Showing posts with label fact/state of affairs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fact/state of affairs. Show all posts

17 Sept 2020

Breeur (1.3) Lies – Imposture – Stupidity, Ch.1.3, “Imagination and Lying”, summary

 

by Corry Shores

 

[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

 

[Central Entry Directory]

[Roland Breeur, entry directory]

[Breeur, Lies – Imposture – Stupidity, entry directory]

 

[The following is a paragraph by paragraph summary of Breeur’s text. Boldface, underlining, and bracketed commentary are my own. Proofreading is incomplete, so please forgive my mistakes. The book can be purchased here.]

 

 

 

 

Summary of

 

Roland Breeur

[Breeur’s academia.edu page and researchgate page]

 

Lies – Imposture – Stupidity

 

Part 1

Lies and Stupidity

 

Ch.1.

The Last Judgment

 

1.3

“Imagination and Lying”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brief summary (collecting those below):

(1.3.1) According to Sartre, our imaginations are what allow us to transform the raw given real into a world whose parts meaningfully inter-relate; it is imagination that makes meaning and a world out of the given.  Turner for instance takes the raw given fog of London and paints it in a way that shows it as beautiful and interesting in its richness and complexity, especially with respect to the surrounding world it colors, helps characterize and give significance and value to (aesthetic and otherwise). Truth-values like true and false, which we assign to statements of the real, are determined less by some supposed objective factuality of the real and more by the values the real has obtained through our imagination’s reconstruals of it. Thus prior to Turner, the polluted fog in 19th century London may have been nothing more than an ugly and sickening element of the surrounding air. Hence, the truth-value of the statement, “the London fog is ugly and unhealthy” would be true. Yet, Turner, by showing the aesthetic values of the fog and how it adds to the overall aesthetic of London in its many locales and components, changes its value. It is no longer ugly (and insofar as it brings aesthetic enjoyment to behold, it is no longer simply unhealthy) and thus Turner’s imagination, by reconstruing London fog, changed the truth value of “the London fog is ugly and unhealthy” from true to false (and similarly, he changed “the London fog is beautiful and good for one’s health and well being to behold” from false to true.) Thus, like Oscar Wilde says in “The Decay of Lying,” art does not imitate nature but rather nature imitates art (in other words, even the natural given obtains its meanings, values, and appearances by means of the art that imagines it in various ways.) (1.3.2) The notion that imagination holds sway over the way we perceive and interact with the world is something we all probably assume anyway. We can see it more clearly when we consider strange beliefs and practices in the past that were based on the different ways they imagined their world in that context. For instance, in the 16th century, there was a conception of the human body based on imagining it with architectural imagery, where the skin is like a wall. Cracks in the wall allow water to seep in and with it mold and mildew that can weaken the overall structure. With this image in mind for the human skin, there was a practice among doctors at this time where they would cover a newborn baby’s body with fat and wrap it up, out of fear that diseases might seep into the cracks in the skin like water through a wall. The way this relates to truth and lying can be seen in the next example, Descartes’ depictions of the body as a machine. They have the advantage of allowing us to conceive the body’s working in a fruitful way and to think of how it might be replicated artificially. But now when we read his conceptions, none of it seems literally true at all. However, we would not accuse Descartes of lying (neither to the people of his time, whose limits in anatomical understanding might allow these conceptions to be acceptable, nor to us of our time, because these conceptions still speak a “truth” to us about the mechanical nature of the body, and much of our current knowledge of the body’s nervous functioning resembles in remarkable ways Descartes’ modeling.) (In other words, one can tell a falsehood that is not a lie, because it is something meaningful in its context and is formulated based on a fruitful intervention of the imagination into the world that is shaped by means of it.) (1.3.3) Thus, “truth itself is dependent upon a context and a criterion of meaning”. Breeur draws two observations from this. {1} “some truths, however scientific, sometimes appear worthless, inappropriate, or stupid in response to what they wish to prove” (discussion for this idea comes in the next chapter.) {2} “lies and scams sometimes illuminate true aspects of reality and enter into history as unshakeable truths.” For example, Adolf Eichmann was himself not banally evil and manipulative during his trial; he was spectacularly so. His trial “turned out to be a great spectacle, a conscious deception – in short, fake.” Nonetheless, on the basis of this false and remarkable performance, Hana Arendt developed her idea of the banality of evil. (1.3.4) Lies are tied to imagination. This is not because lying depends on the ability to imagine alternate facts but rather because lying and imagination have the same structure, namely, both are “expressions of the freedom to refuse to accept something and therefore the desire to change it – in short, to act” (18). (1.3.5) Augustine defines lying as having one thought in your head while expressing another thought instead, with the intention to deceive. In this way, the liar has a double heart and holds a double thought. Lying is an act of duplicity in which “You dissimulate what is true, and you simulate what is untrue” (19). (Augustine: “dissimulation is pretending not to be what one actually is, whereas simulation is pretending to be what one actually is not.”) (1.3.6) Lying requires skills and activity not required for simply telling the truth; for, the liar must on the one hand deny some part of reality while at the same time evoking and simulating something non-real and non-existent. But even though all lie is fiction, that does not mean all fiction is untruthful. The distinction is that lies are told with the intention to deceive, “that is, to fraudulently change reality or to adapt its meaning” (19). Given that lying involves the intention to deceive by means of denying reality while simulating the non-real, “Traditionally, therefore, the condemnation of the lie was focused either on the subjective aspect – the intention to deceive – or on the objective aspect – to replace reality with fiction.” (Yet as we noted above, lying is possible on account of factual reality being something bendable by means of the imagination.) Thus, “in both cases this reaction is an attempt to conjure, control, or neutralize the ambivalence proper to factual reality.” There are two ways to condemn lying: {1} internally, in the mental realm, and {2} externally, among the facts themselves. (1.3.7) {1} When we condemn the lie by concerning ourselves with the inner, mental realm, then we are blaming the inner self. Here the criticism is not on how the lie affects outer reality, because here we are assuming that the lie really has no control over it. Instead we are saying that lying involves a lack of sincerity, one’s attitude to one’s own thinking. {2} If instead we are concerned with how the lie affects reality, then our criticism is that by lying, we are “firing out ambiguities in the world” and thereby we “are unravelling the ground on which you yourself stand.” (20)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contents

 

1.3.1

[Truth Imitating Art]

 

1.3.2

[The Usualness of the Imagination’s Sway over Perception and Action]

 

1.3.3

[Truth’s Dependence on Context Having Two Important Consequences: {1} Some Truths Appearing Worthless; {2} Lies Illuminating Truths]

 

1.3.4

[Lies and Imagination as Sharing the Same Structure: Action (The Refusal to Accept Something and the Desire to Change It)]

 

1.3.5

[Augustine and Lie: Duplicity (Dissimulation and Simulation)]

 

1.3.6

[Lying and Efforts to Neutralize It]

 

1.3.7

[Contemning the Inner Side of Lying or the Outer Side]

 

 

Bibliography

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summary

 

1.3.1

[Truth Imitating Art]

 

[According to Sartre, our imaginations are what allow us to transform the raw given real into a world whose parts meaningfully inter-relate; it is imagination that makes meaning and a world out of the given.  Turner for instance takes the raw given fog of London and paints it in a way that shows it as beautiful and interesting in its richness and complexity, especially with respect to the surrounding world it colors, helps characterize and give significance and value to (aesthetic and otherwise). Truth-values like true and false, which we assign to statements of the real, are determined less by some supposed objective factuality of the real and more by the values the real has obtained through our imagination’s reconstruals of it. Thus prior to Turner, the polluted fog in 19th century London may have been nothing more than an ugly and sickening element of the surrounding air. Hence, the truth-value of the statement, “the London fog is ugly and unhealthy” would be true. Yet, Turner, by showing the aesthetic values of the fog and how it adds to the overall aesthetic of London in its many locales and components, changes its value. It is no longer ugly (and insofar as it brings aesthetic enjoyment to behold, it is no longer simply unhealthy) and thus Turner’s imagination, by reconstruing London fog, changed the truth value of “the London fog is ugly and unhealthy” from true to false (and similarly, he changed “the London fog is beautiful and good for one’s health and well being to behold” from false to true.) Thus, like Oscar Wilde says in “The Decay of Lying,” art does not imitate nature but rather nature imitates art (in other words, even the natural given obtains its meanings, values, and appearances by means of the art that imagines it in various ways.)]

