The Epistemological Championship Title Match:

Philosophy vs. Common-Sense

Jonah Bossewitch

PHI 334

Professor Scott Soames

May 13, 1997

There is nothing common about common-sense.

—Family Saying

A recurring theme in twentieth-century philosophical analysis is the tension between the pre-philosophical beliefs to which most of us cling, and the complex, theory-laden arguments which urge us to turn us against them. How should we respond when the philosophical method forces us to choose between the conclusions it entails, and the world as we know it? This issue revolves around complicated questions concerning belief justification and revision, which have received much attention in the abstract. This particular instance of the problem is noteworthy since it touches on issues at the heart of meta-philosophy, including the proper role for philosophy, the authority of philosophy, and the types of methodologies and theories which best advance these goals. In many ways this question lies at the threshold of philosophy, presenting a formidable barrier to someone who has never studied philosophy, confronted by a strange domain where paranoia and argumentative confrontations are the norm. In a sense, this question really asks "How seriously should we take philosophy?" and demands thoughtful deliberation.

In his arguments against skepticism about the external world, G. E. Moore became known as a champion of basic beliefs. He relentlessly advanced an epistemology which places more confidence in ordinary pre-philosophical beliefs, than beliefs resulting from the logical acrobatics of his colleagues. It is natural to feel sympathetic towards Moore's approach, considering philosophy's refutation of virtually every kind of knowledge that most of us take for granted. At the same time, it is hard to avoid the feeling that Moore is acting like a spoil-sport, and does not know the rules of fair play in the game of philosophy. Philosophy is not a game (and even if it were, Moore certainly knows the rules) but there is something important about this initial reaction that is worth investigating. While Moore's work does not present us with a complete world-view, his approach compels us to call into question the very purpose of philosophy itself, and to reevaluate its methodology on his terms.

In his discussion of Hume's epistemology, Moore presented the following argument:

It seems to me that, in fact, there really is no stronger and better argument than the following. I do know that this pencil exists; but I could not know this if Hume's principles were true; therefore, Hume's principles, one or both of them, are false. I think this argument really is as strong and good a one as any that could be used and I think it is really conclusive. In other words, I think that the fact that, if Hume's principles were true, I could not know of the existence of this pencil, is a reductio ad absurdum of those principles. But, of course, this is an argument which will not seem convincing to those who believe that the principles are true, nor yet to those who believe that I really do not know that this pencil exists. Its seems like begging the question. And therefore I will try to shew that it really is a good and conclusive argument. (Some Problems of Philosophy, p. 120)

Moore's strategy for refuting Hume's general claim involves proving false a specific instance, but the argument that Moore uses can be applied to many other philosophical disputes aside from this one. Often in philosophy a counter-intuitive result is obtained, and following Moore's lead, we can construct a valid reductio ad absurdum for all conclusions that do not turn out the way we expect. If this is the case, it seems that philosophizing is a complete waste of time, since we already know with certainty where our arguments must lead in the end. How can someone claim to be intellectually honest when they rule out the possibility that their assumptions are wrong before the investigation even begins?

Some might defend a philosophy constrained by common-sense on the grounds that it serves to fill in the details between our assumptions and conclusions, explicating with universal clarity why we are justified in believing what we do believe. Under this schema, intuition provides one way of knowing, and a rational argument provides a parallel alternative for reinforcing our certainty of that knowledge. Knowing the answer to a question is not necessarily equivalent to knowing how to prove it is the answer, evident in the schoolteacher's insistence that students "show their work". Furthermore, there are many domains where we feel entitled to trust our intuitions enough to spend a great deal of effort trying to substantiate them. Some mathematicians spend their lifetime searching for a proof of a proposition which they intuitively believe to be correct. Similarly, detectives (at least on television) first suspect the culprit on a hunch, and then gather the evidence necessary for a conviction. Both of these examples from other domains highlight two key features of reasoning which philosophy must address—communication and balance.

The detective who is certain of the suspect's guilt gathers evidence to convince a jury of peers, that his suspicions are true beyond a reasonable doubt. There have been cultures which executed judgment based on the intuitions of the judge, but history has demonstrated the need for a system of standards which must be met, to prevent social anarchy. In order to avoid epistemological anarchy, the intellectual community must agree upon some standards, however arbitrary, such that members of the community may communicate and disagree without merely butting heads or talking past each other. This condition is itself subject to disagreement, and one could rightly question our justification for believing that we need to establish a language of discourse capable of demonstrating, and convincing others of our beliefs. However, for practical considerations, it would be difficult to get this argument off the ground unless the proponent presented the argument in a language that fulfilled the requirements it argued against.

