ESP: Is It Really Best?
Alberto Vanzo writes…
One of the mantras of our research team is: ESP is best. But is it?
As those of you who have been reading the blog for a while will know, we are not supporting Extra-Sensory Phenomena. We are claiming that we can make better sense of a number of episodes in the history of early modern thought by reading them in the light of the distinction between Experimental and Speculative Philosophy than in the light of the empiricism-rationalism distinction.
Keith Hutchison is less than convinced. If he is correct, we’d be better off putting away our early modern x-phi hats and start working on some other idea. Should we? We’d love to know what you think, so today I’m posting Keith’s comment along with a reply.
Keith says:
- Alberto’s paper told me something very helpful about the proposal to replace the RED [rationalism-empiricism distinction] with the ESP. For it is clear that Alberto interprets ‘experimentalism’ very widely, so widely indeed that he would count (say) the observational astronomy of the eighteenth-century as ‘experimental’. In fact, he seems to use the word to mean what I routinely call ‘empiricism’. Apparently there are two senses of ’empiricism’, one a very narrow conception endorsed by that coterie of historians of thought secluded within the halls of philosophy departments, and the other a more general one, as used widely within the thinking public. It is this second notion that the Otago team propose to call ‘experimentalism’. This seems to me a very dangerous practice, one that would generate much confusion if it spread. For it clashes with one of the key connotations of the word ‘experiment’, the idea that experiments constitute a special sub-class of empirical enquiries, those that involve an experimenter, who deliberately manipulates the entities under investigation. This is the way the word is used in modern English, and it is the way the word was used in seventeenth-century English – when such experimentalism became philosophically respectable. To start using it in a radically new sense, just to avoid a problem created by the way a tiny handful of writers have (mis-?)used the word ‘empirical’ is surely mischievous.
Keith is right when he points out that, in the expression “experimental philosophy”, the adjective “experimental” does not uniquely refer to experiments. But this is in line with seventeenth-century usage. When authors like Dunton (here) and Diderot (here), spoke of the experimental philosophy or the experimental method, they did not uniquely refer to experiments. They referred to a specific way of studying the nature of the world around us and our own human nature. To understand it, experimental philosophers claimed, we cannot rely on demonstrative reasonings from principles or hypotheses lacking a broad empirical support. Instead, we must make extensive and systematic recourse on experiments and observations.
When self-declared experimental philosophers studied the human mind, they were adamant that the observations on which they rely included introspection. Juan has showed this in a post on Reid. Indeed, although some early modern authors distinguished between experiments and observations, they performed the same role within Boyle’s or Hooke’s conception of knowledge acquisition. This is why German experimental philosophers could translate “experimental philosophy” as “observational philosophy”.
So as Keith points out, in the expression “experimental philosophy”, the term “experimental” has a broad meaning. However, this is not to say that the expression “experimental philosophy” is irremediably vague or identical to a broad notion of “empiricism”. First, the self-declared early modern experimental philosophers told us what the method of experimental philosophy was. Second, authors like Robert Boyle and Robert Hooke put that method in practice in their natural-philosophical work. Third, experimental philosophy can be seen as a movement that people adhered to: they stated that they were part of that movement; they endorsed its rhetoric; they identified with its heroes (e.g., Bacon) and attacked its foes (e.g., Aristotle). When we trace the history of early modern x-phi, we are not applying notions that we have first introduced. We are taking seriously their statements on how they were studying the nature of the world and of our mind, and seeing if it is possible to better understand what they were doing by placing them within the movement that they were actually involved in than by using either the vague or the more technical notions of empiricism that can be found in the literature.
So what do you think: is ESP best? Or are we on a wrong track?
Anik Waldow on ‘Jean Le Rond d’Alembert and the experimental philosophy’
Anik Waldow writes …
Peter Anstey’s essay “Jean Le Rond d’Alembert and the experimental philosophy” sets out to confirm his claim that the distinction between experimental philosophy and speculative philosophy “provided the dominant terms of reference for early modern philosophy before Kant” (p.1) by examining the Preliminary Discourse of the Encyclopédie. Anstey comes to the conclusion that d’Alembert, who identified metaphysical speculation as the reason why experimental science had “hardly progressed” (p.3), was highly influenced by Locke and clearly reflected Newton’s anti-hypothetical stance.
The paper contains two major lines of argument, which are interconnected but possess slightly different focuses. The first is concerned with the correction of our understanding of particular philosophers and their commitment to the experimental tradition of Locke, Boyle and Newton. The second intends to alter the way we approach the history of philosophy. In this context Peter’s discussion of d’Alembert amounts to a defense of a new conceptual scheme that ought to replace the rationalist/empiricist distinction, thus enabling us to correct our knowledge of early modern philosophy in general. I will merely focus here on the first of these two points, leaving my worries concerning Anstey’s suggestion that Newton’s own experimental practice is able to clearly demarcate the line between experimental and speculative natural philosophy for another occasion.