 

[Recall the following ideas from the previous section 1.2. A fact has an ambivalent nature. On the one hand, a fact, as an event that has happened, cannot be undone. So it seems necessary to us. On the other hand, we also sense that back when it was happening, we could have intervened or done otherwise so to prevent this fact from attaining and to instead have brought about an alternative outcome. These notions regarding the ambivalent nature of facts color our beliefs about our present actions. On the one hand, we hold that there is a given factuality that is necessary (it either is what is happening or is what is bound to happen (it is in action and so cannot be otherwise and is thus necessary)); while on the other hand, we believe that we can alter the course of things by denying this seemingly necessary fact and to exploit the fact’s other nature, it’s contingency, and use our freedom to intervene to deny this fact and affirm a non-fact yet to be actualized. We also use our imagination to conceive of such alternatives. (Suppose that we simply accepted things as they were and saw no place for things to be otherwise or for us to have any influence in the world, not even the capacity to be free to alter how we see the world and the things and events in it, their values, meanings, potential purposes, etc. That would mean that it is not really there for us in a way that affords us a meaningful relationship to all those things.) For Sartre this means that the imagination allows us to transcend (by neutralizing) the real in a way that makes it appear meaningful to us, thereby constituting it as a world. (In other words, the real is something given and in its rawness does not have meaning and does not make up a world yet. It does not have meaning, because meaning requires relationships between the parts of the real which would grant them some sort of purpose, role, or place related to our intentions, actions, thoughts, and so forth. But in its raw givenness, it is just sort of like brute factuality. It is only when we use our imaginations to see ways that our interactivity with the real can shape it, which we would do in relation to our values, interpretations, intentions, etc., that its parts can take on relations that become meaningful to us. And as the parts develop such an orientation and organization, they enter thereby into a world that is there for us and that we dwell within and interact with in a meaningful way. Now, given the role of the imagination in shaping the real in this way so to form a meaningful world,) “What you see and what you value betrays the nature of what you can imagine.” (In other words, the parts of our world only come into noticeable appearance to the extent that we can imagine their availability to our intentful interaction, and the ways we come to imagine those parts as relating to one another as well as to us ourselves determines the values those things have. Thus the degree to which we notice things in the world and assess their value is the degree to which our imagination is at work doing so. Furthermore, the more we try to understand and grasp the world, the more our imagination is working on it, and thus the richer and more complex it becomes in its meaningfulness.) This internal richness and complexity becomes “deepened” the more it increases through our imaginative interactivity with it. This all becomes especially interesting to us when we consider how truth and falsity come to function in this context. (The idea seems to be the following, but I might have it wrong. Something becomes more meaningful in our world the more that it adds more depth to its richness and complexity. Breeur uses the example of Turner’s paintings. Let us consider one in particular.

 

J.M.W. Turner.

Rain, Steam and Speed – The Great Western Railway (1844)

(Image source:
wiki)

 

There is a sort of mist or fog, presumably related to the steam engine’s exhaust plume. But it does not look exactly the same as what we normally might expect. It reimagines fog or mist. It sees it in a new way, but one which integrates it into the world and its meanings. Some might think that it shows us a new aspect, dimension, or beauty of fog or mist. After seeing Turner’s paintings, we might never look at real mist and fog the same way again. It will have transformed the meaning of real fog and mist and even the way it appears insofar as our internal states condition how we perceive it. It helps us see something that is real in fog that we never noticed before. In other words, it can alter the real by changing its values, meaning, and aspects. Normally we might see the dirty smoggy mist surrounding an old steam engine as being dirty and ugly. But Turner gets us to see its beauty. The way this affects truth is that it is no longer true that such smoggy air is ugly. Regarding Turner’s paintings of London, it is no longer true that “that fog in London is ugly and unhealthy.” Turner’s imagination, by changing the value of fog, has changed truth-values of statements relating to that fog.) Thus, like Oscar Wilde says in “The Decay of Lying,” art does not imitate nature but rather nature imitates art (in other words, even the natural given obtains its meanings, values, and appearances by means of the art that imagines it in various ways.)]

Sartre thus suggests that the imagination functions as an implicit horizon within which the real can appear as meaningful. It is a way of transcending (neutralizing) the real “en le constituant comme monde,” or constituting it as a world. What you see and what you value betrays the nature of what you can imagine. The world is deepened by the internal richness and complexity with which your representations try to grasp and understand things. What Sartre suggests is that depth determines the value of what you expect to be true or false. “Truth’’ as a concept only makes sense, then, within a context that determines whether what you say and think, what you claim or apprehend as true, is meaningful or not. In his famous 1899 essay “The Decay of Lying,” Oscar Wilde denied that art imitates nature and asserted rather that it is nature that imitates art.9 No one in London had actually “seen’’ anything in the mist before the existence of Turner’s paintings. This “natural factuality,” i.e. fog, suddenly acquires a value that it did not have before. And if a tourist were to claim that fog in London is ugly and unhealthy, he or she would say something that for Turner’s admirers would sound untrue. Why? Because it goes against the value that the fog had suddenly acquired. This is the domain of action, experience, or life.

(16)

9. See Oscar Wilde, The Decay of Lying and Other Essays (London: Penguin, 2013).

(16)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.3.2

[The Usualness of the Imagination’s Sway over Perception and Action]

 

[The notion that imagination holds sway over the way we perceive and interact with the world is something we all probably assume anyway. We can see it more clearly when we consider strange beliefs and practices in the past that were based on the different ways they imagined their world in that context. For instance, in the 16th century, there was a conception of the human body based on imagining it with architectural imagery, where the skin is like a wall. Cracks in the wall allow water to seep in and with it mold and mildew that can weaken the overall structure. With this image in mind for the human skin, there was a practice among doctors at this time where they would cover a newborn baby’s body with fat and wrap it up, out of fear that diseases might seep into the cracks in the skin like water through a wall. The way this relates to truth and lying can be seen in the next example, Descartes’ depictions of the body as a machine. They have the advantage of allowing us to conceive the body’s working in a fruitful way and to think of how it might be replicated artificially. But now when we read his conceptions, none of it seems literally true at all. However, we would not accuse Descartes of lying (neither to the people of his time, whose limits in anatomical understanding might allow these conceptions to be acceptable, nor to us of our time, because these conceptions still speak a “truth” to us about the mechanical nature of the body, and much of our current knowledge of the body’s nervous functioning resembles in remarkable ways Descartes’ modeling.) (In other words, one can tell a falsehood that is not a lie, because it is something meaningful in its context and is formulated based on a fruitful intervention of the imagination into the world that is shaped by means of it.)]

 

[ditto]

Moreover, the fact that our imagination implicitly influences our perception and our actions is in itself a rather banal thought. For example, the way in which we think about hygiene strongly depends on the images we sometimes unconsciously use about the body. In the 16th Century, a newborn was completely rubbed with fat and bound in wraps, because some doctors thought that diseases (e.g. the plague) seeped into the body through small cracks in the skin. This idea was partly formed by the fact that in their representations of the human skin, probably without knowing it, they borrowed images from architecture. They saw the skin as a kind of wall: In a house with cracks, water will seep in, and infiltrations cause mildew and weaken the entire structure. Descartes would probably have laughed very hard at these ideas, but the machines that he himself had in mind when he described the body as an automaton also have their limitations (at least, his models showed new possibilities vis-a-vis the way in which we can think about the body and imitate its functioning). Much of what he said today sounds untrue, yet, as a matter of fact, no one assumes that he was lying or trying to deceive us.

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.3.3

[Truth’s Dependence on Context Having Two Important Consequences: {1} Some Truths Appearing Worthless; {2} Lies Illuminating Truths]

 

[Thus, “truth itself is dependent upon a context and a criterion of meaning”. Breeur draws two observations from this. {1} “some truths, however scientific, sometimes appear worthless, inappropriate, or stupid in response to what they wish to prove” (discussion for this idea comes in the next chapter.) {2} “lies and scams sometimes illuminate true aspects of reality and enter into history as unshakeable truths.” For example, Adolf Eichmann was himself not banally evil and manipulative during his trial; he was spectacularly so. His trial “turned out to be a great spectacle, a conscious deception – in short, fake.” Nonetheless, on the basis of this false and remarkable performance, Hana Arendt developed her idea of the banality of evil.]

