Month: January 2019

Excluded Middle, Bivalence, and Tertium Non Datur

Dave Gudeman comments:

I was surprised to see you distinguishing between bivalence and the LEM. As far as I can tell, in the traditional and most common formulations, they are identical.

Here is the way I understand it.  They are not identical.  Excluded Middle is a law of logic, whereas Bivalence is a semantic principle. (See Michael Dummett, Truth and Other Enigmas, Harvard UP, 2nd ed. , 1980, p. xix; Paul Horwich, Truth, Oxford UP, 2nd ed., 1998, p. 79) If 'p' is a place-holder for a proposition, any proposition, then Excluded Middle is:

LEM. p v ~p.

If 'p' is a propositional variable, and we quantify over propositions, then we have the universal quantification

LEM*. For all p, p v ~p.

It is understood that the wedge in the above formulae signifies exclusive disjunction. Why is that understood? Because both p and not-p is excluded by the Law of Non-Contradiction:

LNC. ~(p & ~p).  

If I may be permitted parenthetically to wax poetic in these aseptic precincts, (LNC) possesses a 'dignity' in excess of that possessed by (LEM). What I mean is that there are some fairly plausible counterexamples to (LEM), but none that are very plausible to (LNC).  Few philosophers are dialetheists; many more accept truth-value gaps.

The laws of logic are purely formal: they abstract from content or meaning. They are syntactic principles. Bivalence, by contrast, is a semantic principle. It goes like this:

BV. Every proposition is either true or false.

Tertium non datur means that a third is not given: there is no third truth value.  (TND) is also a semantic principle:

TND. No proposition is neither true nor false.

So the difference between (LEM) and (BV) is that the first is a syntactic principle and the second a semantic principle. But is this a difference that makes a difference? Is there a conceivable case where (LEM) is true but (BV) false?  I don't know the answers to these questions. Either that or I forgot them.

But if you conflate the two principles,  then you are in good company. W. V. O. Quine, Mathematical Logic, Harvard UP, 8th ed., 1976, p. 51: ". . . the law of excluded middle, which is commonly phrased as saying that every statement is either true or false . . . ."

Of E-Mail and Doing Nothing

Dolce far nienteI do appreciate e-mail, and I consider it rude not to respond; but lack of time and energy in synergy with congenital inefficiency conspire to make it difficult for me to answer everything. I am also temperamentally disinclined to acquiesce in mindless American hyper-kineticism, in accordance with the Italian saying:

Dolce far niente

Sweet to do nothing

which saying, were it not for the inefficiency lately mentioned, would have been by now inscribed above my stoa. My paternal grandfather had it emblazoned on his pergola, and more 'nothing' transpires on my stoa than ever did beneath his pergola.

So time each day must be devoted to 'doing nothing': meditating, traipsing around in the local mountains, contemplating sunrises and moonsets, sunsets and moonrises, and taking naps, naps punctuated on one end by bed-reading and on the other by yet more coffee-drinking.

Without a sizeable admixture of such 'nothing' I cannot see how a life would be worth living.

Two Senses of ‘Presupposition’ in Van Til and in General

Cornelius Van Til, The Defense of the Faith, 4th ed., p. 279: "Thus the truth of Christianity appears to be the immediately indispensable presupposition of the fruitful study of nature." My gloss:

The fruitful study of nature presupposes the truth of Christianity.  It is a fact that we study nature, and it is a fact that our natural-scientific procedures are successful in many ways and in many areas of inquiry.  Now what is factual is actual, and what is actual is possible. But how is it possible? What are the conditions of the possibility of our successful understanding of nature and (some of) her laws? We are being told by Van Til that an indispensable and thus necessary condition is the truth of Christianity.

This illustrates one legitimate use of  'presupposition.' Presupposition in this sense relates an activity or procedure to a proposition.  To say that activity A presupposes proposition p is to say that A could not be undertaken with the hope of success  were p not true. 

For example, the procedures of natural science presuppose the intelligibility of nature.  We would not seek the laws of planetary motion, for example, if we did not antecedently believe that the motion of the planets was regular and law-like and understandable by us. But IS nature intrinsically intelligible, intelligible an sich? We have  good reason to think so given the success of our physics as shown by its technological implementation.

The presupposition of the intelligibility of nature is therefore well-grounded .

