‘Holism’ has become a ‘buzz-word’ of contemporary philosophy. It figures prominently in current discussions in philosophy of language, philosophy of mind, philosophy of science, and epistemology. However, as is frequently the case with ‘buzz-words’, its meaning rarely remains fixed from context to context or even within a single context.
Two prominent philosophers whose writings have contributed significantly to the recent ‘“holism” phenomenon’ are W.V.Quine and Ludwig Wittgenstein. In particular, the Quine of ‘Two Dogmas of Empiricism’ (1951) and later and the Wittgenstein of On Certainty (1969) both evince holistic tendencies, but are their holistic tendencies comparable? One might doubt that they are. After all, in the sources just cited Quine’s holism emerges largely in reaction to Rudolf Carnap’s philosophy, while Wittgenstein’s holism emerges largely in reaction to G.E.Moore’s. I shall address this question of sameness and difference after first explaining Quine’s holistic tendencies and then Wittgenstein’s.
The primary reference for my holism is ‘Two Dogmas’.
(W.V.Quine)
In ‘Two Dogmas of Empiricism’, Quine repudiates the analytic/ synthetic distinction (dogma 1) and reductionism (dogma 2). Dogma 1 purports to distinguish those statements that are true by virtue solely of their meanings, independently of how the world is (the analytic ones), from those statements that are true by virtue of their meanings together with how the world is (the synthetic ones). Dogma 2 purports ‘that each statement, taken in isolation from its fellows, can admit of confirmation or infirmation at all’ (TDEc 41).
In TDE Quine’s repudiation of both dogmas, but especially his repudiation of the dogma of reductionism, relies on his advocacy of an extreme holism: ‘My countersuggestion [to reductionism], issuing essentially from Carnap’s doctrine of the physical world in the Aufbau’, Quine explains, ‘is that our statements about the external world face the tribunal of sense experience not individually but only as a corporate body’ (ibid., my italics). What makes this holism extreme is Quine’s taking ‘corporate body’ to mean the whole of science: ‘The unit of empirical significance’, he writes, ‘is the whole of science’ (ibid., 42). However, by the time Quine published Word and Object (1960) he had come to see that a moderate holism is both more faithful to scientific practice and still sufficient for undercutting reductionism (and the analytic/synthetic distinction). Let’s look more closely at Quine’s moderate holism:
It is holism that has rightly been called the Duhem thesis and also, rather generously, the Duhem-Quine thesis. It says that scientific statements are not separately vulnerable to adverse observations, because it is only jointly as theory that they imply their observable consequences. Any one of the statements can be adhered to in the face of adverse observations, by revising others of the statements.
(EESW 313)
Quine emends, and thus moderates, this formulation of holism, or the Duhem thesis, by adding the following two reservations:
One reservation has to do with the fact that some statements are closely linked to observation, by the process of language learning. These statements are indeed separately susceptible to tests of observation; and at the same time they do not stand free of theory, for they share much of the vocabulary of the more remotely theoretical statements. They are what link theory to observation, affording theory its empirical content. Now the Duhem thesis still holds, in a somewhat literalistic way, even for these observation statements. For the scientist does occasionally revoke even an observation statement, when it conflicts with a well attested body of theory and when he has tried in vain to reproduce the experiment. But the Duhem thesis would be wrong if understood as imposing an equal status on all the statements in a scientific theory and thus denying the strong presumption in favor of the observation statements. It is this bias that makes science empirical.
(ibid., 314)
So, Quine’s first reservation regarding holism is that a given statement’s susceptibility to tests of observation is a matter of degree, with observation statements representing a limiting case. Thus, holophrastically construed, observation statements are indeed separately susceptible to tests of observation because they are learnt (or could be learnt) by being conditioned to fixed ranges of confirming and infirming patterns of sensory stimulation. In time, however, these same observation statements become linked to theoretical statements (statements which are remote from sensory stimulation) by virtue of their sharing some vocabulary. For example, the holophrastic observation statement ‘This+is+water’ can become linked to the theoretical statement ‘Water is H2O’ in a person’s web of belief just as soon as that person learns both to parse the holophrastic statement ‘This+is+water’ into the analysed statement ‘This is water’ and, of course, some chemical theory (POS 107–16).