 

[ditto]

The idea that truth itself is dependent upon a context and a criterion of meaning implies, among other things, two points. On the one hand, as we will see in the next chapter, some truths, however scientific, sometimes appear worthless, inappropriate, or stupid in response to what they wish to prove. On the other hand, lies and scams sometimes illuminate true aspects of reality and enter into history as unshakeable truths. Think of the example of what Arendt said about the banality of evil. No one will question that thesis. But it was inspired by the swindler and imposter Adolf Eichmann whose appearance at the famous trial turned out to be a great spectacle, a conscious deception – in short, fake.10

(17)

10 See Johann Chapoutot, La loi du sang: penser et agir en nazi (Paris: Gallimard, 2014). See also David Cesarani, Becoming Eichmann: Rethinking the Life, Crimes, and Trial o fa “Desk Murderer” (Boston: Da Capo Press, 2007).

(17)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.3.4

[Lies and Imagination as Sharing the Same Structure: Action (The Refusal to Accept Something and the Desire to Change It)]

 

[Lies are tied to imagination. This is not because lying depends on the ability to imagine alternate facts but rather because lying and imagination have the same structure, namely, both are “expressions of the freedom to refuse to accept something and therefore the desire to change it – in short, to act” (18).]

 

[ditto]

Finally, what is a lie? Recall Arendt’s point about how “the deliberate denial of factual truth – the ability to lie – and the capacity to change facts – the ability to act – are interconnected: they owe their existence to the same source: imagination.” A lie therefore points to an internal and strict affinity with imagination. Not so much so because we need a lot of imagination to fantasize (about) “alternative facts” – for, as we will see further, many liars and imposters betray themselves precisely not because of their lack of imagination – but because lying and imagination have the same structure. After all, they are both expressions of the freedom to refuse to accept something and therefore the desire to change it – in short, to act.

(18)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.3.5

[Augustine and Lie: Duplicity (Dissimulation and Simulation)]

 

[Augustine defines lying as having one thought in your head while expressing another thought instead, with the intention to deceive. In this way, the liar has a double heart and holds a double thought. Lying is an act of duplicity in which “You dissimulate what is true, and you simulate what is untrue” (19). (Augustine: “dissimulation is pretending not to be what one actually is, whereas simulation is pretending to be what one actually is not.”)]

 

[ditto]

“Lying,” said Augustine, “is having a thought in your head and, by words or other means of expression, expressing another,” with the intention of deceiving.11 The liar is | double-hearted or has “a double heart” (duplex cor), that is, “a double thought” (duplex cogitatio). He has “a thought that he knows and judges true, but keeps to himself; and he has a second thought that he knows and judges false, but which he expresses instead of the first.”12 The hallmark of the lie is its duplicity, a game of dissimulation and simulation: You dissimulate what is true, and you simulate what is untrue. Or, put otherwise, “dissimulation is pretending not to be what one actually is, whereas simulation is pretending to be what one actually is not.”13

(18-19)

11 Augustine, “Quapropter ille mentitur qui aliud habet in animo et aliud verbis vel quibuslibet significationibus enunciat,” in: De mendacio Œuvres de Saint Augustin, II. Problèmes Moraux (Paris: Desclée de Brouwer et Cie, 1937), p. 238.

(18)

12 “ ... una rei hujus quam veram esse vel scit putat et non profert, altera ejus rei quam pro ista profert sciens falsam esse vel putans.” Augustine, “Quapropter ille mentitur qui aliud habet in animo et aliud verbis vel quibuslibet significationibus enunciat,” p. 238.

13 Perez Zagorin, Ways of Lying: Dissimulation, Persecution and Conformity in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014), p. 3.

(19)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.3.6

[Lying and Efforts to Neutralize It]

 

[Lying requires skills and activity not required for simply telling the truth; for, the liar must on the one hand deny some part of reality while at the same time evoking and simulating something non-real and non-existent. But even though all lie is fiction, that does not mean all fiction is untruthful. The distinction is that lies are told with the intention to deceive, “that is, to fraudulently change reality or to adapt its meaning” (19). Given that lying involves the intention to deceive by means of denying reality while simulating the non-real, “Traditionally, therefore, the condemnation of the lie was focused either on the subjective aspect – the intention to deceive – or on the objective aspect – to replace reality with fiction.” (Yet as we noted above, lying is possible on account of factual reality being something bendable by means of the imagination.) Thus, “in both cases this reaction is an attempt to conjure, control, or neutralize the ambivalence proper to factual reality.” There are two ways to condemn lying: {1} internally, in the mental realm, and {2} externally, among the facts themselves.]

 

[ditto]

This interplay of lying and deception requires a certain skill, as Socrates suggests in the “Little Hippias”: Those who deliberately do not tell and distort the truth must be able to do more than those who always and everywhere speak the truth. Indeed, it comes down to being able to deny a part of reality or neutralize its impact in favor of the evocation and simulation of something that is not real and does not exist. Which does not mean that any form of fiction is untruthful. A lie would be a kind of fiction with the intention to deceive, that is, to fraudulently change reality or to adapt its meaning. Traditionally, therefore, the condemnation of the lie was focused either on the subjective aspect – the intention to deceive – or on the objective aspect – to replace reality with fiction. But in both cases this reaction is an attempt to conjure, control, or neutralize the ambivalence proper to factual reality. You do this either from the inside/interior, i.e. the mental realm, or from the outside/external, i.e. the facts themselves.

(19)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.3.7

[Contemning the Inner Side of Lying or the Outer Side]

 

[{1} When we condemn the lie by concerning ourselves with the inner, mental realm, then we are blaming the inner self. Here the criticism is not on how the lie affects outer reality, because here we are assuming that the lie really has no control over it. Instead we are saying that lying involves a lack of sincerity, one’s attitude to one’s own thinking. {2} If instead we are concerned with how the lie affects reality, then our criticism is that by lying, we are “firing out ambiguities in the world” and thereby we “are unravelling the ground on which you yourself stand.” (20)]

 

[ditto]

If you put the emphasis on the inner self, you condemn the lie not for your impact on reality, since this is something over which you lack any control (it could always turn out differently); the lie is condemned as a lack of sincerity, i.e. your | attitude towards your own thinking. On the other hand, if you emphasize the effect, you are mainly referring to the destabilizing consequences of the lie on the outside world. By firing out ambiguities in the world, you are unravelling the ground on which you yourself stand.

(19-20)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bibliography:

Breeur, Roland. Lies – Imposture – Stupidity. Vilnius: Jonas ir Jakubas, 2019.

The book can be purchased here.

 

Breeur’s academia.edu page and researchgate page.

.

 

 

.

19 Aug 2020

Breeur (1.2) Lies – Imposture – Stupidity, Ch.1.2, “Contingency, Freedom, and Imagination”, summary

 

by Corry Shores

 

[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

 

[Central Entry Directory]

[Roland Breeur, entry directory]

[Breeur, Lies – Imposture – Stupidity, entry directory]

 

[The following is a paragraph by paragraph summary of Breeur’s text. Boldface, underlining, and bracketed commentary are my own. Proofreading is incomplete, so please forgive my mistakes. The book can be purchased here.]

