Saturday, January 29, 2011

I came across this article in the New Yorker and it made me think about the distinctions between science, art, and philosophy that we've been talking about.

From the article:
Such anomalies demonstrate the slipperiness of empiricism. Although many scientific ideas generate conflicting results and suffer from falling effect sizes, they continue to get cited in the textbooks and drive standard medical practice. Why? Because these ideas seem true. Because they make sense. Because we can’t bear to let them go. And this is why the decline effect is so troubling. Not because it reveals the human fallibility of science, in which data are tweaked and beliefs shape perceptions. (Such shortcomings aren’t surprising, at least for scientists.) And not because it reveals that many of our most exciting theories are fleeting fads and will soon be rejected. (That idea has been around since Thomas Kuhn.) The decline effect is troubling because it reminds us how difficult it is to prove anything. We like to pretend that our experiments define the truth for us. But that’s often not the case. Just because an idea is true doesn’t mean it can be proved. And just because an idea can be proved doesn’t mean it’s true. When the experiments are done, we still have to choose what to believe.

I Hate Reading Philosophy

I hate reading philosophy, it's true.  But I do enjoy talking about it.  It makes me think that Socrates was onto something, and that philosophy is fundamentally discursive.  While Deleuze and Guattari have noted otherwise, that the real work of philosophy is a solitary activity, I think it quite obvious that if no new concepts are birthed by discussion, they are at least carried to term.  But there is another reason I don't like reading philosophy, and that's because it's just so difficult to understand.  The text seems opaque to me sometimes, and I have to wait for class time to get a clear picture of what exactly the author was talking about.  That's what I want to reflect on for a bit.

We've all noticed how difficult it can be to follow the course of this book, and I've had to fight not to accuse Deleuze and Guattari of obscurantism.  This claim is unmerited, because as the two men are attempting to articulate a new concept they bump up against the limitations of language and have to fumble a bit to get their point across.  Even then, I feel more than understand what they're trying to say sometimes.   And in my other class we're grappling with Whitehead, not himself the master of lucid prose.

I was saying yesterday that it's difficult for me to relate Whitehead's concepts to another person using different words, and the same is true of Deleuze and Guattari's concepts.  Planes, zones, neighborhoods, conceptual personae--I feel that trying to describe these things in terms of other things will always only yield a "not quite." "Why can't they just explain what they mean in more simple terms?" I shout irritatedly.  But what if they can't?  Which makes me wonder about the relationship between concept and language. 

Let's imagine that concepts are islands in a vast ocean, and words are the bridges that we have built to travel between these islands.  According to D and G, there are new islands rising out of the ocean (the plane of immanence?) all the time, and it seems as if it just takes time for us to build language-bridges connecting these new islands to other, more familiar ones.  Like Whitehead, Deleuze and Guattari are nominally creating brand new islands.  And until the water settles and we've mapped out a path using the looking-glass of metaphor, these new concept-islands are going to exist in solitude.  We can't get there, as it were, because they have yet to be related to anything other than themselves.  We can only look from afar and say, "That's what it seems like from here." Like a dictionary to someone who doesn't know a word of English, the concept is completely cohesive and absolutely self-contained.  One can get around perfectly well within it, but one cannot yet move in from outside.   

So in a sense it's no wonder philosophy is hard to read.  We are exploring uncharted islands, without the comforts of the well-traveled linguistic roads we are used to.  It cannot yet be reduced, cannot be interconnected with our mental picture of the world, except by great struggle to build bridges.  That's where discussion comes in, I think.  Even if philosophy is creating concepts, and all of these concepts are "signed" and solitary, it is the dialogic encounter that enables us to connect ourselves with the concepts we create. 

