Looking for Life

One tenant of orthodox Darwinism is that life emerged, spontaneously, from lifeless matter. Understanding the implications of this proposition is essential to understanding the plausibility of evolutionary hypotheses in general.

Stanley Miller and Harold Urey conducted experiments in 1952 to test the credibility of the “warm little pond” hypothesis, so named because Darwin wrote:

But if (and oh what a big if) we could conceive in some warm little pond with all sorts of ammonia and phosphoric salts, light, heat, electricity etcetera present, that a protein compound was chemically formed, ready to undergo still more complex changes.

The Miller-Urey experiment, as it is commonly called, subjected mixtures of water, nitrogen and compounds like carbon dioxide, hydrogen sulfide, and sulfur dioxide to heating, cooling, and electrical sparks. Later versions of the experiment, conducted by other researchers as well as by Miller and Urey, varied the temperatures, times, and compounds. Eventually, if the Darwinian hypothesis is correct, at least one combination should yield life.

Since 1952, different variations on this experiment have been performed by different researchers. To date, no life has been created by this process. Among the different approaches are those which attempt to emulate conditions in the earth’s seas, and those which try to replicate the variables found in warm ponds found in the vicinity of volcanic activity. As Armen Mulkidjanian writes,

We attempted to reconstruct the “hatcheries” of the first cells by combining geochemical analysis with phylogenomic scrutiny of the inorganic ion requirements of universal components of modern cells.

Many of these attempts to create life have been presented as attempts to see whether amino acids, or other compounds popularly called “the building blocks of life,” could have spontaneously arisen in conditions presumed to have existed on earth. Even Miller and Urey, by the time they published their results, had recast their experiment as a hunt for certain compounds, rather than the hunt for life itself; the quest was based on

the idea that organic compounds that serve as the basis of life were formed when the earth had an atmosphere of methane, ammonia, water, and hydrogen instead of carbon dioxide, nitrogen, oxygen, and water

Having failed to grab headlines in newspapers - imagine “Scientist Creates Life in a Beaker!” - Miller and Urey had to content themselves with the comment that “this type of process would be a way of commercially producing amino acids.” They might be forgiven for their overly enthusiastic quest to create life in a test-tube: Miller was, after all, only 23 years old at the time. In a 1959 write-up, he framed it thus:

Since the demonstration by Pasteur that life does not arise spontaneously at the present time, the problem of the origin of life has been one of determining how the first forms of life arose, from which all the present species have evolved. This problem has received considerable attention in recent years, but there is disagreement on many points. We shall discuss the present status of the problem, mainly with respect to the early chemical history of, and the synthesis of organic compounds on, the primitive earth.

In the half-century, and more, since then, both the chemical content of the mixtures and the amount and type of energy input have been investigated, and variations of the experiment attempted. Researchers have used infrared, ultraviolet, and visible light; alpha particles, neutrons, and other forms of bombardments have been applied. The possible combinations of chemical elements, amounts and forms of energy, and the timings of different energy applications, mean that the number of possible experiments is infinite, or nearly so.

Although the names Miller and Urey were attached to this experiment, a researcher named MacNevin in Columbus had conducted similar experiments. A New York Times article, dated March 8, 1953, reports that

In Ohio State University laboratories Dr. Wollman M. MacNevin and his associates are re-creating the earth’s conditions two billion years ago - long before there was life on this planet. “One purpose of the study,” Dr. MacNevin explains, “is to answer this scientific question: Did extreme complexity of chemical compounds develop before life appeared, or was this a result of the life processes?”

Likewise, a researcher named Wilde published in the journal Science on July 10, 1953, another experiment which apparently predates Miller and Urey. Wilde writes, after sending an electrical current, in the form of an arc, through a mixture of water vapor and carbon dioxide, that

the action of radiation on these 2 gases is of special interest in relation to the basic photosynthetic process, and also carries implications with respect to the origin of living matter on earth.

Since Wilde, MacNevin, Miller, and Urey, papers have appeared at regular intervals, reporting similar results. The quest for “life in beaker” remains unsatisfied. What implications can we draw from what has been reported thus far?

Given that the number of experimental combinations to be explored is infinite, or nearly so, we will never arrive at the point at which we can empirically satisfy the desire to have tried every combination. To draw a conclusion, therefore, we will have to discern what constitutes a representative sample of the population. The population is every conceivable combination of elements and energy forms, including the variations in timing; other variables could be considered as well, e.g., pressure.

To have a representative sample of this population, we would need to divide the population into meaningful and significant categories, and draw samples from those categories. Recursively, each category would be organized into subcategories, etc., to ensure a broad range of samples. The question arises, would there be an infinite regression of subcategories within subcategories?

In this question, we encounter the larger question which inhabits all empirical inductive sciences. If a hypothesis is to be supported, or refuted, by empirical induction, and if there is an infinite or nearly-infinite population, at which point in the process of sampling do we consider that we have “enough” evidence to form a judgment?

Given that no mixture has been found which yields life upon absorbing certain types and amounts of energy, it might be argued that the Darwinian hypothesis has failed. But given that we have not yet tested all possible mixtures, it could be argued that the evolutionary schema has not been proved implausible. Neither argument is definitive until the problems of induction and sampling have been sufficiently clarified. This is the general problem of observational empirical sciences.

For the present, the question has been side-stepped, as scientists who are seeking to create life in a laboratory have learned to consistently present their work as merely the effort to determine whether or not certain complex organic compounds could have been produced in a lifeless environment. Despite more than sixty years of persistent effort, they have failed to demonstrate that a mixture of lifeless compounds can, upon the application of energy, generate life.