Thus, observation statements enjoy a double life: holophrastically construed, they are conditioned to patterns of proximal stimuli; analytically construed, they are linked to other statements, including theoretical ones, by virtue of a shared vocabulary. The former connection accounts for observation statements’ susceptibility to being confirmed or infirmed individually; the latter connection accounts for how consideration of systematic efficacy for theory can sometimes override the former connection.
Quine’s second reservation regarding holism ‘has to do with breadth. If it is only jointly as a theory that the scientific statements imply their observable consequences, how inclusive does that theory have to be? Does it have to be the whole of science, taken as a comprehensive theory of the world’ (EESW 314), as Quine maintained in TDE? Quine now thinks that it does not:
Science is neither discontinuous nor monolithic. It is variously jointed, and loose in the joints in varying degrees. In the face of a recalcitrant observation we are free to choose what statements to revise and what ones to hold fast, and these alternatives will disrupt various stretches of scientific theory in various ways, varying in severity. Little is gained by saying that the unit is in principle the whole of science, however defensible this claim may be in a legalistic way.
(EESW 314–15)
So, Quine’s moderate holism recognizes (1) that, in general, a statement’s susceptibility to tests of observation is a matter of degree and that some statements (observation statements) are individually susceptible to such tests, and (2) that it is more accurate of current scientific practice to think of significant stretches of science, rather than the whole of science, as having observable consequences.
As we have seen, in TDE Quine proffered holism as a ‘countersuggestion’ to the dogma of reductionism. However, apart from the plausible story that Quine tells there about his countersuggestion, there is but one meagre argument for holism to be found in TDE. That argument is the following reductio: if reductionism were true, then we ought to be able to come up with an explicit theory of confirmation, but as Quine notes, ‘apart from prefabricated examples of black and white balls in an urn’ (TDEc 41), this endeavour has not met with success. Thus, it is likely that reductionism is false (and, therefore, that holism is true).
However, searching beyond the pages of TDE for further sources of support for holism, we find that Quine relies on two further arguments. One is what one might call the language-learning argument.1 This argument is extracted from some of Quine’s speculations regarding how theoretical (i.e. non-observational) language is learnt. The crucial idea is that while a person can learn the observational part of language by extrapolating along lines of observed (subjective) similarities, theoretical language cannot be learnt that way. Rather, the learning of theoretical language requires irreducible leaps of analogy on the part of the learner. These analogies forge multifarious and somewhat tenuous links among a person’s repertoire of statements. And since a person’s language is learnt from other people, many of those links in an individual’s web of belief come perforce to resemble those of other people, thereby making communication possible. More to the present point, however, if some cluster of a person’s statements which includes theoretical ones implies a particular observation statement which subsequent observation shows to be false, then (because of the aforementioned multifarious and tenuous links) there is some latitude as to which statement(s) in the implying cluster to cull so as to block the false implication, i.e., there is holism. This language-learning argument for holism also goes some way towards explaining why moderate holism occurs. If human language consisted entirely of observation statements, each one learnable by extrapolating over observed similarities, then each would have its own unique sets of confirming and infirming patterns of sensory stimulation. Holism, then, would not occur—but then neither would theoretical science; as Quine says, ‘I see no hope of a science comparable in power to our own that would not be subject to holism, at least of my moderate sort. Holism sets in when simple induction develops into the full hypothetico-deductive method’ (RTC 364).
Another of Quine’s arguments for moderate holism is what one might call the scientific practices argument. This argument maintains that as a matter of empirical fact scientists involved in testing some hypothesis H must assume the truth of various auxiliary assumptions A, and that H can always be saved by making drastic enough adjustments to A. Suppose, for example, that the conjunction of H and A entails the observation statement O. Suppose also that upon inspection O turns out to be false. Quine’s claim is that H could always be saved from refutation by replacing A with A’ such that the conjunction of H and A’ would no longer entail (the false) O. Notice that this claim is much weaker than the dubious claim that H could always be saved by replacing A with A’ such that the conjunction of H and A’ entails not-O. Quine disavows this stronger claim (PTb 16). Of course, it is also true that H could be saved, without altering A, were one to refuse to accept the falsification of O. If one’s giving up the truth of O portends cataclysmic consequences for one’s web of belief, one might choose to hold fast to the truth of O in spite of a seemingly recalcitrant observation. A person might even go to the extreme of pleading hallucination in order to maintain O’s truth (ML 2; TDEc 43).
