Barry Allen

Indigenous cultures of North America confronted a problem of knowledge different from that of canonical European philosophy. The European problem is to identify and overcome obstacles to the perfection of knowledge as science, while the Indigenous problem is to conserve a legacy of practice fused with a territory. Complicating the difference is that one of these traditions violently colonized the other, and with colonization the Indigenous problem changes. The old problem of inter-generational stability cannot be separated from the post-colonial problem of sovereignty in the land where the knowledge makes sense. I differentiate the question of the value of knowledge (Part One), and its content (Part Two). The qualities these epistemologies favor define what I call ceremonial knowledge, that is, knowledge that sustains a ceremonial community. The question of content considers the interdisciplinary research of Indigenous and Traditional Ecological Knowledge, as well as the issue of epistemic decolonization.

The principal difference between Rorty’s pragmatism and that of Peirce, James, and Dewey is his commitment to the nominalism that Peirce identified as the Achilles heel of modern empiricism. In their different ways, Peirce, James, and Dewey sought to eliminate nominalism from empiricism. That is their “radical empiricism.” Rorty, by contrast, is impressed by the nominalism and anti-empiricism of post-war analytic philosophy, especially the work of Wilfrid Sellars, Donald Davidson, and Robert Brandom, and reverses the trenchant anti-nominalism of the classical pragmatists. The result is a pragmatism without much pragmatism though a lot of nominalism; an ironic pragmatism more ironic than pragmatic.

Dewey was a pragmatist, and pragmatism is an empiricism. I think Dewey would insist that his empirical orientation in the theory of knowledge is not independent of his democratic orientation in social philosophy. My contribution to the discussions of this volume pursues three questions. One is how Dewey saw the connection between empiricism and democracy. Another is whether there is a comparable empiricism in Chinese tradition. A third is whether ideas of knowledge and ideas of government are really as close as Dewey, American Pragmatism, and indeed Western philosophy as a tradition tend to assume they are.

A negative judgment (“S is not p”) says what is not the case, but since what is not the case is nothing and does not exist, a negative judgment says nothing, and is not a judgement at all. Wittgenstein called this “the mystery of negation.” By negation I can be right in what I say even though I say nothing at all. No less fastidious a logician than Rudolf Carnap sneered at philosophers who take such trifles seriously. Parmenides, the first of many who did, drew the conclusion that one simply cannot say or think what is not, admonishing followers, “Say and think only this, being is.” The challenge philosophers inherit from Parmenides is to explain an account of thought and being that liberates negation from its ontological prison and lets it loose into the world again. The price they usually pay for their explanation is metaphysical idealism. The truth of thinking (including thinking what is not) must depend on nothing but thinking itself, and the favorite way of explaining that is to identify being with thought. If I think it, truly think it, then it is. With Parmenides, Plato, Plotinus, and Hegel, this is also Kimhi’s position, though I find him too discreet about the idealistic quality of the philosophy he explains. To brutally summarize, the idea is that to think what is not is to think what is, with a self-consciousness of disagreement. There is no difference of content between “S” and “not-S”; the difference lies entirely in the self-consciousness we bring to it. That sounds fine until we ask, what is this self-consciousness, and what is happening when one becomes self-aware of agreement or disagreement? Is that a natural activity like respiration, or an evolved animal power like vision? Kimhi says the thinking in “S thinks that p” is an activity sui generis, without analogy in living nature, a conclusion that is not available to anyone who takes Darwin seriously. He says nature does not include thinkers or thinking, which places us somewhere beyond nature. Nature is a whole, but not the whole of being. And beyond nature is . . . what? We have to use our imagination. So much onto-psychology just for a puzzle about negation? Why not naturalize logic, and truth too? Kimhi acknowledges resistance to the putative uniqueness of thinking then sets it aside. He does not explain how his theory speaks to the reasons against idealism, rationalism, or androcentric human exceptionalness. These are serious challenges to philosophical practice that should not be ignored, not even by logicians.

Dewey watched the rise and fall of European fascism, writing about it many times in several contexts and venues. He analyzed its motives and its means, and was not sanguine that such a thing would never happen in the United States. Instead, he seemed to think the conditions were favorable, but also that there was still time for precautionary action. Dewey was enough of a Jeffersonian to think that democracy begins in neighborly communities. A democratic public has to be recreated each generation by individuals through collective acts of mutual recognition. No virtual community is an actual one. As in psychoanalysis, the presence of the other is not optional. Dewey expressed the faith that open communication, voluntary participation, and cooperative intelligence can adapt humanity to change without the wrenching regression to fascism. He thought that education was the point at which to build resistence to American fascism, and had a program for educators to implement. “When shall we realize,” he asked, “that in every school-building in the land a struggle is being waged against all that hems in and distorts human life?” Unfortunately, this is now realized, except by the wrong people, who undermine public education at every opportunity.