 

 

 

 

Summary of

 

Roland Breeur

[Breeur’s academia.edu page and researchgate page]

 

Lies – Imposture – Stupidity

 

Part 1

Lies and Stupidity

 

Ch.1

 

1.2

“Contingency, Freedom, and Imagination”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brief summary (collecting those below):

(1.2.1) On the one hand, facts strike us as highly contingent: we often think things could have happened differently (“A small, contingent little detail could have put the entire outcome of history on a different track.”) On the other hand, facts, once occurring, cannot be made otherwise and in that sense are highly necessary. Furthermore, facts are always understood from a particular perspective and distance, which is the freedom, according to Arendt, “‘to say “yes” or “no” [... ] to things as they are given, beyond agreement or disagreement’.” (1.2.2) Insofar as we regard a fact as contingent (that it could have been otherwise), we might feel remorse (about that bad event would could have prevented). We might for instance think, “If only I had not done such and such.” And, insofar as we regard the event as necessary (that it is something that is engraved in the past and cannot be altered) we might feel gratitude about it, perhaps thinking something like, “What great luck I had there!” Both of these feelings are entangled just as the fact’s contingency and necessity are. (This complex composition of facts along with our thoughts and feelings about them provides a basic structure for our actions and the freedom we have with regard to them. In order to act freely, there needs to be options, otherthans, alternatives, etc. that we may choose among. Thus we need to think that facts as they were and are alterable (are contingent) and we are responsible for how they are altered. And we also need to regard that there are given conditions (necessary in that sense) against which our actions can introduce divergence:) “On the basis of what happens to you and ‘could have been otherwise’ you cherish the desire to do something else – and that desire itself is fed by the insight that what happened cannot be undone” (14). As Arendt notes, our action cannot act in a contextual vacuum; rather, she writes, “In order to make room for one’s own action, something that was there before must be removed or destroyed, and things as they were before are changed.” But, in order to nullify or bypass the necessarily given circumstances, we must imagine this otherwise. Now, such a denial of reality and assertion that it be otherwise is in a sense both an act of the imagination and an act of lying. She writes: “the ability to lie, the deliberate denial of factual truth, and the capacity to change facts, the ability to act, are interconnected; they owe their existence to the same source, imagination.” This involves, on the one hand, nullifying, making nothing of the factually given, and, on the other hand, affirming an alternate nothing. As Breeur explains: “Acting means ignoring something in reality or neutralizing its impact in favor of what does not yet exist and what I would like to change, adapt, replace” (15). (1.2.3) (Given that facts involve our interpretations and efforts to alter them), facts are never simply given to our passive reception but rather “appear within a context as an event, a moment, an object, on the basis of which a set of possibilities is generated” (15). This is similar to Deleuze’s notion of voyance, a sort of clairvoyant seeing of how present circumstances can be suddenly steered down unexpected paths of alternate development. Since every fact involves both the given and the alternate, “A fact or event is therefore a kind of snapshot, a central point in which a minimal distinction is condensed between the real and the possible” (15). The imaginary is what reshapes the real, and thus “A fact therefore never appears objectively and naked, but, like everything that appears, is (to use Sartre’s expression) ‘pregnant with the imaginary’” (15-16). And those with greater powers of the imagination and clairvoyance are more able to alter the progress of events and unfolding of facts.

 

 

 

 

 

Contents

 

1.2.1

[The Dual Contingency and Necessity of Facts and Our Freedom to Affirm Them in Accordance with a Perspectival View upon Them]

 

1.2.2

[The Dual Attitude Toward Action and Freedom Built Upon Facts’ Contingency/Necessity Ambivalence: Lying by Means of Imagination to Introduce Alternance into Actuality]

 

1.2.3

[Bending the Real with Voyance, Thereby Impregnating It with Imagination]

 

Bibliography

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summary

 

1.2.1

[The Dual Contingency and Necessity of Facts and Our Freedom to Affirm Them in Accordance with a Perspectival View upon Them]

 

[On the one hand, facts strike us as highly contingent: we often think things could have happened differently (“A small, contingent little detail could have put the entire outcome of history on a different track.”) On the other hand, facts, once occurring, cannot be made otherwise and in that sense are highly necessary. Furthermore, facts are always understood from a particular perspective and distance, which is the freedom, according to Arendt, “‘to say “yes” or “no” [... ] to things as they are given, beyond agreement or disagreement’.”]

 

[ditto]

Facts in history manifest a remarkable ambivalence between pure contingency and necessity. At the occasion of some event, you cannot get rid of the impression that things could have been otherwise, that things could have gone differently. A small, contingent little detail could have put the entire outcome of history on a different track. On the other hand, what’s done is done. This small detail is overloaded with meaning precisely because it did not derail the fatal consequences of history. Something happens without reason – and what | happened becomes indelible or irreversible. Hence, facts occur to us in a certain place at a certain time. A fact is not just a mechanical or natural “thing.” After all, you do not simply accept or submit yourself to facts passively; rather, you consider facts from a very specific angle and a kind of distance. That distance is freedom – the  freedom, according to Hannah Arendt, “to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ [... ] to things as they are given, beyond agreement or disagreement.”5

(13-14)

5. Hannah Arendt, “Lying in Politics,” in: Crises of the Republic (San Diego: Harvest, 1972), p.5.

(14)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.2.2

[The Dual Attitude Toward Action and Freedom Built Upon Facts’ Contingency/Necessity Ambivalence: Lying by Means of Imagination to Introduce Alternance into Actuality]

 

[Insofar as we regard a fact as contingent (that it could have been otherwise), we might feel remorse (about that bad event would could have prevented). We might for instance think, “If only I had not done such and such.” And, insofar as we regard the event as necessary (that it is something that is engraved in the past and cannot be altered) we might feel gratitude about it, perhaps thinking something like, “What great luck I had there!” Both of these feelings are entangled just as the fact’s contingency and necessity are. (This complex composition of facts along with our thoughts and feelings about them provides a basic structure for our actions and the freedom we have with regard to them. In order to act freely, there needs to be options, otherthans, alternatives, etc. that we may choose among. Thus we need to think that facts as they were and are alterable (are contingent) and we are responsible for how they are altered. And we also need to regard that there are given conditions (necessary in that sense) against which our actions can introduce divergence:) “On the basis of what happens to you and ‘could have been otherwise’ you cherish the desire to do something else – and that desire itself is fed by the insight that what happened cannot be undone” (14). As Arendt notes, our action cannot act in a contextual vacuum; rather, she writes, “In order to make room for one’s own action, something that was there before must be removed or destroyed, and things as they were before are changed.” But, in order to nullify or bypass the necessarily given circumstances, we must imagine this otherwise. Now, such a denial of reality and assertion that it be otherwise is in a sense both an act of the imagination and an act of lying. She writes: “the ability to lie, the deliberate denial of factual truth, and the capacity to change facts, the ability to act, are interconnected; they owe their existence to the same source, imagination.” This involves, on the one hand, nullifying, making nothing of the factually given, and, on the other hand, affirming an alternate nothing. As Breeur explains: “Acting means ignoring something in reality or neutralizing its impact in favor of what does not yet exist and what I would like to change, adapt, replace” (15).]

 

[ditto]

This combination of coincidence and necessity can therefore be a source of remorse (“If only I hadn’t...”) or gratitude (“What luck happens to me!”). A fact therefore affects someone within a certain context that is marked by the structure of the action: it does something to you or you do something with it. On the basis of what happens to you and “could have been otherwise” you cherish the desire to do something else – and that desire itself is fed by the insight that what happened cannot be undone. In her text on “lying in politics,” Arendt aptly expresses the affinity between freedom and action as follows:

A characteristic of human action is that it always begins something new, but this does not mean that it is ever permitted to start ab ovo, to create ex nihilo. In order to make room for one’s own action, something that was there before must be removed or destroyed, and things as they were before are changed. Such change would be impossible if we could not mentally remove ourselves from where we are physically located and imagine that things might as well be different from what they actually are. In other words, the ability to lie, the deliberate denial of factual truth, and the capacity to change facts, the ability to act, are interconnected; they owe their existence to the same source, imagination.6

| The ability to take distance and imagine that things could be different from what they are today, these are also the two structural properties of the dynamics of the imagination as such. It is not for nothing that Sartre defined the imaginary as a consciousness in so far as it realizes its freedom.7 The imaginary cannot reductively be “psychologized” into the mental function of forming images; it represents a global attitude towards reality. The power of the imaginary lies in the quasi-magical ability that we have to deny facts – “to say ‘no’” – in favor of a fictional narrative. The imaginary thus affirms itself as a refusal to accept what is happening or as a distance from reality in favor of the possible or the unreal. It is this internal structure of a “double néantisation’’ that, as Arendt suggested, is characteristic of freedom and action. Acting means ignoring something in reality or neutralizing its impact in favor of what does not yet exist and what I would like to change, adapt, replace.

(14-15)

6. “Lying in Politics,” p. 5.

