I've been rather hard on metaphysics in a couple of recent posts. I'm not trying to bash metaphysics just for the hell of it. I started out grad school doing metaphysics, still do some of it, and think there's a very important place for it in the heart of philosophy. Still, there are aspects of metaphysics that have long bugged me, and I've been trying to work out in my head what bugs me ever since I read Chalmers' awesome new paper, "Verbal Disputes." So, if you all don't mind, I'd like to continue working out some of those worries here. If I'm way off, by all means, please save me. I'd love to have my worries put to rest!
Anyway, in my earlier post on "counterfactual theories of causation", I argued that these theories seem to me to have the wrong direction of fit. A genuine metaphysical theory, I want to say — a theory about what is really out there in the world (i.e. "carving the world at its joints") — should begin with the world. So, for instance, when we look at the world, there are things about it in the realm of what we call "causes" that seem intrinsically interesting. As Hume pointed out, certain things in the world – the things we call "causes" — are constantly connected. That constant connection — all F's being followed by Gs, no exceptions — is clearly something interesting in the world itself (beyond our conceptualization of it). Are those constant connections mere regularities (as Hume thought), or is there some kind of necessitation between them (as Kant thought)? These seem to be genuine metaphysical questions prompted by observation of the world itself.
Now turn to counterfactual theories of causation. Here, the direction of fit seems exactly the opposite way around. Counterfactual theories begin with our concept of a cause to the world. To see how this is the case, consider how many counterfactual relationships there are in the world. There are, quite literally, an infinite number of counterfactual dependencies. How, then, do "counterfactual theories of causation" get off the ground? Answer: by showing that certain counterfactual dependencies fall under our concept of a "cause." The counterfactual theorist notices that we classify certain things as "causes" (e.g. "Billy's rock caused the window to break"). They then note that certain counterfactual dependencies supervene on Billy's throw (but not, say, Suzy's), and so they try to figure out precisely what it is about Billy's rock that makes those properties fall under our concept of a "cause" (but not, say, Suzy's).
Notice how different this is than the earlier case (where, instead of starting with our "ordinary everyday concept", we began with observing interesting stuff in the world itself). Concepts are just that: concepts. Suppose I called this (and only this) computer a "schmauze." Then suppose I wanted to figure out what a schmauze is. Well, I notice that one and only one thing answers to my concept of a schmauze: this computer! Viola, I've done metaphysics. But of course I haven't. All I've done is show what falls under a concept. There isn't anything metaphysically interesting or special about schmauzes. There's only one schmauze in the world, and it's just this darn computer. Boring.
That, in a nuthsell, is the problem I'm having these days with analytic metaphysics. Real, genuine metaphysics, I want to say, starts with the world and tries to make clear sense of the really interesting stuff in it. Analytic metaphysics, in contrast, begins with concepts and then just classifies which things in the world answer to those concepts. It may well be true that our ordinary concept of a cause "picks out" a class of counterfactual dependencies. Okay, but what of it? There are, again, an infinite array of counterfactual dependencies in the world. Why think this one — the one we denote with the word "cause" — is any more special than the phenomenon (this computer) I denote with "schmauze"? In principle, as far as I can tell, the counterfactual theorist can't give any good metaphysical answer. They can say, "This counterfactual dependency explains our causal judgments" — but that, again, is just to refer back to our concept. By a similar token, I could say, "Schauzes explain my schmauzal judgments." Yes, all fine and good — but schmauzes aren't interesting. In order to explain why the things we call "causes" are metaphysically interesting, the counterfactual theorist must point to something else: namely, the metaphysically interesting fact in the world itself that there are constant conjunctions between events. Which is just to say: they must give up a counterfactual analysis in order to explain what's interesting and unique about causation.
I have the same problem with debates over "material constitution." When you look at the world, there's just stuff: quarks, bosons, hadrons, leptons, etc. Now, of course, that stuff is sometimes arranged in the form of what we call "tables" and "chairs" — but what of it? It's just our way of carving the world up. It's not that tables and chairs have persistence conditions. It's that there's stuff we sometimes call "tables" and "chairs." End of story. Why think there are special "constitution" relations or "problems with different modal properties", as opposed to just stuff that sometimes we call "tables" and other times we call "chairs"?
Finally, turn to analytic metaphysical analyses of beliefs, reference, and knowledge. Begin with, say, Kripke's Godel/Schmidt case. When you look at the world itself, here's what there is: (1) a word, "Godel", which (2) is causally related to some things (Godel) in certain ways and other things (Schmidt) in other ways, and which (3) the human brain can use to refer to Godel (if we like) or Schmidt (if we like). Once we do the science — once we see how human brains use words, how those words causally relate to things in the world (e.g. to Godel, and Schmidt) — then, or so it seems to me, we've done metaphysics. We've discovered what's in the world. But then suppose we ask which of those things fall under our concept of a "belief", "referent", or "knowledge." Classifying things may have pragmatic import — there's a point to calling something knowledge (it's the norm of assertion!). But genuine metaphysical import? As though our concepts make objects? (A strange idea. I call this computer a "schmauze" and I've made something: a schmauze!). Wouldn't just talking about the world itself — about how the human brain uses words, how those words causally relate to objects in the environment, etc. — tell us everything we need to know *metaphysically* about the world?
I'm sure I'm being terribly unfair with all of this. If I am, I want to learn why. Please, teach me, convert me. Make me a true believer again!
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