Much of Anstey’s essay hinges on the claim that d’Alembert’s own rational mechanics is not hostile to experimentalism, but “an extreme application of the new Newtonian mathematical method that came to predominate the manner in which the experimental philosophy was understood in the mid-eighteenth century.” (p. 12) Rational mechanics is a discipline committed to an a priori methodology that seems to be diametrically opposed to the inductive practice of the experimenter and her strict quantitative treatment of observable phenomena. And even though one may argue that experiments are in some restricted sense relevant to rational mechanics, it is clear that this discipline is not committed to the kind of “systematic collection of experiments and observations” (Preliminary Discourse to the Encyclopedia of Diderot, trans and intro. Richard N. Schwab, Chicago,1995, p.24) that d’Alembert regards as the defining feature of experimental physics. To identify d’Alembert as a defender of experimentalism therefore requires Anstey to show that there is no contradiction involved in practising rational mechanics, on the one hand, and defending Lockean experimentalism, on the other.
Anstey’s argument is convincing as long as natural philosophy is treated as a whole that is able to integrate various methodologies. In this form the argument makes a good case against the rigid dichotomies that the rationalist/empiricist distinction introduces, because it shows that we need not endorse what I call an ‘either-or conception’ of experimentalism: either we are experimenters and reject rational mechanics as a speculative discipline because of its detachment from observable phenomena; or we conceive of natural philosophy as a broadly mathematical enterprise and attack experimentalism for its lack of scientific rigour.
Having said that, however, I should like to raise the following question. How well supported is Anstey’s claim that d’Alembert believed that rational mechanics, and in particular demonstrative reasoning, was not merely compatible with experimentalism, but an integral part of it? The reason I ask this question is that we must distinguish between two positions: the first accepts demonstrative mathematics as a methodology in an area of natural philosophy that, strictly speaking, does not qualify as experimental in itself; the second endorses the claim that all natural philosophy ought to be experimental. Hence, the first position regards experimentalism as a specific branch of natural philosophy, while the second takes the whole of natural philosophy to be committed to the tenets of experimentalism.
By aligning d’Alembert’s own methodology with Newton’s mathematized experimentalism, Anstey suggests that d’Alembert was a proponent of the second position. However, I think that d’Alembert’s conception of rational mechanics as the queen among the various natural philosophical disciplines reveals him to be more inclined to the first position. In thinking of rational mechanics as taking the lead in the generation of natural philosophical knowledge, d’Alembert turns experimentalism (conceived as the systematic collection of experiments and observations) into no more than a useful addition to a natural philosophical practice firmly rested on a priori reasoning. Experimentalism is here appreciated only in so far as it is able to generate solutions to problems where rational mechanics can advance no further. Or slightly differently put, experimentalism is acknowledged for its usefulness, but far from being regarded as the discipline that gives the whole of natural philosophy its tone and direction.
In short, Anstey’s paper may have shown that d’Alembert sympathized with Lockean experimentalism. However, more needs to be said in order to clarify how it is possible to think of rational mechanics as a discipline that is, in and of itself, experimental in spirit. Otherwise it is hard to see why we should agree with Anstey’s claim that d’Alembert thought of the whole of natural philosophy as an essentially experimental discipline.
Images of Experimental Philosophy (and a request for help!)
Kirsten Walsh writes…
Over the last few weeks, we have been organizing a rare book exhibition* on the history of experimental philosophy. It has been a privilege to handle dozens of antique books such as a 2nd edition of Newton’s Principia, Bacon’s Opuscula and Kepler’s Epitome. One of the striking features of early modern books is their ornate frontispieces and detailed illustrations. They give the impression that publishers spent a lot of money to acquire and print these images. This got us thinking about what images really capture the spirit of the experimental philosophy. So this week, we thought we’d do a special post on images of experimental philosophy.
One of my favourite images is Wright’s 1768 ‘An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump’. It combines several aspects of the 18th century scientific pursuit: the experimenter as a ‘show man’, natural philosophy as ‘family entertainment’, and Boyle’s air pump centre stage. If you want to see some of the experiments that Wright’s subjects might have seen, have a look at the video on air pressure over at Discovering Science.
Wright (1768), 'An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump'
Another wonderful image is Stradanus’ (1580), ‘Lapis Polaris Magnes’, also known as ‘The Philosopher in his Chamber Studying a Lodestone’.
- “the scholar in his study is surrounded by the new instruments of navigation, drafting, and surveying. An armillary sphere, a compass, an octant, several books, and other measuring tools sit on the table at left. In the left foreground, a lodestone floats on a raft of wood in a wine cooler. The model galleon suspended from the ceiling contrasts to the single-masted, oared Mediterranean vessel that can be seen through the window. The juxtaposition of instruments and books on the scholar’s desk indicates the coming together of the hitherto generally separate traditions of practice and theory. Out of their union, the new experimental philosophy emerged.” (From Experience and Experiment in Early Modern Europe.)
