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dissertation entitled

PRAGMATISM AND PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY

presented by

Scot D. Yoder

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Ph.D. Philosophy

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PRAGMATISM AND PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY
By

Scot D. Yoder

A DISSERTATION

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTORATE OF PHILOSOPHY
Department of Philosophy

1999

ABSTRACT
PRAGMATISM AND PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY
By

Scot D. Yoder

Philosophers are increasingly shifting their attention from the abstract and
technical problems which have characterized professional philosophy to
problems of a more practical and public nature. While this interest in practical
philosophy has been welcomed by many people, it has also met with significant
skepticism and criticism. Many professional philosophers still view practical
philosophy as academically suspect, if not professionally inappropriate. My
goals in this project are to develop a fuller understanding of practical
philosophy and to offer a philosophically defensible framework for doing it.

First, I argue that though we have come to think of philosophy as a
theory-centered discipline largely unconcerned with practical matters, there is
ample evidence to suggest that throughout much Of the history of philosophy
practical concerns were considered legitimate subjects for philosophical
investigation. The recent interest in practical philosophy is not the development
of a new style of philosophy, but a reclamation of a style of philosophy which
has been long overlooked.

Second, I clarify more precisely what practical philosophy is by
contrasting it with both theory-centered philosophy and applied philosophy. In

contrast to theory-centered philosophy, which emphasizes problems that are

abstract, universal, and eternal, practical philosophy addresses concrete,
particular, and timely problems — i.e., problems which are highly dependent
on the context in which they arise. While both practical and applied philosophy
claim that philosophy can legitimately address practical concerns, practical
philosophy rejects the assumption implicit in applied philosophy, that practical
problems of philosophical interest are merely particular instances of more
general philosophical problems. Such a view encourages a distinction between
doing philosophy and applying it.

Third, to support the claim that practical philosophers are actually doing
philosophy, I argue that American pragmatism provides a philosophically
defensible framework for understanding practical philosophy. I note several
features of pragmatism which make it especially well suited as an approach to
practical philosophy. Connecting practical philosophy to this important, but
often neglected, tradition within philosophy, lends support to the claim that
practical philosophy has a place alongside its more theory-centered counterpart
in the discipline of philosophy.

Finally, I explore wide reflective equilibrium as a model of philosophical
inquiry which has the potential to bring practical and theory-centered philosophy

closer together.

Copyright by
SCOT D. YODER

1999

To Karen, Nathan, and Katelyn who have who have walked beside me the entire

way.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many people and institutions who have made completion Of this project
possible. Work on this project began in 1996 with the support of a Summer
Fellowship from the Department of PhilOSOphy and was further assisted in 1997
with a Merit Fellowship from the College of Arts and Letters.

My association with the Center for Ethics and the Humanities in the Life
Sciences has been invaluable. The Center has provided financial support in the
form of a graduate assistantship, a visiting instructorship, money to attend
conferences, and access to computer and photocopy equipment. More
importantly, faculty at the Center have been generous mentors and colleagues.

I am especially indebted to my advisor, Professor Martin Benjamin, who
spent many hours reviewing seemingly countless drafts of each chapter and who
provided copious comments each time. I found my “philosophical home” in his
seminar on pragmatism, and have continued to benefit tremendously from his
feedback and our ongoing conversations on pragmatism and practical
philosophy. He is an exemplary role model in his both his teaching and
scholarly work.

Finally, I am grateful beyond expression to my wife, Karen Krabill,
without whom I would not have been able to complete this project. She was
willing to relocate so that I might pursue my education, has provided financial
and emotional support throughout the years at Michigan State University, and
has painstakingly proofread the entire manuscript.

vi

INTRODUCTION

In this century professional academic philosophy has come under serious
attack both from within and from without the profession. Several notable
philosophers have called the discipline into question, some urging a “recovery”
of philosophy, others more dramatically pronouncing an end to philosophy or
calling for a “post-philosophical culture.”l Criticism from without the discipline
has been sometimes harsh and in some ways more threatening. Those who teach
philosophy today often find themselves on the defensive, trying to explain to
students, parents, administrators, and even other faculty why philosophy is an
important part of the curriculum.

A thread common to these criticisms is that academic philosophy has
become technical, narrow, and inaccessible; it has become a subject of interest
to philosophy professors and some of their students, but largely irrelevant to the
general public. The concern centers not so much on any particular philosophical
problem or solution, but on the enterprise itself — its selection of problems
and its role in both academic and everyday life. The question is whether
professional philosophy can incorporate the role of practical or public

philosopher, a role which includes “accepting responsibility for addressing

 

‘See John Dewey, “The Need for a Recovery of Philosophy” 3-5, 23 and
Richard Rorty, “Introduction: Pragmatism and Philosophy” xxxvii-xliv. A
collection of essays on this topic can be found in After Philosophy: End or
Transformation, ed. Kenneth Baynes, James Bohman, and Thomas McCarthy,
Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1987.

public problems and for applying insights gained from one’s technical work to
public issues” (Cotkin 4). What are the prospects for such a change?

There are reasons to be both optimistic and pessimistic. On the one hand,
there is considerable evidence that professional philosophy is expanding its
horizons to address more practical and public issues. One needs only take note
of the proliferation of new philosophy courses and journals devoted to more
practical subjects such as social policy, feminism, racism, cognitive science, and
practical ethics to see that change is taking place. Possibly the most notable
change has taken place in moral philosophy over the past twenty-five years.

The shift from a preoccupation with meta-ethics to an emphasis on practical
ethics and social policy has shown that philosophers can productively address
concrete and important problems of public concern. It has also demonstrated
that they can work with, teach, and learn from professionals in other disciplines.
On the other hand, these developments have frequently been criticized. They
are often met with curiosity and skepticism from those outside of philosophy,
and viewed by many professional philosophers as academically suspect, if not
professionally inappropriate. These criticisms indicate that the move to
practical philosophy requires not only an expansion or shift in the subject matter
of philosophy, but also a reconceptualization of what it means to be a

professional philosopher.

1 Overview

Ultimately, I believe practical philosophy belongs securely in the domain
of professional philosophy. Fully demonstrating this, however, is a complex
undertaking that lies beyond the limits of this dissertation. My aim instead is to
make some preliminary but important contributions to this larger project by
developing a fuller understanding of practical philosophy and to offer a
philosophically defensible framework for doing it. With this in mind, I have
divided the project into two parts.

Part One focuses on the idea of practical philosophy and its place in
philosophical tradition. In Chapter 1 I argue that practical concerns have
historically had a prominent place in the discipline of philosophy. However,
beginning in the early seventeenth century, philosophers increasingly ignored
and even dismissed them as the proper objects of philosophical reflection and,
as a result, by the twentieth century philosophy was viewed as primarily a
theoretical discipline largely indifferent to practical concerns. Making this
historical point helps us to see that the recent interest in practical philosophy
does not require creating a new space within the discipline, but reclaiming a
space abandoned by a certain historical turn in philosophy. To better understand
the status of practical philos0phy I look at two historical accounts of the decline
of practical philosophy in the United States. The first account, proposed by
Stephen Toulmin, focuses on the rise of theory-centered philosophy. This style
of philosophy, which frames problems and solutions in timeless, universal terms,

is associated with Descartes and modern philosophy. The second account,

offered by Bruce Kuklick, highlights the professionalization of philosophy that
coincided with the rise of the American university during the first part of this
century. Though they focus on distinct historical factors, these accounts are
compatible. Because theory-centered philosophy dominated at a time when the
discipline became professionalized, it has become “institutionalized” as the
professional mode of doing philosophy. Understanding the connection between
these two factors draws attention to a challenge that confronts those pursuing
practical philosophy — reclaiming practical philosophy will require
reconceptualizing the profession of philosophy.

Despite its recent re-emergence, it is not clear that practical philosophy is
consistently or well understood. In Chapter 2 I examine two contrasting
conceptions of how philosophy should be brought to bear on practical concerns:
applied philosophy and practical philosophy. While both claim that philosophy
can be relevant to the resolution of practical problems, I argue that practical
philosophy is preferable. Applied philosophy is unacceptable both because it
creates barriers between philosophy that addresses practical concerns and
philosophy that addresses theoretical concerns, and because it misrepresents the
relationship between theory and practice. In addition to avoiding these
problems, practical philosophy is preferable because its historical lineage places
it more firmly within the philosophical tradition and because it is more sensitive
to the importance of context — a feature that is important to any adequate

philosophical approach to practical problems.

A strong commitment to context, I will argue, has three implications.
First, practical philosophy will be oriented toward concrete problems that
emerge in a particular social and historical setting. This orientation contrasts
sharply with the preoccupation with timeless, universal problems associated with
professional philosophy. Second, the solutions practical philosophers offer to
such questions will tend to be provisional. The solutions will be both fallible
and contingent; they will be proposed given the present, always somewhat
incomplete, state of knowledge, and thus, subject to revision in light of new
knowledge, technological advances, social changes, and new philosophical
theories. Finally, practical philosophy will be interdisciplinary. Careful
attention to the context in which problems arise makes it difficult to focus
exclusively on what are typically taken to be the philosophical dimensions. For
this reason, philosophers who turn their attention to practical issues will find it
both useful and necessary to draw on resources from other disciplines.

The historical analysis and exploration of differing conceptions of how
philosophy should be brought to bear on practical problems indicate that
practical philosophy is neither completely accepted nor completely understood
within professional philosophy. It also raises the following question: Is
practical philosophy philosophically defensible? In Part Two of the dissertation
I respond to that question by arguing that American Pragmatism provides a
plausible framework and philosophical defense of practical philosophy. I begin
in Chapter 3 by developing a “thin conception” of pragmatism, a conception

highlighting elements common to most, if not all, versions of pragmatism.

Because pragmatism developed as a reaction to the Cartesian tradition in
mainstream philosophy, I develop this thin conception of pragmatism by
contrasting it with the basic presuppositions of the Cartesian tradition. Using
Cartesianism as a backdrop four central features of pragmatism emerge —— l)
anti-representationalism, 2) a commitment to the agent-centered point of View
and the instrumental nature of thought, 3) a blurring of the distinction between
fact and value, and 4) fallibilism. While these features do not constitute a tightly
organized set of doctrines, they do, I believe, form a more or less coherent and
fair, if not complete, characterization of American pragmatism. What I have in
mind is something like Rawls’s idea of an "overlapping consensus" (Political
Liberalism 15, 39, 144-149). Various fully-developed conceptions Of
pragmatism differ in a number of ways, but there is an overlapping consensus
among them on these four features. No fully-developed conception of
pragmatism consists of only these four features, but most conceptions, if not all,
include them.

In Chapter 4 I draw on the conceptions of practical philosophy and
pragmatism developed in Chapters 2 and 3 to argue that pragmatism not only
offers a promising framework for practical philosophy, but it also provides a
philosophical defense of practical philosophy. I focus on three overlapping
concerns or themes common to practical philosophy and pragmatism: the
centrality of context, fallibilism, and the need for interdisciplinary approaches to
problems. I also look at three relatively recent projects in which the authors

self-consciously explore pragmatism as a framework for addressing issues in

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their particular areas of practical philosophy (environmental philosophy,
bioethics, and feminism). These examples provide insights into practical
philosophy and its relationship to pragmatism inasmuch as they suggest answers
to two questions. First, what is it that makes the non-pragmatic approaches to
problems in these areas of practical philosophy insufficient or inadequate?
Second, why do the authors believe that pragmatism offers a more promising
approach?

Throughout the first four chapters I emphasize the contrast between
practical and theory-centered philosophy, and explore pragmatism as a
framework for understanding practical philosophy in part because of the priority
it places on practice over theory. While this provides support for practical
philosophy, it still leaves open the question of how we are to understand the
relationship between theory and practice in philosophy. In Chapter 5 I argue
that the relationship between theory and practice within philosophy should be
understood as an activity similar to what is known in moral philosophy as wide
reflective equilibrium. According to this view, philosophers, both theoretical
and practical, are engaged in a constant attempt to maintain equilibrium between
1) their knowledge of the natural world and social arrangements, 2) their various
considered moral judgments about the world, and 3) their philosophical (i.e.,
moral, epistemological, or metaphysical) theories. When new problematic
situations upset the equilibrium, stability may be restored by modifying beliefs
or practices in one or more of these areas. However, there is no predetermined

procedure that dictates in which areas modifications must be made.

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Furthermore, such resolution should only be considered provisional, as we may
be forced to re-evaluate them in light of new empirical information, social
changes, shifts in philosophical theories and commitments, or the emergence of
new problematic cases.

Understanding philosophical inquiry as a process similar to wide
reflective equilibrium helps to address a question implicitly raised by the
contrast between practical and theory-centered philosophy — what is the
relationship between practical and professional philosophy? Though I want to
make room within academic philosophy for practical concerns, I do not want to
eliminate theoretical concerns or portray philosophy as a discipline with two
disparate and independent elements. Because wide reflective equilibrium
requires that coherence be established between judgments at all levels of
generality and between practical and theoretical concerns, it reveals the
connections between practical and theory-centered philosophy. They are two
interdependent parts of a unified, comprehensive conception of philosophical
inquiry. On the one hand, solutions to practical problems must be informed by
philosophical theories and commitments. On the other hand, attention to
practical concerns corrects and extends theoretical philosophy, testing it,
providing it with rich examples, and suggesting areas where further theoretical
investigation might be fruitful. Practical philosophy without theory-centered
philosophy is shallow and unsystematic. Theory-centered philosophy without
practical philosophy is isolated and detached from broader academic and public

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2 A Metaphilosophical Project

This is a project about practical philosophy rather than a project in
practical philosophy. Rather than addressing a specific problem, such as justice
in health care or animal rights, which a practical philosopher might be
concerned with, it is concerned with the nature of practical philosophy, its goals,
its methods, and its relationship to other disciplines. In other words, it is
metaphilosophy, the philosophy of philosophy.

Metaphilosophy is problematic for two reasons. First, one could quite
plausibly argue that the very concept of metaphilosophy is incoherent — there
can be no such thing. Normally, when one thinks of the other “meta”
disciplines, metaethics for instance, one has two disciplines in mind — a first-
order discipline (i.e., ethics) and a second-order discipline (i.e., metaethics) that
is a study of the first-order discipline. In most such cases, the disciplines are
more or less distinguishable. Metaethics, for instance, is concerned with the
concepts, methods of justification, and metaphysical assumptions of ethics, but
not with determining exactly what things are good or right, and certainly not
with making moral judgments regarding specific cases. Doing metaethics is not
doing ethics. The same cannot be said of metaphilosophy. When one does
metaphilosophy, one is still doing philosophy — one uses the tools and
methods of philosophy as part of the analysis. Granting this, I make no claim or
attempt to step completely outside of philosophy. Moreover, I acknowledge my
philOSOphical commitments up front — my philosophical approach is largely in

keeping with the tradition of American Pragmatism. Still, it is helpful, I think,

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to speak of metaphilosophy when the discipline of philosophy is itself the Object
of our philosophizing. It is in this sense that this project should be classified as
metaphilosophy. Given my philosophical orientation, it might best be
considered a work of pragmatic metaphiIOSOphy.

Second, metaphilosophy is problematic because defining philosophy itself
is problematic. If one surveys philosophy departments in North America and
Europe, an enormous diversity of activity can be found. There is, to be sure, a
certain connection to a historical tradition that generally ties these activities
together, but one would be hard pressed to identify a noncontroversial set of
necessary and sufficient conditions that would identify any and all
“philosophical” activities. As Kai Nielsen has said, “‘[p]hilosophy is not the
name of a natural kind. In that way it differs from ‘Oak’ and ‘tide’ and is more
like ‘gender’ or ‘pessimism’. There is nothing there in the social world that we
could discover that philosophy must be” (On Transforming Philosophy 4). The
same, I think, can be said for practical philosophy. There is a wide variety of
work that could be broadly construed as practical philosophy. Thus, in writing
about practical philosophy one must strike a careful balance — providing a
thick enough description to clarify, but not so thick as to unduly restrict an

evolving field.

3 Understanding the Terminology: Some Helpful Distinctions
English speaking philosophers in the twentieth century have been

preoccupied, if not obsessed, with our use of language. They have stressed both

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the ways in which language can confuse us and the importance of getting clear
on the meanings Of the words that we use. Some have even argued that once we
clarify the meaning of our words, many philosophical problems will disappear.
While I am not nearly that optimistic, I think it wise to provide, at least in a
preliminary fashion, an account of some of the different types of philosophy
discussed throughout this project. Thus, in what follows, I provide rough
characterizations of practical philosophy, theory-centered philosophy,
professional philosophy, and public philosophy, but make no attempt to provide
strict definitions complete with necessary and sufficient conditions. These rough
characterizations are meant only to be an initial guide for the reader. A much
fuller account, particularly of practical and theory-centered philosophy, emerges
in subsequent chapters.

Getting clear on terminology Often involves drawing useful distinctions.
For instance, although making a distinction between the concept of a person and
the concept of a human being does not necessarily resolve all moral questions
regarding abortion or treatment termination for patients in a persistent vegetative
state, it does help to identify potential sources of conflict and opens up new
perspectives from which to address these issues. Other times an analysis reveals
that a distinction, once thought important, is no longer useful. In medical
ethics, for example, the distinction between ordinary and extraordinary means,
once thought to be the hinge on which treatment termination decisions turned,

has proven to be both conceptually flawed and practically fruitless. Both

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drawing and dissolving distinctions can help us better understand our subject
and its problems.

In this project I want to both draw and dissolve distinctions between
different types of philosophy, in particular between what I call theory-centered
and practical philosophy. It is this distinction that permeates the entire
dissertation. One goal of this project is to better understand practical
philosophy and its relationship, both historical and conceptual, to theory-
centered philosophy. To do this it is important to distinguish between these two
forms of philosophy. However, I also want to defend practical philosophy as a
legitimate part of the discipline of philosophy —— a discipline that for most of
this century has been characterized as a largely theoretical discipline. To do
this it will be necessary, in some sense, to weaken the distinction and emphasize
the mutual dependence between theory-centered and practical philosophy.
Rather than being two completely distinct and mutually exclusive forms of
philosophy, I argue, they are distinguishable, but interdependent components of
a unified, comprehensive conception of philosophical inquiry.

In discussing the distinction between theory-centered and practical
philosophy I will largely follow the contrast as described by Stephen Toulmin in
two works, “The Recovery of Practical Philosophy” (1988) and Cosmopolis
(1990). Theory-centered philosophy, as Toulmin describes it, is a form of
philosophy that construes philosophical problems as abstract, timeless and
universal. These are those classic intractable problems that can be found in

countless introductory philosophy textbooks — Does God exist? What is the

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good? What is knowledge, truth, or reality? Do humans have free will? The
usual treatment of such problems is theory-centered, not because theory is
invoked in the process of working toward a resolution, but because the problems
themselves are constructed as predominantly theoretical problems, abstracted
and detached from tangible connection to the tangled complexities of everyday
experience. In addressing these problems, theory-centered philosophy attempts,
as much as possible, to filter out or ignore the particular, contingent elements
that inevitably shape experience. Such factors create “noise” that distracts or
distorts our attention from the “real” philosophical — i.e., the theoretical ——
issues involved. Theory-centered philosophy is not so much concerned with
what is good in this time and place, but with what the Good is (notice the
capitalization) — what is good for all times and all places.

Consider, for example, the question of whether or not a poor14-year-old
boy from a broken home should be tried as an adult for killing an elderly
woman during an attempted burglary. This is not the sort of question that a
theory-centered philosopher would be inclined or well equipped to address. The
contingencies of age, social-economic class, or family background that are
essential features of the issue at hand — i.e., features on which decisions
regarding the boy’s future will likely be made — are the type of contextual
details that are largely irrelevant to the theory-centered philosopher. They
would be filtered out in order to focus on the philosophical issues involved.

The theory-centered philosopher would more likely be concerned with a

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will, the nature of moral autonomy and moral responsibility, and the relationship
between these concepts and state sanctioned punishment.

In Pragmatism William James tells a story about a student’s thesis that
illustrates nicely this general picture of theory-centered philosophy. The student
began, James writes,

. . . by saying that he had always taken for granted that when you

entered a philosophic classroom you had to open relations with a

universe entirely distinct from the one you left behind you in the

street. The two were supposed, he said, to have so little to do with

each other, that you could not possibly occupy your mind with

them at the same time. The world of concrete personal

experiences to which the street belongs is multitudinous beyond

imagination, tangled, muddy, painful and perplexed. The world to

which your philosophy-professor introduces you is simple, clean,

and noble. The contradictions of real life are absent from it. Its

architecture is classic. Principles of reason trace its outlines,

logical necessities cement its parts. Purity and dignity are what it

most expresses. It is a kind of marble temple shining on a hill

(Pragmatism 14).

In this passage James is not trying to draw a contrast between theory-centered
and practical philosophy, but rather between the orientation and temperament of
rationalist and empiricist philosophers. He cites the student as an example of
the former. However, the student’s understanding of philosophy provides a nice
caricature of theory-centered philosophy as I have been trying to describe it. It
is highly abstract, intentionally removed from everyday life and experience —
purified, if you will, of messy contingencies.

What is further implied, is that the world of philosophy (i.e., theory-

centered philosophy) and the world of the street (i.e., everyday life) are almost

entirely separate, held together by only the thinnest of threads — one can move

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back and forth between the two, but one must leave one in order to enter the
other. The world of theory-centered philosophy is a realm of detached
contemplation, the world of the street is a realm of engaged activity. The two
worlds simply do not share the same problems. The problems of theory-
centered philosophy are highly general and abstracted from particular problems
of everyday life. Nor is there any suggestion that solutions achieved in the
classroom would have any direct implications for the street.

In contrast, practical philosophy, one might say, is concerned with the
street —— it is explicitly concerned with problems that are concrete, particular,
and dependent on various contingencies. Rather than asking “What is the
good?” or “What is knowledge?” a practical philosopher might be more inclined
to ask “Is it morally acceptable, as a matter of public policy, to allow alcoholics
to compete equally with non-alcoholics for the limited supply of transplantable
livers?” or “How do we know that allopathic medicine is superior to
homeopathic medicine?” In such questions, the context is an integral part of the
problem, not an irrelevant consideration that can be set aside or filtered out. It
makes a difference, for instance, that there is a shortage of transplantable organs
such that some people will die for lack of a transplanted liver. Evidence
regarding the life expectancy of both alcoholic and non-alcoholic transplant
recipients — evidence that might change with improving surgical procedures

or more effective long term treatment for alcoholism — might also be relevant.

15

As Louis Katzner has said, practical or applied philosophy2 “insists upon
addressing these issues in the contexts in which they arise, rather than
constantly abstracting from real situations to ideal cases. In other words, rather
than treating the facts of a situation as variables that can be altered at will . . .
applied philosophy insists upon beginning with the facts and sticking to them”
(33). The problems of practical philosophy are the more everyday problems that
are often used awkwardly in introductory philosophy texts as examples to
illustrate “real” (i.e., the theoretical) philosophical problems. It is almost as if a
sort of “bait and switch” strategy is employed.3 A practical problem serves as
the bait that engages the student. However, as soon as the student is hooked,
the author switches to what he or she regards as the “real” problem, an abstract
question of theory-centered philosophy.

Furthermore, the solutions sought to practical problems are not nice tidy
theories, but reliable guides to action. The question of whether or not to supply
alcoholics with liver transplants is asked, not because it is an interesting
theoretical question (although it might be one), but because physicians and
policymakers are confronted with a different decision between alternative
courses of action. This is not to say that theories of justice or conceptions of
freedom might not be relevant and useful; they may well be. However, it is the

need to act, to make a decision, that generates the problem in the first place.

 

2In Chapter Two I distinguish between practical and applied philosophy. I
use Katzner’s term here because his point applies equally well to practical
philosophy.

3This characterization was Offered by Martin Benjamin.

16

 

Any response, however elegant at the theoretical level, that does not at least
suggest a particular course of action relevant to the context in which the
problem was raised, would not be considered a solution at all. Likewise, an
answer to the question of whether allopathic medicine is superior to
homeopathic medicine might be used by a government agency to allocate
research dollars, by an insurance company to determine how to reimburse health
care providers, or by individuals to make decisions about what sort of health
care to seek. Finally, deciding how to deal with a 14-year-old accused of
murder could have significant implications not only for that individual, but for
broader policies governing how to treat juveniles in our criminal justice system.
In contrast to theory-centered philosophy, practical philosophy considers such
questions as legitimate philosophical questions — as no less philosophical due
to their dependence on context and connection to action.

In addition to theory-centered and practical philosophy, I will also refer
throughout the project to professional philosophy and public philosophy. For
this reason, I need to say a bit about each of these and how they relate to the
distinction between theory-centered and practical philosophy.

Ever since Plato established the Academy, philosophy has been associated
with institutions of learning.‘ While the relationship has at times been close and
at other times more distant, philosophers have been more or less consistently

represented in academia. However, not all philosophers have been

 

4F or an interesting discussion of the relationship between philosophers and
institutions of higher learning, see D. W. Hamlyn’s Being a Philosopher.

l7

academicians. While philosophy was taught in universities throughout the
medieval and modern periods, many prominent and influential philosophers held
no academic appointments. To cite a few examples from the modern period
alone, Descartes held no academic appointment, Hume was a librarian, Spinoza
a lense grinder, Locke was a personal physician and political advisor, John
Stuart Mill an Official of the East India Company and a legislator. These
examples make it clear that much important philosophical work was done
outside of the academic world. This is no longer the case. Philosophy is now
almost exclusively an academic discipline governed by professional
philosophers. Philosophers influential in the discipline today generally make
their living teaching and writing about philosophy; they are associated with
universities and other institutions of learning and gain their professional status
from these associations. Commenting on the twentieth century in his history of
philosophy as a practice, D. W. Hamlyn writes, “when considering the practice
of philosophy, differences between philosophical doctrines and theoretical
approaches pale in significance by comparison with the almost universal fact
that in this century philosophy has become an academic and professionally
managed subject” (127).

The professionalization of philosophy is a relatively recent phenomenon
— a product of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. That is not to
say that there were not philosophers who made their living as philosophers prior
to that time. However, it is in the late nineteenth century that the characteristics

of a profession began to emerge in philosophy — philosophical journals,

18

professional organizations and societies, and doctoral programs designed to train
philosophers to be future teachers, researchers, and writers. Many of these
developments were not unique to philosophy, but were connected to the much
broader professionalization of academic disciplines associated with the
developing and expanding university system. In any event it is fair to say that
to be a professional philosopher in the United States today is to be associated
with a university or other institution of higher learning. Thus, academic and
professional philosophy, at least in America, are for all practical purposes
synonymous.

How do these more sociological points relate to the distinction between
theory-centered and practical philosophy? By the middle of the twentieth
century the style of philosophy practiced by professional philosophers was
almost exclusively theory-centered philosophy. The norm for professional
philosophers —— a norm enforced through the system of professional rewards
and advancement (e.g., professional recognition, publication, academic
appointment, tenure, etc.) — was theory-centered philosophy. The association
was so strong that the distinction between practical and theoretical philosophy
may not have even made much sense to a philosopher in the 19503. Academic
philosophy’s self-image was that of a theoretical, and rather technical,
discipline. Practical concerns lay outside of the discipline. This perception and
self-image was so strong that when the famous English philosopher Bertrand
Russell wrote on subjects of moral, social, or political concern (and he often

did) he made clear that he did not do so as a philosopher. Thus, by the middle

19

of the twentieth century theory-centered philosophy, academic philosophy, and
professional philosophy were closely related, if not equated. Theory-centered
philosophy dominated academic philosophy which, in turn, formed the basis for
professional philosophy. For this reason, practical philosophy, as it is described
above, could just as easily have been contrasted with professional or academic
philosophy as with theory-centered philosophy.

The philosophical scene, at least in the United States and Great Britain,
has changed significantly in the past twenty-five years. Professional (i.e.,
academic) philosophers more frequently turn their attention to problems of a
practical nature. Maybe the most dramatic example can be found in the
burgeoning field of biomedical ethics, but philosophers have begun to look at a
range of social and moral issues including war and nonviolence, sexism, racism,
capital punishment, and animal rights. Numerous journals devoted to practical
philosophy, or to particular issues within practical philosophy have emerged,
and courses on such subjects are now frequently taught in colleges and
universities. This suggests that theory-centered philosophy’s dominance of
professional philosophy is starting to wane.

The changes, however, have not taken place without resistance. There are
still a significant number of philosophers who consider practical philosophy to
be a second-rate, less rigorous form of philosophy, or to be outside the
boundaries of professional philosophy altogether. For many, the adjective

“theory-centered” adds nothing to the noun “philosophy” — theory-centered

20

 

 

 

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philosophy just is philosophy. “Practical” philosophy is to be contrasted not
with “theory-centered” philosophy, but with “pure” philosophy.

The association of theory-centered and professional philosophy gives rise
to a number of metaphilosophical questions regarding practical philosophy.
What is practical philosophy? Can we meaningfully talk about practical
philosophy, or do practical problems — those that arise in particular contexts
and that are motivated by the need to act — lie outside the discipline of
philosophy? What is the relationship of practical philosophy to theory-centered
philosophy? Can theoretical and practical concerns be integrated within
philosophy or must they remain separate? What is the relationship of practical
philosophy to professional philosophy? Can a practical philosopher be a
professional philosopher? How do we need to re-envision the profession of
philosophy if practical philosophy is considered a legitimate part of the
discipline of philosophy? These are the sorts of questions that I want to address
in this project.

For the sake of clarity, one further distinction should be made. Practical
and public philosophy are, in my mind, closely related, but they are not
synonymous. As I have tried to describe it, practical philosophy is
distinguished by the types of problems it addresses — those that are particular,
concrete, contingent, etc. In contrast, public philosophy, as I understand it, is
characterized more by its audience than by its problems. Public philosophy ——
whether it is practical or theory-centered — is addressed to a general audience

rather than to other philosophers, particularly other professional philosophers.

21

In general, it will contain less jargon specific to the profession so that it is
intellectually accessible to a wider audience. For this reason public philosophy
is perhaps best contrasted with professional philosophy, the audience for which
is largely other professional philosophers.

There is certainly a connection between practical and public philosophy.
One reason for this is that the problems that are likely to be of interest to a
public audience are problems of a more practical nature. A fine example of a
project that exemplifies both practical and public philosophy is James Rachels’
1975 article on active and passive euthanasia that appeared in the New England
Journal of Medicine.5 This widely cited and reprinted article deals with a very
concrete problem, but it does so in a way that is very accessible to health care
professionals and other non-philosophers. However, practical and public
philosophy are not synonymous. On the one hand, public philosophy can be
concerned with predominantly theoretical issues. The public lectures that
William James presented to audiences in Berkeley and that later became the
basis for the book, Pragmatism, are examples of public philosophy, but not of
practical philosophy. The essays, while lucidly written to be accessible to a
public audience, provide a new approach to the primarily abstract and theoretical
problems that are part of traditional philosophy. On the other hand, a practical
philosopher may deal with an issue of public concern in a manner that is quite

technical and inaccessible to the general public. One could cite many examples,

 

5Rachels, James. “Active and Passive Euthanasia.” New England Journal
ofMedicine 292.2 (1975): 78-80.

22

but the article “The Metaphysics of Brain Death” by Jeff McMahan illustrates
the point quite nicely.‘5 This article is technical, filled with philosophical
jargon, and tightly argued. Though it clearly has relevance to many practical
issues in medicine, it is probably not the type of article that a non-philosopher
would find particularly accessible.

I began this project with the intent of exploring public philosophy.
However, it gradually became clear to me that my real concern was with
practical philosophy. I think practical philosophy is at its best when it is closer
to public rather than professional philosophy, but I will not argue that point in
this project.

One final comment or disclaimer. The differences between practical and
theory-centered philosophy and between public and professional philosophy are
not always clear cut. The characterizations offered here are rough, and perhaps
overly simplified. In fact, many works in philosophy, such as John Rawls’ A
Theory of Justice, defy easy classification. It is, on the one hand, technical and
theoretical. Professional philosophers have written endlessly and in great detail
in responding to and elaborating on the book. On the other hand, the book has
practical significance and others have tried to trace the implications of Rawls’

theory for a variety of concrete issues.7 Furthermore, while the work is hardly a

*

6Jeff McMahan, “The Metaphysics of Brain Death,” Bioethics 9.2 (1995):
9 l ~126.

7One of the best known examples is Norman Daniels’s work on health care
juStice. See “Health-care Needs and Distributive Justice;” “Equality of What:
Welfare, Resources, or Capabilities;” “Determining ‘Medical Necessity’ in Mental
Health Practice,” (with James E. Sabin); “The Prudential Life-span Account of

23

best-seller, it has drawn readers from many disciplines other than philosophy.
Many other examples of “fuzzy” or “boundary” cases could be provided. Such
boundary cases are not counterexamples to the distinctions provided, nor do they
suggest that there is no need to explore the relationship between theory-centered
and practical philosophy. Instead they point to the potential connections
between the two. The fact that so much interesting work takes place on the

boundaries is a good reason to focus on what happens there.

‘

JuStice Across Generations;” “Problems with Prudence;” “Merit and
Meritocracy;” “Rationing Fairly: Programmatic Considerations.”

24

PART ONE

PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY

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CHAPTER ONE

PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY: HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVES

l Ambivalence Towards Practical Philosophy
The path I have taken toward a career in philosophy has not been
particularly direct. Instead I have moved back and forth, and pretty much
equally divided my time between academic and non-academic work. After
receiving a B.A. in 1983 I spent one year working construction, followed by two
years at Bowling Green State University where I received an M. A. in
philosophy. After another year of teaching philosophy, I left academia again to
take a job as a systems analyst with a not-for-profit insurance and financial
services company. However, it would not quite be accurate to say that I
completely left philosophy. I continued to teach on an adjunct basis, and during
my time with the insurance company found myself increasingly involved in what
could only be characterized as some form of practical philosophy. I chaired a
committee exploring ethical issues in organ transplantation, developed
educational materials and presentations on advance directives and health care
reform, and even became marginally involved in corporate issues regarding
socially responsible investing. Still, after seven years in the “real” world I
knew that I wanted to return to school for further training in philosophy.
A little more than a year after I returned to graduate school I spent a
Cold, bone-numbing day working alongside a dozen or so other parents who had

V0lunteered to build a playground at our children's elementary school. Despite

26

 

the adverse weather conditions we had fun working together on a common and
worthwhile project. As we thawed out over pizza at the end of the day people
began to share stories about their jobs and work. There was a man who worked
in a lumberyard, a computer programmer, a building contractor, a prison guard,
a teacher, and people employed in a variety of other occupations that I can no
longer remember. What I can clearly recall, however, is the dread I felt at the
thought that someone might ask me what I do. People would look my direction
and I would reply, “I’m a graduate student in philosophy.” There would be an
awkward moment as we all realized that the person who asked the question
hadn’t the slightest idea of what a philosopher did or even what further
questions to ask me. After a day of comradery I would feel like a misfit.
Fortunately, on that particular occasion I was able to avoid the embarrassment
through a concerted effort to keep the conversation focused on other people and
their occupations.

I have since learned to avoid such awkward moments by emphasizing
those aspects of my work that have a more practical aspect. I know, for
example, that in certain situations it is much better for me to respond initially to
questions about my vocation by saying, “I am studying medical ethics.” While
this response does not fully explain what I do, it at least suggests that what I do
is relevant to something most people are familiar with — medicine — and
provides a smoother bridge to my other work. Moreover, rather than producing
silent awkward moments, this response usually triggers further questions or

elicits stories, some humorous and some painful, of personal experiences with

27

the health care system. My guess is that it is easier for most people to
understand and appreciate why someone would concern themselves with ethical
problems in medicine than with the stereotypical questions sometimes associated
with professional philosophy — “Does God exist?” “Can we ever really know
anything?” “Do we have free will?” “If a tree falls in the forest and nobody
hears it, does it make any sound?”

This anecdote probably reveals more about me than about professional
philosophy, but nevertheless, I suspect something about it rings true for some
other philosophers as well. It can be very difficult to explain what exactly
professional philosophers do, much less how they do it or why it is important.
This problem is reflected in the frequently heard criticism that American
academic philosophy has become intolerably technical, inaccessible, and
irrelevant to the concerns of the lay person. In short, philosophy has become
isolated in the ivory tower of academia. Those who teach philosophy to
undergraduates today often find themselves on the defensive, trying to explain
to students, parents, administrators, and even to other faculty why philosophy is
an important part of the curriculum.I If the sentiment that philosophy is
irrelevant is pervasive in the context of higher education it may be even more
acute among the general public. I doubt my experience on that cold November

day is unique. Many of us involved in philosophy have found mentioning our

 

lSuch defenses were required frequently enough that in 1980 the American
Philosophical Association deemed it necessary to draft a statement articulating
and defending the role of philosophy in higher education. See “The Role of
Philosophy Programs in Higher Education.”

28

calling to be a sure-fire conversation stopper outside (and sometimes even
inside) academic circles.

While my strategy is usually an effective way of engaging people in
conversation it also has its limitations and drawbacks. On the one hand, it
works with people who are less familiar with professional philosophy, in part, I
think, because it avoids making an overt connection between medical ethics and
philosophy. Medical ethics is a practical discipline, philosophy is the paradigm
of an impractical field. On the other hand, I suspect many professional
philosophers may perceive it as a pernicious evasion or sellout —— a superficial
and dangerous way of gaining popular support for philosophy in a culture that
already places too much emphasis on practical matters and productivity. It is
superficial because it caters to public sentiment; it is dangerous because it
makes the value of philosophy contingent on its practical applications.
Philosophy may have value for everyday life, but only indirectly to the extent
that it enriches people’s intellectual lives. In fact, for many people both inside
and outside professional philosophy, the phrase “practical philosophy” is
something of an oxymoron. Many people today, both inside and outside of
professional philosophy, seem to share the same perception of philosophy that
William James’s student expressed a century ago (see Introduction).

This ambivalence regarding the practical significance or value of
philosophy is not surprising considering some of the significant changes in
professional philosophy and the public conceptions of philosophy that have

occurred over the last three decades. In 1966 the author of the Time essay,

29

“What (If Anything) to Expect from Today's Philosophers,”2 criticized
philosophers for being removed from the affairs of the world. “[C]ontemporary
philosophy” the essayist wrote, “looks inward at its own problems rather than
outward at men, and philosophizes about philosophy, not about life” (24). At
the time, I doubt few in professional philosophy would have challenged the
Observation. In the decade that followed, however, evidence began to emerge
that suggested the situation was changing. In 1971 the new journal Philosophy
and Public Affairs published articles on abortion and war and morality, and in
the same year John Rawls published his landmark work, A Theory of Justice.
Furthermore, in the late 60s and early 70s many young philosophers active in
the civil rights and anti—war movements brought their experiences into their
teaching. These and other changes were noted by Peter Singer in a 1974 article,
“Philosophers are Back on the Job,” that appeared in the New York Times
Magazine. Singer argued that philosophers, by virtue of their training, had
something to contribute to the resolution of practical moral and political
problems. While his purpose was to make a case for the practical relevance of
philosophy, and thus a public role for the philosopher, the article included an
implicit admission that professional philosophy had been absent from the public
realm. Since Singer’s article, the practical role of philosophy has been fervently
debated both within and without professional philosophy. Still the ambivalence
remains. On the one hand, as recently as 1997 Ruth Shalit wrote a scathing

article for the New Republic castigating philosophers (and others) who claimed

 

2Time 7 January 1966: 24-25.

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to be ethics experts? On the other hand, only months later, philosopher and
medical ethicist Arthur Caplan was featured favorably in the popular magazine
People Weekly.4

In this chapter I want to provide some historical perspective on this
ambivalence regarding the practical significance of philosophy. First, I want to
argue that debate about whether or not philosophy should have practical
implications has a long history. The degree to which the issue is now self-
consciously and overtly discussed may be somewhat unique, but the debate itself
goes back at least to fifth century B.C. Greece, and resurfaces at other times in
western history. It is an ongoing and dynamic debate, sometimes favoring one
side and sometimes favoring the other. Second, I want to explore two historical
explanations of how, by the 19603, philosophy in the United States came to be
viewed as an impractical discipline divorced from everyday life. Stephen
Toulmin suggests that the unstable social and political conditions in
seventeenth-century Europe made a more theory-centered style of philosophy
more attractive. Bruce Kuklick, on the other hand, implicates the development
of philosophy as a profession, proposing that as it became a profession
philosophy narrowed its focus to exclude areas Of practical relevance. I am not
a historian, and I do not Offer either account, or even the combination of the

two, as a full explanation of how or why professional philosophy came to

 

3Ruth Shalit, “When We Were Philosopher Kings,” The New Republic 28
April 1997: 24-28.

‘Peter Carlin, “Arthur Caplan,” People Weekly 3 November 1997: 133-134.

31

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disregard practical philosophy. However, I think the explanations are suggestive
and shed light on the current ambivalence towards practical philosophy. Finally,
I want to note the recent resurgence of practical philosophy and identify issues
that the historical accounts suggest must be addressed if the ambivalence is to

be overcome and practical philosophy fully accepted as part of professional

philosophy.

2 The Practical Relevance of the Humanities: An Ongoing Debate

In recent years the increased interest in practical philosophy has sparked
debate about the relevance or application of philosophy and the humanities to
contemporary issues of public and social policy. To explore this issue, in the
mid 19808 the National Endowment for the Humanities helped to fund a project
run by the Hastings Center. Among other things the project resulted in an
anthology of commissioned papers exploring the following two questions: “Does
it make sense to speak of an ‘applied’ humanities?” and “What ought to be the
role of the humanities in issues of public and social policy?” (Callahan, et a1
xiii). The first three papers provide valuable historical perspective. In
“Historical Conceptions of the Humanities and Their Relationship to Society,”
Martha Nussbaum explores conceptions of the humanities in ancient Greece; in
“Storm over the Humanities,” David Little looks at contrasting perspectives on
humanistic study found during the Renaissance; and in “The Professionalization
of the Humanities,” Bruce Kuklick looks at the history of the humanities in

America. The theme that emerges from these essays covering distinctly different

32

time periods is that questions regarding the practical significance of the
humanities are not new.5 In fact, they date back almost as far as the humanities
themselves.

Nussbaum begins her analysis of the role of the humanities in ancient
Greece by relating two stories about the early Greek philosopher Thales
(“Historical Conceptions” 3-4). In the first story Thales, engrossed in observing
the stars, fails to pay attention to where he is walking and falls into a well. In
the second story Thales is chided for the uselessness of philosophy, the evidence
for which is his poverty. In response, he uses his astronomical observations to
predict a large olive-crop, leases all the available olive presses in the region,
and makes a huge profit by leasing them out on his own terms when the
unexpectedly large crop comes in. These two stories, Nussbaum argues, present
contrasting views about the relationship between intellectual pursuits and
practical affairs. The first portrays intellectual pursuits as irrelevant, if not an
obstacle, to the effective conduct of practical affairs. In contrast, the second is
intended to demonstrate the practical relevance or usefulness of intellectual
pursuits. However, Nussbaum notes that they also share a very important
feature. “[B]oth assume that there is a problem in the intellectual’s relationship
to practical affairs; he is vulnerable to the charge of being too out off from the

practical” (“Historical Conceptions” 4).

 

’Though Nussbaum, Little, and Kuklick write about the humanities
generally, rather than philosophy specifically, they clearly view philosophy as
one of the core disciplines in the humanities. Thus, what they have to say is
relevant to understanding the practical significance of philosophy, though it is
certainly not the entire story.

33

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Nussbaum goes on to explore the relationship of intellectual pursuits to
practical affairs in fifth-century Greece prior to Plato, in Socrates and Plato, in
Aristotle, and in Epicurus. In the fifth-century Greece prior to Plato, she
argues, the form of education known as paideia (which included physical
training, poetry, music, dance and some political or historical training) was
valued only instrumentally for what it contributed to the community. The aim
was the production of good citizens rather than personal or private enrichment
(“Historical Conceptions” 7-12). In fact, an intellectual who could not relate his
intellectual pursuits instrumentally to civic goals would not only have a hard
time defending his teaching, but would have been considered dangerous.
“[W]hat would be foreign to this culture,” Nussbaum writes, “would not be the
idea of a practical function for the humanities. It would be the idea that there
was any legitimate function for these studies besides their practical function”
(“Historical Conceptions” 11). In Socrates and Plato, Nussbaum finds a shift.
While both philosophers insisted on the instrumental value of intellectual
pursuits in the production of good citizens, they also added that engaging in
intellectual inquiry is a good in itself (“Historical Conceptions” 12-17). It is an
intrinsic value, an element of the good life independent of its social usefulness.‘S

Aristotle also argued that the value of intellectual pursuits is not solely their

 

6In the Republic these two attitudes toward intellectual pursuits both work
together and conflict. On the one hand, through intellectual inquiry pursued
ultimately for its own sake, the philosopher gains the knowledge necessary to
rule the city effectively. On the other hand, if intellectual pursuit is supremely
valuable in and of itself, then why should the philosopher choose to spend time
ruling the city?

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instrumental value. He distinguished between theoretical inquiries that aim at
theoretical understanding alone (e.g., astronomy and geometry) and practical
inquiries, such as ethics and medicine, in which the aim is to improve some
aspect of practice. He did not argue that theoretical inquiries could not have
practical implications or that practical inquiries could not produce knowledge,
but rather that the telos of these types of disciplines, the reasons to pursue them,
were different (“Historical Conceptions” 18-21). Finally, Epicurus did not
separate theory from practice, but he severed both from civic life. Intellectual
pursuits were valuable only to the extent that they removed suffering or
promoted the happy life for individuals (“Historical Conceptions” 21-24).
Nussbaum, thus, finds our current ambivalence regarding the practical
significance of philosophy nothing particularly new. The idea that studying the
humanities can have practical value was there from the origins of the humanities
themselves. The tension we find today between the instrumental and intrinsic
value of the humanities has a long history, but in Ancient Greece the direction
of the debate was reversed. Rather than moving from a view in which the
humanities have purely intrinsic value to the view in which they might also have
instrumental value, the classical period saw a shift from a predominantly
instrumental view of the humanities to one that recognized the humanities as
having both instrumental and intrinsic value. In contrast to the current situation,
Nussbaum writes, “[flrom the point Of view of the classical tradition, the idea
that is strange is the idea that education might be severed from the aspiration to

live well as a human being and citizen” (“Historical Conceptions” 25).

35

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In “Storm over the Humanities” David Little contrasts two ways of
looking at the humanities in the early modern period —- the Renaissance and
Reformation perspectives. The Renaissance ideal, he argues, was of an inwardly
liberated person educated in the humanities, but somewhat detached from the
affairs of the world. In Aristotelian terms the emphasis was on contemplation
rather than practical applications. From this perspective practical endeavors,
such as attempts to “organize force, power, or wealth according to religious and
moral prescriptions,” would not have been appropriate uses of humanistic
education (33-34). In contrast, the Reformation perspective was exemplified in
both the Calvinist and Puritan traditions of the idea of a “worldly monk,” a
person who would use his education self-consciously in an attempt to affect
worldly affairs (34-36). From this perspective, far from being irrelevant to
worldly affairs, humanistic training was seen as part of vocational training.
However, while the Puritans embraced humanistic training as a means of
training people for positions of responsibility, they were suspicious of self-
indulgent contemplation. Little writes,

Learning is legitimate so long as it is put to active and self-

conscious use in guiding and controlling power and coercive force

in civil life, in producing and distributing wealth in economic life,

and in harnessing erotic power in the family. Calvinists did not

reject humane learning as they did not reject the ascetic calling.