The Philosopher

Deleuze and Guattari define philosophy as “the art of forming, inventing, and fabricating concepts” (2). The concept, according to D and G, is knowledge of a pure event, which involves the space, time, matter, and thought of each happening (33). Every concept has a unique history and entails a “becoming,” which allows the concept to connect with other, similar concepts (18). Concepts populate the plane of immanence, or “the image of thought” within each individual, and are threatened by the illusions that hinder thinking: stupidity, forgetfulness, aphasia, delirium, and madness (52). D and G explain that a concept needs either a specific problem or junction of problems in order for it to replace the concepts that have already been created. D and G further discuss what philosophy is not: contemplation, reflection, or communication. Philosophy cannot be contemplation because contemplation is seen within the creation of concept. Similarly, philosophy is not reflection because an individual does not need philosophy to reflect. Furthermore, communication merely creates “consensus” among individuals (rather than concepts), which means that philosophy cannot be communication (6). D and G believe that individuals are incapable of talking about the same topics during a discussion and the communicators are often driven by ressentiment, which involves criticism rather than creation. “Philosophy has a horror of discussions” (29).
At first glance, D and G seem to provide the tools and knowledge necessary for an individual to become a true “friend of wisdom.” After reviewing the text, however, it appears that the individual’s path to philosophy is harder than initially thought. Although D and G explain that philosophy involves creating the concept, there is an aspect of the concept not under the individual’s control; the concept appears to the philosopher. This idea implies that the philosopher must first put himself in such a situation so that a concept is able to reveal itself. A philosopher must educate himself in the ways of the world in order to understand the concepts that have already been created and to avoid stupidity and forgetfulness. He must also have the capacity to use his mind without the influence mental illnesses and substances that distort the use of reason. After an individual has placed himself in such a position, it is still unclear whether or not he will become the means for the creation of a particular concept. The development of an individual and the personal experiences available to him would greatly influence his ability to “create.” Without the specific knowledge of prior concepts, an individual can neither form nor fabricate new concepts. Furthermore, the philosopher is unable to receive proper help from his mental ability or the social arena; philosophy does not begin with contemplation, reflection or communication. What does this mean for the individual’s who aspire to become philosophers? Must they be in such a position for the concept to come to them, or are there other avenues for becoming a “lover” of wisdom?

Confusion of the Arts

Having always been a visual learner, the idea of the concept has been difficult for me to grasp. The reference to abstract ideas or the inability to associate the term concept to other ideas creates a difficulty to fully comprehend what Deleuze and Guattari are proposing. It is becoming clearer and clearer that the only way to obtain or understand this new way of thinking about the concept is to put away the biases that I have always associated to the term. This idea is furthered with the discussion or the failure of communication that has always been associated within philosophy. So far, we have looked at what concepts are according to Deleuze and Guattari. Throughout the book there have been many references or paragraphs that try to reiterate what “a concept is ______.” These depictions are helpful, but overwhelming. To show what a concept is not, science nor art, and its uniqueness to philosophy may help to solidify a better understanding of a concept. I also want to draw attention to the realm of the arts. It is becoming more clear how science is distinctly different from philosophy, but arts seems to have some overlaps within philosophy.
D and G purpose that there are no concepts in the realm of science. This is assumed because, “science extracts prospects (propositions that must not be confused with judgments).” Science utilizes the same components of knowledge, but the concepts that are used are different from that of philosophy. Concepts are not created within the realm of science. They are merely applied as means of showing how nature works in accordance with understanding. This discipline “needs only propositions or functions, whereas philosophy does not invoke a lived that would give only a ghostly and extrinsic life to secondary bloodless concepts.” To further clarify, the “philosophical concept does not refer to the lived, by the way of the compensation, but consists, through its own creation, in setting up an event that surveys the whole of the lived no less than every state of affairs.” The differences of concepts used in philosophy vary from that of the sciences apparent ways which we have discussed throughout class and throughout the book.
Briefly, D and G talk about the arts as being “percepts and affects.” They clarify that by arts they mean visual arts, but also that psychological states such as an existentialist or a true optimist. These are part of they daily affirmations and affect how they perceive the world. It is through this depiction of the arts that being about concern for my understanding of the concept. First, I am confused by how two different realms, visual arts and psychological state, are both placed into the arts. Also, I am confused on how a psychological state would not be a contribution to philosophy. There may be some misunderstanding, but how does a psychological state not contribute to philosophy?