Stradanus (1580), ‘Lapis Polaris Magnes’
Another gallon is represented in the frontispice of Bacon’s De augmentis. It has passed through the Pillars of Hercules, venturing into the unknown and increasing our knowledge. The line beneath the ship explains: “Many shall pass through and learning shall be increased” (“Multi pertransibunt & augebitur scientia”). How shall learning be increased? By overcoming a series of oppositions: between reason and experience (the motto at the top reads “Reason and Experience have been allied together”); between the visible world and the intelligible world (the two globes at the top); between science and philosophy (the two terms at the bottom of the pillars); and even between Oxford and Cambridge (“Oxonium” and “Cantabrigia”)!
Bacon (1640), 'De Augmentis Scientiarum'
The frontispiece to Voltaire’s (1738) Elemens is not a good representation of the experimental philosophy, but it is a lovely illustration. Voltaire sits at his desk, translating Newton’s Principia. Heavenly light seems to come from Newton himself, representing his divine inspiration. The light is reflected downwards to illuminate Voltaire’s work by Voltaire’s lover and muse Émilie du Châtelet (but it was really she who translated Principia and helped Voltaire to make sense of the work).
Voltaire (1738), 'Elemens de la philosophie de Neuton'
West’s (1816) painting depicts Benjamin Franklin’s famous (or infamous) kite experiment. In 1752, Franklin flew a kite in a storm to demonstrate that lightning is a form of electricity. He almost electrocuted himself!
- “As soon as any of the thunder clouds come over the kite, the pointed wire will draw the electric fire from them, and the kite, with all the twine, will be electrified, and the loose filaments of the twine, will stand out every way, and be attracted by an approaching finger. And when the rain has wetted the kite and twine, so that it can conduct the electric fire freely, you will find it stream out plentifully from the key on the approach of your knuckle. At this key the phial may be charged: and from electric fire thus obtained, spirits may be kindled, and all the other electric experiments be performed, which are usually done by the help of a rubbed glass globe or tube, and thereby the sameness of the electric matter with that of lightning completely demonstrated.” (Written by Benjamin Franklin to Peter Collinson, October 19, 1752.)
You can read more about Franklin’s work on electricity at Skulls in the Stars.
West (1816), 'Benjamin Franklin Drawing Electricity from the Sky'
Many of the books we looked at contain beautiful illustrations of instruments and experiments. These nicely capture the experimental natural philosophy.
Adams (1787), 'Essays on the Microscope'
Boyle (1744), 'The Works of the Honourable Robert Boyle in five volumes'
Hooke (1665), 'Micrographia'
Swanenburgh (1616) 'Comfortable Bones, the Skeletons of Adam and Eve'
But we claim that experimental philosophy went beyond natural philosophy. Are there any images that capture its wider application?
Finally, I couldn’t resist adding the burning arm chair, which has special significance for our team: it is at once both a nice image of the shift from speculative to experimental philosophy, and a nod to the local ‘scarfie’ (Otago undergraduate) population of Dunedin. A favourite pastime for scarfies, here in Dunedin, is to burn couches outside their houses!
Burning the proverbial 'Philosopher's Armchair'
We’re looking for an image for our exhibition poster, and we’d like your help. Have you seen an image that captures the spirit of early modern experimental philosophy? We’d love to hear from you. (We’re giving away a one-year subscription to our blog for the reader who provides the best image!)
*The exhibition will be at the Special Collections, Central Library, University of Otago in Dunedin. It will open in early July at the annual conference of the Australasian Association of Philosophy (AAP). So don’t forget to have a look at it, if you are coming to Dunedin in July. For those who cannot come, don’t miss the online version of the exhibition. We’ll be sure to let you know as soon as it is available.
Keith Hutchison on ‘De Gravitatione’ and Newton’s Mathematical Method
Keith Hutchison writes…
The core of Kirsten Walsh’s paper is a defence of her proposal that Newton’s De Gravitatione was composed after the publication of the new theory of colours (in 1672-3). Kirsten compares the methodology of the optical writings with that of De Grav. and notes that despite the similarity there are significant differences. Yet the methodology of De Grav. is effectively identical to that of the Principia, so is plausibly interpreted as the one preferred by Newton. So Newton would have displayed this methodology in the optical writings, Kirsten concludes, had De Grav. already been composed.
Isaac Newton, 1642-1727
Though I am (tentatively) happy with Kirsten’s observation that it is uncontroversial to see Newton’s Principia as deploying the methodology of De Grav., part of the reason for this is surely the fact that the discussion of methodology in De Grav. is so brief, and hardly exemplified in the actual science that Newton so fleetingly displays in his text. The little that we find in De Grav. does indeed seem concordant with much that happens in the Principia, but it is easy – too easy – to find agreement between a pair of texts if one of them is vague enough. Given that the identity between the two methodologies is so important to Kirsten’s case, she needs to find some way of sharpening this step of the argument.