They transformed both in endeavoring to transform the world (36).

In this Renaissance/Reformation contrast Little finds the beginnings of

the present conflict and tensions between those who argue for the intrinsic or

individual value of the humanities — i.e., the study of the humanities as a way

36

toward enlightenment and self-improvement — and those who see the
humanities as relevant and useful in managing the affairs of the world.
However, to the extent that the contrast parallels or overlaps Nussbaum’s
intrinsic/instrumental value contrast, it seems clear that the tension Little notes
does not begin in the early modern period. It is the reformulation or
reincarnation of a problem with much older origins.

As Kuklick reviews the history of learned discourse in the America from
the seventeenth to twentieth centuries he finds a “continuous tension between
the eternal and the practical, the otherworldly and the worldly” (“The
Professionalization” 41). Limiting his focus to the humanities in America, he
begins where Little leaves Off by noting the emphasis that the Puritans placed on
the practical implications of humanistic study. While the humanities in America
retained this practical character through much of the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries, Kuklick argues that this feature declined during the era of
professionalization in the humanities. Beginning around 1880 the various new
disciplines “hived off” from the older established discipline of moral philosophy
which, up through the nineteenth century, had been broadly construed to include
both intellectual and practical dimensions. When the social sciences separated
from the humanities they left only those disciplines that were not “practical,”
that could not be easily applied (“The Professionalization” 48-53). According to

Kuklick,

The social scientists took over the relevant aspects of these ideals;
what was called the humanities took over the otherworldly. That
is, from my perspective the learned endeavor today embraces in

37

two separate areas what in the nineteenth century was one. The

social sciences codify the practical, the humanities the eternal

dimensions of the old moral philosophy (“The Professionalization”

53).
3 The Demise of Practical Philosophy: Two Historical Accounts
3.1 Toulmin: Modern Philosophy’s Turn Towards Theory

In two works, “The Recovery of Practical Philosophy” (1988) and
Cosmopolis (1990), Stephen Toulmin tries to explain why, by the middle of this
century, professional philosophy was thought to have little practical import.7
Central to his explanation is the contrast between practical and theory-centered

philosophy and an account of the social, economic, and political conditions that

greatly influence the style of philosophy that will predominate in a culture.

3.1.1 The Two Origins of Modernity

Toulmin begins his story Of modern science and philosophy by urging us
to rethink our assumptions regarding the starting point of modernity
(Cosmopolis 13-22). Two myths, he argues, lie at the center of our received or
traditional understanding of the origins of modernity. The first is that the
modern period began in the early seventeenth century. The second is that the
transition from medieval to modern thinking and practice rested on the adOption
of rational methods in all serious fields of intellectual inquiry. Underlying these

two myths is a set of what Toulmin claims are questionable assumptions

 

7I will draw from both of these sources although a version of the former is
included in the latter.

38

regarding the economic and social conditions present in the early 1600s, the
period traditionally associated with the beginning of modernity. One such
assumption is that the modern era grew out of prosperity — i.e., by 1600 most
European countries had reached a significant level of prosperity relative to the
medieval and Renaissance periods. A second assumption is that a group of
generally educated lay scholars who were more or less free to think for
themselves without fear of religious oppression emerged in the early seventeenth
century and played a key role in the transition to modernity. These myths and
underlying assumptions combine to form the standard picture of modernity as a
period beginning roughly with Galileo Galilei and Ren’e Descartes, and
characterized by the replacement of religious authority and superstition with
reason in intellectual pursuits.

Toulmin questions these myths and underlying assumptions in an attempt
to furnish an alternative account of the origins of modernity. First, he
challenges the dating of modernity. Noting that it marks a transition from the
medieval to modern periods, he argues that it is reasonable to view the
Renaissance, or at least the later years of the Renaissance in the sixteenth
century, rather than the seventeenth century as the beginning of the modern
period. During the Renaissance key features of modernity emerge — the
ancient classics were recovered, reason began to replace religious authority in
intellectual pursuits, and scholars turned their attention to a broad range of
humanistic concerns (Cosmopolis 23-30). Second, he challenges the

assumptions regarding economic and social conditions associated with the

39

traditional view of modernity. Far from being a time of prosperity, he argues,
the seventeenth century was a time of great social and economic turmoil in
Europe resulting at least partially from the ongoing religious wars. Nor was this
a time of great religious freedom. Quite to the contrary, during the Thirty Years
War (1618-1648) the bitter conflict between the Protestants and Catholics made
religious tolerance a rare quality. Toulmin concedes that a transition in
thinking took place between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; indeed, it
is important to his thesis that the time period normally associated with the
beginning of modernity represents a profound transition. However, the
transition was not from the medieval to modern periods, but from an initial
stage of modernity characterized by humanism in literature and the arts to a
second stage of modernity characterized by rationalism in science and
philosophy.

Why is the dating of modernity important to Toulmin’s account of
philosophy? There are two reasons, I think. First, moving the beginning of
modernity to the Renaissance allows him to include a wider range Of
philosophical styles in our conception of modern philosophy. In particular it
allows him to argue that a type of practical philosophy he claims was more
characteristic of Renaissance philosophers is part of the tradition of modern
philosophy. Second, it allows him to characterize the transition that took place
with Galileo and Descartes, not primarily as a transition from religious authority
and superstition to reason, but as a transition between two types of reason —

practical reason that recognizes and even embraces complexity, concreteness,

40

diversity, and moderate skepticism and theory-centered reason that emphasizes

simplicity, abstractness, uniformity, and absolute certainty.

3.1.2 From Practical to Theory-Centered Philosophy

Toulmin claims that in the shift from the first phase of modernity to the
second, philosophers turned their backs on practical philosophy in favor of a
theory-centered style of philosophy. Renaissance philosophers (the first-stage
modern philosophers, if you will), according to Toulmin, were broadly
humanistic and skeptical, emphasizing both the complexity and diversity of
human experience and its limits. They were interested in history and
ethnography. The second phase of modernity, beginning roughly with and
exemplified by, Descartes represents a rejection of these humanistic concerns
and a shift from practical to theory-centered philosophy. Toulmin identifies
four main contrasts that mark the shift both from sixteenth-century practical
philosophy to seventeenth-century theoretical philosophy (“Recovery” 338-341;
Cosmopolis 30-36). These contrasts help provide a characterization of practical
philosophy.

First, there was a transition from an emphasis on the oral to an emphasis
on the written argument. Well into the Renaissance, rhetoric, the study of the
external conditions on which arguments carry conviction with a particular
audience, was seen as a legitimate field of philosophy. However, since
Descartes, modern philosophy has largely ignored such considerations in favor

of written arguments and formal logic. Arguments are seen as “referring not to

41

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public utterances before particular audiences, but to written chains of statements
whose validity rested on their internal relations” (Cosmopolis 31). Modern
philosophy, according to Toulmin, ignores “argumentation,” which takes place
among particular people in particular circumstances, in favor of written
“proofs,” which can be captured in writing and judged as written. Rhetoric’s
attention to the context of the argument (e.g., the nature of the audience or the
particular circumstances in which the argument is presented) is seen as at best
non-philosophical, and at worst, circumspect, being associated with dishonest
tricks used in oral debate.

Second, there was a transition from the particular to the universal,
exemplified in the rejection of casuistry in ethics (Cosmopolis 339-340). Both
medieval and Renaissance moral philosophers and theologians dealt with moral
issues using case-based methods similar to those used in Anglo-American
common law. In the casuist tradition sound moral judgments always had to
respect the particular nuances or circumstances of the case in question.8 This
tradition, however, was subject to abuse by those who practiced it and was in
turn subjected to scathing ridicule by Pascal in the 1640s. Later it was pushed
aside by Henry More and the Cambridge Platonists who transformed ethics into
a field of abstract theory unconcerned with concrete problems of moral practice.
From the middle of the seventeenth century on philosophers were to deal with

universal, timeless moral principles, not with judgments regarding particular

 

8For more on the history and defense of casuistry see The Abuse of Casuistry
by Albert Jonsen and Stephen Toulmin (1988).

42

cases. Such case analyses and particular judgments were left to the theologians.
The view that moral philosophy was to be concerned with comprehensive
general theories as opposed to particular moral judgments or practices became
the norm for modern philosophy. In fact, the consideration of particular cases
or moral judgments was seen not only as lying outside the realm of proper moral
philosophy, but as a potential obstacle to it. Henry Sidgwick expresses this
concern in his 1894 classic, Methods of Ethics.

For in this and other points the development of the theory of ethics

has been much impeded by the preponderance of practical

considerations. Although Aristotle said, “the end of our study is

not knowledge, but rather right conduct” it is still true that the

peculiar excellence of his own system is due to the pure air of

scientific curiosity in which it has been developed. And it would

seem that a more complete detachment of the scientific study of

right conduct from its practical application is to be desired for the

sake even of the latter itself (lst Edition ll).9
Given this sort of attitude, it is not surprising that until recently, attention to
case studies in ethics was considered unphilosophical, and casuistry, like
rhetoric, was held in disrepute.

Third, and closely related to the shift from the particular to the universal,
was the transition from the local to the general. Implicit in the work of

Renaissance philosophers such as Montaigne, was the conviction that history

and ethnography were relevant to philosophy because they revealed the diversity

 

9To be fair, it is worth noting that Sidgwick toned down this rhetoric a bit in
later additions of the book. “For here as in other points the development of the
theory of ethics would seem to be somewhat impeded other preponderance of
practical considerations; and perhaps a more complete detachment of the
theoretical study of right conduct from its practical application is to be desired
for the sake even of the latter itself” (5th Edition 12, emphasis added).

43

of human experience. Philosophical interest in these subjects waned, however,
and was overshadowed by a search for general, abstract axioms that were
universally applicable. History and ethnography were not so much rejected in
themselves — they were still interesting subjects -— but were seen as
irrelevant to philosophy. Philosophical understanding did not result from the
accumulation of particular facts or experiences, but rather from the general ideas
and abstract principles that connect particulars together (Cosmopolis 34). This
penchant for axiomatic systems is most clearly evident in the work of
rationalists such as Descartes, Leibniz, and Spinoza, but traces of it can also be
found in the work of empiricists such as Locke and Berkeley. What both groups
share is a quest for a unifying theory of knowledge, certain foundations on
which all knowledge claims could be built.

Finally, according to Toulmin, there was a transition from the timely to
the timeless (Cosmopolis 340-341). Renaissance scholars were interested in
concrete issues of legal and medical practice in which considerations of time
were relevant. Such issues, he argues, are timely, that is, they refer to specific
moments of time because the rationality of decisions in these areas is dependent
on the time in which the decisions are put into effect. As an example Toulmin
cites the naval navigator’s decision to shift course 10 degrees to the starboard.
The rationality of such a decision, though it may depend on precise calculations,
is contingent on the time at which the decision is put into effect. Shifting
course 10 degrees starboard may be a rational decision at one time, but not at

another. For Renaissance philosophers, the discipline of law, in which time-

44

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dependent decisions are made “as the occasion requires,” was considered the
model of a rational enterprise. In contrast, after Descartes, philosophers turned
away from issues in which time was a relevant consideration, to search for
timeless, permanent principles that could explain the transient and changeable
world of appearance. Whereas the Renaissance philosophers considered the
prospects of a universal natural philosophy problematic or unlikely, the aim of
their successors, according to Toulmin, “was to bring to light permanent
structures underlying all the changeable phenomena of Nature” (Cosmopolis 34).
The model for a rational enterprise became science, not law.

These four points of contrast — between the oral and the written,
particular and universal, local and general, timely and timeless — mark the
transition to theory-centered philosophy.

[W]hen seen in context, they [the 17th-century theory-centered

philosophers] have several things in common: specifically, they

choose to ignore the whole of practical philosophy — that is, the

issues arising out of the clinical practice of medicine, the

procedures and practices of law, the rhetorical force of personal

argumentation, and the moral methods of the casuists. . . .

Rational judgments of practical adequacy are timely and not

timeless, concrete not abstract, particular not universal, local not

general. They concern people who have roots in the practical and

pastoral arts, and the seventeenth-century “new philosophers” were
theory-centered, not practical-minded. They were not interested in
procedures for handling limited classes of cases or specific types

of problems; they concentrated instead on abstract, timeless

methods of deriving general solutions to universal problems

(Cosmopolis 341).

Toulmin attributes this shift in focus to the desire to find certainty amidst

the religious, political, and economic turmoil of seventeenth-century Europe.

However, because the Renaissance is overlooked as the origin of modernity, it is

45

this theory-centered approach to philosophy that we have come to identify with
modern philosophy, and in fact, that many have come to associate with

philosophy itself.

3.1.3 Philosophy After the Transition

While Toulmin focuses his analysis on the transition from practical to
theoretical philosophy during the first part of the seventeenth century, he does
not end the story there. The movement from one style of philosophy to the
other was not a single linear affair, but rather one are of a pendulum swinging
back and forth between practical and theory-centered philosophy throughout the
last 2500 years. The shift towards certainty and exactitude, universality and
decontextualization continued in eighteenth-century philosophy and science, as
well as in political and social theory. However, the new physics of Einstein and
Planck as well as the psychology of Freud provide evidence suggesting this
quest for certainty had begun to unravel by the end of the nineteenth century. A
short-lived shift back towards humanism and the acceptance of ambiguity
around the turn of the century was derailed by political events in Europe,
particularly the First World War. Toulmin describes the period between the two
world wars as a period of crisis analogous to the period surrounding the Thirty
Years War, pointing out that there was a similar movement in the sciences and
humanities towards certainty in both periods. In philosophy the desire for
certainty at the time was most evident in the logical positivism of the Vienna

Circle. Philosophers in the movement took the natural sciences, and particularly

46

physics, as the model or paradigm that philosophy, properly pursued, ought to
emulate. Toulmin claims that in both cases — the crisis surrounding the Thirty
Years War and the political and social instability between the First World War
and the Second World War — social crisis pushed intellectuals away from a
toleration of ambiguity and towards the goal of decontextualized, universal
certainty. The result was an isolated, theory-centered profession, largely

unconcerned with the practical affairs of public life.

3.2 Kuklick: The Demise of Practical Philosophy

While he would certainly agree with Toulmin’s conclusion that by the
middle of this century professional philosophy had become a highly abstract and
theoretical enterprise, unconcerned with practical affairs and largely irrelevant
to public life, historian Bruce Kuklick recites a somewhat different story to
explain this state of affairs. The difference may be attributable to several
interrelated factors. One is that Kuklick concentrates exclusively on philosophy
in America, whereas Toulmin focuses primarily on philosophy as it developed in
Europe. In fact, reading Toulmin one might assume that there was no
philosophy in America worth mentioning until the 18808. Another reason is that
Kuklick is a historian looking at philosophy as an academic discipline, whereas
Toulmin is a philosopher looking at the history of philosophical ideas and
styles. For this reason Toulmin’s account, although it pays close attention to
the social, political, and economic conditions in sixteenth- and seventeenth-

century Europe, stresses the history of ideas. In contrast, Kuklick’s explanation

47

emphasizes a sociological or institutional factor almost completely absent from
Toulmin’s account, the professionalization of philosophy in the twentieth
century.10

Although this will be a rather brief summary pulling together material
from several of Kuklick’s works,ll three points should clearly emerge. First,
despite charges of irrelevancy brought against professional philosophy during
this century, practical philosophy has been, at times, an important part of the
American philosophical tradition. Second, the emergence of professional
philosophy as we now know it occurred only in the twentieth century and was
inextricably related to the widespread professionalization of academic
scholarship associated with the rise of the American university. Third, there is a
connection between the rise of professional philosophy and the demise of

practical philosophy in America.

 

10Kuklick is not alone in noting the importance of professionalization. In his
survey of the history of philosophy viewed as a practice D. W. Hamlyn also
identifies professionalization as one of the most significant features of
twentieth-century philosophy (127-137). See also two works by Daniel Wilson
“Professionalization and Organized Discussion in the American Philosophical
Association, 1900-1922” and Science, Community, and the Transformation of
American Philosophy, 1860-1930.

I'Kuklick develops his account of the history of philosophy of America in
several works, The Rise of American Philosophy (1977), “The Changing
Character of Philosophizing in America” (197 8), “Studying the History of
American Philosophy” (1982), and “The Professionalization of the Humanities”
(1985).

48

3.2.1 The First 250 Years

According to Kuklick, the period from the middle of the seventeenth
century to the beginning of the First World War12 — the first 250 years of
philosophy in America — was characterized by two broad themes (“The
Changing Character” 4-7). The first had to do with the relationship of
philosophy, science, and religion. The role of the philosopher during this period
was to show how knowledge of the world, of humans, and of God were related
and mutually supportive — how they could be integrated into a unified whole.
Philosophy during this period was largely defined by its relation to religion,
particularly by its attempts to reconcile or integrate science and religion.
During the last seventy-five years of this period a new challenge, the task of
redefining both science and religion in light of Darwin's work, confronted
philosophers. The second theme, had to do with the public role of the
philosopher. According to Kuklick, during this early period “thinkers believed
that their enterprise had consequences for mundane affairs; the philosopher was
also a public man” (“The Changing Character” 4). In addition to questions of
science and religion, philosophers also addressed economic, educational, and

political issues.

 

12Kuklick divides the history of philosophy in America into three unequal
periods — the period from middle of the seventeenth century to the beginning
of the First World War, the period between the First and Second World Wars,
and the period following the Second World War (“The Changing Character” 4-
13). Richard Rorty draws roughly the same divisions and draws quite similar
conclusions (“Professionalized Philosophy” 60-71).

49

The first signs of professionalization appeared during the last decades of
this period as philosophers struggled to retain a place within the growing and
changing university system. Professionalization throughout academia included
specialization in the form of growth of various disciplines within the university
(and within philosophy), the definition of disciplinary boundaries, the training
and placing of teachers through doctoral programs, and the codification of
ranking and tenure systems, as well as the proliferation of academic journals.
Philosophy was no exception. The first academic journal of philosophy, the
Philosophical Review, was started in 1892 by philosophers at the Sage School of
Philosophy at Cornell University (Wilson, “Professionalization” 53). Not too
many years later the first professional organizations were formed — the
Western Philosophical Association in 1900, followed by the American
Philosophical Association in 1901 (Wilson, “Professionalization” 54). While
these steps towards professionalization followed the trend towards
professionalization in other academic disciplines, in philosophy they were
arguably defensive. Rather than using professionalization to establish a new
discipline and gain support for it within the university, philosophers used
professionalization to protect an eroding position. As the university system
expanded in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries several areas of
study — e.g., economics, political science, sociology, and history — once
considered part of moral philosophy, broke away to form distinct disciplines.
Thus, philosophers organized, at least in part, to define and maintain the

boundaries of their shrinking discipline. The boundaries that evolved tended to

50

define philosophy as a theory-centered discipline. The more “practical”
disciplines associated with the social sciences splintered off, leaving to
philosophy and the humanities those subjects that were not easily applied

(Kuklick, “The Professionalization” 52-53).

3.2.2 Between the Two World Wars

The years between the two world wars constitute a transitional period in
several senses. First, this period saw the completion of the professionalization
process — the emergence of the first generation Of purely professional
philosophers, the solidification of their place within the growing university
system, and the maturation of their professional organizations. Though the
“amateur” or non-academic philosopher” played a significant role in American
philosophy up through the last quarter of the nineteenth century, professional
philosophers — i.e., those who held positions in the university — now
completely dominated the field.

This professionalization was accompanied by a second sort of transition.
Between the two world wars the conviction that professional philosophy should

be scientific as opposed to speculative grew in importance. To be a professional

 

l3Exactly who should be classified as an amateur philosopher is probably
subject to debate, but the list would include both religious leaders and members
of the intellectual elite such as Cotton Mather, Benjamin Franklin, Jonathan
Edwards, and Ralph Waldo Emerson who wrote broadly on the relationship
between science and religion, and society. See Kuklick’s “The Changing
Character of Philosophizing in America” and The Rise of American Philosophy,
particularly Chapter Three, “Amateur Philosophizing,” for more on who
addressed philosophical issues or was involved in informal philosophical clubs
or discussion groups.

51

in the university was to employ “scientific” methods and rigor with the goal of
attaining a body of knowledge. Daniel Wilson writes of the connection between
the professionalization of philosophy and its self-conception as a science, “the
methods and values Of scientific inquiry increasingly set the standards in the
expanding universities. Philosophers felt they would somehow have to meet
that challenge and the new standards to retain their place in American
academics. How could they become more professional, more specialized, and in
some sense, more scientific?” (“Professionalization” 57). While the conception
of science was ambiguous — i.e., there was no consensus on what it meant for
philosophy to be scientific — it was, nevertheless, clear that the term
“scientific” carried powerful normative connotations. Science had made great
strides; scientific method had produced indisputable benefits in physics,
medicine, and other fields. Science was associated with progress. It was good
thing for philosophy to be considered a science."

While the notion of “scientific” was somewhat vague, it was not
completely devoid of meaning. Noting the contrast between “scientific” and
other forms of philosophy provides some clarification. As already mentioned,
“scientific” philosophy was contrasted with “speculative” philosophy. A

contrast was also drawn between philosophy as science and philosophy as

 

MSee Kuklick, “The Changing Character of Philosophizing in America” and
Wilson, “Professionalization and Organized Discussion in the American
Philosophical Association, 1900-1922" and Science, Community, and the
Transformation of American Philosophy, 1860-1930, for discussion of the
developing institutional structures of professionalization and the conceptions of
science and philosophy during this period.

52

edification.15 Roughly put, philosophy as edification seeks to improve the lives
of persons in a personal, if not moral or spiritual sense — to inspire and guide
as much as to inform. This goal of philosophy was still quite evident in Anglo-
Saxon philosophy at the turn of the century. In reflecting on his career as a
philosopher Gilbert Ryle refers to it as a “missionary calling”:

There survived, if somewhat meekly, into my young days the idea

that philosophy had the prime justification for its existence in its

being a sort of missionary calling. Behind and above the

pedagogic duties for which he was salaried by his college or

university, the academic philosopher, no less than the lay

philosopher, had the paramount duty to Do Good, by homily and

example, to the Man in the Street (387).

In contrast, philosophy as science seeks to inform, to develop a body of
knowledge in an impersonal, precise, and morally neutral manner.

The contrast between these two genres is not always crystal clear, nor are
the goals necessarily mutually exclusive. A philosopher who seeks to edify may
also consider herself to be adding to a body of philosophical knowledge, and
one who pursues philosophical knowledge in a detached scientific manner might

also hope that the pursuit of such knowledge will have edifying results.

Nevertheless, it is clear that there was a perceived tension between the two goals

 

15The contrast is not unique or exclusive to the period between the two world
wars. The same or similar contrasts can be found in works by other authors
during the 20‘h century. The contrast between philosophy as edification and
philosophy as science comes from Arthur Lovejoy (“On Some Conditions” 133-
135), Gilbert Ryle contrasts the missionary and scientific goals of the
philosopher (386-387), Douglas Walton compares philosophy as a kind of
knowledge with philosophy as a kind of “reasoned dialogue that is worthwhile
even though it typically does not result in (hard) knowledge (124), and Allison
Jaggar distinguishes between professional philosophy that is critical and popular
philosophy that is invariably normative (110).

53

and the styles of philosophy they encouraged. This tension was self-consciously
discussed among professional American philosophers early in the twentieth
century. Should philosophy strive to become a specialized empirical science or
to provide personal and moral guidance? This was an important enough
question to be addressed by Arthur Lovejoy in his 1916 presidential address to
the American Philosophical Association. “Philosophy,” he wrote,

has long been endeavoring to perform two seemingly identical, but
practically incongruous functions. It has seldom been quite clear
whether men chiefly sought from their philosopher the record —
Often quaintly enough expressed — of interesting and impressive
personal reactions upon life, or depersonalized science; and as a
rule both have been expected at once and from the same sources.
The philosopher has been looked to for edification, but also for the
example of logical austerity and caution in believing. Yet there
are in human nature hardly any two dispositions more deeply and
subtly at variance than the desire to edify and the desire to verify.
It is to be hoped that the truth, when found, will be edifying. But
the soul habitually on fire with a passionate conviction which it is
eager to impart is scarcely of a temperature favorable to the cool
and deliberate processes of severe inquiry. An eagerness to serve
the spiritual needs of one's generation is a generous and noble
thing; but it is a very different thing from an eagerness to probe an
intricate logical problem to its obscurest elements and its nicest
distinctions. The type of mind that performs one of these

functions well is likely — though there are perhaps rare
exceptions — to perform the other badly (“On Some Conditions”
133-134).

Finally, this period between the two world wars was transitional in yet a
third sense. During this period those American philosophers who continued to
address public issues and audiences shifted their attention from religious to
moral issues. They increasingly ceased to be concerned with the integration of
science and religion, and by the Second World War had, for the most part, given

up the defense of religion altogether (“The Changing Character” 7-8). However,

54

many remained public figures, turning their efforts toward applying scientific
methods to social problems, and commenting on a broad range of issues
including education, economics, and politics. Richard Rorty refers to this
period in American philosophy as a time of “prophecy and moral leadership”
(“Professionalized Philosophy” 61). Such efforts were epitomized in the diverse
and far ranging involvements of John Dewey, who is probably as well and
fondly known for his work in education and other areas “outside” of philosophy
as for his philosophical writings. If philosophy was defined in terms of its
relation to religion during the first period, it was defined by its relation to the
social sciences in the second (Kuklick “The Changing Character” 8-9; Rorty

“Professionalized Philosophy” 61).

3.2.3 After the Second World War

The years following the Second World War saw the culmination of the
transition towards the professionalization of philosophy and its growing self-
conception as a “scientific” discipline. The professionalization of philosophy
was not an isolated event, but took place within the context of the more general
professionalization of scholarship in America commencing around the turn of
this century. The institutional structures of professionalization established
earlier bore fruit after the Second World War as philosophers who were products
of this system populated the expanding university system in the United States.
By this time philosophy's self-conception as a science was also firmly

entrenched. Perhaps the classic statement of the attitude is to be found in Hans

55

Reichenbach's, The Rise of Scientific Philosophy.l6 According to Reichenbach
philosophy had finally reached an age of maturity in which an identifiable set of
philosophical problems that previously were only imprecisely defined could now
be addressed by rigorous logical and scientific methods. Philosophy was now a
discipline modeled after the natural sciences, a discipline with an accepted set of
problems, methods, and standards. Progress, that is solving philosophical
problems and enlarging the body of philosophical knowledge, was both possible
and to be expected. These transitions had the effect of narrowing philosophy
and turning it inward. For philosophers trained after the Second World War,
Kuklick writes, “the goal was specialized research published for technically
competent audiences in technical journals with popularizations frequently
relegated to hacks, incompetents, and has-beens” (“The Changing Character” 9-
10).

This growing conception of philosophy as a science had the paradoxical
effect of simultaneously solidifying philosophy’s professional stature in
academia and reducing its public significance. There were two reasons for this.
First, while the importance of science and the scientific ideal grew in stature
during the first half of the century, the scope of science was in some sense
reduced. The belief that science could provide deep insights into the “meaning
and significance of human existence was abandoned” (Kuklick “The Changing

Character” 10). Thus, as philosophy became more scientific it was perceived to

 

”For a discussion of how Reichenbach's vision of philosophy fits into the
history of American philosophy see Richard Rorty, “Philosophy in America
Today.”

56

be less able to address deep existential and moral issues. Second, as the scope
of philosophical inquiry was narrowed to include only those problems that could
be treated “scientifically,” practical philosophy was essentially eliminated from
professional philosophy. Philosophical interest in practical or public issues
waned while interest in more technical linguistic and epistemological problems
grew. The religious and moral problems that had been the subject matter of the
public philosopher were no longer considered part of philosophy at all. The
former had been abandoned, and the latter had been shifted to the social
scientists. With the rejection of these problems the public role of the
philosopher and the conviction that philosophical work was directly relevant to
everyday life were completely abdicated. The sharp criticism found in the 1966
Time essay mentioned earlier indicates that this change did not go unnoticed by
the public. By the mid-19608 American philosophers had turned inward to
problems raised by other philosophers, and philosophized about philosophy, not
about life.

Writing during this post-Second World War period (197 9) Kuklick paints
a dismal portrait of philosophy, questioning not only whether it had any public
role to play in the affairs of the world, but also whether it served any significant
function within academia (“The Changing Character” 10-12). While other
disciplines could justify their existence by the production of knowledge,
philosophy could make no such claim. Having no knowledge of the meaning
and significance of human existence (i.e., no concern with religion or morality),

and no need to duplicate the knowledge produced by other fields, philosophy

57

was left with only the general problem of epistemology. However, while work
in this area was supposed to encompass all other disciplines, in fact, establish a
basis for their knowledge claims, it was widely seen as irrelevant and ignored by
practitioners in those other disciplines. Thus, it became detached from both
public and academic life. Nevertheless, Kuklick commented sarcastically,
philosophers need not worry about losing their jobs.

Philosophers no longer show that science serves the sacred; nor do

they comment on the affairs of men, nor —— as they might still

claim — on the affairs of other disciplines. But lack of utility

does not mean that philosophy will disappear. On the contrary,

established within the knowledge industry, philosophy can be

expected to last indefinitely, somewhat like the way in which a

dead person may be kept theoretically alive because he is hooked

into modern medical technology (“The Changing Character” 11).
4 The Re-emergence of Practical Philosophy

There is no denying that there has been a resurgence of practical
philosophy in the last twenty-five years. Philosophers now address significant
issues of practical importance in medicine, law, business, and social policy;
write on contemporary social issues such as racism, feminism, health care and
environmental policy; and work outside of academia, serving on ethics
committees in local hospitals and nursing homes as well as on national

commissions and advisory panels. In addition to a host of publications devoted

to various areas of practical philosophy,l7 new journals intended to provide a

 

17The following list is just a sample of the journals that address practical
issues: Bioethics; Bioethics Quarterly; Biology and Philosophy; Business Ethics
Quarterly; Business & Professional Ethics Journal; Cambridge Quarterly of
Healthcare Ethics; Criminal Justice Ethics; Ethics: A Journal of Social,

(continued...)

58

forum for discussing practical or applied philosophy itself have emerged.'8

Many graduate programs allow students to specialize in “applied” areas such as
medical or business ethics, and at least one school, Bowling Green State
University, now offers a Ph.D. in applied philosophy. Writing as early as 1983,
Frederick Elliston documented many of these changes, citing the introduction of
new courses and texts, new professional societies, new research projects, new
journals, and new institutional centers. “Taken as a whole” he writes, “these
developments show a remarkable extension of the scope of philosophical
activity, so far-reaching as to constitute a revolution” (197).

It would appear, thus, that Kuklick’s gloomy prognosis for philosophy
offered in 1979 was premature. In fact, given that Singer’s article,
“Philosophers are Back on the Job,” appeared in the New York Times Magazine
in 1974 one might even argue that Kuklick offered a faulty diagnosis. Staying
with Kuklick’s medical metaphor, it would be fair to say that renewed attention
to practical and public concerns has breathed new life into professional
philosophy. This was certainly the message in Toulmin’s 1986 essay, “How

Medicine Saved the Life of Ethics.” It is, in fact, hard to miss the irony of

 

17(...continued)
Political, and Legal Philosophy; Feminist Studies; Hastings Center Report; The
Journal of Clinical Ethics; Journal of Computing Systems; Journal of
Information Ethics; Journal of Medical Ethics; Kennedy Institute of Ethics
Journal; Minds and Machines: Journal for Artificial Intelligence, Philosophy
and Cognitive Science; Philosophy in Context; Philosophy and Public Affairs;
Public Affairs Quarterly; and Theoretical Medicine: An International Journal
for the Philosophy and Methodology of Medical Research and Practice.

18The Journal of Applied Philosophy and The International Journal of
Applied Philosophy are examples of two such journals.

59

Kuklick’s metaphor when one considers the tremendous influence that ethical
dilemmas in medicine, including those surrounding the use of respirators and
other life-sustaining technologies, had on the resurgence of practical philosophy.
Elliston does a fine job of documenting the specific changes, but some
broader trends are worth noting. In social and political philosophy landmark
works by Rawls and Nozick'9 have certainly spurred a great deal of practically
oriented research by a wide range of scholars and practitioners. In ethics, the
shift from a preoccupation with meta-ethics to an emphasis on normative
practical ethics and social policy in the last twenty-five years has shown that
philosophers can not only address concrete and important problems, but can also
work with and learn from professionals in other disciplines as well.
Philosophers have also been influential in the newly emerging field of cognitive
science, crossing and blurring disciplinary boundaries through their interaction
with psychologists, neurophysiologists, computer scientists, and linguists.
Whether this expansion is a sincere reclamation of the philosopher's public or
practical role, or a more calculated defensive maneuver in response to a
decreased demand for their services,20 philosophers have to some extent shed
their narrow preoccupation with epistemology and philosophy of language and

sought to re-enter into broader public and academic discourse.

 

19John Rawls, A Theory of Justice (1971) and Robert Nozick, Anarchy, State,
and Utopia (1974).

20This suggestion is made by Allison Jaggar in “Philosophy as a Profession.”

60

The ambivalence toward the practical significance of philosophy noted at
the outset of this chapter indicates that the resurgence of practical philosophy
has not been uncontroversial. It has been met with criticism both from within
and without professional philosophy. Toulmin’s and Kuklick’s explanations
help both to clarify some of the reasons for this resistance and identify some of
the issues that must be addressed if practical philosophy is going to be fully
accepted as a part of professional philosophy. Toulmin describes a struggle
between theoretical and practical philosophy — two competing, if not
incommensurable, styles of philosophy. While ongoing swings between these
two styles may be inevitable to some extent, a complete inability to reconcile
them is ultimately unsatisfactory. We seem forced to choose between two
valuable, but incomplete styles. The contrast Toulmin draws between practical
and theory-centered philosophy reminds us that any attempt to reconcile the two
will require close attention to the question of how to join theory and practice in
philosophy.

From Kuklick we learn about the profound influence of
professionalization, particularly how it can narrow and limit the vision of an
academic discipline. This suggests one reason why theory-centered philosophy
has become institutionalized as the model or paradigm of professional
philosophy. What is interesting about the recent resurgence of practical
philosophy, and what differentiates it from the other periods when practical
philosophy was more prominent, is the blend of practical and academic

philosophy. Philosophers may be expanding their range of problems to once

61

again address issues of practical concern either to the general public or to
professionals in other disciplines, but they are doing so largely from an
academic context. For the most part the philosophers involved in this expansion
receive their training, professional affiliation and primary fiscal support from an
academic institution. This suggests three things. First, despite the historical
chasm there may be potential for meaningful practical philosophy to survive,
maybe even thrive, within the academic setting. Second, because academic
institutions still offer the most secure source of financial support, it is within the
academic context that we need to assess the future prospects for practical
philosophy. Finally, to the extent that professional philosophy has been
characterized and understood as a theory-centered discipline, integrating
practical philosophy into it will involve a change of professional identity. The
change will require us to address the following question: In what sense can a

practical philosopher remain a professional philosopher?

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CHAPTER TWO

WHAT IS PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY?

1 Introduction

There is little denying that professional philosophy has undergone
significant change in the last third of this century. Having spent the first part of
the century emphasizing increasingly narrow and technical problems in
epistemology, logic, and the philosophy of language, many professional
philosophers are now turning outward to address a broader range of practical or
public concerns. Some philosophers have gone as far as to refer to the change
as a revolution in philosophy (Elliston 197). There are now professional
journals and university courses devoted to what have been called “applied”
issues in philosophy — sexism, racism, medical ethics, business ethics,
environmental ethics, philosophy and computers, just to name a few.
Philosophers have started centers and institutes to study these issues, they work
as consultants in health care, government, and business, and they take part in
public policy formation. In Peter Singer’s words, philosophers are “back on the
job” (“Philosophers” 6-7, 17-20).

Given the magnitude of these changes it may be surprising that one
would even ask the question, “What is practical philosophy?” However, the
uneven reception that this so-called revolution has received both from within
and without the profession suggests that there may be good reasons to examine

the question. Mixed reviews, ranging from enthusiasm to skepticism, have come

63

from outside professional philosophy. Consider, for instance, the experience of
philosophers on national, state, and local ethics committees. On the one hand,
their involvement is often actively sought and appreciated. Philosophers have
participated on the National Commission for the Protection of Human Subjects,
the President’s Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in Medicine and
Biomedical and Behavioral Research, and more recently the President’s Task
Force on Health Care Reform. On the other hand, the effectiveness and
legitimacy of their involvement has been challenged by those who deny that
philosophers possess the expertise required for the resolution of practical ethical
problems or the formulation of public policy.l Maybe the most common
reaction is one of doubt about what philosophers can contribute qua
philosophers. Reflecting on his experience working with philosophers on a
national bioethics commission, for example, lawyer Alan Weisbard captures the
skepticism, “Philosophers certainly may engage in useful policy analysis, but
only insofar as they substantially abandon some of the distinctive analytic tools
and attitudes of academic philosophy, as well as claims of detached and
disinterested expertise that justify a special credibility for their academic work”

(782).

 

1For general critiques of ethics expertise see Cheryl Noble, “Ethics and
Experts;” Giles Scofield, “Ethics Consultation: The Least Dangerous
Profession?”; and Ruth Shalit, “When We Were Philosopher Kings.” For
discussion of the role of philosophers on the committees previously mentioned
see Laurence J. O’Connell, “Ethicists and Health Care Reform: An Indecent
Proposal?”; H. T ristam Englehardt, “Health Care Reform: A Study in Moral
Malfeasance;” Laurence B. McCullough, “Should We Create a Health Care
System in the United States?”; and Dan W. Brock, “Truth or Consequences: The
Role of Philosophers in Policy-Making.”

64

The response from inside philosophy has been mixed as well. Some
philosophers have welcomed the involvement in practical issues as a
rejuvenation of a discipline in decline (Toulmin, “How Medicine Saved” 265-
281). Others have viewed such endeavors as academically suspect if not
professionally inappropriate. Disengaged contemplation, not practical
involvement, is the modus operandi of the philosopher.2 The true philosopher
works at an abstract level, maintaining a critical distance from issues of
immediate concern. Behind the scenes some philosophers have even questioned
the motivations of their colleagues who embrace roles that place them more in
the public spotlight. As from those outside philosophy, the reaction is often one
of confusion or ambivalence. The uncertainty is expressed well by philosopher
Louis Katzner

The term “applied philosophy” is an enigma. Some view it as a

redundancy; others as a contradiction. Some as indicating an

important change in the focus of philosophical investigation;

others as what philosophers have always been concerned with.

And some view it as a welcome revitalization of a discipline that

has stagnated; others as the eclipse of the queen of sciences (32).

The mixed response, particularly from the professional philosophical

community, suggests that the activity of practical philosophy has outstripped our

reflective understanding of it. Katzner’s comments suggest two particular

 

2One of the most extreme expressions of this view can be found in
Etienne Gilson’s History of Philosophy and Philosophical Education (1948).
Gilson places so much emphasis on the essential contemplative nature of
philosophy that he argues that even when the philosopher is teaching philosophy
he is not doing philosophy. “Yet, when all is said and done, to teach is to act,
whereas to philosophize is to contemplate, and though, in this one instance, the
active life of a man is but the overflowing of his contemplative life, these two
lives are not the same” (5).

65

sources of confusion. First, it is not clear that the nature of practical philosophy
is well understood. While one can point to numerous examples of practical
philosophy it is difficult to find any concise or adequate description of what
exactly makes a philosopher’s work practical. There seems to be informal
consensus on only one point. When engaged in practical philosophy the
philosopher directs her attention to practical problems, roughly understood
(although never to my knowledge precisely defined) as problems that arise or
have some significant import outside of academia. While this is an important
point of agreement, it leaves many questions unanswered. Is practical
philosophy a distinct or unique form of philosophy and, if so, what distinguishes
it from other forms of philosophy? Does it have a distinct subject matter or
methodology? These questions suggest a second source of confusion — the
relationship between practical philosophy and professional philosophy.
Whatever else it is, practical philosophy is an activity very different from the
type of philosophy that predominated in American colleges and universities
during the first two-thirds of this century and that is still largely the norm today
in most prestigious or highly-ranked graduate programs.3 Moreover, to the
extent that professional philosophy is equated with academic philosophy, the

place of practical philosophy within professional philosophy is unclear.

 

3For evidence see “The Philosophical Gourmet, 1998-2000.” This report
is a ranking of analytic philosophy graduate programs in America. The rankings
are produced by Brian Leiter and published online by Blackwell Publishers at
http://www.blackwellpublishers.co.uk/gourmeU.

66

In this chapter I explore the nature of practical philosophy, reserving
questions of the relationship between practical and professional philosophy for
subsequent chapters. More specifically I compare two conceptions of the
relationship between philosophy and practical concerns. I will refer to the first
as applied philosophy. Roughly, this conception assumes that the philosopher
can bring the theoretical knowledge or methods of philosophy to bear on
practical problems the way an engineer supposedly applies the theories of
mathematics and physics to design the suspension system for a bridge. For
instance, the philosopher may attempt to answer the question of whether to
terminate life-sustaining treatment for a patient in a persistent vegetative state
by deducing a solution from Kantian or utilitarian ethical theory. In this
conception, “applied” philosophy is typically contrasted with “pure” philosophy
which supposedly determines whether Kant’s ethical theory, utilitarianism, or
some other theory is ultimately correct. It does this from a detached and neutral
perspective independent of any particular context. Furthermore, whether
expressed or not, it is implied that applied philosophy is derived from and
dependent on pure philosophy.

I will refer to the second conception as practical philosophy. Though it
defies a precise definition (as does philosophy itself), practical philosophy
differs from applied philosophy in a rather significant respect. Rather than
being contrasted to pure philosophy, practical philosophy is contrasted with
theory-centered philosophy. The different contrast reflects a different

relationship. Whereas applied philosophy is derived from pure philosophy,

67

practical philosophy is not derived from theory—centered philosophy. In fact,
Paul Thompson characterizes practical philosophy as philosophy that “involves
problems of a philosophical nature for which there is not theory” (“Two Types”
12). The relationship between theory-centered and practical philosophy then is
not one of subject-matter to application, but of two different forms or styles of
philosophy that co-exist on more or less equal footing. Central to the difference
between the two styles is the way in which each frames philosophical problems
and solutions. Stephen Toulmin, who has probably provided the fullest recent
account of the conception of practical philosophy argues that theory-centered
philosophy frames philosophical problems and solutions in timeless, abstract and
universal terms whereas practical philosophy frames them in timely, concrete,
and particular terms (“Recovery” 338-341).

The conception of practical philosophy, I contend, is preferable to the
conception of applied philosophy in two ways. First, it more accurately reflects
what philosophers actually do when they turn their attention to practical
problems. Second, the conception of practical philosophy avoids the pejorative
connotation inherent in the label of applied philosophy, that philosophers who
address practical issues are not truly doing philosophy, but are engaged in some
less rigorous, impure, second-order activity. This comes out most clearly in
Toulmin’s work. In addition to offering a rich description of what we mean
when we say that practical philosophy addresses “practical” problems, Toulmin
also provides historical justification for considering practical philosophy on par

with theory-centered philosophy. As we saw in Chapter 1 he does this by

68

drawing attention to the historical diversity and contingency of philosophical
practice or style. Practical philosophy, he argues, is not a form of philosophy
that is being newly developed, but an established form of philosophy that has a
long tradition and that is now being rediscovered. In fact, if one looks at the
history of philosophy one might plausibly characterize the difference between
theoretical and practical philosophy as a contrast between philosophy done in
the Platonic and Aristotelian traditions (“Recovery” 348-349).

There are, however, deficiencies in how the model of practical philosophy
has been described that need to be remedied. Toulmin’s attempt to identify the
distinction between theory-centered and practical philosophy with the distinction
between Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy too narrowly restricts practical
philosophy to one philosophical tradition and cannot withstand scrutiny.
Moreover, despite his emphasis on the historical contingency of philosophical
style, Toulmin overlooks an important historical development that affects the
current prospects for practical philosophy — the professionalization of the
discipline. Finally, and more generally, while depicting practical and theory-
centered philosophy as separate types of philosophy helps to establish the
legitimacy of practical philosophy within the philosophical tradition, it also
raises an important question. What is the relationship between theory and
practice in philosophy? While advocates of applied philosophy, I will argue,
present an untenable relationship between theory and practice, proponents of
practical philosophy have for the most part, skirted the issue by separating

theory and practice. A fully satisfactory account of practical philosophy,

69

particularly one intended to find a place for practical philos0phy with in the

profession, must address this question.

2 Applied Philosophy
2.1 Description

Applied philosophy can be described in a number of ways. One common
method is to describe it through analogy with applied branches of other
disciplines. For instance, Wilson and Cowell characterize the modern sense of
applied philosophy“ as an attempt to use phiIOSOphy to solve problems similar to
the way that we might use physics or mathematics to solve problems. It is an
attempt, they write, to “assimilate ‘applied philosophy’ to ‘applied science’ or
‘applied mathematics’: that is, the application of some kind of ‘pure’ philosophy
or philosophical theory to particular problems.” Similarly, comparing
philosophical theories to formulas of geometry, Thompson characterizes applied
philosophy as a branch of philosophy derived from pure theory. “The theory is
worked out, and then actual data points are used to instantiate the free variables.
The theory then generates ‘an answer’ in the form of a prediction or a
measurement” (“Two Types”12). Finally, describing what she calls the
engineering model Of applied philosophy Fiscella compares the relationship

between philosophy and its applications to the relationship between physics and

 

‘Wilson and Cowell contrast this modern sense with another sense of
applying philosophy that, they claim, is more commonly found in the history of
philosophy. This other sense is to use philosophy not to solve problems, but to
feel differently about them — e.g., Roman Stoicism (127).

70

engineering. “Just as theories developed in physics are used in the field of
engineering to help solve concrete problems (so the model proposes), theories
developed in philosophy are also applied to specific concrete problems” (61).

Other philosophers describe the model of applied philosophy by drawing
certain contrasts between applied and “pure” or “conventional” philosophy.
Perhaps the most important contrast pertains to the relevance or importance of
context. Young uses the term “applied ethics” to refer to “any study which is
concerned with practically determining right courses of action within the context
of extant society”( 37, emphasis added). He contrasts applied ethics with
“conventional” philosophy (e. g., epistemology, metaphysics, and moral theory)
that maintains a critical distance from the context-bound problems. In a similar
vein Katzner emphasizes both the selection of concrete problems and the
necessity of addressing them within the context in which they arise.

[A]pplied philosophy involves focusing philosophical analysis and

deliberation on issues of societal and individual import. Moreover,

it insists upon addressing these issues in the contexts in which they

arise, rather than constantly abstracting from real situations to

ideal cases. In other words, rather than treating the facts of a

situation as variables that can be altered at will (e. g. turning the

discussion of a sane nuclear policy into one about an ideal nuclear

policy), applied philosophy insists upon beginning with the facts

and sticking to them (33, emphasis added).
Katzner contrasts applied philosophy to pure philosophy, not conventional
philosophy as Young does, but the description is quite similar. Pure philosophy
is more or less twentieth-century Anglo-American analytic philosophy, a feature

of which is an apparent indifference to the practical contexts in which problems

arise. According to this tradition, Katzner writes, “Philosophers, qua

71

philosophers, are simply concerned with clarifying the fundamental concepts of
experience. The task of utilizing these concepts to forge a coherent mode of
living is not their concern” (32). Applied philosophy then deals with problems
embedded in a particular context, while conventional or pure philosophy deals
with problems intentionally abstracted or removed from particular contexts.