We can push our transcendental regress a step further by asking: what does the intelligibility of nature itself presuppose? What are the conditions of the possibility of nature's being understandable by us?  What would have to be the case for nature to be intelligible to us?  Here are some candidate answers:

A. The intelligibility of nature presupposes the truth of Christianity. (Van Til)

B. The intelligibility of nature presupposes the existence of God. (It is only because a supreme Intelligence created the world that it is intelligible.)

C. The intelligibility of nature presupposes the truth of Kant's transcendental idealism according to which "The understanding is the law-giver of nature." 

D. The intelligibility of nature presupposes an immanent order and teleology along the lines of Thomas Nagel's Mind and Cosmos. On Nagel's view, the rational order is self-explanatory, a necessary feature of anything that could count as a cosmos. Nagel views the intelligibility of the world as "itself part of the deepest explanation why things are as they are." (17).  Now part of the way things are is that they are understandable by us.  Given that the way things are is intelligible, it follows that the intelligibility of the world is self-explanatory or self-grounding. "The intelligibility of the world is no accident." (17)   "nature is such as to give rise to conscious beings with minds; and it is such as to be comprehensible to such beings." (17) See my Nagel category for much more on Nagel's book and other works of his.

I myself incline toward (B).  (A) entails (B), but I see no reason to accept (A).  The sort of bottom-up reasoning that can plausibly justify us in positing God cannot plausibly justify us in positing the God of orthodox Christian theism with all the Reformed add-ons.

The other sense of 'presuppose' is in play here: "I therefore presuppose the Reformed system of doctrine." (Van Til, p. 27) A presupposition in this sense is an assumption that is accepted unconditionally, uncritically, without question. 

Bottom-Up and Top-Down

The first sense of presupposition fits with a bottom-up approach. We start with various features of the world we experience and we then ask what makes them possible.  We attempt  a regress from the given to the hidden. We start with the world, not with God, and we aim to arrive at God.  But if we arrive at God in this way, then the properties we will be justified in attributing to God will  only be those needed for our explanatory purposes.   Those properties are in a certain sense tied to our starting points.  For example, one might reason along these lines: the universe is contingent, but its existence is not a brute fact; so it must have a cause external to it.  In this way we get to God as First Cause.  Or we start from the intelligibility of nature and arrive at God as the supremely intelligent source of the intelligibility we find here below.  Supposing we can get to the true God in this way, a God that needn't have caused anything, or sourced the intelligibility of anything distinct from himself,  it nonetheless remains the case that the properties of this God will reflect the facts we start with and our need to explain them. 

The second sense of presupposition fits with a top-down approach.  We start with God, or at least we try to start with God, and then, instead of regressing from the given to the hidden conditions of the possibility of the given, we progress from the hidden to the given.  This is possible if the God who is hidden to the natural man with his natural intellect has revealed himself.   I understand Van Til to be saying that we know the true God, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob only because he has revealed himself to us.  The revelation that Van Till accepts is the final truth, not only about God, but also about man, and the universe.  Since it the revelation of God, it cannot be questioned.   We can say that for Van Til, God and his revelation understood along Reformed lines constitute the Absolute Presupposition.

Interim Conclusion

Van Til's bottom-up  transcendental argumentation appears to be a sham. Despite appearances, he is not trying to justify belief in the God of orthodox Christian theism by argumentation from given facts (the existence of nature, its order, beauty, and intelligibility) to that which must be presupposed if they are to be so much as possible; he is not trying to justify belief in the Christian God at all.  For he just assumes the existence of the Christian God as something that needs no justification and cannot be questioned since it is that without which there would be no questioning or proving or anything else.

With that absolute presupposition in place as his unquestionable starting point, he can then advance, but not justify, claims like (A) above: 

A. The intelligibility of nature presupposes the truth of Christianity.

What Van Til is doing in effect is simply presupposing the truth of (A)! What he ought to be doing, however, is giving us a reason to accept (A). It comes as no surprise, then, that Van Til claims that all reasoning is circular reasoning. (123) We will have to examine that claim and Oliphint's defense of it in a separate post.

Van Til just assumes the truth of his worldview and then in effect says: See! I can explain everything, including why there is no neutral ground for the assessment of worldviews, and why people who reject the particulars of my worldview reject them.  But this is of no help to someone who sees no reason to accept his worldview  in the first place.