She could, for instance, identify far more thoroughly the small differences between the methodology of the optical writings and that of De Grav. If each of these differences could be consistently found in the Principia as well, Kirsten would have a much better case, as long as there were not something about the optical investigations that required the alternative approach. Kirsten notes indeed, that Cohen has suggested that the Principia is primarily a mathematical investigation, but the optical work is overwhelmingly experimental. Cohen seems to be significantly wrong here, for investigations of the context of Newton’s treatment of chromatic aberration show that Newton originally dreamt of creating a mathematical science of colours – until he found that refraction was puzzlingly idiosyncratic, and so unlike the extremely orderly gravitational interaction that provided much of the mathematics of the Principia. But it remains true that the optical work is saturated with experiment, and it could be this that allows an earlier (?) De Grav. to seem more like the Principia.
Gideon Manning on the Origins of the Experimental/Speculative Distinction
Gideon Manning writes…
Having commented on Peter Anstey’s “The Origins of the Experimental-Speculative Distinction” at the recent symposium in Otago, I am pleased to share a much abbreviated and slightly revised version of my comments. I limit myself here to making two points. First, there is reason to believe the Experimental-Speculative Distinction (ESD) is not all it is cracked up to be. Second, the best place to look for what Peter has called the “pre-history” of ESD might be in the Scholastic distinction and distinct practice of general as opposed to particular physics.
1. Part of what motivates Peter’s interest in the Experimental-Speculative Distinction (ESD) is his belief that in just about every way it is superior to the post-Kantian Rationalism-Empiricism Distinction (RED). I agree that RED is no good – it’s an idealization and it’s imposed after the fact to tell a self-affirming story about how philosophy was waiting for Kant to come along. In addition, RED ignores all sorts of interesting characters in early modern philosophy (like Boyle) and further it ignores the shared doctrines between members of the supposedly opposed camps. Without wanting to defend RED, however, I do want to raise a red flag about ESD’s advantages. With the sole exception that the terms employed in ESD were used by many of the actors in the late seventeenth and eighteenth century, I see the same worries Peter identifies with RED coming up for ESD. Specifically, where RED over emphasizes epistemology ESD over emphasizes methodology; where RED admits to too many significations of “empiricism” and “rationalism” ESD admits to too many significations of “experiment” and “experimental”; where RED leaves a demarcation problem with figures like Boyle – and I would add Hobbes and Berkeley – ESD leaves a demarcation problem with figures like Huygens and Descartes. Put succinctly, the fact that ESD is an actor’s distinction does not mean it is not an idealization imposed to tell a self-affirming story.
2. In passing, Peter notes that Niccolò Cabeo’s commentary on Aristotle’s Meteorology (1646) uses the phrase “experimental philosophy / experimentalis philosophia”. I urge him to pursue this lead further. For, there was a Scholastic distinction between two approaches to natural philosophy found in Aristotle’s corpus: physica generalis and physica particularis. Physica generalis is exemplified by Aristotle’s Physics, where he defines the object of natural philosophy, notes the conditions for the possibility of any kind of motion or change, and identifies matter, form, privation and the four causes as the principles of nature. Physica particularis is exemplified by On Generation and Corruption and the fourth book of the Meteorology, where Aristotle defines the object of natural philosophy as corpus potentia sensibile, considers what the object of sense-perception is, and concludes that touch is the most fundamental of all the senses. Physica generalis is a metaphysical and theoretical or speculative approach to the study of nature since it is based on the conceptual analysis of the concept of a natural body. Physica particularis is an experimental approach to nature since it is based on an empirical analysis of what is or seems to be given in sense-perception, as Cabeo observed. Put succinctly, physica particularis was unquestionably experimental with its own experimental philosophy, so if the story of the “new science” and ESD represent a move away from the general to the particular and toward experimentation, we must look closely at physica particularis.
The case of Daniel Sennert further supports this suggestion. Sennert was aware of the two approaches to natural philosophy in Aristotle’s corpus and as he matured he grew, in Bill Newman’s words, “increasingly impatient with the traditional scholastic focus on the more theoretical side of Aristotle’s thought”. In fact, in Sennert’s late Hypomnemata physica (1636) he complains about traditional scholastic practice:
- I consider the chief cause of the imperfection of physics to be the fact that in previous centuries those who considered themselves particularly subtle consumed the greatest part of their life in those very general questions about the prime matter, form, privation, motion, and the like, and wore out their time in those disputations repeated so many times ad nauseam. Indeed they never considered the specifics from whose observation their principles should have been derived, or those specifics which should have provided the foundations of medicine and other disciplines…. And this to such a degree that so many wagon-fulls, practically, of commentaries on Aristotle’s books of general physics have been born, stuffed for the greatest part with questions that are not physical, but rather metaphysical, and often empty speculations. But very few are found who would read or comment on Aristotle’s Meteorology, Historia animalium, De partibus animalium, De generatione animalium, and De plantis. (Newman’s translation)
Sennert’s impatience with contemporary Aristotelians (and even his own earlier Aristotelianism) was tied to their preference for the general over the particular. In focusing on ESD and its history, I think Peter and his group are reminding us what Sennert and his followers knew; that physica particularis was where the action was in the early modern period.
