Author of the text: Friedrich Hohenstaufen
Written in 2020 year
The rest of the author’s articles can be read here
Researchers of ancient culture are well aware that in the Epicurean school of philosophy the section on “logic” is practically absent. It is replaced by a certain “Canon,” which consists of a set of recommendations for conducting conversation properly, so that no unnecessary difficulties arise (strictly speaking, logic was developed by the Epicureans, especially inductive logic in the school of Philodemus of Gadara, but this does not negate their general negative attitude toward logic as such). Epicurus, armed with the theory of the sophist Prodicus, advised defining the meaning of all words precisely, so that no ambiguous interpretations would arise. More precisely, one was to distinguish the varieties of the same word depending on different contexts; each time the meaning changed, it had to be stated aloud. The simplest example is the concept of pleasure, which may be bodily, spiritual, active, or passive; it may also have cognate words that differ in meaning (enjoyment, bliss, joy, etc.). If such distinctions are made, there will be no room for excessive sophisms in disputes. Conversely, if this is not done, every second disputant will try to use the same word in different contexts, deliberately creating confusion and false problems (as Cicero, Plutarch, or even Aristotle often did). The basic information about this “Canon” can be found in Diogenes Laertius and in the Letter to Herodotus:
“Canonics is an approach to the subject… canonics is usually considered together with physics: canonics as the science of the criterion and the principle in their very foundations… The Epicureans reject dialectic (rhetoric, logic) as an unnecessary science—for in physics, they say, it is enough to use words corresponding to things… Epicurus called all things by their proper names, which the grammarian Aristophanes regards as a reprehensible feature of his style. His clarity was such that even in his treatise ‘On Rhetoric’ he considers it necessary to demand nothing but clarity. And in his letters he does not write ‘I wish you joy,’ but ‘I wish you well-being’ or ‘I wish you good’” (c) Laertius.
So, first of all… one must understand what lies behind words, so that one may reduce all our opinions, inquiries, and perplexities to them for discussion, so that in endless explanations they may not remain undiscussed, and words may not be empty. Indeed, if we wish to reduce our inquiries, perplexities, and opinions to something, then with every word we must see its primary meaning, one that does not require proof. And then we must in all things adhere to sensations, adhere to the present impulses of thought or any other criterion, adhere to the affections we experience—and this will give us the means to judge what is expected and unclear. And once this has been sorted out, one should proceed to the consideration of what is unclear.
(c) Letter to Herodotus
At first glance, one might say that the Epicureans are here proposing the development of a new, more complex philosophical language that would eliminate all ambiguity by creating new concepts for each separate object. However, this is not the case. On the contrary, the point is simplification and, rather, the use of ordinary language. Perplexities are to be dispelled not by creating new terminology (for that is absurd; complicating language will only create more problems of understanding), but by first clarifying all possible ambiguities, so as to avoid incorrect syllogisms and sophisms. Incidentally, among all the ancient schools, the Stoics were the ones who most distinguished themselves in creating a new philosophical language (“newspeak”). From this alone it is almost obvious that, because of the fundamental inter-school conflict, the Epicurean position had to differ in some way. And this is indirectly indicated by the complaints of famous Roman rhetoricians that the language of Epicurus and his followers is crude and unsophisticated, and that in matters of rhetoric the Epicureans are, in principle, ignorant.
Here it is appropriate to cite several fragments.
Quintilian says (II 17, 15) that he is by no means surprised at Epicurus, “who avoids all instruction, judging from what he wrote against rhetoric”. Taking rhetoric to be “the sophistic science of composing speeches and producing proofs” (frg. 49 Us.), Epicurus regarded oratory as a bad art (cacotechnian, frg. 51 Us.); and if political speeches are admissible at all, then here “nature itself is what directs speeches, and not any art” (frg. 55 Us.). On this point Plutarch says (Adv. Col. 33) that: “they write so that we may not speak like orators”. Moreover, the position on the simplicity and clarity of speech was so strict that Epicurus, apparently, asserted the natural origin of language. This was a highly precarious position, since language (like logic and mathematics) is usually regarded in empiricist circles as an instrument artificially created by human beings to simplify communication. On the question of the origin of the state and law, Epicurus stands precisely on this ground, defending the theory of the Social Contract (that is, an “artificial” agreement, albeit one that arose “naturally”); but on the question of language, he suddenly adopts a position close to that of religious thinkers (that is, a fundamentally “natural” emergence). Of course, he means “naturalness” as the result of human interaction with the surrounding environment, which occurs, as it were, “of itself,” in all corners of the world in the same way; and it is precisely because of secondary differences in climatic conditions that we also have differences among the languages of the peoples of the world. But this still remains a noticeable dissonance, for the Epicureans did acknowledge that language is not created through contract; and this dissonance is hardly likely to have been accidental. In our view, it is the result of a principled stance on the “Canon,” which also required special reservations with regard to the origin of language.