Of course, the contrast between pure and applied philosophy cannot be
the full story. It leaves unanswered the question of what provides the continuity
that makes both pure philosophy and applied philosophy, philosophy?
Proponents of applied philosophy have suggested a variety of connections.
Fiscella’s identifies two possible models of the relationship between pure and
applied philosophy (61). The engineering model draws on the analogy to
engineering mentioned above, highlighting theoretical knowledge as the bridge
that links pure and applied philosophy. Pure philosophy is concerned with
developing and articulating general philosophical theories. Applied philosophy
does not develop theoretical knowledge in philosophy, but nevertheless draws on
it, applying it to concrete problems. The skills/techniques model focuses on
techniques and skills, rather than knowledge and theories. It emphasizes the
transferability of skills, particularly analytic skills such as conceptual analysis,
that are developed in the study of philosophy.5 That is not to say that the
models are mutually exclusive. For instance, elements of both approaches are

evident in Katzner’s advocacy of applied philosophy. He suggests both that

 

5For instance, Robert Audi has argued that conceptual analysis can be
effectively used by philosophers to clarify concepts outside of philosophy. See
“The Applications of Conceptual Analysis,” 87-88.

72

philosophical knowledge (e. g., normative, epistemological, and metaphysical
knowledge) may be relevant to the practical issues, and that the skills honed
through philosophical inquiry (e.g., reasoning, communication and problem
solving skills) can be effectively used to solve more practical problems (34).
Similarly, though it does not endorse applied philosophy per se, the American
Philosophical Association’s 1980 statement, “The Role of Philosophy Programs
in Higher Education,” quite consciously balances the importance of
philosophical knowledge with an emphasis on transferable skills, such as critical
thinking, writing, and effective communication, that are developed in the course

of philosophical study (363-370).

2.2 Objections to Applied Philosophy

Applied philosophy is subject to several criticisms. At the risk of
oversimplification, the objections can be grouped into two broad categories.
The first category includes concerns about the implications the model has for the
relationship between pure and applied philosophy. The central objection is that
the model separates pure and applied philosophy both normatively and
descriptively in such a way that applied philosophy is pushed outside of the
professional discipline of philosophy. Even if the objection has merit, it does
not show that there is something inherently wrong with or incoherent in the
conception of applied philosophy itself, but only that it may have undesirable
implications, at least from the perspective of the applied philosopher. The

second category includes more substantive criticisms that have less to do with

73

the professional status of applied philosophy and more to do with the accuracy
or feasibility of the model itself. More specifically, these criticisms suggest that
the engineering model rests on certain assumptions regarding the relationship
between theory and practice that do not seem to hold true in the practice of
applied philosophy. To illustrate this point I will look at rule- or principle-
based theories in biomedical ethics. Since these theories most closely
approximate the deductive structure implied in the engineering model they

provide a good test of its adequacy.

2.2.1 Objection #1: The Separation of Pure and Applied Philosophy

Central to the conception of applied philosophy is the contrast between
pure and applied philosophy. This is true regardless of whether applied
philosophy is described through analogy to other applied disciplines or through
an emphasis on context. It is also true whether one finds the connection
between the two in knowledge and theories or in skills and techniques. A
significant implication of this contrast is that it separates pure and applied
endeavors in such a way that applied philosophy is pushed to the periphery of
the discipline if not shoved completely out into a separate discipline altogether.

Consider first the techniques/skills model. If taken exclusively, it seems
to reduce philosophy to a set of formal skills so that anyone who possesses and
uses these skills is a philosopher. For example, Katzner proposes that a person
employed outside academia to do non-philosophical work, but whose work is

informed by his philosophical background and knowledge should be considered

74

an applied phiIOSOpher. The trouble with this proposal is that it trades on the
ambiguity of the term “philosophy.” We can talk of philosophy in at least three
senses. We can use the term “philosophy” to refer to the academic discipline or
tradition of philosophy, what we normally think of as professional philosophy.
This discipline, however, has both form and content — a set of techniques and
skills, but also a set of certain paradigmatic problems. This form and content
account for two other senses of “philosophy” — philosophy as a set of formal
skills and techniques, and philosophy as a well-defined subject matter or
discrete set Of problems. Thus, when Katzner refers to the person whose non-
philosophical work outside of academia is informed by her philosophical
background and knowledge as an applied philosopher, he does so primarily
based on the persons use of certain skills and techniques; he appeals to
philosophy’s formal aspect. However, the work appears to be non-philosophical
in the other two senses. It does not fall within the arena of the academic
discipline of philosophy, nor does it pertain to the content of philosophy. In
fact, the way the skills/techniques model is described — as analytic skills
applied to problems outside of philosophy — suggests that the person is
engaged in some activity other than philosophy.

Without making claims as to the necessary and sufficient conditions for
applying the title “philosopher,” it is doubtful that an appeal to formal skills and
techniques is adequate. It is one thing to say that skills employed in or honed
through philosophical study can be applied in areas outside the discipline of

philosophy, but quite another to say that the person who uses those skills is, for

75

that reason, a philosopher. To be sure, many people with advanced degrees in
philosophy work in other fields, and may even rely heavily on their
philosophical training to make significant contributions.6 However, for the most
part, the individual in this situation does not make his contributions as a
philosopher. Rather, he makes contributions as a lawyer, a computer
professional, a social worker, a librarian, or a consultant. He would not be
perceived either by his non-academic professional colleagues or by professional
philosophers, as functioning in the role of professional philosopher. Even
Katzner admits that people employed outside academia to do non-philosophical
work often undergo a radical change, defining themselves in terms of their new
occupation and dropping the designation “philosopher” from their self-concept.

[C]onsider the plight of those individuals with advanced degrees in

philosophy who have been unable to find academic or “think tank”

employment. For the most part, their self-concept, as well as the

concept of them embraced by their former colleagues, has

undergone a radical change. They are defined by their new

occupation, and the designation “philosopher” drops out. They do

not think of themselves as philosophers who are doing other things

than teaching and studying philosophy (33).
To the extent that philosophy remains part of their identities, these people are

more accurately described as philosophical professionals rather than professional

philosophers.

 

6T he International Journal of Applied Philosophy often includes a section
entitled, “Reports on Applying Philosophy” in which the applications of
philosophy to different professions are explored, usually by people working in
those professions. To provide just a sampling, there have been reports on
applying philosophy to psychometrics and psychology, social work, library
science, freelance writing and journalism, and being a consultant.

76

In contrast to the techniques/skills model, the engineering model would
seem to require a closer relationship between pure and applied philos0phy.
However, upon further examination it is clear that it too leads to significant
separation between the two. First, implicit in the engineering model is the
assumption that the relationship between pure and applied philosophy is that of
subject-matter to application. This implies that there is a shared or common
body of knowledge that provides continuity between the disciplines. It also
implies that the different ways in which they relate to that knowledge to a large
extent defines the relationship between the two disciplines. The applied field is
fundamentally derivative in the sense that what is applied to practical problems
— i.e. theoretical knowledge — is not open to reevaluation by us in the
process of solving practical problems (Kopelman 215). This suggests that when
the philosopher is engaged in pure philosophy she is actively engaged in
developing, critiquing, or refining philosophical concepts and theories.
However, when she turns to applied philosophy and brings that knowledge to
bear on some sort of practical problem, she does not create or alter it. In other
words, the term “applied philosophy” connotes a second-order activity in which
philosophy is used, but not done. The relationship is one of dependence, not of
reciprocity. Applied philosophy is basically parasitic on pure philosophy, it
does not really contribute to the discipline. Furthermore, because it is seen as a
second-order activity, applied philosophy is seen as subservient to, and
occupying a lower status than, conventional or pure philosophy. When the

adjective “pure” is either implied or explicitly used to describe philosophy that

77

is not applied, it is unmistakably normative as well as descriptive. Applied
philosophy is not only second-order, it is also second-rate.

Second, the engineering model separates pure and applied philosophy in
as much as it suggests the goals of the two are different, if not inconsistent.
This is perhaps most clearly evident when the applied philosopher works outside
of academia. Even when the applied philosopher maintains her professional
identity and utilizes her philosophical knowledge and skills, the tasks that she is
asked to perform may in some way be inconsistent with those of the professional
academic philosopher. For instance, in reflecting on his experience as staff
philosopher for the President’s Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in
Medicine, Dan Brock concludes that there is a “deep conflict between the goals
and constraints of the public policy process and the aims of academic scholarly
activity in general and philosophical activity in particular” (786). According to
Brock, two features of scholarly academic work are problematic in the process
of public policy formulation. First, scholars are committed to pursuing the truth
— they are to follow the argument regardless of where it leads and regardless of
the consequences. Second, scholars, particularly philosophers, are encouraged
to question and critically examine all assumptions. Nothing is immune from
examination and criticism. These features, Brock claims, conflict with the
contrasting goals of and virtues required for public policy formation. In public
policy formation the focus of policy-makers at all levels should be on the
consequences for public policy and the people affected by it. “When

philosophers move into the public policy domain, they must shift their primary

78

commitment from knowledge and truth to the policy consequences of what they
do” (787). Moreover, the agenda of public policy-makers is limited by what is
socially and politically feasible —— not everything can be open to criticism and
modification. Though policy makers can help philosophers be more realistic
about their public policy analyses, there is a danger that if the philosopher’s
agenda is too narrowly focused he or she will be tempted to uncritically accept

assumptions rather than questioning everything (790-791).7

 

7Brock’s experience on the President’s Commission in many ways mirrors
my experience working in a not-for-profit health insurance company. Given my
advanced degree in philosophy, experience teaching moral philosophy, and an
interest in biomedical ethics, I was asked to help develop educational materials
and give public presentations on issues such as advance directives, HIV/AIDS,
and health care reform. For the most part I could pursue these issues with a
great deal of “academic” freedom and could develop the materials and make
presentations accordingly. However, confronting the issue of health care
reform during the intense political debates of the early 19905 I encountered a
dilemma. My research and philosophical commitments led to the conclusion
that universal access to health care was morally required, and that the best way
to achieve this objective was through a single-payer health insurance system
akin to the Canadian system. Moreover, since the company I worked for had
publicly endorsed a general position advocating universal access, I felt
management should take actions to bring its practice into line with its public
position. I argued that the company should terminate its relationship with the
Health Insurance Association of America that was actively (and some would say
deceptively) lobbying against the single-payer system, and put its effort into
advocating for a single-payer system. If successful, this strategy would have
had dramatic implications for the company’s nature and identity, leading it out
of private health insurance, its main line of business. However, as an
employee of a private (albeit, not-for-profit) insurer, I was not allowed, nor
would I have felt comfortable publicly expressing these conclusions. This was
not so much a case of censorship, but one Of conflicting goals and obligations.
As a philosopher, I felt an obligation to pursue “the truth” (whether my
conclusions merit that title is another matter), as Brock would say, and to
question all assumptions. However, as an employee I felt an obligation to
support the goals and mission of the organization, and to help it fulfill its
obligations. Among these were the duties to remain solvent (which getting out
of the health insurance business would jeopardize) and to represent the interests
and views Of their clients (who, in general, were opposed to a single-payer

79

The fact that despite these reservations Brock has continued to write
extensively on ethical issues in health care leads one to suspect that his
comments may be limited to a conflict between academic philosophy and public
policy formation rather than generalizable to all of applied philosophy. While
there may be some truth to this assessment, it largely misses the point. Through
his comments Brock seems to define the legitimate boundaries of applied
philosophy. The philosopher should be able to address practical issues as a
philosopher, but she must do so from a detached position one step removed from
actual practice or implementation — a theoretical position if you will. The
philosopher can use her philosophical knowledge and skills to illuminate certain
elements of the practical problems, to seek the truth about them, but she cannot,
as a phiIOSOpher, get involved in working out or implementing the actual
solutions. The goals of philosophical inquiry are, at their core, incompatible
with the goals of practical implementation.

Finally, as has already been mentioned, the contrast between pure and
applied philosophy carries undeniable normative connotations — i.e., pure
philosophy is seen as superior to applied philosophy. To be sure, this is in part
due to the claim that the latter is a second-order activity dependent on the
former. However, at the heart of this normative judgment is the concern that
philosophy may be coopted or corrupted when it is applied directly to practical

issues. This concern is central to Young’s argument against applied ethics.

 

system). The organization’s mission statement did not include a mandate to
follow the arguments and evidence wherever they might lead regardless of the
impact on the organization or its members.

80

The purity of conventional philosophy is one of its most valuable

assets. By remaining pure, philosophy obviates the danger that it

will be coopted. Philosophers are free to be critical of all aspects

of a society. There is a serious danger that concentration on

applied ethics may cause philosophers to abandon their traditional

role of the Socratic gadfly. In applying philosophy we may only

succeed in converting philosophers into “paid wage labourers” of

the status quo (40).
A similar concern is raised by Bill Warren in his discussion of whether
philosophy should be a discipline removed from everyday life (15-16). Though
Warren ultimately wants to defend some form of applied philosophy he
acknowledges the concerns of those who believe that philosophy is a specialized
discipline that should remain removed from everyday life. A primary concern is A
that philosophers who become involved in the issues of everyday life will end
up serving religion or some other established authority, or be reduced to mere
sermonizing.8 Critics more concerned with social change than the integrity of
the philosophical profession warn that when philosophy is used to address
practical issues it can be manipulated, behind a veil of objectivity or neutrality,
to support the status quo (Noble 7-9; Fullinwider 222-234). Rather than being

the public gadflies, philosophers can become professional, albeit unintentional,

spin doctors.

 

8Drawing on Hegel, Annette Baier talks about the possibility of a division
of labor among moral philosophers. Moral theorists would “keep their hands
clean of real-world applications” whereas philosophers who applied moral
theory would give advice to worldly decision-makers. The latter are “moral
valets,” paid to be the conscience of a profession such as medicine, law, or
business. Baier ultimately rejects the vision of moral philosophy that the
division of labor implies (“Doing without Moral Theory” 235-236).

81

2.2.2 Objection #2: Theory and Practice

According to the engineering model of applied philosophy, philosophical
theories and/or knowledge are to be applied to concrete problems. But just how
is one to move from theory to application? Paul Thompson suggests that the
movement is from general principles to specific cases. Moreover, his analogy
between theories of geometry and theories of philosophy further implies that the
relationship is a form of deduction. Philosophical theories, like formulae in
geometry are general, can be instantiated by a number of different specific
instances. Comparing ethical theories to geometrical formulae, he writes,

[I]n similar fashion, if ethical theory holds that all human beings

have a right to education, and the practice of segregated

classrooms deprives some human beings of that right, then,

according to the given theory, segregated classrooms are wrong.

In both cases, philosophy or geometry, there are applications of

general principles (“Two Types” 13).
Similarly, Norman Daniels describes his initial view of how a practical problem
was solved in applied ethics as providing “a description of the particular
situation that allows us to subsume it under a relevant moral principle
(“Introductionz Reflective Equilibrium” 11).

Arthur Caplan also argues that the engineering model relies on the
method of deduction to move from theory to application. He claims that it

makes three assumptions (“Can Applied Ethics Be Effective” 314).9 First, it

assumes that there is a body of knowledge that it is possible to become an

 

9Caplan discusses the engineering conception in other articles as well.
See, for instance, “Ethical Engineers Need Not Apply: The State of Applied
Ethics Today.”

82

expert about and that gives a correct description of the subject under
consideration. Second, it assumes that the theories (included in the body of
knowledge) can be applied in a more or less mechanical way by making
deductions from them. Finally, it assumes that the process can be carried out in
a value-free manner.

A number of philosophers reject the engineering model precisely because
they are skeptical of these assumptions. Some of the strongest criticism has
come in biomedical ethics, arguably one of the most prominent practical fields
of philosophy. For this reason, to illustrate the deficiency of the engineering
model in general I will turn to the more specific critique of rule- or principle-
based normative theories in bioethics. If it can be shown that the approach is
inadequate in this important area of practical philosophy, then its use as a more
general approach to practical philosophy is dubious.

In biomedical ethics applied philosophy, and more specifically the
engineering model, is most nearly exemplified by what is known as rule- or
principle-based moral theories. What makes a theory rule- or principle-based is
not merely the presence of rules and/or principles, but their foundational and
privileged status within the theory. In a rule- or principle-based moral theory
principles provide the justificatory foundation for particular moral judgments.
That is, rational justification of a particular moral judgment is seen as a process
of showing that it can be derived from, or is consistent with more general moral
principles. Thus, one might begin with a very general moral theory or principle

such as the principle of utility or an obligation to respect persons as rational

83

agents, and conclude that there is a middle level principle that requires one to
respect autonomy. The principle of autonomy could then be used to argue that
it is wrong to force medical treatment on a competent adult. Though the
justification need not be strictly deductive, it is certainly top-down, using
general or abstract principles to justify particular or concrete conclusions.
Under this definition monistic theories, such as Englehardt’s deontology'° and
Singer’s utilitarianism,” which ground general moral principles in even more
general unifying moral theories, would be classified as rule- or principle-based.
Pluralistic theories, such as Childress’s principalism,12 in which a number of
general principles are equally foundational, would also be included. In all three
of these theories particular moral judgments are justified by appeal to more

general moral principles.

2.2.2.1 No Objective Body of Knowledge
There are several reasons to think that rule- or principle-based moral
theories, despite their hierarchal structure, do not fulfill the expectations of the

engineering conception. One serious problem is that rule- or principle-based

 

l"See H. Tristam Englehardt, The Foundations of Bioethics, 2nd edition,
(1996)

11866 Peter Singer, Practical Ethics, 2"d edition, (1993).

12See James F. Childress, “The Normative Principles of Medical Ethics,”
(1989). It is interesting to note that in his more recent work Childress moves
away from any sort of strong foundationalism towards what appears to be more
of a coherentist approach. See Tom L. Beauchamp and James F. Childress,
Principles of Biomedical Ethics, 4th edition, (1994).

84

moral theories themselves, despite making claims to objectivity and neutrality,
lack convincing justification. While particular judgments are justified by more
general principles, there is nothing more general or foundational within the
theories that can be used to justify the most basic principles. They cannot
justify themselves without risking circularity, and no uncontroversial or
uncontested external justifications have been offered. As a result several
different theories are, in a sense “competitors,” with none able to garner
sufficient support to claim supremacy. Each of the major theories such as
Kantian ethics, utilitarianism, or Aristotelian ethics captures something
important, if not indispensable, to the moral life, but none seems to Offer a
complete picture. So while there may be a body of knowledge in which it is
possible to become an expert — i.e., one could be an expert in moral theory
— it is not a body of knowledge that gives a single correct answer to most
genuinely contested moral questions. Thus, these theories fail to meet Caplan’s
first assumption regarding the engineering conception. The inability to
objectively justify principles means that experts with different theoretical
commitments may not agree about how to resolve difficult moral problems.
The inability to ultimately justify moral principles that are supposed to
describe or at least guide the moral life also raises questions about the value-
neutrality or objectivity, both of the process of making moral judgments and of
those who claim to be moral experts. If, as Bernard Williams suggests, the
foundational moral principles of normative theories are ultimately based on

intuition (99-110), then a primary attraction of moral principles — that they

85

allow us to appeal to something more Objective than intuitions about specific
cases — turns out to be illusory. A similar point is made by Cheryl Noble who
argues that in the absence of any conclusive justification the principles are only
“highly abstracted descriptions of norms already embodied in those practices”
(9). Unfortunately, the illusion is not innocent. Because moral principles are so
highly abstract, they appear to be dissimilar to the more familiar norms
embodied in social practices, and therefore, they are not subjected to the same
type of rigorous analysis and criticism. If this is true, then the value-neutrality
of rule- or principle-based moral theories is only apparent, and the theories also

fail to meet Caplan’s third assumption.

2.2.2.2 Lack of Inferential Reliability

Another reason that rule- or principle-based moral theories fall short of
the engineering conception is that the rules or principles cannot be used
mechanically to provide reliable inferences from general principles to particular
judgments (Caplan’s second assumption). The theories are subject to two types
of criticism in this regard. The first is unique to pluralistic systems like
Childress’s, the second applies to both pluralistic and monistic systems.

In a truly pluralistic system there is no guarantee that the basic or
foundational principles are consistent, and thus, no guarantee that they will not
lead to conflicting judgments regarding particular cases. Indeed, there may be
cases in which as Childress puts it, “there is clear evidence that an act is right

and clear evidence that it is wrong” (36). For instance, suppose that our

86

pluralistic theory included autonomy, beneficence, and justice as basic or
foundational principles. Unless we assume that autonomous adults always and
reliably make decisions that are in their best interests, it is easy to envision
cases in which the principles of autonomy and beneficence will come into
conflict. For instance, a patient may decide not to take medication for
hypertension because the side effects include a slight, but not insignificant, risk
of reversible impotence. Or a patient may decide not to alter her high-fat diet or
stop smoking despite the diagnosis of heart disease. In both cases though the
decision is likely not in the long-term best interests of the patient, forcing him
or her to comply with medical recommendations would require significant
restraints on autonomy. Nor is it difficult to imagine situations in which
conflicts between the principles of justice and autonomy would arise. Such
situations might arise when we are faced with allocating scarce medical
resources. For instance, in order to insure that this scarce resource is allocated
fairly and efficiently policies governing the allocation of transplantable organs
restrict the ability of potential recipients to use wealth and other personal
resources to procure organs.

More importantly, neither monistic nor pluralistic theories are sufficiently
specific to allow the direct inference of particular judgments from general
principles. Moral principles are too general and abstract to be able to account
for the richness and complexity of the moral life. Thus in many cases, specific
judgments will be left underdetermined by the theory. To see why this is so

consider the following (fictional, though not unrealistic) scenario:

87

A fifteen-year-old Jehovah’s Witness is brought to the hospital

emergency room for treatment Of injuries incurred in an auto

accident. The girl has suffered life threatening internal injuries

which can only be surgically repaired. However, she has already

lost a lot of blood and surgery will require a blood transfusion.

Because her other injuries are minor there is every reason to

believe that she will fully recover if surgery is performed.

However, without the surgery she will die as a result of internal

hemorrhaging. The patient’s parents are adamant that she not be

given the transfusion. The girl, while verbally agreeing with her

parents, seems much more hesitant and unsure about the decision.

Now, consider some candidates for moral principles and whether they
lead to a clear resolution of this case. Though a utilitarian would appeal to
some balance of benefits over harms, the principle of utility alone does not tell
us how to evaluate the benefit of continued earthly life as over against the threat
of eternal damnation. Nor does it tell us how to understand or determine the
true preferences of the patient. At the very least it needs to be supplemented
with a more robust axiology and theory of human psychology. A deontologist
such as Englehardt would appeal to the principles of autonomy and beneficence.
But is the girl autonomous?” What would beneficence require in this case?
These are questions that the principles themselves do not answer. Just given the

facts of the case, the theories lack the resources required to resolve the issue.

Abstract general principles “underdetermine” moral choice.”

 

”This question raises both conceptual and empirical questions. See
Bruce Miller’s “Autonomy and the Refusal of Lifesaving Treatment.”

l"In Splitting the Difference Martin Benjamin argues that in a pluralistic
society there will be a number of equally reasonable, but occasionally
conflicting world views and ways of life. Since these world views and ways of
life are important in determining moral choice, abstract moral principles alone
will not resolve all moral conflicts (88-95).

88

To be fair, most rule- or principle-based theorists do not claim that
appealing to principles alone will be sufficient to determine what to do.
Resolving conflicts between principles or adding sufficient content to allow for
the resolution of moral issues, they readily admit, will require appeals to
additional empirical facts, concepts, and metaphysical beliefs. However, appeals
to these additional considerations raise the question of objectivity or neutrality
again. For instance, when the issue in question is controversial, the definition
of contested concepts such as autonomy, personhood, or death becomes
extremely important. However, how one defines the concepts may depend as
much on one’s intuitions regarding the desired outcome of the argument as on
any other criteria. In this case, the reasoning is ultimately circular — an
appeal to what are claimed to be morally neutral concepts is ultimately an
appeal to prior moral judgments.

A good example of this process is found in Englehardt’s argument for the
protection of infants and the profoundly retarded. Such beings do not have the
cognitive abilities required to fulfill Englehardt’s criteria Of personhood
(Foundations, l“t edition 107), and thus lack the rights normally accorded to
persons. However, because it goes against our ordinary moral convictions to
treat such beings with disregard Englehardt introduces the concept of “persons
for social consideration” (Foundations, 1“ edition 116). The concept of persons
for social consideration is not part of the “basic grammar of morality,”
Englehardt admits, but he argues that the practice of treating such beings as if

they were persons may be justified on utilitarian or other consequentialist

89

grounds. In this way the defense of such practices seems to follow easily from
an application of Englehardt’s principles of autonomy and beneficence. Or does
it? How, one might ask, are these practices justified on consequentialist
grounds? Upon examination it becomes clear that the negative psychological
consequences of not treating such beings as persons are a significant part of the
utilitarian calculation. However, these negative psychological consequences
result, at least in part, from the offense to our ordinary moral convictions about
how infants and the severely retarded should be treated. Thus, the justification
of this moral practice is in some sense parasitic on our ordinary or conventional
moral beliefs. We make a moral judgment based ostensibly on an appeal to
Objective consequences, but those consequences result, in part, from prior moral
considerations.

It seems then that the rule- or principle-based ethical theories do not fit
well with the assumptions or expectations of the engineering conception. They
lack a body of knowledge that correctly or adequately describes the moral life,
they cannot be used in a mechanistic way to deduce solutions to ethical

problems, and they cannot be applied in a value-free manner.

2.2.2.3 Inaccuracy of the Engineering Model

One might argue that the inability of rule- or principle-based moral
theories to conform to the engineering model says more about the current state
of normative ethics than about the engineering model. That is, it merely shows

that normative ethics is a soft discipline that lacks the rigor of the hard physical

9O

sciences. There is good reason, however, to think that the problem may lie as
much with the engineering model itself as with its application to normative
ethics. Though it is supposedly drawn from the sciences, historian of science
Edwin Layton Jr. argues that the conception does not accurately portray what
happens in the sciences. Layton agrees that Caplan’s characterization of the
engineering conception more or less accurately describes what he refers to as the
“applied science theory of technology,” but argues that in practice, the
relationship between basic science and technology construed as applied science
does not meet this characterization (58-67). Take for instance, the relationship
between physics and engineering. Because the theories provided by classical
physics are idealizations that neither adequately nor accurately described the
area of application under consideration, engineers (the parallel to our applied
philosophers) have had to modify theories and develop their own body of
knowledge useful for their purposes. Thus, physics itself fails to meet Caplan’s
first assumption of the engineering model — it does not provide a body of
knowledge that correctly describes the subject under consideration. Moreover,
Layton argues, because the theories are idealizations, they cannot be employed
mechanically to produce solutions to engineering problems. In fact, the
knowledge and theories produced by engineers tend to be inductive and
empirical, rather than deductive and theoretical. Thus, the relationship between
physics and engineering fails to conform to Caplan’s second assumption as well.
Finally, the assumption that the application of theory can be carried out in a

value-free manner is also questionable. Design is an essential feature of

91

engineering, and design inevitably involves making choices that have both social
(i.e., value-laden) and technical implications.

If the engineering conception of applied philosophy gets its plausibility
and credibility by paralleling the relationship between the basic and applied
sciences, then Layton’s arguments undermine this support. If the engineering
model does not accurately describe the relationship between physics and
engineering, nor more generally the relationship between theory and practice in
the sciences, it is hardly reasonable to expect it to accurately describe the

relationship between theory and practice in philosophy.

3 Practical Philosophy
3.1 Toulmin’s Account of Practical Philosophy

In the previous chapter I explored Stephen Toulmin’s historical account
of the decline of practical philosophy in the transition to modern philosophy.
Toulmin’s account, however, is not purely descriptive. He urges us to consider
“‘philosophy’ in a practical sense, as a contribution to the reflective resolution
of quandaries that face us in enterprises with high stakes” and calls on
philosophers to “come out of their self-imposed isolation and reenter the
collective world of practical life and shared human problems” (“Recovery” 352).
While his primary objective is to defend and promote practical philosophy as an

alternative to theory-centered philosophy, the conception of practical philosophy

he develops is also clearly intended to support casuistry in ethics that he defends

92

elsewhere.” Inasmuch as casuistry is typically defended as an alternative to
rule- or principle-based moral theories, and such theories are seen as
exemplifying applied philosophy, there is reason to think that Toulmin’s vision
of how philosophy should be brought to bear on practical concerns may differ
significantly from the understanding implicit in applied philosophy. For this
reason I will consider Toulmin’s account of practical philosophy as an
alternative to applied philosophy.

Since I explored Toulmin’s account in the previous chapter, I will not go
into great detail here. Still it is worth reviewing a few of the more salient
points. An important feature of Toulmin’s account is his argument that the
recent attention to practical or public issues in philosophy does not represent the
emergence of a new form or style of philosophy. Rather, it represents the re-
emergence of a style that was forgotten or rejected by philosophers in the
transition to the modern period. Renaissance philosophers, according to
Toulmin, were broadly humanistic and skeptical, emphasizing the complexity
and diversity of human experience while at the same time (or as a result)
recognizing the limits of human experience. Though theoretical inquiries were
certainly an important part of philosophy, they were balanced with discussion of
practical, concrete issues, such as those arising in medicine or law. Beginning
roughly with Descartes, however, philosophers moved away from these

humanistic concerns, shifting from practical to theory-centered philosophy. It is

 

lSSee Albert Jonsen and Stephen Toulmin, The Abuse of Casuistry,
(1988)

93

this theory-centered approach to philosophy that we have come to think of as
modern philosophy, and in fact that we have come to associate with philosophy
itself.

Toulmin identifies four points of contrast that mark the shift both from
sixteenth- to seventeenth-century philosophy and from practical to theory-
centered philosophy (“Recovery” 338-341; Cosmopolis 30-36). These points of
contrast suggest that a significant difference between practical and theory-
centered philosophy lies in the type of problems that each considers legitimate
objects of philosophical inquiry. “There is a shift,” Toulmin writes, “from a
style of phiIOSOphy that keeps equally in view issues of local, time bound
practice, and universal, timeless theory, to one that accepts matters of universal,
timeless theory as being entitled to an exclusive place in the agenda of

9’“

“philosophy (Cosmopolis 31).

Though he focuses on the move away from practical philosophy following
the Renaissance, Toulmin finds the origins and theoretical foundation of
practical philosophy in the work of Aristotle. In fact, he sees the contrast and
struggle between theory-centered and practical philosophy as a contrast and
struggle between the philosophical orientations of Plato and Aristotle. Plato
condemned the sophists who, he argued, used rhetoric to make the worse
argument the better, whereas Aristotle defended rhetoric as a legitimate subject
for philosophers to consider; the medieval and Renaissance casuists took

seriously the Aristotelian dictum that the Good has no universal form and that

sound moral judgment required attention to the circumstances of particular cases

94

while the Cambridge Platonists made ethics a matter of universal abstract
theory; Plato attempted to find the general principles of the just society while
Aristotle held that human affairs were not open to such generalization
(“Recovery” 339-341). Toulmin interprets the history of western philosophy, to
a large extent, as an ongoing struggle between these two rival orientations.

[P]hilosophy displays a series of historical pendulum swings

between two broad agendas. On one agenda, the task of

philosophy is to say whatever can be said in any field of inquiry

that is entirely general; on the other agenda, the task is to say

whatever can be said that is as general as the field permits. Being

practical-minded, Aristotelians will not claim universality for their

views in advance of practical experience; being more theoretically
inclined, Platonists are willing to speculate more freely and to

hazard broader generalizations (“Recovery” 348-349).

From Toulmin’s perspective then the shift from practical philosophy to theory-
centered philosophy in the seventeenth-century represents a swing from
Aristotelian to Platonic philosophy and the current resurgence of practical
philosophy represents a swing back again. Both styles of philosophy, though
clearly contrasting, have a firm place within the history and tradition of
philosophy.

The parallel Toulmin draws between practical and theory-centered
philosophy on the one hand, and the Aristotelian and Platonic traditions of
philosophy on the other accomplishes two things. First, for those familiar with
the Aristotelian and Platonic traditions it helps to clarify the contrast that he is
drawing. Second, by associating practical philosophy with Aristotelian

philosophy, Toulmin gains credibility for practical philosophy. He shows that it

is not something foreign to or outside of philosophy, but very much part of it.

95

Pr

5‘0

112

Practical philosophy is clearly phiIOSOphy, and it is only the widespread (and
somewhat unconscious) acceptance of the “Platonic-Cartesian” theory-centered
style that sets up the problematic dichotomy between pure and applied
philosophy. If we think of practical or applied philosophy as outside of
philosophy it is only because we have mistakenly assumed that philosophy is to
be equated with a particular style of philosophy — the theory-centered style of
philosophy.

While the parallel contrasts may have these benefits, it is at least an over-
simplification that could do the disservice of confining practical philosophy too
narrowly to the Aristotelian tradition. The oversimplification shows on both
sides of the contrast. One the one hand, while Plato sought timeless universal
solutions he certainly did not see philosophy as unconcerned with practical
affairs. For instance, Martha Nussbaum argues that Plato, like Socrates, was
intent on showing that the study of philosophy was not only of intrinsic value,
but that it also contributed positively to political and social life (“Historical
Conceptions” 12-17). Furthermore, Plato’s disastrous attempt to implement his
philosophy in Syracuse suggests that he believed philosophy could have direct
practical import. On the other hand, Aristotle, while recognizing the limits of
philosophical theory in certain areas such as ethics and politics, still regarded
the life of contemplation as the preferred and most virtuous life (Aristotle 288-

295).”

 

1"’In a conversation on the subject Charles McCracken also noted that
though the late medieval scholastics were largely Aristotelian in their approach,
they were nevertheless very concerned with technical theoretical matters.

96

3.2 Expanding the Vision of Practical Philosophy

Toulmin’s historical account of practical philosophy is illuminating in at
least two ways. First, by situating it more firmly within the history of
philosophy, he counters the pejorative image of applied philosophy as an
inferior and dependent branch of philosophy. By tracing the lineage of practical
philosophy back to well-known philosophers such as Aristotle, and by
attributing the theory-centered nature of modern philosophy historically to
social, economic, and political contingencies he adds credibility to practical
philosophy. Second, in the conception of practical philosophy that emerges
from Toulmin’s analysis we find a fuller description of the type of problems that
a practical philosopher might address — problems that are particular, local,
and time-bound. In other words, they are imbedded in a particular context.
However, while Toulmin’s account is quite suggestive it provides an incomplete
picture of practical philosophy. In this section I want to expand on his work,
exploring some of the implications and limitations of his approach with an eye
towards developing a fuller vision of practical philosophy and the challenges it
faces.

Applied philosophy and practical philosophy are similar in one very
important respect — both claim to address concrete problems embedded in a
particular context. Because this insistence on the relevance of context is the
strongest thread that ties the two models together it might legitimately be
considered a hallmark trait of any philosophical inquiry into practical problems.

The emphasis, however, is more pronounced in practical philosophy. Applied

97

philosophy, particularly the engineering model, tends to interpret practical
problems merely as particular instances of more general and abstract problems
— i.e., of “genuine” philosophical problems. It is precisely this attitude toward
practical problems that encourages the view that when addressing such problems
the philosopher is using, rather than doing philosophy. In contrast, Toulmin’s
discussion of the oral, the particular, the local, and the timely provides a rich
description of what is meant by “practical” problems. Still, Toulmin’s account
does not provide a complete picture of what practical philosophy might look
like. Three further implications flow from the insistence on preserving the
contextual features Of problems. These implications have to do with problem
selection, the understanding of solutions, and the interdisciplinary nature of
practical philosophy. When brought to the forefront, these implications add

important detail to the incomplete picture Toulmin provides.

3.2.1 The Problems of Practical Philosophy

Because it is committed to the relevance of context, practical philosophy
is oriented towards philosophical problems that emerge in particular social and
historical settings. As a result, practical philosophers respond to a larger range
of problems than those traditionally understood to be the subject matter of
professional philosophy. For instance, practical philosophers concerned with
biomedical ethics may not deal only with general questions about the concepts
of autonomy, personhood, and death, or about the appropriate limitations on

restraint of individual liberty. They will also address very specific questions

98

that arise in clinical practice or policy-making settings. How much information
does this patient need in order to make an informed decision about his medical
care? Should one try to respect the autonomy of a patient who is no longer
competent, and if so, how? In light of the AIDS epidemic of the 19908 when
does the need to protect others from harm (i.e., infection and probably death)
outweigh the need to respect physician-patient confidentiality? How do we
balance the competing claims of equality and liberty in the process of devising
just policies regarding the allocation of health care resources given our current
political and economic systems?

It is especially important to note that many of the issues that emerge in
practical philosophy surface only or primarily as a result of scientific and
technological innovations specific to a particular historical setting. Nowhere is
this more clear than in bioethics. For instance, the ongoing debate about when
to declare a person dead has been driven in large part by l) the development of
medical technologies, such as mechanical ventilators, that allow us to maintain
cardiac and pulmonary functioning in patients who are both permanently
unconscious and unable to maintain this functioning on their own, and 2) the
development of organ transplant technology and the subsequent shortage of
organs available for transplantation. Rapid advancements in the field of human
genetics, particularly the information becoming available through the Human
Genome Project, raise a host of ethical questions regarding the use of genetic
testing, privacy and ownership of genetic information, and human cloning.

What type of genetic testing should be done prior to conception, in vitro prior to

99

implantation, or in utero, and how should it be used in making decisions about
whether to conceive or continue a pregnancy? Who, besides the individual,
should have access to personal genetic information? Should insurers,
employers, or future spouses have access as well? It is acceptable to clone
human beings, and if so, under what circumstances and for what purposes?
Such questions and issues are not part of the traditional “philosophical”
curriculum,17 and while they may be generated by philosophers with a special
interest in science or medicine, they are often brought to philosophers by
patients, clinicians, or policy-makers. That is not to say that the problems are
always initially articulated clearly as philosophical problems, or that the
practical philosopher would necessarily accept the problems presented at face
value. Part of the task of the practical philosopher is to identify and articulate
the philosophical issues underlying what initially appear to be non-philosophical
problems, and to reformulate the problem in ways that make pivotal
philosophical issues more clear. Still, the problem is important to the non-
philosopher. In contrast, theory-centered philosophers will be more inclined to
focus inward on the perennial issues of interest, if not exclusively then
primarily, to professional philosophers. The following quotation from an
autobiographical sketch by G. E. Moore illustrates this orientation taken to the
extreme. Commenting on his stimulus to philosophizing, Moore writes, “I do

not think that the world or the sciences would ever have suggested to me any

 

17In Chapter 4 I discuss what it is that makes problems “philosophical.”

100

philosophic problems. What has suggested philosophic problems to me is the
things which other philosophers have said about the world or the sciences” (14).

Three points need to be emphasized here. First, if contextually-bound
problems —- i.e., those that are concrete, local, particular and time-sensitive
—— are appropriate subject matter for philosophizing, then the demarcation of
philosophical from nonphilosophical problems does not coincide with the
distinction between theoretical and practical problems. One does not make a
practical problem philosophical merely by making it a theoretical problem, that
is to say, by filtering out the contextual elements in order to form a more
general or universal problem. The contextual elements are essential to our
understanding of the problem, not an obstacle to it. Second, if practical
problems are not simply particular instances of universal problems, then the
method of deduction implied in the engineering approach to applied philosophy
cannot be the sole method used to bring philosophical theory to bear on
practical problems in practical philosophy. The particular, local, and timely
problems that practical philosophers address are legitimate philosophical
problems in their own right, not merely as imperfect instances of universal,
general, and timeless problems.

Finally, problems that are context-dependent are inherently complex and
dynamic. The problems are complex in that their definition will, to a large
extent, depend on which of the multitude of elements constituting the actual
context are chosen to describe them. In other words, to the extent that the

context admits multiple descriptions, the problems that arise within it admit of

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multiple interpretations. Furthermore, they are dynamic in that they are subject
to continual change. In this sense, paying attention to context is more like
playing an interactive video game than viewing a still photograph or painting.

A brief and somewhat humorous anecdote from an undergraduate medical
ethics course may serve to make this point more clear. The class was discussing
the morality of conscientious refusal on the part of health-care workers. Under
what circumstances, if any, could a health care provider refuse, on the basis of
conscience, to provide treatment or medication to a patient? As we developed
various case scenarios one student shared that his father, who was both a
physician and a Jehovah’s Witness, would always ask a colleague to sign the
order for blood transfusion when one of his patients needed it. His father saw
this as a way of resolving the conflict between his duty to treat his patients and
his religious objections to blood transfusions. Most of the class felt that this
was an acceptable solution, because the physician’s conscientious refusal did not
ultimately affect his patients’ treatment. To make the conflict between the duty
to patients and his duty to conscience less avoidable, I asked the students to
imagine that the same physician practiced in a remote rural area where no
colleagues were accessible. What should he do then if a patient needed a blood
transfusion? After a few minutes Of discussion one student who had been rather
quiet raised his hand and asked quite seriously, “I don’t understand the problem.
Couldn’t he just call another physician and have the order faxed to him?”
Though both I and several of the students initially laughed, the comment was

not made in jest. This student honestly brought different assumptions to his

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understanding of the context. He assumed (probably correctly) that in the 19908
physical distance need not be in obstacle in such cases. This story serves to
illustrate two points. First, that the understanding or description of the context
is important to the understanding of the problem. What one assumes about or
sees as relevant in a given situation will greatly affect if and how one sees the
problems it generates. Second, because the context is subject to change,
problems are subject to change as well. What may be a problem in a certain
context, may no longer be a problem when the context changes. What may have

been an ethical problem two decades ago may no longer be an ethical problem.

3.2.2 The Provisional Nature of Solutions

One great advantage of abstraction is that it allows us to simplify a
problem and to fix or stabilize its features in time. Thus, to the extent that
solutions can be found, they are more or less permanent solutions. If solutions
to immutable problems can be found at all, they should be eternal solutions. In
contrast, contextually-bound problems are dynamic and unstable, and as result,
the problems of practical philosophy admit of only provisional solutions.
Solutions to them are not certain and immutable, but rather fallible and
contingent. They are subject to revision in the light of both philosophical and

extra-philosophical considerations such as better descriptions, new information,

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or changing circumstances. They are not solutions guaranteed to work once and
for all, but solutions that work under the present circumstances.”

Consider an example mentioned earlier —- questions of privacy arising
from the human genome project. As advances are made in mapping of the
human genome it will be possible to detect genetic diseases (e.g., Huntington’s
disease) or genetic predispositions to certain diseases (e.g., breast cancer or
Alzheimer’s disease) prior to their clinical onset. Obviously, such information
could be quite valuable to an individual. She might take precautionary measures
aimed to avoid the disease, delay its progress, or compensate for the anticipated .
physical or mental changes. Life plans, including reproductive decisions, could
be altered accordingly to avoid tragic consequences. However, the information
could also be used in ways quite harmful to the individual. For instance,
insurance companies or employers might use the information to deny coverage
or employment in order to minimize financial risk.” Given the current social
and economic conditions under which genetic testing might be conducted —
i.e., the largely private health insurance market and the connection between

employment and insurance in the United States — such concerns are quite

 

”The idea that philosophy should not always strive for absolute certainty
is not a new insight. In Book One of Nicomachean Ethics Aristotle warns his
audience that “a well-schooled man is one who searches for that degree of
precision in each kind of study which the nature of the subject at hand admits”

(5).

”In claiming that the individual might be harmed, I do not mean to imply
that the practice is necessarily unjust. Insurance companies, Of course, claim if
insurers are denied access to this information, then they would be subject to
unjust adverse selection. The point is that the issue only arises within a health
care system financed largely through optional private insurance.

104

reasonable. Under these circumstances the appropriate “solution” or response to
questions of genetic privacy may include suitable restrictions on the use of
genetic testing and access to genetic information. However, different
conclusions might be drawn if the United States had national health insurance
that guaranteed coverage regardless of one’s health, employment, or financial
status. New information made possible by technological advances may drive
much of the debate, but assessments of what actions and policies are ethically
justified in the situation — i.e., the solutions suggested by practical
phiIOSOphers — will also be greatly influenced by economic, social, and
political factors that are subject to change. In short, assessments, like the

problems themselves, will be contingent.

3.2.3 The Interdisciplinary Nature of Practical Philosophy

A third implication is that practical philosophy will tend to be an
interdisciplinary activity. In part, this results from its outward orientation.
Philosophers who look outward for philosophical problems or who are receptive
to problems brought from outside philosophy will necessarily operate on the
boundaries of what we now conceive of as professional philosophy. They will
work at the intersection between philosophy and other academic disciplines, or
between philosophy and professions such as medicine or computer science that
deal directly with the world outside of academia. For this reason philosophers
who turn their attention to contemporary issues find it both useful and necessary

to draw on resources from other disciplines. This is to be expected. There is,

105

after all, no reason to assume that problems that emerge from outside of
philosophy, and particularly those that emerge from outside of academia, should
fit into or conform to the disciplinary structures that have been established in
academia. While philosophical training may play a vital role, and will, in fact,
allow the philosopher to bring perspectives, methods, and resources to these
problems that others cannot, it will not be entirely sufficient.20

Again, the field of medical ethics serves as a good illustration. Once
seen as a subfield of ethics, medical ethics is now arguably an interdisciplinary
field to which lawyers, sociologists, physicians, nurses, social workers, and
other professionals, as well as philosophers, contribute. Nor should this be
surprising. The ethical conflicts encountered in medicine often stand in the
intersection between many different disciplines including, but not limited to
medicine, phiIOSOphy, law, social work, psychology, and religion. The expertise
required to function effectively in this field involves the ability to understand
and integrate the knowledge, and, to whatever degree possible, reconcile the
sometimes disparate perspectives from these various disciplines. Philosophers
working in medical ethics may have special knowledge of ethical issues that
results from their academic training in philosophy, but this special knowledge

by itself will not constitute the whole of their expertise.

 

20This is one reason why both the M.A. and Ph.D. programs in Applied
Philosophy at Bowling Green State University require students to both take
course work in a cognate area (e.g., psychology, computer science, health
policy, etc.) and complete an internship.

106

Another field in which the interdisciplinary nature of practical philosophy
is evident is the relatively new field of cognitive science. Cognitive science is
an interdisciplinary field arising from the convergence of what were previously
more or less disparate fields — psychology, linguistics, computer science,
neuroscience, and philosophy.21 The interdisciplinary nature of the field results
in part from the recognition that the study of the “mind” or of cognitive
processes more generally is not the exclusive province of any one of the fields
noted. However, the field of cognitive science itself, as well as its
interdisciplinary nature, also results from the development of new knowledge
(e.g., how certain parts of the brain control specific cognitive functions) and
new technologies (e.g., the development of computers), that, in turn, generate
new problems (e. g., whether human intelligence can be replicated in a machine)
specific to our particular social and historical setting. As in medical ethics,
practical philosophers may draw heavily upon their philosophical training and
knowledge in order to make unique contributions to this exciting new field. In
particular, philosophers with strong backgrounds in epistemology, logic, and the
philosophy of mind have made significant contributions.” However, these
contributions can be most effective and focused when supplemented by at least a

working or basic knowledge of the other disciplines.