From Experimental Philosophy to Empiricism: 20 Theses for Discussion
Before our recent symposium, we decided to imitate our early modern heroes by preparing a set of queries or articles of inquiry. They are a list of 20 claims that we are sharing with you below. They summarize what we take to be our main claims and findings so far in our study of early modern experimental philosophy and the genesis of empiricism.
After many posts on rather specific points, hopefully our 20 theses will give you an idea of the big picture within which all the topics we blog about fit together, from Baconian natural histories and optical experiments to moral inquiries or long-forgotten historians of philosophy.
Most importantly, we’d love to hear your thoughts! Do you find any of our claims unconvincing, inaccurate, or plainly wrong? Do let us know in the comments!
Is there some important piece of evidence that you’d like to point our attention to? Please get in touch!
Are you working on any of these areas and you’d like to share your thoughts? We’d like to hear from you (our contacts are listed here).
Would you like to know more on some of our 20 claims? Please tell us, we might write a post on that (or see if there’s anything hidden in the archives that may satisfy your curiosity).
Here are our articles, divided into six handy categories:
General
1. The distinction between experimental and speculative philosophy (ESD) provided the most widespread terms of reference for philosophy from the 1660s until Kant.
2. The ESD emerged in England in the late 1650s, and while a practical/speculative distinction in philosophy can be traced back to Aristotle, the ESD cannot be found in the late Renaissance or the early seventeenth century.
3. The main way in which the experimental philosophy was practised from the 1660s until the 1690s was according to the Baconian method of natural history.
4. The Baconian method of natural history fell into serious decline in the 1690s and is all but absent in the eighteenth century. The Baconian method of natural history was superseded by an approach to natural philosophy that emulated Newton’s mathematical experimental philosophy.
Newton
5. The ESD is operative in Newton’s early optical papers.
6. In his early optical papers, Newton’s use of queries represents both a Baconian influence and (conversely) a break with Baconian experimental philosophy.
7. While Newton’s anti-hypothetical stance was typical of Fellows of the early Royal Society and consistent with their methodology, his mathematisation of optics and claims to absolute certainty were not.
8. The development of Newton’s method from 1672 to 1687 appears to display a shift in emphasis from experiment to mathematics.
Scotland
9. Unlike natural philosophy, where a Baconian methodology was supplanted by a Newtonian one, moral philosophers borrowed their methods from both traditions. This is revealed in the range of different approaches to moral philosophy in the Scottish Enlightenment, approaches that were all unified under the banner of experimental philosophy.
10. Two distinctive features of the texts on moral philosophy in the Scottish Enlightenment are: first, the appeal to the experimental method; and second, the explicit rejection of conjectures and unfounded hypotheses.
11. Experimental philosophy provided learned societies (like the Aberdeen Philosophical Society and the Philosophical Society of Edinburgh) with an approach to knowledge that placed an emphasis on the practical outcomes of science.
France
12. The ESD is prominent in the methodological writings of the French philosophes associated with Diderot’s Encyclopédie project, including the writings of Condillac, d’Alembert, Helvétius and Diderot himself.
Germany
13. German philosophers in the first decades of the eighteenth century knew the main works of British experimental philosophers, including Boyle, Hooke, other members of the Royal Society, Locke, Newton, and the Newtonians.
14. Christian Wolff emphasized the importance of experiments and placed limitations on the use of hypotheses. Yet unlike British experimental philosophers, Wolff held that data collection and theory building are simultaneous and interdependent and he stressed the importance of a priori principles for natural philosophy.
15. Most German philosophers between 1770 and 1790 regarded themselves as experimental philosophers (in their terms, “observational philosophers”). They regarded experimental philosophy as a tradition initiated by Bacon, extended to the study of the mind by Locke, and developed by Hume and Reid.
16. Friends and foes of Kantian and post-Kantian philosophies in the 1780s and 1790s saw them as examples of speculative philosophy, in competition with the experimental tradition.
From Experimental Philosophy to Empiricism
17. Kant coined the now-standard epistemological definitions of empiricism and rationalism, but he did not regard them as purely epistemological positions. He saw them as comprehensive philosophical options, with a core rooted in epistemology and philosophy of mind and consequences for natural philosophy, metaphysics, and ethics.
18. Karl Leonhard Reinhold was the first philosopher to outline a schema for the interpretation of early modern philosophy based (a) on the opposition between Lockean empiricism (leading to Humean scepticism) and Leibnizian rationalism, and (b) Kant’s Critical synthesis of empiricism and rationalism.
