipulated from that point on. Reference then, is also something that exists as an intentional object, which I don’t think is something Frege’s philosophy could arrive at. Then again, I do not know Frege very well, so all of this might not be particularly worthwhile. In any case, Husserl’s reference is not exactly a reference to the world as such, but a reference to meaningful intentional objects that are apprehended adverbially, or through description. It’s a description of experience we are dealing with, and thus a reference to various acts and objects that are presented to us; but nowhere in experience do we find non-existence or a sense without reference, because in Husserl, what the equivalent of sense would be, could be referred to as an object of experience. Hopefully this would be some kind of elucidation of the difference between the notion of reference in the Husserl of Logical Investigations and Frege’s conception of reference to objects in a very ordinary sense, unmediated or unproblematically.

At this point I’ve lost all interest in writing as a starter, and likewise all interest in Michael Dummett, and thus especially writing about his philosophy. But in Testimony and Memory, I found the reason why. He is trying to escape cognitive solipsism. Dummett wants to uphold the past and future as proper aspects of knowledge. But he does not seem to want to discuss what is genuine knowledge and what isn’t, all knowledge is just knowledge. It’s tiresome to write about for that reason, since there is no nuance in a term like this. Either we know everything we claim to know, or we know only too little for knowledge to be a term worth talking about. But is this not a fine position to end up in? We would have simply just came to a point where the incessant philosophizing lead to something. To me, if knowledge can decay, it is not genuine self-evident or “proper” knowledge. Our relation to the past is very distinctly a special kind of cognition, and I think Dummett knows this, but wants to uphold its relevance, for some reason. He is under the impression that if we cannot hold the past as proper knoweldge, we cannot have a self, that we cannot almost know who or what we are. He does not want to reduce us to momentary subjects. But many would claim that is exactly what we are. Our most genuine and true relation with a world is through the direct and actual experience of it. That is where we look when our other forms of knowledge falter. Clearly things are changing, and the past is different from the know, so what kind of knowledge is accurate, that is based on the past? We find it in constants, we find it in the unchanging. And all past experienced are unchanging and true in and of themselves as exactly what they are. But it seems that Dummett wants to carry the past into the moment, and want there to be a correspondence between the two, which there simply is not in the vast majority of cases, despite the fact that we do act as if that is the case. It is most practical to approach things this way, and it is an approach that has been bestowed upon us simply through our capacity to apprehend things with a memory.

But if we are to follow Husserl’s kind of knowledge, what makes these objects of knowledge possible, and genuine, is the ability for us to obtain them again and again through actual experience. So you say, “there is a tree in my backyard”, this statement once said when you are not there, is uncertain, we move away from our backyard, and talk about our tree in other scenarios. If we come across a skeptic, that asks us to prove that we have this tree, we take this skeptic to our backyard and show our tree, which then leads to dispelling of any doubts, hopefully. We do this exactly because a memory is never of the same quality as an actual experience is, and because we can always direct a fair amount of skepticism towards memories, whereas the same is not true for direct experience (if we don’t go overboard with the Cartesian skepticism, which I do not). At the same time, knowledge seen as apprehended cannot be a momentary thing solely, since that would make it impossible to say you knew anything in a real way. But knowledge is not contained solely in the memory alone, it is in the possibility of obtaining its meaning again, through experience, that we find knowledge. Our language that directs these is part of what makes up knowledge, our mind, our sense of directionality, and so on. A characteristic of knowledge is that it is obtained and apprehended, thus carried with the person. And that might be the fundamental problem with knowledge that claims to be about something not within its sphere of apprehension. To be fair, I am not myself sure yet on how to approach knowledge, but I am not so quick to defend a position I have no way of defending other than with an appeal to “oughts”.

This also leads to distinguishing between two kinds of knowledge of past events (there are probably more):

In one sense there is the unique events of the world. These cannot be apprehended again, and their knowledge seem to consist in mostly the linguistic description of them. Knowledge of this kind of non-demonstrative and thus, I think, should be of a lower kind, a less certain knowledge; although nonetheless it is important and very useful.

On the other than there are predictable events, which would then mean that events are repeated to some sense. The repetition in question is constituted by similarity between events. In autumn, leaves fall off the tree, for instance. We identify the similarity between individual trees, we identify the season of autumn as that which comes between summer and winter, and whatever signs make up the signs of autumn, and we thus form a prediction of past knowledge, a matter of fact, in the Humean sense, about deciduousness. Each repetition is an affirmation of the description, and it is demonstrative.

In short, one is possible to corroborate, the other is not. Or, better yet: One is possible to corroborate only through sociality, through communication (the former), the other you can obtain through observation alone. But the question is if this distinction is genuine or not. Since in some sense I’d like to follow people like Hume and Bergson in saying that there no way of apprehending the future through the past, and also that each event is in some way unique, if only temporally speaking. This, I think, puts a particular question forward on what it is knowledge of this kind actually does, or what it is directed towards. And I suppose both Husserl and Quine have their answers, to some extent, that they are directed towards either objects, material objects in the Husserlian sense, or salient qualities, in the Quinean sense.

I have a great deal of philosophical concerns that Dummett simply does not respond to. He does a lot of great analyses, in almost a Merleau-Pontean manner, where he does not strive too far into either “camp” that is being discussed. He tears down, but I am unsure how much he ever constructs. This leaves a lot to be desired as somebody who is looking to learn. Of course, a lot went over my head, I’m a worthless idiot, but in the essays that did engage me, I found nothing to properly hold on to. Dummett will not be a person I’ll read more of, most likely. I shall direct my efforts to things that affect me more greatly, and have a more constructive quality to them. Or maybe I’ll just do whatever comes to mind, maybe I’ll torture myself more in the future. Since this is, in fact, all an exercise in intellectual and emotional torture. A perpetual sense of stupidity and inability to hold on to any sense of security. Philosophy is a doldrum when you read as I do, and jump from thinker to thinker, who all repeat the process of coming to a conclusion, most of which end up in a wildly dissatisfying place. And I know I am doing the exact same thing going through these thinkers, subjecting myself to thoughts that bear no impact whatsoever on anything whatsoever, barely even on myself and my intellectual process. But on we go.

(Also, sorry for the repetition and dull writing, I hope nobody reads this.)

Husserl’s Logical Investigations and the Knowledge Theory of Descriptive Phenomenology.

Husserl’s logical investigations are very important philosophical works. Still, today, they serve to ground us, not in a metaphysical sense, but in an epistemological one. In Husserl we adhere to the phenomenological, we adhere to phenomenology as it is, without ontological assumptions. And that is the beauty and power of Husserl.

The distinction between subjective and objective in Husserl is one that is truly false. Because in experience there is no distinction between the two, properly, the objects “themselves” are experienced as objects of experience, thus not “in themselves” or anything objective in the naive sense, and the subjective is simply the self, and the self is consciousness:

“The consciousness of the total real phenomenological subsistence of the empirical self, like a weave of psychical experiences in the unit of the stream of consciousness.

Consciousness as inner experience of the own psychic experiences.”

And,

“Consciousness of the summary of terms for all kinds of “psychic acts” or “intentional experiences”.” (p. 24, v. 3)

This is what our knowledge subsists through, the experiences of the self, the “clearings” as Heidegger would say, the appearance of various experiences. So there is no faulty phenomenological experience, there is an incorrigible quality to it, because we have not yet factored in intersubjectivity. And that is for good reasons, as it has nothing to do with the phenomenological experience. The intersubjective amounts to linguistic qualms, most of the time, as opposed to real attacks on the faults of subjective analysis.

There are a few assumptions in place for this kind of phenomenological thinking, chiefly: The treading forth of the object is not the object that is treading forth. The experience of the object is not the object that is being experienced. This “treading-forth” of the objects belongs to conscious experience and its context. All things of experience are of this kind. And to avoid the infinite regress, Husserl makes sure that the treading-forth of objects is where it stops, because the treading-forth does not tread-forth, it is simply experienced in its fullness. And everything is within this type of monistic experience. What we view as physical and mental are both aspects of the phenomenological attitude. The “object” as such, as we perceive it, is apperception, it is deeply connected with the complex of reminiscence that holds the object together in its otherwise quite disparately and different appearances in experience.

Between what has been experienced and what is experienced there is no difference, in the same way that what has been reminisced does not differ from reminiscing. The same holds for the self, as described through phenomenology. There is no difference between the self experiencing and experiencing a self, they are both constituted by objects of consciousness, or the content of experience/consciousness. There is nothing separating them phenomenologically.

But there still seems to be some kind of thing connecting all of the disparate experiences, judgments, acts, etc. This connecting feature of experiences is the self, the thing which all things appear in front of. And this is where we find Sartre’s source for argumentation, because how, with the phenomenological method, do we perceive the self? We do not perceive the connection between experiences as an object of experience, so how shall we think of this strange Husserlian “self”? “The only thing I am capable of noting, that is become aware of, is the empirical self and its empirical relation to the own experiences or outer objects that in a given moment just became objects of a certain “directedness” (p. 39). This differs slightly from the latter Husserl, if I recall correctly, and isn’t as open to the criticism of Sartre. But of course, the transcendental ego becomes a different matter later on. (misstag här) Furthermore, Husserl takes into account the ways the ego or the self can be experience phenomenologically, as either mental/spiritual or physical, as the self-body among other bodies. This is also a straight forward way to think of the self, that is, the self as differentiates and separated from other self-bodies and spiritual selves, and have these both aspects of the self be phenomenologically given, intentionally there.

All experience is equal, to Husserl. This seems a fair standpoint, since what is there to assume it is not? Without a distinct purpose to precede the experience, how do we at all determine which experience is more “right” or in accordance with truth? In the third volume of the Logical Investigations we don’t yet see the epoché in Husserl, but his mindset is still in line with it. No baseless assumptions shall be made in metaphysical matters, no hierarchies of experience, nothing of the sort.