 

21For more on the interdisciplinary nature of cognitive science see Neil A.
Stillings, et al, Cognitive Science: An Introduction (16-17).

22For a good initial list of philosophical contributions to cognitive science
see the references and suggested readings provided at the end of the chapter on
philosophical foundations of cognitive science in Stillings et al, Cognitive
Science: An Introduction (373-377).

107

It is important to note that when philosophers pay careful attention to
context and participate in interdisciplinary work they will not only draw on
their philosophical background, they will also expand, alter, or enrich it. They
will be exposed to knowledge and methods from other disciplines that are
relevant to, and will affect the way that they perceive their own philosophical
work. For instance, at a fairly general level, medical ethics and other efforts to
use philosophical ethics in “applied” areas have stimulated a great deal of
theoretical work in normative ethics, generating renewed interest in virtue
ethics, narrative ethics, casuistry, and feminist ethics. This has undeniably
reinvigorated moral philosophy, bringing new people and ideas into the field and
taking it directions it otherwise would not have gone. 23 A similar, albeit it less
dramatic, case can be made in cognitive science. Philosophers are not only
contributing to cognitive science, but they are also trying to understand the
philosophical implications of newly emerging knowledge from the field. In the
preface to his book exploring the philosophical implications of cognitive
science, Alvin Goldman writes,

In maintaining an alliance with cognitive science, philosophy

continues its ancient quest to understand the mind. In the modern

age, however, this pursuit requires careful attention to what is

being learned by a new group of scientists. Plato and Aristotle

created their own physics and cosmologies; contemporary

metaphysicians must learn physics and cosmology from the

physicists. Similarly, while Rene Descartes and David Hume

created their own theories of the mind, contemporary philosophers
must give respectful attention to the findings of scientific research

(xii).

 

23Toulmin has gone as far as to argue that medicine “saved the life” of
ethics. See “How Medicine Saved the Life of Ethics.”

108

Goldman goes on to explore the implications of cognitive science for
epistemology, the philosophy of science, the philosophy of mind, metaphysics,

and ethics.

4 Unresolved Issues

I have tried to argue that the conception of practical philosophy is
preferable to the conception of applied philosophy as a way of understanding
what philosophers do when they reach outward to address issues of practical or
public concern. While both models seem to express a commitment to the
relevance and importance of context, practical philosophy gives a fuller and
more adequate account of what such a commitment implies. It avoids the
temptation, so prevalent in the applied approach, to downplay context in an
attempt to reduce particular concrete problems to instances of abstract
philosophical problems. Furthermore, if we accept Toulmin’s historical account,
the model of practical philosophy has a secure place in the history of
philosophy.

While I have argued that practical philosophy is preferable to applied
philosophy, a more general defense of practical philosophy is needed. This
requires addressing some unresolved issues. First, what is the philosophical
rationale for paying close attention to practical and contextual elements in a
discipline that favors the theoretical and abstract? Second, what is the

relationship between theory and practice in philosophical inquiry? I conclude

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this chapter with a sketch of these issues. They will be addressed in greater

detail in subsequent chapters.

4.1 A Defense of the Practical

The account of practical philosophy given thus far has been primarily
descriptive, rather than normative. I have tried to provide a picture of what
practical philosophy looks like, rather than defend the claim that philosophers
may address practical issues as a legitimate part of their philosophical work. In
subsequent chapters, however, I will defend this claim. There are different ways
to mount such a defense. Toulmin’s analysis represents an historical approach.
In essence, he defends practical philosophy by establishing its lineage in the
history philosophy. I will take a slightly different approach by providing a more
philosophical defense of practical philosophy. That is, I will argue that good
reasons can be found within the tradition of philosophy itself to support the
claim that practical philosophy is genuine philosophy. I take this approach
because I want to convince those already familiar with or steeped in the theory-
centered tradition of professional philosophy that addressing practical concerns
not only has been, but still is a legitimate task for professional philosophers.

The philosophical resources to draw on are found in the tradition of
American pragmatism. I will argue that American pragmatism provides a
constructive framework for understanding and supporting the model of practical
philosophy outlined above. First, by undermining the theoretical

presuppositions of epistemology—centered analytic philosophy, pragmatism

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shatters the pretense of theory-centered philosophy, making intellectual space
with the discipline for practical philosophy. Second, pragmatism’s
understanding of the subject of philosophical inquiry as agent in the world
rather than spectator of the world makes practical concerns, and thus context,
indispensable elements of all philosophical inquiry. Finally, pragmatism’s
emphasis on fallibility of knowledge allows us to more easily view solutions to
both practical and theoretical problems as provisional. As James writes in
Pragmatism, “we have to live to-day by what truth we can get to-day, and be
ready tO-morrow to call it falsehood” (100). In Chapter 3 I will develop a
“thin” conception of pragmatism, and in Chapter 4 I will explicitly draw

connections between pragmatism and the model of practical philosophy.

4.2 Theory and Practice

A second issue that must be addressed in developing a philosophical
defense of practical philosophy is the relationship between theory and practice.
What is the relationship between theory-centered and practical philosophy? At
one level the two seem incompatible. Theory-centered philosophy typically
attempts to get beyond the contingent, diverse, and changeable elements Of
experience in order to focus on universal or general solutions to abstract
problems. In contrast, by insisting on the relevance of context practical
philosophy seems to give precedence to particular cases and concrete problems.
This emphasis on context raises questions regarding the value using abstract

general theories to address practical issues.

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However, we must not portray practical and theory-centered philosophy
as two distinct and disparate disciplines. They are interdependent. On the one
hand, practical philosophy needs theory-centered philosophy. While the
inadequacy of the engineering approach strongly suggests that the solutions to
practical problems cannot be simply deduced from philosophical theories,
practical philosophy must be informed by philosophical theories and
commitments. On the other hand, theory-centered philosophy needs practical
philosophy. Practical philosophy corrects and extends theoretical philosophy,
testing it, providing it with rich examples, and suggesting areas where further
theoretical investigation might be fruitful. Practical philosophy without
theoretical philosophy is shallow and unstable. Theoretical philosophy without
practical philosophy is isolated and detached from broader academic and public
constituencies.

In Chapter 5 I will argue that the relationship between theory and practice
in philosophy should be understood as a modified and more general version of
what is known in moral philosophy as wide reflective equilibrium. The practical
philosopher addresses specific problems that have disturbed the equilibrium
between 1) our background knowledge about the natural world and social
arrangements, 2) our considered judgments about how to act in or respond to the
world, and 3) our philosophical (i.e. moral, epistemological, or ontological)
theories. To restore equilibrium resolutions may require modification of one or
more of these elements, though initially it may not be clear which. Such

resolutions will only be provisional, as we may later be forced to re-evaluate

112

10

them in light of new empirical information, social changes, shifts in
philosophical theories and commitments, the results of our prior actions, or the
emergence of new problematic cases. This process gives priority to neither
theory nor practice. Our philosophical theories help shape our understanding of
practical problems and provide tools for coping with them. However, our
theories may be altered in the light Of the very practical problems they help us

to understand.“

 

2"T his understanding of philosophy is certainly not original with me. For
an articulate expression of a similar view see Kai Nielsen, “Philosophy as
Critical Theory.”

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PART TWO

PRAGMATISM AND PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY

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CHAPTER THREE

A THIN CONCEPTION OF PRAGMATISM

In this chapter and the one that follows I will argue that philosophical
pragmatism offers a helpful framework for understanding and approaching
practical philosophy. To avoid certain criticisms from both pragmatists and
non-pragmatists, I need to be careful not to overstate the project or its
conclusions. I am not suggesting that all practical philosophers are explicit or
implicit pragmatists, or that pragmatism provides a (much less the) systematic
method or procedure for doing practical philosophy. Many philosophers
involved in practical philosophy reject or ignore pragmatism and they would
strongly object to any claim that pragmatism is the only underlying framework.
Moreover, many pragmatists have resisted the temptation to refer to pragmatism
as a “theory,” “method,” or “system” at all. Nevertheless, I hope to show that
there is a comfortable “fit” between practical philosophy and American
pragmatism, a fit that not only helps make sense of practical philosophy, but
also provides a modest defense of it.

In this sense the project parallels one undertaken by Bruce Kimball in
“Toward Pragmatic Liberal Education.” In that essay Kimball argues that while
no one may have consciously adopted pragmatism as a theory of liberal
education, it nevertheless provides a coherent way of understanding
developments in liberal education in the United States during the past few

decades. I want to make a similar claim regarding pragmatism and practical

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philosophy — pragmatism provides a coherent way of understanding
developments in practical philosophy in the United States during the past few
decades. In fact, if one substitutes “practical philosophy” for “liberal
education,” the following passage from Kimball would express my thesis as
well.

Recent developments in liberal education, while appearing to be

disparate responses to particular demographic, economic, or

disciplinary changes, are actually related to one another through

deep intellectual and cultural roots. Though perhaps individually

prompted by such changes, these recent developments exhibit a

collective pattern that is shaped by the historical and cultural

context in which they occur. Hence, the proposed influence of

pragmatism lies in providing a deeply-rooted rationalization, or

intellectual justification, for recent changes and reforms in liberal
education. To be sure, the rationalization may not conventionally

be called “pragmatic” or even identified as a coherent philosophy

or viewpoint. Nevertheless, I suggest that pragmatism provides an

intellectual framework within which recent developments in liberal

education make sense during the current era (xxii-xxiii).

My argument parallels Kimball’s in one additional respect. Kimball
defends his claim in a two-step process. He first identifies several themes or
motifs of pragmatism, and then he connects them with important trends in
liberal education. In these two chapters I adopt a similar approach. This
chapter is devoted to an account of pragmatism. Rather than developing a full
or “thick” conception of pragmatism as, for example, Peirce’s or James’ or
Dewey’s or Rorty’s or Putnam’s pragmatism, I provide a bare bones or “thin”
conception. There is no agreement among self-described pragmatists as to the

details of a fully worked-out or thick conception of pragmatism. Thus, I

identify a thinner version that, while incomplete, captures the main features of

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pragmatism and is compatible with the more fully worked-out versions of
Peirce, James, Dewey, Rorty, Putnam, West, and others. This thin conception
lays the groundwork for a discussion of the affinities between pragmatism and
practical philosophy in the following chapter. In that chapter I develop the “fit”

between pragmatism and practical philosophy more fully.

1 Why a “Thin” Conception?
It is not clear to me what it takes to be a pragmatist. It is

not clear in what ways the philosophers who have been called

pragmatists are nearer in outlook to one another than to

philosophers who are not so called. I suspect that the term

‘pragmatism’ is one we could do without. It draws a pragmatic

blank. However, we have the term, and we can make some sense

of it by enumeration. Peirce, James, Schiller, Mead, and Dewey

have been called pragmatists and have owned the soft impeachment

(“The Pragmatists’ Place in Empiricism” 23).

This pessimistic, if not somewhat disparaging, remark from W. V. O.
Quine points to a challenge faced by anyone who sets out to provide a brief or
succinct account of pragmatism — pragmatism is a diverse tradition with many
faces. This has been true almost since pragmatism’s inception‘ and is still true
nearly 100 years later. One can still pick up several good books or articles on
the topic and find notably different accounts. Seldom will two authors agree on
a concise definition or even on a single most important trait of pragmatism. For
example, Richard Rorty identifies anti-representationalism as the thread that ties

the strands of pragmatist thought together (“Introductionz Pragmatism as Anti-

Representationalism” l-5), Cornel West offers, “a future-oriented

 

1See Arthur 0. Lovejoy’s The Thirteen Pragmatisms and Other Essays.

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instrumentalism that tries to deploy thought as a weapon to enable more
effective action” as the common denominator (5), and H. S. Thayer cites a belief
in the connection between rational purpose and rational cognition
(“Introduction” 20).2 One could interpret this as a sign of either confusion or
healthy diversity.

There are several good reasons to opt for the latter. In fact, paradoxical
as it might sound, the propensity to describe pragmatism in different ways is
quite consistent with pragmatism. One reason for this is that pragmatism has
been adopted, and to some extent reshaped, by scholars in other disciplines such
as education, literary criticism, and political science. A more important factor,
however, is the tendency of pragmatists to define their views in opposition to
mainstream philosophy, in particular formal doctrines and systems. This
tendency has two important implications. First, pragmatists have more
frequently criticized positive doctrines than put forth their own. This lack of
positive doctrine make it difficult to define pragmatism in terms of necessary
and sufficient conditions. Second, in criticizing mainstream philosophy
pragmatists have responded to prevailing trends in the discipline. To the extent
that philosophical trends change, the face or expression of pragmatism changes

as well. Thus, the classical pragmatists (e.g., Peirce, James, Dewey) emphasize

 

2Interestingly, critics of pragmatism may very well point to the features
that pragmatists themselves downplay or do not see as central. For instance,
while Richard Rorty repeatedly denies that he is offering a theory of truth, and
argues that when people try to talk of such a theory we should just change the
subject, at least one of his critics identifies pragmatism’s “position” on truth as
one of its “most central tenets” (Prado 7).

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different points than do the neO-pragmatists (e.g., Putnam, Rorty, Nielsen, West)
whose work develops during or after the linguistic turn in analytic philosophy.3
For all these reasons pragmatism is a diverse and dynamic movement — one
that defies precise definition because it is constantly evolving.

This diversity led the preeminent historian of pragmatism, H. S. Thayer,
to argue that it is “primarily as a movement, rather than by any one doctrine that
pragmatism is best understood” (“Introduction”l 1). A similar argument is made
by Richard Bernstein who claims that the movement is characterized by
conflicting narratives and metanarratives such that pragmatism has always been
an “essentially contested concept” (“The Conflict of Narratives” 66). Rather
than finding the diversity of narratives problematic, Bernstein interprets it as a
sign of a vital and dynamic tradition. He further adds that it would be
unpragmatic to try to define the essence of pragmatism or to establish rigidly
fixed criteria that could be used to determine who is or is not a pragmatist.

Given the diversity and open texture of pragmatism, my strategy is to
provide a “thin” conception of pragmatism. This thin conception is an account

of what is common to most, if not all, versions of pragmatism. In this respect it

 

3The terminology used to categorize pragmatists is somewhat problematic.
The terms “classical pragmatism” and “neo-pragmatism” somehow suggest that
the latter is not truly pragmatism. Though neo-pragmatism is more recent on
the scene, the term “contemporary pragmatism” overlooks the fact that the
movement I’m calling neo-pragmatism spanned several decades. Probably the
most accurate terms would be “pre-linguistic pragmatism” and “post-linguistic
pragmatism” since it is the influence of the linguistic turn in philosophy that
most clearly differentiates the two styles. However, for the sake of economy,
and because the term is commonly used, I will use the terms “neo-pragmatism”
or “neo-pragmatist” throughout.

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resembles a theory of child development that describes the developmental stages
of most children in general, but no child in particular. While many parents can
identify ways their children are “exceptional” or outside the norm, they
nevertheless find these general descriptions helpful. Moreover, just as no theory
of child development fully or adequately describes the rich and unique
development of any individual child, no pragmatist holds only a thin
conception.4 Thinkers such as Peirce, James, Dewey, Putnam, Rorty, or West
fill out the thin conception in different ways by emphasizing different points,
utilizing different tools, and grinding different philosophical axes. The thin
conception is somewhat like the chord structure of a jazz number, around which,
and within the constraints of, different members of the band devise different
80108.

In what follow I highlight four central features or elements of

pragmatism’ — 1) anti-representationalism, 2) a commitment to the agent-

 

4Eva T. Brann captures the potential strength and weakness of offering a
thin conception in her critique of Kimball’s analysis of pragmatism. She refers
to his listing of themes in pragmatism as a “flaccid collage, which no particular
pragmatist might wish to acknowledge” (172). However, she admits that it also
provides “a recognizable Opinion scheme, a definable intellectual atmosphere”
(172).

5The strategy of characterizing pragmatism by identifying central features
or themes is used by several other authors. For instance, C. G. Prado
identifies four central tenets of pragmatism: a pluralistic empiricism, a
temporalistic view of reality, a contextualist conception of reality and values,
and a secular democratic individualism (9). Cornel West cites “evading
epistemology-centered philosophy, accenting human powers, and transforming
antiquated modes of social hierarchies in light of religious and/or ethical ideals”
as the major themes of pragmatism (4). Hilary Putnam identifies anti-scepticism,
fallibilism, the claim that there is no fundamental dichotomy between facts and

(continued...)

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centered point of view and the instrumental nature of thought, 3) a blurring of
the distinction between fact and value, and 4) fallibilism. While these features
do not constitute a tightly organized set of doctrines, they do, I believe, identify
the common core of most complete versions of American pragmatism. What I
have in mind is something like Rawls’ idea of an “overlapping consensus.”
Different, fully-developed conceptions of pragmatism differ in a number of
ways, but there is an overlapping consensus among them on these four features.
No fully-developed conception of pragmatism consists only of these four

features, but most, if not all, include them.

 

5(...continued)
values, and the primacy of practice in philosophy as theses that summarize
pragmatism (“Pragmatism and Moral Objectivity” 200). Richard Bernstein
cites anti-foundationalism, fallibilism (without scepticism), the social character
of the self and the need for a critical community of inquirers, the awareness of
radical contingency and chance in the universe, and plurality as major themes of
pragmatism (“Pragmatism, Pluralism, and the Healing of Wounds” 7-10). In
The Condition of American Liberal Education: Pragmatism and a Changing
Tradition Bruce Kimball lists the following six themes or points:

1. that belief and meaning, even truth itself, are fallible and
revisable;

2. that an experimental method of inquiry obtains in all
science and reflective thought;

3. that belief, meaning, and truth depend on the context and

the intersubjective judgment of the community in which
they are formed;

4. that experience is the dynamic interaction of organism and
environment, resulting in a close interrelationship between
thought and action;

5. that the purpose of resolving doubts or solving problems is
intrinsic to all thought and inquiry; and
6. that all inquiry and thought are evaluative, and judgments

about fact are no different from judgments about value (29).

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2 A Thin Conception of Traditional Philosophy

Because pragmatism developed in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries
as a reaction to perceived deficiencies in the prevailing or dominant conception
of philosophy, I begin by describing the main elements or basic presuppositions
of this conception. I then use this description as a backdrop in developing the
thin conception of pragmatism. While it would not be fair to single out
Descartes for all the glories or woes of contemporary philosophy, his
tremendous influence as the “Father of Modern Philosophy” is undeniable. The
questions that have dominated modern philosophy are arguably Cartesian.
Descartes’ legacy is not so much the answers he offered as the way the
questions he formulated have set the agenda for nearly four centuries Of
philosophizing. Thus, inasmuch as pragmatism has largely developed in
response to a certain conception of philosophy, and this conception of
philosophy is, in its basic presuppositions, predominantly Cartesian, it makes
sense to preface the thin conception of pragmatism with a thin conception of

Cartesianism.‘5 Still, as with my thin conception of pragmatism, I am not

 

6Peirce was maybe the first to offer a thin conception of Cartesianism. In
“Some Consequences of Four Incapacities” he identifies the following four
points of contrast between Cartesianism and its predecessor, scholasticism.

1. It [Cartesianism] teaches that philosophy must begin with
universal doubt; whereas scholasticism had never questioned
fundamentals.

2. It teaches that the ultimate test of certainty is to be found in

the individual consciousness; whereas scholasticism had
rested on the testimony of sages and of the Catholic Church.

3. The multiform argumentation of the middle ages is replaced
by a single thread of inference depending often upon
inconspicuous premises.

(continued...)

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referring to any particular philosopher, but to a more basic framework, a set of
basic presuppositions, or a way philosophical problems have been posed and
answers to them sought. The main elements of this thin conception of
Cartesianism are 1) the spectator account of the philosophical subject, 2)

representationalism, 3) radical or global skepticism, and 4) foundationalism.

2.1 The Spectator-Subject

Perhaps the most salient feature of Cartesianism is the conception of the
knower or subject of philosophical inquiry as possibly a pure subject Of
consciousness. Descartes does not begin with this now-familiar understanding
of the subject of philosophical inquiry, but arrives at it in the course of his quest
for epistemological certainty. In the Meditations on First Philosophy Descartes
embarks on this quest by systematically doubting all his beliefs that could
possibly be false. Rather than examining beliefs one by one, he works with
groups of beliefs categorized by their origin. Beliefs that we accept on the
testimony of others are suspect because we could be, and often are, misled by
others. Those originating from our own sense perceptions are also uncertain
because we have often been deceived by our senses. I know, for instance, that

the moon itself does not change size and shape from night to night even though

 

6(...continued)

4. Scholasticism had its mysteries of faith, but undertook to
explain all created things. But there are many facts which
Cartesianism not only does not explain, but renders
absolutely inexplicable, unless to say that “God makes them
so”is to be regarded as an explanation (“Some Consequence
of Four Incapacities” 228)

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it appears to. Moreover, things appear real in our dreams, so real, in fact, that
we are often not aware that we are dreaming. We cannot distinguish actual
sense perceptions from those that appear to us in our dreams, and thus, we
cannot be absolutely certain that at any given moment we are not dreaming. But
if this is the case, then we have reason to doubt the truth of all our sense
perceptions. Finally, it is even possible, he argues, that we could be wrong
about beliefs, such as mathematical or geometrical propositions like “2+3=5” or
“a square has four sides,” that do not seem to derive from our senses at all.
Though we are convinced that such propositions are true, we could be mistaken.
It is conceivable that an evil demon could be systematically deceiving us into
believing that such propositions are true even if they are not. After subjecting
various types of beliefs to this process of systematic doubt, Descartes concludes
that the only thing he cannot doubt is that he does in fact doubt, and that if he
doubts, he must exist as a thinking thing. “So after considering everything very
thoroughly, I finally conclude that this proposition: 1 am, I exist, is necessarily
true whenever it is put forward by me or conceived in my mind” (17, emphasis
in the original).

What Descartes takes to be his indubitable starting point then is a
proposition regarding the subject of philosophical inquiry. From this foundation
he hopes to establish other beliefs that are no less certain, including beliefs
about the world outside his mind. However, it is important to pay attention to
the assumptions underlying this conception of the knower or subject of

philosophical inquiry. It is an odd sort of character, separate from both the

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world that it seeks to understand, and from the experience it has of the world. It
is an incorporeal consciousness, a thinking being aware of ideas that it is
inclined to believe represent the world, but only of those ideas. It cannot, at the
outset, be sure that it has direct awareness of the external world or even of its
own physical body, much less the minds and bodies of others. It is, in Martin
Benjamin’s words, “a lone, disembodied spectator” (unpublished manuscript).7
Because the knower is disembodied, it is, to a large extent, passive in
relation to the reality it seeks to know. For a subject who stands outside of the
world knowing is a matter of getting the right picture, in Dewey’s words
“getting the view of a spectator” (“The Need for a Recovery” 23). What
knowing does not involve for a Cartesian mind is interaction with,
experimentation on, or manipulation of the reality to be known. The spectator
subject is like a student of child development observing a classroom of children
from behind a 2-way mirror. She can watch the children, and if a sound system
is provided, listen to them as well. However, she cannot learn more about the
children by talking to them or asking them to perform particular tasks. She can
form hypotheses about their behavior, but she cannot control the environment or

the situation in order to test them. In other words, she cannot formulate and

 

7Dewey describes the subject of experience as construed by traditional
philosophy in the following way:

The characteristic feature of this prior notion is the assumption

that experience centres in, or gathers about, or proceeds from a

centre or subject which is outside the course of natural existence,

and set over against it; — it being of no importance, for present

purposes, whether this antithetical subject is termed soul, or spirit,

or mind, or ego, or consciousness, or just knower or knowing

subject (“The Need for a Recovery” 22).

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test hypotheses about the children by influencing their environment or behavior.
Thus, her knowledge of the children is limited to what she can passively
observe. Cartesianism portrays the subject of knowledge as just such a

spectator.8

2.2 Representationalism and the Appearance/Reality Distinction

Descartes was certainly not the first philosopher to be suspicious of raw
experience as a reliable source of knowledge of the world. Much of traditional
philosophy takes as a starting point a distinction between appearance or
experience on the one hand, and reality on the other. While we assume that
there must be some connection between the world as it actually is and how it
appears to us in experience, we also understand that experience cannot be
completely trusted. We are, after all, familiar with situations in which we know
that our perceptions are unreliable. I know, for instance, that even though the
oar in the water appears broken, in reality it is not; that while the desk I am
writing on appears to be solid, from the standpoint of physics it contains more
empty space than solid matter; and that while the sun appears to rise and set
relative to a stationary earth, in reality it is the earth that rotates on its axis and
revolves around the sun. These gaps between appearance and reality make us

suspicious of “raw” or “unfiltered” experience. Thus, one of the most enduring

 

8Douglas Sloan refers to this as “onlooker consciousness.” “This view of
knowing is that of a detached onlooker standing over and describing a world of
mind-independent objects as though neither knower nor known were
fundamentally interrelated and mutually affected in the process” (210).

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goals of philosophical inquiry has been to help us penetrate ordinary experience
to the reality behind, beneath, or beyond. It is this search for reality behind
experience that concerned Thales and Heraclitus, motivated Plato’s distinction
between the universal and immutable world of Forms and particular changing
world of appearances, and inspired Descartes’ method of universal doubt. While
it surfaces in various forms, the appearance/reality distinction has preoccupied
western philosophy for more than 2500 years.

It is important to note that the appearance/reality distinction that has
concerned philosophers is not the type of appearance/reality distinction that
typically concerns us in everyday life. In our daily lives we are concerned with 1
a number of different and specific appearance/reality distinctions. For instance,
in everyday life we may be concerned with the distinction between a real dollar
bill and a counterfeit dollar bill, the distinction between what our friends seem
to think of us and what they really think of us, or the distinction between a drug
that has only a placebo effect and one that directly affects the underlying
disease or metabolic disorder. In all these specific cases we are concerned in
some sense with a distinction between reality and appearance. Philosophers,
however, have been concerned with the distinction between appearance and
reality, that is, the distinction on a categorical or global level. They have tried
to distinguish the world as experienced from the world unexperienced, that is,
the world as it is in itself apart from all our interactions with it. They have
asked whether everything we see or experience about the world might be

systematically out of sync with the world as it is in itself.

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While the appearance/reality distinction was not new to Descartes he gave
it a unique twist by adding, or at least drawing special attention to a third
element or dimension, the spectator-subject —- i.e., the mind or philosophical
subject that is independent of both reality and appearance. This three-part
division generates the problem of representationalism, the question of how
accurately, or in what sense appearance “represents” reality to the subject of
experience. Descartes argued that what we are aware of in consciousness or
experience are not objects external to us, but ideas — i.e., mental images that
stand for or represent external objects.9 According to this view, for example,
what I am aware of as I sit here at my desk typing these words are not the
computer keyboard and monitor themselves, but mental images that ostensibly
represent the keyboard and monitor. Descartes held that all thought involved
the manipulation of these ideas that are like mental pictures on display in the
mind. The presupposition that reality is thus known only mediately or indirectly
through ideas that somehow copy or represent it generates a particular set of
philosophical problems. If our experience is of representations, the challenge
for philosophers is to figure out what we can know about the external world

based solely on these internal objects of consciousness.”

 

9Quine would later called this the “idea idea” (Theories and Things 68).

”Richard Rorty describes representationalism by likening the mind to a
mirror that contains “various representations — some accurate, some not,” and
argues that the project of philosophers united by this picture is to get “more
accurate representations by inspecting, repairing, and polishing the mirror”
(Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature 12).

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phi

dis

The representationalist framework has been highly influential in modern
philosophy.ll While the rationalists and empiricists who followed Descartes
disagreed with one another over which ideas, if any, were innate, which arose
from experience, and how to distinguish those that represented reality from
those that did not, they were predominantly Cartesian inasmuch as they accepted
this basic representationalist framework and the problems it generates. For
philosophers of both schools, the fundamental problem of philosophy was the
epistemological problem of trying to acquire genuine knowledge of the Objective
or external world — i.e., reality — from the subjective, internal experience of
ideas — i.e., appearances. In this broad sense Locke, Leibniz, Hume, Kant,12
Berkeley, Mill, and most other modern philosophers were Cartesians.
Twentieth-century analytic philosophers to a large degree retained the
representationalist framework, although they replaced talk of ideas or mental
images with talk of language. Language, not mental images, is what mediates
between the world and the philosophical subject. Language is what the
philosophical subject of inquiry uses to represent the world. As Hilary Putnam

has written, “If any problem has emerged as the problem for analytic philosophy

 

”It is also worth noting that representationalism has been quite influential
outside of philosophy as well. For example, much, although certainly not all,
work done in cognitive science (an interdisciplinary field in which philosophers
have been quite involved) is based on a largely representationalist model. For a
discussion of the philosophical basis for cognitive science see Neil Stillings, et
al, Cognitive Science: An Introduction (331-377).

1"It is worth noting that Putnam correctly argues that Kant breaks out of
this mold in as much as he claims that knowing or describing the world is not
simply a matter of copying it (Pragmatism: An Open Question 28-32).

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in the twentieth century, it is a problem of how words ‘hook onto’ the world”
(“After Empiricism” 43).” Thus, although the focus shifts from ideas to words
during the twentieth century, the basic underlying problem of trying to

understand external reality given internal appearances remains.

2.3 Radical or Global Skepticism

The conception Of the subject of philosophical inquiry and the
representationalism that it entails sets the agenda for modern philosophy by
framing epistemological problems as the general problem of knowledge.” The
general problem of knowledge does not focus on any specific knowledge (say
for instance, whether or not the earth is round or flat), but on whether any
knowledge of the world outside one’s own mind is possible at all. The problem
of knowledge is formulated in this general way because for the spectator-subject
the epistemological problem is how to get beyond the limits of its own

subjectivity. The most important question for such a subject is: “Is knowledge

 

”Richard Rorty argues that modern philosophy’s preoccupation with the
philosophy of language is not a rejection, but a reworking, of epistemology-
centered philosophy. Where the epistemology in the Cartesian tradition asked
questions about how our ideas represent reality, the philosophy of language asks
how our language represents reality. For the parallels of between epistemology
and the philosophy of language see Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature,
Chapter 6.

l"Dewey argues that the conception of the subject of experience as a
spectator fuels the “industry of epistemology” by framing epistemological
problems as the problem of knowledge in general — the question of the
“possibility, extent, and validity of knowledge in general” (“The Need for a
Recovery” 23).

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of the external world possible, and if so, what is the extent and foundation of
it?”

Cartesian representationalism generates, or at least makes possible, the
prospect of radical or global skepticism. Our experience is limited to
representations and manipulations of representations. But how can we know
that these representations accurately represent reality? How do we know that
our ideas of the world or the language we use to describe it are not totally off
the mark, completely wrong? For that matter, how do we know that there is an
external world at all? Philosophers have used a variety of thought experiments
to make this point. In 1641 Descartes entertained the possibility that he might
be deceived by an evil demon who merely manufactures ideas of the external
world. More than 300 years later Putnam updated Descartes’ evil demon by
postulating an evil, but brilliant scientist who has somehow placed our brains in
a vat of nutrients, and who uses a powerful computer connected to our brain to
deceive us into believing that we have more extensive bodies through which we
live in and experience the world (Reason, Truth and History 1-21). While these
scenarios seem unlikely, they are notoriously difficult, if not impossible, to
refute with certainty if one clings to the notion of a spectator-subject and a
representationalist framework. What these thought experiments demonstrate is
that if our experience is limited to representations, then it need not be dependent
on the external world. In fact, we have no assurance that there is an external

world, much less that our ideas accurately represent it. These apparently

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insoluble problems raised by Descartes have been confronted time and again by

philosophers in the modern period.

2.4 Foundationalism

Finally, the Cartesian conception of knowledge is largely foundational.
Foundationalism in the broadest sense is the view that knowledge or epistemic
justification has a two-tiered structure. Some beliefs are basic or foundational
because they are known or justified non-inferentially. All other beliefs, if they
are to be considered knowledge, are validly inferred from basic or foundational
beliefs. In this way, all knowledge or justification derives from the basic or
foundational beliefs.

In this chapter I am using “foundationalism” more narrowly to refer to
more radical versions of foundationalism that hold that in order to qualify as
knowledge our beliefs must rest on some certain foundations, and that humans
have some special faculty by which we can know these foundations.” For the
representationalist, such foundations promise a response to the radical skeptic.
If found they would serve to guarantee that at least some of our representations
correspond accurately to reality, tell us which or at least what type of
representations those are, and provide reliable methods of using those
representations to build and expand our knowledge of the world. It is, therefore,

not surprising that philosophers captured by representationalism seek to identify

 

”See Richard Bernstein’s “Pragmatism, Pluralism and the Healing of
Wounds” for a brief characterization of foundationalism (7-8).

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both these foundations (e.g., sense experience, a priori principles, etc.) and the
faculties by which they can be reached (e.g., intuition, sense perception, or
reason). In theory, we should be able to trace any true non-basic belief back
through a single line of inference to a basic or foundational belief. Dewey
refers to this search for absolutes, which he sees has dominating philosophy, as
the “quest for certainty.” Cartesianism is overtly foundationalist in its emphasis
on both foundations and formal methods of inference used to construct or justify

knowledge.

3 A Thin Conception of Pragmatism

Pragmatists have argued persistently, and often vehemently, that the
Cartesian framework is misleading, and that its acceptance has led philosophy
on an unproductive search for epistemic certainty. While pragmatists have been
hesitant to offer formal alternatives, they largely agree on a number Of points.
First, they reject representationalism. Second, they conceive of the subject of
philosophical inquiry as an embodied agent rather than a possibly disembodied
spectator, and thus, of thought and inquiry as largely instrumental rather than
representational. These two points lead to a third; pragmatists reject a sharp
distinction between fact and value. Finally, they endorse fallibilism, the view
that knowledge of the world is invariably contingent and subject to revision.
Taken together, these four points constitute what I have called the “thin”

conception of pragmatism.

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3. l Anti-representationalism

Pragmatists have a hard time making sense of representationalism. What
does it mean for an idea to “represent” reality or for a belief to “correspond” to
reality? While these concepts are understandable in everyday usage, they are
meaningless when applied to things that are thought to lie entirely outside of
experience. To see why this might be so consider the variety of ways an object
can be represented. My dog, for instance, could be represented by a memory, a
photograph, a statue, the word “Soda” written on a piece of paper, or a magnetic
record of her identifying information (e.g., female, Boxer-Shephard mix, etc.) in
a computer. None of these items is identical to my dog, in fact, they’re all quite
different from her. And yet they can all be said to represent, or correspond to
her. I am not interested here in whether or not there is a single, unified account
that makes all these items representations of my dog. Whether such an account
can be given is a controversial and complicated philosophical problem that need
not concern us at this point.” What is important to note is that in each case the
ability to make sense of the notion of representation or correspondence
involved, or to evaluate the adequacy of the representation depends on one
having knowledge of both Objects — the object represented and the

representation. If you show me a picture of a dog and ask whether the picture

 

”It is not clear to me how important this unifying account is likely to be.
One could provide satisfactory, but different, explanations of how or why each
item individually represents Soda without providing a unifying account of why
they all represent her. These different senses of representations may be better
understood as notions connected through a relationship of family resemblance
rather than instances of a more general notion.

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accurately represents Soda, I can provide an answer only because I both see the
picture and already know Soda. My knowledge of both allows me to judge
whether or not the item represents my dog and if it does, in what way and how
accurately. If you show the same picture to someone who had never seen or
heard of Soda, he would be unable to give an informed response. Whatever else
judging the adequacy of a representation requires, it depends on familiarity with
both the representation and the Object represented. You have no basis for saying
that X represents Y unless you are familiar with both X and Y.

This dependence creates a problem for representationalism and the
Cartesian spectator-subject. In order to determine how or whether her ideas
represent or correspond to reality, the subject of philosophical inquiry would
have to reach an Archimedean point from which she could experience both
reality and her representations of it, and compare the two. H.S. Thayer puts it
well when he argues that adopting this perspective would require us to “perform
a feat of self-transcendence by which we could become observers of two objects,
our idea and some alleged object as its cause, and scrutinize the degree of
correspondence between them” (Thayer, Meaning and Action 66). This feat of
self-transcendence is an attempt on the part of the subject to adopt what Putnam
calls a “God’s-eye” view of the universe. Unfortunately, according to the
representationalist view of knowledge, the subject of knowledge is only aware
of representations, never the things represented. To adopt a perspective from

which she could compare reality with the representations would require her to

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do exactly what the representationalist claims she cannot do, think without using
representations.

While they do not always employ the language of representationalism or
criticize it directly, versions of the preceding criticisms can be found throughout
the writings of the early pragmatists. Peirce, for example, though committed to
the realist position that an external world exists independent of us,‘7 argues that
we cannot make sense of a gulf between what is real and what is known or
knowable. Underlying this second claim is his pragmatic understanding of
linguistic meaning, according to which the meaning of a concept is tied to, and
exhausted by the observable experimental phenomena associated with it.” On
this analysis of meaning we can have no conception of what could not be
experienced — i.e., that which could have no experimental phenomena
associated with it. Thus, if we separate reality from experience, as

representationalism does, we can have no conception of reality. It is this sort of

 

17The fundamental hypothesis of science, he argues is that there “are Real
things, whose characters are entirely independent of our opinions of them; those
Reals affect our senses according to regular laws, and, though our sensations are
different as are our relations to the objects, yet by taking advantage of the laws
of perception, we can ascertain by reasoning how things really and truly are”
(“The Fixation of Belief” l8).

”Peirce offers the following explanation of meaning as the essential tenet
of pragmatism. Pragmatism holds that

the rational purport of a word or other expression, lies exclusively

in its conceivable bearing upon the conduct of life; so that, since

obviously nothing that might not result from experiment can have

any direct bearing upon conduct, if one can define accurately all

the conceivable experimental phenomena which the affirmation or

denial of the concept could imply, one will have therein a

complete definition of the concept, and there is absolutely nothing

more in it (“The Essentials of Pragmatism” 252).

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reasoning that leads Peirce to the seemingly paradoxical claim that reality as the
thing-in-itself “does not exist as such. That is, there is no thing which is in-
itself in the sense of not being relative to the mind, though things which are
relative to the mind doubtless are, apart from that relation” (“Some
Consequences of F our Incapacities” 247, emphasis in the original).”

James directs his criticism at the notion of correspondence. In an early
essay he criticizes Herbert Spencer’s depiction of mental processes as the
“adjustment of inner to outer relations” (“Remarks on Spencer’s Definition” 44),
where “adjustment” is understood to be some sort of correspondence between
the two. He criticizes Spencer for employing a concept of correspondence that
is hopelessly vague.

But as the formula of correspondence was originally derived from

biology, we shall possibly find in the author’s treatise on that

science an exact definition of what he means by it. On seeking

there, we find nowhere a definition, but numbers of synonyms.

The inner relations are “adjusted,” “conformed,” “fitted,”

“related,” to the outer. They must “meet” or “balance” them.

There must be “concord” or “harmony” between them. Or, again,

the organism must “counteract” the changes in the environment.

But these words, too, are wholly indeterminate (“Remarks on

Spencer’s Definition” 48-49).

More than twenty years later when his pragmatism was more fully developed he

argued that any nonpragmatic notion of agreement between our ideas and reality

 

”Peirce’s claim that reality is in some sense relative to the mind is not
meant to imply that reality is subjective. To Peirce it is Objective in that it is
intersubjective or communal. “The real, then, is that which, sooner or later,
information and reasoning would finally result in, and which is therefore
independent of the vagaries of me and you” (“Some Consequences of Four
Incapacities” 247).

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is a “meaningless abstraction” (Pragmatism 105). (Just what James meant by a
pragmatic notion of “agreement” will be spelled out in the following section.)

Like the classical pragmatists, neo-pragmatists criticize
representationalism and the correspondence notion of truth as untenable
positions. However, since the linguistic turn in philosophy the problem of
representationalism has been couched in terms of linguistic representation rather
than in terms of mental ideas or images. What unites the anti-
representationalism of the neo-pragmatists is a linguistic version of the claim
that we cannot perform the feat of self-transcendence whereby we could view
both reality and our ideas of it in order to see how the two match up.

Rorty bases his rejection of the correspondence theory of truth on his
conviction that language is ubiquitous. The holism of Quine, the later
Wittgenstein, Sellars, and Davidson, he argues, completely undermine our
aspirations to get outside of language in order to see how language relates to a
language-independent world on one hand, and to us on the other (“Introductiom
Pragmatism and Philosophy” xvii-xxi). They do this by successfully blurring
the distinctions —— between the analytic and the synthetic, the linguistic and
the empirical, theory and observation, and scheme and content — that
philosophers have proposed as means of getting beyond language to see how
language relates to the world. Rorty argues that language is not a medium of
representation that stands between us and the world (i.e., between subject and
object), but a tool or form of behavior that we use to cope with our

environment. It is not, however, a tool we can choose to use or not use. We

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cannot pick it up like a hammer or saw and use it only when we think it
appropriate, for human thought itself is thoroughly and unavoidably linguistic.
We do not have the Option of thinking without language. This is what Rorty
means when he claims that language is ubiquitous. We cannot get outside
language — i.e., think non-linguistically about how our language relates to the
world — because “there is no way to think about either the world or our
purposes except by using our language” (“Introductionz Pragmatism and
Philosophy” xix).20 If Rorty’s claim regarding the ubiquity of language is
correct, then there is no Archimedean point from which we can compare our
linguistic descriptions of the world with the world as it is, independent of
language. We cannot make such a comparison without identifying the objects of
comparison and we cannot make such identifications without using language.
Putnam draws on twentieth-century physics to make a similar point. In
“Realism with a Human Face” he argues that the acceptance of quantum
mechanics undermines the possibility of ever achieving a God’s-eye view of the
universe (3-11). Classical physics, according to Putnam, was an attempt to gain
just such a view of the universe because it provided complete descriptions.
There was nothing in classical physics to prohibit one from including both the
observer and measurements as part of the complete system being described. In
this sense, descriptions of the world were not dependent on the observer, they

included the observer. However, according to quantum mechanics there is a

 

20See Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity, page 3-22 for a more thorough
discussion of Rorty’s understanding of language as a behavior or tool, and how
this view undermines correspondence theories of truth.

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“cut” between the observer and the system such that the observer or apparatus
used to make the Observation cannot be included in the description. Thus,
according to quantum mechanics, there can be no complete description, no
theory of the whole universe, no God’s-eye view. Not only will the description
always be dependent on the observer and the observational apparatus, it will
always be incomplete because it cannot include the observer. This requires us
to give up what Putnam calls a “great dream” — “the dream of a description of
physical reality as it is apart from observers, a description which is objective in

the sense of being ‘from no particular point of view’” (11).

3.2 Instrumentalism and the Agent Point of View

While pragmatists have provided a sharp and powerful critique of
representationalism, they have been reluctant to offer a set of formal doctrines
to place in its stead. Nevertheless, their work has not been entirely negative.
There is also a more “positive” side to pragmatism, a side most evident in
pragmatic accounts of the knowing subject and the nature of thought. In
contrast to representationalism, pragmatists view the subject of knowledge as an
agent rather than a spectator, and thought more as a tool or behavior for
contending with the environment than as a medium for representing or picturing
reality. Because these two themes — the primacy of the agent point of view
and the instrumental nature of thought — are so closely related I will deal with

them together.

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The primacy of, or commitment to, the agent point of view goes hand in
hand with anti-representationalism. In repudiating representationalism
pragmatists reject the conception of the subject of knowledge that it implicitly
assumes -— a spectator-subject, standing outside of reality hoping to describe it
from a neutral, detached point of View. Pragmatists argue that we should
abandon this understanding of the subject of philosophical inquiry, replacing it
with a description of the knowing subject as an agent who stands in, rather than
outside the world, and who interacts with the world, rather than passively
observing it. The contrast between the spectator and agent conceptions of the
knowing subject is captured nicely by James.

I, for my part, cannot escape the consideration, forced upon

me at every turn, that the knower is not simply a mirror floating

with no foot-hold anywhere, and passively reflecting an order that

he comes upon and finds simply existing. The knower is an actor,

and co-efficient of the truth on one side whilst on the other he

registers the truth which he helps to create (“Remarks on Spencer’s

Definition” 67).

To understand better what is meant by the agent point of view, it is helpful to
note three elements of agency evident in this passage from James. I will call

’9 ‘6

these elements “perspective, action,” and “purpose.”

When James writes that the knower is not a “mirror floating with no foot-
fold anywhere” he is claiming that the knowing subject is always grounded,
located, or situated in its environment. Thus, the subject always seeks
knowledge from a particular, limited or finite perspective. This is the

conclusion Putnam draws from his study of quantum mechanics. The knower

does not operate with a view from nowhere, from a God’s-eye view of the

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universe, but rather with a view from somewhere. It is also a conclusion Rorty
draws from the ubiquity of language. We cannot get outside of language; we
must use language to describe the world and to develop new languages. But
languages are historical and contingent; there is no such thing as “Nature’s Own
Language.” As human creations languages will always reflect the various
purposes and historical circumstances that led to their development. A tenet of
pragmatic anti-representationalism is that the subject is unable to completely
transcend this social and historical perspective.

Much could be said about the role and implications of perspective in
pragmatism, but I will limit myself to a few very brief comments. First, it is
important to note that the perspective from which the agent-subject must Operate
is complex, containing biological, social, cultural, historical, and linguistic
elements. What we know about the world and how we experience it are
influenced by our sensory and cognitive capabilities, our culture and history, our
prior knowledge, and the languages we use to cope with and describe the world.
Because the species have different sensory capabilities humans do not
experience the world in the same way that dogs experience the world. For
instance, humans see the world in many colors, whereas dogs see primarily in
black and white. However, a dog’s olfactory sensitivity is many times greater
than that of a human. Nor do we now experience or know the same world that
the ancient Greeks or medieval Europeans experienced or knew. Not only has
the world changed, but our understanding of it and of ourselves is drastically

different. Talk of the “sun rising and setting” reflects an older understanding of

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the universe. We no longer live on a flat earth at the center of the universe, but
on one of a number of spherical planets that revolve around our sun, 8 medium-
sized star in a vast universe. We no longer live in a stable world of unchanging
hierarchically-ordered species, but in a constantly changing world of evolving
species. However, our changing world view is not only a matter of advancing
scientific knowledge of the natural world. Our social and political world has
changed as well and so has our understanding of our place within it. Sometimes
this goes unnoticed. For instance, many students thoroughly steeped in the
milieu of individualism and our democratic political system are surprised to find
out that the notion of universal human or natural rights is a relatively recent
historical development with roots in the Renaissance and Enlightenment.
Second, while the exact characteristics of this perspective will vary
according to the characteristics of the agent and his or her social and historical
setting, we need not think of agent-based knowledge as completely subjective or
arbitrary. It is not completely subjective because perspectives are, to a
significant extent, shared. To the extent that humans share sensory and
cognitive capabilities, cultures, histories, and languages their perspectives
overlap. Moreover, agent-centered knowledge is not completely arbitrary
because these overlapping perspectives are in some sense perspectives on the
same world. A commitment to agent-centered knowledge does not mean that
agents can create any kind of world they wish. To claim that we cannot achieve
or adopt a God’s-eye view of the world is not to claim that the world does not

exist independent of human perspective. The world constrains our perspectives,

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particularly when we must act in and cope with the world. As Kai Nielsen
writes,

[W]e should not forget that there are sticks and stones, hills and

rivers; there is night and day, people get born and die and

sometimes are in pain; and it is just the case that most people

speak some language while earthworms do not. In that important

way, there just is a world out there, independent of what we

believe about it, and whose features are for certain sorts of belief

an ultimate and objective test of what we believe (“Scientism,

Pragmatism, and the Fate of Philosophy” 296).

