Lesson 5: Why realism needs truth to be evidence transcendent.

So, dear Reader, here we are again. It has been a while. Apologies. So many words and so little time.

Maybe a speedy revisit of where we left off: The Logical Positivists, enthralled by Hume’s distinction between two forms of knowledge and, therefore, two ways in which things can be true, decided that the meaning of propositions must be constrained by these two forms of truth. In other words, they proposed, that there were only two ways in which statements could have meaning. The first is that it can be shown that they refer to traceable objects in, and properties of, the real world. It is this theoretical position, the requirement of a direct and knowable relationship between the world and the language we use to speak of that world, which made them verificationists about meaning. The second way in which a proposition can have meaning is if does so by definition alone. In other words, there need be no traceable referencing to the observable world, but the proposition must be true by some sort of logical necessity. For examples please refer back to previous lessons.

But now there arises a slight problem. If you are a metaphysician and, for instance, some of your conclusions about the nature of reality refer to things which are not traceable, such as ‘free will’, then your propositions stand at risk of being regarded meaningless by verificationist types of theorists about meaning. Show me the free will you so lavishly speak of, they would say. Or, at least, describe to me what it would seem like if I found it. How would it behave, in what causal relationships would it be partaking, how would I recognise it, and it alone, if I were to find it? Please note, dear Reader, that verificationists do not require that all referents be observed and verified, merely observable and verifiable. Testable is the closest scientific term to this.

Now, let us imagine that I am a realist about certain objects such as chairs, tables and human beings. I am also a realist about some of their properties. I maintain that chairs and tables are a certain way in reality, irrespective how they are perceived to be. In other words, they have mind independent properties. Let us say that I maintain that they have the property of extension. I also maintain that human beings have the property of having free will. It is, thus, true of human beings that they have free will irrespective of the perception or opinion there may be of such things. Free will is real. If I were a moral realist I would hold that moral values are real (mind independent) properties of certain actions. It is the moral task of persons to either trace them correctly or not.

But if I want to maintain that free will is a real property of human beings I must be able to show, verify, this to be the case in order to make my proposition true. But what if I cannot do this? Well, the realist is compelled to say, then there is always the option of arguing the case. I can forward lavish arguments, working with intricate definitions of what humans are and what free will is taken to be and, by certain strokes of deductive genius, I could demonstrate, in a similar way to how mathematical proofs work, that humans can be reasoned to have free will. I can say, for instance: All animals with human brains have free will. All humans have human brains. Therefore, all humans have free will.

Perfect! Or not? Even though the deduction is perfect this certainly, I hope you agree, does not get us to having to accept that it has now been proven that humans actually have free will. So, what oh what, does the realist do then. He so wants to make his claim and for it to have, at least, a possibility of being true. He then appeals to another notion of truth. He says that it is quite possible that his claim could be true and that the speaker of that claim has no manner of knowing that he has spoken a truth. In other words, it is possible to say that it is now 12 o’ clock, even though I have no knowledge of the time, and nevertheless be saying a true thing. So, truth, the realist says, can transcend knowledge. Truth is, therefore, not constrained by knowledge. Furthermore, this take on truth is supported by logic in its classical form, holding that all propositions must either be true or false. And, of course, if truth is not something which depends on speaker knowledge (or even the possibility of it) then it certainly is the case that any propositions whatsoever, will in an ultimate sense, be either true or false. Regardless of human endeavours, successful or not, to know whether it is true or false.

And accepting this position on evidence transcendent truth means that propositions can have meaning based in their conditions for truth, just like the verificationists would have it, but with the one significant difference being that the meaning making criteria for some propositions have nothing to do with the speaker knowledge of the content of that proposition. Because truth is something derived from realms often unavailable to human cognition.

What do you think of evidence transcendent truth?

