Joseph Agassi

The tu quoque argument is the argument that since in the end rationalism rests on an irrational choice of and commitment to rationality, rationalism is as irrational as any other commitment. Popper's and Polanyi's philosophies of science both accept the argument, and have on that account many similarities; yet Popper manages to remain a rationalist whereas Polanyi decided for an irrationalist version of rationalism. This is more marked in works of their respective followers, W. W. Bartley III and Thomas S. Kuhn. Bartley declares the rationalist's very openness to criticism open to criticism, in the hope of rendering Popper's critical rationalism quite comprehensive. Kuhn makes rationality depend on the existence of an accepted model for scientific research (paradigm), thus rendering Polanyi's view of the authority of scientific leadership a sine qua non for scientific progress. The question raised here is, in what sense is a rationalist committed to his rationality, or an irrationalist to his specific axiom ? The tradition views only the life?long commitment as real. Viewing rationality as experimental open?mindedness, we may consider a rationalist unable to retreat into any life?long commitment ? even commitment to science. In this way the logic of the tu quoque argument is made irrelevant: anyone able to face the choice between rationality and commitment is already beyond such a choice; it is one thing to be still naïve and another ? and paradoxical ? thing to return to one's naïveté

is an unusual phenomenon. The concern with rights different citizens have in different societies is legal rather than philosophical. It is frequently somewhat a technical matter for jurisprudence to decide exactly what rights a citizen has in a given situation and how he might best exercise his rights. Often, to be sure, the legal technicalities involve matters of principle, and if so these should be made explicit. For this, too, there is a need less for philosophy and more for jurisprudence, for detailed legal study. For example, the problems concerning interests of third parties - related to the questions of when is a third party an aggrieved person, so-called, and what are the rights of the aggrieved third party - have been taken up, in the sixties, by diverse federal courts of the United States, with the aim of increasing individual rights when these are encroached upon by public agencies.1 Although this may call for much philosophical commentary, it is clearly more a legal matter than a philosophical concern. Even the broadly philosophical question of rights within a legal system requires a greater degree of legal than philosophical considerations. Recently H.L.A. Hart, the foremost living legal philosopher, has cited Sir Henry Maine (1891) and William Warwick Buckland (1950) approvingly to support his view that even "Roman law never achieved a clear concept of a legal right." 2 It is not clear to a philosopher what "a clear concept of legal rights" might be, and a philosopher like Hannah Arendt never. concerned herself with this matter when she expressed her admiration for the rights of a Roman citizen to his privacy.3 Regardless of whether we admire or deplore this, we can agree that at least in principle a Roman citizen had more rights and prerogatives within his family than any modern civilized law would ever permit. A philosopher with only a modicum of sensitivity can say that although Rome was not a democracy, and even though in Rome the rights of women and children (not to mention slaves) were not recognized, the rights of citizens to privacy and to be free of the need ever to prove their innocence have nevertheless become the foundation stones of modern liberal individualistic democracy..

The context of a scientific theory can be epistemological and methodological. Or it car be metaphysical, relating to the intellectual framework within which we cast it. Or it can be intertheoretical, both synchronically and diachronically. My concern here will be mainly diachronical -- the historical context of quantum theory, what is required of it vis -a-vis that context and how well it fulfills this requirement. But I shall come to this only at the later part of this essay. I shall have to clear the 3round by discussing the epistemic and metaphysical contexts first.

Positivists identify science and certainty and in the name of the utter rationality of science deny that it rests on speculative presuppositions. The Logical Positivists took a step further and tried to show such presuppositions really no presuppositions at all but rather poorly worded sentences. Rules of sentence formation, however, rest on the presuppositions about the nature of language. This makes us unable to determine the status of mathematics, which is these days particularly irksome since this question is now-since Abraham Robinson-one that mathematicians cannot ignore. Since mathematics is the paradigm of a logical discourse, logic must offer a system adequate enough to serve mathematics. This fact makes it difficult to avoid making question-begging moves in both mathematics and logic. We must therefore view the rationality of logic as partial and hope it is stepwise improvable. The theory of rationality thus turns to be the major presupposition of logic, and one which has ample metaphysical background to it. The very supposition, basic to all logic, that language is divisible into form andcontent is under suspicion-mathematics perhaps belongs to neither.

An intuitive idea concerning degrees of precision is widely accepted, and it is that we increase precision of theories by paying attention to ever decreasing orders of magnitude of measurements which we incorporate in these theories. We increase precision of measuring or of predicting measurement of length, for instance, if we pay attention not only to centimeters but also to millimeters, microns, angstroms, and so on. And our theories are precise to centimeters, then to millimeters, and so on respectively. The idea is that increased precision is the process of capturing a point within nested intervals, and that this is reflected both in experimental and in theoretical progress. An intuitive analogy may be drawn with series of photos made by a camera which approaches the moon's surface. A corollary from this intuitive idea which has been stated by a number of writers is that observation reports and theories are not overthrown even when superseded by more accurate observation because within the limits of their own precision-range they are still valid. When a law in physics is stated, it is stated usually without such qualifications; but this is a mere matter of convenience, we are told. The idea is that a tacit proviso is understood and the law should be understood to be not the statement “such and such is the case” but the statement “within this and that limit of accuracy such and such is the case”; in such a formulation, the law, once verified, remains unshaken regardless of further progress in the field.

If the problem of induction were soluble, it should be solved inductively: by observing how scientists observe, etc. The fact is that scientific research is successful, and the real question is, will it be so in future? If there is a formula of induction by which success is achieved, then by this formula we can say, as long as it will be used science will succeed. If there is no formula it looks as if future success in scientific research is most doubtful. Hence, a transcendental argument for induction goes, there is an inductive formula. Since, however, such a view of induction is rejected even by inductivists as naive, the argument collapses. Hence the question is, on what basis do we project the future success of science? My answer is that this future success is built into our social institutions and is partially institutionally safeguarded.

The ills of psychiatry are currently diagnoses with the aid of deficient etiologies. The currently proposed prescriptions for psychiatry are practically impossible. The defective part of the profession is its leadership which in its very defensiveness sticks to the status quo, thereby owning the worst defects and impeding all possible cure. The current discussions of the matter are pretentious and thus woolly. The minimal requirement from the profession as a whole and from each of its individual members is that they be not defensive and clear. In this vein I offer here preliminary discussions of propriety, of responsibility and of science.

One of the questions that philosophers discuss is: How can we avoid, or at least reduce, errors when explaining the world? The skeptical answer to this question is: We cannot avoid errors since no statement is certain or even definitely plausible, but we can eliminate some past errors. This book advocates the skeptical position and discusses its practical applications in science, ethics, aesthetics, and politics. It brings philosophy down to earth and comprises an outline of a skeptical guide to the real world.

Error and Inference discusses Deborah Mayo’s theory that connects the reliability of science to scientific evidence. She sees it as an essential supplement to the negative principles of critical rationalism. She and Aris Spanos, her co-editor, declare that the discussions in the book amount to tremendous progress. Yet most contributors to the book misconstrue the Socratic character of critical rationalism because they ignore a principal tenet: criticism in and of itself comprises progress, and empirical refutation comprises learning from experience. Critical rationalism should be recommended in the critical spirit, not as dogma