Suppose I grant that that sin has noetic consequences. I grant the thesis.  But that leaves open the question as what exactly the noetic consequences are. Is it a noetic consequence of sin that I do not accept Van Til's worldview?  Or is rather a noetic consequence of sin that Van Til denies that there is a neutral ground for the assessment of worldviews?

Fascinating! More later. And thanks again to Dave Bagwill for inspiring me to get going on this.

Just Getting Started at 70

A valued correspondent offers,

I'm 70 years old, but I feel like I'm just getting started. Maybe that's a common experience.

I follow not far behind, and I can relate to the sentiment. I am just getting started as I near the end of the trail. The clock is running and I feel like a chess player in time trouble.  I am working on a book that I hope will sum it all up for me and bring my life to a rounded completion.  Will I have time before the flag falls?

Death is the muse of philosophy and one of her great themes. Now death is Janus-faced. One of her faces is that of the Grim Reaper, the other that of the Benign Releaser. 

JanusHow bad can death be if it releases us from this obviously unsatisfactory and bewildering predicament? Only the spiritually insensate could be blind to the horror of this life, a horror mitigated but not outweighed by the beauty in the world and goodness in some people. 

You live in a charnel house that is on fire and you pronounce it a wonderful abode?  How could escape from it not be good? On the other side of the question, that persons cease to exist utterly seems to be a very great evil, something intolerable barely conceivable. To appreciate this one must not think abstractly and objectively — one dies, all men are mortal — but concretely and subjectively: I will die. You, dear heart, will die.

When we think concretely and personally about death, our own death, and the deaths of those we love, we find ourselves agreeing with Arthur Schopenhauer: "The heart rebels against this, and feels that it cannot be true." ("The Vanity of Existence" in The Will to Live, ed. R. Taylor, p. 229)  Let us assume that you love and cherish your wife. Your loving her has conferred upon her uniqueness, at least relative to you. (Josiah Royce) Now imagine her lovable and loving unique personality blotted out of existence forever.  Or consider your own case. You have devoted a lifetime to becoming who you are. You have worked steadily at the task of self-individuation. Only to become nothing? Could things be arranged so badly for us? But then the whole thing would be a bad joke.

Is death evil or not?  No one knows. That we remain in the dark on a question so close to the heart and mind is yet another reason why our condition is a predicament. Should we therefore conclude that the good of escaping it outweighs the bad of personal cessation? No one knows.

The Epicurean reasoning strikes many as sophistical.  And maybe it is, though it is not obvious that it is. "When I am, death is not; when death is; I am not."

Dying is the end of trail, the last step on the via dolorosa.  It is indisputably evil, the only good thing about it being that it will force jokers finally to become serious. Will you be cracking jokes as you gasp for breath and feel yourself helplessly sliding into the abyss? Death, however, is not the last step; it is beyond the trail and its trials and beyond dying, a transcendent  'state' shrouded in mystery, or maybe not even a state: just mystery.

Companion post: On the 'Inconceivability' of Death

Van Til on an Absolutely Certain Proof of Christianity

Cornelius Van Til, The Defense of the Faith, 4th ed., p. 381:

The best, the only, the absolutely certain proof of the truth of Christianity is that unless its truth be presupposed,there is no proof of anything.

Van Til's  claim, to employ some Kantian jargon, is that the truth of Christianity is a condition of the possibility of proving anything. That's quite a claim. Let's put it to the test.

One can prove that the null set is unique by reductio ad absurdum. We begin the reductio by assuming that the null set is not unique, that there are two or more null sets. By the Axiom of Extensionality, two sets differ numerically only if one has a member the other doesn't have, or vice versa. But the null set, by definition, has no members. So the assumption leads to a contradiction. Therefore there cannot be two or more null sets. Hence the null set is unique. 

The proof presupposes the Law of Non-Contradiction (LNC), and I am willing to grant that LNC and the other laws of logic can be argued to presuppose in their turn the existence of an omniscient necessary being. One argument to this conclusion is the Anderson-Welty argument which I critically examine here. I conclude that, while the argument is not rationally compelling, it does contribute to the rationality of belief in God.  In other words, the Anderson-Welty argument is a good reason to believe in the existence of God. It does not, however, establish the existence of God in a definitive manner. It does not show that the existence of God is absolutely certain.