It’s interesting how even in Husserl we find the Rortyan pragmatist antirepresentationalist views. There is no relation between object and subject in Husserl, since there is no way to properly separate the two or even categorize the experiences into a dualism of that kind. It’s all intentional content. The same holds for the relation between a “self” and its experiences. Husserl makes the important point that when we experience, we do not experience this as a self-object relationship. We are simply caught up in it. And these are what constitute experience in its truest sense.

But there are distinction within experience, it is all not the same, as such, obviously it is characterized with an intense quality of difference (this should be given just by looking around, no two things are the “same”). “Nothing I can find more evident than the difference that appears here between content and acts, especially between the contents of perception in the sense of producing experiences and acts of perception in the sense of the recognized intention, that moreover is equipped with different overarching characteristics; one intention that in its unity with the perceived perception constitutes the full, concrete act of perception.” (p.61-62) But even these acts of perception, that constitute the meaning of the content of perceiving, are experienced, and are of a content of perception, as with everything else. So there are the contents of perception that create intentional objects, as such, and then there are the individual perceptual experiences that are not acts as such, and are not “objects” as of yet, but can easily be used to create intentional objects, to identify an object, for example. Another distinction comes between remembering and experiencing first hand. Another between a symbol and what it symbolizes.

Apperception is an important aspect of experience. Husserl defines it as the surplus that is around the experience itself. Apperception is the descriptive aspect of the experience itself. Apperceptions are not perceived as such, but they are experienced. The objects themselves of experience appear and are perceived, but they are not lived, they are not experienced in a descriptive sense. The language here becomes too nuanced to really understand, unfortunately.

“The content is the experience, that really constitutes consciousness; consciousness itself is a complex of experiences. The world is however never the thinking’s experience. The intention of the world is an experience, the world itself is the intended object.”

Another distinction comes between the thinking and the thought, where the former is “primary” and holds “intensity” while the other does not. This, I imagine, is the beginning of the noema-noetic distinction in later Husserl. Again, the intense primary thinking informs the thought, clearly, but the latter holds no intensity of its own. Perhaps here there is a similarity between direct experience and memory, again, between perception and reminiscence. The first clearly has a higher primary role in experience, the latter is weaker, and does not have the same intensity. This would be in line with Hume’s idea of memory as “weak ideas”.

So basically Husserl is beginning to lay the foundations of phenomenology in the way it finds meaning. It seems many thoughts or conscious experiences are made up of a collection of acts, acts and their sub-acts, which all in their unity form an overarching view of intentional content or object. Acts of the mind begets other acts of the mind and their relating qualities to each other, which all are subject to phenomenological analysis. Thus Husserl starts to form a method for navigating thoughts and meaning we ascribe to things, and how the qualities of one experience is made up of many others sub-acts that each themselves have a quality. The total or final content itself is then simply the collection of these interrelated acts. And it is crucial that they are related, otherwise they would be an arbitrary collection of experience. What relates them seem to be the attraction to objects that guide our thinking, the intentional object is what guides the acts and the sub-acts, and form its relation to what we deem to be the “same” object.

It is somewhat uncertain what constitute the rigidity of these connections between conscious acts, but previously they have been supported by the associative act. But Husserl does not seem to have, in the previous volumes of the Logical Investigations, to have dealt with the notion of relation or association very thoroughly. How do we determine what association is spurious and which one is necessary? Are there necessary associations? The answers may not lie in Husserl. But nonetheless, we have to move on.

As an example of this relationship between intentional object and its various sub-acts is how a subject relates to a predicate. We keep the subject the same in mind somewhat as we add predicates to describe it. Each applicable predicate is one of these part-acts or sub-acts of the initial subject act. The major machine has its part-machines that all function as the main structure does, and they all function as parts of this greater edifice; and so on.

For Husserl’s phenomenology to work, it needs to deal with the idea of signification or language, and it does discuss this in quite the special manner. There are two kinds of phenomenological acts involved in language-use, the word-sound, the actual “parole” of language, to adopt the Saussurean word, and then there is the line of acts that constitute the meaning of this language-use or symbolization (p. 85). There are two types of relations involved here. One has to do with the acts that inform the meaning itself, that are all separate but still relate back to one similar meaning. It does with with varying degrees of proximity, they fulfill the acts of meaning through observation. When we say things we are more focused on the meaning, given by the meaning-giving acts, than we are on the symbols or signs that denote this process. It is almost entirely sidestepped, according to Husserl.

The meaning-giving acts dominate the expression’s physical form, and it is not the case that they are merely coexistent, they are near on one and the same, says Husserl (p. 86-87). The words ascribed to objects are not objectively part of the object, but part of it nonetheless, they are inextricable inasmuch as they are acts of expression that require both aspects; both the individual acts and their expressions. The connection is not objective, whatsoever, but there is an intentional correlation that holds true nonetheless. And it is of a unique kind, it seems (p. 88). Regardless, it needs to be removed of all mysticism or transcendental relationships, like that of perhaps Plato’s world of Ideas or whatever other superhuman language-object connections.

Ultimately the meaning-giving acts are what drive and “decides the character” of the expressive acts. We live through these, not the physical expression, Husserl says. These are what guide our movement and our interaction, they are the life of expressivity, they are what we are turned towards in language-use, they are what we “mean” (p. 88). When we think of expression as a physical act, as behaviorism, we change the way we think of it, the experience of it changes, in this way Husserl refutes the future of philosophy, in a way. He incorporates it and explains it phenomenologically. Whether or not we buy into language is a choice, but both are valid phenomenological experiences.

More distinction needs to be made, however, when it comes to pondering these acts of consciousness. The difference between quality and material is an important one. Quality denotes the level of justification there is to an expression or an observation, experience. The material of these can differ without changing in quality, the material is thus simply the thing that differentiates an act. Further, the quality is that which determines the kind of act that is in question: if it’s a thought, judgment, feeling, imagination, and so on. The material is simply what denotes the object in question, “I believe the is a sun, I know there is a sun, I am eating the sun” are all of the same material, but differ in quality. Then there is another distinction within the material distinction, which denotes the different ways of expressing the same material. There is thus a way to express something in wildly different but equivalent ways, in that it denotes the same intentional object.

We can also share the essential material with other people, we can mean the same thing, despite these intentional objects in each of us differing. We can both denote to Greenland, but our notions of it may differ greatly. This seem to boil down to a certain directionality, finding a similar location in space, or a similar wish, dream, desire, etc. The essential relationship is the relation to an object, then, the directionality towards something determined, something unique characteristic, something that remains the same regardless of the phenomenological differences, an objectivity.

On the idea of representation, such as the one between an “image” and its “real object”, or the image of the object and the object in itself, Husserl says (p. 105): “that the intentional object for the putting-forth/vorstellung is the same as its real and in forthcoming cases its outer object and that it is self-contradicting to differentiate between them. The transcendent object would not at all be an object for this imagination or appearance if it wasn’t for its intentional object.” There is no way to detach oneself from the intentionality of objects in experience, there is no way to make a proper split between the experience of an object and the object thought of as not experienced. It would be no more than an imagined – thus still experienced phenomenologically – object.

This object is the core of all other qualitative claims. Without an object there can be no desire, Husserl says (p. 110). Here we find the first relation between the independent and dependent aspects of experience. Desires, judgments and so on are dependent on the presented object, the core essential directionality of the qualitative aspects of experience. This is what we above denoted as the material of experiences.

Husserl truly shows his incredible awareness of inner experience (if we can forgive me use of this term while talking about Husserl in a Husserlian way). Despite the material of acts of consciousness are same, he doesn’t forget that these are truly just abstractions from the phenomenological experience itself, which is far more differentiated and mysterious, more vibrant and changing, more along the lines of becoming, than the rigid object or material. But he gets around this difficulty of what it means to think the material of experienced objects by saying that the phenomenological differences one may find within the “same” objects are irrelevant for the subsistence of the object itself. Thus you can change the over all quality and character of an object without losing the objectivity. This is something very important to the way we interact with objects in everyday life, and it is a beautiful description. Here it is worth reminding ourselves that all this boils down to is a descriptive difference of experience. In Husserl, good and bad philosophy could probably be reduced to the ability to describe it. This is oddly close to pragmatist justification, only it still relies on the idea of representation somewhat, or at least signification. Which, in accordance with Husserl’s thinking, works out quite well.

There is too much nuance to catch in Husserl many times. When after many pages of talk between the relationship between the qualities and materials, suddenly they are one and the same, but the latter is what the former is dependent on, and that is what constitutes its essence. Before they seemed to almost be of different kinds, but in reality the material is itself made up of act-qualities, as he calls it, and all qualities are connected to act-qualities, but the connection itself is a connection to the underlying “object”, that is the total assemblage of qualities. This is good, because it makes the essence or object not so confusing or hidden, it becomes explained and immanent entirely, which was always the point of Husserl’s philosophical methods.

Furthermore on the language and the notion of names, Husserl makes a distinction between determined and undetermined names. The nominal act exists as a mechanism of the phenomenological attitude, within it there are distinctions between names that have a fulfilling act coupled to them, a correlative act, and those without, those that are mere names. For a name to have a proper meaning, I assume, then, you have to have an act coupled to the name, or else the name would be an empty word-sound experience. This itself could have meaning, but it would not be in regards to language, as explained above.

A very very important point Husserl makes at page 195 in his book: “Likewise I mean that we have noted the existence of an act of the imagination directly when we make clear to ourselves the difference between the mere sound-image and same sound-image as an understood name, and so on.” When we do this, we admit there is such a thing as mental content, and I likewise think that when we admit to this we cannot fully adopt a strict behavioristic view – in terms of how we think about language, at least.

For instance when we talk about something like “this” (p. 224). What makes up the meaning of such a phrase is not simply a reference to perception itself. But in this act, more than the perception is involved. There is a greater act involved that leads our reference, and what we intend to say with “this”. To think this is an act itself in any mental way is doubtful, however, to me, despite Husserl claiming it is so. It is in the reference to the perceptive state that creates the meaning of the term “this”, as much as the perception itself. This reference itself happens through the nominal act, in propositions in general, and so on.