The emphasis on perspective should in no way be taken to imply that the
agent-subject is a passive observer of a fixed reality. For the spectator-subject
knowing is construed as contemplation; the ideal subject “sees,” “beholds,”
“views,” or “contemplates” the object of knowledge, but does not interact with
it. In contrast, for the agent-subject knowing involves interacting with the
world. Knowing is not a matter of seeing reality, but of adapting to it.
Furthermore, this adaptation is active; it is not something that happens to the
agent-subject, but something that the agent does in and to the world. The agent-
subject interacts with the objects of knowledge, and in so doing changes them.
This is what James means when he claims that the knower is an actor who
“registers the truth which he helps to create” (“Remarks on Spencer’s
Definition” 67). Knowledge is agent-centered not simply because agents view
the world from a particular social, historical, or biological perspective, but
because their activities change, and in that sense “create,” the world. Reality is

not something fixed prior to knowing, but is co-created through the activity of

knowing.

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While many pragmatists emphasize the relationship between action and
knowledge, perhaps none does so as directly and frequently as Dewey. For
Dewey a commitment to knowing as active rather than contemplative has two
primary sources. The first is Darwinian biology. From biology, Dewey argues,
we learn that humans are living organisms whose purposes are largely practical
and who adapt to and modify their environment in order to survive.

The effect of the development of biology has been to

reverse the picture [of a mind that is only receptive or passive in

knowing]. Wherever there is life, there is behavior, activity. In

order that life may persist, this activity has to be both continuous

and adapted to the environment. This adaptive adjustment,

moreover, is not wholly passive; is not a mere matter of the
moulding of the organism by the environment. Even a clam acts

upon the environment and modifies it to some extent. . . . There is
no such thing in a living creature as mere conformity to
conditions, . . . In the interests of the maintenance of life there is

transformation of some elements in the surrounding medium. The

higher the form of life, the more important is the active

reconstruction of the medium (Reconstruction in Philosophy 84-

85).
In this light the conception of knowing as a passive contemplation of the
environment misrepresents the relationship between the knower and what is
known.2|

The second source of Dewey’s commitment to the active conception of

knowing is the success of modern science, and more specifically to the

experimental method of modern science. Since the experimental method has led

 

21A similar argument is made by James in “The Sentiment of Rationality.”
He argues that the theory of evolution presents a view of cognition that is
entirely dependent on practical interests. “The germinal question concerning
things brought the first time before consciousness is not theoretic ‘What is
that?’ but the practical ‘Who goes there?’ Or rather, as Horwicz has admirably
put it ‘What is to be done?”’ (18).

145

to a tremendous growth in scientific knowledge, it should become a more
general model of inquiry.” While the conception of knowing as contemplation
separates knowledge from action and theory from practice, the experimental
method links knowing and doing.23 The experimental method achieves its
results not through the passive observation of natural events, but by the directed
and controlled manipulation of events and/or observations. “The method of
physical inquiry is to introduce some change in order to see what other change
ensues; the correlation between these changes, when measured by a series of
operations, constitutes the definite and desired object of knowledge” (Quest for
Certainty 68, emphasis in the original).

The third element of agency, purpose, is connected to another important
aspect of pragmatism —— the instrumental nature of thought. Agents not only

act from particular perspectives, they act purposefully. Thought is an activity

 

”For more on Dewey’s understanding of the relationship between
experimental method and theories and knowledge see The Quest for Certainty,
particularly pages 60-86.

2Z’In The Quest for Certainty Dewey identifies three outstanding
characteristics of experimental method.
The first is the obvious form that all experimentation involves
overt doing, the making of definite changes in environment or in
our relation to it. The second is that experiment is not a random
activity but is directed by ideas which have to meet the conditions
set by the need of the problem inducing the active inquiry. The
third and including feature, in which the other two receive their
full measure of meaning, is that the outcome Of the directed
activity is the construction of a new empirical situation in which
objects are differently related to one another, and such that the
consequences of directed operations for the objects that have the

property of being known (Quest for Certainty 69-70, emphasis in
the original).

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initiated and directed by the interests of the thinker or inquirer —— i.e., the
agent. Thus, there can be no clear or complete separation between intellectual
and practical activity. Because it cannot be separated from the interests and
desires of an active agent, all inquiry, all intellectual activity, is ultimately
practical. We inquire not as disinterested observers or spectators, but as agents
with particular interests, purposes, and desires. These interests, purposes, and
desires can be varied and complex, ranging from interests in basic survival to
aesthetic and moral concerns. Still, pragmatists claim not merely that thought
can be useful in fulfilling particular interests, but that all inquiry is prompted by
and directed towards their fulfilment. Peirce identified this as an important
insight of pragmatism. “Now quite the most striking feature of the new theory”
he wrote of the origins of pragmatism, “was its recognition of an inseparable
connection between rational cognition and rational purpose” (“The Essentials of
Pragmatism” 252-253).

Like the connection between knowing and doing, the commitment to the
instrumental nature of thought in the writings of the classical pragmatists
reveals a strong Darwinian influence. This influence is implicit in Peirce’s
organic theory of belief, doubt, and inquiry. Peirce describes belief not so much
as a proposition, but as a disposition to behave in a certain way. A belief, he
writes, “puts us into such a condition that we shall behave in a certain way,
when the occasion arises” (“The Fixation of Belief” 10). Psychologically, belief
is a relatively stable state, in contrast to doubt which is “an uneasy or

dissatisfied state from which we struggle to free ourselves and pass into the

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state of belief” (10). Inquiry, or thought, is simply the process of moving from
doubt to belief — it is the process, or instrument, by which we establish
dispositions to behave in certain ways.”

Agent-centered instrumentalism permeates James’s writings as well. It
is unmistakable in his teleological conception of the mind, a central thesis of his
early writings in psychology and philosophy. The mind, he argues, must be
understood teleologically, as proactive and goal-oriented. Human interests, he
writes, “are the very flour out of which our mental dough is kneaded”
(“Remarks on Spencer’s Definition” 61).25 By the time he delivered the lectures
that would become Pragmatism he had developed this instrumentalism into a
fuller theory of truth. “‘T he true, ’ to put it very briefly, is only the expedient in
the way of our thinking, just as ‘the right’ is only the expedient in the way of
our behaving” (Pragmatism 100, emphasis in the original). Rejecting standard
copy (correspondence) theories of truth for failing to provide a coherent sense of

the way ideas would “agree with” reality in order to be true, James argues that

 

2"Peirce makes the same sort of argument in “How to Make Our Ideas
Clear.” “[T]he action of thought is excited by the irritation of doubt, and ceases
when belief is attained; so that the production of belief is the sole function of
thought” (26). Belief “has just three properties: First, it is something that we
are aware of; second, it appeases the irritation of doubt; and, third, it involves
the establishment in our nature of a rule of action, or, say for short, a habit”
(28, emphasis in the original).

25This is a response to Spencer’s portrayal of the mind as a strictly
reactive organ, one that receives and responds to stimuli from outward
existence, but that does not in turn affect it. See “Remarks on Spencer’s
Definition of Mind as Correspondence.”

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“agree with” must be understood instrumentally, in terms of the impact it has on
experience.
To ‘agree’ in the widest sense with a reality can only mean

to be guided either straight up to it or into its surroundings, or to

be put into such working touch with it as to handle either it or

something connected with it better than if we disagreed. Better

either intellectually or practically! . . . Any idea that helps us to

deal, whether practically or intellectually, with either the reality or

its belongings, that doesn’t entangle our progress in frustrations,

that fits, in fact, and adapts our life to the reality’s whole setting,

will agree sufficiently to meet the requirement. It will hold true of

that reality (Pragmatism 96-97, emphasis in the original).

As components of the agent-centered point of view, activity and purpose
or instrumentalism are virtually inseparable in Dewey. In “The Need for a
Recovery of Philosophy” Dewey provides an analysis and comparison of
“orthodox” and “modern” notions of experience as a basis for a detailed critique
of the spectator theory of knowledge (6-37).” According to the orthodox view
experience is primarily psychological and subjective, limited to the past and
present, and contrasted with thought or inference. The problem with this
understanding of experience, Dewey argues, is that it is based on the misguided
assumption that experience centers in a subject that stands outside of the natural
world — i.e., a spectator-subject. This view of the knowing subject is
outdated and unempirical. A more scientific view, one more consistent with the
theory of evolution, is agent-centered. It regards experience as active rather

than passive, and in the world rather than of the world. It involves interaction

between a living thing and its environment, it is experimental and future

 

26Note also Reconstruction in Philosophy, pages 7 7-102.

149

oriented, and it is filled (“pregnant” is the biological metaphor that Dewey uses)
with connections and inference.”

The theme Of instrumentalism implicit in this notion of experience is
central to Dewey’s understanding of all inquiry. He rejected, for instance, a
sharp distinction between intellectual pursuits that are practical or instrumental
and those that are theoretical (Quest for Certainty 21-39). Practical intellectual
pursuits, it is often assumed, are driven by our desires and interests, while
theoretical pursuits are thought to be driven by disinterested reason. The former
are contaminated, or at the very least suspect, because they are infected by the
biases of human interests. The latter are noble and pure attempts to find perfect
Truth or Reality. Dewey insists, however, that it is a mistake either to view
practical activity as an inferior and tainted type of intellectual enterprise, or to
divorce theoretical inquiry from human values and interests. No one, he argues,
cares about purely theoretical uncertainty for its own sake, but only theoretical
uncertainty that has practical implications. The “ultimate ground of the quest

for cognitive certainty” he writes, “is the need for security in the results of

 

27Dewey focuses on the notion of experience because he believes it
provides insight into modern philosophy’s preoccupation with abstract
epistemological problems. Modern philosophy has floundered because it has
construed experience as something centering in a subject that stands outside of
the natural world. If we replace this conception of experience and the spectator
subject that goes with it, with the notion of experience as the interaction of
living subject and its environment, then much of the problematic of modern
philosophy disappears. “But if the assumption that experience is something set
over against the world is contrary to fact, then the problem of how self or mind
or subjective experience or consciousness can reach knowledge of the external
world is assuredly a meaningless problem” (“The Need for a Recovery” 23).

150

action” (32). Thus, all thought, whether it is considered practical or theoretical,
is ultimately instrumental.”
The themes of instrumentalism and the primacy of the agent point of view
also pervade the writings of the neo-pragmatists, particularly in their discussions
of the nature and function of language. Neo-pragmatists such as Rorty and
Putnam urge us to give up a representationalist view of language — the notion
that language somehow represents the way things are apart from language.
Instead we should understand languages or vocabularies” as human creations.

They are social practices or ‘tools’ that humans develop and use to cope with

the world more effectively.” The metaphor of tool, as has already be noted,

 

23A similar point is made by Putnam. Speaking of theoretical science, he
writes, “the concern of exact science is not just to discover statements which are
true, or even statements which are true and universal in form (“laws”), but to
find statements that are true and relevant. And the notion of relevance bring
with it a wide set of interests and values” (“Fact and Value” 349).

29The term ‘languages’ is being used here broadly to refer to what
Wittgenstein called “language games” — “the whole, consisting of language
and the actions into which it is woven” (Philosophical Investigations 5). The
term ‘vocabularies’ is included here to note the fact that there can in some sense
be different families of language games within a language that are used to
contend with the world in vastly different ways. For instance, in English one
could talk about the vocabularies of religion, philosophy, psychology, physics,
law, etc.

30See Rorty’s discussion of language in Philosophy and the Mirror of
Nature (257-311), in Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity (3-22), “Introduction:
Antirepresentationalism, Ethnocentrism, and Liberalism, and “18 Natural Science
a Natural Kind?” These sources are perhaps the most concentrated or focused
discussions, but Rorty’s understanding of language is central to his entire
conception of pragmatism. It should be noted that in his essay “18 Natural
Science a Natural Kind” Rorty seems to want to distance himself from
instrumentalism, but here he is using “instrumentalism” to denote a particular
position within the philosophy of science that he distinguishes from pragmatism.
(continued...)

151

should not be carried so far as to imply that language is an independent, neutral
medium that permits humans to express what they already know (non-
linguistically) about themselves and the world. There is an intimate connection
between language and thought; because distinctively human thought is
linguistic, it is impossible to have all the thoughts we currently have without
language. The tool metaphor accents the claim that vocabularies, and thus our
descriptions Of the world, are shaped by human interests and purposes — that
is, they are agent-centered. A few examples may illustrate this.

Watching young children can provide insights into how the concepts we
use to organize the world are shaped by our interests and purposes as agents.
Consider for instance, the concepts of “toy” and “cooking utensil.” When my
wife’s and my children were quite young they thoroughly delighted in banging
kitchen pots and pans, sometimes with wooden spoons, other times against other
pots and pans. I suppose the different sounds they made and the parental
reactions they elicited fascinated the children. While this was not my idea of
how cooking utensils should be used, they enjoyed it so much that we left one
kitchen cupboard unsecured so they could pull older pots, pans, and utensils out
and play with them like other toys. What this decision reflected was not so
much an acceptance of an alternative use of cooking utensils, but an acceptance

of a different description of the world and certain objects within it. Our

 

3°(...continued)
As he describes the difference between realism and pragmatism in that essay it
is clear that he accepts instrumentalism in the more general way than I have
been using it.

152

children viewed the pots and pans as musical instruments or toys, whereas we
viewed them as cooking utensils. Notice how these descriptions are dependent
on different human interests and purposes —— i.e., amusement and food
preparation. Notice also that neither description more accurately represents the
world apart from human interests and purposes. If the description of cooking
utensils seems more correct it is only because the objects were made by adults
for cooking and are more uniquely suited to that purpose than to the purpose of
making music. Moreover, it would be a mistake, I think, to simply say that as
they grew older our children learned that pots and pans are “really” cooking
utensils. Rather, they came to see the objects as cooking utensils because they
learned that food needs to be prepared and that certain objects are better than
others for that process. In other words, the description of “cooking utensils”
describes pots and pans only in light of the purpose and practice of preparing
food. If we didn’t need to prepare food there would be no cooking utensils even
if there were things we called pots and pans.

If the previous example seems too trivial to be taken seriously the
contentious abortion debate in this country provides an excellent illustration of
how language shapes our understanding of the world, and how we use it to
describe the world in ways congruent with our purposes. Though the legal and
moral status of abortion is the issue at stake, the way the two opposing sides
label themselves as “pro-choice” and “pro-life” reflects a desire to portray or
formulate their positions positively in order to gain support. The resistance to

accepting the label implied by the opponent’s label — i.e., “anti-life” or “anti-

153

choice” — is not merely posturing; it reflects very different understandings of
the values that drive the debate. Abortion rights supporters “see” women’s
rights and procreative autonomy as the fundamental values at stake, whereas
abortion opponents “see” the protection of innocent human life as the
fundamental issue. The debate is often thought to hinge on the moral status of
the embryo or fetus, an entity that people on opposing sides are likely to
describe in markedly different ways. For instance, abortion rights advocates are
more likely to talk about an embryo as a “mass of cells,” or as “human tissue,”
whereas abortion opponents are more likely to refer to the same entity as “a
human life,” “a baby,” or “a person.” Which description one accepts is
important because the correlative moral status is not the same — persons have
rights, masses of cells generally do not. The debate is so intractable at both a
philosophical and political level in part because it is hard to see how one
description could be proven to be more accurate. There is no clear or simple
“fact of the matter” about the nature of the fetus, no neutral description that will
easily and decisively resolve the debate. While it is tempting to write off these
descriptions as attempts to manipulate public opinion (and this is certainly part
of the story), it is also fair to say that the descriptions tell us something about
how the respective parties are inclined to understand and interact with the world.
Unfortunately, the claim that human interests and purposes shape our
descriptions of the world has been taken by critics of pragmatism to imply that
truth is independent of the way the world is. But this, the critics maintain, is

ludicrous. Surely the statement, “It is raining today” is true or false regardless

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of what might be at stake for humans. There is a brute fact, something about
the way the world is, such that the statement is true if it corresponds to that fact
and false if it does not. We must not confuse the way the world is with our
descriptions of it. We do not create the world merely by describing it. There is
a fact of the matter about the embryo or fetus that is independent of our
descriptions of it. It really is a “mass of cells” or a “person” (or some other
entity) regardless of what people on either side of the abortion controversy say.
We may have many different descriptions of the world, but there is only one
way, according to the criticism, the world is.

The sting of the criticism can be soother by noting three points. First,
the claim that human interests and purposes shape our descriptions of the world
in no way implies that there is not a world that exists independently of humans.
If everyone in the world were to die except one woman who is unknowingly two
months pregnant, there would be something growing in her womb whether
anyone believed it or not, or whether anyone could describe it or not.3| This
seems undeniable. However, the same cannot be said for how we describe what
is in her womb. The terms “human tissue” and “person” are social
constructions. Like Tuesday and the year 2000 A.D., what is growing in the
woman’s womb would not be “human tissue” or a “person,” with everything
these terms imply, apart from the interests of those who identify it in each of

these ways. The entity in the womb is independent of human thought and

 

31I thank Martin Benjamin for suggesting this example.

155

language, though its identification as either “human tissue” or a “person” is
not.32

Second, because our descriptions are socially constructed, attempts to
find completely neutral descriptions is an exercise in futility. We always
describe things for a reason. For instance, it is difficult to find neutral terms to
describe the prenatal entity. Abortion opponents may even argue that the
apparently neutral scientific terms “embryo” and “fetus” are morally loaded.
The use of these terms begs the question inasmuch as they do not accord any
moral status to the unborn. If the question is whether or not the unborn deserve
moral consideration, these “neutral” terms unfairly shift the burden of proof to
abortion opponents.

Finally, and most importantly, the criticism assumes a representationalist
framework that separates the world as it is in itself, that is the world
undescribed, from our descriptions of it. However, this notion of the thing in

itself, independent of our descriptions, is empty.” It is not that we cannot

 

”F or an excellent discussion of what is and what is not a social construct,
and the relationship between our descriptions of the world and the world as it
exists independent of our descriptions of it see Eugene A. Troxell’s “Teaching
Wittgenstein’s Later Philosophy: Noticing What Is Always Before One’s Eyes.”

33Putnam makes this point in the context of his comments on
Wittgenstein, arguing that it is not that we cannot describe the thing in itself,
but that it makes no sense to say either that we can or we cannot. To say that
we cannot describe it means that it exists, but we can’t describe it. “If we are
persuaded that it is unintelligible to say “We sometimes succeed in describing
reality as it is in itself”, then we should realize that it is equally unintelligible to
say “We never succeed in describing reality as it is in itself” and even more
unintelligible (more, because it introduces the peculiar philosophical “can’t”) to
say “We can ’t describe reality as it is in itself” (Pragmatism: An Open Question
(continued...)

156

describe the thing in itself, but that the idea of doing so makes no sense -—- talk
of a thing in itself would require a description of what is by definition
undescribed. This has led pragmatists to argue that even though languages and
vocabularies are agent-centered, we can nevertheless say that they describe the
world. Putnam regards this as a key feature of pragmatism. In The Many Faces
of Realism, he writes,

The heart of pragmatism, it seems to me — of James’s and

Dewey’s pragmatism, if not of Peirce’s — was the insistence on

the supremacy of the agent point of view. If we find that we must

take a certain point of view, use a certain ‘conceptual system’,

when we are engaged in practical activity, in the widest sense of

‘practical activity’, then we must not simultaneously advance the
claim that it is not really ‘the way things are in themselves’ (70):“

 

33(...continued)
39).

3"In another work Putnam draws a connection between this claim and the
philosophy of Immanuel Kant. While acknowledging an intellectual debt to the
German philosopher for recognizing that gaining knowledge of the world is not
simply a matter of copying it, he criticizes Kant for maintaining an inseparable
gap between what we experience (the phenomenal) and the world as it is in
itself (the noumenal).

The confusion was to suppose that a description which is shaped

by our conceptual choices is somehow, for that very reason, not a

description of its object “as it really is”. As soon as we make that

mistake, we open the door to the question. “Well, if our

descriptions are only our descriptions, descriptions shaped by our

interests and nature, then what is the description of the things as

they are in themselves?” But this “in themselves” is quite empty

— to ask how things are “in themselves” is, in effect, to ask how

the world is to be described in the world’s own language, and there

is no such thing as the world’s own language, there are only the

languages that we language users invent for our various purposes

(Pragmatism: An Open Question 29).

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3.3 Facts and Values

In Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity, Rorty argues that the notion of
truth should be of very little philosophical significance. To say that a theory or
vocabulary — Newton’s as opposed to Aristotle’s way of describing the world
— is true is to say something about its usefulness rather than its ability to
accurately express the nature of reality. “It is just an empty compliment ——
one paid to a writer whose novel jargon we have found useful” (8). While not
all pragmatists would endorse the somewhat flippant way Rorty seems to
trivialize scientific theories,”5 the passage draws attention to the connection
between the preceding themes (anti-representationalism, instrumentalism, and
the primacy of the agent point of view) and the claim, made by pragmatists, that
we should dispense with the traditional dichotomy between facts and values.
According to pragmatists, one implication of rejecting the representationalist
framework in favor of an instrumentalist view Of thought and language is that
we must give up the hope of neatly distinguishing between facts and values. By

using language that we typically associate with judgments of value — e.g.,

 

35I think, for instance, that Putnam might want to distance himself from
such a statement. The differences between Rorty and Putnam can be hard to
pinpoint. Both would 1) reject any representationalist interpretation of scientific
theories that claims that our scientific theories describe reality as it is in itself,
and 2) argue that what makes a theory acceptable is inseparable from human
values and interests. Putnam, however, as I understand him, is less inclined to
“trivialize” (the term ‘compliment’ in the passage quoted conveys this
connotation) notions of truth and reality as Rorty often seems to. Rorty often
writes as if there is no rational way of choosing between alternative theories or
world views, whereas Putnam argues that there are rational methods, albeit not
formal or algorithmic methods, that can be used to adjudicate between theories
or world views. For some insight into their differences see Putnam’s “Realism
with a Human Face” and Rorty’s “Putnam and the Relativist Menace.”

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“compliment” — to describe people and activities that we normally associated
with value-neutral facts — scientists discovering how the world really is —
Rorty implicitly challenges the distinction.

The dichotomy between facts and values — the belief that statements
regarding facts and statements regarding values are about two distinct and
mutually exclusive realms — is both familiar and firmly entrenched.” Value
statements tell us something about human interests and desires, whereas factual
statements tell us something about the world as it is irrespective of human
values.37 The former pertain to things that are contingent on human interests,
the latter to things that exist independent of them. The dichotomy is based on A
two claims asserting a contrast between facts and values. On the one hand,
there are facts, statements about the way the world really is and how it works,
that do not depend on value judgments of any sort. Statements of knowledge
resulting from the natural sciences — e.g., “H20 boils at 100 degrees Celsius”
— are paradigm examples. On the other hand, with regard to values there is no
“fact of the matter,” nothing about the world independent of human interests and

desires, that tells us what is good or bad, right or wrong, beautiful or ugly.

 

36The dichotomy is so commonplace that Putnam refers to it as a “cultural
institution” (“Fact and Value” 338).

37Maybe the clearest, and certainly most extreme, expression of the view
that factual statements and values statements are quite different can be found in
emotivist theories of value espoused by the logical positivists. According to
such theories, value statements are not statements of objective fact, but merely
subjective expressions of feelings, acts of will, or attitudes. For instance, the
statement “Truth-telling is good” is not a statement about the world or even
about the practice of truth-telling, but rather an expression of the speaker’s
attitude towards truth-telling, equivalent, say to, “Hooray for truth-telling!”

159

According to this View the statement “It is wrong to lie” is not true or false in
the same way that “H20 boils at 100 degrees Celsius” is true or false because the
former does not correspond to some mind-independent piece of reality or fact
about the world in the way that the latter does. If we consider the statement to
be true, it is only as a matter of religious conviction or moral convention. We
can, of course, make factual statements about values -—- e.g., “John believes
that it is wrong to lie” — but these are statements about people’s beliefs
regarding values, not about the values themselves.

For the most part, pragmatists have concentrated on undermining the first
claim, arguing that what we typically view as the value-free realm of fact is not

ultimately independent of values.38

While the arguments offered in support of
this claim vary, the themes of anti-representationalism, instrumentalism, and
agency are not far below the surface. If all thought, including the pursuit of
truth, is guided by our goals and interests (instrumentalism and the agent point
of view), then the facts we ascertain about the world, and the way we describe
the world as a result of scientific or some other sort of inquiry, will be
inseparably intertwined with our values. This is evident in Dewey’s ongoing

attempts to reconcile science and human values” and in both Rorty’s conception

of philosophy as edification and his claim that the demarcation between science

 

”It should be noted that Putnam has also addresses the second claim,
arguing that some values are objective. For his treatment of this issue see “Fact
and Values” and “Pragmatism and Moral Objectivity.”

39This is a central theme in The Quest for Certainty.

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and non-science is not sharp."0 Putnam also addresses the issue directly in
several of his writings.“

It is worth looking briefly at Putnam’s arguments, in part because he
comes back to this theme so frequently, and in part because he does so in the
context of looking at scientific inquiry, the paradigm of value-free inquiry. If
any type of activity generates facts independent Of human values, it is scientific
inquiry. Putnam, however, argues that the dichotomy between facts and values
is untenable because the very practices of scientific inquiry by which we
determine what is and is not a fact presuppose values (“Fact and Value” 338-
346). The criteria of rationality that we use to determine which theories to
accept and what we should count as knowledge are themselves based on
cognitive values such as the power of prediction, coherence, and simplicity. In
the course of scientific progress one theory wins out over a rival on the basis of
these values —-— because it enables us to predict future observations reliably,
because it coheres with our past observations and with other theories that are
important to us, and because it is simpler than the alternatives. Putnam claims

that these cognitive values are in turn tied to human interests and values; they

 

”Rorty’s comments on philosophy as edification are in Philosophy and
the Mirror of Nature (363-365), his comments on the demarcation between
science and non-science are in “18 Natural Science a Natural Kind?”.

“See, for example, “Fact and Value,” “Beyond the Fact/Value
Dichotomy,” “The Place of Facts in a World of Values,” “Objectivity and the

Science/Ethics Distinction,” and Pragmatism: An Open Question pages 13-19,
57-75.

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are not derived or justified by their tendency to select theories that more
accurately correspond to reality.

. . . without the cognitive values of coherence, simplicity, and

instrumental efficacy we have no world and no facts, not even

facts about what is so relative to what. And these cognitive

values, I claim, are simply a part of our holistic conception of

human flourishing. Bereft of the old realist idea of truth as

“correspondence” and of the positivist idea of justification as fixed

by public “criteria,” we are left with the necessity of seeing our

search for better conceptions of rationality as an intentional

activity which, like every activity that rises above the mere

following of inclination or obsession, is guided by our idea of the

good” (“Beyond the F act/Value Dictomomy” 139, emphasis in the

original).

One must be careful to make this point clear. The claim is not that
knowledge of the world is dependent on values. This way of describing the
relationship implies that statements of facts and of values are about entities that
are metaphysically different, though causally related. The claim is that facts
and values are woven of the same ontological fabric. This is implied in the
connection James draws between the “true” and the “good.”

“Let me now say only this, that truth is but one species of good,

and not, as is usually supposed, a category distinct from good, and

cO-ordinate with it. The true is the name of whatever proves itself

to be good in the way of belief: and good, too, for definite,

assignable reasons " (Pragmatism 37, emphasis in the original).

Putnam tries to get at this point by arguing that facts and values
“interpenetrate” (Pragmatism: An Open Question 57). By this he means that
while we ordinarily distinguish statements of fact from statements of value with

little problem, many statements cannot be so easily classified as one or the

other. Many statements seem to contain elements of both facts and values.

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Consider some rather ordinary statements. “Abraham Lincoln was the sixteenth
President of the United States” seems clearly to be a statement of fact, whereas
“Lincoln was a good person and the greatest President of the nineteenth century”
seems to be a statement of value. However, many sentences, such as “Lincoln
was a wise leader” are not so easily classified. The sentence is difficult to
classify because the term “wise” includes elements of what we commonly think
of as facts and values. “Wise” in this context, is meant to indicate both a
factual statement of Lincoln’s mental abilities — i.e., they are strong — and
an evaluation or normative assessment of his use of those abilities — i.e., he
used them in a praiseworthy manner.

A good example of how facts and values interpenetrate can be found in
the problematic concept of medical futility. Consider the statement, “The use of
a mechanical ventilator on Mrs. Jones is futile.” The statement is certainly
ambiguous, allowing of both factual and normative interpretations. For
instance, it could be interpreted factually as a statement about ability of the
ventilator to promote the goal of treatment — i.e., “The goal is to restore Mrs.
Jones to consciousness, and while the ventilator will keep her alive, she will
never regain consciousness.” It could also be interpreted normatively — i.e.,
“The goal of preserving Mrs. Jones’ life when there is no hope that she will ever
regain consciousness is not worth pursuing.”

However, ambiguity is not the only problem, and getting clear on the
interpretation will not allow us to separate the factual and normative

components of the futility issue. The distinction between fact and value that the

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two previous interpretations presuppose may not hold up under scrutiny.
Interwoven into what on the surface appears to be a straightforward factual
judgment regarding the ability of the ventilator to achieve the goal of treatment
are value judgments. For instance, if pushed, a physician claiming to be
promoting a factual interpretation would be forced to restate her claim that the
ventilator will not achieve the goal of treatment in terms of probabilities —
i.e., “Given the experience we have had to date, we can say with 95% certainty
that there is only a 2% chance that Mrs. Jones would ever regain consciousness
if we maintained her on the ventilator.” Thus, the apparently factual claim that
the ventilator will not achieve the goal of treatment presupposes not only
empirical knowledge regarding degree of certainty and probability of success,
but also certain values regarding how that knowledge is to be assessed and
applied. If the goal is never to withhold or withdraw treatment from a patient
who might regain consciousness regardless of the expense in terms of human,
financial, and emotional resources, then the treatment is not futile. If the goal is
to make the decision that would turn out to be right in the vast majority of
cases, and that seeks a balance between saving all lives and using resources
wisely, then the treatment might be considered futile. The concept of futility
cannot be easily reduced to either the factual or normative realm without loss of
something important. It is not concept that makes sense apart from human

interests and purposes.

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3.4 Fallibilism

Finally, pragmatism is committed to fallibilism, the view, in Putnam’s
words, that “there are no metaphysical guarantees to be had that even our most
firmly-held beliefs will never need revision” (Pragmatism: An Open Question
21). This claim that none of our beliefs is certain, that each is, in theory, open
to revision has led some critics to mistakenly label pragmatists as skeptics.
Indeed, the confusion is not difficult to understand. Both pragmatists and
skeptics claim that we may be mistaken in any of our beliefs. Skeptics,
however, generally equate knowledge with certainty, and then argue that without
proof of epistemological certainty we cannot claim to have knowledge. Thus, 1
when pragmatists also claim that we cannot claim to have certain knowledge,
they seem to be advocating a form of skepticism. However, because pragmatists
do not identify knowledge with certainty they are able, without inconsistency, to
both accept fallibilism and reject skepticism. In fact, Putnam cites
pragmatism’s simultaneous acceptance of fallibilism and rejection of skepticism
as one of its important insights (“Pragmatism and Moral Objectivity” 200).

The key to understanding how pragmatists can be committed both to
fallibilism and anti-skepticism is to see that underlying philosophical skepticism
is the representationalist model of knowledge that construes knowledge as
beliefs that accurately represent reality. The Skeptic’s fear, articulated by
Descartes in the Meditations, is that all our representations, whether they be
mental images or linguistic descriptions, might be false. The attempt to

overcome skepticism is the quest to find epistemological foundations — both

165

certain starting points such as a priori first principles or incorrigible experience,
and foolproof forms of inference through which we can reliably acquire
additional knowledge of the world.

While it is true that pragmatists reject the possibility Of an Archimedean
point or God’s-eye view that would guarantee epistemologically certain starting
points, they are not skeptics, for they do not accept the basic assumptions
underlying skepticism. Most importantly, pragmatists reject a version of the
appearance/reality distinction that holds that gaining knowledge is a matter of
getting our representations right. They do not deny that we can talk
meaningfully about the difference between appearance and reality. There are, as
indicated above, specific situations in which the distinction is indispensable.
For instance, it is important that children learn that what they see on television
or in the movie theater is not always the way things are. What pragmatists deny
is that a context-independent distinction between appearance in general, and
reality in general does any real philosophical work for us. In other words, the
distinction is useful in certain limited contexts, but it loses meaning when we
“go global” with it. Gaining knowledge for the pragmatists is not fundamentally
a matter of getting behind appearance to the reality beyond or of getting the
correct snapshot of reality, but of distinguishing those beliefs that allow the
subject to make sense of and interact effectively with the world from those that
do not.

Furthermore, commitment to the agent-centered point of view makes

global skepticism untenable. The spectator-subject who stands outside the

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world and who views beliefs as attempts to represent the world may be able to
question whether any of his beliefs represent the world accurately. However, an
agent-subject who interacts with the world cannot doubt everything without
ceasing to be an agent. For an agent-subject beliefs are not merely propositions
about the world, they are dispositions to act in the world. A being with no
dispositions to act is not an agent. Moreover, if, with Darwin, one regards the
agent as a biological being, global skepticism is not even a viable option. All of
the beliefs of a mortal biological organism could not be wrong, for if the
organism’s beliefs were systematically out of sync with the world, it would be
dead."2 From an agent-centered point of view it is possible to be a fallabilist,
that is to believe that any of our beliefs could possibly be wrong, but not to be a
global skeptic, that is, to genuinely believe that all of our beliefs might be
wrong. While all our beliefs are, in principle, open to revision, we cannot open
them all to revision at the same time. “[F]allibilism” Putnam writes, “does not
require us to doubt everything, it only requires us to be prepared to doubt

anything — if good reason to do so arises!” (Pragmatism: An Open Question

21).43

 

”This point is emphasized by Rorty. “From a Darwinian point of view,
there is simply no way to give sense to the idea of our minds or our language as
systematically out of phase with what lies beyond our skins” (“Introductionz
Antirepresentationalism, Ethnocentrism, and Liberalism” 12).

“Putnam’s phrasing here is reminiscent of Peirce’s distinction between
genuine and philosophical doubt. Peirce argues that we cannot doubt everything
at once for there will always be things that it does not even occur to us to doubt,
in fact, there will be things that it does not occur to us that we can doubt.
Certainly, one could put any proposition into the interrogative form, but the

(continued...)

167

One can find two slightly different, but related, strands of fallibilism
running through pragmatism, what I will call epistemological fallibilism and
metaphysical fallibilism. The former stems from the pragmatic understanding of
the instrumental nature of thought and knowledge. An instrumental view of
knowledge breaks the link between knowledge and certainty — i.e., knowledge
claims are not claims to certainty. In contrast, metaphysical fallibilism is less a
claim about knowledge and more a claim about the world. It has its source in
the pragmatic understanding of the world as dynamic and changing.

For the pragmatists, the heart of epistemological fallibilism is
instrumentalism. Insofar as thought and language are instruments, they are
revisable. If we find a belief, theory, or vocabulary that is more useful than the
one we are using, we can adopt it in lieu of the present one. The classic
example here is the transition from classical physics to quantum mechanics.
Newtonian or classical physics was not so much proven wrong, as it was shown
to be limited. It was not that the claims of classical physics were shown not to
correspond to the way the world really is, but that they were found to be
inapplicable to phenomena at the atomic level. Quantum theory was accepted
by the scientific community because, among other reasons, it Offered a better
explanation of a wider range of physical phenomena — i.e., it was a more

powerful explanatory instrument. James recognized that viewing our beliefs and

 

43(...continued)
resulting question will not generate real and living doubt unless it is
accompanied by an uneasy feeling that becomes a stimulus to inquiry. For more
on genuine doubt and Peirce’s objections to global skepticism see “Some
Consequences of Four Incapacities” and “The Fixation of Belief.”

168

theories instrumentally precluded our ability to claim absolute certainty about
any of them. Infallible truth might be an ideal vanishing point towards which
our knowledge is converging, but we can only imagine it. “Meanwhile” he
writes, “we have to live to-day by what truth we can get tO-day, and be ready to-
morrow to call it falsehood” (Pragmatism 100).“

The second strand of fallibilism, what I am calling metaphysical
fallibilism is based on the notion of a malleable and changing reality. Much of
the philosophical tradition, going back to the pre-socratics assumed that reality,
whatever else it is, is something permanent and immutable. Based on their
understanding of modern science — particularly Newtonian physics, Darwinian
biology, and later quantum mechanics — pragmatists have rejected his view as
unempirical."S It is true that experience is variable, but instead of taking this as
an indication that we must get beyond appearances to an unchanging reality,
pragmatists take this as a sign that reality itself is changing. We must be
prepared to revise our beliefs in light of experience because, as James writes,
experience “has ways of boiling over, and making us correct our present

formulas” (Pragmatism 100 emphasis in the original). The same point is

 

“Even Peirce, who maintained a realist conception of truth, argued
repeatedly that all our beliefs were revisable. Although he promoted the
scientific method as a way to fix belief, he claimed that absolute certainty was
out of the question. In fact, the presumption of absolute certainty is to be
avoided because it impedes the progress towards truth by prematurely cutting off
inquiry (“The Scientific Attitude and Fallibilism” 55).

“For an example of how pragmatists see the development of modern
science as changing metaphysical assumptions see Dewey’s Reconstruction in
Philosophy, pages 53-76.

169

implied in Dewey’s rejection of a spectator account of knowledge, his depiction
of experience as a dynamic and continuous process of adjustment, and his
dismissal of the philosophy’s ongoing attempts to find the fixed and immutable
reality beyond changing appearance."6 Fallibilism, then, is not only a matter of
saying that without epistemological foundations we may be mistaken in our
beliefs, but also that our knowledge must change as reality changes. In this
sense we could be wrong, even though we have made no mistake because what
may be true at one time, may not be true at another point in time. To put it
colloquially, because reality is a moving target, knowledge and truth must be
dynamic and changing, not static and immutable. Thus, for the pragmatist the
commitment to fallibilism is based not only on anti-foundationalism, but also on

the conviction that reality is dynamic and changing.

Anti-representationalism, instrumentalism and the primacy of agent point
of view, challenging the fact/value dichotomy, and fallibilism lie at the heart of
or near the center of pragmatism. Taken together these features constitute a
“thin” conception of pragmatism, a description of elements common to most, if
not all, more fully worked-out or “ thick” conceptions of pragmatism. Just as
important, they constitute a formidable critique of Cartesianism; they are fibers

forming a cable intended to lower the boom on epistemology-centered

 

”Dewey discusses this in great detail in “The Need for a Recovery of
Philosophy” and in Reconstruction in Philosophy.

170

philosophy.“7 To the extent that Cartesianism, broadly construed, provides the
framework for much of theory-centered philosophy, pragmatism presents a
challenge to theory-centered philosophy. In this sense, it has something in
common with practical philosophy. In the next chapter I will look more directly
at the many connections between pragmatism and practical philosophy,
developing a vision of “pragmatic practical philosophy.” Unfortunately, that
analysis will do little to bridge the gap between practical and theory-centered

philosophy. This gap is an obstacle that must be overcome if practical

 

philosophy is to be seen as a legitimate part of professional philosophy. For
that reason, in Chapter 5 I will explore wide reflective equilibrium as a model of
philosophical inquiry which brings practical and theory-centered philosophy

closer together.

 

"Peirce uses the metaphor of a cable to describe the way in which
arguments are used in scientific reasoning. They do not “form a chain which is
no stronger than its weakest link,” he writes, “but a cable whose fibres may be
ever so slender, provided they are sufficiently numerous and intimately
connected” (“Some Consequences of Four Incapacities” 229).

171

CHAPTER FOUR

PRAGMATISM AND PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY

In 1994 Susan Wolf argued that the dominant paradigm in both bioethics
and health law was being challenged.‘ She maintained that principlism, a
methodology characterized by deductive reasoning from relatively general or
abstract mid-level principles to particular cases, had come under attack from a
variety of sources, particularly new emphases on empirical knowledge, gender,
and race. These new emphases brought into question highly abstract approaches
to moral and legal issues in health care that did not pay careful attention to the
context in which reflection takes place, to the importance of difference, and to
the consequences that decisions, policies, and laws have on specific, identifiable
patients. Taken as a whole, she concluded, these trends signify a move away
from principlism and toward pragmatism in bioethics and health law (395-399).

Though Wolf limits her discussion of the shift towards pragmatism to the
fields of bioethics and health care law, the strength of her evidence leads one to
ask whether the trend might not be more widespread. Is the shift in bioethics
being replicated in other areas of practical philosophy, and if so, why? Are
there certain affinities between pragmatism and practical philosophy that make
the former particularly well suited to the latter? In this chapter I look more

closely at this last question. Although one might well be able to make the

 

lWolf, Susan M. “Shifting Paradigms and Bioethics and Health Law: the
Rise of a New Pragmatism,” American Journal of Law & Medicine 20.4 (1994):
395-415.

172

argument, my primary goal is not to defend the claim that we are seeing a
general shift towards pragmatism in practical philosophy analogous to the shift
Wolf sees in bioethics and health law. Instead I want to focus on the claim that
pragmatism provides a promising and philosophically defensible framework, not
only for bioethics and health law, but for practical philosophy more generally.

The accounts of practical philosophy and pragmatism provided in
Chapters 2 and 3 provide the background to this argument. In Chapter 2 I
characterized practical philosophy by contrasting it to theory-centered
philosophy, and argued that the differences between these two styles of
philosophy flow from their tendency to emphasize different types of problems.
Theory-centered philosophy focuses on general and abstract problems, whereas
practical philosophy focuses on contextual problems — i.e., those that are
local, particular, and time-sensitive rather than general, universal, and timeless.
In Chapter 3 I followed this expanded account of practical philosophy with an
account of pragmatism. Acknowledging that pragmatism is a diverse movement
I used the notion of a “thin” conception to highlight certain points on which
most, if not all, pragmatists agree. In this chapter I want to weave strands of
these accounts together to show how practical philosophy has affinities to and is
supported by pragmatism.

The chapter is divided into two parts. In Part One I look at three recent
examples of pragmatic practical philosophy — projects in which the authors
self-consciously explore pragmatism as a framework for addressing issues in

particular areas of practical philosophy (i.e., environmental philosophy,

173

bioethics, and feminism). An exploration of these examples can provide
insights into both practical philosophy and its relationship to pragmatism. More
specifically they provide insight as to what it is that makes the dominant
approaches in these areas of practical philosophy inadequate, and why
pragmatism may offer a more promising approach. Part Two builds on the
groundwork laid in Chapters 2 and 3 to explore three overlapping concerns that
bring practical philosophy and pragmatism together: the centrality Of context,
fallibilism, and the interdisciplinary nature of the problems of practical
philosophy. Taken together, these three common themes, these points of
connection, explain why pragmatism provides a promising and attractive
framework for practical philosophy, and in so doing, support the claim that
practical philosophy is a philosophically defensible endeavor. This is not to say
that all practical philosophers are, knowingly or unknowingly, pragmatists. This
is certainly not the case. However, practical philosophers who are searching for
a deeper understanding and justification of what they are doing would be well-

advised to explore pragmatism.

1 Three Examples of Pragmatic Practical Philosophy

While I think many philosophers engaged in practical philosophy
unconsciously incorporate elements of pragmatism into their work, several have
done so quite self-consciously. Three recent projects are especially worth
noting for the ways in which the authors explicitly draw on pragmatism to guide

their work in a given area of practical philosophy. The first “project” is a series

174

of articles in which Franklin Miller, Joseph Fins, and Matthew Bacchetta
articulate and defend a method of moral problem solving, which they refer to as
“clinical pragmatism,” in the medical context2 They see this method as an
extension or adaptation of Dewey’s general theory of inquiry to the clinical
setting. The second project, Environmental Pragmatism edited by Andrew Light
and Eric Katz, is an anthology of articles exploring the connection between
pragmatism and environmental philosophy. Though the volume does not present
one particular point of view, the editors are clearly sympathetic to the claim that
pragmatism shows great promise as an approach to environmental philosophy.
Finally, in Pragmatism and Feminism Charlene Haddock Seigfried explores the
relationship between pragmatism and feminism in hopes of beginning a
discussion that “has the potential for changing the theoretical analyses and
concrete practices of both” (4). While each of these attempts highlights the
relationship between pragmatism and a particular area of concern within
practical philosophy, taken together they tell us something about the relationship

between pragmatism and practical philosophy more generally.

 

2Franklin G.Miller; Joseph J. F ins; and Matthew D. Bacchetta, “Clinical
Pragmatism: John Dewey and Clinical Ethics;” “Clinical Pragmatism: A Method
of Moral Problem Solving;” and “Clinical Pragmatism: Bridging Theory and
Practice.” See also Rosemarie Tong, “The Promises and Perils of Pragmatism:
Commentary on Fins, Bacchetta, and Miller;” and Lynn A. Jansen, “Assessing
Clinical Pragmatism” for commentary on the articles by Miller, Fins, and
Bacchetta.

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1.1 Clinical Pragmatism

In a series of articles Miller, Fins, and Bacchetta develop a method of
moral problem solving they refer to as “clinical pragmatism.” In some
respects, their method might more appropriately be titled “clinical Deweyanism”
since they claim that the method is an extension of Dewey’s broader theory of
inquiry, and draw almost exclusively on Dewey’s pragmatism without explicitly
exploring or incorporating the work of other pragmatists. Still, several elements
of their method are clearly pragmatic in the broader sense of the term.

First, their approach begins with the assumption that moral inquiry, like
all inquiry,3 is to be understood naturalistically as a process that emerges from
the functioning of organisms and environment. It is a response to what Dewey
called a “problematic situation.” Second, because inquiry begins with a specific
problematic situation, and not with an abstract problem, a great deal of emphasis
is placed on the context in which the problematic situation arises. In the case of

clinical pragmatism the context includes not only the general backdrop of the

medical setting, but also particular elements of an actual clinical case.4

 

3While the authors offer clinical pragmatism as a method of moral problem
solving, they emphasize that the same logic of inquiry applies to the sciences
and professions. “Dewey argued that the type of thinking characteristic of
science is applicable in ethics as a method of determining and validating moral
judgments and resolving moral problems. Our claim that an object is good is
tested by intelligently directed conduct. Values are determined, or constructed,
by a process of inquiry yielding reliable, but not certain, results” (“Clinical
Pragmatism: John Dewey and Clinical Ethics” 38).

4 Miller, Pins, and Bacchetta make this clear when they claim that the
“bedrock of all moral problem solving in clinical practice is the proper
assessment of, and concurrence about, the medical facts of the case” (“Clinical

(continued...)

