In Dr. Alva Noë’s book Varieties of Presence, many important aspects of perception are discussed. He makes a convincing case that we achieve contact with the world through skill-based action. Our understanding of a new experience is a collective recurrence, both conscious and unconscious, of past experiences. It is a dense work that deserves the attention of other contemporaries who concern themselves with matters in cognitive science and philosophy of mind. Perhaps I will do a full review of this book at a later date, but for now I would like to focus on a matter addressed in the final chapter entitled “Ideology and the Third Realm” which takes an important departure from the philosophy of consciousness and neuroscience.
What this chapter does is something that every philosopher should do periodically: broadly revisits the fundamental importance of philosophy as it relates to the context of his work. I will be a bit more general than that since I am not “professional” philosopher. The role that philosophy plays in the world seems to constantly be changing. But is it? Perhaps it is only the popular understanding of what philosophy is that changes. I think that is, in part, the case, but it has more to do with the uses of philosophy. Some of those uses have remained constant since the beginning of recorded thought while others change by the minute. For this reason, it is impossible to pin down. But one need not pin it down. Philosophy exists to be used, and it is set of skills that will hopefully never become extinct. There is no dictionary definition that can sufficiently explain it, much less emphasize the field’s vital presence. I will give a general overview of the chapter but mainly share my thoughts about what philosophy is and why it is not only relevant, but necessary. Before I continue, I should define an important term which will be mentioned several times in this piece.
Q.E.D. (Latin) quod erat demonstrandum –Â meaning “which had to be proven”
Many people, in and out of academia, naively think that philosophy deals with questions that warrant a Q.E.D. response. When you take a philosophy course, you often have to write at least one argumentative essay where you choose a position of a philosopher who you have read, you attempt to prove him wrong, and then you attempt to formulate a complete view of your own by supporting evidence. This way of “doing philosophy” is popular in undergraduate, base-level courses. It helps you to develop reasoning skills that can be applied anywhere. This is important, no doubt, but this is not where philosophy ends. Why? First, writing is not even necessary for “doing philosophy”. The only thing that is necessary, I would argue, is thinking. Thinking must be assisted by reasoning, but this is only the start.
This does not imply that we should identify the philosopher as one who locks himself up in his ivory tower and speculates of a deluded, idealized world. To philosophize well, one must also be able to communicate his ideas in some way, and that will involve language, whether spoken or written. This is one reason philosophy courses are difficult: one must already have a certain level of reading, writing, and speaking proficiency to succeed. The full title of the final chapter of Noë’s book is “Ideology and the Third Realm (Or, a Short Essay on Knowing How to Philosophize)”. Since language is such a crucial part of this issue, I will begin by taking a language-based example from that chapter:
‘The King’s carriage is drawn by four horses’ is a statement about what?
a) the carriage;Â b) the horses;Â c) the concept it asserts;Â d) other
Immediately, one might think that the answer is ‘a) the carriage’. This seems completely logical, given how most of us understand language. ‘Carriage’ is the subject of the sentence, so any terms that follow should (theoretically) describe it. It is certainly not ‘b) the horses’ because that is the object receiving the action, and nor can the answer be ‘c) the concept it asserts’ because nine out of ten people in the room don’t know what the hell that means. Right? Good. It’s settled.
Gottlob Frege had other ideas. He thought that a statement about numbers is a statement about a concept. When we attempt to answer the question about the subject matter of the “king’s carriage” statement, we are speaking in conceptual terms. We are not using the statement to assert anything. So, the answer must be ‘c’. He gives more reasons for this, of course, and he makes us realize that there is a sense in which we become confused about what we mean when we say ‘The king’s carriage is drawn by four horses’. However, despite the piercing quality of Frege’s argument, we have a much stronger sense that we are unconvinced by his theory of language.
The problem with Frege’s claim, for most of us, seems to be that he had a preconception of the meaning of the statement ‘the king’s carriage is drawn by four horses’ before he was even asked the question. He had already established that any statement about a number, without exception, is a statement about a concept, so he was able to answer the question without thinking. The problem with our rejection of his claim is that we are doing exactly the same thing. We also answered without thinking. We held the preconception that every sentence is about its subject. This preconception is guided by the larger logical construction by which we understand language, and it is certainly no more correct than Frege’s view simply because nine out of ten people in the room agree that it is (that would be to commit ad populum). We take our theory of language for granted, and perhaps Frege takes his for granted too. There seems to be no Q.E.D. conclusion here. What we are all doing, if we become inflexible, if we stick to our answer to the question without sufficient evidence to support it, is committing what I call the ideological fallacy.