In sum, there is a dialectic of epistemic values at work in Quine’s conception of moderate holism; these values include observation, on the one hand, and considerations of conservatism, simplicity and generality of theory on the other. Moreover, conservatism, simplicity and generality are themselves competitors in the dialectic. For example, simplicity of theory can give way to complexity, if great gains in generality are to be achieved; but generality can occasionally bow to simplicity, if complexity makes the theory unwieldy. It is important to recognize that for Quine there is no recipe, no algorithm, for adjudicating conflicts within this dialectic of values; he would say that the values are incommensurable. Finally, as we noted previously, observation statements are holophrastically conditioned to the ranges of proximal stimuli, which tend to confirm/ infirm them. However, these very same observation statements are connected in a piecemeal fashion to various theoretical statements by sharing vocabulary with them. Thus are observation statements pulled in opposite epistemic directions: towards sensory stimulation, on the one hand, and towards considerations of systematic efficacy for theory, i.e. towards conservatism, simplicity and generality of theory, on the other.
The Duhem thesis, moderate holism, plays a major part in Quine’s systematic philosophy. As we have noted, he relies on it in arguing against the two dogmas of empiricism, namely the analytic/synthetic distinction and reductionism, but he also relies on it in accounting for mathematical truth, in supporting his thesis of indeterminacy of translation, and in responding to global scepticism.
If, in the light of the considerations canvassed in the preceding section, we conclude that moderate holism is true, then not only is reductionism false, but it is also very unlikely that there are analytic statements, statements that are true by virtue solely of their meanings, independently of how the world is. As Quine has argued, any statement can be held true independently of how the world is, if we make drastic enough revisions to others of our statements. According to moderate holism, then, the statements most likely to count as analytic are those that are extremely remote from sensory stimulation, including statements like ‘There have been black dogs’. But surely advocates of analyticity do not want such statements to count as analistic. Has Quine therefore proved that there are no bona fide analytic statements? I think not, but what he has done is to supplant a less adequate theory of the relation between scientific theory and the world (reductionism) with a more adequate theory (moderate holism): ‘Holism in this moderate sense is an obvious but vital correction of the naive conception of scientific sentences [statements] as endowed each with its own separable empirical content’ (PTb 16).
According to the logical positivists, notably Carnap and A.J.Ayer, mathematical truths lack empirical content and are necessary. These philosophers argue that both of these traits of mathematical truths are explicable in terms of analyticity: mathematical truths are devoid of empirical content because they are analytic, i.e. they make no claims about the world. And they are necessary because they are analytic, i.e. they are true solely in virtue of the meanings of their terms. Thus, by relying on analyticity, and without abandoning their empiricist scruples, these philosophers can cheerfully admit that some truths are indeed necessary.
But how is an empiricist like Quine, one who shuns analyticity, to respond to these two problems?
I answer both [Quine writes] with my moderate holism. Take the first problem: lack of content. Insofar as mathematics gets applied in natural sciences, I see it as sharing empirical content. Sentences of pure arithmetic and differential calculus contribute indispensably to the critical semantic mass of various clusters of scientific hypotheses, and so partake of the empirical content imbibed from the implied observation categoricals.
(TDR 269)2
What of the second problem, the necessity of mathematical truths?
This again is nicely cleared up by moderate holism, without the help of analyticity. For…when a cluster of sentences with critical semantic mass is refuted by an experiment, the crisis can be resolved by revoking one or another sentence of the cluster. We hope to choose in such a way as to optimize future progress. If one of the sentences is purely mathematical, we will not choose to revoke it; such a move would reverberate excessively through the rest of science. We are restrained by a maxim of minimum mutilation. It is simply in this, I hold, that the necessity of mathematics lies: our determination to make revisions elsewhere instead. I make no deeper sense of necessity anywhere. Metaphysical necessity has no place in my naturalistic view of things, and analyticity hasn’t much.
(ibid., 269–70)
So, by relying on moderate holism, and without abandoning his empiricist scruples, Quine believes that he can account for both the empirical content and the apparent necessity of mathematical truth.