Van Til Cornelius At the very most, then, one can plausibly argue to, but not prove, the existence of an omniscient necessary being whose existence is a presupposition of our rational operations in accordance with the laws of logic.  But this is a far cry from what Van Til asserts above, namely, that the truth of Christianity with all its very specific claims is a condition of the possibility of proving anything. Trinity and Incarnation are among these specific claims. How are these doctrines supposed to bear upon the laws of logic?  Perhaps the Van Tilians have an answer to this. If they do, I would like to know what it is. But not only is Van Til's conception of God Christian, it is also Calvinist so that all the characteristic claims of Calvinism are also packed into the conception of a God that is supposed to be a condition of the possibility of all  proof.  How does predestination, for example, bear upon the laws of logic?

A New and Improved Argument for the Necessity of Something

Previous versions were long-winded.  Herewith, an approach to the lapidary.

1) If nothing exists, then something exists.
2) If something exists, then something exists.
3) Either nothing exists or something exists.
Therefore
4) Necessarily, something exists.

The argument is valid. The second two premises are tautologies. The conclusion is interesting, to put it mildly: it is equivalent to the proposition that it is impossible that there be nothing at all.  But why accept (1)?

Argument for (1)

5) If p, then the proposition expressed by 'p' is true.
Therefore
6) If nothing exists, then nothing exists is true.
7) The consequent of (6) commits us to the existence of at least one proposition.
Therefore
1) If nothing exists, then something exists.

Surely (5) is unproblematic, being one half of the disquotational schema,

DS. P iff the proposition expressed by 'p' is true.

For example, snow is white if and only if snow is white is true. The semantic ascent on the right-hand side of the biconditional involves the application of the predicate 'true' to a proposition. So it is not the case that the left and right hand sides of the biconditional say the same thing or express the same proposition. The LHS says that snow is white; the RHS says something different, namely, that the proposition expressed by 'snow is white' is true. The RHS has an ontological commitment that the LHS does not have: the RHS commits us to a proposition. Since the RHS is true, the proposition exists. (Cf. Colin McGinn, Logical Properties, Oxford UP 2000, 92-93. I am taking from McGinn only the insight that the LHS and RHS of (DS) do not say the same thing.)

But what about the inference from (5) to (6)? Can it be questioned? Yes, if we are willing to countenance counterexamples to (5) and thereby call into question Bivalence, the semantic principle that every proposition is either true or false, but not both. I'll pursue this in a later post. If, however, one accepts Bivalence and its syntactic counterpart, Excluded Middle, then it looks as if I've got me a rigorous a priori argument for the necessity of something and the impossibility of there being nothing at all.

Do Fire Alarms Make Assertions?

The Opponent writes,

The alarm means 'there is a fire in the building'. An assertion has taken place, that there is a fire. But it is triggered by a sensor in the building. So asserting is not just something people do.

This is a loose way of talking quite in order in ordinary life, but false if taken literally and strictly. I have no objection to people in ordinary life saying things like, 'The fire alarm is telling us that there's a fire in the building.'  But people don't talk like that. You tell me, "There's a fire!" I ask, "How do you know?" You reply, "The fire alarm went off." You DON"T say, "The fire alarm told me so,"or "The fire alarm made an assertion to that effect." You COULD say, "A fireman told me so."

But let's not get hung up in Ordinary Language analysis. The 1950s are long gone.

My claim is that a mechanical contraption cannot make an assertion any more than a 'sensor' can sense anything.  Thermostats don't feel heat and smoke detectors do not smell smoke.  Oscilloscopes do not detect sine waves; an engineer detects  a sine wave by the instrumentality of the oscilloscope. Neither my dipstick nor the oil on my dipstick asserts that there is sufficient oil in the crankcase; I infer that there is from the oil I observe on the dipstick. Inferring, like asserting, is something people do.

All meaning traces back ultimately to Original Meaners, Original Sinn-ers. Am I being too clever for clarity?

A green light means proceed.  A red light means stop.  But how did those signals come to acquire their conventional meanings? From us, from minds whose intentionality is original, not derived.    Surely you don't believe that green, or a green light, intrinsically means that one may proceed.

Let us see if the Opponent and I can find some common ground. I concede that there is a clear sense in which the sounding of a fire alarm means that there is a fire in the building. But this meaning is an instance of derivative, as opposed to original, intentionality. The intentionality derives from us. The sounding of the alarm means what it means only because we have assigned it that meaning.  Its intentionality or meaning is thus not intrinsic to it. After all, a fire alarm could be constructed for deaf people that emits a smell instead of a sound, perhaps the awful smell of burnt hair.  Obviously, such a smell is not intrinsically significative of anything.

