Carnap’s “distinctive metaphysical methodology”?!

A new book from Cambridge University Press, Interpreting Carnap, edited by Alan Richardson and Adám Tuboly, contains some interesting papers that I hope I will get around to discussing here. I will start with one whose title is calculated to arouse, well, interest, shall we say: “Carnap is not against metaphysics” by Vera Flocke. (Just as one’s attention would naturally be drawn to a headline “Pope advocates contraception” or “Mike Johnson to propose mandatory teaching of evolution in public schools.”)

Flocke makes clear she has only the “late” Carnap in mind, i.e. the Carnap of the principle of tolerance, though she never makes that an explicit criterion for the lateness of the late Carnap; in her mind, the dividing line between early and late Carnap is marked by Gödel’s incompleteness theorems. And it’s certainly true that they did play a role (as discussed in great detail in the now-ancient papers by Steve Awodey and myself about this transition), but the only role she assigns them is that “Gödel’s discovery showed verificationism to be false” (p. 37). Hm, really? It’s not clear, though, that Carnap ever went in for verificationism, and if he did, it’s not clear what he might have meant by it. When he discusses verificationism in retrospect (in Testability and Meaning), he doesn’t actually say anywhere that he once endorsed it — as he does admit there e.g. to having adhered to finitism in the Aufbau.

Anyway, Flocke says that an opposition to metaphysics can be understood two ways; one can object to metaphysics as subject matter, or one can object to the methods employed; in the latter case, metaphysics can be made acceptable if the methods are changed. The early Carnap, she says, was a subject-matter anti-metaphysician. But the later, post-Gödel Carnap was a merely methodological anti-metaphysician, she argues, and since metaphysicians have changed their methods since his day, Carnap would approve of a lot of present-day metaphysics, such as the examples she gives in her final section.

She does not address the question how and why the pre-Gödel verificationist turned into the open-minded advocate of “a distinctive metaphysical methodology” (p. 45). Still, she discerns three differences between the “early” and the “late” Carnap; the late Carnap, she says, unlike the early one: (1) “distinguishes between framework principles and other sentences”; (2) regards analyticity as a “framework-dependent concept”; and (3) “distinguishes between internal and external statements” rather than regarding any sentence as meaningless that can’t be verified (“or falsified”). The principle of tolerance, it seems, doesn’t enter into it in her view.

Actually, only the second of these distinguishes the earlier from the later Carnap, and that only marginally. Regarding (1), the Carnap of the Aufbau certainly distinguished the components of the constitution system itself (the basis plus logic, including quasi-analysis; these are what individuate constitution systems) from other sentences. And regarding (3), Carnap distinguishes in the Aufbau between “scientific” and “metaphysical” realism. Something is real in the “scientific” sense, Carnap defines, if it can be constituted in the Aufbau‘s constitution system; otherwise it’s metaphysical. This distinction obviously maps very closely onto its successor, the ESO distinction between internal and external statements or questions. Regarding (2), analyticity was certainly framework-dependent in the Aufbau (constitution-system-dependent), but in the text of the Aufbau itself, this is not made explicit, nor is there even implicitly any room for alternative logical and mathematical frameworks. Shortly after the Aufbau was published, though, Carnap made “analytic equivalence” (definability from the rules of the system) the basis of his “New Foundation of Logic” composed in Davos in early 1929 (see my book, pp. 196-203, with the background on the Allgemeine Axiomatik on pp. 191-6), and also used this new approach and terminology when Eino Kaila visited Vienna a few months later. Whereupon Kaila, in his 1930 book about the Vienna Circle — actually just about the Aufbau — organized his discussion of the book around “analytic equivalence,” to Carnap’s delight (Ch. 8 of my book). So Flocke’s (2) doesn’t really distinguish the early from the late Carnap, either.