However, subscribing to ideologies is not always a fallacious thing. It is only when the ideology is applied in a dogmatic way that it becomes wrong. When an evangelical christian lives by Jesus’ principle, “love your enemies”, that can have very positive effects. It may minimize conflict in the person’s life. It may allow them to stand strong in the face of racial adversity. It may allow them to accept people more openly, and very often the favor will be returned. However, the favor is not always returned if the christian is careless and thoughtless. Despite his belief that he loves his enemies, participating in radical evangelical activism would invade on others and create more conflict, leaving his conception of “love” to be questioned. It takes Christianity out of context and misapplies it to the world in a negatively ideological way. There is nothing about the beliefs in themselves that are illogical, destructive, or even wrong. It is in how they are used will determine that. I will use another example. Evolutionary biology can study preserved skeletons of million-year-old homo erectus figures and learn about how we sapiens evolved three stages of evolution later. This could contribute to our understanding of how humans will continue to evolve (or devolve). However, evolutionary biology can only contribute a small piece to the puzzle of predicting the future of humankind. It needs influence from many other fields to even begin to solve any of its own problems. So, when Richard Dawkins uses the broad concept of evolution to attempt to disprove creationism in any one of its countless forms, he is taking his work out of context and applying it in a radical, dogmatic, negatively ideological way. There is nothing about evolutionary biology, as a field, that is wrong. It is a highly-useful method of inquiry. But there is still plenty we do not know about how humans have evolved. We generally just accept that they did with the minimal evidence that we have just as the evangelical accepts his own conception of loving his enemies based solely on Jesus’ teachings. In this case, both parties look equally silly.
Of course, the example above presents two extreme cases. Although we answer this “king’s carriage” question one way, Frege answers it in another, and we seem to have to agree to disagree, there is still a sense in which both sides think the issue is objective in nature and that it deserves further discussion. In order to have this discussion in a logical, respectful, open manner, we must become philosophers, and one may not need to go school to achieve this. Alva Noë wonders how we might categorize our dealing with the “king’s carriage” question. It is not in the realm of the material (e.g. biology), nor is it in the realm of belief (e.g. religion). It seems to be within some third realm. Noë begins to explain with this quote:
The point is not that Frege or we are entitled to be indifferent to what people say or would say in answer to such a questionnaire. The point is that whatever people say could be at most the beginning of our conversation, not its end; it would be the opportunity for philosophy, not the determination of the solution of a philosophical problem. (Noë, 173)
“at most…“, Noë says “(what other people say is) the beginning of our conversation… the opportunity for philosophy…” This is another reason philosophy is so difficult! At the very most, when our view stands in opposition to another, we may only have the opportunity to do philosophy. We rarely get there. When we do get there, two or more people are concerning themselves with the third realm of a problem. What is the third realm? It is the realm of possibilities with minimal influence from ideologies. It is abstractly objective yet, as I will explain later, not in the realm of matters Q.E.D.
Where is this third realm? Well, ‘where’ is the wrong question. Bertrand Russell once said of philosophy that it is “in the no-man’s land between science and religion” because it always seems to be under scrutiny from both sides. Perhaps, in some cases, this is correct. It can serve as a mediator between two extremes, but, on the surface, this only explains one of unlimited applications of philosophy.
Upon first reading or hearing Russell’s quote, one might be inclined to place philosophy in between science and religion because it deals with reason over belief (like science) and thought without quantifiable experimentation (like religion). This would be a shallow interpretation that lacks crucial insight. Russell was perhaps a bit too concise for the average interpreter. He did not mean, as I understand him, that philosophy is inside the space between science and religion. It has deeper implications which resonate with those of Noë (despite the fact that Russell was a logical positivist, and Noë is a phenomenologist, so they would probably have a duel for other reasons). Explaining philosophy has nothing to do with where we should fit it in relation to other fields. It has to do with how we can apply its skills, and in that way it is most unique. Those skills are skills of thought. Developing those skills first requires one to look inward, rid himself of bias, and then turn outward to consider all possibilities. This is still only the beginning. Once we achieve this skill of thought, what do we do with it? We continue to practice and improve it. How? The answer is simple, but the application seems, in some cases, impossible. We communicate.
We share our ideas with others who have, to some degree, developed the skill of clear thinking. Of course, communication, whether written, oral, or otherwise, is a practical skill in itself that will be developed naturally, mostly prior to but also simultaneously, alongside the skill of thinking. We tend to adapt our ability to communicate only to the situational extents that we need them, and that can be limiting. When doing philosophy, anyone can participate, but only to the extent that they can think clearly. Philosophy tests those limits, which is why both science and religion so often scrutinize it. Though they deal with subject matter that seems contradictory, (mechanistic) science and religion do have one general thing in common: dogmatic ideology. Philosophy, on the other hand, is perhaps the only field that dedicates the elimination of dogmatism as one of its primary goals.