Nominal acts are only possible, however, insofar as we can recognize objects of experience and the acts of expression that are related to objects of perception. There’s a classificatory act in place that makes an object recognizable. Without this recognition, we could never experience objects as expressible. Husserl does strangely enough not go into the causes behind this possibility of recognizing, without it, we have no real notion of what it is we recognize. But I suppose it is not necessary to understand the experience of reference, there are plenty of philosophers and psychologists who speak of the origins of the expressive acts, and how the expressed and the perceived relate to each other in a scientific-natural way.

In general one could see Husserl as somebody whose core idea is that “everything is is immanent.” That is, everything is available to the phenomenological sphere of experience. Thus to error, is not to be introduced to transcendence, one is not wrong until one is again right in a different sense. We are only wrong in that our view of an intentional object is partial, and then later found out to be part of some larger structure that explains the misunderstanding or contradiction. “An intention is betrayed in the conflicting way only in that it is part of a broader intention whose completing part is fulfilled [or realized].”

Further he goes on the topic of language: “The sign has for the most part nothing content-wise in common with the signified, it can signify something that is heterogeneous and likewise homogonous in regards to it. The image on the other hand attracts itself to the thing through likeness, and if this is lacking there is no longer any talk of an image. The sign as object is constituted in an act of treading forth. This act is not yet a signifying act, in accordance with our earlier analysis it requires a connection to a new intention, a new way of recognition, through which something new, the signified object, is meant instead of that which appears intuitively.” (p. 263) So a lot of signification comes through in the new act, as we talked about above, the act of signification and its content, the content itself being the concept of reference or connection between two different intentional objects, such as the link between sign and image, naively put.

More strange things are said: “On the contrary it belongs to a signifying intention’s unique essence that the object that appears in the intended act and that which appears in the fulfilling act (e.g. the name and the named in the realized unit of both) ‘do not have anything to do with each other. Thereby it is now clear that the descriptively different ways of fulfillment, like they have their ground in the intentions different descriptive characters, on the obverse also make us aware of and definitively decide these character’s different kinds.” (p. 264) We basically can understand a signifying act as an relation between two very different and not necessarily related things. They are of themselves very different intentional objects, and require further acts to become what we in everyday life make of them. This is what Deleuze takes into account in his attack on the naive account of language, and the ultimate difference between signifier and signified, and how it lacks in correspondence of any actual kind. I think Husserl claims something very similar, only he allows for a virtual connection or intentional object of connectivity to be made, which allows for language’s functionality. But this may be more descriptive-explanatory, an account of how we as human beings make references. It is a psychological account, more than anything.

The most important aspect of this work seems to be in the relationship between intentions, signifying acts and their acts of fulfillment (as I translate it). Within this there are gradients of fulfillment of the intentional object. The imaginative and signifying acts are not very substantial in comparison to direct perception, for instance. And it is in the direct perception where we find the ”object in itself”. I believe these are what make up evidence for the adequate perception of objects, and they are what guide correctness, congruence, and on the obverse, incongruence between states.

It is this object, as was written before, the intentional object, the signifying object, the evidence and perceptual acts that create meaning of propositions. Thus Husserl turns language on its head, as opposed to when others say things like “reality conforms to the word” and similar nonsense. No, in fact, the opposite is true, because all that is true in the world is self-evident, and what is self-evident is not in a language act, but merely supposedly reflected in it, represented by it. The representative act in itself is lost in the act, though, and gives way entirely for the meaning. The signifier does not add any value to a language-act, this is what is key in Husserlian philosophy. And this is the key to evidence-based propositions, they should be observation acts, as Quine called them. But here we should perhaps denote it as phenomenology-acts, or phenomenology-sentences. We still have to be wary of the fact that it’s not always possible to think of language as this evidence-based fulfillment, since it really only works on a personal level. As we find in later philosophy, people incorporate more and more the intersubjective in the thoughts about language. When Husserl speak of a similarity in intention between people, but where the phenomenological content still differs, it is unclear how we can have the same object, if the immediate perceptual acts are what make up the intentional object and our directedness towards the object.

But the perceptive act itself is not enough to create meaning. Recognition of objects, the ability to denote the experience of white as white, is not based on perception alone. Acts of recognition are necessary in language-acts. And recognition itself is a complex relationship between past experiences and intentional objects, closely linked to the presenting consciousness and the imagination. Something is retained after the immediate perceptive act, and that is what makes possible the recognition of whiteness as white, for example.

“…There is nothing that cannot be perceived.” The beauty of Husserl is that he teaches us the philosophy of immanence. While he later on he goes on to adopt a transcendental ego, it does not necessarily seem to mean transcendent in the ordinary sense. The genius is in explaining how it all truly works, and how it is all immanent, and how easy it is, through this philosophy of immanence, to dispel all the ideas of transcendental existence. It is nonsense, in Husserl, to claim objective existence, he is so far removed from Kant, despite sharing many traits of his. His philosophy is incredible, in a way, clearly one of the most impressive systematic attempts at knowledge ever created, even by modern standards. Who can even attempt such a thing anymore, and still have it all be consistent?

Husserl does explain how it is that we can know. And it is entirely of the descriptive kind. Husserl’s philosophy is exactly like Davidson’s in that sense, but far more elaborate. To read Husserl is a humbling experience, truly. All the confusion that arise as I read him muddle some of the nuance, and some of the interactions with other thinkers are lost on me, but in its core Husserl’s philosophy is a great learning experience. The basic structures of how we should think knowledge are among the most useful. To think the creation of intentional objects, to think the actual and the virtual, to think the movement and interaction between perception and perceived, noema and noesis, as it is later called. These are very important questions, and are explicated in a depth that I have not seen in any other philosopher in quite the same elaborate manner. Husserl does not lay claim to speak of everything, and he does not create any limit to knowledge, in reality. In fact the opposite is true. There are infinite ways of interacting with the world, infinite types knowledge-acts and variations on objects, movements from actuality to virtuality, from signifier to signified. The weak-points of his philosophy lies in these ideas connections, that are themselves immediate and experienceable, but it is uncertain how necessary they are, are they truly apodictic? To truly be able to embrace Husserl, the philosophy of linkage or relation, or denotation, has to be properly analyzed. All else is simple, it is self-evidently there, present to us. But to express it, and make knowledge into a third-person activity, or a social activity, requires something very special.

The bond we have with people is tricky. And to be a systematic philosopher of this kind is to be stuck in the first-person. The unfortunate part is that this is the core reality of our interaction with our Umwelt. We are individuals, we are solipsistically in the world. The self-evidentness of things are only available to ourselves. And Husserl never satisfactorily deals with this solipsism, despite trying. Even Merleau-Ponty fails at this. So either knowledge is something relatively private, weakly expressed through weakly founded links between language-acts and experiential acts, or they are intertwined with intersociality, in the vein of Quine and Donaldson, with ostensive acts and salience and justification in the pragmatist sense.

But to provide this kind of atomistic view or constructivist view, where knowledge is built up in some sense, as opposed to it already being done and holistically used, is very vital, as long as it works. Ultimately I think Husserl’s philosophy works. But the question is how much of this is available to our self-experience, in reality. Do we for instance really have a self-evident view of the connection between the expressive and the expressed? Wherein lies that link? I am not sure there is such an experience that could be had, more than what is expressed in: ”I associate this here tree with the term ‘tree’”. How is this in any way a self-fulfilling or self-evident experience? How is it ”proper”? Perhaps there is no such thing as spurious, as long as it is uphold by the people who carry on the linkage between the signifier and signified. It may perhaps be mere convention, but it relies on the self-evidence of experience, and the expressive act is so inextricably linked to it that there is no way to genuinely separate them either. They are clearly different, as Husserl states, but they are corresponding inasmuch as they are acts of the mind. The important thing is to not let the mere conscious act be something that denies the reality or genuine nature of the connection, since it holds no lesser metaphysical or ontological value in Husserl. It’s another immanent experience that is equivalent to all others. As long as we are aware of the difference, of quality and material in the Husserlian sense, there is no harm in the usage of these things, the connection between signifier and signified, and denote this as knowledge, and thus a correspondence between various knowledge acts, linguistic acts and perceiving acts. But knowledge is just this, a descriptive phenomenology, without ontological claims, without transcendence, without a will to reach beyond that which is self-evident, and those acts of which consciousness exists of, and the objects they create and direct themselves towards, and finally, the acts which link these intentional objects, and themselves make up intentional objects.

There is still room for different ways to relate to these things of our mind. But I think Husserl provide among the more compelling versions of it, and that he is worth reading for an insight into what a descriptive – as opposed to explanatory or whatever other approach is available to us – knowledge theory could be like; one free of assumptions that lead to transcendence, thus improper or non-informed or non-apodictic knowledge.

The threefold idea of knowledge – Donald Davidson’s Subjective, Intersubjective, Objective.

Donald Davidson. The book in question is Subjective, Intersubjective, Objective. The subjective is the first hand experience, the one we have relative (according to Davidson) authority over, the intersubjective, which we have some influence over and share with others, through things like triangulation, and then there is objectivity, which is very similar to the intersubjective, and can be thought of as the shared items of our shared world.

But Davidson immediately moves away from the idea of the subjective being something incorrigible. “Thought there is first person authority with respect to beliefs and other propositional attitudes, error is possible; this follows from the fact that the attitudes are dispositions that manifest themselves in various ways, and over a span of time. Error is possible; so is doubt.” (p. 4) Right away we need to ask, how does one err in self-perception? Or in perception whatsoever. How does one mistake their own belief as something it is not? To answer this, distinctions need to be made between what one thinks before an expression and what expressions fit what one thinks. Often, expressions such as “I’m a realist” denote more than each of the criteria that leads one to say “I’m a realist”. The intersubjectivity of language, and the subjectivity of thought and self-expression, are inextricably linked in this regard. So what happens, it seems to me, is that one lunges forth with an expression, without realizing the expressions full extension, which would later on lead to correction of one’s view. But the question is, does this mean we were wrong our own beliefs, or wrong in how we choose to express our beliefs?