With the “Canon,” everything seems clear enough: there is “good,” and there is “good” (for example, good as an action and good as a character trait, or good as wealth). But why is logic itself considered superfluous and harmful? Let us try to understand.
Part of this has already been said above, where Epicurus, following the sophists, accepts the division between “nature” and “art.” Logic, by its very definition, is a description of the process of thought, that is, an artificial construct. The process of thought itself arises before its description appears; and this means that, already at the substantive level, thought does not need “logic.” Likewise, and more conventionally, human speech does not need the rules of syntax. To make thought (living, genuine thought) conform to its description on paper or diagram is as foolish as preferring a drawn lobster to a bucket of real crayfish.
One might object that without the creation of philology as a science we would not have a literary language either, and then everyone would speak at the vulgar level of the common people. Or that the study of the laws of nature (physics/chemistry/biology) retains immense usefulness, and although nature would function just as well without them, our aim lies in their non-natural use. More than that, one might say that these laws have always existed, they were simply not discovered and described (thus we move into Platonism and are already yielding to religion). As applied to logic, this means that it may exist unnoticed by us, and within us; and it also retains for itself the right to the “artificial” development of thought, the possibility of going beyond its natural limits.
In theory, all this sounds rather good. Yet in practice, even after 2,000 years, the numerous “logicians” cannot reach consensus on any questions that go beyond the rules of logic themselves (though even here there is no consensus either). If everything worked as it should, people would quickly acquire equally calibrated minds, thinking according to strict and universal laws of thought. And as a result, all human preferences and aversions would become roughly the same. In practice, we do not see this, and never have (not even within a single caste of scholars). Again, in theory everything sounds so good that one could become an intelligent person by reading only a few textbooks on how to “think correctly.” But in practice, this never happens. It is, in fact, an oxymoron—to become intelligent by reasoning strictly according to a textbook scheme. As a rule, such schematism is taken as the very model of a lack of intelligence. If this were possible, then the smartest beings on earth would now be computers; yet we all know that this is not the case, and that machines are devoid of reason.
There are only two possibilities here:
- Either logic in principle cannot be an adequate reflection of the essence of thought (just as kinematics can never fully reflect all the nuances of motion and “merge” with actual motion, and a drawing of a tree can never become a three-dimensional tree with bark texture), and then attempts to recast the mind according to its standards = deliberate stupefaction.
- Or else logic has still not developed sufficiently, and when that finally happens, machines (even in their present form) will quickly become the most intelligent beings in the world.
In any case, the modern forms of logic, in their developed form, are far too unwieldy to be used in everyday life, and the question concerns only machine consciousness. The first option promises humanity no advantages; the second would even debase us before our own creations. And even with all the cumbersome apparatus of modern logic, if we arm a machine with it—then (at least today) it still remains dumber than any human who has never even held Aristotle or Frege in their hands. And then either we must work with this logic, which is extremely inconvenient; or else work with logic in simpler, ancient forms that we are capable of using in our lives. But these “old logics” have invariably led, do lead, and will lead to empty verbal wrangling, which in practice still happens to this day.
Systematic Thinking
What, then, is proposed in its place? Against this easy path, which holds out the promise of becoming a genius immediately after mastering a dozen basic laws and a couple of guidebook-style textbooks (which should already have seemed unreliable), there is advanced the demand for systematic thinking. For the mind, like a parrot’s beak, it is not so important what exactly it is sharpened against. To become rational, to think correctly—this can be achieved in different ways. But all of them, one way or another, will require broad erudition and the further systematization of accumulated facts. The more information from different spheres of life we accumulate, the more often this information comes into contradiction with itself. The more we accumulate in addition, the more precisely we understand which of the contradictions that have arisen are the most absurd. This “information tangle” in a certain sense “calibrates” itself. So Heraclitus was not entirely right when he said that much learning does not teach understanding. In a certain sense it does teach it; though, of course, there are differences depending on the basic vector with which this or that philosopher is already equipped in advance, that is, depending on his “school,” on the chosen path for further system-building.