In this sweeping volume of comparative philosophy and intellectual history, Barry Allen reassesses the values of experience and experiment in European and world traditions. His work traces the history of empirical philosophy from its birth in Greek medicine to its emergence as a philosophy of modern science. He surveys medical empiricism, Aristotlean and Epicurean empiricism, the empiricism of Gassendi and Locke, logical empiricism, radical empiricism, transcendental empiricism, and varieties of anti-empiricism from Parmenides to Wilfrid Sellars. Throughout this extensive intellectual history, Allen builds an argument in three parts. A richly detailed account of history's empiricisms in Part One establishes a context in Part Two for reconsidering the work of the radical empiricists--William James, Henri Bergson, John Dewey, and Gilles Deleuze, each treated in a dedicated chapter. What is "radical" about them is their effort to return empiricism from epistemology to the ontology and natural philosophy where it began. In Part Three, Allen sets empirical philosophy in conversation with Chinese tradition, considering technological, scientific, medical, and alchemical sources, as well as selected Confucian, Daoist, and Mohist classics. The work shows how philosophical reflection on experience and a profound experimental practice coexist in traditional China with no interaction or even awareness of each other, slipping over each other instead of intertwining as they did in European history, a difference Allen attributes to a different understanding of the value of knowledge. Allen's book recovers empiricism's neglected, multi-textured contexts, and elucidates the enduring value of experience, to arrive at an idea of what is living and dead in philosophical empiricism.

This book tries to do two things that do not have much to do with each other. One is to excoriate the White Privilege that dominates academic philosophy in leading US university departments, and disallows the study of non-canonical philosophy, works from Chinese, Indian, Indigenous, or African traditions. “It is not real philosophy,” they say, with no apprehension about exposing blank ignorance of material they dismiss as unfit for their curricula. The other thing the book does is answer the blockheads of the US Republican Party, who mock higher education and see philosophy as the ultimate elitist improvidence, sometimes discreetly hiding their own graduate credentials, even in philosophy. Against academic philosophy’s White Privilege, Van Norden shows that non-canonical philosophy has arguments too, just like canonical texts, sometimes even better. Against Mario Rubio, Ben Carson, and their ilk, he argues that philosophy is good training, leads to good jobs, and is opposed only by hypocritical anti-elite elites who prefer the masses dumb and reserve elite education for their own.

The ideas of the late Donald Davidson are beginning to be appreciated beyond their origin in Analytic philosophy of language. Davidson doesn’t make appropriation easy. He was an Analytic philosopher’s philosopher, intricately technical, indifferent to questions outside a narrow specialization. As prose, Davidson is elegant, spare, subtle, and indirect. A great deal is left unsaid. If Quine were H. L. Mencken, Davidson would be Henry James. To follow the argument carefully, you need a course in logic, maybe more than one. The effort is worth it. It’s been a long time since there was a really new idea about truth. Philosophers have recycled between Plato and Protagoras for two thousand years. Davidson credits logician Alfred Tarski, but without Davidson the ideas would have been lost, for Tarski himself didn’t see the most important thing, and would have learned as much from Davidson as the rest of us have. Before Tarski it seemed inevitable to think of truth in terms of relations extending beyond language. With Tarski truth becomes an artifact of the logic of language. The only way to explain what it is for a sentence to be true is to show how it relates to an infinite set of other sentences. The account never strays from relations of language to language. The result is an idea of truth that’s as unconditional as any purist could ask for, yet supports no metaphysical interpretation. Instead, metaphysical ideas of truth stand exposed as extravagantly superfluous. Davidson’s question in these lectures is the point of is. What’s this particle doing in language? There’s no obvious answer. He decides that we never know exactly what is means because we never know what is true means. We would know both if only we knew what our language is, but we never will.

