Transcription
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It was a normal sunny day in the German countryside. The German nobleman Baron Munchausen was out riding his horse on his way to a town many miles away. In front of him was a long winding path; beside him was a large mire, an expanse of deep swamp and boggy ground.
While the baron was looking up peacefully, enjoying the view with the sun on his face, suddenly his horse jolted. When the baron looked down to see what was wrong, he saw a badger running in the opposite direction and his horse running off the trail straight into the mire. With several heavy steps, the horse made it a good distance into the water before its legs began to sink and become stuck in the mud.
The baron's legs wedged in alongside the horse's body, becoming stuck as well. Frantically, the baron looked around. He was miles from anyone and many feet from the edge of the mire. There were no tree branches, no rocks, no logs, no solid ground to stand on. The horse flailed and squealed. The baron patted its mane, briefly calming it down.
For several minutes, the baron tried to dislodge his legs with no luck. Then, out of complete desperation, the baron reached up and grabbed his own hair. With all his strength, he pulled upwards. He and the horse went slowly. The baron and the horse emerged from the mud and returned safely to the edge of the mire.
Of course, this is impossible and never happened, but the story of Baron Munchausen serves as a metaphor and reference for an incredibly significant and unsettling philosophical thought experiment known as the Munchausen trilemma, created by the German philosopher Hans Albert in 1968 and named after this story.
According to the trilemma, what we think we know, what we hold to be true, is impossible to ever prove. Like the baron, we are merely pulling ourselves up by our own hair to escape the mud and muck of uncertainty and unknowingness, with no solid ground to stand on.
Before delving further into the Munchausen trilemma, there's another question, or pairing of questions, that is useful to ask.
First question: What do we know, and how do we know? In his book "Theory of Knowledge," American philosopher Roderick Chisholm uses this pairing of questions to reveal the problem we face at the starting point of knowledge, which is known as the problem of the criterion.
For the avoidance of confusion, here we can consider something knowledge if it is a justified true belief. In order to arrive at this kind of knowledge, however, we must be able to answer at least one of these two aforementioned questions: What do we know, and how do we know?
Answering one allows us to answer the other, and in answering both, we can define, separate, and arrive at justified true beliefs or knowledge. In answering the first question, where we already know something is true, we have a particular case of knowledge that we can determine a method or criterion off of to discern true versus false beliefs, and then use this method to determine other true beliefs.
Or, in answering the second question first, where we know how we know something is true, we already have a method or criterion for determining true versus false beliefs that we can use and can continue to use.
The problem, and sort of paradox, we arrive at here, though, is we can only find an answer to either question through the other. How can we know what we know without a method or criterion for knowing first? But how can we have a method of knowing without knowing anything first?
In other words, we cannot answer the first question without first answering the second, but we cannot answer the second question without first answering the first. We are caught in a loop.
Now here we find ourselves in the mire, the swamp of the Munchausen trilemma, trying to pull ourselves up by our hair to defend what we know or think we know.
Question two: Can we ever prove that anything is fundamentally true? The Munchausen trilemma demonstrates that there are only three ways to justify something as true, and none of them sufficiently do so.
The first way one attempts to justify a proposition as true is with another proposition that requires the original proposition to already be true. This is known as circular reasoning. For example, someone might make the claim, "God exists." Another person might then ask, "How do you know?" The original person then says, "Because the Bible says so."
The other then asks, "Why should we believe the Bible?" The original person says, "Because it is the divine work of God." The problem here, of course, is that the proposition used to justify the original proposition as true presupposes the original proposition as already being true or simply restates the original proposition in different terms. This is merely stating something as true; it is not justifying or proving anything.
The second way one attempts to justify a proposition as true is with another proposition that is not dependent on or a restatement of the original proposition, but this new proposition requires new further justification. And then the new justification does, and then the justification for that, and so on and so forth into infinity. This is known as an infinite regress.