At the present stage, the only clear conclusion is that there is no evidence to persuade one to believe that life spontaneously arose from nonliving matter.

Not Quite Religion

What is religion? To answer that question, one will simultaneously answer the question what is not religion? By asking both questions, the possibility is raised that some things which are not religions might be called religion - might be mistakenly called religion, or mistaken for religion. Full-blown religions, like Judaism and Christianity, fall into that category, while other things, like magic, might more accurately be called part of a pre-religious phase.

Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, in his Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion, expresses a similar approach to religions and to those belief systems which are almost, but not quite, religions:

We shall discuss now the first stage of nature religion, the religion of magic, which we may deem unworthy of the name “religion.” In order to grasp this standpoint of religion we must forget all the representations and thought that we are perhaps so familiar with and that themselves belong to the most superficial habits of our culture. We must consider human beings all by themselves upon the earth, the tent of the heavens above them and nature round about them, and so, to begin with, without any reflective thought, altogether devoid of consciousness of anything universal.

Hegel points out that we need to undo our current cultural worldview, which is already informed by religion, in order to understand a pre-religious worldview. The more ancient civilizations embraced a worldview in which, in place of religion, one finds magic and myth. Magic, for these anthropological purposes, may be defined as an attempt to manipulate physical reality. Magic is the attempt to bring about certain states of affairs. One might use magic, e.g., to bring about fertile farming conditions or to bring about a military victory. Magic is thus closely related to, or identical with, what historians call “fertility religions” - but we note, with Hegel, that “fertility religions” are not religions, but merely so called.

Myth is the creation of narratives, narratives designed to explain. Myth can be true or false. In a magical, pre-religious society, myth is expanded and brought forth to do the tasks which religion will do at a later stage.

When a civilization leaves the stage of myth and magic, and progresses to religion, it abandons myth, because it acknowledges, with Kant, that sober reason admits that some questions are beyond it; human reason cannot answer all questions, and so mature religion is content to admit some mysteries. The immature stage of mythology does not want to admit that some questions are beyond the ability of human reason to answer, and so myths are fabricated, providing answers to all questions, leaving no question unanswered, and leaving no room for mystery.

Likewise, mature societies leave behind the phase of magic. Magic is the attempt to manipulate, and is not content to admit that humans cannot control every event in the natural universe. Progression from magic to religion is the progression from acting on the desire to place all variables under human control to acting on the recognition that humans must accept that there are natural limits to their powers.

Having shed magic and myth, the truly religious phase centers upon communication with the deity. The modern religious person, then, has a different approach to the realm of the spirit than did the person who belonged to a pre-religious civilization. Hegel writes:

It is difficult to get the sense of an alien religion from within. To put oneself in the place of a dog requires the sensibilities of a dog. We are cognizant of the nature of such living objects, but we cannot possibly known what it would mean to transpose ourselves into their place, so that we could sense their determinate limits; for that would mean filling the totality of one’s subjectivity wholly with these characteristics. They remain always object of our thought, not of our subjectivity, of our feeling; we can grasp such religions, but we cannot get the sense of them from within. We can grasp the Greek divinities, but we cannot get the inner sense of genuine adoration toward a divine image of that kind.

It is on this point that it is most difficult for the modern reader to enter into the psychology of early Mesopotamian cultures; into Mayas, Incas, and Aztecs; into Druids, Celts, Gauls, or Hittites; and into the earliest stages of Hindu, Greek, Roman, or Norse mythologies. It is telling that all of these engaged in the practice of human sacrifice. The drive for magic - the ability to manipulate the weather or to rig military victories - was so intense that human sacrifice seemed either necessary or reasonable. The modern reader may find it easy to mock those primitive cultures, but should remember that the immanent threat of death and the lack of accurate knowledge about the Infinite and the Transcendental are powerful forces; the modern reader may become more sympathetic when considering those forces. The modern reader might also imagine that certain aspects of modern civilization may seem equally barbaric when viewed by someone who is utterly outside that civilization.

Hegel’s Lectures on the Philosophy of Religion pose certain textual problems, being as they are, a patchwork quilt made of Hegel’s own notes from which he lectured, as well as notes taken by students during those lectures, along with fragments of text written out by Hegel - all edited together into prose by scholars after Hegel’s death. To compound the problem, the lectures, first given in 1821, were repeated over the years, in 1824, in 1827, and in 1831. Over those years, Hegel adjusted both the content and the form of his presentation, and editing all of this material into one stream of prose gives a simplified vision of Hegel’s thought on the matter.

Hegel began by noting that what one considers in this most primitive stage of culture, the culture of magic and myth, is not quite a religion, but rather something pre-religious. Yet he confusingly uses the word ‘religion’ in his discussion of it.

In the primal, immediate religion, here in this immediacy, humanity still knows no higher power than itself. There is, to be sure, a power over contingent life, over its purposes and interests, but this is still no essential power, as a universal in and for itself, but falls within the compass of humanity itself. The spiritual subsists in a singular, immediate mode.