This is the difficulty with beliefs, since they seem to involve immediately things that are intersubjective, thus not strictly subjective, thus not incorrigible. But the criteria which make up the belief, each proposition of a held opinion or view – perhaps a collection of observation sentences – is for the time when they are expressed, entirely incorrigible to the subject. That is not to say a view cannot change, it does, all the time. But then an incorrigible view is replaced by another, the previous one is not as such “corrected”, but merely replaced. This only works insofar as one does not lay claim about the intersubjective or objective, which is why Husserl’s to some extent works, where that which is uncertain is bracketed as irrelevant for epistemological purposes.

When we think of beliefs as purely behavioral, we can say things like Ryle says (quoted by Davidson, p. 5), that the third person belief is of the same kind as the first person belief, only they differ in degree. We know our beliefs better than we know others’, because they are more readily available to us, but ultimately we can know others like we know ourselves, only to various extents and degrees. I would argue that there is a difference in kind, a radical difference. First of all we have the idea of the lie, but that is perhaps something we can dismiss as pointless skepticism. But then there is the immediacy and pre-linguistic apprehension of the fact, which is something only available to the first person perspective. Something surely informs the expressed belief, or the choice in the various ways one can express oneself. In the third person perspective, we do not have the same insight into what informs the expression of beliefs, other than behavioral dispositions, apprehended through Humean matters of fact, repetition of experiences, etc. We can eventually find predictability in the behavior of others, by way of apprehending the shape and form of their beliefs, and the obverse holds true as well: We can apprehend through knowing the beliefs and attitudes of a subject in third person their various behavior that would be in line with said beliefs and attitudes. The certainty of this type of predictability might be a bit shaky, but nonetheless this is how I imagine we experience “knowing” others.

Davidson asks for the description of what makes first person authority possible. What makes it special? And the answer is somewhat clear, and it comes in that experience of any kind, intentional or actual, is entirely unavailable to others, unless expressed by the observer. And even then, there is uncertainty to whether or not what is expressed can have any correspondence to the expression, other than mere association, on the first hand account, and conventionalism, within the intersubjective sphere. And the words echo: “First person attributions are not based on better evidence but often on no evidence at all.” (p. 6) So what brings Husserl to say that experiences of intensional objects is something self-evident. That experience itself is self-evident. Perhaps we could say that it has to do with the immediate availability, the immediate grasp antecedent any judgment (getting close to Kantian territory now, danger! Danger!).

Davidson is more about the behavior of the speaker, though. And speaks of our presumptions as people in language-use. We basically presume the person speaking first of all holds his or her statements true, and thusly, their belief is in line with what sentences they hold to be true. So instead of a resolution, we find a description of behavior, in Davidson. (p. 14)

An interesting notion on the idea of other worlds. Davidson seems to hold that we are all inhabiting the same world, in a way that would limit relativism. The type of relativism that is sometimes talked about as the radical shift in perspective of inhabitants of the same world, eventually creating differing worlds, or incommensurable worlds, is not something Davidson holds to be true. There is no sense in ascribing a difference in perspective as a difference in worlds, so what we have to consider instead is the difference between perspectives in and of themselves, and consider the difference between a first-person and third-person perspective, as have been done before, to some extent. So if we accept that we inhabit the same world, which would be sensible, how far into relativism can we really stride? Do we need fundamental identical perceptions for them to be able to be communicable? How much wiggle room is there in this matter? And when we wiggle, do we lose the immediate grasp of what it is we want to communicate?

Davidson seems to get things the wrong way around. He wants to let go of the empirical ground, the ground that he seems to no longer think have a place in philosophy (p. 46). So why is this so radical, and why should it not be done? This problem has been explicated well in French philosophy over the years. Notably Merleau-Ponty dealt with this very well. But there are aspects of it in Bergson before him and Deleuze after him. They all identify the brute sensual relation to the world as a primary, primal one, that is of the same kind as the natural world. What we do after this with language and conceptualizing is something secondary and very strange to this natural relation itself. This “unnaturality” is perhaps not the most compelling idea, but it shows the importance of an empirical sensual ground. The concept is of a different kind to nature as it exists passively, as it is experience. Life is far more vibrant than any of its terms that set out to represent it. To follow Bergson, how can the continuity and movement of life be represented by the rigidity and stillness of language? To speak of something true, of any object in the world, we cannot let go of our only natural connection to it. And if we do not go the skeptic route, we have to accept the difficulty in trying to explain and describe this fluctuating reality.

How do we determine what is true or false without anything to consult about correctness or incorrectness?

Most of what I say is within the mindset of the old epistemological scheme-content kind. Davidson wants to move away from “how can knowledge be possible?” to question of the kind “What is it we call knowledge?” and “how do we attain knowledge?” and “what conditions allow for an acceptable belief?” This is similar to what Quine has done, and similar even to what Husserl have done. Even HEGEL does this. But the question remains, what do we rely on to lead us in these efforts? What Husserl pointed out so well, was that there is no way into epistemology from natural science, or empirical psychology, we are already there. We follow a logic, our experience, our interpretations and conceptualizations of the world. All observations on how knowledge comes about stems from a substrate of phenomenological analysis, of essence analysis, as Husserl puts it. This is what allows us to view the process of coming to knowledge of something, nothing else.

But Davidson denies large portions of the subjective, seen in this light: “What remains of the concept of subjectivity?” So far as I can see, two features of the subjective as classically conceived remain in place. Thoughts are private, in the obvious but important sense in which property can be private, that is, belong to one person. And knowledge of thoughts is asymmetrical, in that the person who has a thought generally knows he has it in a way which others cannot. But this is all there is to the subjective. So far from constituting a preserve so insulated that it is a problem how it can yield knowledge of an outside world, or be known to others, thought is necessarily part of the common public world. Not only can others often learn what we think by noting the causal dependencies that give our thoughts their content, but the very possibility of thought demands shared standards of truth and objectivity.” (p. 52)

So Davidson holds the opposite view to the one that I do, I suppose you could say. There is no such thing as an intentional object to describe, no sense data, raw feels, etc. No “ghostly entities” (ibid.) exist within the mind to describe. But what then, are these private thoughts, that Davidson talk about? What is their content? Perhaps the mistake of people like Husserl is to claim these inner experiences are “objects”, due to the physical and social connotations of that term. But when you close your eyes and thing of an object you have been familiar with in an actual sense at some point, let’s say your father. When you think of the different properties of your father, what is it that plays out in your head? We do not perceive the actuality of the person, thus not the “objective” version, but cannot call it a “ghostly entity”. What is it, then? This is why Husserl, I imagine, came up with new words – neosis-noema – for the actual/virtual aspects of experience. Because it’s not precisely an object, as we naively think of objects, but then again, we can easily change our definition of “object” of we’d like. The concepts or “ghostly entities” are not vivid or prone to some inner theater, but they are still present in some way, and they can be described and made actual in various ways. The virtual and actual, according to Husserl, are very closely linked, mostly because the virtual comes about through the actual. How are we supposed to describe “thoughts”? Are they without structure? I am not sure how to consider thoughts in a Davidsonian way, if you are meant to ignore the structure of it itself, and instead focus on the causality of what made it appear, as if the description of a causal process isn’t based in the stuff of thoughts. How does thought ever relate to anything external? Where is the link? This is not something Davidson attempts to answers.

The idea of the proposition being the object of our desire, or our inner life, is one that does not quite explain anything. Far more happens in the mind than what we can find in following a proposition. And we can mainly see this through shifting our focus, and if you will, create more propositions with varying degrees of focus. But if we have a frame of perception to choose from, it means there is already something present to the mind which has not yet been made into a proposition. There is a stage that is antecedent the propositional stage. And it could be argued that even when you choose an object to describe or think of propositionally, there are lots of things that happen in between the focusing on that object and the description of it. The scene is searched, is it not? There is a decision involved in it all, between what things to “apprehend” linguistically.

But there is no ill intent in Davidson’s attempts to dismiss certain metaphors or ideas related to the mental. In fact, his philosophy is inclusive of various mental states, even if reduced somewhat in form and number. He calls this way of thinking anomalous monism. Mental and physical states hold equal rights to be called real. Something I agree with as well. It is anomalous because the mental cannot be described in the vocabulary of science. But this does not serve as an indication of unreality, for Davidson. It is simply an anomaly. Both are accessible to experience, both are real, unless you apply some hackneyed metaphysical restriction, due to epistemological methods.

Davidson seems filled with interesting talk. “Our sentences provide the only measure of the mental.” (p. 77). This both when it comes to the other’s and our own thoughts. It is the only device we have for sharing mental content, or propositions, as they are in Davidson’s view. It is both our way to measure the proposition, in that we match up the content of the proposition with the meaning of the sentences used to represent them, and our only way to communicate and share our propositional content.

The inscrutability of reference, which is a Quinean concept, takes up a decent portion in this book. The concept claims that there is no way to tell if one reference is better than another. Once the link has been made between a sentence and a truth condition, you are done. This means two people can refer to two different things while using the same word, while this being perfectly alright. The confusion is dispelled by a simple explanation and actualization of the reference. It’s a matter of ostension and assent/dissent which makes reference possible. Is this not what Husserl called meaning-giving acts?

Meaning is something Davidson claims comes about through sociality. It is through communication we distinguish the self, and it is through communication and learning language that we learn what others and we ourselves think. Knowledge of the objective certainly comes about in the same way. Ostensivity and learning, assent/dissent from a teacher/parent. This seem oddly Hegelian to me, but nonetheless somewhat undeniable. We have to think our thinking as how it comes about, as Davidson earlier demanded, and it always comes about in contact through triangulation (two subjects in relation to an object) and communication. “Intersubjectivity is the root of objectivity, not because what people agree on is necessarily true, but because intersubjectivity depends on the interaction with the world.” (p. 91).