Doing philosophy is not only about increasing the degree to which people can think, but about being open to different forms of thought as well. What is fortunate in this regard is that each person in the conversation, if one is to find himself in such a conversation, has probably achieved their skill of thought through different means. For example:
There may be one who developed his thinking through philosophy itself, who rigorously studied informal logic to learn how not to commit errors in reasoning. He also may be able to contribute history of thought to the conversation and explain why certain schools of thought are obsolete in academic philosophy. There might also be a more scientifically-minded person who, in a graduate school lab, performed the same experiment under the same conditions hundreds of times, but got variable results. He questioned why this was happening (if the laws of physics are supposed to be constant), so he turned his research to the inconsistencies and realized that uncertainty transcends mathematical equations. He is now able to think more broadly about his work. There might also be a Buddhist in the group who practices intensive meditation. He can turn off influence from his sensory world and walk on hot coals without getting burned, or he can submerge himself into freezing-cold water without catching hypothermia. He is able to clear his mind from all unnecessary matter. Each person achieves the same thing – to think clearly, skeptically, critically – through different means. They each learn from one another and gain a broad range of insights.
Also, and perhaps most importantly, each person in the conversation should be genuinely interested in learning new perspectives in order to improve their own points of view. There is a sense in which someone may have achieved access to the third realm of conversation to a lesser degree than the others, and at a deeper point in the discussion, he gets flustered and has to back out. This is perfectly fine as long as he does back out, at least until his temper cools (if he does not back out, he will disrupt the conversation). He has pushed his boundaries of clear thinking to a level that the others have not, and that can be a very constructive or destructive thing, depending on his mindset. But it is vital that all parties directly involved maintain self-preservation throughout the conversation. If there are any unsettled nerves, it is almost certain that at least one participant is not being genuine, but rather, is too outwardly focused and is perhaps ultimately trying too hard to prove himself right or the others wrong. Although they might seem to contribute insight to the conversation, they will inevitably expose themselves as operating from within an ideology, thereby rendering themselves a nuisance. Philosophy is no activity for the pretentious or egocentric, contrary to popular belief. In fact, the absolute contrary is the case.
Do any philosophical questions warrant a Q.E.D. response? (Does philosophy ever prove anything?)
No. In case this is not already clear, there are, in a sense, no “philosophical questions”. There are only philosophical approaches to questions. Approaching the third realm of a problem requires one to be, as stated earlier, abstractly objective (or perhaps objectively abstract). There are limits to how objective one can be, no doubt, but the aim of advancing thought is to learn more and more about the world and how those in it think, so we can improve on that, both individually and collectively. It exposes dogmatism and reveals the sheer grey-ness in any concrete matter. Need I give examples as to when this might be useful? I challenge anyone to give an example of when it is not, and thereby present an opportunity for doing philosophy! This is why philosophy is so widely-applicable.
To draw an analogy – toward the end of Noë’s final chapter, he mentions Immanuel Kant’s aesthetic view that the reality of one’s response to a work of art is based in feeling – it is not contingent on his ability to explain it. Similarly, Clive Bell described a “peculiar aesthetic emotion” that must (first) be present in something for it to be considered art. It is that feeling you get when you listen to a beautiful composition, watch a film that evokes tears, or look at Picasso’s Guernica after you have heard the gruesome story behind the painting. I had experienced this aesthetic emotion many times, but it was my former professor at the University of New Orleans, Rob Stufflebeam, who, whether he intended to or not, led me to realize that all of those experiences involved the same exact emotional response. Perhaps only for those who have experienced it, it is certainly something that need not, and often cannot be explained.
Likewise, a philosophical approach to a problem is, instead of an emotional experience as with art, at its very best, an all-encompassing intellectual experience. It is not a heated argument, nor is it even a controlled debate. It is a respectful, open-ended discussion about ideas between two or more people in an intimate setting. It raises the awareness of each involved to a broad level of skepticism that, perhaps very strangely, brings with it an aura of contentment. It is obviously not the same feeling one gets with the peculiar aesthetic emotion, but it is parallel in the sense that when you are part of it, you really know. That reality seems to transcend explanation.
Final Thoughts
Alva Noë has developed this idea about perception: “The world shows up for us, but not for free. We achieve access to it through skill-based action.” It is a combination of developing our conceptual and practical skills that allows us to understand the world and live in it. Achieving access to the third realm of a question, as I would consider it, is one of those countless skills. It comes more easily for some than for others. Just as one person might naturally have ideal physiological makeup for learning how to swim (lean, broad shoulders, webbed feet, etc.), another person’s brain might seem to be better wired for clear thinking. Everyone, to some degree, with the proper amount of training, can swim. Likewise, everyone can, with practice, think clearly. The more one practices by looking inward, ridding himself of bias, and working up the courage to subject himself to critique, the more he can contribute to the conversation in his own unique way. How much one wants to participate is solely up to him, but to not participate at all is to miss out on a hugely important (and my personal favorite) part of the human experience.
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