The deities of early mythologies, and the power of magic, are then actually projections of the human mind. With Xenophanes, we note the suspiciously anthropomorphic features of these idols. Magic and myth are human ambition writ large. But even the formalization of these concepts into personified anthropomorphic deities is already a step beyond the most primitive level of myth and magic:

But the first nature religion is much more remote from the totality of our consciousness than this. Human beings in that situation still exist in a state of immediate desire, force, and action, behaving in accord with their immediate will. They do not yet pose any theoretical questions such as: “Where does this come from?” “Who made it?” and “Must it have a cause?” This inward divorce of objects into a contingent and an essential aspect, into a causative aspect and the aspect of something merely posited, or of an effect, does not yet occur for them. Similarly, even the will in them is not yet theoretical; there is not yet this rupture in them, nor any inhibition toward themselves. The theoretical element in willing is what we call the universal, right, duty - i.e., laws, firm specifications, limits for the subjective will. These are thoughts, universal forms that belong to the thought of freedom. They are distinct from subjective arbitrariness, desire, and inclination; all of the latter are restrained and controlled by the universal, or are conformed to this universal; the natural willing of desire is transformed into willing and acting in accord with such universal viewpoints.

Although his topic is the philosophy of religion, Hegel here thinks alongside various political philosophers who have imagined that humanity once existed in some ‘state of nature’ out of which society and state emerged. He is constructing a religious analogue to that political development. But both are dubious: politically and religiously, we must ask what evidence exists that humanity actually did live in that ‘state of nature’ and why we might not suppose that humanity simply lived in a less developed version of its current self. Those who posit a ‘state of nature’ are speaking of a difference in kind; we ask whether it might not have simply been a difference in degree.

But here human beings are still undivided with regard to willing; desire is the governing factor here. Similarly in their representations, in the imagination of these human beings, they carry on in this undivided state, this benighted condition, a stupor in the theoretical domain and a wildness of will. This is just spirit’s primitive and wild reliance upon itself. There is indeed a fear present here, a consciousness of negation, though not yet the fear of the Lord; it is instead the fear of contingency, of the forces of nature, which display themselves as mighty powers over against humanity. The fear of the Lord, which is the beginning of wisdom, is fear before a spiritually self-sufficient being opposed to arbitrariness. This fear first enters human experience when in one’s singularity one knows oneself to be powerless, when one’s singularity is inwardly shaken. The beginning of wisdom is when singular privateness and subjectivity sense itself as not being what is true, and, in the consciousness of its singularization and impotence, by way of negation, it passes over to knowledge, to universal being-in-and-for-self.

Hegel sees this pre-religious phase as the un-reflective and un-self-conscious activity of the will and of fear. He notes a transition from a fear of arbitrary contingent concrete fears to the the fear of the Lord. The themes of will and fear certainly continue from the pre-religious to the religious phase, but they appear in the latter in very different guise than in the former. One may also posit a post-religious phase, in which the primary concept is relationship with the deity, and not mechanism. In any case, when doing the philosophy of religion, it is a good starting point to sort out those things which actually are religion from those things which may seem like, or be called, religion without actually being so.

The Speed of Gravity

Posing a question about the speed of gravity yields an opportunity to examine questions about the philosophy of science, especially those which touch upon verification, experimental design, and sources of experimental error. Naively, we might say that Newton sees gravitation’s effects as instantaneous even at a distance, and that Einstein sees gravity as traveling at a finite, but not necessarily fixed, speed.

In terms of experiment and observation, astronomers have gathered data from phenomena like quasars and pulsars, and concluded that gravity is not instantaneous. Yet its speed is calculated by many of these astronomers as being significantly faster than the speed of light, a conclusion which, if accepted, would challenge many propositions taken as axiomatic by physicists.

While Newton took gravity to take effect instantaneously, he also considered any instantaneous effect at a distance as problematic. Many Newtonian thinkers after him solved the problem, or side-stepped it, by saying that the speed of gravity was so fast that it should simply be calculated as instantaneous.

We can conceptualize the question in a thought-experiment:

Let us imagine a universe devoid of matter except for three simple objects - e.g., three solid metal spheres, like ball bearings. These three are in motion, traveling in a plane. Although we are imagining a standard four-dimensional universe, i.e., the three Euclidean dimensions and time, the objects are moving only on a plane. They are in inertial states of motion as follows: two of them are on parallel paths, such that their routes would never intersect, save for the forces of gravity, and they will never leave the plane; the third is moving on a path such that it will collide with one of the other two. At any point in time prior to the collision, we can nicely predict their routes and project them into the future. The forces and their mathematics are well-known, and we have eliminated complications like friction or gravitational fields from other objects. The only quantities to be considered would be the masses of the objects, their speed and direction (i.e., velocities), and the forces of gravity between them. The two objects on parallel paths will presumably be drawn toward each other by gravity so that their paths would cease to be parallel. Let us stipulate that they will not collide until after the third object first collides with one of them, if ever. Up to this point, the situation is unremarkable, not controversial, and easily predictable by Newtonian means. At the point in time at which the third object collides with one of the first two, the two objects in the collision will change velocity. Let us stipulate that the collision does not destroy the objects; imagine billiard balls colliding on the table. Given that the collision and the change in velocity are either instantaneous or nearly so, we will regard this as a single point in time. The force of gravity upon the third object, the one not in the collision, will change also at this point in time. Given the change in the force of gravity upon that object, and the stipulated absence of moderating factors like friction, the third object’s path will change as the force of gravity upon it changes. Our question is then this: is the point in time at which the third object’s path changes different than the point in time at which the collision took place? If yes, then gravity is not instantaneous, and travels at a speed. If no, the gravity is instantaneous.