19. Wilhelm Gottlieb Tennemann was the first historian to craft a detailed, historically accurate, and methodologically sophisticated history of early modern philosophy based on Reinhold’s schema. [Possibly with the exception of Johann Gottlieb Buhle.]
20. Tennemann’s direct and indirect influence is partially responsible for the popularity of the standard narratives of early modern philosophy based on the conflict between empiricism and rationalism.
That’s it for now. Come back next Monday for Gideon Manning‘s comments on the origins of the experimental-speculative distinction.
Gleanings from the symposium
Peter Anstey writes…
Two weeks ago about a dozen scholars assembled in Dunedin to discuss the nature and role of the distinction between experimental and speculative philosophy in early modern thought. The focus of our attention was a group of six pre-circulated papers on topics ranging from the origins of the experimental/speculative distinction (ESD) in the early seventeenth century to the emergence of the rationalism/empiricism distinction (RED) in the late eighteenth century. Two important issues arose that I would like to report on here. Both of them raise potential problems for the ESD. Let us examine them in turn.
The first is the issue of demarcation: just how different is the ESD from the RED? When push comes to shove, doesn’t the experimental philosophy really just collapse into empiricism? And isn’t speculative philosophy merely a rebranding of rationalism? Furthermore, given that the RED is so entrenched in early modern scholarship and philosophical pedagogy, there really must be some significant advantages that accrue to the ESD before philosophers of today abandon the RED in favour of the ESD.
The second issue is closely related to the first. It is the problem of classification: does the ESD really do a better job at classifying early modern philosophers than the RED? Is it not the case that Descartes, Spinoza and Leibniz end up being speculative philosophers and Locke, Berkeley and Hume are experimental philosophers? If the ESD categorises along the same fault-line as the RED what advantages accrue to the ESD on the issue of classification?
It is not enough to respond to these two issues by claiming that the great advantage of the ESD is that it is an actors’ category, that is, it is the very distinction that the early moderns themselves used. For, it may be that, in spite of its historical relevance, the RED has more explanatory power and pedagogical utility than the actors’ categories. What are needed are some concrete answers to the issues of demarcation and classification. Happily, I believe that such answers are not too difficult to find.
In response to the issue of demarcation, it is important to note that the early moderns developed the ESD as a means of characterising two very different methodologies in the acquisition of knowledge of nature. (Later it came to have wider application than natural philosophy and medicine, but we will ignore that development here.) As such, it was concerned with the nature and role of experiment, of instruments, of hypotheses, of demonstrative reasoning, and of the faculties of the mind, in the acquisition of knowledge of nature. The RED, by contrast, when it is given a clear definition, is almost always presented as a distinction between two very different theories of knowledge: rationalism being the acceptance of both innate ideas (and principles) and the efficacy of demonstrative reasoning based upon them, independent of experience; empiricism being the denial of innate ideas and the claim that all knowledge of the natural world derives from experience.
Therefore, the ESD encompasses some of the features of the RED, such as the role of demonstrative reasoning and the senses, but it embraces much more. As a result it has greater explanatory range. In particular, it enables us to account for the views of many who were not strictly philosophers (in the modern sense of the word) because it was developed in a period when disciplinary boundaries were quite different from today. For example, it enables us to give a clear and persuasive explanation of Newton’s attitude to hypotheses. It also enables us to explain why Thomas Sydenham was regarded as the archetypal Hippocratic physician. He was not a philosopher and certainly did not have a theory of knowledge, but he did promote most of the salient doctrines of the experimental philosophy in the late seventeenth century, such as decrying hypotheses and promoting natural histories of disease.
In response to the issue of classification, it is important to stress that the ESD was not developed with a view to classifying philosophers, natural philosophers or physicians, so it should not worry us if a philosopher does not fit into either category. It is also important to stress that so successful was the experimental philosophy that by the early eighteenth century the speculative philosopher became something of a straw man. Nevertheless, significant advantages do accrue to the ESD on the question of classification. First, some experimental philosophers were partial to innate ideas. One example is Robert Boyle, yet no one would want to classify him as a rationalist. Second, Thomas Hobbes has proven notoriously difficult to classify as either a rationalist or an empiricist. But given that he was openly opposed to the experimental philosophy, it is both natural and historically accurate to classify him as a speculative philosopher.
I conclude that a careful consideration of both the demarcation problem and the classification problem provides further reasons for accepting the superiority of the ESD. But not all are convinced. Stay tuned for Gideon Manning’s post on Monday in which he expresses reservations about some aspects of our project.
Should we call Newton a ‘Structural Realist’?
Kirsten Walsh writes…
At our symposium last week, someone wondered if we can characterise Newton as a ‘structural realist’. It is certainly anachronistic to attempt to interpret Newton’s epistemic stance in light of the present-day scientific realism debate. But the sin of anachronism may be forgiven, if it advances our understanding. So let us see what advantages this interpretation may provide.
Briefly, structural realism is the view that epistemically, a scientist should only commit herself to the mathematical or structural content of her theories, and remain sceptical about the unobservable entities posited by those theories.