The almost universal consensus about what distinguishes early from late Carnap is that it was something to do with the principle of tolerance. To which I would add the larger context of what I’ve called the “Carnapian linguistic turn” (to distinguish it from the Fregean one highlighted by Dummett), which began with the well-known “sleepless night” in January 1931 that resulted in the first sketch of the syntax idea, the “Versuch einer Metalogik,” in which Carnap gave up his series of efforts to fuse Hilbert and Wittgenstein and went entirely over to the Hilbert side. And since “meaning” was therefore no longer an issue, of course the critique of metaphysics had to change, since the diagnosis of “meaninglessness” no longer had any traction in the new program (intended initially as purely syntactic). Carnap pointed this out when he first presented his new idea to the Vienna Circle, in June of 1931, and suggested a new approach to the critique of metaphysics. Without yet having invented the terminology, he replaced the classification of metaphysics as “meaningless” with its classification as framed in the “material mode of speech” (inhaltliche Redeweise). Carnap was realistic enough to understand that ordinary language was committed to the material mode, though, and that the Vienna Circle was not going to change people’s ingrained speech habits, so the material mode wasn’t condemned outright — it was portrayed only as dangerously misleading, since it suggested that the meta-scientific items it referred to (such as numbers, or functions, or causes) amounted to more than just language. The criterion of acceptability became translatability into the formal mode of speech, where only linguistic artifacts are referred to (including those of the scientific object language), not (extra-linguistic) things. So the material mode was okay for everyday use provided everything was translatable into the formal mode.

With this new criterion the diagnosis of metaphysics as non-cognitive, in the Syntax, became a matter of classification rather than a claim that it lacked “meaning” and was therefore “nonsense.” But when a straightened form of “meaning” was reintroduced a few years later with Carnap’s embrace of Tarski’s semantics, there was no concerted reversion to the previous exclusion of metaphysics for reasons of meaninglessness. Carnap recognized that by the principle of tolerance he could not, on cognitive grounds, exclude ad-hoc frameworks for just about any metaphysical garbage anyone could dream up. He could still classify a lot of metaphysics as external to the generally accepted frameworks employed in mathematics and empirical science, as practiced in universities and research institutions — and therefore of no cognitive significance by those standards. But as the principle of tolerance had made explicit, anyone can construct any framework they like. So the emphasis shifted, as Cohen and Marschall point out, to the question of the value of an inquiry, and the value judgement that metaphysics has little or no value.

Flocke’s taxonomy of possible Carnapian reasons for rejecting metaphysics (whereby subject-matter and methodological reasons exhaust the possibility space) is therefore seriously incomplete. As we’ve just seen, it’s incomplete both with respect to the early Carnap and with respect to the later Carnap. The early Carnap began with a meaning-theoretical exclusion of metaphysics (as failing to meet a criterion of meaningfulness), then in 1931 moved to a classificatory demotion of metaphysics (as failing the test of translatability into the formal mode of speech), then after gradually assimilating the consequences of adopting the principle of tolerance in late 1932, the later Carnap eventually dropped explicit criteria of meaning and classification altogether (as far as metaphysics was concerned) and focused rather on the low (or negative) value of metaphysics. NB: None of these three successive stances vis-à-vis metaphysics concerns either the subject matter or the method of metaphysics.

The arguments Carnap gives for his value judgement about metaphysics in ESO are articulated as essentially utilitarian. In a stand-off between a realist and a nominalist about mathematical entities, he says:

I cannot think of any possible evidence that would be regarded as relevant by both philosophers, and therefore, if actually found, would decide the controversy or at least make one of the opposite theses more probable than the other. (To construe the numbers as classes or properties of the second level, according to the Frege-Russell method, does, of course, not solve the controversy, because the first philosopher would affirm and the second deny the existence of the system of classes or properties of the second level.) Therefore I feel compelled to regard the external question as a pseudo-question, until both parties to the controversy offer a common interpretation of the question as a cognitive question; this would involve an indication of possible evidence regarded as relevant by both sides. (ESO, p. 219)

The two sides can’t agree on a common standard for the appraisal of arguments for or against their respective positions, therefore both positions, neither internal to any framework acceptable to both, must be excluded as addressing an external pseudo-question. (Which just follows from the definitions.) The value judgement is based, in other words, on the pointlessness of comparing the relative merits of two positions if the holders of those positions can’t agree on what “merit” consists in. This can be interpreted as utilitarian in a narrow (Gradgrind-style) sense, i.e. people shouldn’t waste their time and mental resources on metaphysics rather than something socially useful and productive. That interpretation isn’t exactly wrong, but it is such a small part of the answer as to constitute a fundamental misunderstanding.