Philosophers are well aware that attempts to answer questions, whether successful or not, usually yield more questions and meta-questions. The present case is no exception. Is our thought experiment well-formed? Does it have any bearing on physical reality? It certainly fails to yield an answer to the question of whether gravity is instantaneous.

Any attempt to translate this thought experiment into observational natural science will be fraught with complications. Rather than working with a stipulated idealized universe, we would have to work with the real one. Attempting to observe and measure, e.g., tiny variations among asteroids, which travel through space with inertial motion and occasionally collide with one another, would be affected by numerous other gravitational fields in the area - fields emanating from other objects. Calculating these would be impossible or nearly so. The small changes in path and the precision needed to measure such small bits of time would exceed our technological grasp.

If there is any value attributable to this thought experiment, it might be this: that it presents the question in an isolated form. This is the procedure normally adopted by physics textbooks when presenting less controversial matter.

The question about the speed of gravity touches upon questions about the mechanism of gravity, and about the cause or source of gravity. Newton famously violated his own dictum that he would form no hypotheses. Commenting upon this benign self-contradiction, Professor Lawrence Sklar writes:

His hypotheses about gravity, for example, often have a very Cartesian flavor to them, as they postulate “ethers” that fill the universe with various fluid properties of pressure and resistance, and whose relation to matter (perhaps of lower pressure where matter is present, resulting in a “push” that moves matter toward matter) might, possibly, explain the law-like behavior of gravitational attraction. Such “mechanisms” might also remove from gravity the taint of action at a distance. It is worth noting here that the elements that later function to suggest the replacement of “action at a distance” theories by theories that propose an ontology of “fields” intermediate between the interacting objects, that is to say the time lapse in inter-particle actions and the violation in conservation of energy that results if one is not very careful in framing an “action at a distance” theory, play no role in the controversies embroiling Cartesians and Newtonians in Newton’s time.

Given that there are still unanswered questions and significant controversies about gravity, Newton’s suggestions, even if some of them are ultimately rejected, are still worth examination. Sklar continues:

Some of Newton’s hypotheses remain only curiosities in the history of science. Others, such as his particle theory of light, remain, if not really correct, important contributions to the development of later science. Still others, such as his hypothesis expressed in the “Queries” to the Opticks that there might be other forces along with that of gravity by which matter influences matter, and that these other forces might account for such things as the structure and behavior of materials, are prophetic insights into what became large components of the future growth of scientific understanding.

In post-Newtonian physics, questions about the speed of gravity take a different form. They might be posed as questions about the speed at which spacetime can change shape, i.e., curve or become curved. Or they might be asked about the speed of gravity waves, instead of the speed of gravity.

What is Life?

Aside from being a song by George Harrison, the question “what is life?” gives the philosopher occasion to engage in one of his favorite activities: working toward a precise definition for a word.

We use the noun ‘life’ and the verb ‘live’ (lives, lived, living) in ordinary circumstances quite often. Yet it is perhaps not easy to articulate exactly what life is.

One might observe that life is contingent: different forms of life are contingent upon different things. Various forms of physical life depend on various types of matter and energy: oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, heat, light.

We might inquire about non-physical forms of life. One hears the phrase ‘life of the mind’ - is that a metaphor, or a literal reference? Likewise with ‘social life’?

If we restrict ourselves to biological life, we might compare a dead organism to a living one. One of the differences is motion: dead things move when moved; living things move spontaneously. The motion of a non-living thing is ab alio; the motion of a living thing can be ab se.

Life is not measurable in the manner in which we measure matter or energy: a plant or animal does not lose any mass or weight when it dies. Viewing a single-celled organism through a microscope, we cannot see its life disappear when it dies: all the various parts of it remain, and remain in the spatial relation to one another.

What we can see is motion, and death is often inferred when motion stops - correctly inferred or incorrectly inferred. Motion is an indirect, or mediated, sign of life. Motion can fool us; we may think something is alive because it moves, and we might be wrong in so thinking. We may think something is dead because it does not move, and just as easily be right or wrong.

Life, then, might be something metaphysical. If it is not matter or energy or a combination thereof, and if it is not directly detectable by our five senses, it could be a metaphysical category. We note that it is not even detectable in principle by our five senses.

Whether or not one wishes to commit philosophically to a robust ontology, including a metaphysical entity or substance called ‘life’, one can see the reasons which would persuade a philosopher to make that commitment. We might speak of life “going” when a person dies. What is it that went? Whither did it go?

Although some texts include the phrase “self-sustaining” in attempted definitions of ‘life’, this could be true only in a rather limited sense. Given that life is contingent, it is sustained by the ongoing presence of certain types of energy and matter in its environment.

Although living beings may be capable of spontaneous motion, life itself is not spontaneous. Life does not start itself, but rather is started. It does not end itself, but rather is ended. Even in a case of suicide, life is ended by a means, mediately, not by itself directly.

Carl Christian Erhard Schmid wrote an extensive commentary on Kant’s philosophy, and published it in 1798. Summarizing Kant’s views, he gave a four-point Kantian definition of ‘life’ as follows:

1. In general: a substance’s power to determine out of an inner principle to act
2. Particularly: a finite substance’s power to determine itself toward change
3. A material substance’s power to determine itself toward motion and rest as changes of its condition. Because thought and desire are the only inner activities and principles of change which are known to us, but these are not objects of external senses, nor predicates of material substances, life is not ascribed to the latter
4. A being’s power to act according to the laws of the power of desire, i.e., by means of its representation to become the cause of the reality of the objects of these representations.