(14)

7. Jean-Paul Sartre, L’imaginaire (Paris: Gallimard, 1986), p. 358.

(15)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.2.3

[Bending the Real with Voyance, Thereby Impregnating It with Imagination]

 

[(Given that facts involve our interpretations and efforts to alter them), facts are never simply given to our passive reception but rather “appear within a context as an event, a moment, an object, on the basis of which a set of possibilities is generated” (15). This is similar to Deleuze’s notion of voyance, a sort of clairvoyant seeing of how present circumstances can be suddenly steered down unexpected paths of alternate development. Since every fact involves both the given and the alternate, “A fact or event is therefore a kind of snapshot, a central point in which a minimal distinction is condensed between the real and the possible” (15). The imaginary is what reshapes the real, and thus “A fact therefore never appears objectively and naked, but, like everything that appears, is (to use Sartre’s expression) ‘pregnant with the imaginary’” (15-16). And those with greater powers of the imagination and clairvoyance are more able to alter the progress of events and unfolding of facts.]

 

[ditto]

I would argue, in line with Sartre’s phenomenological thinking, that facts are never recorded or registered passively. They appear within a context as an event, a moment, an object, on the basis of which a set of possibilities is generated. In this context, Deleuze aptly spoke of “voyance,” a kind of clairvoyant seeing by which, in what is usually understood by our perception, one discovers a specific detail that can push the course of the circumstances into a totally new and unexpected dimension and direction.8 Think of a comedian who quickly and sharply detects and exploits ambiguities in words and unexpectedly “translates” the meaning of statements into a different register. A fact or event is therefore a kind of snapshot, a central point in which a minimal distinction is condensed between the real and the possible. This distinction is based on the imaginary. A fact therefore never appears | objectively and naked, but, like everything that appears, is (to use Sartre’s expression) “pregnant with the imaginary.” This imaginary gives implicit meaning to the real. The richer your imagination, the sharper your clairvoyance, i.e. the more details will have the power to evoke in the world moments where “everything could have been different.” Or, conversely, the power to get some flexibility and contingency into what has happened and is experienced as irreversible.

(15-16)

8. Cf. Corry Shores, “The Primacy of Falsity: Deviant Origins in Deleuze,” Tijdschrift voor Filosofie 81.1 (2019), 81-130.

(15)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bibliography:

Breeur, Roland. Lies – Imposture – Stupidity. Vilnius: Jonas ir Jakubas, 2019.

The book can be purchased here.

 

Breeur’s academia.edu page and researchgate page.

.

 

 

.

29 Jul 2020

Breeur (1.1) Lies – Imposture – Stupidity, Ch.1.1, “Hieronymus Bosch”, summary

 

by Corry Shores

 

[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

 

[Central Entry Directory]

[Roland Breeur, entry directory]

[Breeur, Lies – Imposture – Stupidity, entry directory]

 

[The following is a paragraph by paragraph summary of Breeur’s text. Boldface, underlining, and bracketed commentary are my own. Proofreading is incomplete, so please forgive my mistakes. The book can be purchased here.]

 

 

 

 

Summary of

 

Roland Breeur

[Breeur’s academia.edu page and researchgate page]

 

Lies – Imposture – Stupidity

 

 

Part 1

Lies and Stupidity

 

Ch.1.

The Last Judgment

 

1.1

Hieronymus Bosch

 

 

 

 

Brief summary (collecting those below):

(1.1.1) We often assume that the truth of historical events lies in their factual accounting and recordkeeping, for instance, the records of the genocide of Armenian peoples. We find a fantastical depiction of similar acts of torture in Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Last Judgment,” in the part showing a woman getting horseshoes nailed into her feet. (1.1.2) The objective reporting of facts will always fail to do justice to the truth of many of them, because they will not be able to fully convey the affective intensity of those truths, as seen for instance in historical events of atrocity. Artistic depictions, even fantastical ones like Bosch’s “The Last Judgment,” are better able to do so. Nonetheless, (even though the imagination is employed in fashioning such artistic presentations of the affective intensity of the truths of facts), the imagination also dilutes facts into images in such a way that they “become weak and empty over time.” (Liars, who conceal the truth, thus employ imagination, although “that imagination moves the liar far beyond the lie.”)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contents

 

1.1.1

[Fact as Truth. Bosch’s Torture]

 

1.1.2

[Truth Beyond Fact. Imagination and Lie]

 

Bibliography

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summary

 

1.1.1

[Fact as Truth. Bosch’s Torture]

 

[We often assume that the truth of historical events lies in their factual accounting and recordkeeping, for instance, the records of the genocide of Armenian peoples. We find a fantastical depiction of similar acts of torture in Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Last Judgment,” in the part showing a woman getting horseshoes nailed into her feet.]

 

Breeur begins by noting Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Last Judgment.”

 

(source: wiki)

 

Breeur mentions the various tortures and points in particular to a scene where a figure is hammering a horseshoe into a woman’s foot. (It might be what is shown in the image below, but I am not entirely certain.)

 
 

 

This image reminds Breeur of acts committed during the genocide of the Armenians (see the Appendix). He continues: “But these facts are also told by historians and by witnesses whose ex­periences were recorded. ‘Hence, it was all true’” (12).

My eyes fell recently on a new reproduction of Hieronymus Bosch’s “The Last Judgment.” Above is Christ as judge sur­rounded by the Virgin Mary, John the Evangelist, and the apostles. Below, the punishment of the damned, painted in somber colors. These castigations are eagerly carried out by a rough crew of monsters crawling across the country like in­sects on a piece of rotten meat. We witness how the damned are burned, speared, impaled, hung on butcher’s hooks, forced to eat excrements or thrown into bizarre machines that look like gigantic meat mills, and more of that fun. But one specific scene caught my attention. In the midst of all this cheerful violence, there is discernible, at a crumbled brothel and in a place that probably should have housed a blacksmith, one of these crazy figures nailing a horseshoe to a woman’s heel. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I came across descriptions of this horrible or­deal in books talking about the torture that the Armenians had endured before and during the 1915 genocide.4 But these facts are also told by historians and by witnesses whose ex­periences were recorded. “Hence, it was all true.”

(12)

4. Edgar Hilsenrath talks about this in his great novel The Story of the Last Thought. See the Appendix for more on this novel.

(12)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

1.1.2

[Truth Beyond Fact. Imagination and Lie]

 

[The objective reporting of facts will always fail to do justice to the truth of many of them, because they will not be able to fully convey the affective intensity of those truths, as seen for instance in historical events of atrocity. Artistic depictions, even fantastical ones like Bosch’s “The Last Judgment,” are better able to do so. Nonetheless, (even though the imagination is employed in fashioning such artistic presentations of the affective intensity of the truths of facts), the imagination also dilutes facts into images in such a way that they “become weak and empty over time.” (Liars, who conceal the truth, thus employ imagination, although “that imagination moves the liar far beyond the lie.”)]

 

[Facts have a truth to them. Objective reporting of facts is less able to reveal the truth of those facts than art is. This is because an aspect of the truth of facts is their affective intensity and ineffable significance, as seen for instance in cases of torture. (We might read an objective report of an event of torture, but only by being shocked by depictions of it, no matter how fantastical, will we really grasp the meaning of these truths fully. In other words, no extent of objective documentation can capture the truth of such an actual event as well as an artistic “misrepresentation” of it.) Although our imaginations are not powerful enough to invent facts, it is still the case that “Certain facts may only appear through their embedding in the imagination.”  Nonetheless, “the imagination dilutes these facts into images that become weak and empty over time.” Thus imagination plays a role in lying, because it’s dilutive activity of facts is what serves to conceal their truth: “There is no concealment of the truth without imagination.” Nevertheless, “that imagination moves the liar far beyond the lie.”]

I assume that this vicious barbarity was already applied in the time of Hieronymus Bosch. But the presence of that particular scene in “The Last Judgment,” painted around 1485, reinforced the reality of what I had read about that form of torture more than four centuries later. This fact confirms the trivial idea that art is better equipped to reveal the truth about some facts, and with an intensity that objective reports can rarely match. There is nothing in the scene that could disturb or distract attention from this clear and distinct representation. This atrocity, as painted in this work, is charged with such an intensity, is packed with such profound meaning, that it compresses a whole world of indignation, persecution, and blatant cruelty. From now on, I thought, one can still deny and reject these facts, but no one can ignore their truth any more. It is not the case that there are only interpretations and no facts. Rather, there is no interpretation that does not relate to facts. We don’t invent the latter. Our imaginations are not powerful enough for that. Certain facts may only appear through their embedding in the imagination, but the imagination dilutes these facts into images that become weak and empty over time. This weakness and emptiness are the fate of the liar. There is no concealment of the truth without imagination. But that imagination moves the liar far beyond the lie.

