The Pragmatics of Realism
How pragmatists and realists talk past each other
In the first segment of a recent episode of the Very Bad Wizards podcast, Sam Harris criticizes pragmatism:
This is the thing that pragmatism can’t adequately do in my view, which realism is designed to do, which is to acknowledge that there are things we don’t know that nevertheless exist. We can make claims about them that are true or false whether or not we can adjudicate those claims. It can’t be a matter of consensus. … A simple example. Listen to me type here. [Typing sounds.] I just typed what looks like about a fifty digit number ending in a seven. The question is: Is that number prime? Now, obviously, I don’t know. You don’t know. None of us could figure it out on our own without the aid of some impressive technology at the moment. But there is a fact of the matter there. There is a fact of the matter there, even if everyone who even understands that prime numbers exist dies off tonight and then no one even knows what we’re talking about in this conversation.
This is a good example of a common realist objection against pragmatism. The pragmatist claims that reality as it actually is cannot ever be known. To him, what we call knowledge is linguistically communicated information that is useful for the achievement of interpersonal goals. The realist argues that reality is something we can know facts about. She invokes a specific situation in which a fact of the matter is definitely there but just out of reach to demonstrate reality’s knowability.
Pragmatism and realism are often presented as epistemological opposites. The pragmatist is an anti-realist in the sense that he doesn’t believe it is possible to assess the degree to which propositions correspond with reality as it actually is. When a realist refers to reality as it actually is, the pragmatist is at a loss. For him, conceptualizing reality as it actually is is like conceptualizing a square circle. Reality as it actually is is impossible for him to conceptualize because he believes that reality is something that exists mind-independently (i.e., that reality as it actually is can’t possibly be identified through a human point of view). Since he knows that all of his conceptions are dependent upon his mind, it doesn’t make any sense to him to even try to conceptualize reality as it actually is. It’s hopeless!
The realist is totally perplexed and usually pretty annoyed by this. To her, it is obvious that we have some ability to assess the degree to which propositions correspond with reality as it actually is. We have instruments that measure things with levels of precision inaccessible to the human senses. We have science! We use physics to make reliable predictions about the future velocities and trajectories of moving objects. How could this be possible unless our propositions correspond to reality? The realist believes she can conceptualize reality as it actually is because she believes reality is constituted by facts of the matter. Facts are not mind-dependent to the realist since they can be externalized through writing and other means. According to the realist, facts’ mind-independency is also strongly demonstrated by their re-discoverability. If a fact is lost to history, it is possible for it to be rediscovered by new civilizations. Throughout history, she points out, societies have independently discovered specific facts about arithmetic. In the realist’s view, the more facts of the matter you know, the more about reality you know.
While there is undoubtedly a significant difference in perspective between the two, this difference is best understood as a difference in emphasis. All pragmatists are realists and vice versa. They differ in their relative emphasis on the temporal and the trans-temporal. They both recognize the distinction, albeit often through superficially contradictory vocabularies, and then emphasize one over the other.
Conversations between realists and pragmatists are confusing because all nouns have two different senses, temporal and trans-temporal. The sense in which we intend a noun is rarely explicitly specified. For example, when I talk about my coffee mug, I could be talking about my coffee mug as it is now or as it is over time. In other words, I can conceptualize and discuss my coffee mug as something that exists in a moment of time or as something that exists across moments of time. Again, is it critical to point out that we usually unconsciously infer which sense is intended from implicit contextual cues.
This implicit distinction often makes explicit differences that confuse people in conversation. Whether you are conceptualizing an object temporally or trans-temporally influences which qualities you believe it exhibits.
Imagine that there are two buckets. My coffee mug can be put in the clean dishes bucket or the dirty dishes bucket. When Pam talks about the mug, she is talking about it temporally (specifically right now). However, when Jim talks about the coffee mug, he is talking about it trans-temporally (generally over time).
My Question: Which bucket does the mug belong in?
Pam: The mug is dirty. It is half full of cold coffee. It has germs on it from when you’ve taken sips. It belongs in the dirty bucket.
Jim: What? That mug? That is not a dirty mug. It is dirty now, but it is clean most of the time. It belongs in the clean bucket.
Who is right? It depends on the sense in which I intended “bucket” when I asked the question. Notice I did not explicitly specify whether I intended buckets that exist temporally (right now) or trans-temporally (over time). Did you notice the absence of this specification or did you assume a sense unconsciously?
If I meant “bucket” temporally, indicating that there are two buckets that exist right now, Pam would be correct in saying the mug belongs in the dirty bucket because she would charitably understand “mug” temporally. The question “Which bucket does the mug belong in?” only coheres if “mug” is understood in the same sense as “bucket.” Being charitable, Pam assumed I am asking a coherent question. Only mugs that physically exist right now can be placed in buckets that physically exist right now.
If I meant “bucket” trans-temporally, then Jim would be correct in saying the mug belongs in the clean bucket. We assess which qualities trans-temporal things have by examining their averages. Since I only drink from the mug on Saturdays and it sits cleanly on the shelf all other days of the week, then it is clean in the sense that it is clean most of the time. On average, it is clean more than it is dirty. Therefore, it is more clean than dirty. Only mugs that exist across time can be categorized or qualified with respect to their averages.
Importantly, both Pam and Jim can be right in the sense that their conclusions can follow from their premises. Pam’s conclusion can be right if she assumed a temporal sense of “bucket” as one of her premises. Jim’s conclusion can be right if he assumed a trans-temporal sense of “bucket” as one of his premises. This intellectual rightness is relatively more important to the average realist, who tends to be more introverted with a lower tolerance for ambiguity (or a greater preference for stability, familiarity).
