Some Quick Thoughts on Different Functions of Knowledge and Philosophy of Mind

Two things.

One is a question I am now able to ask more precisely because of a distinction I've made. The other is an answer that I've tentatively arrived at.

I can now put my concerns about natural science more precisely. My concern with science stems from the fact that all knowledge functions in two ways. 1. As a more or less empirically true statement. 2. As a narrative that enables and encourages certain practices. We tend to focus on the former element of knowledge. We think that truth, empirical accuracy, reproducibility, all that good stuff, is the essence of knowledge or truth. But we don't as frequently ask ourselves, 'what are the consequences of using this empirical truth as a metaphor or narrative that governs my actions?'

Two examples of these different aspects of knowledge.

The first: social darwinism. When folks were talking about social darwinism they were operating on good empiricism, clear reasoning, some evidence, etc.. I'm sure it seemed like a viable explanation of how the world worked. Empirically, it was legitimate. As a narrative, however, social darwinism enabled a lot of really bad things to happen. It allowed people to justify manipulative behavior, 'dog eat dog' attitude, social engineering, and general cruelty or lack of empathy. Social darwinism has turned out, empirically, to be not the only truth about humans or nature. We are also compassionate, loving, caring creatures. Many creatures can be, it turns out. Social darwinism is an instance in which an empirically grounded truth had serious consequences as a narrative that governed behavior. And those two things are a bit separate.

It seems like things move from a natural is to a social should.

Second example: the brain. Yes, I am probably my brain. I don't doubt that everything I do comes out of that blob of meat. Empirically, very true. But, the real question I have is about the brain as a metaphor or narrative: What kinds of behaviors are encouraged by this idea that everything we do is the result of chemical or biological process that is largely mechanistic? My concern is that when we apply mechanistic metaphors and explanations to ourselves, as natural science encourages, we run the risk of behaving mechanistically.

These questions of mine are all related to Roger Smith's work on the concept of narrative self-creation, the idea that we can become something simply by telling a story in which that is what we are. Being Human is an excellent book and I highly recommend it to anyone interested in the philosophy of history, science, or mind.

The second point I'd like to note is an answer that I have arrived at about contemporary attempts to ground philosophy of mind in cognitive and neuroscience.

I have this suspicion that what is called philosophy of mind isn't actually talking about minds at all.

I don't think contemporary philosophy of mind  answers the question, What is the mind?

I think contemporary philosophy of mind is answering the question, What makes the mind possible?

Because when you tell me about neurons and all the things that make the mind possible you haven't actually told me anything about actual minds. You haven't told me what a mind is, you've merely told me the conditions that make mind possible.

This answer, I should be careful to say, is not small potatoes. What makes the mind possible is a profoundly important question and I am forever indebted to the work of psychologists and philosophers of mind who partake in the natural sciences.

My point is that we should think clearly about what questions we are answering with the kind of work going on in philosophy of mind.

If we want to answer the question, what is the mind?, we need to study history. Because mind is, as Collingwood knew, only what it does. There is no human mind, in its perfect essence, out there somewhere. This is consistent, too, with Deleuze's materialism. As Delanda says, Deleuze's real accomplishment was to create a materialism without essences, one in which we see reality as a constant changing flow. In that case, everything is pure process, there is no such thing as a state. Regularities are only temporary manifestations, which will break down into irregularities if given enough time.

The implications for the study of mind are clearer to me now: mind can only be what  mind has done. Mind, then, can only be known through history. What psychology, neuroscience, and philosophy of mind can tell us is the conditions in which mental activity becomes possible. What history can tell us is what a mind actually is, what our own minds actually are.

Philosophy of Mind Without the Brain

As Collingwood so aptly observes, mind rendered in the language of natural science ceases to be mind. Indeed, the scientific commitment to reductionist analysis ensures that mind cannot be discussed as mind; it can only be discussed as brain, as chemical process, as matter.

What is the price of reductionist analysis? According to Mr. Allan Bloom, the price is the complexity and ambiguity of our inner life. Scientific analysis always involves the exclusion of certain elements of experience. As Winchester notes, taste, smell, color, and any other element of experience that can be written off as ‘subjective’, is necessarily ignored in scientific analysis. Clear thinking is inherently Procrustean. We cut the edges off of reality in order to think about it more precisely. Concepts come at the expense of reality’s complexity.

Nowhere is it more important to overcome the Procrustean tendencies of thought, however, than in the study of mind. The human mind is unique in that its pre-reflective experiences can be altered by the introduction of new ideas: the stories we tell are the lenses through which we experience the world. We are responsible for our own narrative self-creation.

To speak of the self as a brain, which necessarily involves ignoring certain parts of the mind, is to impoverish our experiences. If the stories we tell about ourselves leave no room for ambiguity, uncertainty, or powerfully confusing emotions, then those things will not register in our experience in all their clarity and vibrancy.

What I am insisting, then, is that we need a language that can both accurately describe mind, and help us preserve and amplify our experience of it.

There is such a thing as a philosophy of mind without the brain: it belongs to the humanities. It belongs to novelists, historians, poets, and philosophers (of certain kinds). This is the sentiment Bloom so clearly expresses in Love and Friendship. It is truly a tragedy, he claims, that psychology has been denied to the novelists and monopolized by the natural scientists.

I can think of no task more important to me than preserving the complexity of the human experience by developing a language that does it justice. This is the business of history and philosophy: to speak of mind in a way that maximizes the possibilities of mind, to use language as “a machine that continually amplifies the emotions,” as Flaubert would have it.

Flaubert, Taleb, Bergson

I want to write an essay on Flaubert, Taleb, and Bergson.

Flaubert, for me, represents the problem of self-deception. In Madame Bovary I experienced many characters that were so wrapped up in a rigid narrative that they were incapable of dealing with reality. Charles is so wrapped up in using science and medicine as a way to ignore the difficulties of reality. Madame Bovary, on the other hand, is so wrapped up in Romantic language and literature that she can't perceive clearly past it anymore.

Taleb, I think, offers a language in which we can precisely render this problem of self-deception. Viewing the world as Charles and Emma do, he would say, is a procrustean problem: it comes from the desire to fit the messiness of reality to the cleanliness our ideas, rather than to tailor our ideas to the nuance of reality.

Bergson, however, offers a view of knowledge in which we do not have to cut the edges off of reality for the sake of our ideas. Bergson's concept of intuition allows us to appreciate reality in all of its ineffability, hopefully avoiding modern procrustean tendencies.

I think it would be a wonderfully exciting piece of writing for me to do.

It addresses many things that I'm currently interested in. Obviously, three things. Self-deception, the relationship between ideas and reality, and the distinction between knowing from the inside versus the outside (the former obviously belonging to empathy/simulation, the latter obviously belonging to science/analysis).