176

Third, Miller, Fins, and Bacchetta dismiss principlism as an ineffective
method of moral problem solving. Like many pragmatists they are skeptical of
the value of abstract moral theories, in particular of appeals to a priori
reasoning, in the resolution of concrete cases. This skepticism, which underlies
their rejection of principlism, has two sources. At a theoretical level, they reject
any appeal to a priori moral principles as a product of the spectator theory of
knowledge (“Clinical Pragmatism: Bridging Theory and Practice” 38). At a 1.

practical level, they criticize principlism because it construes moral judgment as

 

an abstract, theoretical process that can take place apart from the actual clinical
setting in which the ethical problems arise. They argue that principlism allows,
and even encourages, one to separate clinical and ethical thinking completely
(“Clinical Pragmatism: John Dewey In Clinical Ethics” 44-46). This is not to
say that Miller, Fins, and Bacchetta consider the moral rules and principles
central to moral theories to be irrelevant to moral problem solving. However,
they give moral rules and principles a less prominent, less controlling or

definitive role. Moral rules and principles are viewed as hypotheses, as

 

4(...continued)
Pragmatism: A Method of Moral Problem Solving” 133). Other ethically
relevant considerations include a variety of contextual elements including, “the
life situation of the patient; the patient’s capacity to make health care decisions;
the beliefs, values, preferences, and needs of the patient; the impact of the care
of the patient on family members and others intimately concerned with the
patient; institutional arrangements that may be obstructing shared decision
making; the perspectives of involved clinicians; and relevant moral, legal, and
institutional norms” (“Clinical Pragmatism: John Dewey and Clinical Ethics”
48).

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presumptive guides, as tools for guiding conduct rather than as “absolute, fixed
moral laws” (“Clinical Pragmatism: A Method of Moral Problem Solving” 130).
Fourth, clinical pragmatism is experimental and fallible. Drawing on
Dewey’s description of inquiry in How We Think, Miller, Fins, and Bacchetta
argue that moral inquiry should be understood as a reiterative process in which
we put forth hypotheses regarding moral problems and investigate them.5 It is
not a mechanical or algorithmic process for discovering moral “truths,”5 but an
experimental pattern of inquiry designed to promote successful problem solving
(“Clinical Pragmatism: John Dewey and Clinical Ethics” 32-41). It is fallible in
the sense that recommendations made to resolve problematic situations as well

as our moral rules and principles must be tested and may be found wanting.

1.2 Environmental Pragmatism
In the introduction to Environmental Pragmatism editors Andrew Light
and Eric Katz note several factors that have led philosophers to seriously

consider pragmatism as an environmental philosophy (1-5). The first factor is a

 

5Drawing on Dewey’s description of inquiry in How We Think (72), Miller,
Fins, and Bacchetta argue that inquiry should proceed through a series of steps.
These steps include perceiving the problem; defining the problem; adjusting
possible solutions; using reasoning to anticipate implications of solutions; and
further observation and experimentation that leads to either acceptance rejection
of the proposed solution.

°Miller, Fins, and Bacchetta, I think, are somewhat loose in their use of
terms such as “truth” and “right answer.” Though they are advocating a
pragmatic framework, they continue to use “truth” and “right answer” in non-
pragmatic senses —- i.e., as they might be used by someone advocating a
correspondence theory of truth or a foundationalist ethics.

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sense that environmental ethics was having no practical effect on environmental
policy. The second is the belief that one of the things holding environmental
ethics back from making practical contributions to policy is an emphasis on
theoretical debates aimed at producing philosophical certainty. Finally, the third
factor is a sense that environmental ethics has also been held back by
methodological and theoretical dogmatism — that is, by the belief that only a
certain limited number of theories or approaches to environmental philosophy
could yield morally justified environmental policy. The appeal of pragmatism,
they argue, is its emphasis on the significance of practice in the resolution of
practical problems, its acceptance of fallibilism and uncertainty, and its
openness to methodological and theoretical pluralism. “For us, environmental
pragmatism is the open-ended inquiry into the specific real-life problems of
humanity’s relationship with the environment” (2).

While many authors in the anthology note different specific elements of
pragmatism that make it especially congenial to environmental philosophy,
several common themes emerge. One is a repudiation of both the spectator
theory of knowledge and the closely related dichotomy between subject and
object (Parker 21-24; Rosenthal and Buchholz 38-43). Pragmatism’s rejection
of these views makes it uniquely suited for environmental philosophy by
clearing a path for a richer understanding of the connection between humans and
the environment. The conception of the subject of inquiry as a spectator of the

world allows one to envision barriers between the natural and human worlds in a

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way that a conception of the subject as an agent in the world does not. Agents
and environments cannot be understood in isolation from one another?

A second theme that emerges is a suspicion of a priori principles and of
“applied philosophy” understood as a deductive methodology in which general
(and usually a priori) philosophical principles are applied to resolve particular
conflicts (Parker 23-27; Norton 107-109, Thompson “Pragmatism and Policy”
198-202).8 As with the clinical pragmatism of Miller, Fins, and Bacchetta, the
reluctance to appeal to a priori principles has both theoretical and practical
origins. Theoretically, what leads to a suspicion of a priori principles is a
skepticism regarding the epistemic or metaphysical status of the principles
themselves (Parker 23-27). However, there are more practical concerns as well.

Thompson argues that when used to resolve practical problems, the practical

 

7Rosenthal and Buchholz emphasize this point, but use the more biological
notion of organism rather than agent.

From the backdrop of the non-spectator understanding of
human experience, humans and their environment—organic and
inorganic—take on an inherently relational aspect. To speak of
organism and environment in isolation from each other is never
true to the situation, for no organism can exist in isolation from an
environment, and an environment is what it is in relation to an
organism. The properties attributed to the environment belong to
it in the context of that interaction (40).

8Both Bryan Norton and Paul Thompson criticize “applied philosophy,”
which they construe as a attempt to apply general philosophical principles in an
attempt to adjudicate particular concrete conflicts. This philosophical approach
to practical issues encourages the view that the philosopher’s task is strictly a
theoretical one. The alternative that Norton recommends, “practical
philosophy,” has a distinctly pragmatic flavor. It is a problem-oriented
approach in which theories are viewed as intellectual tools developed to resolve
specific practical controversies. This, in some sense, reverses the relationship
between theory and practice. “Practice is prior to theory in the sense that
principles are ultimately generated from practice, not vice versa” (Norton 108).

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effect of applied philOSOphy is likely to be negligible or even negative
(“Pragmatism and Policy” 198-200). When philosophy is construed exclusively
as a theoretical endeavor, the inability of philosophers to resolve theoretical
conflicts (e.g., conflicts between libertarianism, utilitarianism, and
egalitarianism) renders philosophers incapable of providing clear applications at
the practical level. Falling back on the claim that philosophical reflection
serves to clarify conflicts even when it cannot resolve them does not fair much
better in Thompson’s view. The practical effect of clarifying theoretical
conflicts is often to freeze and/or rationalize positions held for other reasons.
Rather than leading to the resolution of practical problems, clarification merely
gives opponents additional justification, justification of a theoretical sort, for
holding positions they would hold anyway for other reasons.9

A third feature of pragmatism that makes it attractive as an
environmental philosophy is its commitment to fallibilism. This fallibilism has
both epistemic and metaphysical sources. As has already been noted,
pragmatism’s rejection of foundationalist epistemology leads to epistemological
fallibility. But there is a sense in which the commitment to fallibilism has a
metaphysical basis as well. Parker argues that pragmatic metaphysics, to the

extent that there is one, includes beliefs in irreducible pluralism; in

 

9This leads Thompson to question the value of applied philosophy. “It is
questionable whether we are really better off than we were when disputants had
vague, intuitive understanding of their own rationale. Arguably, clarity only
hardens a dispute that might be resolved had disputants not been so clear about
the burdens of proof they expected their opponents to provide. If this is what
applied philosophy yields, we might be better off with lawyers!” (“Pragmatism
and Policy” 199).

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indeterminacy and chance as real features of the world; and in change,
development, and novelty rather than stability and immutability as the
overarching rule (Parker 25). Thus, our knowledge of the world is fallible, not
only due to our epistemic limitations, but also because the world that we seek to
know is constantly changing. Thus, fallibilism is an attractive component of an
environmental philosophy for two reasons. First, it counters the perceived need
to reach philosophical certainty as a prerequisite to practical involvement.
Second, the commitment to pluralism and indeterminacy, which are part of the
basis for fallibility, undermines theoretical monism, creating space for

exploration of different theoretical approaches.

1.3 Pragmatism and Feminism

Pragmatism and Feminism differs from the previous two projects in that
Seigfried tries to establish a two-way or mutually beneficial relationship
between pragmatism and feminism.” She believes that the relationship between

pragmatism and feminism can be mutually beneficial because the two

 

”Seigfried, in essence, provides her own thin conception of pragmatism.
She asks whether there might not be “premises they all share, even though they
might differ considerably in how they express those premises and what they
mean by them?” (6). Though she does not present her premises in a precise list,
she mentions the following elements: 1) a stress on the relation of theory to
practice that takes experience as the starting point for reflection, 2) an
understanding of experience as the ongoing transaction between organism and
environment; 3) an instrumental view of knowledge in which knowledge is seen
as a tool, guided by interests and values, used to organize experience; 4) the
interconnection between facts and values; 5) the fallibility of truths and beliefs;
and 6) a naturalistic, pluralistic, developmental, and experimental ethics (6-8).

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movements share many theoretical and practical concerns.” One she repeatedly
mentions is the emphasis both pragmatism and feminism place on concrete
experience as a starting point for reflection. This focus on experience makes
context an integral element of philosophical problems. There are, however,
other aspects of pragmatism that Seigfried thinks makes it particularly attractive
to feminist reconstruction. For instance, she argues that pragmatism’s insistence
on the entanglement of facts and values (see Chapter Three, Section 3.2)
supports feminist claims that statements about reality are political (31). She
also claims that certain features common in the writings of the pragmatists can
be identified as “feminine.” These features include a proclivity for metaphorical
discourse rather than “a deductive and reductively symbolic one;” a stress on a
concrete experiential basis for theory in contrast to theoretical puzzles and
abstract conceptual distinctions; and developmental rather than rule-governed

ethics (32).”

 

l‘Other authors have also noted the affinities between pragmatism and
feminism. See Margaret Jane Radin’s “The Pragmatist and the Feminist;”
Richard Rorty’s “Feminism and Pragmatism;” Rosemarie Tong’s “The Promises
and Perils of Pragmatism: Commentary on Fins, Bacchetta, and Miller;” and
Mary Mahowald’s “Moral Compromise, Feminism, and Pragmatism,” an
unpublished manuscript presented at the Central Division Meeting of the
American Philosophical Association, May 1998.

”The following paragraph in which Seigfried draws on Sandra Harding’s
analysis of feminist research provides maybe her most concise statements of the
connection between pragmatism and feminism.

Harding lists three distinctive features of feminist research:
(1) it begins with women’s experiences as a basis for social
analysis; (2) its aim is to benefit women; and (3) the researcher is
not a neutral observer, but is on the same critical plane as the
subject matter. Support for and development of these three themes
(continued...)

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In addition to the support that pragmatism extends to feminism, Seigfried
also suggests that feminism has something to offer pragmatism, in particular,
encouragement to pursue interdisciplinary work. Pragmatism, she argues, more
than any other philosophical movement “defends the legitimacy and
irreducibility of multiple perspectives” (10). However, it does so generically so
as not to privilege any one perspective. Feminism, because it incorporates a
more particular perspective, “can help to identify the hidden assumptions of
pragmatist analyses and to demonstrate the crucial difference between merely
acknowledging other perspectives and coming to terms with the consequences of
such recognition” (10). According to Seigfried, pragmatism should be receptive
to interdisciplinary work for a variety of additional reasons as well. First, many
of its founders such as James, Dewey, and Mead began their careers prior to the
formation of hard disciplinary boundaries and contributed to other fields
including physiology, psychology, education, sociology. Second, James, Dewey,
and Mead all attacked the growing professionalization of philosophy because of
its narrowing of interests and preference for over-intellectualization and abstract

theory instead of concrete experience.

 

”(...continued)
can be found throughout pragmatist philosophy, which emphasizes
that reflection ought to begin with experience, which is irreducibly
plural; that the goal of reflection is to satisfactorily resolve the
problematic situations that arise within particular experiences, as
these are defined by those involved; and that knowledge is always
shaped by — in Harding’s words — the “concrete, specific
desires and interests” of the investigator (37).

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2 Three Overlapping Concerns

These three examples, along with the accounts of practical philOSOphy
and pragmatism in Chapters 2 and 3 suggest several important points at which
practical philosophy and pragmatism coincide. In the remainder of this chapter,
I explore three such points of convergence: the centrality of context, fallibilism,
and the interdisciplinary nature of the problems. My main argument is that
these three overlapping concerns warrant serious consideration of pragmatism as
a framework for understanding practical philosophy. They create a “fit”
between pragmatism and practical philosophy that explains why many
philosophers who turn their attention to problems outside the traditional set of
philosophical problems often find themselves adopting, explicitly or implicitly,
pragmatic approaches, and why they might benefit by more overtly adopting a
pragmatic framework for their work. By arguing that pragmatism Offers a
constructive approach to practical philosophy, I hope to indirectly defend
practical philosophy’s place within professional philosophy. The substantial
connections between pragmatism and practical philosophy suggest that practical
philosophy need not be considered an activity alien to professional philosophy.
Pragmatic practical philosophers are not leaving the boundaries of the discipline

in their work, but are resuscitating a neglected tradition.

2.1 The Centrality of Context
As noted in Chapter 2 practical philosophy’s insistence on relevance of

context has three implications. First, practical philosophy is oriented toward

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context-dependent problems that emerge in particular social and historical
settings, and thus, towards problems that are likely to be felt or perceived by
men and women outside the discipline of philosophy as well as by those who
identify themselves as philosophers. Second, because these context-dependent
problems are complex and dynamic, our responses to them must be provisional
— fallible, contingent, and subject to revision in light of new information
and/or changing circumstances. Third, because the problems Of practical
philosophy are important to men and women outside of the discipline of
philosophy, and because our responses to them must be sensitive to context they
are, in a sense, interdisciplinary. Such problems do not fit easily and ‘
exclusively into any one discipline. Philosophers who consider them will need
to draw on knowledge from, and pay special attention to the connections
between, other disciplines and professions.

Before going further in discussing the implications of context, it may be
wise to anticipate and respond to a concern that might be raised by some
readers. One might ask, “These context-dependent problems that you claim are
part of practical philosophy may be interesting and important, but are they really
philosophical? Aren’t these the sorts of problems that should be dealt with by
men and women in other disciplines or professions?” This concern is both
understandable and important. It is understandable given the way in which
philosophy has been largely construed as a discipline that deals with theoretical
and abstract problems. It is important because if these practical and contextual

problems, which I have been arguing are the focus of practical philosophy, are

186

not philosophical problems, then it remains to be seen whether practical
philosophy should be considered part of philosophy. In response I want to Offer
two responses to the question, “What is a philosophical problem?”

One way of identifying philosophical problems is to avoid offering a
definition in terms of any necessary and sufficient conditions, and instead point
to the discipline itself for guidance. Philosophical problems are those problems
addressed by philosophers when they take themselves to be doing philosophy.
In this case, calling the contextual problems philosophical is unproblematic as
long as it is philosophers who are addressing them. Or more conservatively, one
might try to limit the field to those problems or questions that have traditionally
been associated with the discipline of philosophy. What do we mean when we
say that we know something? How do we reconcile the apparent freedom of
human action with our understanding of a world governed by the laws of cause
and effect? What do we mean when we say that something is good, or that
some action is right? On this view, the contextual problems could still be
considered philosophical because they point to, or address directly, many of the
traditional philosophical questions.

An illustration may serve to explain more clearly. One current practical
issue in bioethics is how much weight, if any, we should place on personal
responsibility for health when allocating scarce health care resources. Should
we, for example, provide liver transplants to individuals whose liver failure is
due to alcoholism? Should we adjust insurance premiums based on lifestyle

choices — up for smokers, reckless drivers, or couch potatoes; down for

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vegetarians, pedestrians, or joggers? Underlying many of these questions are
aspect of the traditional free will problem. We want to know, for instance, to
what extent are such choices freely made? In what sense is the alcoholic’s
decision to continue drinking a free choice in the sense that we may hold him or
her personally responsible for the consequences? Neither the practical
philosopher nor the pragmatist need deny that these are free will problems.
However, they would be skeptical of any claim that they can be answered in one
fell swoop by a philosophical solution to the free will problem. I think this is
the type of point Dewey had in mind when he wrote in regard to epistemology,
“In ordinary life there are problems a-plenty of knowledge in particular; every
conclusion we try to reach theoretical or practical, affords such a problem. But
there is no problem of knowledge in general” (“The Need for a Recovery” 23).
A second, but not incompatible response would be to suggest that
philosophical problems are just those difficult and important problems that are
not clearly any other sort of problem. They are those significant questions and
problems that are amenable to no more or less definite method; questions and
problems that are not resolvable by methods or procedures developed in any
other established discipline. In fact, once more or less definite methods are
found for resolving a set of problems, the problems are no longer philosophical.
If one looks at philosophy historically, relative to other disciplines, there would
seem to be a great deal of truth in this response. Philosophy was once a much
broader field that included many of the natural and social sciences we now view

as separate disciplines. It is something like this vision that lies behind John

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Austin’s analogy between the history of the universe and the history of human
inquiry. “In the history of human inquiry,” he writes, “philosophy has the place
of the initial sun, seminal and tumultuous: from time to time it throws off some
portion of itself to take station as a science, a planet, cool and well regulated”
(“Ifs and Cans” 180).” One advantage of characterizing philosophical problems
in this way is that the dividing line between the philosophical and
nonphilosophical cannot be equated with the division between the theoretical
and the practical, or between the abstract and the concrete. There is nothing
that would exclude from philosophy those contextual problems that do not fit
anywhere else and for which we have no established methods or procedures.
The question of whether the contextual problems of practical philosophy
are really philosophical problems highlights the importance of connecting
pragmatism and practical philosophy. It is the insistence on the relevance of
context that makes practical philosophy seem “un-philosophical” in contrast to
theory-centered philosophy, the norm for professional philosophy. The focus on

local, particular, and time sensitive problems seems strangely out of place in a

 

”One might also argue that something like this is implied by Bertrand
Russell’s description of philosophy offered in his A History of Western
Philosophy. Russell argues that philosophy lies somewhere between theology
and science.

Like theology, it consists of speculations on matters as to which
definite knowledge has, so far, been unascertainable; but like
science, it appeals to human reason rather than to authority . . . All
definite knowledge — so I would contend — belongs to
science; all dogma as to what surpasses definite knowledge
belongs to theology. But between theology and science there is a
No Man’s Land, exposed to attack from both sides; this No Man’s
Land is philosophy (xiii).

189

profession largely defined by the pursuit of universal and timeless truths or
principles." In this regard pragmatism can support practical philosophy’s claim
to be part of professional philosophy. Though pragmatists have often been
severe critics of professional philosophy, pragmatism is, nevertheless, a
movement within philosophy. Most importantly, it is a movement, within
philosophy, that insists on the relevance of context to all inquiry, including
philosophical inquiry.

The assertion by pragmatists that context is relevant to philosophical
inquiry is both descriptive and prescriptive. Descriptively they argue that
philosophical inquiry cannot be purged of all reference to context; at some level,
context is relevant to all forms of inquiry whether we choose to acknowledge it
or not. Thus the normative or prescriptive claim is not that philosophers should
make context relevant to philosophy, but that they should explicitly acknowledge

the relevance of context in their reflections and not attempt to deny it. Such a

 

1“In the Introduction I quoted a story that James tells of a young graduate

student’s expectations of philosophy courses. That story nicely expresses, I
think, the attitude many philosophers, particularly those wedded to the theory-
centered tradition, take towards context. The simple and clean world of the
philosophy classroom is something quite distinct from the messy world of the
street, or everyday life. Still, the former is supposed to account for or shed
light on the latter. That James viewed this attitude negatively is made clear in
the paragraph that follows the story.

In point of fact it [philosophy] is far less an account of this actual

world than a clear addition built upon it, a classic sanctuary in

which the rationalistic fancy may take refuge from the intolerably

confused and gothic character which mere facts present. It is no

explanation of our concrete universe, it is another thing altogether,

a substitute for it, a remedy, a way to escape (Pragmatism 14,

emphasis in the original).

190

claim has implications for what sort of projects philosophers should be involved
in and what approach to projects they should take.

The argument that context is an unavoidable element of all inquiry stems
from pragmatism’s understanding of both the subject of philosophical inquiry
and the nature of thought. As was discussed in Chapter 3, in contrast to
Cartesianism,” pragmatism views the subject of knowledge as an agent rather
than a spectator, and thought as a tool or behavior for contending with the
environment rather than a medium used to represent or picture reality (see
Chapter 3, section 3.2). These claims regarding the nature of the subject of
knowledge and the nature of thought support the claim that context is
unavoidably relevant to all inquiry. If thought is understood naturalistically and
instrumentally as the result of the interaction of the agent and its environment,
then all thought or inquiry emerges from a particular context. Moreover, if the
subject of inquiry is an agent who stands in the world, rather than a spectator
who stands outside the world, the knower can never completely leave, or fully
transcend the context in which inquiry takes place.

A somewhat more subtle, but still significant way in which pragmatism
recognizes the importance of context is in its orientation towards the future.
This orientation towards the future is evident in a number of ways — in both

Peirce’s and James’ claim that the meaning of beliefs is to be understood in

 

”Because pragmatism developed as a reaction to perceived deficiencies in
traditional or mainstream philosophy, and mainstream philosophy is, in its basic
presuppositions, predominantly Cartesian, I developed this thin conception of
pragmatism against the backdrop of Cartesianism. See Chapter 3, Section 2 for
a description of Cartesianism.

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terms of their consequences and dispositions to behave (in the future) in certain
ways; in Peirce’s and Dewey’s experimentalism; and in the emphasis Dewey and
James place on the dynamic and changing character of the world. Even the
pragmatic notion of truth reflects an orientation towards the future. For the
pragmatist, “truths” are not static facts about the world, linguistic snapshots that
accurately represent the world, but beliefs rooted in the past that point to the
future. True beliefs direct behavior in the present because they have served us
well in the past. However, as they guide us now, they are continually tested
with a view towards their future consequences.

This orientation towards the future implies that context must be taken
seriously, for time is an element of context. Change takes place in time and
space; the knowing activity of agents takes place in a specific time and location;
the consequences that affect our understanding of the truth are not consequences
in the abstract, but actual specific events that occur at a particular time and in a
particular location. Thus, to the extent that philosophers take time seriously
they will be drawn away from general and abstract problems — those that
ignore the relevance of time and location — toward those that are bound to a

specific context.”

 

”Richard Rorty notes the implications of taking time seriously for
philosophers.
Philosophers became preoccupied with images of the future
only after they gave up hope of gaining knowledge of the eternal.
Philosophy began as an attempt to escape into a world in which
nothing would ever change. The first philosophers assumed that
the difference between the flux of the past and the flux of the
future would be negligible. Only as they began to take time
(continued...)

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Dewey, perhaps more than any other pragmatist, wrote explicitly about
the connection between philosophy and context. While this theme permeates
much of his writing he addresses it directly in “Context and Thought,” a 1910
article in which he emphatically criticizes philosophy for its systematic
disregard of context. “I should venture to assert” he writes, “that the most
pervasive fallacy of philosophic thinking goes back to neglect of context” (92).'7
To overcome this fallacy Dewey argues that philosophers must self-consciously
bring the context in which philosophical problems arise and are reflected upon
under philosophical examination. This requires that attention he paid to two

elements of context — background and selective interests.

 

”(...continued)
seriously did their hopes for the future of this world gradually
replace their desire for knowledge of another world (“Philosophy
& the Future” 197).

17The neglect of context leads to two extremes in philosophy, or what Dewey
refers to as two fallacies — the fallacy of analysis and the fallacy of unlimited
generalization. Analysis taken to the extreme, Dewey argues, leads to a form of
atomistic particularism in which reality and knowledge must be constructed
from discrete and independent elements. The denial of all connection and
continuity in experience leads to attempts to identify some transcendent act or
faculty of synthesis that can bring the disparate elements together (“Context and
Thought” 92-94). This is the unfortunate route down which much of empiricism
has headed. In contrast, the fallacy of unlimited universalization, the Achilles
heel of idealism, pushes philosophers towards sweeping metaphysical doctrines.
It assumes that “the goal Of thinking, particularly of philosophic thought, is to
bring all things whatsoever into a single coherent and all inclusive whole”
(“Context and Thought” 95). Dewey does not deny that the goal of thinking is
to bring unity to situations in which the data are fragmented, discrepant, or
confused, but he argues that the idea of unlimited extension or generalization
beyond the limiting conditions of the situation is meaningless. “When context
is taken into account,” he argues, “it is seen that every generalization occurs
under limiting conditions set by the contextual situation” (“Context and
Thought” 95).

193

Context, Dewey argues, includes a temporal and spatial background that
affects all thinking (“Context and Thought” 98-103). This background is
composed of the material that is implicitly or tacitly understood and taken for
granted in any situation. It surrounds whatever we are reflecting on, but does
not itself often become a direct object of reflection. It does so only when we
suspect that it is having a significant effect on what we are consciously thinking
about. This background includes all those assumptions that we make about how
the world works, human nature, etc. For instance, Dewey notes that for
centuries Aristotelean metaphysics and Ptolemaic astronomy were taken for
granted by those working in the sciences, as was the fixity of the species prior
to Darwin’s work. Although it is speculative, the same might be said of the
theory of evolution today. At one level we are aware of it as a scientific theory
that, like other theories, is to be continually tested and reassessed in light of
new information. At another level it is taken for granted or assumed to be true,
not only as a theory in biology, but as a more general principle of cultural,
social, and economic progress.

Context also includes selective interest, an attitude or bias that
determines the selection of subject matter for reflection. This is a corollary of
the rejection of the spectator theory of knowledge in favor of an agent-centered
instrumentalism. Because we inquire as agents in the world, not spectators
outside the world, selective interest is an unavoidable element of all thought and

knowledge. “There is care, concern, implicated in every act of thought” and

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everyone who thinks is “differentially sensitive to some qualities, problems, and
themes” (“Context and Thought” 100).

This is not to say that selective interest leads to a version of subjectivism
that is often associated with a rather naive relativism. Dewey admits that
selective interest is subjective in the sense that the subject who is inquiring is
“implicated in all thinking,” but he denies that this necessarily constitutes
subjectivism in the pejorative sense.

Subjectivism has a bad name, and as an ’ism it deserves its ill
repute. But the subjective as determining attitude is not to be
equated to this ’ism. It is not concern which is objectionable even
when it takes the form of bias. It is certain kinds of bias that are
Obnoxious. Bias for impartiality is as much a bias as is partisan
prejudice, though it is a radically different quality of bias. To be
“objective” in thinking is to have a certain sort of selective interest
operative. One can only see from a certain standpoint, but this
fact does not make all standpoints of equal value. A standpoint
which is nowhere in particular and from which things are not seen
at a special angle is an absurdity (“Context and Thought” 102).

Dewey contends that philosophers tend to neglect context because they
typically undertake reflection in situations far removed from the immediate need
to act. This distance from the need to act leads from a naive neglect of context
to a virtual denial of the importance of context to philosophical thought.

In the face to face communications of everyday life, context may

be safely ignored. For, as we have already noted, it is irrevocably

there. It is taken for granted, not denied, when it is passed over

without notice. . . . But in philosophizing there is rarely an

immediately urgent context which controls the course of thought.

Neglect of specific acknowledgment of it is, then, too readily

converted into a virtual denial (“Context and Thought” 92).

Because he sees the neglect of context as a vice that impedes philosophy

from serving a constructive social and intellectual function, more self-conscious

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attention to the context in which problems arise and are addressed is an essential
component of Dewey’s vision of a reconstructed philosophy. At any point in
time there are beliefs, and a set of institutions and practices connected with
these beliefs, that form the background and reflect the selective interests that
make up the context in which philosophical reflection takes place. According to
Dewey, these beliefs constitute the primary subject matter of philosophical
reflection. They are not, as the Cartesian tradition would regard them,
extraneous, non-philosophical matter that needs to be filtered out in order to
focus clearly on philosophical issues. The aim of philosophy “is to criticize this
material, to clarify it, to organize it, to test its internal coherence, and to make
explicit its consequences” (“Context and Thought” 106). The problems of
philosophy then, are not those immutable and timeless problems that transcend
cultures and time periods, but the contextually-bound problems specific to and
constituent of cultures and time periods. Thus context must be an indispensable
aspect of philosophical reflection.

Dewey recognizes that calling on philosophers to take context into
account self-consciously as they reflect goes against the grain of professional
philosophy that emphasizes theoretical abstraction and detachment. Such
philosophers, he acknowledges, might even run the risk of not being regarded as
philosophers. However, he argues, they may “console themselves with the
reflection that they are concerning themselves with that inclusive and pervasive

context of experience in which philosophical thinking must, for good or ill, take

196

place, and without reference to which such thinking is in the end but a beating
of wings in the void” (“Context and Thought” 110).

The three examples of practical philosophy discussed earlier suggest two
particular ways in which the pragmatic emphasis on context may play a role in
practical philosophy. First, an emphasis on context helps to maintain a focus on
the problems that initiated philosophical reflection and increases the likelihood
that the proposed resolutions will be effective in practice. This is clear in
Miller, Fins, and Bacchetta’s concern that appealing to abstract moral principles
makes ethical reasoning a theoretical task divorced from the clinical situation in
which the moral problem arises. The insistence that the medical, social,
financial, and institutional factors of the case are morally relevant considerations
makes it more likely that any proposed resolution will be sensitive to the
complexities of the clinical setting. Similarly Light and Katz call on
environmental philosophers to regain their focus and address the specific
contextually-bound environmental problems.” They find pragmatism appealing
because it emphasizes the resolution of practical problems, that is problems

within the context in which they arise.

 

” The problematic situation of environmental ethics greatly

troubles us, both as philosophers and as citizens. We are deeply
concerned about the precarious state of the natural world, the
environmental hazards that threaten humans, and the maintenance
of long-term sustainable life on this planet. The environmental
crisis that surrounds us is a fact of experience. It is thus
imperative that environmental philosophy, as a discipline, address
this crisis—its meaning, its causes and its possible resolution
(Light and Katz 1, emphasis added).

197

Second, attention to context is important because it draws our attention to
aspects of problems that are appropriate for philosophical reflection, but that
might otherwise be overlooked. This is perhaps most evident in Seigfried’s
claim that the commitment to the epistemic value or validity of concrete, lived
experience also connects pragmatism and feminism. The neglect of experience
in philosophy, and thus to the context in which experience takes place, is of
great concern to feminists because it too often covers up or removes from sight
the ways in which women are oppressed. Seigfried argues that Dewey’s
understanding of experience can be emancipating in that he provides an account
of how our inherited beliefs and institutions influence our current perceptions.”
They do so by shaping our past experiences, the context of our current
experiences, and our expectations of future experiences. In short, they shape
our preconceptions of reality. They form the backdrop of inquiry that Dewey
identifies as one of the important elements of context that must be brought to
the forefront of philosophical reflection. Seigfried argues that this emphasis on
how our inherited beliefs and institutions affect current perceptions coincides
with and supports what feminists have long argued, that preconceptions shape
reality. “When once we realize that what we take to be straightforwardly matters
of fact are actually active transformations of experience that includes socially

transmitted preconceptions, then we can dispute historically widespread claims

 

”Because she draws primarily on Dewey and the classical pragmatists,
Seigfried emphasizes experience. Contemporary pragmatists such as Rorty
focus more on language than experience, but the argument is very similar. Our
conceptions of reality are shaped by our linguistic understandings and language
games, which are themselves shaped by our selective interests.

198

that women’s perceived inferiority is due to a fact of nature and is therefore

unalterable. Even facts can be questioned” (152).20

2.2 Fallibilism

In Chapter 3 I argued that pragmatism was committed to fallibilism, to
the view that even our most firmly-held or well-founded beliefs may need
revision (see Chapter 3, Section 3.4). This commitment to fallibilism stems
from both epistemological and metaphysical considerations. It flows first of all
from pragmatism’s rejection of the spectator theory of knowledge and the
aspiration to find an Archimedean point that would guarantee epistemologically
certain starting points. Such a God’s-eye view is simply unavailable to a
subject who is an agent in the world rather than a spectator of the world, who
interacts with the world from a particular, and thus, limited perspective.
However, the fallibilism of pragmatism also has a second, more metaphysical
source. Whereas many philosophers have held to the view that Reality, what
ever else it is, must be permanent and immutable, pragmatists argue that our
experience is Of a world that is dynamic and changing. If this is the case, then
our knowledge of the world must be dynamic and changing as well — what we
know to be true today could turn out to be false tomorrow even though were are

not now mistaken.

 

20Seigfried also writes of Dewey, “By demonstrating the centrality of
experience to philosophical analysis, he also demonstrates that the recent
explorations of how experiences vary by ethnicity, gender, class, sexual
orientation, and so forth, should be at the center, not the periphery, of
philosophical discourse” (144).

199

This pragmatic commitment to fallibilism is quite compatible with an
understanding of the problems of practical philosophy as problems that are
dynamic and unstable, and for this reason, that admit of only provisional
solutions. Provisional solutions are fallible and contingent — i.e., they may
work in one context, but not in another, or they may work now, but not in the
future. Though based on the best knowledge and evidence currently available,
they are, nevertheless, always subject to revision in light of both philosophical
and extra-philosophical considerations. They are not guaranteed to work once
and for all, but are at least worth trying under the present circumstances.
Practical philosophy’s willingness to accept such fallible and contingent
solutions to contextually-bound problems stands in contrast to theory-centered
philosophy’s striving for solutions that are certain, universal, timeless, and
immutable.

It may be misleading to talk of the problems of practical philosophy as
having “solutions” at all. Anthony Weston draws a distinction between two
types of problems, “puzzles” and “problematic situations” (12-21).2| Puzzles are
problems that are fairly discrete and self-contained. They promise specific and
definite answers, even if we have not yet arrived at them. Our answer to a
puzzle is either right or wrong, and there is, at least in theory, a way of

verifying which it is. In contrast problematic situations are neither discrete nor

 

21Weston develops this distinction in order to argue that ethical problems
should be considered problematic situations rather than puzzles. While he
restricts his discussion to ethical problems, I see no reason why the distinction
does not apply to a broader range of problems.

200

self-contained. They arise out of “larger patterns of life and practice” such that
while we are aware that there is a problem, we may find it difficult to say what
“the” specific problem is. Problematic situations do not promise specific and
definite answers, and thus, Weston argues, it is somewhat inappropriate to speak
of “solutions” to them. “Instead we must speak in terms of general strategies,
approaches, even attitudes, and only indirectly of ‘solving’ a problem at all. As
a matter of course we expect sustained engagement rather than conclusive
resolutions” (13). In a similar vein Hilary Putnam argues that speaking of
“problems” and “solutions” is not helpful when considering ethical issues. Such
language, he argues, leads us to look at ethical problems as analogous to
scientific problems, and thus, encourages the deductivist approach common to
analytic philosophy. He recommends using the metaphors of “adjudicating” or
“reading” rather than that of “solving” (“How Not to Solve Ethical Problems”
179-192).

It may be helpful here to illustrate with some examples of puzzles and
problematic situations. Crossword puzzles, many (though certainly not all)
mathematical problems, and truth-table tests for validity are all examples of
puzzles. They are fairly discrete and self-contained problems, the answers to
which can be shown to be right or wrong. In contrast, consider what is often
loosely referred to as the “health care crisis” in the United States. This has all
the elements of a problematic situation. For instance, what exactly is “the”
problem referred to? Is it that millions of Americans are uninsured? Is it that

health care costs have risen dramatically over the last two decades? Is it that

201

some Americans can get access to the highest quality care available in the
world, while others are denied access to even the most basic services? All of
these concerns represent elements of the health care crisis, but none alone can
be said to be “the” problem. Moreover, it is not at all clear that there is a single
correct “solution” to any of these specific problems, much less to the health care
crisis more generally construed. There are a number of proposals each of which
1) relies on certain economic assumptions, 2) makes tradeoffs between
controlling cost, providing access to health care, and allowing individual choice
for patients and providers, and 3) draws on a particular vision of the role of
government in the provision of health care and other basic services.”

What I am suggesting is that we should think of the problems of practical
philosophy as problematic situations rather than puzzles. This has two distinct
advantages. First, it reflects a modesty that is consistent with the notions of

contingency and fallibility. Asking practical philosophy to produce solutions,

 

”These illustrations should not be taken to suggest that there is a clear
dividing line between puzzles and problematic situations. Consider, for
instance, the problem of designing a computer system for a particular business
application, say customer billing. On the one hand, there are certainly elements
of the problem that have the characteristics of puzzles — e.g., How much disk
space will be required based on the software application and the volume of
business expected? What algorithm is needed to perform this certain function?
On the other hand, there are also elements of the problem that have the
characteristic of a problematic situation. In particular, how one particular
puzzle is solved may depend on decisions made regarding tradeoffs in other
areas. For example, how to code a piece of software for optimal operating
efficiency may be a puzzle, but the decision of whether to program for Optimal
operating efficiency is not. One would have to ask, “Given the present financial
resources of the organization and its long range business plans, should we
design a system for optimal operating efficiency, for immediate financial
savings, or for ease of future adaptability?” (There will likely be tradeoffs
between the three.)

202

particularly if these are understood to be either clearly correct or incorrect, is
simply asking too much. Talk of “solutions” creates unrealistic expectations.
Second, construing the problems of practical philosophy as problematic
situations allows for a wider range of responses. Because puzzles are more
clearly defined, the range of responses is limited to those that will provide a
determinate answer. With problematic situations we have other options. We
might propose multiple alternatives for consideration and appraisal, or, as
Dewey would say, we might “reconstruct” the problem so that we see it in a
different light altogether. Problematic situations can be reconstructed in a way
that puzzles cannot. When given a puzzle to solve, it is not appropriate to ask,
“Is this the right problem?” but when confronted with a problematic situation it
is appropriate to ask, “Are we really asking the right questions here? 18 X really
the problem or do we need to think about Y and Z?”

In addition to the inherent instability of contextual problems, the
endorsement of provisional solutions within practical philosophy has another
source. As Dewey noted, inquiry takes place in various degrees of distance
from concrete situations in which something must be done, and the distance
from the concrete situation affects the level of urgency we feel. The closer we
are to the concrete situation, the more closely our thinking is related to the
immediate need to act, and the more strongly we feel compelled to respond
(“Context of Thought” 104-105). This, in part, explains why practical
philosophy must tolerate uncertainty — urgency increases uncertainty.

Practically, we cannot wait until we solve the standard philosophical problem of

203

free will before we devise a penal code or decide what to do with this person
who committed that specific crime; we cannot wait until we know for certain
how a perfectly just society should be structured before we decide how to
allocate these heath care resources to people and institutions in this community;
physicians and families cannot wait until philosophers agree on what constitutes
human life, personhood, and death before they decide whether this patient
should be removed from the ventilator. In such situations certainty, if it is
possible at all, is a luxury that the constraint of limited time precludes. It is a
luxury that only distance from the immediate situation and, thus, from the
immediate need to act affords. Because theory-centered philosophers deal with
abstract and general problems removed from concrete and particular situations,
because they do not face immediate situations in which something must be done,
they do not feel the urgency of such situations.”

Fortunately, infallible knowledge, the type of certainty that is expressed
propositionally, is not a prerequisite for effective action. If it were, life would
almost certainly grind to a halt. We make decisions and act on those decisions
all the time in situations where this sort Of certainty is inherently lacking.
When I sit down in my chair I assume (in fact I give it no thought) that it will

support me as it always has in the past. I assume that when I set my coffee cup

 

”It is safe, I think, to assume that Dewey has theory-centered philosophy in
mind in the following passage: “Thinking is always thinking, but philosophic
thinking is, upon the whole, at the extreme end of the scale of distance from the
active urgency of concrete situations. It is because of this fact that neglect of
context is the besetting fallacy of philosophical thought” (“Context and
Thought” 105).

204

down, it will stay put on the desk surface rather than float into the air. In short,
in the course of day to day activities I rightly assume that nature is uniform
even though I cannot give a conclusive argument that it is.” And yet, it would
not be correct to say that I am not certain of it. I cannot genuinely doubt it —
i.e., I cannot act as if it were not true. Martin Benjamin contrasts such
certainty, what he refers to as “pragmatic certainty,” with “propositional
certainty” (unpublished manuscript). The source of pragmatic certainty is the
action of embodied social agents, not sound propositional arguments or self-
evident propositions entertained by the intellect. One could cite a variety of
beliefs that are pragmatically certain even though philosophers have given
sometimes powerful arguments to show that they are not propositionally certain.
For instance, we act as if we have some measure of free will and that other
people have minds despite philosophical arguments to the contrary. We claim to
make decisions and to act on the basis of those decisions. We praise and blame
people. We relate to people as if they had minds and conscious experience
similar to our own.

Just as important, philosophers also find that they can meaningfully
respond to problems of practical philosophy without certainty, either pragmatic

or propositional certainty. This is a point made forcefully by Jonsen and

 

2"James makes this somewhat obvious point in “The Sentiment of
Rationality.” “The necessity of faith as an ingredient in our mental attitude is
strongly insisted on by the scientific philosophers of the present day; . . . That
nature will follow tomorrow the same laws that she follows today is, they all
admit, a truth which no man can know; but in the interests of cognition as well
as of action we must postulate or assume it” (23).

205

Toulmin in the account of their experience working with the National
Commission for the Protection of Human Subjects of Biomedical and Behavior
Research (Abuse of Casuistry 16-20). The commission was to review existing
regulations and develop general ethical guidelines that would guide the
development of future biomedical and behavioral research. Jonsen and Toulmin
report that the commissioners were able to come to agreement on many practical
conclusions in regards to specific cases, or types of cases. This was a somewhat
surprising result considering the diverse educational, professional, and religious
backgrounds represented on the commission. However, while the commissioners
usually agreed on the practical conclusions, they nevertheless provided very ‘
different reasons and appealed to different general principles to support their
conclusions. In other words, disagreements were more profound at the
theoretical level than at the practical level. Importantly, however, the
disagreement at the deeper theoretical level did not stop the commission from
making practical recommendations that have provided significant guidance for
researchers involved with human subjects. The experience of the commission
demonstrates that solid contributions can be made to practical policy decisions
without certainty, in fact, in some cases, even without agreement on theoretical

matters that seem important.

2.3 Interdisciplinary Work
The third and final overlapping concern that I want to explore is the way

both pragmatism and practical philosophy push us towards interdisciplinary

206

work. Unlike the commitment to the centrality of context or the insistence on
fallibility, this theme is not so much an explicit emphasis in either pragmatism
or practical philosophy as it is a common implication arising from other
emphases.

It is tempting to make an argument connecting pragmatism and
interdisciplinary work by pointing to the diverse interests and involvements of
pragmatists and the range of fields that draw on pragmatic themes. For
instance, one could look at the example of the classical pragmatists. The
founders of pragmatism drew heavily on their knowledge and experience outside
of philosophy, and resisted the trend toward increasing specialization in
philosophy. Neither Peirce nor James was formerly trained in philosophy.
Peirce had extensive training and experience in the physical sciences. James’s
formal training was in medicine, and he was appointed to teach physiology and
psychology at Harvard before he became a professor of philosophy.”
Furthermore, he was critical of specialized training in philosophy and of
professionalization in the discipline (“The Ph.D. Octopus” 67-74). Dewey was
one of the first people to receive a Ph.D. in philosophy at Johns Hopkins, but
throughout his career he contributed to disciplines other than philosophy,
particularly to education. Despite these indications that the early pragmatists

viewed interdisciplinary work favorably, it must also be noted that all three, but

 

”See Daniel J. Wilson’s Science, Community, and the Transformation of
American Philosophy, I860-1930, pages 12-39 for a discussion of Peirce’s and
James’ scientific backgrounds and how those backgrounds affected their
understanding of an approach to philosophy.

207

particularly Peirce and James, came of age at a time when disciplinary
boundaries in the university were not yet well set. Given the timing of their
careers it might be more accurate to say that their support for interdisciplinary
work is more evident in their resistance to narrowing the scope of philosophy,
rather than in any self-conscious work across established disciplines.

Still, there are more than historical reasons for claiming that there is a
connection between pragmatism and interdisciplinary work. There are at least
two features of pragmatism that encourage interdisciplinarity. The first is its
emphasis on pluralism and the value of multiple perspectives. The second is the
holism reflected in the tendency of pragmatists to undermine distinctions such
as those between the subject and Object, experience and reality, facts and values,
and practice and theory.

Pluralism in pragmatism has many interrelated sources including
emphases on concrete experience and the agent point of view, anti-
foundationalism and epistemic fallibilism, and the inescapability of contingency
and chance in the universe. These factors lead to the conviction that multiple
descriptions of the world and multiple philosophic approaches” are unavoidable.
Such pluralism could well degenerate into a sort of radical relativism, but this

tendency is at least offset by a counterbalancing emphasis on the communal

 

2“James goes as far as to attribute a philosopher’s general philosophic
approach to his or her temperament. The “tender-minded” are drawn to
rationalism, whereas the “tough-minded” tend towards empiricism (Pragmatism
8-1 1), and many cannot be easily categorized. The point here, although James
does not draw it himself, is that if philosophical orientation is dictated, to a
large degree by temperament, then there are bound to be many different
orientations.

208

nature of inquiry found in the pragmatism of Peirce, Dewey, Mead, and others.
The lack of epistemic foundations and the inevitability of multiple perspectives
make intersubjectivity and community important, if not indispensable, factors in
developing objective, but fallible, knowledge. According to Richard Bernstein,

“it is only by submitting our hypotheses to public critical discussion that we

\ -fl'

become aware of what is valid in our claims and what fails to withstand critical
scrutiny. It is only by the serious encounter with what is other, different, and

alien that we can hope to determine what is idiosyncratic, limited, and partial”

 

(“Pragmatism, Pluralism, and the Healing of Wounds” 9).

This combination of pluralism and community, what Bernstein refers to
as “engaged fallibilistic pluralism” (“Pragmatism, Pluralism, and the Healing Of
Wounds” 15), encourages not only an openness to different philosophical
approaches and orientations, but also an openness to other disciplines. It leads
to the recognition both that there is no distinctive philosophical approach, and
that no single discipline holds a privileged epistemic position over all the other
disciplines. Furthermore, it leads to the recognition that the disciplinary
boundaries that have evolved in academia may not serve us well in resolving
intellectual problems. We may, according to Bernstein, “discover that we share
more intellectually in common with colleagues trained in different disciplines

than with our own departmental philosophic colleagues” (14-15).27

 

2"Bernstein refers to this as a “counter-disciplinary” movement to distinguish
it from an “interdisciplinary” movement. In the latter, while attempts to deal
with a given problem may require multiple perspectives, there is the
presumption that there are distinctive (e.g., philosophical, anthropological,
(continued...)

209

A second, more subtle, feature of pragmatism that encourages
interdisciplinary work is the way pragmatists have insisted upon breaking down
dichotomies, particularly dichotomies between facts and values and between
theory and practice. Undermining these dichotomies cultivates interdisciplinary
work to the extent that such dichotomies are used to delineate boundaries
between disciplines. For instance, once it is recognized that facts and values are
inseparably entangled (they “interpenetrate” as Putnam would say) the fact/value
distinction cannot be used to clearly distinguish the sciences from the
humanities. On the one hand, the academic and professional world within which
the activity of science takes place is imbued with culture, history, and values.
On the other, humanistic study of culture, history, and values inevitably draws
on knowledge of the world that science has made available. This is not to say
that either science or the humanities can be reduced to the other, or that we
cannot for many social and practical purposes distinguish the two. However, it
does suggest that they cannot be completely isolated, and more generally, that
the perceived boundaries between disciplines are more permeable than is often
thought

The openness to interdisciplinary work makes pragmatism particularly
suitable to practical philosophy because the problems of practical philosophy, as
I have argued, do not often fall neatly within the purview of a single discipline,

much less exclusively under the purview of theory-centered philosophy. There

 

27(...continued)
sociological, etc.) approaches (“Pragmatism, Pluralism, and the Healing of
Wounds” 14).