José Ortega y Gasset (1883-1955) is the most original philosophical voice in modern Spanish history. This posthumous work comprises lectures and seminars held in Madrid, 1929-1934. While Ortega was meeting with students, Spain was in turmoil. In 1931 the King was deposed; within a year of the last lecture, Spain had descended into civil war. Ortega made his classroom a refuge where philosophy would continue to be taught despite the barbarism swelling around them. Throughout his argument there are echoes of Dewey's pragmatism, Bergson's vitalism, and Heidegger's existential ontology, with anticipations of Wittgenstein and Foucault. In the end, though, Ortega is completely on his own — a subtle, erudite, urbane, Socratic philosopher, whose newly translated lectures on knowledge are a dionysian epistemology with constant reference to Cervantes.

What is it to enter a way of thought? No way of thought can be summarized. Translation is unreliable. Following a historical development is exhausting and remains external to the vitality of the thought. For Jullien, a way of thought can be entered effectively only by beginning to work with it, which for him means passing through it in order to learn how to question something beyond doubt. What we cannot imagine doubting may suddenly alter under the oblique effect of another way of thought that cannot share, or even imagine, our certainty. Jullien reads a single Chinese sentence, the beginning of the Yijing, or Book of Changes, “China’s oldest book.” He reads the sentence from close up and far away, literally and set into play with other inaugurations from Genesis and Hesiod. Yijing begins not with a word but a line. One unbroken line repeated six times. {—}. This sign has a name: {qian}, which Jullien translates “initiatory capacity.” The first line of the text is a commentary on the hexagram. It consists of four monosyllables, all equal, without tense, without subject or complement, making a complete series without hierarchy. {Yong heng li zhen} “Beginning expansion profit rectitude.” The sentence (it is a sentence) “opens widely but does not bump up against anything,” lacking passions we may think significance requires. Its subtle, almost irresistible power is to unfold the obvious and hold sway without seeming to constitute a point of view. Alluding to that other canonical commencement, Genesis, Jullien observes that the Chinese sentence includes humanity without singling us out. We are duly swept up in the “ten thousand things.” Where the biblical sentence sets a history in motion, the Chinese sentence discloses a regulating mechanism. Its beginning is not the rupture of a first day. Instead, it names an unfolding that occurs everywhere at every moment and never runs dry. China does not fit into the opposition of Greece and the Bible (“Athens or Jerusalem”). “Might these alternatives have been too hastily sealed?” A question that probably would not be felt as vital without the detour through China.

Andrew Saint is General Editor of the Survey of London. His book is a study of relations between these two professions since their modern emergence in Europe and the US. Relations between the two professions are complex and varied. Sometimes it is the Renaissance fantasy, where the architect designs a masterpiece, then hands it to the engineer to figure out how to make it. Sometimes engineers are part of the design process, working closely with architects from the beginning. Other times, engineers are doing the work we might expect architects to do, and producing buildings that continue to delight. The inventors of form may even belong to neither profession. Posterity remembers Eiffel as an engineer, though we more accurately think of him as a contractor-fabricator. There is more to the book than this descriptive history, though. Saint chronicles the rising tide of cant in the fond notion of the architect as Artist, with completely different skills and values from an engineer. An engineer is a technician, he makes things work. An architect is an artist, he make things beautiful. Any way you look at it, however, this dichotomy fails. In engineering, the invention of structure is, in part, aesthetic invention. Engineering forms are never calculated. There are calculations aplenty, but the form is not arrived at by calculation like a mathematical result. Engineering is a highly inventive practice, or can be. The invention of structure is just as “intuitive,” “irrational,” and “aesthetic” as anything in architecture. Then from the point of view of art, aesthetic accomplishment cannot be limited to design; it requires a work, and that it be well made. Le Corbusier tried to deny this and the result is revealing. For him the design is the architecturally important accomplish; the rest is just mechanics—an indifference to building that shows in all his work, which began to look shabby almost immediately. Inventive engineering has an aesthetic moment, and memorable architecture has a structural moment. Engineers must visualize and make aesthetic choices, and only architects who appreciate the work of engineering can take the invention of form to the limits of new technologies.

The drive of this book, without ever quite saying so, is to recommend Aristotle’s teaching on truth for contemporary thought. The book is more about concepts and arguments around truth than about truth per se. The explanation of the famous definition of truth, as saying of what is that it is, occupies a few pages. The rest of the book elucidates the vast subtext of this limpid passage. What must intellect be, what must speech be, what must beings be, for this saying of what is? The “correspondence theory of truth,” which textbooks routinely attribute to Aristotle, is repudiated. Correctness and accuracy are not the fundamental values of truth. They are byproducts of a more fundamental responsiveness to the way ..