(13)

[contents]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bibliography:

Breeur, Roland. Lies – Imposture – Stupidity. Vilnius: Jonas ir Jakubas, 2019.

The book can be purchased here.

 

Breeur’s academia.edu page and researchgate page

 

Image credits:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Last_Judgment_(Bosch_triptych)#/media/File:Last_judgement_Bosch.jpg

 

Detail from

Frans Vandewalle

https://www.flickr.com/photos/snarfel/

https://www.flickr.com/photos/snarfel/6499704783

Creative Commons license:

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/

 

Thanks Frans Vandewalle!

 

.

 

 

.

17 Apr 2017

Hume (4.2) Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, “Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the Understanding. Part II”

 

by Corry Shores

 

[Search Blog Here. Index-tags are found on the bottom of the left column.]

 

[Central Entry Directory]

[David Hume, entry directory]

[Hume, Enquiry concerning Human Nature, entry directory]

 

[The following is summary. Any boldface in quotations or bracketed commentary is my own. Proofreading is incomplete, so there are still typos present. I apologize for the distractions. Block quotations of this text are copied from the Project Gutenberg online text. Paragraph enumerations follow those of the print text.]

 

 

 

 

David Hume

 

An Enquiry concerning Human Nature

 

Section IV:

Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the Understanding

 

Part II

 

 

 

Brief summary:

We have knowledge either of {1} relations of ideas, which are logically certain (because their contraries imply contradictions), as for example mathematical equations, or we have knowledge of {2} matters of fact, which are probable, because their contraries are not contradictions, as for example ‘the sun will rise tomorrow’ (for, it is not a contradiction to think, ‘the sun will not rise tomorrow’). We trust such conclusions regarding matters of fact, because we come to have knowledge of causal relations governing such regularities. And this causal knowledge is obtainable only through experience. The basis of this kind of knowledge is the assumption that like causes produce like effects, and thus that the future will resemble the past. We once ate bread and learned it was nourishing. Then when seeing other bread-like things, we are more likely to infer they will be nourishing, with each uniform experience pushing us more toward drawing that conclusion. Suppose there really was a cognitive path going from the premises to the inductive conclusion. There would be then one form of reasoning or another that allows us to make that intermediary step. But there are only two kinds of reasoning, and neither makes this allowance. One kind is demonstrative reasoning, which concerns the relations of ideas and whose conclusions are necessary on account of the absurdity of their negations. But inductive sorts of conclusions are not logically necessary. The only other sort of reasoning is moral reasoning, which concerns matters of fact and existence. Here however the conclusions are only probable. But we cannot use moral reasoning to ground inductive reasoning, because it itself uses inductive reasoning; we cannot say that inductive reasoning can be trusted on account of it having proven to be reliable in the past, because we would be using an inductive principle for our justification, where it is that very inductive principle we are trying to find justification for. But there also is no deductive reasoning to draw these conclusions about the future. To understand why, we consider an illustration. Suppose you eat one egg. It has a certain taste. Then we eat a hundred more on other occasions, with each case giving the same taste. After that uniform series, we conclude without much hesitation upon seeing another egg that it will have that same taste. But when we ate an egg the second time, we were not nearly so quick to draw that conclusion. We instead waited to see. So were there some deductive reasoning to allow us to draw this conclusion about its taste, it would have been available to us from the first instance, allowing us to infer immediately that all forthcoming instances will be the same. And it is not enough to say that we trust them just because they are reliable enough for our practical purposes. For, this does nothing to explain the reasoning underlining how the inferences are made in the first place. One might object that this reasoning for inductive inferences exists, but we just have not found it yet. However, we can be sure that it does not exist, because creatures incapable of rational thinking (like infants and animals)  have no problems drawing such inductive inferences.

 

 

 

 

 

Summary

 

 

4.2.14

[Our knowledge of matters of fact is based on knowledge of cause and effect, which in turn is based on experience. But what is the basis for reliable knowledge of experience?]

 

[In the prior section, we noted there are two sorts of objects of human reason or enquiry. The first kind are relations of ideas. They are always certain on account of logical necessity, as their negation is inconceivable. An example are mathematical formulas. The other kind are matters of fact. They are possible, and not certain, on account of their contrary claims being conceivable, as in, “the sun will rise tomorrow.” Yet we trust much of our knowledge in matters of fact. This is because we assume that they are governed by laws and relations of cause and effect, which hold consistently. We also determined that no knowledge of cause and effect can be deduced a priori but rather must be discovered by experience.] We now wonder, what is the basis for us to to draw reliable conclusions from experience?

But we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfaction with regard to the question first proposed. Each solution still gives rise to a new question as difficult as the foregoing, and leads us on to farther enquiries. When it is asked, What is the nature of all our reasonings concerning matter of fact? the proper answer seems to be, that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect. When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all our reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still carry on our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all conclusions from experience? this implies a new question, which may be of more difficult solution and explication. Philosophers, that give themselves airs of superior wisdom and sufficiency, have a hard task when they encounter persons of inquisitive dispositions, who push them from every corner to which they retreat, and who are sure at last to bring them to some dangerous dilemma. The best expedient to prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our pretensions; and even to discover the difficulty ourselves before it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of merit of our very ignorance.

(online / 23)

 

 

 

4.2.15

[Knowledge from experience, as we will see, is not based in reasoning.]

 

Hume will not here tell us what such knowledge from experience is based on. He will only explain that we know it is not from reasoning or other cognitive processes.

I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task, and shall pretend only to give a negative answer to the question here proposed. I say then, that, even after we have experience of the operations of cause and effect, our conclusions from that experience are not founded on reasoning, or any process of the understanding. This answer we must endeavour both to explain and to defend.

(online / 23)

 

 

4.2.16

[Our knowledge of matters of fact involves an inductive inference that things with like sensible features have like causal properties. We assume that all things looking identical to bread have similar nourishing powers. But while we can know this causal feature holds in the past occasions we experienced, it is not obvious how we can be certain about future ones. The grounds for this inductive inference are obscure.]

 

Our senses only give us superficial properties of objects, like color and weight, but they do not tell us the kinds of “powers and principles” behind the object’s causal capacities. So we might see that bread is brown and weighs some small amount, but we cannot from those data know it has the capacity to nourish a human body. And we can observe bodies moving, but we cannot see the inertia itself. However, whenever two things have the same observable features, we are quick to conclude they have the same causal powers. So when seeing something that looks identical to bread, we infer it has the same nourishing power. Now, we can be sure that in the prior and first instance that the bread was nourishing. But Hume wonders how we can infer in future instances of objects with similar features that they will be nourishing too. [For, as we noted, its nourish powers are not given in the features. So those features alone are not an adequate indication. We need some other mental operation to extend the findings of the prior instance to the future one.] Hume says there is some “medium” connecting past observations with inferences about future ones. He does not know what that is, but those who think it does exist and is the source of conclusions on matters of fact must produce it.

It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us at a great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded us only the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of objects; while she conceals from us those powers and principles on which the influence of those objects entirely depends. Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and consistence of bread; but neither sense nor reason can ever inform us of those qualities which fit it for the nourishment and support of a human body. Sight or feeling conveys an idea of the actual motion of bodies; but as to that wonderful force or power, which would carry on a moving body for ever in a continued change of place, and which bodies never lose but by communicating it to others; of this we cannot form the most distant conception. But notwithstanding this ignorance of natural powers6 and principles, we always presume, when we see like sensible qualities, that they have like secret powers, and expect that effects, similar to those which we have experienced, will follow from them. If a body of like colour and consistence with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be presented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experiment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and support. Now this is a process of the mind or thought, of which I would willingly know the foundation. It is allowed on all hands that there is no known connexion between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a conclusion concerning their constant and regular conjunction, by anything which it knows of their nature. As to past Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain information of those precise objects only, and that precise period of time, which fell under its cognizance: but why this experience should be extended to future times, and to other objects, which for aught we know, may be only in appearance similar; this is the main question on which I would insist. The bread, which I formerly eat, nourished me; that is, a body of such sensible qualities was, at that time, endued with such secret powers: but does it follow, that other bread must also nourish me at another time, and that like sensible qualities must always be attended with like secret powers? The consequence seems nowise necessary. At least, it must be acknowledged that there is here a consequence drawn by the mind; that there is a certain step | taken; a process of thought, and an inference, which wants to be explained. These two propositions are far from being the same, I have found that such an object has always been attended with such an effect, and I foresee, that other objects, which are, in appearance, similar, will be attended with similar effects. I shall allow, if you please, that the one proposition may justly be inferred from the other: I know, in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you insist that the inference is made by a chain of reasoning, I desire you to produce that reasoning. The connexion between these propositions is not intuitive. There is required a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argument. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my comprehension; and it is incumbent on those to produce it, who assert that it really exists, and is the origin of all our conclusions concerning matter of fact.