Science is a philosophy

Philosophers tend to make a distinction between science and philosophy. People argue that science is an assessment of reality, and is objective while Philosophy is left to interpretation of the why. People generally argue that philosophy is something that cannot be proven. However it seems clear to me that the statement that separates science and philosophy needs to be redefined, because it seems that throughout history science has been left up to interpretation. For example Copernicus and Ptolemy both had theories on the movement of the planets, both of their theories were way of interpreting the data they saw, and at the time they were both equally accurate in making predictions. However scientists eventually adopted Copernican. There was no reason to adopt Copernicus theories seeing as how both theories predicted the exact same results. Scientists adopted a theory based on their own personal preferences not based on objectivity. The fact that science is an interpretation of reality arbitrarily based on the characteristics of scientist seems to push science into the realm of psuedo-science. It is true that science constantly checks itself to make sure it is consistent with things data we observe, however even when we see data that conflicts with theories we hold we often look for excuses to make our theories continue to work.
Can we truly understand a scientific concept if it was adopted because of a personal preference? This is in part response to the positivist blog that science has no need for concepts like morality or personal agendas. Our morality control which theories we are more likely to adopt. Science is controlled by our ethics and often times we determine how one ought to live based on the sciences. Take Aristotle for example he formed ethical assumptions based on things he had observed (granted he was often mistaken). He argued the different roles people should live are based in science. Like women should not become educated because they are not capable of rational thought. This is an ethical idea based on “science”. This demonstrates how science does dictate our ethical behavior and that philosophy does not have a superior power to control what is ethical. In addition one should keep in mind Aristotle is probably forming an ethical idea he formed from science, and that science was probably formed from his own personal leanings. I doubt Aristotle ever even tried to educate a woman but he made a scientific assumption anyway. He did not include women as being capable of rational thought not just because of what he observed, but also because of what his personal ideals were.
I am trying to demonstrate that people cannot simply separate science and philosophy, both are tied together and cannot be separated from each other. The defining lines that attempt to separate them are illusions. Science is just a philosophy.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

A Positivist Understanding of Science

In class on Thursday, someone (possibly Allen) briefly introduced the topic of morality to our discussion of philosophy and science. The point which this person made addressed how science, in the overall the spectrum of knowledge, fails to answer questions that concern issues of morality. Clearly, the topic of morality has always been, and in many ways always will be dividing factor which separates science and philosophy. Nonetheless, I personally find this point the most relevant factor in the debate over philosophy and science.

Instead of approaching the debate of science and philosophy as one of “facts vs faith, more importantly is how we must understand how the debate exposes the difference between positivist and normative thinking. If we consider the overall “agenda” of science, it is evident how most scientists (particularity those in the social sciences) ascribe to a positivist way of thinking. This, of course, being in stark contrast to the normative school thought. (I’m sure most of us are at familiar with the difference between positivist and normative thinking, but to provide a quick review when using the term positivism we simply refer to a descriptive-based method of thought; where as the normative school of thought tends to view the world through a “how to” lens (i.e. how one ought to live or act).

Positivist thinkers do not incorporate issue of morality when making claims, rather positivism merely answers questions that provide descriptions, not prescriptions. I find that D and G would also support this notion of science as a positivist way of thinking in that “science…concerns itself only with states of affairs and their conditions”. In other words, the “states of affairs” and “ their conditions” that D and G refer to is what science makes sense of through a predominately descriptive lens. Evidently this is how the scientific method is best employed, when scientist attempt to understand the “conditions” which make the world’s “state of affairs” through a strict and rigorous methodology that tries eliminate all possibility of error.

In my opinion, the clash between normative and positivist thinking is exactly where science and philosophy part ways. Science is not concerned with a world that prioritizes ethics, rather science wishes only to describe a world where ethical dilemmas exist without providing any prescriptive moral truths. Thus because science relies heavily on the positivist approach, it willfully turns a blind eye to topics that concerns matter of faith and morality. Perhaps science’s failure to provide moral truths is why science “has no need of the concept”. In some ways this is why I find philosophy to be superior to science in that philosophy forms concepts that pertinent to ethics and ultimately help make sense of how one ought to live. Thoughts?