210

are two related reasons for this. First, the problems of practical philosophy

often emerge from philosophical reflection on the activities within other

disciplines and professions, and sometimes may actually be “brought to”

 

philosophy from people outside the discipline. In most cases, they will be

perceived to be not merely philosophical problems, but to be problems that have
some practical import or relevance outside of philosophy. Second, the problems

of practical philosophy tend to be interdisciplinary because they are context-

 

dependent. If a problem brought to philosophy is stripped of all its contextual

features — that is, if it is framed as an abstract and general problem suitable
for theory-centered philosophy — then it ceases to be a problem for practical

philosophy. However, if the contextual elements are retained as essential
elements of the problem, then philosophical training alone will be insufficient.

Aspects of the problem will lie outside the realm of philosophical expertise

alone.
The argument that the problems of practical philosophy are

interdisciplinary is supported by the way practical philosophers have effectively
worked with people from other disciplines on common projects. Some of the

most notable examples are the national committees and task forces created to

” At a more local level, philosophers have

address issues in biomedical ethics.

”A short list of the more prominent commissions would include the National
Commission for the Protection of Human Subjects of Biomedical and Behavior
Research, the President’s Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in
Medicine and Biomedical and Behavioral Research, the President’s Task Force

on Health Care Reform, and the National Bioethics Advisory Committee
While these national committees get a lot of attention, there are
(continued...)

Commission.

211

 

worked effectively with nurses, physicians, social workers, chaplains, lawyers,
and community members on institutional (hospital and nursing home) ethics
committees. These committees often include representatives from various
disciplines including law, medicine, theology, economics, and philosophy under

the plausible assumptions that 1) a complete understanding of the problems they

address demands input from multiple perspectives, and 2) that the quality of the 1
recommendations they may ultimately make will be improved by consideration 1
of multiple perspectives.” It is not always the case, however, that work on If
interdisciplinary problems must involve people from various disciplines. For i
instance, philosophers who work on problems in cognitive science, for instance“,

may find it necessary to draw heavily on work in neurophysiology, psychology,

or computer science though they are not involved in any group decision-making

process.

The question of precisely what role a philosopher should take in these

interdisciplinary contexts is not one that I can fully address here. However, I

will briefly sketch three suggestions that indicate the direction I think that

 

2“(...continued)
also numerous such committees formed at the state or local levels as well.

”See also Paul Thompson’s discussion of the role that the community of
inquiry plays in a pragmatic reconstruction of environmental problems. He
argues because the value of truth or knowledge is an essential part of the
pragmatic theory of truth, the community of inquiry must include practitioners
as well as theoreticians. “In practice, however, communities of inquiry that
include practitioners — bridge-builders, farmers, policy-makers — have a
reliable mechanism of self-criticism: the ideas must work. Thought and theory
must help solve practical problems, and when it does not, we must revise in a

fashion that is methodologically equivalent to falsification” (“Pragmatism and
Policy” 203).

212

 

discussion should take.30 First, to say that the problems of practical philosophy
require interdisciplinary attention is not to say that the practical philosopher
must be an expert in each of the other disciplines or professions involved. This
is simply unrealistic. An appropriate resolution may require input from a

number of people, each of whom brings a particular expertise. What the

philosopher needs is a basic working knowledge of the area(s) and an ability to

learn from the other people involved so that his or her unique contributions will

be appropriate to the context.

Second, in interdisciplinary settings philosophers, like people from other
disciplines, can and do make unique contributions of both knowledge and skill. ‘
Many problems outside of philosophy have connections to problems that

philosophers have dealt with extensively. For instance, while the values of

autonomy, beneficence, and justice or the concepts of personhood and death
cannot be simply applied to resolve problems in clinical medicine, they are,
nevertheless, relevant to the issues that do arise there. Philosophers who have
spent a considerable amount of time reflecting on such values and concepts can

provide a unique insight that professionals from other disciplines may not be

otherwise aware of. In addition to philosophical “knowledge” the skills in

critical thinking and conceptual analysis that philosophers consciously work to
develop in the course of their training can be extremely useful. Philosophers,

for instance, through careful argumentation have been instrumental in critically

 

30See also E. Haavi Morreim, “At the Intersection of Medicine, Law,
Economics, and Ethics: Bioethics and the Art of Intellectual Cross-Dressing.”

213

 

 

examining some distinctions in medicine, such as the distinction between
ordinary and extraordinary treatment or between withholding and withdrawing
life sustaining treatment, that were found either conceptually flawed or morally
irrelevant. Clear, critical thinking and careful attention to language are not the
exclusive domains of philosophy, but they are aptitudes, developed in
philosophical training, that philosophers can use to make unique contributions in
interdisciplinary settings.

Finally, philosophers have a unique role to play in helping to see the
connections between various disciplines. One must be careful not to make too
strong of a statement here. This is not the claim that philosophy is the queen of I
the sciences or that it is the arbiter of all knowledge claims by virtue of some
unique understanding of knowledge itself. The claim is something much more
modest. What I have in mind is a vision of philosophy that conceives of itself,
not primarily as a specialized discipline with its own exclusive set of problems
and methods, but in the words of Wilfred Sellars, as an attempt to “understand
how things in the broadest possible sense of the term hang together in the
broadest possible sense of the term” (“Philosophy and the Scientific Image of
Man” 1).31 Philosophers can play this role in interdisciplinary settings because
they are trained to question the methods and presuppositions that professionals

in other disciplines often take for granted. This is evident in the many second

31Richard Rorty is fond of citing Sellars’ conception of philosophy, but his
usage of it tends to have the effect of making philosophy less professional.
Downplaying the usefulness of other philosophical knowledge or skills, he
envisions a “post-philosophical” culture in which the philosopher is an all-
purpose intellectual (Introduction: Pragmatism and Philosophy” xiii-xlvii).

214

 

order areas of study that have long been part of philosophy — the philosophy
of science, of religion, of art, of mathematics, medicine, etc. Moreover, unlike
other disciplines, which draw a distinction between the discipline and the
philosophy of the discipline (e.g., between science and the philosophy of
science), there is no philosophy of philosophy understood as a distinct subject
matter. When one does the philosophy of philosophy, one is still doing
philosophy. Given this propensity to investigate the methods and assumptions
of different disciplines, philosophers may be better able to bridge the gaps
between disciplines, to foster communication between persons in different

disciplines, and thus, to facilitate interdisciplinary work.

In this chapter I have argued that three overlapping concerns — the
centrality of context, fallibilism, and the interdisciplinary nature of the problems
— bring practical philosophy and pragmatism together. These three points of
connection explain why pragmatism provides a promising and attractive
framework for practical philosophy, and why several contemporary practical
philosophers have turned to pragmatism to find a deeper understanding and
justification of what they are doing. Perhaps less directly, the connection with
pragmatism also supports the claim that practical philosophy is a philosophically
defensible endeavor by showing that practical philosophy need not be considered
an activity foreign to professional philosophy. Pragmatic practical philosophers

need not leave the boundaries of the discipline when they do their work. They

215

 

 

can draw on an important, but neglected tradition, the tradition of American
pragmatism.

There is, however, an unresolved tension between the version Of
pragmatic practical philosophy outlined in this chapter and the type of theory-
centered philosophy that provides the basis for much Of contemporary
professional philosophy. Pragmatism, like practical philosophy, seems to give
priority to practice over theory. While this provides support for practical
philosophy, it leaves open the question of how we are to understand the
relationship between theory and practice in philosophy, and thus, of how we are

to understand the relationship between theory-centered and practical philosophy.

I turn to these questions in the next chapter.

216

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE
PRAGMATISM, PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY AND WIDE REFLECTIVE

EQUILIBRIUM

The previous chapters presented a somewhat stark contrast between
practical philosophy and theory-centered philosophy. The former emphasizes
concrete, particular, time-sensitive problems; the latter emphasizes abstract,

universal, and eternal problems. The former insists that the need to act

 

ultimately motivates our theoretical work, and that careful attention to context is
an important feature of inquiry; the latter insists on stepping away from the A A
particular immediate context in order to address problems more clearly and
thoroughly at an abstract level. The former downplays the role Of theoretical
inquiry, giving practice a high priority over theory; the latter downplays the role
of practice, making philosophy primarily, if not exclusively, a contemplative

enterprise. Given this contrast, one might question whether practical and

 

theory-centered philosophy have enough in common to legitimately be
considered parts of the same discipline.

In this chapter I use the notion of wide reflective equilibrium, considered
as a general model for philosophical inquiry, as a bridge between practical and
theory-centered philosophy. As a model of inquiry that recognizes the mutual
interdependence Of theory and practice, wide reflective equilibrium provides a
way of bringing practical and theory-centered philosophy together. Rather than

two completely separate endeavors, they are different, but essential elements of

217

an integrated process of philosophical inquiry. For this reason wide reflective
equilibrium is quite compatible with the type of pragmatic practical philosophy
defended in previous chapters.

This chapter is divided into three sections. In the first I describe wide
reflective equilibrium, both as a model of justification in moral and social
philosophy, and as a more general model of philosophical thinking. In the
second I look at the connections or affinities between practical philosophy,
pragmatism, and wide reflective equilibrium, arguing that wide reflective
equilibrium helps to bridge the gap between theory-centered and practical
philosophy by offering an account of how theory and practice stand in a
relationship of mutual dependence. In the third and final section I raise and
respond to an Objection that has been brought against both pragmatism and

reflective equilibrium, what I call the problem of “bad coherence.”

1 Wide Reflective Equilibrium

Wide reflective equilibrium has been expounded primarily as an
alternative to foundationalist models of justification in moral and social
philosophy.l

Broadly construed, foundationalism in ethics can refer to both the

content and the structure of an ethical theory. It is the view that moral

 

1See John Rawls, A Theory of Justice, 20, 46-53, 579; Political Liberalism, 8,
28, 45; “The Independence of Moral Theory, 7-10; Norman Daniels, “Introduction:

Reflective Equilibrium in Theory and Practice;” “Wide Reflective Equilibrium and
Theory Acceptance in Ethics;” “On Some Methods of Ethics and Linguistics;” and David
Degrazia, Taking Animals Seriously: Mental Life and Moral Status, 11-35.

218

 

Ifin .- .

 

justification has a two-tiered structure. Some moral beliefs are justified non-
inferentially through an appeal to reason or intuition. These basic beliefs serve
as a foundation for other beliefs that are derived from them — i.e., that are
justified inferentially.2 While it is not necessary that a foundationalist theory of
justification assert that foundational beliefs can be known with certainty or that
inferences from them are infallible, the attractiveness of foundationalist theories
is the promise that specific moral judgments can be given some independent
justification. That is, they can be justified by appealing to more general beliefs
or principles that are justified independently of specific moral judgments.

As a coherence model of justification wide reflective equilibrium stands I
in contrast to foundationalism. Like foundationalists, advocates of wide
reflective equilibrium recognize that our moral system includes beliefs of
various levels of generality, from specific moral judgments to general moral
principles. However, unlike the foundationalists, they do not hold that
justification moves systematically or exclusively from the general to the

specific. Instead, both our specific considered moral judgments3 and our moral

 

2David DeGrazia identifies two types of foundationalism in ethics, rationalism
and deductivism (Taking Animals Seriously 11). Rationalism makes claims regarding the
content of ethics. It is the view that ethics has a metaethical foundation, that there are
some nonmoral facts that make ethics rationally compelling. In contrast, deductivism is a
claim about the structure of ethics. The claim is that there is a normative foundation for
ethics, and that all moral judgments can, in principle, be derived from it.

3The term “considered” is added here to indicate that not all specific moral

judgments have the same justificatory weight. Rawls characterizes considered judgments
as those that are “rendered under conditions favorable to the exercise of the sense of

justice, and therefore in circumstances where the more common excuses and explanations
for making a mistake do not obtain (A Theory of Justice 47-48). Daniels describes them

(continued...)

219

 

 

principles are justified by how well they cohere with one another and with other
relevant background beliefs and theories (philosophical, empirical, etc.) that we

hold to be true or well-grounded. Norman Daniels describes this process of

justification in the following way:

The method of wide reflective equilibrium is an attempt to
produce coherence in an ordered triple of sets of beliefs held by a
particular person, namely, (a) a set of considered moral judgments,
(b) a set of moral principles, and (c) a set of relevant background

theories. . . . We can imagine the agent working back and forth,
making adjustments to his considered judgments, his moral

principles, and his background theories. In this way he arrives at
an equilibrium point that consists of the ordered triple of (a), (b),

and (c) (“Wide Reflective Equilibrium and Theory Acceptance”
22).

It is important to note that while there are, to be sure, different levels of
generality, those levels of generality do not correspond to justificatory priority.
None of our judgments, principles, or theories is privileged; none serves as an
absolute foundation for the others, and each is open to revision. We may
change a specific moral judgment so that it is more consistent with a general
moral principle, or we may decide that a moral principle must be modified to
better account for the range of specific moral judgments that we hold firmly.
Say, for instance, that I find myself in a situation where I need to lie in order to
protect a friend. In fact, in this particular case I feel it is the right thing to do.

However, I also believe that it is wrong to lie. In order to reach coherence

 

3(...continued)
as initial moral judgments that have been filtered “to include only those of which he [the
moral agent] is relatively confident and which have been made under conditions

conducive to avoid errors of judgment. For example, the person is calm and has adequate

information about cases being judged” (“Wide Reflective Equilibrium and Theory
Acceptance” 22).

220

 

“ff

between my specific judgment and my general moral principle, I need to modify
one or the other. I could change my judgment, concluding that it would be
wrong to lie for my friend. Or, I could qualify my general principle to allow
lying in certain cases. However, according to advocates of wide reflective
equilibrium, there is no predetermined formula that can tell me which I should

revise.

.- an... “a
‘-
I
..

Something needs to be said about the notion Of coherence. What does it

mean to say that one’s particular moral judgments, moral principles, and

 

background theories cohere or that they are in equilibrium? It is not my intent L...
here to offer any definitive analysis of the notion of coherence as it is
understood in wide reflective equilibrium. In fact, I am not sure that there is
any single definitive notion. However, three comments are, I think,
appropriate. First, it is important to note that the notion of coherence is a
complex notion that involves much more than just logical consistency. Daniels,
for instance, claims that coherence also involves inference to the best
explanation, plausibility, and simplicity (“Introductionz Reflective Equilibrium
in Theory and Practice” 2). In a more detailed account David DeGrazia lists
eight “theoretical virtues” that he argues are “packed into” the notion of
coherence. These virtues include logical consistency, argumentative support,
global illumination, simplicity, clarity, power, plausibility, and compatibility
with whatever else we know or reasonably believe (Taking Animals Seriously
14-17). So, while logical consistency is an important element of coherence, it

alone, does not suffice to make a system coherent.

221

 

 

Second, wide reflective equilibrium is an agent-centered model of
justification. The model does not describe what it would be for a system of
beliefs to be justified from a God’s-eye point of view, but from the point of
view of an agent or community of agents with practical as well as theoretical

interests and values.4 Thus, DeGrazia’s terminology notwithstanding, the

 

considerations, virtues, or values that are included in the notion of coherence
have practical as well as theoretical dimensions? In the first place, we may

have good reasons for wanting our beliefs, taken as a whole, to enjoy

 

argumentative support, to be simple, to be clear, and to be plausible. A system ll...
Of beliefs with these qualities may be easier to teach and communicate to others,

easier to understand and defend, and better able to provide guidance in

situations where it is not clear what action to take. More importantly, coherence

from an agent-centered perspective must account for what we do as well as the

propositions we believe to be true. You may be able to put down on paper a

clear, simple, consistent set of propositions, but if you cannot live by them, they

do not form a coherent system. For instance, it may be possible intellectually to

 

“One of the most eloquent arguments of the role that both theoretical and practical
concerns play in rationality can be found in James’ “The Sentiment of Rationality.”

5Some precedence for the claim that the notion of coherence has both practical
and theoretical dimensions can be found in James, particularly in “The Sentiment of
Rationality.” In that essay he argues that we perceive a “conception of the frame of
things” as rational when it meets certain theoretic and practical needs. Among the
theoretic needs he includes simplicity, cleamess, and unity. Among the practical needs
he argues that for a philosophy to be considered rational it must “define the future
congruously with our spontaneous powers” (16). By this he means both that a
philosophy must be capable of making future experiences comprehensible and that it
appeal to the natural powers and impulses that we value.

222

 

defend the claim that other people do not have minds or that we have no free
will. However, since it is not possible to live by such beliefs they cannot be
part of a coherent system.

Finally, because the notion of coherence involves a complex constellation
of practical and theoretical values or considerations, wide reflective equilibrium
is not an algorithmic or systematic process that results in a single determinate
state of belief. In fact, it is possible for different agents or communities who
share a significant number of beliefs to reach different points of equilibrium —
i.e., they can disagree on other beliefs without either being incoherent. One
reason for this is that conflicts emerge between the values involved in coherence
that cannot be resolved by appealing to the notion of coherence itself. Consider,
for instance, the values of simplicity and clarity. The value of simplicity may
move one to adopt only a small number of very general principles (e.g., It is
wrong to lie), whereas the value of clarity may motivate one to adopt a greater
number of more specific principles or to qualify the general principles to make
them as specific as possible (e. g., It is wrong to lie, except when one must do so
to protect a friend, etc.). The notion of coherence provides no determinate
answer as to how the tradeoff between simplicity and clarity (or between other
values) should be made.6 Thus, different points of equilibrium could be reached
by different agents or communities of agents who reconcile the values of

simplicity and clarity differently.

 

6James discusses the tension between the values of simplicity and clearness in
“The Sentiment of Rationality” (4-8).

223

Though wide reflective equilibrium was expounded initially, and
continues to be considered, primarily as a model of theory justification in moral
and social philosophy, there is nothing in the structure of the model that would
limit it to moral inquiry. There is no reason why the considered judgments must
be limited to considered moral judgments or that the general principles should
be limited to moral principles. Wide reflective equilibrium can be conceived as
a broader model of philosophical justification. For instance, we might seek
coherence between our beliefs about subjective visual experiences, what
cognitive psychology and neurophysiology tell us about visual functioning in
humans, and our general philosophical theories of mind, representation, and
information processing. In so doing we will be engaged in philosophical inquiry
as Sellars understood it, in an attempt to “understand how things in the broadest
possible sense of the term hang together in the broadest possible sense of the
term” (“Philosophy and the Scientific Image of Man” 1). Though I will at
points speak Of it as a model of justification in moral and social philosophy, in
what follows I want to consider wide reflective equilibrium as a more general
model of philosophical justification that is particularly suitable to the version of
pragmatic practical philosophy developed in earlier chapters.

The proposition that wide reflective equilibrium should not be limited to
moral and social philosophy, but should be considered as a more general model

of philosophical justification is by no means a new or unique proposal. Both

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Rawls and Daniels suggest that the model is not limited to moral theory?
Rawls, in fact, in a footnote attributes an initial formulation of the model to
Nelson Goodman who he claims advocated a sort of reflective equilibrium as a
method of justifying systems of induction (A Theory of Justice 20). Still other
philOSOphers have considered (both advocated and criticized) reflective
equilibrium as a more general epistemological theory.8 Kai Nielsen has perhaps
been the most articulate advocate of wide reflective equilibrium as a general
approach to philosophical inquiry. Looking at Nielsen’s work over the past
decade one can see a general transition and expansion in his use of wide
reflective equilibrium from a method of justification in moral and political
philosophy, to a component of critical theory, to a general non-foundationalist
approach to philosophical inquiry? He writes that while wide reflective
equilibrium

starts as a controversial philosophical thesis, it commends itself to

reflective common sense and is a systematization of a way of
proceeding we pervasively apply commonsensically in inquiry and

 

7Rawls suggests that it is similar to the process of justifying principles of
induction and linguistic principles (A Theory of Justice 20, 47-50) . Daniels argues that
the coherentist account of justification is intended to be general and not limited to moral
justification. He claims that the method is used in other domains as well, such as the
justification of alternative logics and the justification of scientific theories (“On Some
Methods of Ethics and Linguistics” 72-77).

8See for example, Ernest Sosa, “Equilibrium in Coherence?” and Stephen Stich,
“Reflective Equilibrium, Analytic Epistemology and the Problem of Cognitive
Diversity.”

9Kai Nielsen, “How to be Skeptical about Philosophy;” “Scientism, Pragmatism,
and the Fate of Philosophy;” “Philosophy as Critical Theory;” “Reflective Equilibrium
and the Transformation of Philosophy;” “Relativism and Wide Reflective Equilibrium;”
and “Philosophy Within the Limits of Wide Reflective Equilibrium Alone.”

225

in the justification of belief and action. The method of wide
reflective equilibrium, I would contend, is enlightened common
sense rooted in our considered judgments and our use of public
reason . . . It is a way of conceptualizing what we do when we are
being reflective and careful and are not being carried away by
some philosophical extravagance or other (“Philosophy Within the
Limits of Wide Reflective Equilibrium Alone” 16).

2 Pragmatism and Wide Reflective Equilibrium

While wide reflective equilibrium is not typically touted as a model of
inquiry emerging from pragmatism or as an approach to practical philosophy
there are good reasons why a philosopher who is sympathetic to both
pragmatism and practical philosophy should give it serious consideration. First,
there are several features Of wide reflective equilibrium — its non-
foundationalism and emphasis on fallibilism, the importance it places on
context, and the fluidity it allows between facts and values — that make it
quite compatible with pragmatism. Pragmatists may find in wide reflective
equilibrium an articulation of a model Of inquiry that is both widely held and
consistent with their pragmatic convictions. Second, the significant role that
wide reflective equilibrium gives to concrete practice should appeal to practical
philosophers. Moreover, the fact that it does so without denigrating theory
makes it particularly attractive to those who want to maintain continuity with
more theory-centered philosophy.

A few preliminary comments regarding the historical relationship between
pragmatism and wide reflective equilibrium are appropriate. There are

interesting passages in the writings of the classical pragmatists to suggest that

226

they anticipated and supported certain themes that later became elements of
wide reflective equilibrium. For instance, Peirce’s description of inquiry as a
struggle to move from the irritation of doubt to the calm state of belief is not
unlike a conception of inquiry as a process that moves us from a state of
disequilibrium to equilibrium. J ames’s description of rationality as a
psychological state in which we experience a fluency or freedom of thought and
irrationality as a state in which that fluency is disturbed expresses a similar
view (“Sentiment of Rationality” 3-4). James also describes the process of
developing new beliefs as one in which the individual, confronted with new
opinions that conflict with his or her existing set of beliefs, experiences inward
trouble and seeks to resolve the trouble by changing beliefs or adding beliefs
until the new can be reconciled with the old.” At some points he even uses the
term “equilibrium” to describe the process of reconciling old beliefs with new
experiences, of expanding our knowledge (Pragmatism 78-79). Dewey’s

account of inquiry in “The Pattern of Inquiry” seems also to anticipate wide

 

”It is worth quoting James at some length here.

The process here is always the same. The individual has a stock of old
opinions already, but he meets a new experience that puts them to a strain.
Somebody contradicts them; or in a reflective moment he discovers that
they contradict each other; or he hears of facts with which they are
incompatible; or desires arise in him which they cease to satisfy. The
result is an inward trouble to which his mind till then had been a stranger,
and from which he seeks to escape by modifying his previous mass of
opinions. He saves as much of it as he can, for in this matter of belief we
are all extreme conservatives. So he tries to change first this opinion, and
then that (for they resist change very variously), until at last some new
idea comes up which he can graft upon the ancient stock with a minimum
of disturbance of the latter, some idea that mediates between the stock and
the new experience and runs them into one another most felicitously and
expediently (Pragmatism 31).

227

reflective equilibrium. His description of problematic situations that initiate
inquiry as those that are “disturbed, troubled, ambiguous, confused, full of
conflicting tendencies, Obscure, etc.,” is a characterization of incoherence or
disequilibrium (320). Moreover the process of inquiry, according to Dewey,
whether it be the scientific inquiry or the inquiry of common sense, is a process
intended to reestablish coherence.”

While the classical pragmatists predated Rawls’ introduction of wide
reflective equilibrium in A Theory of Justice (1971), some recent (“post-
Rawlsian”) philosophers have noted the apparent connections between
pragmatism and wide reflective equilibrium. DeGrazia, for instance, explicitly
places his coherence model of ethical justification within the framework of
philosophical pragmatism, particularly emphasizing the non-foundationalism of
pragmatism.” Rorty’s position in regard to wide reflective equilibrium is
somewhat ambiguous, but I think it is fair to say that he would support the
general thrust of wide reflective equilibrium when it is construed quite broadly.
Though he advocates a “pragmatism without method” in response to the

tendencies towards scientism in pragmatism and is suspicious of any general

 

”“Inquiry is the controlled or directed transformation of an indeterminate
situation into one that is so determinate in its constituent distinctions and relations as to
convert the elements of the original situation into a unified whole” (“Patterns of Inquiry
319-320, italics in the original).

”DeGrazia advocates pragmatism as an alternative to foundationalism. “By
pragmatism I mean, roughly, the view that the best way to approach philosophical and
moral problems is not to try to get behind appearances and glimpse things as they are in
themselves — an approach that assumes there is a “God's-eye” view of things — but to
understand theories as tools for dealing with the world, and to use (and fashion) them
accordingly” (Taking Animals Seriously 18).

228

philosophical methodology (“Pragmatism without Method” 63-77), his very
Deweyan reading of Rawls in “The Priority of Democracy to Philosophy”
suggests support for wide reflective equilibrium, particularly of its non-
foundational aspects (179-186). Nielsen draws connections between pragmatism
and wide reflective equilibrium in several articles, arguing that it is a model of
philosophical inquiry that is consistent with the anti-foundationalism and
fallibilism of pragmatism.”

Still, while there is much to suggest a close connection between wide
reflective equilibrium and pragmatism it would be a mistake to imply that all
advocates of wide reflective equilibrium are pragmatists or that all pragmatists
employ the model of wide reflective equilibrium. It is important to note, for
instance, that there is little, if any, evidence that either Rawls or Daniels, two of
the primary defenders of wide reflective equilibrium, see themselves as working
within the pragmatic tradition. Nor do they explicitly connect wide reflective

equilibrium to the pragmatism.” Thus, it seems reasonable to contend that

 

”In particular see “Scientism, Pragmatism, and the Fate of Philosophy” and
“Philosophy Within the Limits of Wide Reflective Equilibrium Alone.”

1“For example, Rawls barely mentions James, Dewey, or Royce in A Theory of
Justice or Political Liberalism, and when he does it is not in connection with reflective
equilibrium. Maybe even more notable is the absence of any significant reference to
either pragmatism or the pragmatists in Daniel’s Justice and Justification, a compilation
of his essays on reflective equilibrium that span nearly two decades. There may,
however, be some indirect connection. Rawls does give some credit for the model to
Nelson Goodman whom some have characterized as a pragmatist. Still, Rawls does not
explicitly attribute Goodman’s approach to his pragmatism.

229

while wide reflective equilibrium is consistent with pragmatism it is not

theoretically dependent on pragmatism.”

2.1 Non-Foundationalism and Fallibilism

Pragmatism and wide reflective equilibrium share a commitment to non-
foundationalism and fallibilism. As I argued in Chapter 3, pragmatism
developed largely as a reaction to Cartesianism, one of the hallmark
characteristics of which is a sort of radical foundationalism that claims that in
order to qualify as knowledge our beliefs must rest on some certain foundations,
and that humans have some special faculty by which we can know these
foundations. Pragmatists have questioned both of these claims.

In earlier chapters I explored in some detail the connection between
pragmatism’s skepticism regarding human access to indubitable foundations and
its rejection of representationalism and the spectator theory of knowledge. In
rejecting the spectator theory of knowledge in favor of an agent-centered point
of view pragmatists put aside the project of trying to find any absolute or
infallible foundations for our knowledge of the world. In particular they dismiss
the idea that there could be a God’s-eye view of the universe, that there could

be any foundation for knowledge independent of agents with their aims and

 

”This point is made nicely by Kai Nielsen in his discussion of the similarities and
dissirnilarities between Rawls and Rorty in “Philosophy Within the Limits of Wide
Reflective Equilibrium Alone.” Nielsen argues that Rawls and Rorty would agree that in
moral, social, and political philosophy one should “travel metaphysically and
epistemologically light,” but that they would give difierent reasons for doing so (31-34).

230

interests. However, pragmatists have argued, the absence of indubitable
foundations does not preclude the possibility of knowledge and justification.
Indubitable beliefs are not the only starting points for justification. While every
belief is fallible, we cannot, as agents, doubt everything at once. Otto Neurath’s
useful metaphor of rebuilding a ship at sea is apt here. We can completely
rebuild a ship at sea if we carefully replace one or two planks at a time, though
we cannot entirely dismantle the ship all at once in order to rebuild from
scratch. Some significant portion of the ship must always remain intact if it is
not to sink, and if we are to have a steady platform to work from as we rebuild.
So too it is with our system of beliefs. We can replace one or a few beliefs at a I
time, but we must always retain some relatively secure beliefs, provisional fixed
points from which we reason.” Not that we always retain these self-
consciously. These are beliefs, Peirce argued, that it does not even occur to us
can be questioned at the time (“Some Consequences of Four Incapacities” 228).
While it would be a mistake to assume that such beliefs are infallible, they are
secure enough to provide a starting point for justification.

Moreover, it is not clear that justification is best accomplished by a two-
tiered or linear structure in which some beliefs are justified inferentially from
other more basic beliefs that are justified non-inferentially. Such a structure

makes the justification only as strong as the single starting point, which,

 

”James expresses this point in the following way. “To begin with, our knowledge
grows in spots. The spots may be large or small, but the knowledge never grows all over:
some old knowledge always remains what it was” (Pragmatism 77, emphasis in the

original).
231

pragmatists argue, can only be considered provisional. A more complex system
of justification is required, a system in which beliefs and practices gain support
not only from more basic beliefs, but from a network of beliefs and practices,
and from how well they fit in a system of beliefs that coheres as a whole.
Pragmatists appeal to a variety of metaphors to describe such a system of
justification. Peirce argued that philosophical reasoning “should not form a
chain which is no stronger than its weakest link, but a cable whose fibres may
be ever so slender, provided they are sufficiently numerous and intimately
connected” (“Some Consequences of Four Incapacities” 229). Later pragmatists,
such as Rorty, appeal to Quine’s notion of a web of belief as forming the basis
for justification. This is reflected in Rorty’s appropriation of Sellars’ vision of
philosophy. Quoting Sellars almost verbatim, Rorty urges us to View
philosophy as “an attempt to see how things, in the broadest possible sense of
the term, hang together, in the broadest possible sense of the term”
(“Introductionz Pragmatism and Philosophy” xiv).

Wide reflective equilibrium should appeal to pragmatists, then inasmuch
as it involves a non-foundationalist and fallibilistic approach to justification.
Rawls and Daniels make it clear that they are advocating a coherence rather than
foundationalist account ofjustification.l7 Rejecting foundationalist accounts of

moral theory that appeal either to self-evident first principles or the attempt to

 

17For example, see Rawls, A Theory of Justice, 577-587; Daniels, “Introduction:
Reflective Equilibrium in Theory and Practice” 2; and Daniels “Wide Reflective
Equilibrium and Theory Acceptance in Ethics”, 26-27, 33-40.

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define moral concepts in terms of non-moral concepts, Rawls states that
“justification rests upon the entire conception and how it fits in with and
organizes our considered judgments in reflective equilibrium” (A Theory of
Justice 579). There has been some debate about whether or not wide reflective
equilibrium gives a privileged, non-inferential status to considered judgments,
and thus collapses into a sort of intuitionist foundationalism.” However, the
insistence that all beliefs, including our firmly held considered judgments, are
revisable seems to run counter to this claim.” No particular judgment
(considered or otherwise), no principle or set of principles, no background
theory is considered infallible or given a privileged epistemic status. Though
some beliefs are initially more secure than others, each is, in principle, revisable

in light of the others.

2.2 The Importance of Context

A commitment to the relevance of context is another feature of wide
reflective equilibrium that resonates with pragmatism and makes it particularly
attractive as an approach to practical philosophy. As I have already discussed
the importance of context to both pragmatism and practical philosophy at some

length I will not repeat that discussion here. Instead I will look at the

 

”See Michael R. DePaul, “Reflective Equilibrium and Foundationalism” and
Roger P. Ebertz, “Is Reflective Equilibrium a Coherentist Model?”

”For Norman Daniels’ response to this sort of criticism and to the related
criticism regarding the initial credibility of considered judgments see “Wide Reflective
Equilibrium and Theory Acceptance in Ethics” 26-27, 33-34.

233

significance of context in wide reflective equilibrium as a model of theory
justification in moral and social philosophy, making the assumption that if
context plays a significant role in this limited use of wide reflective equilibrium,
then it will also play a significant role when the model is construed as a broader
model of philosophical inquiry.

As a model of theory justification in moral and social philosophy wide
reflective equilibrium is particularly responsive to context in four distinct ways.
First, the role that particular considered moral judgments play in wide reflective
equilibrium assures that the process of justification remains attached, or at least
sensitive to the local and particular context in which justification takes place.
Justificatory weight is given to particular considered moral judgments made by
particular agents or communities in particular cultural, historical and social
contexts. Although these judgments are not epistemically privileged, they
provide a starting point for reflection. Thus, from the start, justification is
situated in a context. Furthermore, because a test of the adequacy of our more
general moral judgments and principles is that they are consistent with these
particular judgments, there is some assurance that even these more general or
abstract judgments and principles have relevance to the cultural, historical, and
social context.

Second, an important feature of wide (as opposed to narrow) reflective
equilibrium is that the agent or community of agents must take into account and

bring under scrutiny not only particular judgments and general principles, but

234

also relevant background theories and assumptions.” Such theories are to
encompass a wide range of knowledge — philosophical, empirical,
sociological, etc. The breadth of this background knowledge is best captured, I
think, by DeGrazia’s eighth theoretical virtue of a coherent system, that our
moral beliefs should be compatible with “whatever else we know or reasonably
believe” (Taking Animals Seriously 17). This inclusion of such background
knowledge in the process of moral justification is consistent with Dewey’s
admonition that we not neglect context in philosophical reflection, but instead
should pay attention to the background assumptions — e.g., assumptions about
how the world works, human nature, etc. — that we take for granted in most
situations (“Context and Thought” 98-103).

Third, wide reflective equilibrium remains sensitive to context inasmuch
as the equilibrium can always be upset by new problematic situations.
Reflection on and revision of our considered judgments, principles, and
background theories is not a one-time affair, but a constant and ongoing process.
The world as we experience it is a dynamic and changing place. Our knowledge
of the world increases, our technology improves, we encounter new people and
have new experiences, and our social and cultural institutions change. Such

change strains and sometimes upsets whatever equilibrium has been established,

 

”According to Rawls and Daniels the inclusion of relevant background theories is
what distinguishes wide reflective equilibrium from narrow reflective equilibrium. (“The
Independence of Moral Theory” 8; “Reflective Equilibrium and Archimedean Points”
49). However, it should be noted that the relevant background theories that they mention
are philosophical arguments and theories (e. g., the concept of a person).

235

causing us to reevaluate, adjust, and revise our beliefs in order to reestablish
equilibrium. As James put it, “[e]xperience, as we know, has a way of boiling
over, and making us correct our present formulas” (Pragmatism 100, emphasis
in the original).

Fourth, wide reflective equilibrium is particularly responsive to context
because, as noted earlier, the notion of coherence includes practical as well as
theoretical dimensions. Wide reflective equilibrium is an agent-centered model
of justification. An agent’s beliefs are presumptively action-guiding. If the
agent cannot bring himself to act in accordance with a set of beliefs that
otherwise appear to be in coherence, then there is something amiss. The set of
beliefs cannot actually be in coherence and some beliefs need to be revised. But
actions and practices, unlike propositions, are necessarily embedded in a
particular context; actions and practices are always local and particular.

The ongoing story of how we have grappled with the determination of
death in the United States serves to illustrate the process of wide reflective
equilibrium and the relevance of context to the process.21 Prior to the 19608

death was understood medically as the irreversible cessation of circulatory and

 

”For a discussion of the definition of death as an example of wide reflective
equilibrium see Martin Benjamin and Joy Curtis, Ethics in Nursing, 3rd edition, 41-42. In
a more recent article Benjamin offers a pragmatic account of the debates regarding the
determination of death (“Pragmatism and the Determination of Death,” 181-193). For a
broader discussion of the debate over conceptions of death see the President’s
Commission for the Study of Ethical Problems in Medicine and Biomedical and
Behavioral Research, Defining Death; Karen Grandstrand Gervais, Redefining Death,
and Karen Grandstrand Gervais, “Advancing the Definition of Death: A Philosophical
Essay.”

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respiratory functions, and physicians declared death after a prolonged absence of
these vital functions. This understanding or conception of death, along with
moral norms for how we were to treat patients who were still alive — e.g., we
should not withdraw or terminate treatment, nor should we take actions that
would hasten their death — guided medical practice accordingly. There was,
one might say, a relatively stable equilibrium or coherence between our
judgments regarding most patients, our medical practices, our general moral
norms, and our conception of death. In the 19608, however, two developments
within medicine combined to upset this equilibrium: 1) the development of
technology that allowed physicians to maintain circulatory and respiratory
functions artificially, and 2) the advancement of organ transplant procedures.
These developments raised new questions. How were we to treat patients whose
brains had been completely and irreversibly destroyed, and whose respiration
and circulation could only be maintained through artificial means? How were
we to meet the increasing demand for donated organs? That such questions
were raised suggested that the previous equilibrium had been upset. For
instance, our inclination to act in certain ways —— e.g., remove treatment or
harvest organs from patients whose brains had been completely and irreversibly
destroyed — could not easily be reconciled with both the traditional
understanding of death and norms prohibiting the termination of treatment or the
hastening of death. The increasing number of such cases created what Dewey

would have called a problematic situation.

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At the risk of oversimplification, the “solution” to this problematic
situation was to revise the understanding of death so that it was more consistent
with our norms regarding how to treat living patients, judgments regarding how
to treat patients whose brains has been completely and irreversibly destroyed,
and the practice of harvesting organs. In 1968 the Ad Hoc Committee of the
Harvard Medical School recommended that such patients, based on neurological
criteria, should not be considered alive at all.” The members proposed that
certain neurological criteria be used to establish death when medical
interventions interfered with the application of the standard cardiopulmonary
standards. The committee’s recommendations eventually led to what is now
known as “whole-brain death.” This new understanding of death, now widely
accepted in both medical and legal practice, defined death as the irreversible
cessation of all functions of the entire brain, including the brain stem. More
importantly, it reconciled particular judgments and practices regarding patients
whose brains have been completely and irreversibly destroyed with moral norms
prohibiting withdrawal of life-sustaining treatment from living patients.
Treatment could be withdrawn from such patients because, under the new
conception of death (or under the application of new criteria), they were no
longer living. It also allowed more healthy organs to be harvested from patients

who were technically no longer alive, but whose circulation and respiration had

 

”See Ad Hoc Committee of the Harvard Medical School, “A Definition of
Irreversible Coma.”

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been maintained by artificial means. In short, it established a new state of
equilibrium.

What is important to note here is the important role that context played,
and continues to play, in our understanding of death. The factors that led us to
reevaluate the conception of death were not abstract theoretical considerations,
but particular medical and technological developments that arose in a particular
social, cultural, and historical context. These developments not only challenged
previously held beliefs, they also generated new possibilities for action.

Without the advent of mechanical ventilation and organ transplantation
procedures we might never have been led to revise our understanding of death.

Furthermore, contextual factors continue to influence the debate in such a
way that the established equilibrium, although widely accepted in practice, is
not entirely secure. For instance, there continue to be advocates of a “higher
brain” understanding of death who would define death as the permanent and
irreversible cessation of consciousness.” While there are good philosophical
arguments for such a view, it also gains support from increasing public
awareness of the significant number and plight of patients who are permanently
and irreversibly unconscious. Recognizing that one’s understanding of death is
connected to one’s religious views New Jersey has passed a state law that,
though based on the whole-brain conception of death, includes a conscience

clause allowing individuals to be pronounced according to heart-oriented

 

”See for instance, Robert M. Veatch, “The Impending Collapse of the Whole-
Brain Definition of Dea .”

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criteria?" Recently, Robert Truog has argued that we should abandon brain
death and return to the more traditional cardiorespiratory definition of death (29-
37). Interestingly, part of Truog’s argument appeals to the social context in
which norms and practices regarding termination of treatment have changed
significantly. Since the acceptance of the brain-death criteria the general norm
prohibiting the termination of treatment has been replaced or overridden by an
emphasis on respect for patient autonomy, including respect for a patient’s
autonomous refusal of life-sustaining treatment. This respect has even been
extended to apply to a formerly competent patient’s previously stated wishes.
Truog’s argument could easily be construed as proposing a new equilibrium.

We do not need the whole-brain conception of death, since our judgments and
practices regarding termination of treatment for patients in many cases no longer
depend on a determination of death. An emphasis on patient autonomy makes
these judgments and practices consistent with other conceptions of death as

well.

2.3 Intermingling Facts and Values

The preceding example reveals another feature of wide reflective
equilibrium that makes it particularly suitable as a model of inquiry for a
pragmatic version of practical philosophy, the complex and highly fluid

relationship between facts and values. When problems arise that upset the

 

2"See New Jersey Declaration of Death Act (1991).

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current state of wide reflective equilibrium, a new equilibrium can be achieved
by revision of beliefs at any level of generality. Though some of these beliefs
may pertain more clearly to facts, while others pertain to values, for the sake of
establishing the new equilibrium it makes little difference. Neither facts nor
values are privileged; either may be revised.

In the example of defining death, new developments in medical
technology upset the equilibrium between particular judgments regarding certain
patients, general moral norms regarding the termination of treatment for
patients, and background theories regarding the determination of death. In this
case, a new equilibrium was established by revising a background theory, the
conception of death. While one might argue that the “facts” of the matter did
not change (i.e., nothing about the patients’ physical condition changed), our
conception of death, the societal understanding of what the facts meant and how
we should act in light of them, did change. However, as Truog’s article
suggests, there would have been other ways to reestablish equilibrium that
would not have involved revising the conception of death. We could have
revised certain norms regarding our obligations to continue treatment (and
subsequently did so) and the conditions under which it would be permissible to
harvest organs. Placing greater emphasis on respecting a patient’s autonomy,
and allowing surrogate decision-makers to represent the patient’s previous
wishes or best interests could have resolved many of the questions of how to
treat patients whose brains had been completely and irreversibly destroyed. In

principle, there is no reason why reestablishing wide reflective equilibrium by

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revising facts or societal concepts is more correct than doing so by revising
moral norms.

Another way to put this is that problematic situations are situations in
which our current state of wide reflective equilibrium has been disrupted.
However, because reestablishing equilibrium may involve revising either facts,
concepts, or values, it is difficult to determine in advance whether the problem
is a factual, conceptual, or moral problem. The question of how to reconcile our
particular judgments about certain sorts of patients, our general norms
prohibiting the termination of treatment, and our understanding of death is not
clearly a normative, conceptual, or factual problem. Most problematic situations
are multi-dimensional. The process of retaining wide reflective equilibrium is a
process of altering and re-weaving the separate strands of the problematic
situation together so that they once again form a more continuous and tight-knit
fabric. How we choose to do so will depend on our overall aims and the
comparative advantages of different possible patterns of fabric.

Moreover, how we choose to describe the problematic situation not only
suggests what elements or dimensions of the problematic situation most firmly
capture our attention, but also what we see as the most productive way of
resolving it. For instance, we will likely see a problem as a moral problem if
we are less sure of the moral norms that seem to govern the situation, than we
are of the background concepts and facts. For this reason, both the description
of the problematic situation and what may be seen as the best way to reestablish

coherence will depend in part on the background and interests of the different

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agents involved. Consider for instance, the question of whether a pension fund
should invest in tobacco or gaming companies. An investment manager may
view this primarily as a technical question to be decided based on a financial
analysis, whereas, an ethicist may believe that there are ethical concerns that
need to be resolved before any final investment decisions should be made.
These views need not be mutually exclusive — both parties might consider
both financial and ethical concerns to be relevant, but simply emphasize one
over the other. Still the different parties may piece the various dimensions of
the problem together differently, resulting in different equilibria. There is some
truth to the saying that a carpenter with a hammer sees almost every problem as I
a nail. Practical philosophers, in such cases, play a dual role. Like other
parties, their background and skills lead them to emphasize certain aspects of
the problem (it is no surprise that philosophers have been most concerned with
the conceptual and normative issues involved in the example cited earlier).
However, they also play an integrative role, stepping back and trying to help the
various parties involved re-weave the strands of the problem together into a

fabric that all can be satisfied with.

2.4 Connecting Theory and Practice

To anyone advocating the sort of pragmatic practical philosophy defended
in this project a final, but significant, appeal of wide reflective equilibrium is its
potential to bridge the apparent gap between practical and theory-centered

philosophy. In previous portions of this project I went to some length to draw a

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contrast between these two activities. Practical philosophy, I argued,
emphasizes concrete, particular, time-sensitive problems, and minimizes the
practical value of abstract theoretical inquiry. In contrast, theory-centered
philosophy emphasizes abstract, universal, and eternal problems, and downplays
the significance of practice in philosophical inquiry. It envisions philosophy
primarily, if not exclusively, as a theoretical enterprise. The chasm between
practical and theory-centered philosophy, thus, seems to be created by differing
visions of the role and significance of theory and practice in philosophical
inquiry. On the one hand, theory-centered philosophy at its most extreme finds
no place for practice. Even when philosophical inquiry is presumably intended I
to answer questions of practical import, practice is given no justificatory role.
True answers to such questions, it is thought, are best sought beyond practice in
the realm of abstract thought. On the other hand, it is difficult to clearly
identify what role, if any, practical philosophy gives to abstract theory in the
process of resolving particular, concrete problems. If one is to argue, as I want
to do, that practical and theory-centered philosophy are not two completely
separate endeavors, but complementary parts of a more comprehensive,
integrated process of philosophical inquiry, then one must provide an account of
how theory relates to practice.

Wide reflective equilibrium has the potential to connect practical and
theory-centered philosophy because it provides a plausible (if not
commonsensical) account of the close relationship between theory and practice.

Briefly stated, wide reflective equilibrium brings theory and practice together in

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a justificatory relationship of mutual dependence. Theories are justified, in part,
by their ability to systematize and account for our particular considered
judgments and practices. Likewise, particular considered judgments and
practices are justified, in part, by how well they conform to more general
theories. Neither abstract general theories nor particular, concrete practices can
be justified apart from one another; both are indispensable elements of a unified
view of justification.” Appealing to the illustration provided earlier,
reevaluation of the conception of death, a seemingly theoretical endeavor, was
motivated by the practical concerns. How were we to deal with certain
particular patients? How were we to procure more organs for transplantation? 1
However, it was also the conflict between our considered judgments and our
more general moral norms in these cases, and the felt need to justify our
particular judgments in terms of more general norms that led to acceptance of
the whole-brain conception of death.