To characterise Newton as a structural realist, one might make the following argument:
- P1. Newton is a realist about his theories, but not about his hypotheses.
P2. Newton’s theories make claims about theoretical structures, whereas his hypotheses make claims about unobservable theoretical entities.
C. Therefore, Newton is a realist about theoretical structures, but not about unobservable theoretical entities.
Firstly, consider Newton’s hypothesis/theory distinction. In a previous post I argued that Newton claims that his doctrine of light and colours is a theory, not a hypothesis, for three reasons:
- T1. It is certainly true, because it is supported by (or deduced from) experiment;
T2. It concerns the physical properties of light, rather than the nature of light; and
T3. It has testable consequences.
In contrast, he attaches no special epistemic merit to his corpuscular hypothesis because:
- H1. It is not certainly true, because it is not supported by experiment;
H2. It concerns the nature of light; and
H3. It has no testable consequences.
T1 and H1 support P1. They tell us that Newton is a realist about theories because they can be shown to be true on the basis of experiment. Moreover, he is not a realist about hypotheses because they cannot be shown to be true on the basis of experiment. This highlights an important feature of Newton’s methodology: Newton is only epistemically committed to those things that are demonstrated experimentally.
T2 and H2 appear to support P2, but only if the ‘entity/structure’ distinction maps onto Newton’s ‘nature/physical properties’ distinction. Prima facie, it does. While Newton probably wouldn’t have been comfortable with the entity/structure distinction, the structural realist debate is often framed in terms of the nature/physical properties distinction. For example, here’s how the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy describes the structural realist position:
- Structural realism is often characterised as the view that scientific theories tell us only about the form or structure of the unobservable world and not about its nature. This leaves open the question as to whether the natures of things are posited to be unknowable for some reason or eliminated altogether.
So it looks like the argument for characterising Newton as a structural realist is well-supported by Newton’s distinction between theory and hypothesis. But what do we gain by characterising Newton in this way?
Chris Smeenk recently pointed out to me in an email that the structural realist label identifies a distinctive feature of Newton’s methodology. Namely, that he is epistemically committed to his abstract mathematical structures. He is not an instrumentalist about his theories, but neither is he a realist about the nature of the phenomena they describe. This might shed some light on the optical debate of the early 1670s, for unlike his contemporaries, Newton does not think there is a contradiction in believing that his theory of light is true, while not committing himself to any particular doctrine regarding the nature of light.
Is this a large enough pay-off to warrant the offence of anachronism? What do you think?
In this brief post, I have only considered Newton’s attitudes to his own theories. There are other questions to be raised in connection with structural realism, for example, is Newton a structural realist about the history of science? In other words, what is Newton’s epistemic commitment to the theories of his predecessors? I shall leave this question for another time.
On another note, we were very pleased with how last week’s symposium went. We look forward to telling you all about it next Monday.
Lost in translation
Peter Anstey writes…
Sometimes our historiographical categories can so dominate the way we approach the texts of great dead philosophers that we project them onto the texts themselves. Unhappily this is all too common among historians of early modern philosophy who take as their terms of reference the distinction between rationalism and empiricism.
For example, Stephen Priest, in The British Empiricists (2nd ed. 2006, p. 8) claims:
- Although historians of philosophy claim that Kant invented the empiricist/rationalist distinction and retrospectively imposed it on his seventeenth- and eighteenth-century predecessors, this is a historical mistake. The distinction was explicitly drawn using the words “empiricists” and “rationalists” at least as early as 1607, when the British empiricist Francis Bacon (1561–1626) wrote: “Empiricists are like ants; they collect and put to use; but rationalists are like spiders; they spin threads out of themselves” and:
Those who have handled sciences have been either men of experiment or men of dogmas. The men of experiment are like the ant; they only collect and use; the reasoners resemble spiders, who make cobwebs out of their own substance.
[…] Leaving aside the use of the words “rationalism” and “empiricism” (or similar) the distinction between the two kinds of philosophy is as old as philosophy itself. It is true that many rationalist and empiricists do not describe themselves as rationalists or empiricists but that does not matter. Calling oneself “x” is neither necessary nor sufficient for being x.
However, a careful reading of Bacon’s Latin reveals that he is not using the Latin equivalents of ‘empiricists’ and ‘rationalists’, but rather empirici and rationales, terms that have quite different meanings in Bacon. For Bacon, the empirici are those who focus too much on observation and the works of their hands (New Organon, I, 117). Quacks who prescribe chemical remedies without any knowledge of medical theory are commonly called empirici and the term is usually a pejorative in the early seventeenth century (see De augmentis scientiarum, Bk IV, chapter 2). By contrast rationales are those who ‘wrench things various and commonplace from experience… and leave the rest to meditation and intellectual agitation’ (New Organon, I, 62).