Neither Science nor Theology is Philosophy

If we accept Deleuze and Guattari’s claim that philosophy is the creation of concepts, then both science and theology distinguish themselves as distinct pursuits. This seems to follow from the engendered qualities that characterize the philosophical concept. That is, despite its entrenchment in the history of conceptual schema (17), as well as its reliance on and appropriation of this history, the philosophical concept is truly an original creation, a distinct singular entity apart from other members of its kind (22). Deleuze and Guattari concede that the concepts lies on the same plane as others, instantiating itself in the history of philosophical concepts (indeed, there must be some accounting for the unification of philosophical concepts as a class; this common plane seems to be their description of such an attestation), but the genuine uniqueness of each concept is such that it doesn’t quite fit alongside the others, its zone de voisinage is riddled with uneven overlap; it embraces partial similarity but evades complete consistency with other concepts. It is relative to other concepts (21), perhaps arising out of them or helping define the contours of their problems, but the concept is also absolute in itself, its own constituent components qualifying it as a whole (albeit a fragmentary one) distinct in itself, bringing forth a problem whose solution is found solely within its own conceptual schema. The originality of the concept doesn’t only resist a perfectly ordered placement within the its class (concepts, D and G tell us, are self-referential; unlike their own components, which possess intensive ordinates from which the concept emerges, the concept itself possesses no numerical chiffre itself that could locate its precise location relative to other concepts within the philosophical plane), but the concept is also unbound by the history from which it emerges. The secretions that extend the philosophical plane, the plane of eminence, move in unpredictable directions, guided only by the unrestrictive force of thought (36). The philosophical concept then, is distinct in its almost ex-nihilo creation. But this in not quite right. Philosophical concepts do come out of something: a rich philosophical tradition, but good philosophy is in no way limited or confined to any prior philosophical concept within this tradition. Undoubtedly, the concept of Levinas’s ‘I/Other’ was in part born out of Descartes. But Levinas is free to construct an ‘I’ that resists violently that of Descartes. The former’s ‘I’ may be one that relies on ‘the Other’, that cannot exist apart from ‘the Other’, that is even unintelligible without ‘the other’, whereas the former denfines the ‘I’ as that which must exist even in a case in which ‘the Other’ does not. Conceived as such, the two ‘I’s are not only incompatible in the sense that they define themselves as seemingly binary conceptions of self, but also in the sense that Descartes couldn’t construct his sceptical problem with Levinas’s ‘I’, and Levinas couldn’t construct his problem of death with Descartes’. Levinas draws on the philosophical tradition, but his concept emerges in total contradiction from one of its predecessors.

Is science or theology able to produce that which, although instantiated in and continuing a history, is free to also resist any/all of its most fundamental constituents of that history? Clearly not. The history of both advance in such predictable fashion, all contributions, in ordered fashion, advancing the clear goals of both, the understanding of the physical world, the understanding of God. Is the scientist able to construct an experiment which doesn’t conform precisely to the scientific method? No, for this would be decried as pseudoscience. Can the theist preach that which denies the existence of a God? No, for this would preclude his adherence to theology. Only philosophy is the creation of that which partakes in, yet is completely free to deny and thereby transform its own history, what D and G call the concept.

Not Thinking

The language used in What is Philosophy? is dizzying in its best moments. The text turns in its own abstract visual language and I am compelled to continue reading despite the gut feeling that I am just not getting what they mean. Particularly during D and G's discussion of the plane of immanence, I began to feel ungrounded by their explanation of philosophy. In their esteem, the plane of immanence is constructed as a kind of malleable landscape upon which concepts traverse, freely referring to nonconceptual understandings as they both exist on this plane. D and G imply that each individual has a distinct plane upon which their entire framework of being exists, each with a different set of prephilisophical intuitions that color a persons philosophical endeavors - the creation of concepts.

It is important to clarify that the actual (concept) referring to its contrary (nonconcept) is an intuitive remark. Further, the use of intuition here is not to imply a hazy gut feeling, like the one I have when I read this book, but rather intuition is thought as "the envelopment of infinite movements of thought that constantly pass through the plane of immanence" (40). Intuition, as stated, seems to fit into their definition of the prephilisophical and offers us some insight into the nonphilisophical which is "perhaps closer to the heart of philosophy itself which means that philosophy content to be understood only philosophically or conceptually but is addressed essential by nonphilosophers as well" (41). By defining philosophy as based, in part, in an intuitive grasp of the world, D and G are opening up the realm of the philosopher as something wholly distinct from other forms of inquiry. The philosopher has the unique task of following her intuitions as a kind of "groping experimentation," the layout of the plane itself resorting to "measures that are not very respectable, rational or reasonable." In this way, intuition provides justification for inquiry.