In German as in English, the verb ‘change’ has both a transitive and a non-transitive semantic; both are in play here. Schmid’s summary in the original reads:

1. Überhaupt: das Verögen einer Substanz, sich aus einem innern Princip zum Handeln zu bestimmen.
2. Insbesondre: das Verögen einer endlichen Substanz, sich zur Veränderung zu bestimmen.
3. Das Vermögen einer materiellen Substanz, sich zur Bewegung und Ruhe, als Veränderungen ihres Zustandes, selbst zu bestimmen. Da Denken und Begehren die einzigen uns bekannten innern Thätigkeiten und Principien einer Veränderung, diese aber keine Gegenstände der äussern Sinne, noch Prädicate materieller Substanzen sind, so kommt letztern eigentlich kein Leben zu.
4. Das Vermögen eines Wesens, nach Gesetzen des Begehrungsvermögens zu handeln d.h. durch seine Vorstellungen Ursache von der Wirklichkeit der Gegenstände dieser Vorstellungen zu werden.

Schmid’s original spelling has been preserved here. If Schmid’s understanding of Kant is correct - and we have reason to think that it is, because Schmid wrote during Kant’s lifetime and received no objection from Kant - then “life” is the power to cause objects to be real, according to Kant. That is quite a statement!

Perception and Conception

Many philosophers will agree to some statement similar to this: the human mind shapes or processes our experiences and sense-data, and from them forms perceptions and ideas. But in the details of how this happens, and in the exact definitions of each of the words in such a statement, quite a few divergent views will be found.

In the history of modern philosophy, the concepts - and we will need to return to the word 'concept' again for clarification - of space and time emerged early as a central part of that process by which the human mind organizes sensations, and as a central topic of conflict between philosophers.

In a famous disagreement between Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646-1716) and Isaac Newton (1642–1727), two basic views were set forth. Samuel Clarke (1675–1729) joined the discussion on Newton's side, and letters between Clarke and Leibniz are the primary text for this matter (Leibniz almost certainly never met Clarke or Newton in person). Norman Kemp Smith outlines their positions:

(a) The view propounded by Newton, and defended by Clarke, is that space has an existence in and of itself, independent alike of the mind which apprehends it and of the objects with which it is filled. (b) The view held by Leibniz is that space is an empirical concept abstracted from our confused sense-experience of the relations of real things.

The argumentation produced by both sides is sophisticated and brilliant. Ultimately, however, the question was a stalemate until Kant proposed a third view. Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) hoped to split the difference between Leibniz and Newton, glean the best of both, and discard the worst of both. Kant argued that space and time were part of the mind, but not abstracted from experience; rather space and time were part of the mechanism which makes experience possible.

With Leibniz, then, Kant refused to make space and time a physical reality in the way in which rocks and oceans are physical realities; with Newton, Kant gave space and time an unshakeable basis, so much so that they could serve as the a priori foundation for mathematics and geometry.

Since the time of Kant, a number of physicists and philosophers have wrestled with, refined, and produced variants of, these explanations of space and time. The long list would include Einstein and Hawking. Orlin Ottman Fletcher, at Furman University, hopes to make progress by distinguishing types of space and time. If there are different types of space, and different types of time, then we need not trouble ourselves seeking definitions and explanations which would apply to all time and space; this would allow us to steer clear of some of the problems and paradoxes on which others have foundered. He writes:

We distinguish between Perceptual space-experience and that which is purely Ideational. Their essential differences will appear in the course of this discussion. We treat perceptual space first.

Fletcher bases his notion of 'perceptual space' on the phenomenon of distinctness between objects and on the phenomenon of the extension of bodies - which is to say, he bases his notion of perceptual space on phenomena, not on any thing in itself.

The book, inkstand, and ben which are on my desk are seen to be distinct objects; each of them is apart from, or "out of," the others. As I lay my hand on the door-knob in the dark, the knob is felt to be "out from" the surface of the door. Similarly each of the corners of one of the covers of the book is perceived to be apart from the other corners. In like manner we apprehend that parts of other material objects on the desk are experienced as "out from" me. We do not perceive sensible objects otherwise than in a relation of "outness" to one another and to ourselves. So also portions of the over of a book or of a patch of light are seen to be "out from" one another. In a word, all sensible individuals are perceived to be in a relation of "outness" to one another and to the perceiver. In perceiving sensible objects, we always relate them in respect of position; and the objective reality which yields experience of mutual "outness," is the position-relation of the objects perceived. To say that the inkstand and the pen are "out from" each other, is to say that they are in distinct positions, and that we have related them in respect of those positions.

He turns from discussing the perceived distinctness of objects - their occupying of mutually exclusive spaces - to the extension of bodies in space. Note that he is restricting his discussion to perception, and has not yet addressed any metaphysical or a priori considerations.

When we look at a patch of light, the cover of a book, or the top of a desk, we not only have a consciousness of the apartness of portions of the whole, but we also have an experience of "spread-outness," or extensity. Taking all the many positions on the surface together, the whole appear extended. This is true likewise of the perceptions of objects which are not in contact with one another. You see two colored spots at a sensible remove from each other. The whole which you thus perceive is two spots related in position, and it has an aspect of "extendedness." The element of extensity is your experience arises in your perception of the position-relation of the spots. This is evident from the fact that the extensity of the whole is dependent upon the relative positions of the spots. Suppose these spots are colored counters. If you give them positions nearer each other, the extensity is lessened; if you move them farther apart, the extensity is increased. When a sheet of paper is folded, the more widely separated portions are brought nearer to one another, and what we then perceive appears to be less extended than the unfolded sheet. In a word, the aspect of extensity varies with variation of the position-relation of the objects. The position-relation of perceived objects is the objective reality which yields experience of extensity.