One of Quine’s more contentious philosophical claims is that two linguists working independently of one another on translating some hitherto unknown language could end up constructing manuals of translation which ‘might be indistinguishable in terms of any native behavior that they give reason to expect, and yet each manual might prescribe some translations that the other translator would reject. Such is the thesis of indeterminacy of translation’ (PTb 47–8). Quine summarizes a central argument supporting his thesis in the following passage:
If we recognize with Peirce that the meaning of a sentence turns purely on what would count as evidence for its truth, and if we recognize with Duhem that theoretical sentences have their evidence not as single sentences but only as larger blocks of theory, then the indeterminacy of translation of theoretical sentences is the natural conclusion.
(EN 80–1)
Quine has other arguments for indeterminacy of translation, but this one clearly rests upon his commitment to Duhem’s thesis, moderate holism.
One of Quine’s finest essays, one that is frequently overlooked by his critics and commentators, is ‘The Scope and Language of Science’. This essay is important because it contains an early statement of Quine’s reciprocal containment thesis. This thesis says, in effect, that ontology (the theory of what there is) and epistemology (the theory of method and evidence) contain one another but in different ways. This notion of reciprocal containment plays an important role in Quine’s response to global scepticism, so let us examine it in some detail.
Quine is emphatically a naturalist. A naturalist of his ilk rejects first philosophy and accepts the view that it is up to science to tell us what exists (ontology) as well as how we know what exists (epistemology). As a naturalist, Quine accepts a physicalist ontology (including sets) and an empiricist epistemology. He does so because he believes that physicalism and empiricism are themselves empirical hypotheses championed by our best current (if tentative) scientific theories. Also as a naturalist, Quine believes that ontology contains epistemology in the sense that empiricism is to be articulated in physicalistic terms, for example in terms of physical forces impinging on nerve endings. On the other hand, he believes that epistemology contains ontology in the sense that physicalism is our own construction and projection from those very same empiricist resources.
Some of Quine’s readers have thought that this talk of ontology being a construction and projection from some meagre empiricist input inexorably leads to global scepticism (or, perhaps, to instrumentalism or to idealism). For example, one might reason as follows:
It is thus our very understanding of the physical world, fragmentary though that understanding be, that enables us to see how limited the evidence is on which that understanding is predicated [i.e. ontology contains epistemology]. It is our understanding, such as it is, of what lies beyond our surfaces, that shows our evidence for that understanding to be limited to our surfaces [i.e. epistemology contains ontology]. But this reflection arouses certain logical misgivings: for is not our very talk of light rays, molecules, and men then only sound and fury, induced by irritation of our sensory surfaces and signifying nothing? The world view which lent plausibility to this modest account of our knowledge is, according to this very account of our knowledge, a groundless fabrication [i.e. global scepticism].
(SLSb 229)
However, to reason so, Quine explains, is to succumb to fallacy,
a peculiarly philosophical fallacy, and one whereof philosophers are increasingly aware. We cannot significantly question the reality of the external world, or deny that there is evidence of external objects in the testimony of our senses; for, to do so is simply to dissociate the terms ‘reality’ and ‘evidence’ from the very applications which originally did most to invest those terms with whatever intelligibility they may have for us.
(ibid., my italics)
Beyond this sort of paradigm case argument against global scepticism, Quine explains why we should ‘accept physical reality, whether in the manner of unspoiled men in the street or with one or another degree of scientific sophistication’ (ibid., 230):
We imbibe an archaic natural philosophy with our mother’s milk. In the fullness of time, what with catching up on current literature and making some supplementary observations of our own, we become clearer on things. But the process is one of growth and gradual change: we do not break with the past, nor do we attain to standards of evidence and reality different in kind from the vague standards of children and laymen. Science is not a substitute for common sense, but an extension of it. The quest for knowledge is properly an effort simply to broaden and deepen the knowledge which the man in the street already enjoys, in moderation, in relation to the commonplace things around him. To disavow the very core of common sense, to require evidence for that which both the physicist and the man in the street accept as platitudinous, is no laudable perfectionism; it is a pompous confusion, a failure to observe the nice distinction between the baby and the bath water.
(ibid., 229–30, my italics)
Thus, given Quine’s naturalistic stance, the fact that the best scientific theory of method and evidence (empiricism) under-determines the best scientific theory of what there is (physicalism) is not a reason for repudiating the latter together with common sense.