So what about thought? Davidson talks about thinking as something necessarily linked to language, and language as being necessary for thought. That is why Davidson claims that animals have no thoughts; they have no language! “In order to be a thinking, rational creature, the creature must be able to express many thoughts, and above all, be able to interpret the speech and thoughts of others.” (p. 100) “My thesis is rather that a creature cannot have a thought unless it has language.”

But still he later on (p. 128) refers to a precognitive state, a pre-linguistic stage. These are fairly straight forward concepts, but what do we know about them, and in what manner are they observed from the outside? “There is a prelinguistic, precognitive situation which seems to me to constitute a necessary condition for thought and language, a condition that can exist independent of thought, and therefore precede it.” (ibid.) So what is this state? It this not what we find in a phenomenological reduction? Is this not what Bergson and Deleuze refers to in their philosophies of Difference?

Davidson is a tricky thinker. He seems entirely ungrounded. There is some kind of Fregean assumption underlying his thinking that denotation is directly linked to an object, due to the way we interact with objects in our language-learning processes. But he does not want to discuss what this interaction is based in. Do we just obtain and retain the object automatically in its present? Or is the process more laborious, like Quine suggest, in that it is an interaction with our senses that make up our knowledge of the world.

The notion of truth coming from Davidson is incredibly fine. It is in between very strong lines of thinking, and does not fall to either realism or antirealism. Neither to strict coherence theory nor correspondence theory: “By paying close attention to what gives content to our beliefs and meaning to our sentences, we see that it is impossible for most of our perceptual beliefs to be false. What we hold true, what we believe, determines what we mean, and thus, indirectly, when our sentences are true. Believing doesn’t make it so, but it creates a presumption that it is so.” (p. 189-190) So to some extent, we find in Davidson the incorrigibility of subjectivity, only put in a stricter way. We can view ourselves as knowing beings, constructing sentences in relation to meaning, knowledge and truth. Our sentences are close to our beliefs, and our linguistic behavior is informed by our beliefs that are otherwise not immediately available to the social sphere. “Our speech acts reveal our underlying attitudes towards our sentences; but often indirectly.” (p. 190)

For truth to be truth, it cannot be private, though. Which is why communicated language has to have a role in the notion of truth. Intersubjectivity and subjectivity both needs a hand in the structure of truth. This has been explicated above, but it is a notion Davidson holds very close. But still, no real definition or proper notion of truth has been dealt with in Davidson in his book, so what do we make of this? “What does truth hold itself to?” is still the question that needs answering when dealing with the ideas of Davidson. If the answer is, the intersubjective, the social sphere, the discussion between people and the testing of their beliefs against each other, I am no longer sure what truth could be said to be “about”. Is it about our beliefs? We can be wrong about our beliefs, but we normally are not, and that means that we can hold them to be true. But as quoted above, this is a presumption. So what kind of knowledge or truth is it we are speaking of? And should we even speak of knowledge and truth in the same place? We do not directly face truth in Davidson, we get it with sentences like: “if we could not often fathom from his linguistic behavior when a speaker held his sentences true, we could not interpret his speech.” (ibid.) We just fall back into the intersubjective notion of truth. One must believe in his own beliefs for his beliefs to be true. I am not sure we find any rigidity in this notion of truth. It is spurious, aimless, groundless. But is it erroneous? I cannot say.

Knowledge of one’s own mind is personal. But what individuates that state at the same time makes it accessible to others, for the state is individuated by causal interplay among three elements: the thinker, others with whom he communicates, and an objective world they know they share. (p. 204)

We need all forms of knowledge there is, all directions of knowledge: the subjective, knowledge of our mind, intersubjective, knowledge of the minds of others, and the objective, knowledge of the world in front of us, the one we share with others. We need the other for the communicability of truth, we need ourselves for that interaction, and we need an object as the direction of our interaction and sharing of beliefs. Without one leg of this tripod, Davidson thinks we no longer can stand with a notion of truth. I am inclined to agree, to some extent. But there are still more solid notions of truth to research and see through. I am not yet ready to fall into a notion of truth like this. We have to explore the relationship between the actual and virtual, how an act that provides our language with meaning can be detached from the situation it spawned from, and how far they differ from each other. This is perhaps in line with a correspondence theory of truth, but it is not something that can be ignored.

Language can surely not be senseless? It has its strict relations, and it seems to work through association in the mind, normally. So why can’t we explicate this relationship? Instead of dropping this arduous task for something less interesting, but easier to explain, like the Wittgensteinian idea of truth or knowledge being linked to language-use or the intersubjective in general. It does become a Rortyan pragmatism, ultimately. Perhaps I will get there some day, when I have finally accepted the impossibility of the inner relationships that make something like truth possible in a less spurious sense. I am not yet letting go of the idea that knowledge can be certain, and I will not accept the that the incorrigibility of the subject being a falsehood simply due to the fact that we are sometimes confused about how to categorize and linguistically express these impressions, this mental content, or whatever name is most suitable. I am not yet done with this.

Richard Rorty’s “Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature” and the move away from epistemology.

I think I’ve finally found a proper ally within the analytic tradition. Based on the opening of Rorty’s Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature, I believe I have a clear voice which I can attach myself to (within limits). But of course, Rorty is strongly linked to the philosophers whose tradition I am already somewhat in line with. Heidegger being the most noteworthy.

The strongest linkage between my own views, gathered from Deleuze, mostly, and Rorty’s seem to be in the antirepresentational view of language, from an epistemological standpoint.

Knowledge itself, entirely, seen from a hylomorphic  point of view, where form is the mirror image of the essence, or real. Rorty wants to be rid of this metaphor of the mirror, in philosophy. Our knowledge shall no longer be a mirror image of some external reality, and our efforts as philosophers should not be to polish, direct or demarcate the mirror in various ways.

Instead, Rorty proposes, philosophy should in a way be therapeutic, it should edify.

Rorty begins with the mind-body problem. But he seems a little too willful in his disregard for it. There are numerous attempt to settle these problems, even modern ones, but I suppose they might have come after his book. The best or most clear cut example of somebody dealing with this problem would be von Wright’s In the Shadow of Descartes, where the physical and mental are clearly distinguished from each other causally, albeit from a somewhat scientific point of view. Rorty takes up the Kantian (according to him) notion of mental and physical being distinguished by being spatial and nonspatial. When he does this, he finds the problem jumbled. Our willingness to refer to ”mental stuff” is due to us falling into the language-games of philosophy. The starting point of this critique is that the mind-body problem is not intuitive, it is not straight forward like some would claim, but instead that it has its history in confused philosophical language-games.

Once you solve this confusion, you solve the problem. To me, the problem lies in the unwarranted assumptions on what substance different states or phenomena have. I’d instead want to follow Husserl in phenomenological analysis, while bracketing the assumptions of substances or essences.

But do we not see incorrect assumptions in Rorty here as well? Who is to the say the mind is nonspatial? Or the mental nonspatial? It does not extent from without the body, but would you call the vascular system nonspatial? No, it is clearly spatial. But the mind is not as clearly spatial. But it can be determined spatially. Remove a section of the brain, and a nonspatial function will disappear. But certain lesions on the brain, which Merleau-Ponty aptly showed, did not remove function of the brain, despite previously having been linked to that area of the brain. So there is an ambiguity involved in how the brain works, but we accept that as lack of knowledge, not as substance, or a sign or state of nonspatiality, surely.

Another misconception of Rorty comes in his account of phenomena and intentionality. A careful reading of Husserl would reveal to him the difference between actual and virtual experiences. An assumption underlies his critique of phenomenology, which is the notion that phenomenon or intentional objects are representations of the real object, which is not the case, at least not in the husserlian tradition. So when he says “I left my wallet on that cafe-table in Vienna” (p. 23), you do not represent as such the “objective” place of Vienna, the table and the wallet. These are no longer attached to a physical place, in phenomenology, they are of themselves noema, they are of a content of their own. They are self-evidently themselves, but hold no assumptions of being related to an actual place, Vienna, or object, table and wallet. They are related to an actual experience of what we’d deem to be Vienna, tables and wallets. It is the relation between discontinuity to continuity that phenomenology deals with. Not that between ideas and objects (again, in the husserlian sense of phenomenology).

Similar problems arise when Rorty talks about pain as something external, or something strictly bodily. If we are to see it in a physicalist way, the pain is not immediately in the leg, it is transmitted from the nerves in the leg to the brain, through a chemical process. If you cut off the leg, the toes will not transmit pain. Pain is centralized in the brain, thus also phenomenologically or mentally primary. You can perhaps view pain strictly as the pressing on certain nerves, but even then, you’d isolate it to the point where it would no longer be visible. Pain is only pain when it is experienced. A rock feels no pain, obviously.

Then we come to the difference between talking about the same thing differently, and talking about two different things differently. Rorty seems to think there is no difference, in this case when it comes to the mind-body problem, that our way of talking about pain in various ways, from the third person perspective, and the first person, are not different. Pain is pain, no matter the perspective. So when you stimulate the G-fibers, and when you feel pain, they are the same thing, they both are pain. But in reality they are fundamentally different. One is experienced first hand, the other is a systematic scientific explanation coming from the third person, while observing the other.

When you in language refer to stimulation of the G-fibers, and you refer to pain, Rorty refers us to the philosophical debate regarding whether or “pain” and stimulation of various fibers are equivalent or what their difference is. Once again, I’d like to circumvent the entire discussion by talking about perspectives of the first and third person. Because seen from without stimulation of various fibers lead to an observation sentence or a pain-report, while in the person experiencing this simulation only knows “pain”, in a non-learned sense, they merely know the association between an experience and word that supposedly describes it. So pain denotes the experience of pain, whereas the reference to fibers is one that is a reference to something not internally experienced. To say pain is the experience of a stimulation of a fiber, doesn’t change the difference between the two experiences. Because there is a fundamental difference between the two. Feels and materialistic analysis differ greatly. Again, this is something von Wright discusses very well in his “In the Shadow of Descartes”.

