In the absolute most general terms, philosophy might be said to be man’s endless grappling with three interrelated questions: What is there (what exists)?; How should we live?; and How do we know? The formalized study of this last question is epistemology.
While the very word epistemology makes undergrad philosophy students’ eyes roll into the backs of their heads, Martin makes the topic accessible and generally enjoyable, though, like some other areas of philosophy, certain subject matter can be pedantic. Here are the book’s main ideas:
BLAME THE FRENCH
While the question “How do we know what we know?” is as old as philosophy itself, it wasn’t until a few centuries ago that the Frenchman Rene Descartes seemed to finally pry the lid completely off this can of epistemological worms, igniting a debate that, as we shall see, only seems to get less settled with time. In one of the great ironies of history, Descartes’ project to shore things up in the knowledge department actually set in motion a process that will culminate in the 21st century with professional philosophers having highly technical, highly esoteric, and highly serious (to them at least) debates about how they can be sure the cup of coffee on the table in front of them is actually there. Here is a simplified play-by-play of what got philosophy into this crazy mess:
-In an effort to put the concept of knowledge on a more sure footing, Descartes writes a series of philosophical tracts which have been summarized and immortalized in the famous saying Cogito, Ergo Sum: I think, therefore I am. The bedrock of Descartes’ epistemology is “a priori” beliefs – those beliefs that are supposedly valid without reference to external sense experience from objects or events (such as certain mathematical concepts, or a strongly felt intuition of the existence of God, or the fact that you can think about thinking). Though he doesn’t realize it at the time, Descartes is etching out his place as one of the fathers of the school of Rationalism, where a priori beliefs reign supreme.
-With the wit, style, and accent that only the Scottish can muster, David Hume delivers a skeptical counterpunch, putting an exclamation point on a line of thinking developed by Hobbes, Locke, and Berkeley: sense experiences – “a posteriori” beliefs that is – are the necessary, unavoidable building blocks of knowledge. Descartes can think about thinking all he wants, but real knowledge comes through our experience in, and interaction with, the external physical world. In the school of Empiricism, a posteriori beliefs are king, and for many years epistemology more or less consists of a series of debates between Rationalists and Empiricists.
-In what will turn into perhaps the greatest (and most perplexing) philosophy project of all time, the Prussian Immanuel Kant attempts to synthesize Rationalism and Empiricism into a single school of thought. A key pillar of this marriage is the idea of analytic and synthetic propositions. A satisfactory explanation of these two concepts is beyond the scope of our current discussion, but, in short, their function was to elucidate the interconnectedness of a priori and a posteriori beliefs, showing that, in their own way, both were essential building blocks of knowledge. In other words, Kant attempted to show that the Rationalists and Empiricists could finally lay down their arms since they were actually both right; their only real error was believing their competing theories to be mutually exclusive. How well Kant actually wed the Rationalist and Empiricist traditions is debated to this day, partly due to the opaque, highly complex nature of his writings which has left them open to numerous interpretations.
-In the late 19th century, German logician Gottlob Frege moves Kant’s ideas of the analytic and synthetic into the realm of linguistics, where standardized sentence structures (which translate nicely into the world of formal logic in which Frege lived) finally seem to provide some clarity to all of Kant’s abstruse concepts. Again, explaining the details of Frege’s method would be tedious, but the takeaway is this: formal logic and the syntax of language enter the scene as gatekeepers and standard-bearers for what passes as knowledge. The nascent school of Analytic Philosophy feels a true sense of optimism, as it seems they are finally on a path that might lead to real consensus in the world of epistemology.
BLAME THE AMERICANS
-This optimism is short-lived however. In the mid-twentieth century, American Willard Quine releases an article that, to many philosophers, shows the analytic/synthetic concepts to be nothing more than a bunch of – and I’m using a technical term here – mumbo jumbo. Quine argues that epistemology should stop concerning itself with propagating endless theoretical debates about what the word “knowledge” means. He claims the only real knowledge is scientific knowledge, and once we move outside the scientific realm, mere beliefs* are all we have. For Quine and his acolytes, the implications are clear: epistemology needs to reinvent itself as a branch of natural science, using empirical evidence and observation to describe the belief-formation process as it actually happens in real life – vice trying to establish rules, standards, and laws for what constitutes a “justified” belief or “real” knowledge since, outside of science, there is no such thing.