(online / 24-25)

 

 

4.2.17

[We will examine all the branches of knowledge and see that none can ground the inductive inferences we make regarding matters of fact.]

 

[So we do not know what allows us to make the inductive inference. Hume will now delineate all the branches of knowledge to show that none allow us to make such inferences. (This will allow us to know that the inference is not based on any rational principle.)]

This negative argument must certainly, in process of time, become altogether convincing, if many penetrating and able philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way and no one be ever able to discover any connecting proposition or intermediate step, which supports the understanding in this conclusion. But as the question is yet new, every reader may not trust so far to his own penetration, as to conclude, because an argument escapes his enquiry, that therefore it does not really exist. For this reason it may be requisite to venture upon a more difficult task; and enumerating all the branches of human knowledge, endeavour to show that none of them can afford such an argument.

(online / 25)

 

 

4.2.18

[The are two kinds of reasoning: 1} demonstrative reasoning (which concerns the relations of ideas) and {2} moral reasoning (which concerns matters of fact and existence). Matters of fact do not involve demonstrative reasoning, because there is no contradiction in thinking that objects will have different properties in the future.]

 

Hume divides all sorts of reasoning into two kinds: {1} demonstrative reasoning and {2} moral reasoning. Demonstrative reasoning concerns the relations of ideas. [In the explanatory notes at the end, the editor defines demonstrative arguments in the following way.

demonstrative arguments: arguments that lead with total logical certainty from premiss(es) to conclusion, such as valid arguments in mathematics. See §10 of the Introduction, above.

(Peter Millican. “Explanatory Notes”, 191)

And from the editor’s Introduction:

Demonstrative reasoning is what can be loosely called ‘deductive’ reasoning, in which the steps of the argument proceed with absolute certainty based on the logical relations between the ideas concerned (e.g. the kind of argument used in mathematics, such as the proof of Pythagoras’ Theorem). Factual reasoning—which Hume also calls ‘moral’ and Locke had called ‘probable’—is now commonly called ‘inductive’ inference, encompassing all sorts of everyday reasoning in which we draw apparently reasonable (but less than logically certain) conclusions based on our personal experience, testimony, our understanding of how people and things behave, and so forth.

(Peter Millican. “Introduction”, xxxvii)

So inductive inference regarding matters of fact does not involve demonstrative argumentation, because the conclusions do not follow by logical necessity. This means also that the negation of the inductive inferences imply no contradiction.]

All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely, demonstrative reasoning, or that concerning relations of ideas, and moral reasoning, or that concerning matter of fact and existence. That there are no demonstrative arguments in the case seems evident; since it implies no contradiction that the course of nature may change, and that an object, seemingly like those which we have experienced, may be attended with different or contrary effects. May I not clearly and distinctly conceive that a body, falling from the clouds, and which, in all other respects, resembles snow, has yet the taste of salt or feeling of fire? Is there any more intelligible proposition than to affirm, that all the trees will flourish in December and January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demonstrative argument or abstract reasoning priori.

(online / 25)

Moral reasoning concerns matters of fact and existence.

 

 

 

4.2.19

[Our inductive arguments about the future can only be probable. And we cannot justify this sort of reasoning by saying that we may trust them because they often prove true. For, this is using circular reasoning by employing an argument based on probability to justify arguments of this very same kind.]

 

[I am not certain, but the next points seem to be the following. Inductive arguments about the future can only have more or less probability of being true. I do not understand what is meant by “arguments concerning existence”. It is apparently an idea we already addressed, but it does not seem to simply mean an argument based on a premise saying that something exists or having a conclusion make such a claim. Maybe it means an argument dealing with an actual situation rather than a general statement of law concerning any situation. I am not sure. At any rate, an important idea here is that our inductive arguments about the future suppose that things in the future will behave like they did in the past. We then ask, how can we know this? The next point seems to be that we cannot say that we know this with the following reasoning: in the past, there was always a high probability that the future is consistent with the past. I am not certain, but the problem here might be that we are trying to justify inductive reasoning, but we cannot use inductive reasoning to do so. I am not sure that is it, because suppose we wanted to justify deductive or demonstrable reasoning. Would we have to use some other sort of reasoning to do so? Let me quote so you can see. (I find objections to circularity to be tricky to grasp straightforwardly.)]

If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put trust in past experience, and make it the standard of our future judgement, these arguments must be probable only, or such as regard matter of fact and real existence, according to the division above mentioned. But that there is no argument of this kind, must appear, if our explication of that species of reasoning be admitted as solid and satisfactory. We have said that all arguments concerning existence are founded on the relation of cause and effect; that our knowledge of that relation is derived entirely from experience; and that all our experimental conclusions proceed upon the supposition that the future will be conformable to the past. To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this last supposition by probable arguments, or arguments regarding existence, must be evidently going in a circle, and taking that for granted, which is the very point in question.

(online / 26)

 

 

 

4.2.20

[Our inductive reasoning is based on the assumption that like causes will have like effects. But there is no act of deductive reasoning which allows us to make this conclusion. For, if it existed, we would be able to conclude all future cases of some experienced situation will have the same effects. But in fact, we first need a long series of uniform such experiences before we are inclined to draw such a conclusion.]

 

So, we trust that when causes appear similar, the effects will be similar. [I am not sure, but Hume’s next points might be the following. This is not an a priori notion. For, if it were, then we would for example upon eating an egg for the first time expect all future times to have the same taste and provide the same enjoyment. But in fact we need a long series of uniform events before we have such certainty about future cases. I do not understand the last point; maybe it is something like the following. Let me quote it first: “Now it seems evident that, if this conclusion were formed by reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon one instance, as after ever so long a course of experience. But the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no one, on account of this appearing similarity, expects the same taste and relish in all of them. It is only after a long course of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance and security with regard to a particular event. Now where is that process of reasoning which, from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different from that which it infers from a hundred instances that are nowise different from that single one? This question I propose as much for the sake of information, as with an intention of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine any such reasoning.” So we began by noting the first experience of eating eggs. We drew from that experience no conclusion about future such experiences of eggs. But to make this particular interpretation work, we need to think that we did draw a conclusion, namely that future instances may or may not be the same. After a hundred such experiences of eating eggs, we come to a different conclusion, which is that all future instances will be similar. (The difference being that the second conclusion has a greater degree of “certainty” that the future cases will resemble the prior ones.) Hume then wonders if there is some process of reasoning that causes us to draw the more determinate conclusion after many experiences. He says he cannot think of any. The point might be that were such reasoning available, we would have been able to draw the conclusion after the first instance. (Instead it seems that some kind of force of association alters our tendencies to draw inductive conclusions.)]

In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on the similarity which we discover among natural objects, and by which we are induced to expect effects similar to those which we have found to follow from such objects. And though none but a fool or madman will ever pretend to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject that great guide of human life, it may surely be allowed a philosopher to have so much curiosity at least as to examine the principle of human nature, which gives this mighty authority to experience, and makes us draw advantage from that similarity which nature has placed among different objects. From causes which appear similar we expect similar effects. This is the sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now it seems evident that, if this conclusion were formed by reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon one instance, as after ever so long a course of experience. But the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no one, on account of this appearing similarity, expects the same taste and relish in all of them. It is only after a long course of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm reliance and security with regard to a particular event. Now where is that process of reasoning which, from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different from that which it infers from a hundred instances that are nowise different from that single one? This question I propose as much for the sake of information, as with an intention of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine any such reasoning. But I keep my mind still open to instruction, if any one will vouchsafe to bestow it on me.