A fiber being stimulated denotes something entirely different than does an observation sentence “I am in pain”, or whatever. “A sensory fiber is being stimulated” differs to “I am in pain, I can see”, etc. They hold different intentional content. You could view as the stimulation of fibers being a causal explanation while the pain is the end-result of such an explanation, or the end-point. Again, the stimulation in itself does not nothing phenomenologically, unless it is not seen by a third person.

It’s not easy to produce thought based on a historical account of the philosophical problems of today. But the most interesting critique Rorty produces comes in the attack of the manifold intuitions that go into concepts in Kant. It relates heavily to Husserlian phenomenology, which is something I hold very dear. The difference between Kantian and Husserlian phenomenology is quite significant, however. The manifold for Husserl is not something silent and intuitive, it comes out of a movement from the actual to the virtual (to apply the Deleuzian version of phenomenology, if it can even be called that – it probably can’t). To Deleuze, this manifold is present, same for Bergson, it is an indefinite presence for the mind, apprehensible as such, in their individual folds. For Husserl, likewise, it was possible to imagine or through “Vorstellung” conjure each fold or perspective as congeries and constitute a phenomenological object. Husserl believed you could scheme out the entire process of making an object, to gather the phenomenological content in an expressive or rather descriptive way, thus making thought or all logical relations or predicates into something fully explainable and true inasmuch as it relates back to a self-evident “fold” of the manifold phenomenological object.

This relation is a simple association of the mind. It associates through resemblance and contiguity, mostly. Or even by continuity, you could say, thus adding an additional way the mind connects things. There is no contiguity between two perspectives of one object, there is a continuity, thus making it into a One, of some kind, that is how we individualize objects, through the continuity of the many folds of its manifoldness, to put it tediously.

It is strange to me that one would want to call these folds of experience something like “metaphors”. Or that anyone would want to reduce experience or the discussion of truth to something less solid, and replace it with justification in a sophist, social sense. Truth is whatever is talked about the best, in Rorty’s view, it seems. Does he not understand what the groundedness of experience means? To me his ideas haven’t sufficiently dispelled the incorrigibility of experience, the whole strength of the appeal to the given is the self-evident nature of it. It is, as Rorty says, ineluctable. So what makes him think of it as a metaphor? A metaphor for what? The search for truth? In reality it isn’t, it is the simple noticed difference between what we say and what it is we refer to when we say things. It is the denotative aspect of any proposition. What else informs our talk of things and truth about external objects? What else informs our talk of emotions, etc?

I think hidden behind Rorty’s talk of “what is really there” (p. 160) there is some kind of transcendental idea in place. That things are not their appearances, their sensual relation. But what people like Merleau-Ponty came to show, is that we are, in fact, in our relation to the objects of our surrounding, what is really there. We are the assemblage of things and relations of signification, to add a Deleuzian way of thinking. Our surrounding affects us the way a spider is affected by the rumblings of its web. We are compelled to act and play around with these involvements, and come to a conclusion in some sense about what is going on in this delirium. We naturally cut out horizons of this continuous experience, and we only know there is something other, perhaps something we can call “what is really there” by knowing that the Outside of this horizon always creeps in, like death. But we never know before we know, we only know by inference, that something comes from the outside means that there is an outside of whatever current actual perception we have. The appearance of things is an extension of what is really there, it is undeniably a fact, and there is no attempt to get to the transcendental, in fact, there is nothing we can apprehend or talk about which could be denotatively be considered transcendental. We must follow the Deleuzian idea that EVERYTHING is immanent, in one way or another, either virtually or actually, or in some weird interplay between the two, and they are either immanently virtual or actual depending on how they are apprehended, by direct sensual experience, or by remembering, by noesis or noema, in Husserlian terms.

This also gets rid of the faulty notion of representation, which Deleuze, Merleau-Ponty and Husserl were to some extent aware of. Deleuze the most aware, Merleau-Ponty aware but unable to finish the thoughts along those lines (due to an early death), and Husserl who were aware but thought it possible to describe the fundamental difference between different aspects of experience.

What does it mean to ponder something linguistically and non-linguistically? When pain is reported on, it’s linguistic, when pain is had without the report, it is merely had. What is pain without the linguistic report? Is it not a feeling? A mirror of nature? Have we not split up two spheres as before, only through behavior-science explanations? How can we “report on pain” without having two aspects of ourselves, the communicator and the feeler?

It seems clear to me, regardless of the explanations of our physiology, that there are differences between output and input for the body, that things are assimilated somehow, and that we inhabit some kind of space of inner movement. Mechanical or not, we have an experience that is private to us. Furthermore, we have an experience that is not only private in that we do not have to express these experiences, but in that they cannot possibly be experienced by anyone else as they are experienced to us. A causal sensory connection which sometimes is explicated can never be the same as the images and words themselves that arise in our head as we see and think. Not to say thinking is necessarily linguistic, but it’s somewhere in the neighborhood, it seems to me. So when Rorty says things like “if the body had been easier to understand, nobody would have thought that we had a mind.” In a footnote, however, he says that he does not include desires, inferences, seeing and beliefs in “mind”. But strictly mind as the immaterial mind of Descartes, and the other 1700th century confusions about inner vision and little beings inside our head, and so on.

Are desires, inferences, beliefs and pains as experiences or dispositions not something more than behavioral? If not, what is it that sparks the behavior? Is it reflexive? I do not think it is. It is far more complex than a reflexive act, the form or mechanism is very different. The content might not be an image, or a reflection as from a mirror, but it is something experienceable, to me. It is something available to us incorrigibly. Even worse, for Rorty, there is a distinct content and relation between these beliefs and desires, and their objects, viz., the objects of desire and belief. A belief and desire is always a belief or desire in regards to something. That is the basic Husserlian point. This something has a way to always direct us back to objects of public discourse, the shared items of the world, the ones we together relate to and refer to, and all assent to being the same (to adopt the Quinean notion of assent to observation sentences as the basis of the consensus gentium).

Despite the at times vague arguments or reference to historical developments, some very clear purely logical points come through. In reality he could sum up his book with the logical problem that arises with:

The moral to draw, they say, is not that they have offered inadequate analyses of “true,” but that there are some terms – for example, “the true theory,” “the right thing to do” – which are, intuitively and grammatically, singular, but for which no set of necessary and sufficient conditions can be given which will pick out a unique referent. (p. 373)

This is the essence of Rorty’s arguments, which he shows in a multitude of ways with reference to the historical point where the assumption was that there was such a thing as a singular truth. He shows how each attempt fails in some sense, and that there needs to be something more than these attempts at systematic philosophizing.

So in addition to epistemology, philosophy needs edifying, it needs philosophers of edification. By this he means philosophers whose effort is to continue the discourse of philosophy, as opposed to trying to systematize it into a rigid and set science. This happens solely through elucidating the shortcomings of the systematizing efforts, it seems. Wittgenstein and Heidegger are the “heroes” of Rorty, in this edifying sense, and the move from epistemology to hermeneutics and the understanding attitude. Instead of thinking the commensurability of all knowledge-claims, hermeneutics accepts the incommensurable nature of a multitude of truth-claims. That is Rorty’s solution to the logical problem quoted above.

Whatever the case of how correct Rorty is in his account of the Mirror of Nature, or however little his actual engagement with systematic philosophers such as Husserl, there is undeniable beauty in his attempt to make philosophy more free, and open to conversation; less rigid. His concluding words might say it best:

Perhaps philosophy will become purely edifying, so that one’s self-identification as a philosopher will be purely in terms of the books one reads and discusses, rather than in terms of the problems one wishes to solve. Perhaps a new form of systematic philosophy will be found which has nothing to do with epistemology but which nevertheless makes normal philosophical inquiry possible. These speculations are idle, and nothing I have been saying makes one more plausible than another. The only point on which I would insist is that philosophers’ moral concern should be with continuing the conversation of the West, rather than with insisting upon a place for the traditional problems of modern philosophy within that conversation. (p. 394)

Perhaps the philosopher as a person discussing and reading books is what I should aspire to be. The philosopher of joy, of conversation; the philosopher of the lover’s quarrel. Where the end-point of correctness is not what matters, but what the process of discussion is like itself. An aggression-less effort between people. To let myself be moved by books and processes, not teleology or the end-point of history. No eschatology or telos, only processing and interacting. Would such an effort ever work? Would the solitude of the philosopher ever lend itself to step down into the chaos, to accept the delirium and the attacks of the multitude? It might be time to be brave, it has to be, for what can fear really lead to other than the rigidity of comfort? Embrace the living as what it is.

Kripke’s Reference and Existence and the Ontology of Fiction.

There will never be a charm to what I do. It’ll be clunky and I’ll run into thoughts haphazardly as they come to me. Writing is but a reflection of the scattered manner of my thinking.

Kripke’s Reference and Existence is the topic of this text. It starts of with a discussion of naming and its relation to existence. Does naming inherently carry with it the notion of existence? Only things that exist can be named, is one idea, but it is countered by the fact that we can in no way instantiate an event or individual simply due to naming something or someone. Naming can also be a matter of instantiating a concept. It could also be a matter of synonyms, where a name holds the same meaning as all the predicates that can be associated with the same individual as the name. If that holds true, it also holds true that the name and the properties or predicates can be considered equivalent, in some sense.

Kripke discusses the notion of existence in an absurd way, I find. The level of his existents seem to be in the naive scientific-objective idea of it. That which exists is only that which can be observed externally. So all fiction is unreal, it does not exist. And this is what fuels his discussion, because how can one say things that are non-existent? And so on. In reality this discussion should be held with categories within all that is existent, which is what is going on underneath the references to the problem itself. If there has been a distinction between fiction and non-fiction, then talk of fiction and non-fiction already exists as two separate categories and ways of speaking about objects. Objects of fiction and objects of “sense-data”.

To clear out what is a fictional proposition and what is a non-fictional proposition, Kripke applies The Pretense Principle. What differentiates the two notions lies in intention. If you intend to say something real, it is a real proposition, if it is something fictional, it is a pretended proposition.