Another example of projecting the rationalism/empiricism distinction onto a text is found in the recent English edition of Diderot’s Pensées sur l’interpretation de la nature. Diderot’s work contains a very interesting discussion of philosophical methodology. Article XXIII says,
- Nous avons distingué deux sortes de philosophies, l’expérimentale et la rationnelle.
The translation in the Clinamen Press (1999, p. 44) edition reads:
- We have identified two types of philosophy – one is empirical and the other rationalist.
But Diderot doesn’t contrast empirical with rationalist. Rather the contrast is between experimental philosophy (la philosophie expérimentale) and rational and the context makes it clear that rationnelle here is used to refer to what the English called speculative philosophers. The terminology and the content of Diderot’s discussion makes far more sense when read in the light of the experimental/speculative distinction. Yet this is lost in the English translation.
Having pointed out two examples of reading the traditional historiography into the texts themselves, I should like to end with a note of caution. Those of us who regard the experimental/speculative distinction as having more explanatory value than the traditional post-Kantian terms of reference also need to be aware that we too can fall into the same trap of reading the ESD into the texts under study and not allow the texts to speak for themselves.
Tennemann on Empiricism and Rationalism
Alberto Vanzo writes…
Wilhelm Gottlieb Tennemann was a very influential Kantian historian of philosophy. His textbook on the history of philosophy had five German editions. Its two English translations were reprinted throughout the nineteenth century. As a result, many of Tennemann’s judgements and historiographical classifications ended up being accepted, more or less consciously, by generations of students, philosophers, and historians.
One of Tennemann’s classifications that became standard is the distinction of most early modern philosophers into empiricists and rationalists (RED). Tennemann’s lists of early modern empiricists and rationalists are now standard. His reading of Hume as bringing Locke’s empiricism to its sceptical consequences, or of Kant as synthesizing empiricism and rationalism, are still widely accepted.
At the basis of Tennemann’ historiography is an outlook that few, if any, would agree with today. Tennemann asks: what should the history of philosophy be, over and above the history of ideas? He answers:
History of Philosophy […] can be neither history of philosophers, nor history of ideas [Philosopheme]. It includes both, but it subordinates them to a higher purpose and point of view. This is the exposition of the formation and development of philosophy as science.According to Tennemann, Kant laid the foundations for philosophy as science. Thanks to the Kantian revolution, we know the one true philosophy.
Kant did not create this true philosophy ex nihilo. Kantian philosophy is the crowning of endless attempts to develop a true science. It is the synthesis of the best insights of Kant’s predecessors. According to Tennemann, historians of philosophy should trace the gradual development of those insights from ancient Greece to their Kantian epilogue.
This Kantian stance has several interesting consequences. Let me focus on two of them.
1. Kant’s philosophy sharply distinguishes a priori questions belonging to metaphysics and (what we now call) epistemology from the empirical inquiries of natural science. It focuses on the former and leaves the latter to (what we now call) working scientists. Consistent with his intent to trace the ancestry of philosophy in the Kantian sense, Tennemann makes only passing remarks on the development of natural philosophy. He repeats several times that Descartes was mainly interested in natural philosophy. However, Tennemann’s Descartes comes across as the “philosopher of pure inquiry” because, for Tennemann, “pure inquiry” was the truly philosophical part of his thought – philosophical in Kant’s sense of the term.
2. A history of early modern philosophy can be organized on the basis of various criteria: chronological and geographical factors, actor categories like experimental philosophy, or later notions like those of empiricism and rationalism. What criteria are the best? Tennemann answers as follows. History of philosophy should describe reason’s progress towards Kantian philosophy. To this end, it is best to group early modern authors on the basis of their views on two typically Kantian themes: whether there are non-empirical concepts and whether we can have substantive a priori knowledge. The results of these groupings are Tennemann’s accounts of the evolution of empiricism and rationalism, converging in Kant’s final synthesis.
Tennemann is conscious that the results of this choice are somewhat arbitrary. While he places Berkeley between Locke and Hume in his parade of empiricist philosophers, he acknowledges that Berkeley was also influenced by the rationalists Descartes and Malebranche.
Since the early 1980s, the fact that Descartes was more interested in natural philosophy than in “pure inquiry”, or the affinities between Berkeley and Malebranche, are adduced to claim that the narratives of early modern philosophy based on the RED are broken-backed. Tennemann, probably the first historian to develop such a narrative in detail, openly acknowledged those facts. Yet he based his historiography on the RED nevertheless. This is because that distinction was the most functional to his views on what philosophy is and what its history should accomplish.
Tennemann’s case teaches us that no amount of detailed historical excavations or textual analyses will suffice to tell us whether we should accept the RED, reform it, or replace it with some other master narrative of early modern philosophy. To make such a choice, we should have clear ideas on what we should identify this philosophy that we are studying with, and on what we take our tasks as historians of philosophy to be. Tennemann gave fully explicit answers and he was coherent with them in developing a historiography based on the RED. How should we answer those questions?