So: if the Opponent concedes that the intentionality of a fire alarm is merely derivative, then we have agreement. If he holds that it is original, then the disagreement continues.

There is a similar pattern with sentences and propositions. I will allow you to say that a sentence is true or false in a secondary or derivative sense so long as you admit that it is propositions that are the primary truth-bearers.  Do we have a deal?  A declarative sentence is true in virtue of expressing a true proposition.

Where Less is More

Alexander Pope advises that we drink deep of the Pierian spring, for a little learning is a dangerous thing. A little knowledge, like a little learning, is indeed a dangerous thing except in the case of persons, where a lot of knowledge endangers love, respect, and admiration. Propinquity breeds familiarity, and familiarity contempt. Distance preserves and augments what propinquity diminishes. In matters sartorial this holds as well, as witness the robes of the judge which add an aura of dignity and majesty to a poor mortal who, under the aspect of eternity, and under the distancing attire, is as wretched as the man in the dock.

God, the Cosmos, Other Minds: In the Same Epistemological Boat?

Tony Flood has gone though many changes in his long search for truth. He seems to have finally settled down in Van Til's presuppositionalism.  Tony  writes,

God, the cosmos, and a plurality of minds other than one’s own are in the same epistemological boat. [. . .] To be skeptical about one but not the other two is arbitrary. Our innate predisposition to be realistic about all three is divinely written “software” that informs our cerebral “wetware.”

I wish I could accept this, but I don't, and I believe I have good reasons for my non-acceptance.

By "in the same epistemological boat," Flood means that God, the physical universe, and other minds are all on a par in respect of dubitability. No one of them is more open to reasonable doubt than the other two, and none of them is open to reasonable doubt. Therefore, one can no more reasonably doubt the existence of God than one can doubt the existence of other minds.  Atheism is on a par with solipsism in point of plausibility.

And bear in mind that by 'God' here is meant something very specific, the triune God of Christian theism, the God of the Bible as understood by Van Til and Co.  It is one thing to argue — and it can be done with some plausibility — that the validity of all reasoning about any subject presupposes the existence of an omniscient necessary being. It is quite another to argue that the presuppositum must be the God of Christian theism as the latter is expounded by a Calvinist!

Now I concede that doubts about the external world and the the reality of other minds are hyperbolic, and if taken as genuine doubts, as opposed to thought experiments deployed in an epistemology seminar, unreasonable. No one really doubts the existence of rocks or other minds.  Not even Bishop Berkeley doubts, let alone denies, the existence of rocks, the tree in the quad, and suchlike.  This is why it is perfectly lame to think that Berkeley's idealism can be refuted by kicking a stone. (See Of Berkeley's Stones and the Eliminativist's Beliefs and Argumentum ad Lapidem?)

The hyperbolic skepticism of Descartes' dream argument and its latter-day brain-in-the-vat incarnations are methodological tools of the epistemologist who seeks to understand how we know what we know, and what it is to know what we know.   A philosopher who wonders how knowledge is possible may, but need not, and typically does not, deny or have any real doubt THAT knowledge is possible. For example, I may be firmly convinced of the existence of so-called abstract objects (numbers, sets, propositions, uninstantiated properties, etc.) but be puzzled about how knowledge of such entities is possible given that there is no causal interaction with them.  That puzzlement does not get  the length of doubt or denial. The same holds, mutatis mutandis, for knowledge of the past, knowledge of other minds, and knowledge of the external world.

My point, then, is that (i) practically no one has real doubts about the existence of the external world or the existence of other minds, and that (ii) it would not be reasonable to have such doubts.  But (iii) people do have real doubts about the existence of the God of Christian theism, and (iv) it is not unreasonable to have such doubts.  The various arguments from evil, and not just these, cast reasonable doubt on Christian theism.

One type of real doubt is an 'existential' doubt, one that grips a person who succumbs to it, and induces fear and perhaps horror.  There are those who lose their faith in God and suffer in consequence.  They experience a terrible sense of loss, or perhaps they fear that they have been duped by crafty priests who exploited their youthful innocence and gullibility to infect them with superstitious nonsense in order to keep the priestly hustle going.  One can lose one's faith in God, and many do.  No one loses his faith in the external world or in other minds. And this for the simple reason that there was no need for faith in the first place.