Before concluding my discussion of Quine’s holism, I should like to point out two further extremely important points regarding the passage last quoted. First, it endorses both coherentist and foundationalist elements of knowledge. There can be no doubt that both elements are found throughout Quine’s writings on the nature of natural knowledge. He sounds like a coherentist when he talks about theoretical statements and considerations of systematic efficacy for theory, but he sounds like a foundationalist when he talks about holophrastic observation statements and evidence. This is just what one would expect from an empiricist advocate of moderate holism. Second, in the last quotation Quine accords a special status to common sense: ‘to disavow the very core of common sense, to require evidence for that which both the physicist and the man in the street accept as platitudinous, is no laudable perfectionism; it is a pompous confusion’. Quine’s view of the status of core commonsense beliefs is similar to those of Moore and Wittgenstein, but, as we shall see, each of the three gives a different explanation of the grounds of their view.
When we first begin to believe anything, what we believe is not a single proposition, it is a whole system of propositions. (Light dawns gradually over the whole.)
(Ludwig Wittgenstein, OC §141)
Wittgenstein died on 29 April 1951—three months after the publication date of ‘Two Dogmas of Empiricism’ in The Philosophical Review, and four months after Quine read the paper at the Eastern Division of the American Philosophical Association in Toronto. For four separate periods during his final eighteen months Wittgenstein concerned himself with certainty and related topics. In fact, the last entry in his notes on these topics was made just two days before he died. In 1969 these notes were published in their entirety in book form under the title On Certainty.
The notes that comprise On Certainty were largely precipitated by three papers that G.E.Moore published between 1925 and 1941, papers in which Wittgenstein took a keen and lasting interest: ‘A Defense of Common Sense’ (1925), ‘Proof of the External World’ (1939) and ‘Certainty’ (1941). In On Certainty Wittgenstein is concerned with some of the same topics that Moore addressed in these three papers. In particular, Wittgenstein agrees with Moore’s view articulated in ‘A Defense of Common Sense’ (hereafter ADCS) that there is a core of common-sense beliefs which can neither be justified nor doubted, though Wittgenstein rejects Moore’s account of why this is so. Wittgenstein also rejects Moore’s view, articulated in ‘Proof of the External World’ (hereafter PEW), that a proof of the external world is needed and can be given.
In ADCS, Moore articulated a great number of beliefs belonging to what he called the Common-Sense view of the world, beliefs which he claimed to know with certainty to be true, but which could not be justified, beliefs such as:
There exists at present a living human body, which is my body. This body was born at a certain time in the past, and has existed continuously ever since, though not without undergoing changes…. Ever since it was born, it has been either in contact with or not far from the surface of the earth; and, at every moment since it was born, there have also existed many other things, having shape and size in three dimensions.3
Two further beliefs that Moore says that he knows with certainty to be true are (1) that he has two hands, and (2) that there is an external world. Indeed, in PEW he argues that he can prove (2) by appealing to (1), though he admits that he cannot prove (1) since he cannot prove that he is not dreaming.
As I understand On Certainty, Wittgenstein agrees with Moore’s view found in ADCS that there is a core of common-sense beliefs that are certain (i.e. cannot be doubted), but he denies that Moore knows such beliefs. For Wittgenstein, Moore’s utterance of ‘I know I have two hands’, or ‘I know there is an external world’, or the like, involves a misuse of the idiom ‘I know.’ According to Wittgenstein, ‘I know’ is used correctly only when it is possible to muster evidence for or against the relevant claim, and mustering evidence is a public activity. However, it is not possible to muster evidence for or against those core common-sense beliefs that both Moore and Wittgenstein regard as certain. Thus, Wittgenstein is driving a logical or grammatical wedge between certainty and knowing. It is correct to say ‘I am certain there is an external world’, but not ‘I know there is an external world.’ It is correct to use ‘certain’ in contexts where giving evidence or doubting are inappropriate. Moore’s tendency to conflate certainty and knowledge might be due to his assuming that both certainty and knowledge are mental states, accessible to introspection. Wittgenstein, of course, denies that certainty and knowledge are mental states. Finally, Wittgenstein rejects Moore’s assumption that philosophers’ utterances such as ‘This is a hand’, or ‘There is an external world’, or the like, express sensible propositions at all. For Wittgenstein, such utterances are without sense (senseless), but not nonsense.4
In sum, then, Wittgenstein rejects the following three of Moore’s assumptions: (1) that ‘I know’ is being used correctly by a philosopher who says things like ‘I know there is an external world’; (2) that knowing is a mental state, accessible to introspection; and (3) that philosophers’ utterances like ‘This is a hand’ express sensible propositions. It follows that Wittgenstein also rejects the proof of the external world that Moore proffers in PEW, since he regards both the ‘premisses’ and the ‘conclusion’ of Moore’s ‘proof’ as senseless.