In fact, it’s not so distant from the — hostile — misunderstanding entertained by Horkheimer and Adorno about logical empiricism back in the 1930s. They saw Carnap & Co as trying to restrict human dreams and aspirations, so as to force them to conform with dominant social and scientific norms and keep them tame. Since the Frankfurt School rightly thought that unruly human dreams and aspirations need to go beyond what is, and try to imagine what could be, they saw metaphysics as an essential vehicle for the articulation of such aspirational visions. But this was exactly backwards. Carnap not only thought, like Wittgenstein (Investigations 118), that metaphysics failed in this role because it consisted of Luftgebäude (buildings in the air); his main objection to metaphysics was its authoritarian subordination of human aspirations, their imprisonment in a particular version of what is. It did the opposite of what Horkheimer and Adorno imagined it could achieve — by trying to put us in a cage of what really and ultimately is, in realms where humans are actually free to imagine and decide for themselves. (It’s sort of tragic that Adorno of all people set so much store by metaphysics in this aspirational role, since he was after all himself an artist — a composer and student of Alban Berg, as well as close musical collaborator with Thomas Mann on Doktor Faustus — and would have agreed entirely with Carnap that art was the superior vehicle for the articulation of transcendent aspirations.) It’s this positive aspect of Carnap’s conception that really mattered to him, and this aspect was the whole point of, and motivation for, the critique of metaphysics: the positive idea of liberation from authoritative versions of how things really are and forever have to be.

But, Flocke might object, current metaphysics isn’t the sort that Horkheimer and Adorno had in mind; metaphysics has become much more science-friendly and forward-looking. But the tendency of analytic metaphysics has precisely not been aspirational and imaginative of undreamt new possibilities; on the contrary, as Ladyman and Ross complain, its primary role has been to “domesticate” ideas in recent science that are utterly non-intuitive, i.e. to try to assimilate them somehow to familiar human intuitions, to tame them and render them less disturbing. Instead of utopian imagination we have reactionary conformity to the familiar.

Of the three examples Flocke gives for present-day metaphysics that she thinks would meet with Carnap’s approval, the first (Haslanger’s “ameliorative analysis”) doesn’t fall within what Carnap would have considered metaphysical — it’s just a case of explication. With a different goal from Carnap’s own projects of explication, to be sure (a goal of social progress rather than increased precision), but still basically just explication. Flocke’s other two examples (metaphysical grounding and Williamson’s “necessitism”) lie squarely within the philosophical kingdom of darkness that Carnap wanted to liberate us from. They try to use logical and conceptual tools to argue that the world is fundamentally a certain way, a certain way that in both those cases lies outside the boundaries of what any current science can say anything about. Not only, therefore, does it lie outside of what we can coherently say anything about in explicit language, Carnap would have said, but it tries to imprison us in somebody’s conception of how things have to be. Why would we voluntarily go along with that?

Bill Tait (1929-2024)

Of course it would have to happen that Bill Tait (William W. Tait, long-time philosophy professor at the University of Chicago) would die a few days after Howard Stein. Both of them would have found it hilarious. (Someone suggested to me that Howard might have said, “See, he can’t live without me!”) Bill was born a day later than Howard, and he never let anyone forget it. In their later years (for all I know, in their earlier years also), Bill was physically a lot fitter than Howard. While I was a graduate student, Howard always had to take his back support everywhere and generally came across as not in very good shape (though he also came across as an Old Testament prophet), while Bill was still mountain climbing and biking. As he would put it, “Howard’s a day older than me, and boy, that day really shows, doesn’t it?”

Continue reading

Howard Stein (1929-2024)

Howard Stein died ten days ago — I only just found out. I’m finding it hard to assimilate this information; I keep catching myself thinking that I must ask Howard about it. The idea that I won’t ever be able to ask him about anything ever again seems utterly outlandish. When I was driving him home to Hyde Park after dinner at the Sai Cafe in Lincoln Park, last August, it all seemed so familiar and well-worn and comfortable that it seemed it would just go on as before, decade after decade. How could it suddenly just end?

Continue reading

Reflections on St. Sylvester’s Eve (again)

From the obituary for Peter Strawson in the Guardian in 2006:

When his erstwhile tutor Paul Grice declared, “If you can’t put it in symbols, it’s not worth saying,” Strawson retorted: “If you can put it in symbols, it’s not worth saying.”

I actually agree with both of them, I think, though the versions of each I would go along with would insert an “often” or “usually” before “not worth saying.” Carnap, my philosophical grandfather (since Howard Stein, my Doktorvater, was a student of Carnap), would presumably have had more sympathy with Grice in this case than with Strawson (he said as much in his reply to Strawson in the Schilpp volume), but might also have agreed with his student Stein that there are things worth saying that, as Howard put it, can be “usefully vague” (by “vague” I assume he means something like “not amenable at the moment to any sort of formal or symbolic treatment”). He might also have added that the point wasn’t to put something into symbols but to make it more precise, that being “in symbols” is in itself no guarantee of precision, and that precision is (a) a matter of degree; (b) purpose-relative.