“Intelligence” has always consisted precisely in the human being’s capacity to assemble a system of views out of a “porridge” of facts. As the practice of different regions of the world over millennia has shown, such “systems” number fewer than ten. People invent them everywhere, just as they invent cutting weapons and a roof over their heads everywhere. We are not surprised by the universal development of material culture, knowing that all human beings have the same needs and the same number of limbs. Why, then, should we be surprised that bearers of the same instrument (the brain) produce the same products (“systems of thought”)? A person with Heraclitean leanings could call “intelligent” the bearer of almost any of these systems of thought (let us forget that the historical Heraclitus considered almost everyone in the world stupid). And then the question arises of the legitimacy of choosing precisely “that one, and not another” system. And the chief criterion of their suitability is consistency under the pressure of an ever greater number of new facts from ever more diverse spheres of life.
Incidentally, lovers of logic themselves are also one of the “basic schools,” and they too can create their own systematic philosophy. But that does not mean that they will necessarily be less contradictory; the very essence of systematic thinking lies precisely in the fact that within one’s own system—contradictions will become fewer and fewer, regardless of the basic postulates adopted. At least this is how it happens at the simple, initial stages of the history of thought; for example, in ancient Greece itself. But over time, under the pressure of new facts, all naturally formed “schools” are forced to reorganize themselves in response to new questions. It is here that all the weak points of each line of thought come to light.
On Philosophy and Science
From the above it becomes obvious that these “external” facts, which serve as the touchstone for philosophical systems, are themselves separated from philosophy. And then the question arises: what, then, is philosophy itself, and what is separated from it? We share the historically established practice of distinguishing the natural sciences from philosophy (though not entirely). Positivists and Marxists usually conclude from this that only logic, or dialectical logic, has remained in philosophy. Psychology, which is also a product of the “mind,” is likewise said to have acquired its own “science” (and science, as is well known, is not philosophy, right). Why, then, logic cannot become a science and thereby kill the very concept of philosophy altogether—that is another question. But in fact this is a false dilemma, and the title “science” settles nothing. In its time, communism too was called scientific, and this label can be applied to anything.
So, philosophy works with everything that lacks a strict factual explanation, as well as with the interpretation of the facts obtained. What we call science works with the facts themselves, with their acquisition by means of the experimental method. Pure “theorists” within individual sciences are, in principle, philosophers themselves, but of a highly limited kind (immersed exclusively in their own scientific field). They do not recognize their kinship with archetypal traditions of thought, and therefore do not fully fit into the guild of professional “philosophers.” They are not seeking an exit from the dead end for thought as such (and this dead end already lies in the very fact of the plurality of systems, whereas truth ought to be one), but are seeking only exits from the dead ends of their own particular science.
To emerge from the crisis in the history of thought, one must overcome pluralism, and for that one must become conscious of it, see all the schools, understand their strengths and weaknesses, take a clear position, and subject it to criticism. Modern philosophical traditions either accept pluralism itself as a given and seek no way out at all; or else they do not recognize it at all, and call logic and philology philosophy (just as much specific sciences as physics). At the present stage, one might even say that philosophy is in such a profound crisis that it almost no longer exists at all.
That philosophy concerns not only the understanding, and that it shapes one’s way of life—and, consequently, that one’s way of life also shapes the understanding and one’s style of thought—is not the place to discuss here. But in brief, the foundation of philosophy is ethics: the criteria by which preferences and aversions are assessed, and the modes of existence in society. Human character is a complex concept, and character can be changed. The determination of a relatively more correct mode of reasoning thus coincides with the determination of a relatively more correct assessment of one’s place in society and the choice of a sound strategy for everyday conduct. But here we are speaking of thought, not ethics as a whole, so let us move on.
Thus, the most “bad” of the basic postulates produce systems (both of the understanding and of ethics) of such poor quality that they simply die under the weight of artificial crutches that time and again have saved the dead system from insoluble contradictions. And the system deemed preferable is the one that, in all times and in all epochs, shows the best concordance with “external” phenomena. The task of correct thinking is to choose the “first among equals” system of thought and, working with it further, to strive as far as one’s powers allow toward the status of Homo Universalis.
Homo Universalis
A natural question arises here. What other “Universal Man” can there be in an age of information overload and narrow specialization in the sciences? And with this comes another question: why would all this be needed by an Epicurean, whose modest aim is a happy life?