Likewise, consider the mathematician toiling to find a proof for a proposition he believes to be true. Were he to stumble across a conclusive proof for its negation (using the same assumptions in both cases), we might consider him intellectually irresponsible if he continued to believe the truth-hood of that proposition.1 While this irresponsibility is most clear in the case of a mathematical proof, even the detective must abandon his confidence in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. The balance between intuition and rational argument is delicate, to be sure, but there is a strong sense that once somebody has accepted the rules of the game (a language of mathematical proof, a method of rational inferences that result in knowledge beyond a reasonable doubt, etc.) it is irresponsible not to accept the conclusions of the investigation, even if they do not conform to your original intuitions.

As with the criterion of communication, the criterion of balance may be challenged if we are so confident in our beliefs, that any conclusion to the contrary simply indicates a faulty argument. The trouble with maintaining this position is that our convictions about communication and balance are also among the beliefs that we intuitively hold dear to us. What happens when we pit two common-sensical beliefs against each other?

This line of reasoning calls into question Moore's distinction between knowledge based upon a conclusive argument, and what he calls 'immediate knowledge'.

One way, therefore, in which a proposition can be known to be true, is if it follows from some premisses or set of premisses, each of which is already known to be so with some degree of certainty. And some philosophers seem to have thought that this is the only way in which any proposition can be ever known to be true. They seem to have thought, that is, that no proposition can ever be known to be true, unless it follows from some other proposition or set of propositions already known to be so... In other words, it would follow that no man has ever known any proposition whatever to be even probably true, unless he has previously known an absolutely infinite series of other propositions...If, therefore... any argument whatever, is to be a good one, it must be the case that we are capable of knowing at least one proposition to be true, without knowing any other propositions whatever from which it follows. And I propose to call this way of knowing a proposition to be true, immediate knowledge. (Some Main Problems in Philosophy, p. 122-3)

Moore's analysis of knowledge appeals to the notion of self-evident truths which must lie at the foundation of any epistemic chain of reasoning. He argues that for any argument to be a good one, it must ultimately rest on a proposition which cannot be derived from any other proposition. While Moore does not exhaustively analyze all of the logically possible forms of justification,2 his basic premise, that all knowledge must eventually boil down to assumptions whose authority must simply be accepted, is hard to refute. This stance is echoed by Bertrand Russell, who argued that "the reason for this abstention from a universal criticism is not any dogmatic confidence, but its exact opposite; it is not that common knowledge must be true, but that we possess no radically different kind of knowledge derived from some other source."

If all knowledge is ultimately derived from common knowledge, then Moore's refutation of skepticism needs to be recast in a form which reflects this reality. The contest between Hume's principles, and Moore's knowledge that the pencil in his hand exists, is not simply a contest between a logical possibility and common-sense. If Moore's view is correct, then for Hume's principles to be knowable, their underlying premises must themselves be derived from common-sense as well. In this case the common-sensical premises which underlie Hume's principles are more abstract than Moore's immediate knowledge of the pencil (or his hands). Contenders for these premises include, (1) the belief that a rational argument from sound premises entails conclusions which are more reliable than raw intuition; (2) the common-sensical belief that common-sense is often wrong. Common-sense does not tell us that Hume's principles are correct, but it does urge us to search for principles of this form, which attempt to extend the chain of justification as far as possible. Under the picture which Moore himself depicts, we may sometimes find ourselves having to choose between opposing common-sensical beliefs, and may be forced to abandon one in order to maintain a logically consistent set of beliefs (a value that many of us hold supreme over all other beliefs).

For many, experience is the ultimate source of authority, as it is difficult to abandon a belief which has proven practical and useful in navigating the terrain of existence. However, most would agree that an important ideal for philosophy, and for life in general, is the ability to share information with others. In order to communicate ideas effectively we have established a language of discourse that is supposed to enable us to synthesize our beliefs, modifying them when they become incongruous. We test our ideas by conversing with others, in an attempt to formulate a combination of consistent beliefs which have the most merit. Moore presents an argument which relies upon common-sense "but, of course, this is an argument which will not seem convincing to those who believe that the principles are true, nor yet to those who believe that I really do not know that this pencil exists." What Moore fails to satisfactorily account for, is that common sense also dictates that an essential part of what makes a good argument, is that it be convincing, and, as reams of text attest, Moore's argument fails to convince everybody who hears it. Moore tries to convince us that his appeal to common-sense is the only sane course of action, but he neglects to mention that Hume was also following the dictates of common-sense by attempting to formulate an argument that is irrefutable. Moore implores us to trust our immediate knowledge, but he does not advise us how to handle a conflict between two self-evident beliefs. Since it seems self-evident that we ought to strive for convincing arguments, Moore's admission that his argument would not satisfy some people creates a conflict of this type. We want to believe in both the possibility of a universal proof of our beliefs, and in the beliefs themselves. Why should we abandon one intuition in favor of the other?