(online / 26)

 

 

 

4.2.21

[How can we be sure that like causes will have like effects and thus that the future will resemble the past? We cannot. We can only trust inductive conclusions for practical reasons. But there is no reasoning that will take us from the premises to the inductive conclusion.]

 

If we just say that we infer the inductive conclusion, then we still need to explain [what interposing ideas allow us to move from premises to conclusion, as there is no necessary connection between them.] This inference is neither intuitive [as it not immediately apparent but only so after much repetition, perhaps] and it is not demonstrative [as it does not follow by necessity from the premises].  But of what nature is this inference that the future will resemble the past? [It is not enough to say that it is based on experience, because nothing prevents us from experiencing something different in the future.] [And again, we cannot say that inductive inference is reliable by pointing to its reliability in the past, because we are using the same point to conclude the same point, namely, that a uniformity of outcome is enough to predict future uniform outcomes.] [I do not follow the next points well. Maybe they are the following. Hume has us assume that all events up to now have been uniform. Nonetheless, on that basis alone, we cannot conclude they will remain uniform in the future. Hume says that the causal properties of objects might change. (He even says this happens sometimes for some objects, but he does not give more specifics.) Hume then notes that we cannot be protected from this possibility. Perhaps we might reply that our experiences are so consistent that they are worthy of trust. Hume it seems is acknowledging that for practical purposes we can have this trust. (So for example we can set our clocks at night expecting the sun will rise tomorrow.) But as philosophers, we demand more than a practical justification for certainty in our knowledge. (If really there are grounds to draw these inferences, rather than mere practical conveniences for doings so, we can still as philosophers demand to know what they are. To think of this another way, science, which uses this sort of inductive reasoning about the future to make predictions, can claim that for all practical purposes we can expect things to be the same in the future. We see this sort of defense from Richard Dawkins when he says, “It works, bitches” when facing the same philosophical challenge to inductive knowledge. But this means that science cannot make claims of truth. We cannot say these inferences are “true” but only that for practical purposes we will trust them.)]

Should it be said that, from a number of uniform experiments, we infer a connexion between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; this, I must confess, seems the same difficulty, couched in different terms. The question still recurs, on what process of argument this inference is founded? Where is the medium, the interposing ideas, which join propositions so very wide of each other? It is confessed that the colour, consistence, and other sensible qualities of bread appear not, of themselves, to have any connexion with the secret powers of nourishment and support. For otherwise we could infer these secret powers from the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without the aid of experience; contrary to the sentiment of all philosophers, and contrary to plain matter of fact. Here, then, is our natural state of ignorance with regard to the powers and influence of all objects. How is this remedied by experience? It only shows us a number of uniform effects, resulting from certain objects, and teaches us that those particular objects, at that particular time, were endowed with such powers and forces. When a new object, endowed with similar sensible qualities, is produced, we expect similar powers and forces, and look for a like effect. From a body of like colour and consistence with bread we expect like nourishment and support. But this surely is a step or progress of the mind, which wants to be explained. When a man says, I have found, in all past instances, such sensible qualities conjoined with such secret powers: And when he says, Similar sensible qualities will always be conjoined with similar secret powers, he is not guilty of a tautology, nor are these propositions in any respect the same. You say that the one proposition is an inference from the other. But you must confess that the inference is not intuitive; neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it, then? To say it is experimental, is begging the question. For all inferences from experience suppose, as their foundation, that the future will resemble the past, and that similar powers will be conjoined with similar sensible qualities. If there be any suspicion that the course of nature may change, and that the past may be no rule for the future, all experience becomes useless, and can give rise to no inference or conclusion. It is impossible, therefore, that any arguments from experience can prove this resemblance of the past to the future; since all these arguments are founded on the supposition of that resemblance. Let the course of things be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that alone, without some new argument or inference, proves not that, for the future, it will continue so. In vain do you pretend to | have learned the nature of bodies from your past experience. Their secret nature, and consequently all their effects and influence, may change, without any change in their sensible qualities. This happens sometimes, and with regard to some objects: Why may it not happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic, what process of argument secures you against this supposition? My practice, you say, refutes my doubts. But you mistake the purport of my question. As an agent, I am quite satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher, who has some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I want to learn the foundation of this inference. No reading, no enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give me satisfaction in a matter of such importance. Can I do better than propose the difficulty to the public, even though, perhaps, I have small hopes of obtaining a solution? We shall at least, by this means, be sensible of our ignorance, if we do not augment our knowledge.

(online / 27-28)

 

 

4.2.22

[It could be that the rational justification for inductive inference exists but that we have not found it yet.]

 

[Hume then acknowledges that he might have simply failed to find the rational justification for inductive conclusions. He also notes that just because no one in the past has provided this reasoning, we cannot conclude that none exists. However, Hume still thinks we can be more or less sure of this in this case.]

I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable arrogance who concludes, because an argument has escaped his own investigation, that therefore it does not really exist. I must also confess that, though all the learned, for several ages, should have employed themselves in fruitless search upon any subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash to conclude positively that the subject must, therefore, pass all human comprehension. Even though we examine all the sources of our knowledge, and conclude them unfit for such a subject, there may still remain a suspicion, that the enumeration is not complete, or the examination not accurate. But with regard to the present subject, there are some considerations which seem to remove all this accusation of arrogance or suspicion of mistake.

(online / 28)

 

 

 

4.2.23

[We can be sure that is no rational justification for inductive inferences, because creatures incapable of rational thinking (like infants and animals)  have no problems drawing such inductive inferences.]

 

[We can know that there is no logical reasoning behind inductive inference, because creatures that have no capacity for reasoning still draw these “inferences”. Children, for example, learn from pain, like learning to keep their hands away from candles after once burning their hands on a candle flame. Hume then goes through possible responses. If we say the child draws this conclusion from some sort of argumentational or logical thinking, then we need to state that reasoning. Presumably we cannot produce it, perhaps because there is no such logical reasoning that we would ascribe to an infant (who has yet to learn language or how to correctly draw logical inferences). We also may not say that the argument cannot be given on account of it being very complicated or difficult, because then an infant would be incapable of conceiving it. The next response might be the following, but I am unsure. Suppose that we take a long while to produce the reasoning that the child used. This shows that we are wrong, perhaps because the child draws the inference instantly and not after much reflection. Hume says that if he is right that inductive inference is not rationally justifiable, than he has not made a great discovery. Perhaps this is his characteristic modesty, here based on the idea that he has only proved a negative and not discovered something positive. He then very cleverly says, “if I be wrong, I must acknowledge myself to be indeed a very backward scholar; since I cannot now discover an argument which, it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before I was out of my cradle.” He is saying that probably his is right about this, because were he wrong, then he should be able to know something that was obvious to him since the time he was infant.]

It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants—nay infants, nay even brute beasts—improve by experience, and learn the qualities of natural objects, by observing the effects which result from them. When a child has felt the sensation of pain from touching the flame of a candle, he will be careful not to put his hand near any candle; but will expect a similar effect from a cause which is similar in its sensible qualities and appearance. If you assert, therefore, that the understanding of the child is led into this conclusion by any process of argument or ratiocination, I may justly require you to produce that argument; nor have you any pretence to refuse so equitable a demand. You cannot say that the argument is abstruse, and may possibly escape your enquiry; since you confess that it is obvious to the capacity of | a mere infant. If you hesitate, therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection, you produce any intricate or profound argument, you, in a manner, give up the question, and confess that it is not reasoning which engages us to suppose the past resembling the future, and to expect similar effects from causes which are, to appearance, similar. This is the proposition which I intended to enforce in the present section. If I be right, I pretend not to have made any mighty discovery. And if I be wrong, I must acknowledge myself to be indeed a very backward scholar; since I cannot now discover an argument which, it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before I was out of my cradle.

(online / 28-29)

 

 

 

 

 

 

From:

Hume, David. 2007. An Enquiry concerning Human Nature. Peter Millican (ed.). Oxford: Oxford University.

Text available online at:

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9662

PDF available at:

https://archive.org/details/enquiryconcernin00humeuoft

 

 

Or if otherwise noted:

Peter Millican. “Introduction.” In [see above].

Peter Millican. “Explanatory Notes.” In [see above].

 

 

 

 

 

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