There is, in principle, only one answer to this — alienation (a Marxist concept). In conditions where everything created by human beings is alienated from them, including both discrete objects and conceptual constructs; in conditions where the individual understands almost nothing of what is created by “humanity in general,” and where this ignorance places the real individual in a subordinate position vis-à-vis his or her own creations—under such conditions, there can be no talk of freedom, nor of tranquility and deliverance from fears. And the principal means of overcoming alienation is the acquisition of the whole of human experience and the abolition of a rigid division of labor. These are partly utopian tasks, but we shall see below why only partly.
There is no need whatsoever to know on which exact “cultural layer” of the earth Troy was found in the Mycenaean period, or in which layer Troy lay in Roman times. It is enough to know that Troy existed, was described by Homer, and was subsequently rebuilt and continued to exist. There is no need to know all the haplogroups in order to understand how paleogenetics works and why it is needed. Put simply, it is enough to possess broad erudition, even without detailed knowledge of every minor point, in order to free oneself from all uncertainties and earn the status of Homo Universalis. Everyone stands to gain from superficial knowledge of all the sciences (this is quite achievable: reduce each science to 2,000-page folios, and later let new generations master all of it in just ten years). It will save each of us from professional cretinism. For no one demands that a modern da Vinci must necessarily be the best specialist in absolutely every field and every subfield. But to know the essentials of everything is entirely possible. Any person on earth (with the exception of the disabled) can know the basic principles of how the minibus one is riding in is put together, without especially burdening oneself. And scientists are certainly capable of this.
After all, this is precisely what Epicurus writes in his letter to Herodotus.
Herodotus, for those who are unable carefully to study all that we have written about nature and to penetrate our more extended treatises, I have already composed a summary of the whole subject, sufficient to keep in memory at least the most important points. I wished it to be of help to you in important matters whenever you have occasion to take up the study of nature. And those who have already attained success in considering the whole must also remember the main outlines of the whole subject: the general movement of thought is often needed by us, whereas the details are not so often needed. To these general outlines we must therefore keep returning, remembering as much as is needed both for the most general movement of thought about the subject and for the utmost precision in details—that is, by having well assimilated and retained the most essential features. For indeed the chief mark of complete and perfect knowledge is the ability to make quick use of mental leaps, [and this happens when everything] is reduced to simple principles and words. For whoever cannot in brief words encompass all that is studied in parts cannot know the depth of the whole that is encompassed. And since such a path is useful for all who have become familiar with the investigation of nature, I, who have devoted my constant efforts to the investigation of nature and have attained peace of life above all through it, have composed for you the following summary, containing the foundations of the whole doctrine.
Thus, the Epicureans’ claims are simple.
Knowledge, rationality, are necessary for “ataraxia” (tranquility of soul), or, which is the same thing, for overcoming alienation. True knowledge is attained through the striving for universality, and in the process of accumulating knowledge, erroneous concepts will be excluded from the “system” by themselves. The system is grounded in that theory which, all else being equal, always produces the fewest failures; and the initial set of such theories is given to us by the very history of the development of human thought. All these theories arise “naturally,” but only one of them will be closest to the truth. To identify erroneous concepts, “logic” is not necessary (and that alone is already enough to reject it). In practice, it is either useless to people or harmful, and it has a stupefying effect. But it is important here to note that when speaking of the uselessness of logic, we mean that it is useless exclusively for the use of one’s own mind. Logic is more than useful in programming and mechanical engineering; it is a tool, just like any other descriptive system of signs (mathematics, languages). There is benefit in all this, but it is not absolute or all-encompassing. According to the very principle of universality, all this must be studied (at least in broad outline), but one should not expect here any panacea for all problems or the easiest path. The road to correct thinking cannot be too simple, and even if logic were to acquire its completed form, if it could be reduced to a 200-page textbook, even such a miracle would not make anyone intelligent until that “someone” had processed the very same enormous body of information of which we are speaking.
A private conversation with an average logician is always a conversation about words. A conversation with a person who does not understand analogies, who does not understand a sentence if somewhere an error has been made or a word has been mixed up. Being a pedant, he cannot grasp the logic (there it is, the obvious (!) ambiguity of the word “logic,” over which one would already have stumbled) of his interlocutor’s exposition of thought. No sane person would call such a biological machine a rational being. Far more rational is the one who can understand that a “snowy cold box” most likely means a freezer or refrigerator, and can quickly obtain clarification through leading questions. But the intellectuals of the world of logic are not like that—they will simply state that they do not understand what was said, and will not even try to understand. This “most likely” is not enough for them. They need absolute precision. So such people have no choice but to read David Hume and renounce cognition altogether, playing with numbers for the sake of the game itself, since only there will they obtain their cherished precision.