The move made away from thought as "dangerous" and "promoting  indifference" seems only true in regard to specific kind of intuitions. One ought to follow their intuitions to an extent, but when does thought take hold of one's exploratory intuitive search? D and G make the claim that one does not think without at some point "becoming something that does not think - an animal, a molecule, a particle - that comes back to thought and revives it" (42).  They seem to imply that thought moves toward intuition, making us animals as soon as we attempt to be intellectuals. This explanation goes further to say that thought is loses its indifference when one is aware of the danger, requiring a kind of self-awareness to be ever-present in thought in order to not lose ourselves in our processes, indifferent to a world that is intuitively provocative that can capture us at infinite speed. This image of the philosopher is a dynamic one, allowing for the aimless curiosity that goes unexplored if we confine ourselves to the pursuit of knowledge.

Unclear

I have been having trouble understanding what the plane of immanence is. I get that it has to do with thought and is infinite in some way, but I am unable to say anything deeper about it. Perhaps by speaking on what I understand of concepts and thoughts my classmates can show me where I’m leaning in the right and wrong direction.
To me the plane of immanence is something like the realm of thought. This may not be what the authors were aiming for, but the way it makes most sense to me is as the place where thoughts occur and where concepts are made and used. I think there is a divide between what we think and what we speak. When we speak, we have to be sure to use terms that are understandable by our interlocutors and use them correctly. Most arguments or disagreements are a product of misunderstanding what either party is saying. The realm of thought is not bound by these restrictions and problems. We have all had problems, say when writing a paper, of actually getting our thoughts out on the page. You have ideas, you know what you want to talk about, but you have trouble actually saying or writing it.
The plane of immanence is infinite, which also corresponds to how I think about the realm of thought. Anything can occur there and all concepts are used there. Our realm of thought does not begin nor end; it is continuous in our lives. It seems impossible to split our train of thought up; we are constantly moving around in our thoughts and using all the concepts available to us.
I am probably wrong in drawing a comparison between the plane of immanence and my own ideas about the realm of thought, but I have nothing else to really go off of. Can you guys steer me in the right direction?

Disciplinary Differences

I am still troubled by D and G's claim that each concept exists on its own distinct plane apart from any other.  This seems to mean that we can never compare concepts side-by-side and determine which one is "better" or "closer to the truth".  Furthermore, it seems to deny us access to anyone else's concepts in the first place.  Where we have been able to say in the past that Bob and Sue agree that Sartre's concept of bad faith is correct, by D and G's estimation we cannot even say that they are talking about the same thing since neither of them has access to the original plane on which Sartre's concept lies.  All that each of them has is their own reconstitution or reactivation of Sartre's concept on their own new planes with their own new ends, distinct from one another.  Yes, these distinct planes intersect at certain points, so Bob and Sue could discuss the merits of one little part of a concept, but the probability of their intersections being large enough that the conversation is even intelligible seems infinitesimally small.  Not only does this make philosophical debate between Bob and Sue nearly impossible, but it also makes any one philosopher's study of past concepts into a subjectively motivated re-interpretation of the past.

What makes all of this so troubling is that it seems to render philosophy as a discipline directionless.  Science is able, by means of its repeatability to establish some ideas as objectively true, to an extent.  In doing so, an entire discipline is able to agree on the truth of some things and the falsity of others, yielding a direction for the entire discipline to move in -- towards further objective truths in the same vein.  Philosophy seems unable to do this.  First of all, our inability to constitute a concept beyond our personal experience of it nullifies our ability to agree on the truth of things.  Without a truth that we can agree upon and know that we hold in common, we are left with each philosopher reactivating parts of old concepts willy-nilly based on their raw appeal to his or her own ends and with no real consideration of their original constitutions (which we cannot access).  If Bob doesn't have the ability to objectively say that Sartre's conception of the purpose of man is more correct than Plato's, then he has no way of setting a bearing towards truth as an individual thinker or a representative of his discipline.