If philosophical inquiry is understood as a unified view that includes both
theory and practice in a relationship of mutual dependence, then the apparent
gap between practical and theory-centered philosophy can be bridged. Practical
and theory-centered philosophy are not two completely separate and self-

contained activities. While there may be heuristic merit in drawing a contrast

 

25Rawls writes of abstract conceptions and general principles on the one hand and
particular judgments on the other as two sides of a unified view. “These two sides of our
practical thought (not to mention intermediate levels of generality in between) are
complementary, and to be adjusted to one another so as to fit into a coherent view”
(Political Liberalism 45).

245

between the two, the claim that the two are completely separate is a result of a
certain distortion — i.e., of the exclusive focus on one element of
philosophical inquiry to the neglect of the other. So, too, is the view that
practical philosophy is merely dependent or parasitic on theory-centered
philosophy (as in the model of applied philosophy discussed in Chapter 2).
Viewing philosophical inquiry as a process of wide reflective equilibrium
corrects these distortions. Practical and theory-centered philosophy are two
intermingled and equally important elements of a single broader process of
philosophical inquiry. Envisioned as wide reflective equilibrium, philosophical
inquiry is an attempt to see how things, both practical and theoretical, hang
together in the broadest and most coherent way. It seeks to help us integrate our
practical concerns — e.g., our needs and aspirations, both long and short term
— and our theoretical concerns — e.g., our understanding of what and who
we are, of how we are to live together, of how the natural world works, of how
we relate to it and might best live in it. Philosophical inquiry understood as
wide reflective equilibrium allows no sharp distinction between practical and

theory-centered philosophy.”

 

”Daniels claims accepting wide reflective equilibrium forces us to give up the
sharp distinction between theoretical and practical concerns of ethics. “If we take this
account [of wide reflective equilibrium] seriously, then we must abandon some of the
strong divisions that exist in the field between work in ethical theory and work in
practical ethics” (“Introductionz Reflective Equilibrium in Theory and Practice” 10). For
an excellent (and balanced) discussion of the relationship between theoretical and
practical ethics see Daniels, “Wide Reflective Equilibrium in Practice” 333-3 52.

246

SO why draw the distinction at all? The most direct answer is that in the
attempt to resolve problematic situations, to see how things hang together in the
broadest possible sense, there is value in recognizing a certain division of labor.
To see why this is so, consider a parallel between the relationship between facts
and values in wide reflective equilibrium and the distinction between theory and
practice. When our current equilibrium or sense of coherence is upset it may be

reestablished by making adjustments to practice, to theory, or to both. Nothing

 

in advance requires that either practice or theory be given priority or be
preserved at the expense of the other. The problematic situations that upset the
equilibrium are complex situations that involve both practical and theoretical
dimensions. Theory-centered philosophers tend to focus on, and bring to light,
certain theoretical and abstract dimensions of problematic situations. There is
much value in having men and women who attend carefully to such issues, not
the least of which is providing reasons for, and providing a more systematic

account of our practices.” We might even want to give them a fairly free rein,

 

27It is hard to improve on the words of Norman Daniels. Recognizing the value of
close attention to particular cases in ethics, Daniels also acknowledges the limits of an
exclusive focus on cases and argues for the importance of theoretical work.

But this close examination must employ some views about how to convert

details or “data” into real evidence for a conclusion. We do insist on

reasons. We want to treat relevantly similar cases in similar ways. We

need some way of determining what counts as similar in the relevant ways.

We need to know when to discount differences and when to rest weight on

them. We need, in effect, more systematic accounts of what we're doing.

But that is exactly what reason giving, appeals to principle, and the

development of moral theory was supposed to do: provide us with a basis

for converting observations into evidence for a view (“Wide Reflective

Equilibrium in Practice” 337).

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not requiring that worth of their work be measured in terms of its direct
practical applications. However, there is also obviously great value in having
men and women who focus on, and bring to light, the more practical and
concrete dimensions.

The task of the practical philosophers, as I envision it, is not only to
solve practical problems, but also to help us achieve a comprehensive
equilibrium in which our more abstract and theoretical philosophical concerns
cohere with more concrete and practical concerns. This requires, I have argued,
more careful attention to the context than is required of theory-centered
philosophy. However, it does not allow us to dismiss more abstract and
theoretical concerns as irrelevant. Practical philosophy appeals to both theory
and practice. It appeals to theory to explain, systematize, refine, and improve
practice; it also appeals to practice to test and refine theory, and to channel it in
directions that will be useful. At its best, it reminds us that any inquiry that
emphasizes either theory or practice to the exclusion of the other, while it may

have certain value, is incomplete.

3 The Problem of Bad Coherence

Despite its compatibility with pragmatism and promise as an approach to
philosophical inquiry, there are still problems that wide reflective equilibrium
must address if it is to be accepted as an approach to practical philosophy. In
this final section I want to examine and respond to one problem that has arisen

in connection with both pragmatism and wide reflective equilibrium, though it

248

could be raised, I believe, against most coherence theories of justification.
Drawing on the terminology suggested by Margaret Jane Radin I call it the

“PFOblcm of bad coherence.””

3.1 Bad Coherence, Relativism, and Conservatism

In “The Pragmatist and the Feminist,” Radin asks the following question,
“Is it possible to have a coherent system of belief, and have that system be
coherently bad?” (135-136). Though she asks this question specifically of
pragmatists and in the context of moral, social, and political philosophy, she
actually raises a much broader problem for coherence theories of justification in
general. The “problem of bad coherence,” confronts coherence theorists with a
profound dilemma. On the one hand, if they admit that a system might be
coherently bad, then they are apparently committed to the existence of some
additional, external criteria of justification, independent of coherence, that could
be used to assess coherent systems of belief or adjudicate between equally
coherent, but incompatible systems of belief. However, if this is the case, then
coherence is no longer the criterion of justification. On the other hand, if they
deny the possibility of “bad coherence,” then it seems that they give up on the
possibility of critiquing any set of beliefs, social norms, institutions, and

practices once we have established it to be coherent.

 

”Margaret Jane Radin, "The Pragmatist and the Feminist.”

249

it, ”_—“_..._z‘—"fl

The problem of bad coherence is reflected in two seemingly different
criticisms brought against both wide reflective equilibrium and pragmatism.
These criticisms attack from opposite directions. From one side comes the
criticism that coherence theories result in a skepticism that ultimately leads to
some form of relativism. How can we know that our beliefs about the world,
although coherent as a whole, actually match up with the world as it is? And, if
we cannot know that our beliefs match up with the world, then how can we
decide between equally coherent, but seemingly incompatible systems Of belief?
This concern is that pragmatism and wide reflective equilibrium, because they
rely solely on coherence, are not restrictive enough. Without some sort of
foundation for knowledge, independent of coherence, there is no way to
distinguish the true from the false, the good from the bad. From the other side
comes the criticism that pragmatism and wide reflective equilibrium are too
conservative. If the only goal is achieving coherence or equilibrium, it is
argued, then changes to our system of belief will be made as seldom as possible,
and with as little disruption as possible to the system as a whole. When
scientific, social, or moral changes threaten to upset the existing state Of
equilibrium, then coherence theories will always favor the status quo, even when
the status quo involves the oppression of certain individuals or social groups.
This criticism is not that pragmatism and wide reflective equilibrium are not
restrictive enough, but that they are too restrictive.

In the literature on wide reflective equilibrium these problems emerge

most clearly in discussion of what has become known as the problems of initial

250

credibility and bias.” The problem of initial credibility results from the
significant justificatory weight given to considered judgments in wide reflective
equilibrium. We strive to find principles that systematize and organize our
considered judgments. In fact, we evaluate sets of principles in terms of how
well they do so. Critics, however, have challenged the appropriateness of giving
considered judgments such justificatory weight. Brandt, for instance, argues
that it is not enough that we should believe these judgments. In order for them
to have initial credibility we must have reasons, other than coherence, for
believing them (A Theory of the Good and the Right 20). Without some means
of establishing the credibility of our initial judgments we are driven toward
skepticism, for we have no reason to believe that the system as a whole is
credible. Daniels, though he argues against it, captures the concern nicely, “The
result is that we have no reason to think that increasing the credence level for
the system as a whole moves us closer to moral truth rather than away from it.
Coherent fictions are still fictions, and we may only be reshuffling our
prejudices” (“Wide Reflective Equilibrium and Theory Acceptance in Ethics”
29). From this skepticism it is only a small step to credibility-depleting

relativism.”

 

”See DeGrazia, Taking Animals Seriously, 19-31; Daniels, “Wide Reflective
Equilibrium and Theory Acceptance,” 29-33; and Daniels, “T wo Approaches to Theory
Acceptance” 84-87.

”These concerns are summed up nicely by Nielsen,
It is natural to believe the WRE [wide reflective equilibrium] has
relativistic implications because WRE appeals, and essentially appeals, to
(continued...)

251

Daniels’ comment also reveals a connection between the problem of
initial credibility and the problem of bias. It is not just that we lack
independent evidence that our initial considered judgments are credible, we also
have reasons for believing that they are likely to be infected with personal bias,
cultural and historical prejudices, ideology, etc. Considered judgments are, after
all, the considered judgments of fallible, self-interested human beings who have
been socialized in certain ways. Because wide reflective equilibrium depends so
heavily on these initial considered judgments, and because these judgments are
so likely to be biased, our entire system of belief, it is argued, will be infected
with these biases as well. Moreover, while it is possible to revise our
considered judgments, if our only goal is to maintain or reestablish equilibrium,
we will be inclined to change as little as possible. In short, our system of belief
will be both biased and conservative.

The charge that pragmatism implies relativism is a fairly familiar one that

I will not pursue in great detail here.31 Very briefly, it stems from pragmatism’s

 

”(...continued)

considered judgments and considered judgments sometimes vary between
individuals, classes, and cultures. Given that there are these differences in
considered judgments and given the strategic role considered judgments
play in WRE, relativism, the claim goes, is inescapable (“Relativism and
Wide Reflective Equilibrium” 317).

31Though familiar, the debates about whether pragmatism does or does not entail
relativism or who, among the pragmatists is or is not a relativist are complex. Not
surprisingly, they depend, in part, on what one means by “relativism.” For more detailed
discussion of pragmatism and relativism see Rorty, “Solidarity or Objectivity?; Rorty,
“Pragmatism, Relativism, and Irrationalism”; Rorty, “Putnam and the Relativist
Menace”; Putnam, “Realism with a Human Face”, and Forster, “What Is at Stake
(continued...)

252

 

rejection, discussed in Chapter 3, of a cluster of related concepts — the
spectator-subject, representationalism, and the possibility of a God’s-eye view of
the universe. Rejection of these concepts leads many pragmatists to dismiss
claims about the way the world is, independent of human interests and desires,

as meaningless. Thus, they are accused of espousing relativism. If we cannot
make claims about the way the world is independent of us, then our claims

about the world must be dependent on, or relative to us as individuals, social
groups, cultures, etc. While evidence can readily be found in the writings of
many pragmatists,32 the charges of relativism have been particularly fueled by
provocative comments from Rorty such as knowledge “is what we are justified I
in believing” (Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature 3), and that there is nothing
more to say about truth “save that each of us will commend as true those beliefs
which he or she finds good to believe” (“Solidarity or Objectivity?” 24).

The criticism that pragmatism, as a coherence theory, tends to be too
conservative is perhaps not as familiar. This, however, is the concern that leads
Radin to raise the question of bad coherence. In particular she asks whether
pragmatism, as a coherence theory, is too conservative to be of much use to
feminism. In defending her concern Radin understandably cites passages from

James’ Pragmatism (135). Though James emphasizes the epistemic importance

 

31(...continued)
Between Putnam and Rorty?”

32See, for instance, James’ claim that the “trail of the human serpent is thus over
everything” (Pragmatism 33).

253

 

of new experience, and insists that our knowledge of the world does grow and
change, there are certainly many passages in which he suggests that we are quite
conservative when it comes to accepting new beliefs and modifying existing
ones. In fact, he argues, we try to assimilate new experience with as little
change to our existing beliefs as possible. He writes, for instance, that when a
new idea is adopted, it “preserves the Older stock of truths with a minimum of
modification, stretching them just enough to make them admit the novelty, but
conceiving that in ways as familiar as the case leaves possible.” As a result,
even the “most violent revolutions in an individual’s beliefs leave most of his
old order standing” (31).” Change in belief is possible, in fact required as we I
work to assimilate new experiences, but it comes in small increments. To use a
mercantile metaphor, it comes retail, not wholesale.

Although Radin finds convincing evidence of conservatism in James,
contemporary pragmatists such as Rorty have been subjected to the charge as
well. Rorty argues that all claims to knowledge and truth are ethnocentric, that
is, the justification of any claim is dependent on our social, historical, and
linguistic context. There is no view from nowhere; we cannot step outside of

ourselves to any point from which we can objectively evaluate ourselves, our

 

”There are other passages in which he expresses the same basic idea. After
arguing that our minds grow only in spots (as opposed to all over) and that these spots,
like grease-spots spread, he adds, “But we let them spread as little as possible; we keep
unaltered as much of our old knowledge, as many of our old prejudices and beliefs as we
can” (Pragmatism 78)

254

norms, or our social practices. Socialization, as Rorty puts it, “goes all the way
down” (Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity xiii).

It should be noted that conservatism in maintaining beliefs is not
altogether a bad thing. After all, we do not want a system of belief that is
inherently unstable, or one that is subject to frequent and drastic change. For
embodied agents to act purposefully over the long haul, particularly if they are
to act socially, a certain amount of stability is required. Furthermore, systems
of belief confer identity on agents. For agents to maintain continuity of identity
their system of belief must remain relatively stable, though it need not be
completely unchanging, over time. However, the charge of conservatism
expresses the concern that stability may be maintained at the cost of our ability
to effectively criticize social norms and institutions. Rorty acknowledges this as
a legitimate concern for pragmatism. “So it may seem that we pragmatists, in
our frenzied efforts to undercut epistemological skepticism by doing away with
what Davidson calls ‘the scheme-content distinction,’ have also undercut
political radicalism” (“Feminism and Pragmatism” 239).”

It is important to note that while the charges of relativism and
conservatism brought against both wide reflective equilibrium and pragmatism
seem to come from different directions and raise different issues, they share a
common assumption. Both accept the problem of bad coherence — that is,

they assume that it is possible for a system of belief to be coherent and yet bad.

 

3"Rorty addresses the problem of conservativism in several other places. For
instance, see his discussion on pages 73-95 of Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity.

255

 

This assumption, in turn, suggests that coherence is not sufficiently critical to
work as a criteria of justification. There must be standards of moral or
epistemic evaluation external to, or in addition to coherence. The problem of
bad coherence, thus, poses the version of pragmatic practical philosophy that I
am advocating with the following challenge: Where does such a philosophy get
its critical edge? Where does one gain purchase for critiquing social institutions

and practices if one cannot find a foothold in universal principles or truths?

3.2 Responses

One might respond that to a coherence theorist, the notion of bad
coherence is itself, incoherent. If one holds a coherence theory of truth,
goodness, or justification, then one uses “coherence” normatively — i.e., as a
term of commendation. Thus, to the advocate of a coherence theory the concept
of “bad coherence” is something of an oxymoron. While this response has some
merit, it is probably too dismissive. Rather than an argument in defense of
coherence theories of justification, it is an avoidance of such an argument.
More importantly it does not really address the legitimate concern that the
charges of relativism and conservatism raise — Where does a version of
practical philosophy that espouses a coherence theory of justification get its
critical edge? If pragmatic practical philosophy is to be accepted it must
address this concern. Thus, in the remainder of this chapter I want to sketch
some additional ways the pragmatic practical philosopher who advocates wide

reflective equilibrium might respond. Though it is not clear to me that any one

256

__

 

of the responses is, by itself, completely adequate, taken together they provide
sufficient reason to think that the problem of bad coherence does not present

pragmatism or wide reflective equilibrium with an insurmountable obstacle.

3.2.1 Bad Coherence and F oundationalism

Without minimizing their concerns, it is fair to ask of critics who raise
the problem of bad coherence, “What are the alternatives?” Behind the problem
of bad coherence is the assumption that it is possible for a system of belief to be
coherent and yet had or defective. This, in turn, implies that there must be some
standard, independent of coherence, by which we can evaluate individual beliefs
or entire systems of belief. In other words, implicit in the problem of bad
coherence is the assumption of some version Of foundationalism in which certain
basic beliefs are taken to be justified independent of all other beliefs. There is,
however, both argumentative and historical support to suggest that the
foundationalist project in both epistemology and moral philosophy has failed.
In Chapter 3 I explored the pragmatic critique of foundationalism and I will not
repeat it here. While such arguments are powerful in and of themselves, they
are also bolstered by historical support. Despite more than 2500 years of trying,
no foundationalist approach to either epistemology or ethics has yet managed to
gain anything close to universal support. In short, there is no reason to believe
that the foundationalist project can succeed and several reasons to believe that it

is doomed to failure.

257

The failure of the foundationalist project has a couple of important

 

implications. First, our ability to get along fairly well for so long without
unshakeable foundations suggests, among other things, that it may not be as
important to establish epistemic or moral foundations as is often thought by
philosophers. For instance, the seemingly intractable debates between
rationalists and empiricists or between realists and anti-realists (or, for that
matter, any other epistemological debate) have not greatly impeded the progress {J
of science. Most scientists, in fact, are indifferent to such philosophical

debates. Even in ethics, persistent arguments between deontologists,

utilitarians, and virtue ethicists do not keep us from agreeing on a wide range of

ethical issues. (The propensity of philosophers to focus on the most difficult

moral dilemmas and points of conflict between theories tends to obscure this

fact.) Second, if the foundations that foundationalists appeal to are neither self-

evident nor indubitable, then foundationalism collapses into coherentism. This

is the truth in the initial response that the problem of bad coherence is itself

incoherent. The critic’s claim that a system is coherent, but bad, is a claim that

the system is inconsistent with some external standard. However, if the

standard cannot be justified, independent of other beliefs, then the claim

amounts to nothing more than the claim that when the system is broadened to

include the standard (which may be important though not self-evident or

indubitable), it is no longer a coherent system. Without undisputed foundations,

the assertion of bad coherence is really a claim of incoherence.

258

Finally, if the foundationalist project is unsuccessful, then there are good
reasons to accept a coherentist view. The pull of foundationalism, in part, is the
promise it offers of a universal and independent foundation for belief — e. g.,
indubitable judgments or a priori first principles that transcend all historical and
cultural biases. In other words, the attractiveness of foundationalism is the
promise of objectivity and neutrality, the type of Objectivity and neutrality that
one would enjoy from a God’s-eye view of the universe. However, if we have
reason to believe that the foundationalist project is doomed to failure, then we
should be suspicious of any claims to this sort of neutrality. What we take to be
foundational and neutral beliefs will actually be shaped by historical and
cultural accident — they will be biased. However, when philosophers appeal
to indubitable judgments and a priori first principles, this element of bias is
denied, and thus hidden.” Coherence theories do not avoid bias, but they have
the advantage of acknowledging bias in such a way that it can be openly
addressed and countered. Daniels cites this as one of the advantages of
coherence models of justification in moral philosophy. “It is therefore better to

lay all our moral cards on the table, where they can be assessed, as wide

 

”This sort of concern lies behind some of the criticism of claims to ethics
expertise. Many critics of expertise seem to presume that for there to be expertise some
sort of foundationalist approach to ethics must be possible. Noble, for instance, has
argued that philosophers who claim to be ethics experts merely reinforce prevailing social
norms under the guise of self-evident first principles (7-9). Scofield makes similar
claims, suggesting that because there are not Objective moral facts, ethics expertise is not
possible and claims to such expertise are actually dangerous (421). See also Wikler,
“Ethicists, Critics, and Expertise” (12) and Shalit, “When We Were Philosopher Kings”
(27).

259

reflective equilibrium proposes, than to pretend we can end up justifying moral
beliefs without appealing in any way to other moral beliefs” (“Introductionz
Reflective Equilibrium in Theory and Practice” 5). This is not to say that all
pragmatists and the advocates of wide reflective equilibrium who reject
foundationalism give up on the notion of objectivity. Many do not. They
simply do not accept the claim that there can be no objectivity without

foundationalism.”

3.2.2 The Value of Incoherence

How might the inherent conservatism of pragmatism and wide reflective?
equilibrium be mitigated? Here it is worth noting how feminists interested in
pragmatism and pragmatists supportive of feminism have tried to address this
issue. It is not difficult to see why feminists should be bothered by
conservatism, and thus leery of both pragmatism and wide reflective
equilibrium. Any philosophical model of justification that serves to support the
status quo — in this case a patriarchal status quo — either by direct defense

or by being resistant to change, can be seen as supporting a system that

 

”DeGrazia, for instance, argues that the appropriate notion of objectivity in ethics
is “one of intersubjectivity, one that appeals to the concepts of reasonableness and
making sense. Such concepts are embedded in our practices of moral deliberation,
persuasion, and reflection (including philosophizing). None Of these concepts is
inherently metaphysical” (Taking Animals Seriously 17). See also Daniels, “Wide
Reflective Equilibrium and Theory Acceptance in Ethics” 34-40. The subject of
objectivity in other domains comes up frequently in the writing of the neopragmatists.
See, for instance, Rorty’s “Solidarity or Objectivity?” as well as several essays in
Putnam’s, Realism with a Human Face.

260

oppresses women. It is for this reason that Radin, who is interested in the
relationship between pragmatism and feminism, is prompted to ask the question
that I have formulated as the problem of bad coherence.
Responding to this problem Rorty argues that the key to overcoming
conservatism lies in understanding and protecting the role of the “strong poet.”
He develops this theme rather abstractly in Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity
and employs it more concretely in the article “Feminism and Pragmatism.” The I
idea is that absent any transcendent, atemporal criteria of evaluation (i.e.,
without foundationalism), current social practices can only be criticized in
relation to other existing practices or to imagined alternatives.
Pragmatists should reply to this charge [of conservatism] by
saying that they cannot make sense of an appeal from our
community’s practices to anything except the practice of a real or
imagined alternative community. So when prophetic feminists say
that it is not enough to make the practices of our community
coherent, that the very language of our community must be
subjected to radical critique, pragmatists add that such critique can
only take the form of imagining a community whose linguistic and
other practices are different from our own (“Feminism and
Pragmatism” 239).
The role of the strong poet is to articulate these real or imagined alternatives.
Given his views on the ubiquity of language and importance of narrative, it is
not surprising that Rorty chooses a literary/philosophical figure, Nietzsche, as
his archetypal strong poet in Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity. However,
inasmuch as he also cites Marilyn Frye and Catharine MacKinnon as examples

of strong feminist poets, it is clear that the strong poet need not be a literary

figure. It need only be a person who can articulate with sufficient clarity and

261

 

strength, a broader or more coherent vision of how the world might be. Social
progress is made when the dominant linguistic community, in this case the
patriarchal culture, takes seriously and assimilates the language of the
alternative community. 37

Radin seeks to overcome conservatism by supplementing pragmatism’s
commitment to embodied experience with the feminist concern for the
perspective of the oppressed. This combination forces us to ask who the “we” is
that seeks coherence (136). She argues that the perspective of the oppressed
draws the pragmatist towards the conclusion that there are a plurality of groups,
each of which represents a “we” that is striving for coherence. In other words, i
it leads to the recognition that there is not a single coherent system of belief,
but a plurality of coherent perspectives. According to Radin, what leads some
pragmatists into complacency is “the failure to ask, Who is “we”?” (137).38

Still, critics of pragmatism who are interested in radical social reform
may not be satisfied. While Rorty provides an account of how social practices
might be criticized — i.e., through the strong poet — he does not explain

why any particular strong poet should be taken seriously. The burden is on the

 

37Although Rorty, in focusing on feminism, seems to be making a point about
social and political philosophy, there is nothing that would prevent his comments
regarding strong poets to apply to other fields. For instance, one could argue that many
of the people responsible for important and drastic changes in science — “paradigm
shifts” to use Kuhn’s terminology — played the role of a strong poet. A short (and by
no means exclusive) list might include Newton, Einstein, Darwin, and Freud.

38The themes of moral pluralism, and the importance of paying attention to all
human needs, including those of the oppressed, can be found in James’ “The Moral
Philosopher and the Moral Life” (72-75, 81-83).

262

strong poet to articulate an alternative that can be planted at a time when the
social soil is fertile. However, there is no guarantee that the crop will flourish
or be harvested. The dominant linguistic community is under no obligation, and
is in no way compelled, to consider any particular alternative seriously. In other
words, strong poets lack any moral authority, save the authority they can
generate themselves. Similarly, it is not clear why, without presupposing a
commitment to feminism (or some other liberation movement), the dominant
culture should pay special attention to the perspective of the oppressed as Radin
suggests.

Rorty’s and Radin’s proposals, however, make more sense in light of the I
pragmatic commitment to fallibility. If one accepts the notion that all of our
beliefs are fallible, then one must also accept the implication that though our
system of belief seems to be coherent, it may not be the best or most coherent
system that we could have. In other words, the commitment to fallibilism
implies that coherent systems can still be improved. This, however, happens
only when our beliefs are challenged and subjected to scrutiny. Thus, ironic as
it may sound, for a coherence theorist incoherence is valuable.39 In fact, a

coherent theorist may want us to pursue incoherence, that is to aggressively

 

3"This, I think, underlies the pragmatic commitment to democratic equality
suggested in James’ moral theory, seen more explicitly in Dewey’s emphasis on
education and democracy, and expressed in Rorty’s claim that democracy should be prior
to philosophy. See for instance, James, “The Moral Philosopher and the Moral Life”;
Dewey, Democracy and Education; and Rorty, “The Priority of Democracy to
Philosophy.”

263

examine and test beliefs, in much the same way that scientists try to disconfirm
or falsify a theory.

What I think both Rorty and Radin are saying, albeit in different ways, is
that the problem of conservatism can be at least partially mitigated by valuing
and pursuing incoherence. Both Rorty’s strong poet and Radin’s attention to the
oppressed can be used to test, widen, and enrich the experience of the dominant
culture. For instance, it is possible through great literature to have experiences,
if only vicariously, that one might not otherwise have. I cannot know, for
instance, what it is like to be an industrial laborer in 19‘“ century England or a
Jew under Nazism, but by reading Dickens’ Hard Times or The Diary of Ann
Frank, I can come to have a better understanding of what it might mean to have
such experiences. Likewise, by participating in consciousness-raising groups or
activities, I can broaden my experience by becoming conscious of experience
that was previously invisible to me. Whenever the perspective of an oppressed
group is added to its experience, the dominant group (at least if it claims
allegiance to the liberal tradition) may find its oppression of others conflicting
with other stated values. Or the oppressed may discover the incoherence of
their own situation. If one can make any sense of the notion of “bad coherence”
it would be coherence that is based on an impoverished experience, coherence
that is incomplete and systematically blind to the experience of whole groups of
people.

Understanding the value of incoherence helps to show how the pragmatic

practical philosopher might counter the charge of conservatism. On the one

264

hand, he or she will work to re-establish coherence when the problematic

situations upset our equilibrium. On the other hand, he will not simply be

content with the status quo, whether coherent or not. The pragmatic practical

philosopher will continually seek to test beliefs and practices in order to deepen

and extend the coherence of our system of beliefs. However, he will argue that

this does not require unshakeable foundations. What Wilfrid Sellars said of

empirical knowledge applies equally well to philosophical inquiry. “[E]mpirical 1W
knowledge, like its sophisticated extension science,” he writes, “is rational, not
because it has a foundation, but because it is a self-correcting enterprise which
can put any claim in jeopardy, though not all at once” (“Empiricism and the

Philosophy of Mind” 170, emphasis in the original).

3.2.3 Embodied Experience

If the commitment to fallibility, and subsequent valuing of incoherence is
a partial response to the problem of conservatism, what can be said in response
to the charge of relativism? An adequate response, I think, must begin by
noting that the charge of relativism is magnified by over-intellectualizing belief
and overemphasizing logical consistency in coherence. When beliefs are
conceived exclusively as propositions, the tendency is to think of logical
consistency among propositions as the only requirement of a coherent system.
When this is the case, then the charge of relativism appears to be a serious one,
for it is possible to envision an infinite number of sets of propositions that are

logically consistent. However, pragmatism’s understanding of belief in terms of

265

 

dispositions to act and its emphasis on embodied experience place practical
constraints on what will count as a coherent system of belief. The emphasis in
wide reflective equilibrium on practice has a similar effect. Pragmatically, for a
system of beliefs to be coherent it must not only be logically consistent, it must
also be practical — i.e., it must be livable by and conducive to the well being
of embodied human beings.

The requirement that a system of belief must be practical eliminates many
possible metaphysical and epistemological beliefs. In particular, it rules out
beliefs that conflict with those things of which we are pragmatically certain (see
Chapter 4, section 2.2). For instance, it may be intellectually tempting to
consider a logically consistent system that includes the belief that other people
do not have minds or that humans have absolutely no free will (i.e., hard
determinism). However, it strains credulity to suppose that such beliefs could
be part of the operative belief system of an embodied social agent. Systems that
include such beliefs would be practically incoherent — they could not be
consistently acted on by a human living in this world. Similarly, radical
epistemological skepticism is possible only if we construe knowledge
exclusively in terms of propositions. In a reflective moment alone or in the
philosophy classroom it may be possible to question whether propositions such
as, “The floor will not fall away when I take a step” or “I am not a brain in a
vat” are true or false. However, we live and act as if such propositions are

certain; pragmatically, we cannot doubt them.

266

 

 

This response to the charge of relativism is similar in many ways to the
pragmatic response to global skepticism. The Skeptic’s fear is that we may be
totally wrong in our beliefs about the world — i.e., that our representations
may not represent the world as it really is at all. The pragmatist will reply that
the skeptic’s fear is unfounded. It is possible for a spectator-subject, but not an
embodied agent, to be completely mistaken about the world. At the risk of
sounding glib, an embodied agent who is systematically out of sync with the
world would have a very short life. For this reason, we simply cannot genuinely
doubt certain things. We cannot doubt that we have arms and legs, that we need
sleep and food to eat, that the floor will not fall away when we take our next
step, etc. There are limits on what will count as coherent systems of belief.
While there may be more than one way to describe the world, the fear of
relativism, the fear that because there are no limits anything goes, is
unreasonable. For this reason, Peirce urges philosophers to put global
skepticism aside in order to focus their energies on issues that produce genuine
doubt. “Let us not pretend to doubt in philosophy” he writes, “what we do not
doubt in our hearts” (“Some Consequences of Four Incapacities” 229).

The requirement that a system of belief must be practical may even place
constraints on our moral beliefs, providing some guidance as to what this
minimal set of shared values might include. Whatever other characteristics
humans may have, they are sentient, social beings — i.e., they are able to feel
pain and pleasure, they need to affiliate with others, and they have the capacity

to envision their own deaths. We need not view these characteristics

267

metaphysically as the eternal essence of what it means to be human in order for

 

them to be morally relevant. They are not necessary and sufficient conditions of
humanity. In fact, if we view humans as evolving biological creatures, then we
must be open to the possibility that someday humans may have different
characteristics. However, for all practical purposes at this time these
characteristics seem to transcend cultures and world views, and thus, may be 1

considered universal. Rorty argues that within the liberal tradition

-A .‘-'f..

characteristics similar to these provide the basis for prohibitions against cruelty
and humiliation (Contigency, Irony, and Solidarity 92). He confines the scope
of their authority to the liberal tradition, assuming that any broader application
would have to rely on insupportable metaphysical claims. However, if these
characteristics are universal in the sense that I have described, there is no reason
why their application should be limited to cultures that ascribe to liberal values.
These features constitute a minimal set of shared values by which to evaluate
competing world views.40 While they will leave many moral questions
unresolved, they do provide what Daniels refers to as “provisional fixed points”
(Wide Reflective Equilibrium and Theory Acceptance in Ethics” 28). It is

wrong to cause needless pain and suffering; it is wrong to support practices that

 

“Another attempt to establish universal moral norms that do not rely on any sort
of deep metaphysical foundations can be found in Martha Nussbaum’s “Human
Capabilities, Female Human Beings.”

268

alienate people from each other needlessly and destroy or inhibit bonds of

affiliation; it is wrong to kill people needlessly.“l

In closing I want to return to Radin's question, “Is it possible to have a
coherent system of belief, and have that system be coherently bad?” I have tried
to argue that the pragmatist should respond “Well, yes and no.” On the one
hand, there are no eternal and transcendent criteria that can be thus used to
judge whether a coherent system is good or bad. On the other hand, coherence
can be based on an incomplete or narrow set of experiences. Pragmatism's
commitments to fallibilism and embodied experience counter the charges of
conservatism and relativism by reminding us that 1) foundationalism is not a
viable alternative, but that we do all right without it, 2) the status quo may not
be the best we can do, and that we should seek to improve on it by aggressively
examining beliefs and practices and by widening our base of experience, and 3)
there are elements of human embodied experience that, though contingent, are
sufficiently universal to restrict the range of possible coherent systems. These
considerations provide a basis to counter the problem of bad coherence in
pragmatism and wide reflective equilibrium. They suggest that it is possible for
an approach to philosophical inquiry to be both non-foundational and critical,

and thus, strengthen the case for pragmatic practical philosophy.

 

“See also Degrazia (Taking Animals Seriously 21-22).

269

EPILOGUE: PRACTICAL PHILOSOPHY,

PRAGMATISM, AND PROFESSIONAL PHILOSOPHY

As we turn toward a new century philosophers are increasingly shifting
their attention from the rather narrow set of abstract and technical problems that
have characterized professional philosophy to problems of a more practical and

public nature. Issues of medical ethics, business ethics, environmental ethics,

___;.T-=a

racism, sexism, social justice, and cognitive science are now examined in
professional journals and university course listings alongside issues in more
traditional philosophical areas like metaphysics, epistemology, history of
philosophy, logic, and moral theory. This shift in attention has come, in part, as
a response to criticism that academic philosophy has become focused on a
narrow set of issues of interest to professional philosophers, but largely
irrelevant to the general public. While these changes have been welcomed by
many people both within and without philosophy, they have also met with
significant skepticism and criticism. Many professional philosophers still view
philosophical treatment of more practical concerns as academically suspect, if
not professionally inappropriate. For this reason, my goal in this project has
been to defend practical philosophy. More specifically, I set out to develop a
fuller understanding of practical philosophy and to offer a philosophically
defensible framework for doing it.

This defense of practical philosophy has included several different

elements. I have argued that though we have, in the modern period, come to

270

think of philosophy as a theory-centered discipline largely unconcerned with
practical matters, there is ample evidence to suggest that throughout much of the
history of philosophy practical concerns were considered legitimate subjects for
philosophical investigation. If this is true, then the recent interest in practical
philosophy is not a new interest, but a renewed interest, a reclamation of a type
of philosophy that had been lost or overlooked.

I have also tried to clarify more precisely what practical philosophy is by
contrasting it with both theory-centered philosophy and applied philosophy. In
contrast to theory-centered philosophy, which emphasizes problems that are
abstract, universal, and eternal, practical philosophy, I argued, addresses
concrete, particular, and timely problems — i.e., problems that are highly
dependent on the context in which they arise. While both practical and applied
philosophy claim that phiIOSOphy can legitimately address practical concerns,
practical philosophy rejects the assumption implicit in applied philosophy, that
practical problems of philosophical interest are merely particular instances of
more general philosophical problems. Such a view encourages a distinction
between doing philosophy and applying it. Philosophers who address practical
concerns of applied philosophy are merely applying philosophy; philosophers
who work on the abstract problems of theory-centered philosophy are actually
doing philosophy.

To support the claim that philosophers who address practical concerns are
actually doing philosophy, I argued that American pragmatism provides a

philosophically defensible framework for understanding practical philosophy. I

271

noted several features of pragmatism, particularly its insistence on the
philosophical relevance of context and practice, its commitment to fallibilism,
and its openness to interdisciplinary work, that make it especially well suited as
an approach to practical philosophy. Furthermore, connecting practical
philosophy to this important, but often neglected, tradition within philosophy,
lends support to the claim that practical philosophy has a place alongside its
more theory-centered counterpart in the discipline of philosophy.

Finally, I argued that wide reflective equilibrium is a model of
philosophical inquiry that has the potential to bring practical and theory-
centered philosophy closer together, to allow both to be seen as important
elements of a integrated conception of philosophy. Wide reflective equilibrium
is attractive for two main reasons. First, it is a non-foundationalist model of
justification that is quite compatible with pragmatism. Second, it brings
practical and theory-centered philosophy closer together by showing how
justification requires that theory and practice work together in a relationship of
mutual dependence.

If this philosophical defense of practical philosophy has been successful,
then it would seem that practical philosophy is an activity that has a legitimate
place in professional philosophy. Unfortunately, however, I believe there are
additional problems to overcome. In closing, I want to briefly identify one such
problem. My hope is that by so doing I will stimulate further work on practical

philosophy and its place within professional philosophy.

272

 

In earlier chapters I explored two accounts of the demise of practical
philosophy. These accounts can be used to remind us of two important points.
First, philosophy is a practice that takes place within and is affected by a
particular social and historical context. As Toulmin argues persuasively, the
transition from practical to theory-centered philosophy sometime around the
time of Descartes was not merely the result of an intellectual dialogue between
philosophers, but a response to the social, intellectual, religious, political, and
economical turbulence of the times. The quest for theoretical certainty was a
quest for stability, an attempt to find firm foundational beliefs that would
command the assent not just of those who shared your political or religious
convictions, but from all rational persons as such. Thus, the dominance of
theory-centered philosophy is a historical contingency. The second point is
closely related. If philosophy is a practice that takes place within and is
affected by a particular social and historical context, then to assess the current
prospects for practical philosophy one must look carefully at the social and
historical context in which the current re-emergence of practical philosophy is
taking place.

One feature of the current philosophical setting in the United States that
must be given consideration when discussing the prospects for practical
philosophy today is the professionalization of the discipline. The significance
of this professionalization should not be underestimated. In his historical

survey of philosophy as a practice, D.W. Hamlyn prefaces his analysis of the

twentieth century, with the following comment: “In any case, when considering

273

the practice of philosophy, differences between philosophical doctrines and
theoretical approaches pale into significance by comparison with the almost
universal fact that in this [Twentieth] century philosophy has become an
academic and professionally managed subject” (127).

Historian of philosophy Bruce Kuklick argues not only that

 

professionalization was significant in shaping the character of philosophy, but .“
1....
also that it led to a decline in practical or public philosophy in favor of a more 4.
ii
narrowly defined academic and technical agenda (“The Changing Character” 4- ii-

13). This agenda is consistent with the theory-centered approach to philos0phy
that Toulmin describes. Thus, while they offer different explanations of why
professional philosophy is predominantly theory-centered, Kuklick’s and
Toulmin’s analyses are in this sense complementary. The professionalization of

philosophy merely reinforced a preoccupation with theory-centered philosophy

 

that was already developing. Because theory-centered philosophy dominated at
a time when the discipline became professionalized it was “institutionalized” as
the professional mode of doing philosophy. For this reason, the reclamation of
practical philosophy requires a reconceptualization of the profession of
philosophy.

One way of reconceptualizing the profession would be to envision a split

or division of labor between the theoretical and practical elements.‘ I want to

 

‘Noting that a separation between the theoretical and applied sciences
(e. g., between physics and engineering), Edwin Layton suggests that the some
sort of professional separation could be conceivable in the humanities as well.
Applied disciplines such as medical ethics could separate from their parent
(continued...)

274

resist this move. In fact, I presented wide reflective equilibrium as a model of
philosophical inquiry that brings theory and practice together in order to avoid
just such a split. However, the historical connection between theory-centered
and professional philosophy requires us to think seriously about the professional
status of practical philosophy, or more broadly, of a discipline that includes both
theory-centered and practical philosophy. According to sociologists of the
professions one of the defining characteristics of a profession (as opposed to
other occupations) is the mastery of some particular body of knowledge or skills
(Larson x). Professionals are expected to possess some special knowledge or
skills — i.e., some particular expertise — by virtue of which they merit the
respect, recognition, and privileges associated with the professional status. This
assumption about the nature of a profession raises a question for practical
philosophy. In what sense is the practical philosopher a professional?

It is, I suppose, an open question whether one could or should delineate
the precise expertise that would qualify theory-centered philosophy as a

profession.2 Philosophy may always be a essentially contested subject, and as

 

l(...continued)
humanities (e.g., philosophy) to become separate, but related disciplines with
independent professional associations and graduate programs for training future
practitioners. As in the sciences, the professional separation of the applied and
theoretical disciplines is understandable. “The need to master a novel context”
he writes, “as well as the implicit value commitments provides the basis for

some sort of separation between applied humanities and their parent disciplines”
(70).

2For some interesting discussion of whether or not philosophy is or
should be a profession see Paul Durbin, “The ‘Professionalization’ of
Philosophy: An Essay in the Sociology of Philosophy;” Allison Jaggar,
(continued...)

275

anyone who has attended a philosophy conference knows, it is next to
impossible to get philosophers to agree on much of anything. Still, there has
been sufficient agreement to support at least the outward manifestations of a
profession. Whether or not it is a profession, it is undeniable that over the past
century the discipline of philosophy has become more professional. We have
witnessed the development of the first professional organizations for
philosophers, the sharper definition of disciplinary boundaries, the training and
placing of teachers through doctoral programs, and the proliferation of
philosophical journals. These developments, I think, justify using the term
“professional philosophy.”

However, the interdisciplinary nature of practical philosophy makes
defining philosophy as a profession even more difficult. If the philosopher (and
here I am not distinguishing between practical and theory-centered philosophers)
is to work effectively on problems that arise in settings outside of what we
typically associate with philosophy, and if those problems require
interdisciplinary approaches, then she, at least as she deals with practical issues,
will have to be a something of a generalist. In fact, her effectiveness will
depend on her ability to be a generalist, to make the connections between
disciplines, to see how things in the broadest sense of the term hang together in
the broadest sense of the term. The idea of professionalism noted above

implicitly equates professional expertise with specialization. To be a

 

2(...continued)
“Philosophy as a Profession;” D.G. Brown, “On Professing to be a Profession;”
and Cecil H. Miller, “Vocation versus Profession in Philosophy.”

276

 

professional is (among other things) to be an expert, and to be an expert is to be
a specialist. If this is true, then the philosopher as a generalist could not be an
expert, and thus, could not be a professional.

This problem is only magnified if one accepts the pragmatic version of
philosophy I have presented defended in this project. It is magnified because in
rejecting Cartesianism, pragmatists seem to reject many of the traditional
epistemological problems upon which the profession of philosophy in the United
States has been built. In short, the pragmatic critique of the traditional
problems of philosophy, leads to the deprofessionalization of philosophy.
Perhaps more than any other pragmatist, Rorty is cognizant of the implications
of the pragmatic critique of the traditional problems of philosophy for
professional philosophy.

Rorty is somewhat ambiguous about his assessment of the future of
philosophy as a profession. In many of his writings he is quite critical of
professional philosophy and advocates for a “post-philosophical culture,” calling
for an end of the profession as we know it.3 However, in other essays he seems
more open to the possibility of philosophy being valued in the future
(“Philosophy & the Future” 197-205). This ambiguity is largely attributable to

the ambiguity of the word “philosophy.” Rorty tries to overcome this ambiguity

 

3See for instance, Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature 3-13, 389-394 and
Consequences of Pragmatism xiii-xlvii, 211-230. These are perhaps some of the
most explicit accounts, but the criticisms permeate much of his writing in the
last 20 years.

277

 

 

by distinguishing between “Philosophy” and “philosophy.”" Philosophy is a
specialized field historically linked to the Platonic tradition. Doing philosophy
in this sense is “following Plato’s and Kant’s lead, asking questions about the
nature of certain normative notions (e.g. ‘truth,’ ‘rationality,’ ‘ goodness’) in the
hope of better obeying such norms.” (“Introductionz Pragmatism and
Philosophy” xv). It is Philosophy that the pragmatists such as Rorty find
problematic. He is clearly pessimistic about any profession of philosophy .1
construed as Philosophy. He thinks we have no need for, and would be better L
off without, this type of profession.
In contrast, philosophy is less of a specific discipline and more of a broad
endeavor — an avocation rather than a vocation. It is not bound to the subject
matter or problems of Philosophy. Rorty claims this is the type of phi1050phy
that Sellars had in mind, an attempt to see how things hang together, in the
broadest sense of the term (“Introductionz Pragmatism and Philosophy” xiv).
Rorty seems somewhat more optimistic about the profession of philosophy
construed as philosophy. I say “somewhat,” for while Rorty argues that this is
the sort of philosophical activity that would be valuable, it is not clear how
professional the profession would be. Philosophers given the task of seeing how
things hang together would have to reverse the predominant trends of the first
70 years of this century. They would have to lower their boundaries with other

disciplines and resist the temptation to define philosophy by distinguishing

4Rorty uses only an upper case ‘P.’ I will underline the upper case ‘P’ in
Bhilosophy in order to avoid confusion at the beginning of sentences.

278

between distinctively philosophical and non-philosophical (political, religious,
economic, etc.) questions. In short, philosophers would have to give up the
attempt to make philosophy an autonomous discipline or activity (“Philosophy
& the Future,” 200-201). The philosopher in Rorty’s “post-Philosophical”
culture would be a specialist without a specialty. He would not be a specialist
in any certain area, but an intellectual generalist engaged in what we might call
“culture criticism” (“Introductionz Pragmatism and Philosophy” x1). He would
be a person who compares the advantages and disadvantages of vocabularies or
ways of describing ourselves and our world, a person concerned with the big
picture of how things hang together.

Such a culture would, doubtless, contain specialists in seeing how

things hung together. But these would be people who had no

special “problems” to solve, nor any special “method” to apply,

abided by no particular disciplinary standards, had no collective

self-image as a “profession.”...They would be all-purpose

intellectuals who were ready to offer a view on pretty much

anything, in the hope of making it hang together with everything

else (“Introductionz Pragmatism and Philosophy” xxxix).

What Rorty recognizes clearly is that is the pragmatic critique of the
traditional problems of philosophy, leads to the deprofessionalization of
philosophy. Without special problems, special methods, disciplinary standards,
or collective self-image there would be no profession of philosophy at all.
There might be people who play the role of cultural critic and who work at the
broad task of seeing how things hang together in the broadest sense of the term.

We might even call these people philosophers. But without a fairly well defined

subject matter and/or methodology it is unlikely that such people would be

279

grouped together in separate departments within universities, that they would
publish special journals about their work, or that they would form professional
organizations. Such institutional structures are simply not required to support,
and in fact may be detrimental to these “all-purpose intellectuals.”

Thus, while I have tried to defend practical philosophy in this project
more work needs to be done to develop a vision of an expanded profession of
philosophy that includes it. If Toulmin is correct, practical philosophy is not
new to philosophy. However, it is relatively new to professional philosophy.
Making room in the profession for practical philosophy, and more specifically
for pragmatic practical philosophy will require changing philosophy’s self-
image, and may even result in a less well-defined discipline. While I believe
that a profession based on such a discipline would be both possible and valuable
it would be quite different from the profession of philosophy today in at least
one important respect. Philosophy would shift its attention outward, deriving its
problems from public life, and approaching its work with an eye towards
improving the human condition. This is what Toulmin refers to as

philosophy’ in the practical sense, as a contribution to the reflective resolution

of quandaries that face us in enterprises with high stakes” (“Recovery” 352).

280

 

 

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