Continue reading

Frege a plagiarist? Really?

The subject of one of my diatribes got very worked up about my post alluding to her (without naming her) a couple of years ago, and wrote a detailed reply that is — justifiably — rude in response. It only came to my attention just now, hence this belated acknowledgement. Looking at my own post from this distance, I admit that I should not have speculated about her motives for claiming that Frege had “plagiarized” the Stoics. That was a mistake, and looks way ruder than I meant it to be. I should have figured out a more graceful transition from the example of her paper to the main point of the post.

(She also calls my post defamatory, though, and that seems disproportionate. The worst thing I accuse her of is — possibly — seeking attention, and she herself seems to think, in her reply to my post, that one possible motivation for pursuing an academic career is to seek attention. My post doesn’t link to her paper or even mention her name; the point of the post wasn’t her paper so much as my perennial gripe that philosophy, like so many of the traditional humanistic disciplines, is succumbing to the economics of attention. I thought her paper was an obvious example of that, but even if I was wrong, I doubt whether my opinion could count as defamatory, even in the more informal sense she probably had in mind.)

There remains a substantive difference, however, which her reply to my post serves to highlight. She says there “I do not accuse Frege of plagiarism. . . I just show that he plagiarized the Stoics. The title [“Frege plagiarized the Stoics”] is descriptive . . .” That claim, as I will now briefly argue, falls apart.

Continue reading

Carnap against analytic metaphysics

Wouter Cohen and Benjamin Marschall, two graduate students at Cambridge (one of my long-ago almae matres), have a terrific new paper in the latest issue of The Monist (the issue whose theme is “Against Metaphysical Grounding”), arguing that Carnap was not only — as everyone knows — against German idealism and the various metaphysical schools current in Germany between the wars (including the wilder and woolier outgrowths of phenomenology such as Heidegger), but would have been just as opposed to the current metaphysics emanating from analytic philosophers.

This might seem totally obvious, and not worth writing a paper about, but actually, if you look at analytic philosophy right now, not only is it once again in the grip of metaphysics, but many of those so gripped think their metaphysics is entirely reconcileable with some not-too-nitpicky version of logical empiricism, or of Carnap anyway. Theirs is a chastened metaphysics, they believe, and escapes the strictures pronounced back then. Many of those I’ve criticized on this blog, over the years, are of this persuasion, as are many I haven’t criticized. (Which means that being of this persuasion isn’t a sufficient condition to get yourself criticized on this blog.) Unfortunately, the situation isn’t very straightforward, though; there is no bright line separating the side of the angels from the dark side, and the toleration of analytic metaphysics ranges from zero to 100, with most people somewhere in the middle. So to explain why I think this new Cohen and Marschall paper is so terrific, I need to situate it in a larger picture of the place of metaphysics (and of Carnap) in current analytic philosophy.

Continue reading

Frameworks again: Eklund responds to Broughton

Matti Eklund has now replied to Gabriel Broughton’s critique of his conception of Carnapian frameworks. Broughton is more than capable of fending for himself, but in the course of addressing Broughton’s critique, Eklund also takes a little swipe at my post about it, so I’ll respond briefly to that. He accuses me (as he accuses Broughton) of having unfairly attributed to him what Broughton calls the “Natural language thesis: Carnapian frameworks are natural languages.” Now of course I’m very glad he wants to back away from that, and I’m glad he now thinks the “natural language thesis” absurd, but I think he’ll have trouble convincing anyone he didn’t hold it previously. In his own self-quotation on pp. 8-9 of his reply, he explicitly conceives of a Carnapian framework as a specific natural language (English). Still, it’s never too late for repentance; no soul is beyond redemption (the Carnap Blog adheres to a broadly Christian attitude in such matters).

