Some justly famous works [of philosophy] offer no argument at all.--M. Bolton
[T]here is no single method of philosophical inquiry. Descartes and Spinoza, among others, purport to demonstrate metaphysical truths by deductive arguments with necessary a priori premises. Locke, on the other hand, rests his theory of human understanding on observations about our cognitive development and performance. The dialectical mode of inquiry, in the technical sense of Plato or Aristotle, is deployed by others. The exact way to understand dialectic among the ancients is controversial. I mean, roughly, a mode of inquiry about a topic which begins with an initial account of it and proceeds to solicit other opinions, or objections. If the account is on the right track, each of them can somehow be accommodated—either by refuting it or altering the theory to take account of it. It is an inherently inconclusive mode of probation, but if a great many opposite views are accommodated, the result may attain a high level of confirmation. Present day philosophers who argue on the basis of intuitions, e.g. about what a person ought to do in puzzling situations, use the dialectical method. Many of us may use it when we seek feed back on our work. In the 17th century, Leibniz is an outstanding practitioner of dialectic; probably Gassendi, too. But Descartes’ use of the Objections to the Meditations is expository and defensive; he is not interested in adjusting his position to take account of them. A similar attitude is maintained by Hobbes and Locke, among others. .--Martha Bolton, "presentation at the inaugural meeting of the Society for Modern Philosophy, held at the 2014 Pacific Division meeting of the APA." [This is the second post on this lecture; see here for my earlier one; and see here for an earlier post on Rutherford's lecture.]
Bolton and Rutherford both appeal to the idea (to quote Bolton) that "when philosophy is done dialectically, however, historical doctrines have an indispensable part." Neither claims that this is the only use for history. (In what follows, I am going to ignore the vexed question, in what way a focus on 'historical doctrines' may be said to be 'history' at all.) I doubt history is so indispensable for the dialectical approach. It's not obvious that (i) accurate score-keeping (about the road to the present) is necessary to the dialectical approach; (ii) that the views accommodated have to come from the past. Evidence for (i) and (ii) is the proliferations of, say, Hume* or Humean positions (rather than Hume's), etc. Judging by the practice of many professional philosophers, it is not obvious that getting something like the original real deal on the table will improve the dialectic, or is at least not thought worth the opportunity costs (e.g., reading complicated texts in strange jargon and awkward translations, etc.). Even if one sincerely thinks it's good to have alternatives to one's own view at hand (for dialectical purposes or some commitment to pluralism), one can develop a portfolio of (privileged) alternatives nearby in time (and space) with the benefit that these may well be aware of all the latest, technically sophisticated moves. So, without wishing to spoil the fun, this is not a very promising route at vindicating the role of the history of philosophy within professional philosophy.
But that's not the end of the matter.
Bolton suggests, by contrast, that (2) authentic dialectic proceeds with an "initial account" and "proceeds to solicit other opinions, or objections" adjusting one's position along the way. This strikes me as a very good summary of the practice of a lot of professional philosophy today. It is rarely exhibited in the work that we (say, 'early modernists') teach. (Nobody in his right mind would assign Gassendi to undergraduates; I don't say this to provoke the ten very fine Gassendi scholars I know!) Although authentic dialectic is, indeed, exhibited in Leibniz, which is why he often feels so familiar (despite, although I am tempted to say 'because of,' the wacky views to be found in his writings).
It is worth noticing, however, that (1)-(2) do not exhaust the ways one can conceive of dialectic (in the sense used by Bolton and Rutherford). For what (1)-(2) have in common is, shall we say, a tendency to take genuine alternatives not seriously at all. In Descartes that feature is, as Bolton notes, kind of transparent. But it is not only true of apparent dialectic; for it (apparent dialectic) does not impose (3) an obligation to seek out the strongest (possible) alternatives to one's position and refute it on its own terms by way, say, of immanent critique. (Of course, refutation can also be extrinsic.) Let's call this stressful dialectic. That is to say, if one gets to decide what the starting points are, one can rule out alternatives silently or even mockingly. (Recall this post on Sider.) Obvious what is 'strongest' is often in the eyes of the beholder and a matter of judgment, so one might be tempted to claim that the difference between (2)-(3) is negligible or one of degree, if anything.
Even so, note that Bolton judiciously emphasizes that authentic dialectic is while initially an "inconclusive mode of probation," ultimately geared "toward confirmation." Not to put too fine point on it, as the Bayesians are teaching us you can get confirmation rather cheaply (that is, without considering ANY alternatives). Now, I tend to view such arguments as reductios (amongst other things, of reliance of the goddamn Bayesian apparatus, in fact), but most of my purported epistemic superiors take such arguments seriously--so let's pretend we ought to do so. So, let's grant that there are areas of intellectual life where a confirmatory regime is the best we can do, or fruitful, cost-effective, or whatever.
But Popper was right to be suspicious of such confirmatory regimes. (In philosophy, they tend to facilitate a surprising lack of durability and a sensitivity to fashion.) Rather than putting this in terms of falsification, let's put Popper's insight in terms of stress testing of one's commitments. Now, the best parts of science do a lot of such stress testing (of concepts, of tools, methods, of data, etc.) routinely if only by becoming extremely aware of the limitations of legitimate application (of theory, methods, models, etc.). But as critics of Popper have noted his ideals seem really a commitment about what rationality ought to be. Stressful dialectic is a kind of expression of such a (Popperian) ideal; it tells you to seek out views -- not just those carefully prepared for one's cherished distinctions -- and engage with them on their terms (something Popper was notoriously bad at).
You guessed it: often stressful dialectic is an enterprise in which the alternatives are not just pre-selected by one's professional environment; rather, the very best of these are to be found littered in history. (Of course, not only in history; serious alternatives may by in the future or -- as Justin Smith increasingly emphasizes -- in alternative intellectual cultures.)
What is the pay-off of stressful dialectic, you might ask? In addition to various (social) epistemic virtues and a certain intellectual gratification, the answer is simple: immortal glory that transcends local fashion. And, among their many other tasks, historians of philosophy are required both to facilitate the very possibility of engaging with un-discussed alternatives (through translations, generating discussions, or just keeping alive a culture of reading books, etc.) as well as bestow immortal glory on those that practice stressful dialectic successfully.
*Of course, as Bolton's lecture also reveals is that many later readers happily ignored the best bits of the Meditations.
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