I believe I have said enough to cast serious doubt on, if not refute, the idea that God, the the cosmos, and other minds are are in the same epistemological boat. That's a boat that won't float.

Assertion and Truth In Itself

The Ostrich reports that  he gave up on my transcendental argument from assertion to truth when he came to this paragraph:

To further unpack the concept of assertion, we note that whatever is asserted is asserted to be true independently of one's asserting it.  Of course, it does not follow from one's asserting that p that p is true independently of one's asserting it.  That's a further question. The point is rather that the act of assertion purports to get at reality as it is in itself.  This is a matter of conceptual necessity: the act of assertion would not be what it is if it did have a built-in nisus or directedness toward truth.

He grants that " it can be true that p even though no one asserts that p, or believes that p, or thinks that p." But he has trouble with "reality as it is in itself."

But ‘the act of assertion purports to get at reality as it is in itself’? And I still don’t really understand the ‘act’ involved in asserting. I agree that uttering the utterance ‘grass is green’ is an act. Definitely an act. Is it an ‘act of assertion’? Well the utterance-act is performed against the backdrop of conventional meaning and so forth. The conventional or literal meaning of the English sentence ‘grass is green’ is that grass is green. So the utterer is aiming to communicate the proposition (in your sense of ‘proposition’) that grass is green.

To assert that grass is green I must produce a token of a sentence (sentence-type) in some language that has the meaning that 'grass is green' has in English. So I can assert that grass is green by the assertive utterance of 'das Gras ist grün': I don't need to be speaking English. But let's stick to our mother tongue.

We can use 'sentence' and 'sentence type' interchangeably. But we must scrupulously distinguish sentences/sentence types from sentence tokens.  I use 'token' both as a noun and as a verb. One way to token a sentence is by uttering it. Another way is by writing it on a piece of paper. A third is by carving it into stone. And of course there are other more sophisticated ways of tokening or encoding a sentence.  To utter a sentence is to say it, whether sotto voce, or loudly. But you have to use your tongue and vocal cords, etc.  An utterance is the act of an agent. The speaker is  the agent; the saying or speaking of the words composing a sentence is the act. We can use 'inscribe' to covering tokenings that do not require speech, as when I write 'Sally is drunk' on a piece of paper and hand it to you to convey to you the proposition that — wait for it — Sally is drunk!  I can do that in such away that it constitutes an assertion and is taken by you to be one.  And let's be clear that by sentences in this discussion we mean sentences in the indicative mood.  I discern no difference between such a sentence and a declarative sentence.

Are you with me so far?

Now suppose I assert that grass is green and I do so in English.  To do this I must produce a token of 'Grass is green' either by utterance or by inscription or in some other way such as sign language.   I produce this token with the intention of (i) expressing a proposition or thought and (ii) conveying it to my hearer or reader.  I intend by my act of communication to convey to my hearer  or reader what I take to be a truth, where a truth is a true proposition. 

To assert is to assert something.  We must distinguish the asserting from that which is asserted.  That which is asserted is the proposition. Now what I assert, I assert to be true. That's analytic: I am merely unpacking (analyzing) the concept of assertion.

Now stop and think about that. It would make no sense to say that what one asserts, one asserts to be false. Of course, one can assert that a certain proposition is false. For example, I can assert that the proposition Trafalgar Square is in Brighton is false. But this is no counterexample to my claim since I assert it to be true that the proposition in question is false.

Of course, not everything I assert to be true IS true in reality. But that does not alter the fact that whenever one makes an assertion, the proposition one asserts is asserted to be true.  Every sincere assertion aims at truth whether or not it hits the target. Every sincere assertion is truth-directed as a matter of conceptual necessity.

To assert, then, is to assert to be true. But not only that. What I assert to be true I assert to be true independently of my asserting it or anyone's asserting it.  What is true independently of anyone's asserting it is true in itself. What is true in itself is true in reality.  What is true in reality is true extramentally and extralinguistically. 

We can therefore say that anyone who makes an assertion purports to say something true about reality as it is in itself.

Alles klar?

Saturday Night at the Oldies: Some ‘Song’ Songs

Mose Allison, The Song is Ended

Punch Bros., Dink's Song

Dave van Ronk, Dink's Song

Arlo Guthrie, Percy's Song

Fairport Convention, Percy's Song

Doors, Alabama Song

Roberta Flack, Killing Me Softly with his Song

Bob Dylan, Song to Woody

Chad and Jeremy, Summer Song

Simon and Garfunkel, 59th Street Bridge Song

Brook Benton, The Boll Weevil Song

UPDATE 1/20. A reader asks:

A black dude singing a hillbilly song? Where do you find these things?