Fletcher's text thus far is experiential, and bears some similarity to Leibniz. He goes on to posit that extension is not the primary feature of "perceptual space" but rather that position-relation is.

We have found that perceptual space-experience comes of the perception of sensible objects, and that it has two characteristics: the mutual "outness" of the objects, and the extensity aspect of the whole. We have also learned that it is the perceived position-relation of objects which gives us experience of the mutual "outness" of objects and of extensity. From this it would follow that perceptual space is essentially the perceived position-relation of objects. This, however, differs fundamentally from the common conception of space, which is that space is extensity. This common conception of space is so fixed in thought that we restate considerations already presented. Every whole is many particulars in one. The surface of this sheet is for perception many distinguishable portions of a whole; and it is because we relate distinguishable portions to one another in respect of their positions, that the sheet appears to be extended. When I have experience of the book, the inkstand, and the pen in one perception, it is the position-relation of these objects that gives the aspect of extensity to the whole which I perceive. Spatial experience is, therefore, not primarily experience of extensity; it is experience of the position-relation of objects. The objects whose perception yields this consciousness are necessarily presented together in experience. You cannot relate the positions of three colored spots unless all three are present in your thought at the same time. Including this fact in our description of spatial experience, we would say that it is primarily experience of the position-relation of co-existent objects. Space, as a category, is the position-relation of objects, abstracted from the objects. There is, of course, no perceptual experience of space thus abstracted; for space does not exist by itself, it is a relation. Neither is there experience of extensity by itself; for extensity is an aspect of a perceived whole in which there are sensible particulars, — as the book and the pen, or distinguishable portions of a surface, — and it does not exist apart from sensible particulars. We conclude, then, that perceptual space is the perceived position-relation of co-existent sensible objects, the perception of this relation giving an aspect of eztensity to the whole of what is perceived.

Having posited position-relation as the basis of space, Fletcher then goes on to deal with indexical terms. Indexicals seem to refer necessarily to a conscious perceiver, to the knowing subject.

You reach out and touch a wall, you see a tree toward your right, you hear a bell sounding behind you. The position of each of these objects is related by you to your own position; and you express this relation in the terms, "before," "to the right," "behind." Other terms definitive of like spatial experience are in frequent use — as "here," "there," "above," "below," etc. They define the position of objects and are terms of direction. Such definition of position-relation is present in all developed spatial experience. If we deal efficiently with objects, we must apprehend where they are with respect to ourselves. This definition of space-perception also makes experience available for intersubjective intercourse. If I should say, "The book is on the upper shelf of the case which is at the left of the door as you enter the study," you would understand me and would easily locate the book. The examples given show that, in perceptual space-experience, direction is determined with reference to the position of the subject. The wall is before you, the tree is at your right, the bell is behind you, the book-case is at your left as you enter the room. In general, in perceptual space, the direction is determined by relating the position of the object to the position of the subject.

Having dealt at length with "perceptual space," Fletcher goes on to consider what he calls "conceptual space," which seems to be his version of the a priori concept or intuition of space. Kant argues that space is not, and cannot be, a concept, but is rather an intuition; Kant sees space as prior to concepts, and as making concepts possible. Whether Fletcher will follow Kant in this remains to be seen.

Our discussion has led us to conclude that perceptual space, the space of sense-experience, is the perceived position-relation of sensible objects and the resultant extensity aspect of the perceived whole. As the extension element of the perception is an aspect of what is perceived, it cannot exist by itself. We cannot image extension apart from sensible objects. Conceptual space is extension abstracted from objects; it is mere extensity. According to this conception, space is whether objects are or not. As thus conceived, space has a sort of thinghood ; it is treated as an entity and is virtually regarded as a receptacle for material objects. We easily think of space as an infinite emptiness within which is all that is material. This mode of thought has even found a place in Philosophy; we often say that all sensible objects are in space. But we must not so regard the objective reality corresponding to our perceptual experience; for our perceptions and our images have a spatial character because of the perceived and imaged objects. Conceptual space is not the same with perceptual space. Perceptual space is a relation and a resultant aspect; conceptual space is this aspect, conceived as existing by itself. It is a product of reflection; and, although it is related to perceptual space, it differs significantly from the latter.

Continuing to think nearer to Leibniz than to Newton, Fletcher posits conceptual space as something abstracted from perceptual space, and perceptual space as something existing only relative to objects. Yet, if he give space so weak a foundation, how can geometry, which he seems to see as arising from the intuition of space, have a basis, much less a certain basis?

But, if conceptual space, the space of mathematics, differs so greatly from the space of sense-experience, are the conclusions of mathematics valid for the world which we know through sense-experience? Are they valid for the real external world? Although mathematics conceives space as extensity abstracted from perceived objects, nevertheless it sets ideal objects in this extensity when it reasons respecting space. The ideal objects are the mathematical point, line, surface, and solid. Having set these in space, it discusses position-relations. The point, being without extension, is pure position. It takes the place of the subject in perceptual space; and direction and distance are determined from the point. Its line, surface, and solid are constituted ideally of positions which arc external to one another. The science of geometry is the science of related positions. From this we conclude (1) that, although mathematics conceives space as extensity abstracted from objects, it is wont in its reasoning to give this extensity concreteness by setting ideal objects within space; and (2) that mathematical reasonings respecting space are discussions concerning position-relations. In both these particulars, it puts itself at one with perceptual space. The conclusions logically deduced by such reasoning are true for related positions and are, therefore, true for the position-relations of objects. By so much as they are valid for spatial relations in general, they are valid for the spatial relations of the universe.