For example, someone might ask, "Why does the Earth exist?" Another person answers, "Because gravity pulled a swirling cloud of gas and dust together to form a planet." The problem here, however, is where this then goes. In order to use this proposition as a justification, it also needs to be justified, and then the next justification, and the next, and the next ad infinitum.
"Why does Earth exist? Because a swirling cloud of gas and dust clumped together. Why did the gas and dust exist?" This continual requirement for justification would continue on in all directions into infinity or into circular reasoning.
"The gas and dust came to exist because of the Big Bang. Why did the Big Bang create gas and dust? Because it caused matter to exist in the universe to expand. Why did matter come to exist in the universe? Expand because the Big Bang occurred."
The initial proposition cannot be justified as true if there is never any conclusive grounding or foundational truth, a stopping or starting point present in a series of subsequent propositions used to justify it.
The last way one attempts to justify a proposition as true is by simply asserting it as true without subjecting it to further justification or proof. For example, someone might say, "That car is objectively red." Another person might then ask, "How do you know?" "Because I can see the red."
In this case, a premise is merely assumed to be true, i.e., one's perception of red makes the redness of the car true. But of course, assuming something is true or claiming something is true does not prove that anything is. Obviously, red may not exist outside the human mind. The human mind may be deceiving the individual. The individual might simply be wrong, with no way of showing or proving that there is an objectivity to what is being perceived and/or measured.
Even with tools and devices, the human mind is still the final stop for everything, and there's no way to prove a final belief without assumption and dogma.
In the end, we are left with justification either by circular reasoning, by infinite regress, or by axiomatic statements or assumptions. But if justification by all of these is not legitimate, then justification is not possible. And if knowledge is justified true beliefs, then knowledge is not possible.
This leads us to our final question and philosophical problem:
Question three: Can there be any philosophical progress if absolute knowledge is impossible? How do we know if we are improving our knowledge? How do we know if we are garnering any new knowledge? What is the point of philosophy if we can never prove or know anything for sure in this realm?
The prominent Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein took this question very seriously. Wittgenstein believed that philosophy, in the traditional sense, is futile. For him, there is no structured logical answer or solution to life, and there are very few, if not no, genuine philosophical problems.
Any individual who seeks to answer them conclusively are, as he put it, like flies trapped in a transparent glass bottle, trying to escape by bashing against the side. With regard to his aim in philosophy, Wittgenstein said to show the fly the way out of the fly bottle.
Of course, ironically, Wittgenstein, a philosopher, asked and answered these questions, doubting the purpose and value of philosophy through philosophy. Perhaps asking, "What is the point of philosophy?" is the kind of question that contains the answer in the mere act of asking it.
Perhaps the purpose of philosophy is less about progress towards some end and more about a process of inquiry and self-understanding, about examination and exploration, about expression and connection with oneself, with others, with the chaotic but beautiful nature of the world.
Theoretical physicist Richard Feynman said, "I can live with doubt and uncertainty and not knowing. I think it is much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers that might be wrong."
If we will only allow that as we progress, we remain unsure, we will leave opportunities for alternatives. We will not become enthusiastic for the fact, the knowledge, the absolute truth of the day, but remain always uncertain.
In order to make progress, one must leave the door to the unknown ajar.
Sometimes philosophy is like science and math; sometimes it is like music. Sometimes you walk away with learning something about the nature of things or believing that you have. Sometimes you walk away simply with the feeling that you are a part of the nature of things, that you've been heard, been understood, that someone out there, who you'll likely never know, separated by potentially immense distance and time, is deeply connected to you in thought and sensibility.
That someone knows you well.
Perhaps philosophical progress is not merely contingent on uncovering truths but aiding in the harsh, barren reality that there aren't any, at least none that we have access to. Perhaps we are all trapped in the fly bottle, and no one's coming to let us out.
But through things like science and math, music and art, and philosophy, we can make the most of our time with each other in here while we are still in here.
This video was sponsored by Blinkist.
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[Music]