Continue reading

Against social ontology

At first I thought the vogue for “social ontology” was just a pale reflection of the (ultimately Quine-inspired) revival of ontology over the past few decades in analytical philosophy more generally. But then just in the past ten or fifteen years, social ontology rather dramatically took on a life of its own. John Searle proclaimed, for instance, that “where the social sciences are concerned, social ontology is prior to methodology and theory.” (Imagine someone saying such things about physics — since Descartes, anyway!) This burst of enthusiasm reached its apogee in about 2015, I think it fair to say, with the launch of the Journal of Social Ontology and with Brian Epstein’s The Ant Trap: Rebuilding the Foundations of the Social Sciences, perhaps the most brazen attempt in recent memory to reclaim the Platonic mantle of philosopher king. Historians, economists, sociologists, and assorted others working in the trenches were told that (unbeknownst to them) their disciplines were in crisis, and could only be rescued if they jettisoned their “foundations” and accepted Epstein’s application of “the sophisticated toolkit of metaphysics” to understand what they were even talking about. (p. 9). That theories or questions of actual social science were left out of the picture (and the book) didn’t bother philosophers, who mostly reviewed The Ant Trap glowingly.

Now it’s certainly true that, as Ladyman and Ross very sternly and thoroughly pointed out, philosophers have also been doing this sort of thing with the ontology of the physical and biological sciences more generally. But they’re more careful there. They evidently think that the poor benighted social sciences need especially conscientious bossing around by wise philosophers. Philosophers of physics or biology take it for granted that they need to know something about the subject they are providing with the ontology the scientists themselves thoughtlessly omitted, and mostly accept that their ontological supplements can’t conflict with what the scientists think they’ve tentatively established. It would be considered childishly anthropomorphic to think that the philosopher in her armchair could think up a better set of basic concepts from scratch for, say, chemistry than the chemist in her lab. 

Epstein’s equally anthropomorphic efforts, though applauded by philosophers, did not go over so well with social scientists. His book was thoroughly eviscerated by Robert Sugden in the Journal of Economic Literature, who pointed out its complete irrelevance to anything in economics, and ended his review with a famous quotation from Neurath on the dispensability of “foundations.”

Continue reading

Mea culpa

Sean Morris’s new collection of papers on Carnap and Quine has now come out with CUP, and looks very interesting. I hope to comment on several different papers in it, if there is time, over the next couple of months. Right now I will comment on the first paper, by Sander Verhaegh, which meticulously documents the initial encounter between Carnap and Quine in Vienna and (mainly) Prague in 1932 and 1933. Verhaegh establishes without any doubt that I had got the timing of this initial encounter a bit wrong; I had thought, for some reason, that Quine’s recollection of eagerly reading the Syntax as it emerged from Ina’s typewriter referred to 1932, and thus to the first draft of the Syntax. This mistake was significant because Carnap arrived at his principle of tolerance after completing the first draft, sometime in late 1932 — the first appearance of this principle in print, it is generally agreed, was in the paper “Über Protokollsätze” published in Erkenntnis in late 1932 (Benson gives the date of 30 December 1932), a response to Neurath’s paper on the same subject. Verhaegh establishes that what Quine witnessed emerging from Ina’s typewriter wasn’t the first draft at all, it was the second draft (close but not identical to the final book).

This matters because I had occasionally invoked this inaccurate understanding of the chronology (in this blog and elsewhere) to explain how Quine could have missed the principle of tolerance. In his Harvard lectures on Carnap (published in Rick Creath’s Dear Carnap, Dear Van, 1990), the principle of tolerance is absent. Nor does it come up in any of Carnap’s notes on discussions with Quine, or in their correspondence during this period.

Continue reading

Disagreement about philosophical disagreement

Jared Warren fancies himself “the lone contemporary defender of conventionalism in logic and mathematics” (p. 343 of his book Shadows of Syntax, 2020). His notion of “conventionalism” is somewhat offbeat (see below), but even so, he exaggerates wildly.  

Warren goes out of his way to distance himself from Carnap, though admitting in asides that Carnap comes closer to his own “conventionalist” position than any other philosopher of the past. (I’m not so sure.) Carnap seems mostly (I haven’t read the whole book yet) to be portrayed as the garrulous old uncle who insists on boring us at dinner parties, and who may have got certain things right (perhaps by accident), but was too easily led astray by Neurath and other colorful personalities to be emulated as an inspiring forerunner. 

This affords Warren ample opportunities to rap Carnap over the knuckles and tell us what Carnap should have thought or written, to bring him into conformity with Warren’s own more consistent and better-informed version of “conventionalism.”  Warren does not, however, despite this frequent use of such normative language (addressed to Carnap), regard the question whether his own conventionalism is “correct” as a normative question. No, there is a fact of the matter about that; Warren is right, in his view, and everyone else is wrong. And yes, he means factually right! He has arrived at the “uniquely true and correct theory.”  

Continue reading
1 2 3 8