Just as importantly, both Pam and Jim can be wrong in the sense that they can be answering a question that wasn’t asked. Pam’s conclusion can be wrong if I meant “bucket” trans-temporally and Jim’s conclusion can be wrong if I meant it temporally. The only way for them to find out which question was asked, which sense I intended, is to ask me.1 This communicational rightness is relatively more important to most pragmatists, who tend to be more extroverted with a higher tolerance for ambiguity (or a greater preference for change, novelty).
Hopefully, it is clear by now that the temporal sense is related to physical conceptualizations of nouns as the trans-temporal sense is related to metaphysical conceptualizations of nouns. This entanglement contributes to the confusion between realists and pragmatists.
Consider the question at the heart of their disagreement: Can reality as it actually is be known?
This is life’s most profound question. It is not an epistemological question, but a meta-epistemological one. In other words, it is not a question about how we can come to knowledge, but whether knowledge is possible in the first place. Knowledge that isn’t real doesn’t exist, after all.
Meta-epistemological questions are existential questions for thinking beings because their answers are embodied as orientations toward living, which is the actual integration of knowledge (thinking) and reality (being).
The word “reality” is a noun in the profound question. Like “mug,” “reality” can be conceptualized temporally (physically) or trans-temporally (metaphysically). Either way, “reality” represents a nexus of time, space, and knowledge. Therefore, the existential question can be asked in multiple ways:
Meta-epistemological (Existential): Can reality as it actually is be known?
Ontological (Spacial): Is physical reality more real than metaphysical reality?
Ontological (Temporal): Is the temporal more real than the trans-temporal?
Epistemological (Knowledgable): Is current knowledge more real than future knowledge?
All answers to these questions are circular and impossible because they all require necessarily absent information. We can’t know what metaphysical reality is because we can’t compute averages for a perpetually expanding universe. We can’t know metaphysical reality for the same reasons we can’t know what living people will be like after they die (i.e., what they were like before they died, on average). Like an individual, the metaphysical universe has to die before we can know what it was/is. Tomorrow has new information about metaphysical life, both ours and the universe’s, that will update what we know it to be from today’s averages. We can’t know whether future information is more important than current information because such knowledge requires the very future information we lack.
To get at the circularity another way, every claim that one sense of “reality” is “more real” than another necessarily presupposes a particular sense of “reality.”
Pragmatists and realists talk past each other when neither recognizes the pragmatics of realism. Sometimes, it is useful to conceptualize reality temporally, which simultaneously entails an implicitly realist epistemology and ontology. Other times, it is useful to conceptualize reality trans-temporally, which simultaneously entails an implicitly pragmatist epistemology and ontology.
Pragmatists and realists are the same people with different emphases or cognitive tendencies. We all use pragmatism and realism in different situations. I call situations in which we realize a tension between the two ways of understanding reality the precipices of everyday life. When faced with a mundane instance of life’s most profound question (Can reality as it actually is be known?), we choose between closed temporality (realism) and open trans-temporality (pragmatism).
For example, you are reading a book. The book as you currently understand it is boring. You recognize that the next chapter could possibly be so thoroughly exciting that it alters your entire understanding of the book. You also recognize that the next chapter could be as boring as those that preceded it and do nothing to change your perspective of the book’s reality. This is a precipice of everyday life.
If you decide to put the book down, you choose closed temporality, realism, the action plan derived from the belief that current knowledge is more important than future knowledge. You choose to know the book’s reality as constituted by facts, which is to say currently knowable and therefore conceivable and not mind-independent.
If you decide to keep on reading, you choose open trans-temporality, pragmatism, the action plan derived from the belief that future knowledge is more important than current knowledge. You choose to view the book’s reality as a still unfolding lifespan, which is to say a currently unknowable and therefore inconceivable and mind-independent thing.
Should I push through the burn on this weight to build strength, or go down a weight to cultivate endurance? Should I splurge on this expensive thing to treat myself now or save the cash for a vacation to treat myself later? Should I practice spontaneity or discipline in this moment? These questions when asked in the moment are precipices of everyday life.
Sam Harris is right when he says that realism is “designed” to answer questions about “things we don’t know that nevertheless exist.” Realism is for known unknowns. The rules for determining whether the fifty digit number that ends in seven is prime do in fact already exist! We have the rules and the inputs, we need only compute the outputs. Realism is for when you don’t need to learn anything new to answer the question. Is the number prime? We don’t need any more information to find out if the number is prime because the current information is sufficient.
Pragmatism is for unknown unknowns. The realist has the upper hand when it comes to creating thought experiments because she can invoke the obvious facts of currently shared information. The pragmatist has to incorporate the unknown into his thought experiments, which is difficult because the unknown can’t be conceptualized. But the unknown is part of life for the humble! Pragmatism is for when you need to learn new things before you can answer the question. Will you die tomorrow? Will the next paragraph be better than this one? Will you regret the time you spent reading this post?
Academic philosophers can’t answer existential questions like, Can reality as it actually is be known? They expose the precipices of life, but they cannot tell you when to jump. Philosophy is a way of jumping through life. True philosophers autonomously decide when the pragmatics of realism outweigh the pragmatics of pragmatism.
They choose reality as individuals.
There is a way in which I can retroactively decide who was right since I did not specify the sense in which I meant “bucket” when I asked the question. It is possible I did not even think to intend one sense over another. If so, to avoid looking stupid, I could specify a sense post-hoc as though I meant it all along. This is an example of the future’s contingency on the past and an illustration of how ambiguity can be weaponized in conversation.