On the notion of empty proper names, there is a peculiarity. Because it implies there are names without content. But a fictional name is not a name without content. Its content is merely of a different kind. We cannot say that it does not exist. Its content is ideational, you could say, it carries with it intentional content. This content may not be found in an actual circumstance, or direct observation, but it can be made up by various elements that does have their basis in observation, and whole of Quine’s reference roots; salience, ostensivity, etc.

But despite the ease of which I can describe such a fictional existence, and how it differs from what people mean by fiction being unreal, Kripke remains relatively silent. “No fictional characters would exist if people had never told fiction; no pagan gods would ever have existed if there had never been paganism; and so on. It is a contingent empirical fact that such entities do in fact exist: they exist in the concrete activities of people.” (p. 76) They exist in the concrete activities of people. But do they? What concrete activities? The activities of story-telling? The activities of the mind? Are they actual in being read, can they be imagined? What form do they have? Or do they exist in all activities of the human being that relates to them as fictional characters? What then is an activity, and what isn’t?

Fiction boils down, says Kripke, “to abstract but quite real entities” (ibid. p. 77). But even then we do not have a clear distinction. They are abstract, but is a memory then also abstract? Is any sentence whatsoever abstract, since it no longer is concretely or actually there? Do we see fiction and memory the same way? Surely there is a difference. Kripke doesn’t go too far or speak generally of this, so there is no way of knowing based on these lectures alone, but the thought travels easily from one to the other. The question is one that needs to be answered, and clearer distinctions need to be made in this area.

A whole trouble of identity appears in the lecture from the 20th of November. And here the confusion of “objective” thinking comes into play, when in reality we as human beings are in contact with fleeting perspectives. So for instance, “speck of light” and “star” denote the same object, but are of very different kinds. So when we remain in the mindset of objective analysis, we forgo the actuality of the situation, which is a human being in relation to some circumstance with their entire body. “To see” is not enough, in this sense. The white speck, that while seen from a closer range is my house, is not problematic in the way Kripke discuses it. Experience takes into account more than the mere perspectives of vision. Our body is physically, there, for instance, we feel around, even the blind man can experience his house from without and within, and so on. What the identify of the “is” is, in this case, where the white speck and the star are one and the same object, is their directionality or reference. It is the movement or attraction towards the same physical object. If we take the house, which is a more concrete example which does not require space exploration, then the speck of white in the distance and the clearly distinguished house in front of you, are the same in that their directionality is the same. Their focus is the same. It is the effort of the human being looking to refer to this building that carries a consistent focus on the saliency of the various traits of that house in its various ways it can relate to the observer.

Another aspect underlies the confusion here. And it’s the physicality of objects as opposed to the non-solid form of visual perception. When we only see, we do not feel the physicality of an object, and the star we see with the same directionality is always the same due to the sameness in direction. But obviously the forms change. And Kripke seem to think there is a hierarchy in these forms, when in reality there is no necessarily better or worse way of seeing a thing, without having a specific purpose in mind. The one is not more true than the other, it does not say more or less in itself. A house seen is not a house lived in, ever. You cannot say “I live in that house that I see.”, you live in the house that you live in, living in being a term that denotes a multifaceted assemblage of different bodily experiences, including smell and touch. Living in a house denotes something far greater than an observation statement on its own can determine. So in reality, when you point to the white speck in the distance, that you think is your house, you simply say: in that visual speck, which I identify as my house due to the location that it is in, that I recognize as such, is a symbol for me living there, it is what can draw me to its location, etc. But seeing the house, and talking about it, can never be living there. Seeing the speck cannot be more than the speck. And that is where I think the confusion stems from. The assumption that one visual assemblage, that is, one facet of all the various ways one can approach an object – or collection of perspectives in the phenomenologically Husserlian sense – automatically carries with it all the others. They are all of wildly different kinds. Kripke seems to think there is a hierarchy, still, though. “How the object really looks”, as opposed to “the object through a magnifying glass”. The “really” denoting the “preferred” or “correct” perception of an object. And then there is the predicate “I see a big star.”, when in reality, a big star is not present in an actual way. What you see is the speck. The object as felt in all of its various ways, as the destructive heat and gravity of a star, for example, is not present in vision alone, and cannot be denoted by a sentence based in visual stimulation.

Kripke doesn’t go into to the deep associational net that lies under these assumptions, making the discussion seemed unnecessarily confused.

Ultimately I might not be at a point where I can deal with a semantic analysis. To me the analysis of a fictional name, and a fictional fictional name, seem straight forward. The reference just have to be shifted to the actual object. A fictional character is a fictional character, therein lies its description and truth. The ontological difference between it and a regular character, or the name of anything whatsoever, is slim, if at all there. Naming, or pronominalization in general, is of a different kind to the experience or actual reference. The “he”s of an ambiguous double-he’d statement are solved in actual conversation by pointing, glances, and other non-verbal communicative means. Language lived in not strictly logical in this sense, yet in its analysis that is the form it takes. Why apply a logic to something that is inherently not logical? What are the undercurrents of such an effort? Is Kripke defending or explaining common sense? If so, it is not expressed. So how do I think of him and his efforts?

For now, there is not much else I can say about Kripke’s Reference and Existence. Maybe in the future I’ll have a more nuanced understanding of his goals and efforts, and what the significance of common sense language-discussions is. Until then, I’m leaving this project for hopefully more interesting ideas and discussions.

Creative Evolution by Bergson

Creative Evolution by Bergson starts off in an incredibly interesting way. The question is, how does an effect capture its cause? How does the intellect, here a product of evolution, determine its own causal progress up to that point? Life for Bergson is indefinite, all the molds which we use to explain and determine life and its appearance crack. So are we capable of moving in such a direction? Can we explain ourselves? Can the effect at the same time know its cause, that is no longer there? Even when all that is left is the product, the effect?

But much worse, can the intellect, through its artificiality and symbolic nature, capture something that is much more vital and animated than each object of the understanding that represents it. Are we not stuck in rigidity? Bergson thinks there is a deeper and different kind of consciousness, one that evolutionarily speaking have develop alongside the intellect. This consciousness is one that moves with the vitality of life, it captures it inasmuch as it is it. This type of consciousness Bergson thinks it is possible to elucidate, and bring forth through the intellect. This consciousness is immanently there, it is undeniably there, and it is always coupled to our intellectuality. So despite when we move from this immanent awareness or life-world into the world of the intellect, behind this intellect, we have still this vibrant and vital world. This consciousness is there in its precisely fleeting and limited kind. Much like Husserl talks about with experience of various kinds.

Bergson means that to get to knowledge, we need to understand life. Even that they are one and the same. If we do not appeal to this “life”, or to evolution, we cannot see out of what knowledge of the traditional kind sprung out of. How can we know what artificiality means if we are not aware of what was before it? Bergson proposes to explore life and evolution as a way to transcend the limitations of knowledge, the most radical limitations of the symbol-reference-experience relationship.

So what do we find when we turn our focus inwards? Bergson’s answer is that we find a flow, a duration, a duration that becomes salient through change alone. Existence, as such, is change (p. 11-12). Being alive and being faced with a perpetually changing succession of moments of color is what constitutes this existence. In this Bergson also takes shots at the idea of an ego being what links all these disparate moments of color together. Bergson predicts the Sartrean turn away from Husserl with his Transcendental Ego. The Ego simply does not exist as something transparent or invisible behind all our perception. Perception is all there is, there is no reality to whatever it is that binds perceptions together. In fact, there is even no need for it! We are in a constant state of duration, we are constantly in a state of flux or change, and there is no need for something to hold everything together because there are no gaps, there are no cracks in experience, it is constant and it is intensely there.

We are related to something Other, though, as human beings. Our perception objectively cuts out a portion of a Whole, Bergson says. This cut or demarcation is what marks our territory, in a way, and our ability to act and know things of the world. “The distinct outlines which we see in an object, and which give it its individuality, are only the design of a certain kind of influence that we might exert on a certain point of space: it is the plan of our eventual actions that is sent back to our eyes, as though by a mirror, when we see the surfaces and edges of things.” (p. 15)

Individuation becomes an important question in light of what has been discussed above. It seems as if Bergson is trying to minimize our idea of individuation. To him, individuation is a tendency towards individuation, since there is no “finalization” of anything in nature or life or existence, they are in a flux. This individuation, however, is opposed by reproduction, in individuals. Since that means individuals carry within themselves the capacity to create new organisms, the lines are not so clear, Bergson claims. This is unfortunately not something I’d agree with. We do not carry inside of ourselves, as males and females alone, a capacity for reproduction, reproduction comes about only in the mixture of two individual’s individuated gametes. It is with their connection in the right circumstances that the stuff of one person can turn into another. But it can clearly be argued that this tendency towards reproduction is limited in more senses. That reproducing is simply producing another substance that individuates itself, that can individuate itself and can create new individuals, under the right circumstances. It is unclear why reproduction is an opposing tendency to individuation, since reproducing does not reproduce a copy, it is wildly different, it is another aspect of the flux. It carries with it genes, but never the exact same genes. A reproduction in the human or animal sense is never a material reproduction, it is always a distinguishable individual, it is already in itself individuated by way of being reproduced. So to me it is not clear what Bergson was trying to do with this attempt at breaking down individuating tendencies.

But what remains is the difficulty of making individuality into something distinct and clearly defined. No individual, in the crude or naive sense, is made up of an indivisible whole. Cells reproduce on their own, to some extent, they do so independently of the mind, as is more applicable when we look at multicellular organisms, bacteria, etc. How do we then determine the individual? How would we define it? To me there is a simple turn to subjectivity that would solve this question. Because the “cut” of reality that perception constitutes, you can never confuse with another cut, or another individual’s cut. Perceptive individuals are always clearly individuated and disparate, they can never occupy the same space, never mark out the same cuts or see the same thing in the same way.