The Wealth of Nations: Trade port size and specialisation

In Chapter Three Smith discusses, by way of many apt examples, the various influences on the size of trading stations. He looks at different areas in the world, such as the coasts around Africa, Asia and the Mediteranean, to illustrate how the particular features of a geographical landscape, with special focus on waterways and coastlines, influence the agricultural trading and other trading of that area. The Mediteranean sea, with its temperate weather, calm seas and textured coastline lends itself to the establishment of several ports. This, to quite a large degree, gave rise to the successful economic growth of Europe, according to Smith.

But the conceptual link between the size and frequency of trade centres only has bearing on the success of an economy via the notion of differentiation and specialisation. Thus, the central point of the chapter is not that geography has everything to do with how places of trade develop, but rather that if a trading centre, or market place is not adequately large it cannot support the ever important criterion for a healthy economy- specialisation.

It seems to be key, when reading Adam Smith, to bear in mind, at all times, that The Wealth of Nations offers a case for something like a fair and just society. His arguments seem always to be aimed at persuading the reader that healthy, successful and sustainable (to borrow from more current terminology) economies are ones which are egalitarian at their very foundations. Even when he is not stating this overtly the objectives are covert and made explicit again, when necessary, to drive home the point.

The tenet, for his overall argument- the book, which this chapter raises and defends is, therefore, that unless a reasonably large amount of people are living and working in close proximity to each other then specialisation will be impossible. This is for the obvious reason that, unless there is someone who is fulfilling a particular function within a community then someone else must do this. So, by way of example, if a community does not have someone who is a weaver then someone else, whose first choice and practice is not weaving will have to fulfill this function. Thus diluting his skills and productivity by forcing him to do too many things. A larger population, comprising a great variation of skills strengthens the trading potential of that community.

Which Smith, no doubt, holds as better for the survival of that economy and the further development of that community.

The Wealth of Nations: Differences and Trading

The next chapter of the book sees an argument for why there exists a natural inclination for man to want to specialise. Smith was, so it is said, from the empiricist mould so prevalent in Britian at the time. A contemporay of Hume's and, therefore, more than likely, theoretically aligned with philosophers such as Mill and Locke, he would have been interested in justifying his free trade theory by way of appealing to observable human nature. The British empiricists, whether they were doing moral or political philosophy were basically reductionist in their thinking. This means, for the new comer to this blog, that one category of facts (or even values) is reduced to some other category of facts. So, in economical theory, a person such as Smith- being both empiricist and reductionist- would have wanted to justify his reasons for why there should be specialisations based on the fact that human can be observed to be naturally predisposed to behaving in such a manner. And this inclination, Smith would want to say, is more than likely founded on the basic drive for survival (personal and then species).

This then is exactly what Smith does in his second chapter. He maintains that it is our predisposition to survival which has us specialising in our various occupations, as it is quite evident that in this way everyone has a better chance at thriving. Recall, dear reader, he has already explained the increase in efficiancy in his previous chapter. Furthermore, he says that our specific talents that we develop, which then give rise to what we choose to specialise in, are not based in inherent predispositions but rather by the way in which we are socialised as children. Smith seems keen to endorse that it is nurture and not nature which determines our talents and, therefore, our eventual occupations and trades. But the important point here is that no one specialises for morally based reasons of charity or philanthropy. Smith, subscribing once again to his empiricist leanings, and more than likely (but here I draw assumptions) also to some sort of Millsian psychological hedonism, will reason that all human action aimed at cooperation is not done for reasons of goodness or rightness, in the sense of moral virtue, but is rather based in utilitarian motivations of self interest.

Ah, it is so nice when a plan comes together. It is perfect when ideas fit so well.

However, the question that Smith will have to answer still is this. It is the same question as posed to him in my previous posting, but rephrased so as to incorporate our new vocabulary as we learn more about his wonderful theory. If it is agreed that humans cooperate for reasons of self interest then how will he explain the tendency (inclinations and predispositions) for humans to do the very things he will be arguing against? How does he explain, if not as immoral in the strict non-reductionist sense of the word, the existence of monopolies, duopolies and oligarchies?