That was a big hit when I was a boy, and I never forgot it.  It was played on the rock stations. Another great Brook Benton tune is It's Just a Matter of Time.

Charley Pride is another black guy who sang country songs. Is Anybody Going to San Antone?

A Transcendental Argument from Assertion to Truth

We start with a fact: we make assertions. The fact is actual, so it must be possible. What are the conditions of its possibility? What has to be the case for assertion to be possible?  I will argue that there has to be truth for assertion to be possible.

We proceed by unpacking the concept of assertion.

By 'assertion' I mean the speech act of asserting a proposition, not the proposition asserted taken in abstraction from the act of assertion.  Clearly, the asserting and the proposition asserted — the content of the assertion — must be distinguished despite the fact that there is no act of assertion without a content.  To assert is to assert something.

If one asserts that p, then one asserts it to be true that p. There is a conceptual link between assertion and truth.  Whatever is asserted is presented as true by the one who makes the assertion. And it doesn't matter whether the proposition asserted is true or false.  Suppose that, unbeknownst to me, the proposition I assert is false; it is still the case that I assert it to be true. 

Assertion is the overt verbal  expression of belief, and believing a proposition to be true is logically consistent with the proposition's being false. To believe a proposition is to believe it to be true, and to assert a proposition is to assert it to be true.

To further unpack the concept of assertion, we note that whatever is asserted is asserted to be true independently of one's asserting it.  Of course, it does not follow from one's asserting that p that p is true independently of one's asserting it.  That's a further question. The point is rather that the act of assertion purports to get at reality as it is in itself.  This is a matter of conceptual necessity: the act of assertion would not be what it is if it did have a built-in nisus or directedness toward truth.

We take a step further by noting that to assert a proposition is to affirm it as true independently of anyone's asserting of it. This follows because a proposition such as The Moon is a natural satellite of Earth can be asserted by anyone. If so, then to assert a proposition is to assert it as intersubjectively true, true for all assertors. But if a proposition is asserted to be true independently of anyone's asserting it, then it is asserted to be true not just intersubjectively, but absolutely (non-relatively). But there is no need to speak, pleonastically, of absolute truth; it suffices to speak of truth. Truth is absolute by its very nature.

The main point here is that when one makes an assertion one purports to state what is true in itself independently of any of us.  The presupposition of truth is built into the concept of assertion.  Now could this presupposition fail in every case of assertion?  Granted, it fails in some cases. There are false assertions. Could every assertion be false? Well, if every assertion is false, then it is true that every assertion is false, and if I assert that this is so, then I make a true assertion, one that is true independently of my assertion.  Therefore, it cannot be that every assertion is false. So some assertions are true,  absolutely true.

Therefore, for assertion to be possible, there must be some (absolute) truths even if we do not know which propositions are the true ones.

In sum: assertion is actual, hence possible. But it cannot be possible unless there are truths that are true independently of anyone's assertions.  This is because, as a matter of conceptual necessity, assertion is linked to truth.  Therefore, given that assertions are made as a matter of fact,  there are truths. 

I have just argued from the fact that we make assertions to the existence of truth (truths) as a transcendental presupposition of assertion.

But the following question disturbs me: Is truth merely a transcendental presupposition, or is it also an absolute presupposition?

A Merely Transcendental Presupposition?

Have I really proven the existence of truths that subsist independently of our acts of assertion (and independently of all our other discursive operations), truths that would subsist even if if we did not exist; or have I merely proven that we cannot make assertions  without presupposing truth?

I have argued that the fact of assertion presupposes the existence of truths: if there are true assertions, then there is truth. But also: if there are false assertions, then there is truth. But it doesn't follow that necessarily there are truths. For the fact of assertion entails the existence of assertors who are the agents of the various acts of assertion.  But these agents are contingent beings. We who assert might not have existed. It follows that the fact of assertion, the starting point of my transcendental argument, is a contingent fact.

What this seems to entail is that the necessity that there be truths is a conditional, as opposed to an absolute, necessity. I would like to be able to conclude that it is is absolutely necessary that there be truth. But the contingency of my starting point seems to spread to my conclusion, relativizing it.