*Quine said our beliefs are best viewed as a giant self-supporting web. When we come up against something novel and need to decide if we believe it, we see how well it fits with our already existing beliefs. If it seems to match well enough, we accept it; if it doesn’t, we don’t (if you’re getting a mental image of interior decorating right now, you’re on the right track). To many philosophers, this smells like heresy – as if each individual’s “web of beliefs” gets to set the rules for what constitutes knowledge.
-Before Quine’s ideas have even been fully digested by the philosophic community, another American named Thomas Kuhn inadvertently turns everything upside down once again. Like Descartes’ story, there is some irony involved with Kuhn. Setting out to better understand how scientists approach their research, Kuhn’s work actually had far greater (and unintended) implications in the worlds of philosophy, psychology and anthropology than of science proper. Kuhn’s extended essay seemed to show that the selection and application of supposedly objective standards among competing scientific theories was often a highly subjective affair, despite scientists’ efforts to act otherwise (witness the current state of theoretical physics and quantum mechanics). This discovery was as surprising as it was embarrassing. Quine had just convinced much of the philosophic community that objective knowledge could only be found in the realm of natural science, but Kuhn seemed to show that subjectivity is an incurable part of any human enterprise, science included.
Where do things stand now? What defines knowledge? A priori beliefs? A posteriori? Language? Logic? Science? Some of these? All of these? None of these? Martin’s assessment isn’t a happy one:
“This represents the current philosophical state of play: all the varieties of theory have their partisans, who are working to try to get around the objections we’ve looked at –and more.”
The good news is that, until someone figures out something better, philosophers can continue to debate whether or not that cup of coffee is real.
CRITIQUES
At the end of his 1926 book The Story of Philosophy, eminent historian Will Durant made a wry but prescient observation, noting that philosophy was slowly losing its focus on the question of how we should live in favor of a “crumbling corner” called epistemology. Again, while Martin does a great job making epistemology accessible to the lay reader, he falls a little short in making it relevant. One could easily read this book, more or less understand all the concepts presented – deontology, basic beliefs, things-in-themselves, sense-datum, possible worlds, and everything else already discussed above – and then simply ask “So what?” In Martin’s defense, this isn’t as simple a question as it appears. I’ll try to give a brief but hopefully satisfactory answer:
Though we don’t often realize it, many of the practical aspects of our day-to-day lives are derivations of abstract, theoretical answers to the question “How should we live?” – one of the “big three” we mentioned earlier that drive philosophic pursuits. For example, if you live in a communist society, the practical ramifications of the communist system to your daily life are myriad. Yet despite these concrete realities, Communism is, at heart, a series of highly theoretical beliefs about human nature, the direction of human history, and, most importantly, how humans should live.
Now, like all good theorists, Marx, Engels, and their later acolytes right up to present times have had to marshal arguments and evidence in support of their theories. Some are a priori, some are a posteriori; some are synthetic, some analytic; some are passionate emotional appeals, some are economic data sets. Is each argument and piece of evidence acceptable though? Well, the answer largely depends on your epistemological outlook – even if you’ve never heard of epistemology. If the only argument/evidence in support of Communism you find compelling are the economic data sets, you might just be an empiricist in disguise.
The point is this: the question “How do we know?” may seem detached from the hubbub of our daily lives, but it becomes an unavoidable consideration when we try to justify whatever answer we have to the “How should we live?” question. You can’t answer one without also answering the other.
Whether giving the latest sales pitch to new investors at work or explaining to your son why he isn’t allowed to eat crayons, every argument you advance in life is being filtered through people’s epistemological lenses, where they make judgements about what constitutes true knowledge and justified belief versus what they take to be – and here’s that technical term again – a bunch of mumbo jumbo.