Bradley’s Rule

Another entry in the Bradley Calvacade:

I am afraid that, when some readers hear a poor ‘ontologist’ like myself uttering warning cries about the limits of our knowledge, they will think of Satan mighty in the scriptures or rebuking sin.  And yet I feel bound to submit to their attention that very rule which made me an ontologist, still keeps, and will keep me one:  Where you find a puzzle you are making an assumption, and it is your duty to find out what that assumption is.

What should we make of this rule?  In context, I believe the right way to understand it is to situate it against Kant’s Antinomies, or, relatedly, against Ramsey’s maxim.  Let me use the latter:

It is a heuristic maxim that the truth lies not in one of two disputed views, but in some third possibility which has not yet been thought of, and which we only discover by rejecting something assumed as obvious by the two disputants.

Ramsey’s maxim, forcefully economized (and internalized) as Bradley’s Rule, shapes the whole of Appearance and Reality–and indeed the whole of Bradley’s work.

The anti-Augustinian property colors metaphilosophy:  when someone asks how to do philosophy, we know, but when no one asks (and we are doing it), we do not know.  Philosophical ‘practice’ can seem impermeable to metaphilosophical ‘theory’.  All too often, in the throes of the problems, our metaphilosophy reduces to ornamental chatter.  It bears no load.  But not in Bradley.  He keeps his rules–he walks his talk’s walk.

 

 

 

Oakeshott on the Importance of Teaching Differences

Here is Michael Oakeshott in Experience and Its Modes, channeling Bradley:

To bother about a confusion de genres is the sign of decadent thought.  –But this is not the view of the matter I have come to take.  For…it became increasingly clear that unless these forms of experience were separated and kept separate, our experience would be unprotected against the most insidious and crippling of all forms of error–irrelevance.  And when we consider further the errors and confusion, the irrelevance and cross-purposes, which follow from a failure to determine the exact character and significance of (for example) scientific or historical experience, it becomes possible to suppose that those who offer us their opinions upon these topics may have something to say of which we should take notice.  To dismiss the whole affair as a matter of mere words is the first impulse only of those who are ignorant of the chaos into which experience degenerates when this kind of question is answered perfunctorily or is left altogether without an answer.  “Truth”, says Bacon, “comes more easily out of error than out of confusion”:  but the view I have to recommend is that confusion, ignoratio elenchi, is itself the most fatal of all errors, and that it occurs whenever argument or inference passes from one world of experience to another, from what is abstracted on one principle from what is abstracted upon another, from what is abstract to what is concrete, and from what is concrete to what is abstract…So far, then, as this part of my subject is concerned, it may be considered as an investigation of the character of irrelevance or ignoratio elenchi.

(Oakeshott names Bradley’s Appearance and Reality as one of the two books, along with Hegel’s Phenomenology, from which he has learnt the most.)

Philosophical Investigations and Three Kinds of Illusion

I am linking an essay of mine that has been hanging out in my Huh? File.  That is, the file in which I put things I have written whose merits and demerits are unclear to me, or so nearly even that I cannot decide whether to invest any more effort in them.  I wrote this for viva voce delivery.  I don’t know that it deserves further work, deserves my trying to make it a full-on scholarly essay.  If any of you have the time and the curiosity to read this, let me know what you think.  Thanks in advance!

Philosophical Investigations and Three Kinds of Illusion

Lurching Restart

I’m back.  Sorta.  Anyway, I do expect to begin posting here again over the next few weeks.  I’ve missed working on the blog and interacting with those of you who follow it.  But I want to restart by shouldering Heidegger’s reminder:

There is a significant darkness in every philosophical endeavor, and even the most radical of these endeavors remains finite.

The Fly Bottle, Paul Horwich and Arthur Collins

 

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“What is your aim in philosophy?–To shew the fly the way out of the fly-bottle” (PI 309)

My icon of Philosophical Investigations is an antique, green glass fly bottle that hangs on my back porch.  Morning and evening most days, as I sit outside with my dogs, I eventually find myself staring at it and thinking yet again about philosophical problems, self-entrapment and freedom.  The last few days, my thinking as been preoccupied by Paul Horwich’s preoccupation with the fly bottle in his Wittgenstein’s Metaphilosophy.  I am now at work on a new paper on Wittgenstein (for a collection on metaphilosophy) and in that paper I spend some time on Horwich’s book.  Having more or less sorted what I want to say about it, I began at last to look to see what others had said, and found a nice NDPR review of the book by a philosopher I much respect, Arthur Collins.  In the review is the following sober and sobering passage,

Like any other fan I enjoy this fly-in-a-bottle image. It is valid if it is itself not over-generalized. It says what happens to some philosophical problems according to some passages. It is not presented by Wittgenstein as the overall story for philosophy. Wittgenstein does not think that philosophy is an activity that always has the same formulaic structure, or that philosophy might close up shop one day. We should bear in mind that, the fly-bottle boast notwithstanding, Wittgenstein returns again and again to the same philosophical problems providing ever-new comparisons, examples, and insights. For instance, he had a life-long desire to deliver us from the idea of inner mental processes or entities that we can describe and report and that are somehow constitutive of our perceptual experience, sensation, remembering, believing, meaning, understanding, intending, and so on; constitutive, that is, of our conscious mental life. His work is full of brilliant passages that offer help in this project, but no completion of it is suggested. He did his brilliant and profound best. No one has matched his success. He did not think he had done anything like enough, and he was right.

And so is Collins.

The Slow Cure

Wittgenstein says somewhere (Culture and Value?) that in philosophy, the slow cure is all-important.  Why is that?  Is it because of the way in which philosophical problems involve our will as well as our intellect, and that a change of heart requires rehabilitation, rehabituation, a reorientation of our feelings, –something that takes more time than a change of mind would take?  Otherwise, why take it slow?  You’d need only the time it takes to consider the conclusion in light of the argument.

Merleau-Ponty Underwrites Wittgenstein?

From The Visible and the Invisible:

We need only take language…in the living or nascent state, with all its references, those behind it, which connect it to the mute things it interpellates, and those it sends before itself and which make up the world of things said–with its movement, its subtleties, its reversals, its life, which expresses and multiplies tenfold the life of the bare things.  Language is a life, is our life and the life of the bare things.  Not that language takes possession of life and reserves it for itself:  what would there be to say if there existed nothing but things said?  it is the error of the semantic philosophies to close up language as if it spoke only of itself:  language lives only from silence; everything we cast to the others has germinated in this great mute land which we never leave.  But because he has experienced within himself the need to speak, the birth of speech as the bubbling up at the bottom of his mute experience, the philosopher knows better than anyone that what is lived is lived-spoken, that, born at this depth, language is not a mask over Being, but–if one knows how to grasp it with all its roots and foliation–the most valuable witness to Being, that it does not interrupt an immediation that would be perfect without it, that the vision itself, the thought itself, are, as has been said, “structured as language,” are articulation before the letter, apparition of something where there was nothing or something else…Philosophy itself is language, rests on language; but this does not disqualify it from speaking of language, nor from speaking of the pre-language and of the mute world which doubles them:  on the contrary, philosophy is an operative language, that language that can be known only from within, through its exercise, is open upon the things, called forth by the voices of silence, and continues an effort of articulation which is the Being of every being.

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