Wittgenstein does a great deal more in On Certainty than criticize Moore. In particular, he provides a positive account of the grounds for the insight that he and Moore share, namely that there is a core of common-sense beliefs that are certain and, therefore, impervious to doubt. In an excellent new book entitled Moore and Wittgenstein on Certainty, Avrum Stroll argues persuasively that Wittgenstein provides not one but two logically distinct accounts of the ground of such certainty. Following Stroll, let’s refer to these two accounts as relative foundationalism and absolute foundationalism.5
Here are a few quotations from On Certainty which indicate the nature of Wittgenstein’s relative foundationalism:
144. The child learns to believe a host of things. I.e. it learns to act according to these beliefs. Bit by bit there forms a system of what is believed, and in that system some things stand unshakeably fast and some are more or less liable to shift. What stands fast does so, not because it is intrinsically obvious or convincing; it is rather held fast by what lies around it. 152. I do not explicitly learn the propositions that stand fast for me. I can discover them subsequently like the axis around which a body rotates. This axis is not fixed in the sense that anything holds it fast, but the movement around it determines its immobility.
225. What I hold fast to is not one proposition but a nest of propositions.
96. It might be imagined that some propositions, of the form of empirical propositions, were hardened and functioned as channels for such empirical propositions as were not hardened but fluid; and that this relation altered with time, in that fluid propositions hardened, and hardened ones became fluid.
97. The mythology may change back into a state of flux, the river-bed of thoughts may shift. But I distinguish between the movement of the waters on the river-bed and the shift of the bed itself; though there is no sharp division of the one from the other.
98. But if someone were to say ‘So logic too is an empirical science’ he would be wrong. Yet this is right: the same proposition may get treated at one time as something to test by experience, at another as a rule of testing.
99. And the bank of that river consists partly of hard rock, subject to no alteration or only to an imperceptible one, partly of sand, which now in one place now in another gets washed away or deposited.
So, as children we learn a system of beliefs, some of which are certain and indubitable, while others are more or less susceptible to doubt. Those beliefs that stand fast do so by virtue of those that shift: ‘The game of doubting itself presupposes certainty’ (ibid., §115). However, we do not explicitly learn the propositions that stand fast, but we can subsequently discover that we have acquired them. Also, what is held fast is not one proposition but a nest of propositions. Such propositions have the form of empirical propositions, but they are not empirical propositions, for they are not functioning as empirically testable propositions but, rather, as rules of such testing. The point of the river-bed analogy is that there is a difference between empirical propositions and propositions merely of the form of empirical propositions and, further, that in different situations one type of proposition may take on the role of the other. Hence the aptness of Stroll’s referring to this position as relative foundationalism. However, one might quibble with the aptness of calling Wittgenstein’s position foundationalism, in so far as that term is often opposed to holism, for there certainly are holistic tendencies in the passages just quoted.
There are similarities and differences between Wittgenstein’s relative foundationalism and Quine’s moderate holism. One similarity is that virtually every proposition is up for revision, but not equally so. Revising certain propositions might be avoided because revising them would be too disruptive for the system. On the other hand, though Wittgenstein admits that there is no sharp division between the propositions making up the river-bed and those comprising the waters, he tends to think of them as different in kind and not merely different in degree. For example, he sometimes refers to the river-bed-type propositions as ‘rules of testing’, ‘grammatical rules’, ‘world pictures’, ‘scaffolding for our thoughts’, and so on. Moreover, Wittgenstein maintains that such propositions are outside the language-games which they make possible. Even so, I am reluctant to saddle Wittgenstein with anything as severe as an analytic/synthetic distinction. I would be more inclined to say that he embraces something like the internal-question/external-question dichotomy. However one characterizes Wittgenstein’s view, it nevertheless seems at odds with Quine’s in so far as Wittgenstein thinks that there is a difference in kind between those (senseless) propositions that stand fast and regular empirical propositions.