Having set forth his views on space and time, Fletcher explains why he rejects the Kantian view, and what he takes the Kantian view to be:

Kant's refusal to regard space and time as categories came of his sharp and overwrought distinction between "sense" and "thought." He himself recognizes that there is no spatial or temporal perception apart from the activity of the understanding; from this it follows that the space and time elements enter cognitive experience through the judging activity of the mind. He was not wholly consistent, then, in refusing to list space and time with the categories. It is also evident that he gave the categories an external, or merely mechanical, relation to the material of knowledge; for he has the material of knowledge ordered in keeping with these forms. The forms are imposed upon the material; they are not an expression of the nature of the material itself. He limited the categories to the province of sense-experience. He could not do otherwise; for the understanding, in his system, only deals with material which is furnished by the senses. As a consequence, Kant's doctrine of the categories leaves them unrelated to the moral order and to judgments of value and purpose. Having limited cognitive experience to the phenomenal world, a world formally constituted by the mind out of sensuous material, he was obliged to assign the moral order and judgments of value and purpose to a realm beyond experience. His refusal to recognize space and time as categories, the extreme subjectivity of his conception of the categories, and their inapplicability (as conceived by him) to the moral order and to judgments of value and purpose, lead us to conclude that his doctrine is inadequate.

The question left, then, is this: are Fletcher's criticisms of Kant strong enough to cause us to abandon Kant? Is Fletcher's description of space and time strong enough to make us embrace it instead? Does Fletcher's version of space and time avoid the pitfalls which he attributes to Kant's version?

Metaphysics - Competing Definitions

The word 'metaphysics' is so problematic in the history of philosophy that one is sometimes hesitant to even use it. The number of books titled merely Metaphysics is large; the number of books with the words 'Metaphysics' or 'Metaphysical' in their titles is even larger. Martin Heidegger even wrote a book titled What is Metaphysics?

Answering the question posed by Heidegger's title is no simple matter, and any proposed definition will meet with a few passionate supporters, but probably more passionate opponents. Philosophers who offer definitions of 'metaphysics' sometimes even equivocate on their own terms. Immanuel Kant initially flirts with a definition of 'metaphysics' as that branch of philosophy which deals with God, with the immortality of the soul, and with the freedom of the will. He then goes on to offer his more widely-known definition of 'metaphysics' as the a priori synthetic.

Let's examine three possible definitions:

First, metaphysics might be that branch of philosophy - that science in the sense of Wissenschaft - which deals with things composed of neither matter nor energy.

Second, metaphysics might be that science which deals with things that cannot be perceived by the five senses.

Third, metaphysics might be that science which deals with things located outside of time and space.

Each of these definitions has some intuitive appeal, but also some problems. The word 'things' might require sharpening: it might include persons, ideas, or objects. To explain what an 'object' is, if it is outside of time and space, not detectable by the five senses, and not composed of matter or energy, could be a challenge. An opponent might say that this is not an object at all, or at most an object by analogy.

Another problem is the use of the preposition 'outside' - it is a spatial preposition, and so to be 'outside of space and time' might be judged to be either nonsense or senseless.

Beyond these two problems - and other problems which might be raised - a question might be posed about these three potential definitions: are they equivalent? Again there seems to be some intuitive appeal to the notion that these three are in fact synonymous expressions.

If we understand our five senses to operate on a basis explainable by garden-variety physics, then it would seem that the objects of our senses are composed of matter or energy or some mixture of the two. The processes described by physics take place in time and space.

Although these three definitions are far from trouble-free, it does seem that there is a strong argument to be made for their equivalence.

Windelband on Causality

Students of philosophy are familiar with Aristotle's four types of causation; students of the history of philosophy know that the topic of causation is early, ubiquitous, and enduring. Aristotle was the first, but not the only, philosopher to develop a fourfold explanation of causality. Wilhelm Windelband, born in 1848 in Germany, also saw a quadruple structure. Windelband's four causes are not the same as Aristotle's. Windelband saw causation as a relation between things, states, and activities. He describes the first type of causation as being a situation in which

one thing is the cause, and another thing is the effect. That is the original form of the use of the causal relation, and it is chiefly found in organic life. The flower comes from the plant, the fruit from the tree, the ovum or the young from the mother. In such expressions as springing from, growing from, coming from, etc., in using the preposition "from" for the causal relation, language bears witness to the impression which contained this first form of causality. But if we interrogate science it assures us that this relation holds only for phenomenal things, for the momentary inherence-complexes of perception. The true things, the substances, neither come into existence nor pass out of it.

Windelband's first type of causation, then, may be called a "thing to thing" cause, or a "thing from thing" cause. By contrast, his second type of causality may be labeled a "thing to state" or "thing to activity" cause:

The thing is regarded as the cause of its states and its activities. We thus speak to some extent of man as the cause of his actions, of the soul as the common cause of its various functions, of the body - especially the organic body - as the cause of its movements. In developing those ideas we interpose, between the one thing and the multiplicity of its effects, the forces by means of which the substance exercises its causality. By this we understand certain general properties, capacities, or powers; and in this sense the attributes are at times called the cause of the modi. In the inner world the will is supposed to be the cause of volitions, the intelligence the cause of opinions, and so on. In the external world we find gravity, inertia, and vital forces filling the gap. Force is expressly defined as the cause of movement, and is thus regarded as a property of thing, the substratum, the matter, the substance. From the logical point of view all these forces are general concepts, assumed as the causes of the various functions. We easily see that the general thing, the force, is never the exclusive cause of the activity in question. In order to pass into such a special function, it always needs some occasion of action.