There does not seem to an obvious answer to this question, contrary to Moore's insistence that the answer is right in front of us. Our faith in any particular proposition or belief is constantly being challenged by fresh data. Our intuitions must function in a state of dialectic, a give and take which guides our perceptions, but is simultaneously shaped by them. Consider the scientist who gathers anomalous results. At first he will think they are a fluke, caused by equipment failure, experimental error, or faulty design. However, at some point, he must consider the possibility that his results are truly correct, and it is his theory that is mistaken. This example is similar to the argument against the very possibility of miracles ever occurring. If a miracle is defined as an event which violates the laws of nature, then, nowadays, if an event truly violated the laws of nature, it would mean that we have the laws of nature wrong, and not that the event was a miracle. Modern day common sense tells us to place more confidence in the fact that nature operates according to some laws, than in the fact that we know what those laws are. However, the balance of confidence has not always been tilted this way, as many ancient societies believed that they understood the regularities of the Universe, and could detect when they were violated. Common-sense is not a fail-safe guide, since it is often in conflict with itself, and there are few (if any) beliefs which are privileged enough to be infallible. Our hierarchy of basic pre-philosophic beliefs is constantly in flux, and promotions and demotions happen regularly. Russell summed up this position quite eloquently in the following passage:

It may be said... that it is the duty of the philosopher to call into question the admittedly fallible beliefs of daily life, and to replace them by something more solid and irrefragable. In a sense this is true, and in a sense it is effected in the course of analysis. But in another sense, and a very important one, it is quite impossible. While admitting that doubt is possible with regard to all our common knowledge, we must nevertheless accept that knowledge in the main if philosophy is to be possible at all. There is not any superfine branch of knowledge, obtainable by the philosopher, which can give us a standpoint from which to criticize the whole of knowledge of daily life. The most that can be done is to examine and purify our common knowledge by an internal scrutiny, assuming the cannons by which it has been obtained, and applying them with more care and with more precision. Philosophy cannot boast of having achieved such a degree of certainty that it can have the authority to condemn the facts of experience and the laws of science. The philosophic scrutiny, therefore, though sceptical in regard to every detail, is not sceptical as regards the whole. That is to say, its criticism of details will only be based upon their relation to other details, not upon some external criterion which can be applied to all the details equally... Universal skepticism, though logically irrefutable, is practically barren; it can only, therefore, give a certain flavour of hesitancy our beliefs, and cannot be used to substitute other beliefs for them. (Russell, The External World p. 73-4)

Philosophy occupies a tenuous position, straddling the fence between justifying and challenging common sense. Not only is it legitimate to test philosophical principles by appealing to common-sense, but it seems as if, in the final analysis, common-sense is our only means for refuting any claim. At the same time, it is the duty of the philosopher to test common-sensical principles by appealing to philosophy. While this relationship between philosophy and common-sense may seem paradoxical, the two modes of thinking serve to keep each other in check, for as we have seen, philosophy derives its authority from the same source as pre-philosophical intuition, and the two seemingly different types of claims, must compete in the same epistemological arena.

There is no general formula for resolving disputes between general philosophical principles and pre-philosophic convictions. Moore's method is always an important sanity check, to see just how far a given theory has strayed from the layman's philosophy. Moore himself cautions against flagrant misuse of his method by warning us that, the common-sense knowledge he describes is hard to come by. "The mere feeling of certainty, therefore, even though it be very intense, is not the same thing as knowledge—knowledge in the sense which I have called knowledge proper." (Some Problems of Philosophy, p. 89)

Sometimes we do, and should, place more confidence in our own original intuitions than in the arguments of professional philosophers. For example, take the early Verificationist's attempt to redefine meaning in a way that violated common usage, and explained away (instead of explained) a huge portion of everyday concepts. This movement set off enough intuition alarms that philosophers such as Alonzo Church turned around and refuted Verificationism on its own terms. While common-sense may be strong enough for a personal rejection of a given set of beliefs, it is always more powerful and convincing to defeat an argument on its home field. Our intuitions and basic beliefs provide us with the impetus to search for such proofs and/or refutations, but on their own, they are usually not powerful enough to convince others that a given proposition is true.

The few exceptions to this rule are the common-sensical beliefs that Man has spent millennium hammering out, including the premium that is placed on clarity, rationality, and repeatability. If all knowledge is founded on common-sense, it is common-sense that some beliefs be more privileged than others for practical reasons. Only by holding aloft the common-sensical values of communication and balance can honest integrity prevail in our pursuit of true knowledge.

I pledge my honor that I have trusted my common-sense, and not violated the honor code in writing this paper.

Jonah Bossewitch