Stroll claims that as Wittgenstein’s thought progressed in On Certainty Wittgenstein gradually came to favour absolute (non-propositional) foundationalism over relative (propositional) foundationalism. Stroll explains:
We have seen that one metaphor Wittgenstein uses for certainty is ‘standing fast’. I believe this concept is ambiguous as he employs it, that it denotes two different notions. On the one hand, it is hinge propositions that are said to stand fast; on the other, each in a set of non-propositional features is said to stand fast.6
The hinge propositions that Stroll here refers to derive from Wittgenstein’s claim that ‘the questions that we raise and our doubts depend on the fact that some propositions are exempt from doubt, are as it were like hinges on which those turn’ (OC §341). Stroll continues with his explanation of Wittgenstein’s propositional and non-propositional accounts of what is said to stand fast:
We shall begin with the propositional account. It is marked by three characteristics: (i) that foundational propositions form a system and (ii) that some hinge propositions do not stand absolutely but only relatively fast, and (iii) that some hinge propositions—’that the earth exists’, for example stand absolutely fast. The emphasis he gives to the propositional theory stresses its relativistic character; the absolutist version is more hinted at than explicitly stated. In holding this propositional account, Wittgenstein thus differs from Descartes, who thinks of the cogito as the sole foundational item and from Moore, whose common sense propositions do not form a system, and from both Descartes and Moore, who think all foundational propositions hold absolutely. In his later view Wittgenstein’s foundationalism abandons principles (i) and (ii) of the propositional account. Since the new view is non-propositional, it cannot be a system of propositions, and the foundations it describes are absolutist in character.7
According to Stroll, the new view, absolute foundationalism, is developed by Wittgenstein along three lines: ‘(1) that certainty is something primitive, instinctual, or animal, (2) that it is acting, and (3) that it derives from rote training in communal practices’.8
I am convinced by Stroll and by my own reading of On Certainty that the view that Stroll calls absolute foundationalism is present in On Certainty. However, I am unconvinced by the main thrust of the final chapter of Stroll’s book, where he pits Wittgenstein’s absolute foundationalism against Quine’s holism (or, better, Quine’s fallibilism). ‘The central issue is’, Stroll writes, ‘whether there is something that stands fast in the sense that it is neither eliminable nor revisable.’9 His view is, of course, that nothing stands fast for Quine, while something does stand fast for Wittgenstein—and Stroll sides with Wittgenstein, for certainty and against global scepticism.
I believe that Stroll might have come closer to the mark if he had not based his construal of Quine’s position entirely on a few passages from TDE. One must remember that in TDE Quine overstates his holism, and when he proffers the claim that any statement can be held true come what may, his target is the doctrine of analyticity. I believe that a more balanced construal of Quine’s position can be achieved by recalling two points: (1) Quine’s formulation of the holism thesis refers explicitly to scientific theories, not to common sense, and (2) in ‘The Scope and Language of Science’, Quine said that to ‘disavow the very core of common sense, to require evidence for that which both the physicist and the man in the street accept as platitudinous, is no laudable perfectionism; it is a pompous confusion’. The sentiment is surely one that both Wittgenstein and Moore would have found congenial.
Finally, while I do think that Quine would find Wittgenstein’s account of relative foundationalism uncongenial (because it turns on something like an analytic/synthetic distinction), I also think that he would find absolute foundationalism congenial. After all, there is nothing non-naturalistic about that position, nothing about the community and its practices that is not susceptible to scientific study.
In the final analysis, I believe that it is fair to claim modestly that Quine’s and Wittgenstein’s holistic tendencies are not as dissimilar as either their respective historical precursors (Carnap and Moore) or their different philosophical methods might at first suggest— which proves once again that great (original) minds (sometimes) think alike!
1 See Roger F.Gibson, Jr, Enlightened Empiricism (University of South Florida Press, Tampa, 1988), pp. 33–42.
2 Observation categoricals are standing sentences composed of two holophrastic observation sentences of the form ‘Whenever this, that’: ‘Whenever it’s raining, it’s wet.’
3 G.E.Moore, ‘A Defense of Common Sense’, in Moore, Philosophical Papers (George Allen and Unwin, London, 1959), p. 33.
4 See Avrum Stroll, Moore and Wittgenstein on Certainty (Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1994), p. 114.
5 Ibid., pp. 138ff.
6 Ibid., pp. 155–6.
7 Ibid., p. 156.
8 Ibid., p. 157.
9 Ibid., p. 166.