Windelband is aware here that this quarter of his causal analysis closely mirrors a quarter of Aristotle's:

We therefore distinguish between efficient and occasional causes: causa efficiens and causa occasionalis. It is clear that the two together make up the entire "cause"; just as in the analogous case of a syllogism the full ground for the conclusion is in the combination of the two premises, the "major" and the "minor." This is also a very familiar way of looking at things, and there are many variations of it; but it shows us from the start how uncertain it is which is the real cause, the efficient or the occasional or both together.

In addition to acknowledging his debt to Aristotle - by borrowing from Scholastic vocabulary - Windelband is also defying Hume: Windelband's analysis of causation is precisely the target for Hume's critiques. Moving on to the third of his four causes, Windelband describes it in contrast to the second type: it is

the converse of the preceding: states and activities are the causes of things. It is often said, for instance that the wind (which is a state or mode of motion) causes clouds. Many people say that insects are produced by the rain, which we regard as essentially a process, without inquiring into the thing that is moved. A house is put together by a number of activities; who exercises them is immaterial, as the functions are the immediate causes of the house. If in this way we come to treat the functions, detached from the things which discharge them, as independent causes of other things, we come in the end to the theory of the complete detachment of forces and functions. The dynamic view of nature, which Kant and Schelling held, falls into this class. Attraction and repulsion are forces of the primary reality, and matter is merely produced by them. The system is developed in a much more complicated form in Schelling's philosophy of nature.

In Windelband's explanation of his third cause, we see how he is historically located between Aristotelian physics in the past, and modern views of space-time in the future, with the German idealists as some type of midpoint. Neither a quasi-Aristotelian view of causation, nor a consideration of matter as merely a shorthand for the intersection of various forces without its own independent existence, are unique. The combination of the two, however, make Windelband potentially more philosophically interesting. Somewhat predictably, his fourth type of cause is

the causal relation between states: one is the cause and the other the effect. This situation holds for the immanent as well as the transgredient event. In the first case it is psychic, as when we say that perception causes memory (by association), or the willing of the end is the cause of the willing of the means (resolution), or the knowledge of the reason is the psychic cause of the knowledge of the conclusion (deduction). But even in the case of the physical immanent event we have this form of causality, especially in such complex structures as organisms. The digestion, for instance, is understood to be the cause of the formation of blood, of the peripheral stimulation of the nerves the cause of the central process in the brain. From the purely physical points of view, it is true, processes of this kind are resolved into transgredient events from member to member, and ultimately atom to atmo. It is in these mechanical transgredient events that we find this fourth form of causality in its simplest shape: the movement of the impelling body is the cause and the movement of the impelled body is the effect.

In using the word 'transgredient' Windelband introduces a bit of jargon. He explains the use of this word by contrasting 'transgredient event' with 'immanent event':

One case is where the event occurs in one thing. In one and the same thing A appear the states a₁ and a₂ in a definite succession. The thing, in other words, passes from one of its states to another. We will call this variety the immanent event. In our experience it is found chiefly in the psychic life, in which one presentation or emotion follows another in definite succession in one and the same subject of consciousness. This immanent change of state may, however, occur in a body: in one, for instance, which continues to move in a given direction at a certain speed in virtue of inertia. As a rule the material event is of the other type: it occurs between several different things. With state a of the thing A state b of the thing B is connected in a clear and invariable sequence. If we call this the transgredient event, because it passes from one thing to another, we must admit that we have no experience of such direct happening between different souls. If an event is to pass from one soul to another, it must be done by the mediation of bodies; and we thus get two sorts of transgredient events - the physical, between two bodies, and the psychological between sould and body or body and soul. In such cases, where is the unity of the event, which in the immanent event is based upon the identity of the thing? What in the case of transgredient events holds together the different states of different things in unity? We conceive this unity in the sense that the sequence is not merely a fact (like the world and the whistle in our preceding example), but that the states, which together make up the event, are necessarily connected in this sequence. The event therefore implies the necessity of a clear and invariable succession of states.

Earlier in the text, Windelband had given the example:

A word spoken in the house, followed by the whistle of a passing locomotive, does not make an "event," no matter how objectively the succession is determined. They lack any real connection.

Hayden White (born 1928 in Tennessee) explains that Windelband's interest in causation is central to his larger philosophical system. Windelband distinguishes between natural "nomothetic" sciences and historical "idiographic" sciences; the two are different not because of their objects, but rather because of their methods. Windelband, according to Hayden White, posits that any object can be studied by both types of science. One distinguishing feature of nomothetic sciences is causation. Therefore, White writes,

any given object could be studied by both kinds of science. A mental event, if viewed under the aspect of physical causality - as an instance of the working of some general law - was a natural event. That same mental event, described in its individuality and valued for its deviation from the class to which it belonged, because an object of the idiographic sciences.

Thus it is important for Windelband's project that causality be so analyzed that it can apply to everything, making any object a potential object for nomothetic sciences, while also leaving other aspect of any object as the object for idiographic sciences.