I fully acknowledge the need to ask the meta-questions; the need for philosophy as a necessary underpinning for scientific and artistic issues.  Just as the hammer is a necessary to the driving of a nail, so philosophy is necessary to scientific progress.  The problem that D and G leave us with is one of a mangled and impotent hammer.  The hammer is no less necessary to the nail than before, but the hammer we have is altogether incapable of driving a nail.  While philosophy has a purpose, D and G present us with a framing of philosophical thought which is incapable of accomplishing the very object that it must to accomplish.  I hope that, as the book continues, we are able to rescue philosophy from this sorry state.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Texts for this seminar

What Is Philosophy? by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari
Called by many France's foremost philosopher, Gilles Deleuze is one of the leading thinkers in the Western World. His acclaimed works and celebrated collaborations with Félix Guattari have established him as a seminal figure in the fields of literary criticism and philosophy. The long-awaited publication of What is Philosophy? in English marks the culmination of Deleuze's career.

Deleuze and Guattari differentiate between philosophy, science, and the arts, seeing as means of confronting chaos, and challenge the common view that philosophy is an extension of logic. The authors also discuss the similarities and distinctions between creative and philosophical writing. Fresh anecdotes from the history of philosophy illuminate the book, along with engaging discussions of composers, painters, writers, and architects.

A milestone in Deleuze's collaboration with Guattari, What is Philosophy? brings a new perspective to Deleuze's studies of cinema, painting, and music, while setting a brilliant capstone upon his work.

This volume reflects Jacques Derrida’s engagement in the late 1970s with French political debates on the teaching of philosophy and the reform of the French university system. He was a founding member of the Research Group on the Teaching of Philosophy (Greph), an activist group that mobilized opposition to the Giscard government’s proposals to “rationalize” the French educational system in 1975, and a convener of the Estates General of Philosophy, a vast gathering in 1979 of educators from across France.

While addressing specific contemporary political issues on occasion, thus providing insight into the pragmatic deployment of deconstructive analysis, the essays deal mainly with much broader concerns. With his typical rigor and spark, Derrida investigates the genealogy of several central concepts which any debate about teaching and the university must confront.

Thus there are essays on the “teaching body,” both the faculty corps and the strange interplay in the French (but not only the French) tradition between the mind and body of the professor; on the question of age in teaching, analyzed through a famous letter of Hegel; on the class, the classroom, and the socio-economic concept of class in education; on language, especially so-called “natural languages” like French; and on the legacy of the revolutionary tradition, the Estates General, in the university. The essays are linked by the extraordinary care and precision with which Derrida undertakes a political intervention into, and a philosophical analysis of, the institutionalization of philosophy in the university.

Completing the translation of Derrida’s monumental work Right to Philosophy (the first part of which has already appeared under the title of Who’s Afraid of Philosophy?), Eyes of the University brings together many of the philosopher’s most important texts on the university and, more broadly, on the languages and institutions of philosophy.

In addition to considerations of the implications for literature and philosophy of French becoming a state language, of Descartes’ writing of the Discourse on Method in French, and of Kant’s and Schelling’s philosophies of the university, the volume reflects on the current state of research and teaching in philosophy and on the question of what Derrida calls a “university responsibility.”

Examining the political and institutional conditions of philosophy, the essays collected here question the growing tendency to orient research and teaching towards a programmable and profitable end. The volume is therefore invaluable for the light it throws upon an underappreciated aspect of Derrida’s own engagement, both philosophical and political, in struggles against the stifling of philosophical research and teaching.

As a founding member of the Research Group on the Teaching of Philosophy and as one of the conveners of the Estates General of Philosophy, Derrida was at the forefront of the struggle to preserve and extend the teaching of philosophy as a distinct discipline, in secondary education and beyond, in the face of conservative government education reforms in France. As one of the founders of the Collège International de Philosophie, he worked to provide a space for research in and around philosophy that was not accepted or legitimated in other institutions. Documenting and reflecting upon these engagements, Eyes of the University brings together some of the most important and incisive of Derrida’s works.