Bergson further expounds on time and its relation to change. As is clear, Bergson deals with a time that is far more concrete than what we normally think of as time. Bergson’s time is duration, concrete, a past and present intimately intertwined. The present is linked thoroughly with the past, the past lingers on and carries the substance of the present. There is not necessarily a “jump” from one state of the world to another, but it is continuous and the change is only change as it relates to a past, both in consciousness and in the world, claims Bergson. Change in the world always lingers close to its cause, the present is always nearby what caused the presence. This is what Hume called contiguity, I imagine. To know the world is not only to know its distinct points in time or changes, but to know the full flow of duration, to know change as it appears and how it lies contiguous to the past, its hyphenations, as it were (p. 21).

To Bergson, time or duration is that which makes all things internally change. It becomes a mysterious force that drives movement and change. The intellect grasps aspects of duration in, again, a too rigid way. This is what repetition is, and what we imagine causality is. Bergson’s time does not allow for repetition proper. Repetition for Bergson is purely intellectual, and is not fluid enough to capture the fluidity of life, or of living, or real time, concrete time; duration! So life and its perpetual change and uniqueness cannot measure up to what we imagine we repeat. For Bergson there is no real repetition. Along the same lines, there is no proper causal predictions that can be made, other than ones that follow the lines of the intellect’s identificatory points, the salience of various situations and the similarities of two separate events.

This also applies to language, as Bergson notes:

“Our reason, incorrigibly presumptuous, imagines itself possessed, by right of birth or by right of conquest, innate or acquired, of all the essential elements of the knowledge of truth. Even where it confesses that it does not know the object presented to it, it believes that its ignorance consists only in not knowing which one of its time-honored categories suits the new object. In what drawer, ready to open, shall we put it? In what garment, already cut out, shall we clothes it? Is it this, or that, or the other thing? And “this,” and “that,” and the “other thing” are always something already conceived, already known.” (p.33)

So when we encounter the new, how can we possibly put it in an already cut out category? How does a reference of this kind at all work? This question many have answered since, Husserl who was contemporary with Bergson did it, in the movement from the particular to the universal and their relationship, and analytical philosophy deals with this issue as well. But we have to accept, that what we do when we talk about things, is never to grasp or hold within our language the object itself, nor do we ever refer to it in a fully genuine way, since our terms are universal and vague, while the lived experience of the referred to object is distinct and sharply there.

Another aspect to the impossibility of knowing anything about the evolution of life comes in the way life creates. Life does not flow according to mechanical or causal laws, since these are based in the past. “[T]he evolution of the organic world cannot be predetermined as a whole. We claim, on the contrary, that the spontaneity of life is manifested by a continual creation of new forms succeeding each other.” (p. 52) So life moves in a tricky way, it creates anew circumstances that immediately become past experience. But the direction of life is always into the new, into different fields, whose movement break the molds that was once able to hold it. Life, you could say, even moves quicker than the creation of the molds that hold it. To know anything about this creation you’d have to be able to know possibilities to an extreme degree, you’d have to know all the mechanical ways of different life forms and their interactions. Are there not infinite assemblages to consider? Infinite orders, infinite sets and infinite positions and angles? To look for a knowledge of this kind is nonsensical, hence the nonsense of the scientific effort, it is not based in knowledge as such, but in practice and in the repetition of reference points, of salient traits, and so on.

For all the talk Bergson does about the inability to clearly grasp a continuous event, there is another angle on this problem. When we fix something in time, or separate it in space, when we differentiate, spot salient traits, etc, and then criticize this fixity as too rigid, we always have to ask ourselves: In what way is it too rigid? Too rigid for what? When we ask this, we either have an answer, and we can accept that our thoughts on the matter were too rigid, but that also means that they are no longer rigid. Each critique based on the rigidity of our ”mold”, need to be shown to be inadequate, or else the critique is pointless. If it is shown to be inadequate, it is no longer adequate, since our mold now incorporates this flaw in our grasp of whatever it is we are trying to grasp. Bergson cannot speak of knowledge in this way, it seems to me, without referring to something entirely different. And he does, and that is what ”life” denotes. But if we accept this reference to something external to thought or the intellect, what is left? Why do we write? What drives Bergson? Does (did) he think he can think non-rigidly? “The intellect is characterized by a natural inability to comprehend life.” (p. 96)

But what does it mean to think the inability to comprehend something? In what sense do we not possess an ability to comprehend. Can we comprehend, or represent, our own inability to comprehend? If so, do we not comprehend a part of life? Or is life entirely based in the non-intellectual processes? In the instinctive? But if we can distinguish between the two, are they not comprehended in some sense? I am not clever enough to be able to answer this.

Bergson knows the direction of this, though. We are not supposed to learn how to swim before we get into the water. His resolution is twofold; we reach the higher and different fluid reality – as opposed to the rigid – through a leap of will and action. By expounding on the reasoning behind the will, we find our impetus, and we jump into the water, and we face the struggle of fluidity.

We have to ask ourselves if we were not already faced with fluidity. Becoming is something we face in everyday life all the time. We have endless words for this kind of fluidity, where we perfectly denote at least our being cognizant of fluidity, or the flux of visual states. “Dripping, running, falling, eating”, etc, are all words which denote a procedure, a becoming. They denote an unfinished state, an unresolved state. Is this not an intellectual way of acknowledging the intuitive flux of the world? Or is it the case that it just cannot be comprehended? Does not language use denote understanding? Even an intuitive understanding. If this cannot be accepted, then writing the intuitive is nonsensical. We are left with silent experience of the world.

Consciousness is free, Bergson says. It is endless, until it comes across matter. What forms in this relationship is the intellect. The origin of the intellect, says Bergson, is consciousness running into matter. When this happens consciousness needs to adapt itself to its forms. To its signs, to adopt a Deleuzian concept. And this is when the arbitrary cuts start to happen, this is when matter is divided and made mechanical, when it is used and disused, thrown about, etc. But this we share with all of animality and plant-life. “All the living hold together, and all yield to the same tremendous push. The animal takes its stand on the plant, man bestrides animality, and the whole of humanity, in space and in time, is one immense army galloping beside and before and behind each of us in an overwhelming charge able to beat down every resistance and clear the most formidable obstacles, perhaps even death.” (p. 151). But there is a deeper mysticism and a peculiar assumption to what Bergson tries to say here. It seems as if consciousness to him is something greater than the individuals that uphold it. Consciousness is infinitely spread, before the physicality of human beings divide it up. “On the other hand, this rising wave is consciousness, and, like all consciousness, it includes potentialities without number which interpenetrate and to which consequently neither the category of unity nor that of multiplicity is appropriate, made as they both are for inert matter. The matter that it bears along with it, and in the interstices of which it inserts itself, alone can divide it into distinct individuals. This subdivision was vaguely indicated in it, but could not have been made clear without matter. Thus souls are continually being created, which, nevertheless, in a certain sense pre-existed. They are nothing else than the little rills into which the great river of life divides itself, flowing through the body of humanity.” (ibid.)

This is certainly not something I can follow. For all the assumptions we can make when dealing with intuitive experience, the over all unity of consciousness seems ridiculous. Wherein lies the signs of such a claim? Have we not delved into purely speculative territory at this point? There is still to some degree a mysticism coupled with consciousness, but no mystery warrants assumptions of a speculative kind. We have to follow in Husserl’s footsteps here, and not assume based on what we do not know. There should be no desire to fill out the blanks with anything that is not self-evident, with anything not present.

“Of becoming we perceive only states, of duration only instants, and even when we speak of duration and of becoming, it is of another thing that we are thinking. Such is the most striking of the two illusions we wish to examine. It consists in supposing that we can think the unstable by means of the stable, the moving by means of the immobile.” (p. 154)

Do we only perceive states? Do we suspend movement in our reference to becoming? Do we actually think with rigidity? What does it mean to say that “even when we speak of duration and of becoming, it is of another thing that we are thinking”? Another thing? What could that be? Do we not refer with all the words of becoming, an actual becoming? When we refer to acts, do we not refer to an actual intuitive relation to something on-going? That is what the “reference” denotes. It is a move from the rigid to the fluid, in this sense. “Dripping” will always be a rigid term, which denotes something fluid, for example. But does it not direct us to a dripping sound, sight, feel, etc? Is our rigid talking really so far away from the flux of life? Is not this talking simply another fluid aspect of it, that happens to direct our movement? That happens to carry with it significance, like the spider’s web for the spider.

Regardless, Bergson has his place in philosophy. He is a philosopher of the positive. When he posits his ideas of negation, we start to get an idea what life is, and how the intellect or various expectations interfere with our interaction with the world. Negation always comes from a place of reprimand, a correction, or a conversation of some kind. It is based in expectations or the mistake. And it is always superfluous, it is always after the fact, it deals with something entirely imagined, something virtual. The negative is virtual. Hence the ridiculousness of something like “There is no meaning”. Where is there no meaning? Who said there was? Why do you say that? In Bergson we find the answer to nihilism. We learn to not look for what is not there, we learn to see the immediate substitution of a lack, there is in fact no lack, there is always an object springing up as the another disappears.

Bergson’s Creative Evolution is really only a meditation on these concepts in various ways. Other than the inert matter studied by science, there is a life-world, akin to Husserl’s later conception of it. We need, to properly think knowledge, think duration, evolution and change. And we need to do it by way of intuition, without arbitrary schematization. The question unfortunately remains: how does one communicate the intuitive? Duration is the pure change and force of succession, and this is what the proper experience of the world is like. It is not necessarily made up of these still shots or images of reality. Despite Bergson’s recognition of these images of life, it is questionable whether or not experience ever takes the form. The analogy to film might not be a proper one, after all. Memory is perhaps what Bergson means with his concept of cinematography, but to me memory take a very different form. It is amorphous, linked to language, linked to a sense very different from the intuitive sensuous real time experience. But it is rigid, and it is creation, and it is no longer related to reality as it is at present. This is the key idea to Bergson’s book, and a key notion of philosophy as a whole.