Imagine a cloud as it moves across a windy sky.
Its form changes, though slowly, and it is clearly different when it drifts out of our vision than it was when we first saw it.
It isn’t tethered to anything, it isn’t anchored, but it is shaped by unseen forces. And it is clearly the same cloud at the end of its visible journey as it was when it began.
Change the word “cloud” to “consciousness” or “justice” or any of a variety of terms, and you have one of themes of Lee Braver’s outstanding “Groundless Grounds: A Study of Wittgenstein and Heidegger” (The MIT Press, $38, 239 pages). Braver, by linking arguably the two most important 20th century philosophers, Ludwig Wittgenstein and Martin Heidegger, says that trying to “ground” ideas and concepts in something rock solid, in something with the apparently solidity of the earth beneath our feet, is a fruitless effort.
Instead, he uses underlying themes from Wittgenstein and Heidegger – who have radically different viewpoints in many areas of their thought – to echo Willard Van Orman Quine, another prominent 20th century philosopher, that we have essentially created the terms and concepts of language in our own minds, and that we cannot step outside our language, terms and concepts to truly analyze their roots.
So as the cloud floats along, subject to gravity, temperature, sun and wind, it is its own entity, with no direct connection to anything solid. It shifts and changes, according to outside pressures and internal operations, and defies precise definition, especially on its periphery. It cannot be defined from inside the cloud, or even properly perceived. Phenomena can’t be comprehended from their center, but the periphery, unsettled as it is, is no better.
Periphery and its contrast with the center is another concern of Braver’s, echoing Jacques Derrida but with a different emphasis -- in this case, the way we think.
Both Heidegger and Wittgenstein make this point: Most of the time, we do not "think" in the traditional sense of the word; most of the time, we are in the flow of one activity or another.
Philosophers have always tried to ground consciousness and thought in rationality, in logic, in that essentially human ability to solve problems through the use of a particular kind of process.
In contrast, Braver connects Heidegger and Wittgenstein with what might be called “the flow” -- a mental state of working on a piece of art, or writing a story, or surfing, or playing basketball, or having a conversation, or playing music. During that flow, we aren't "thinking" in any rational sense, even though traditional philosophy wants our reason to be active all the time. Clearly, though, it isn't. Even in conversation, we don't "think" about what words to say -- we just say them.
I will extrapolate here (but that’s what good books make you do: push beyond their edges), and tack on some ideas from Derrida. When we get to the edge of an activity, when the flow isn't smooth, we have to make decisions. Animals lacking a big brain and language will rely on instinct or intuition when the flow sputters. Humans, however, can then apply a new level of analysis, logical thinking, but the logical thinking comes last, not first.
The idea, then, is that logical thinking doesn't underly everything we do, and thus shouldn't be the standard by which we measure all our thoughts and actions. Rather, it is only applied on the periphery, when the flow we are defined by and primarily exist in is disrupted.
That flow is all about context and relationships, and another point made in the book is that when we pull something out of context, its meaning is lost. We can, for example, grasp what truth and justice are in particular contexts, but if we try to remove those two terms from their contexts and relationships in a particular flow, then they cannot really be defined. (This is what Socrates emphasized, and it is the wellspring of scepticism.)
To go back to the cloud, if we tried to pull it out of the sky, it would dissipate and disappear. We cannot remove it from its environment without destroying it, just as we cannot remove ourselves from the central flow of our thoughts and activities without destroying them with a fruitless search for definition and clarity.
“Groundless Grounds” opens our eyes to these concepts and more, and in a not-too-technical, readable way. It isn’t an easy read, granted, but it’s a compelling one – and the best philosophy book I’ve read in years.