WHY I DON'T LIKE TRUTH

WHY I DON’T LIKE TRUTH Michael A. Gilbert York University I. Fact/Fiction Once, many years ago, when I was but a stripling teaching assistant I had a discussion with an undergraduate student about believing in God. Did I not, he asked me, believe in God? No, I confessed, I did not. But, he persisted, don't you believe there is some order in the universe, some laws that govern the nature of reality, physics, for example? In those heady days of my innocence I still believed in some few things, and so I had to confess that I did believe in an order to nature. There, he exclaimed, you do believe in God! I explained to the young man that a belief in God that carried with it no hallmarks of a good robust deity was hardly something to crow about, and that his victory was somewhat hollow. Anyone who proclaims an unequivocal belief in a god that does not have a personality, cannot intervene in human affairs, and of whom it cannot be said, for example, that she is in a bad mood, is unfairly equivocating on a term that has a good deal of history and usage accompanying it. `Truth' is like `God'. (In fact, if one thinks about it, the parallels are frightening.) It is like `God' in just the sense that one can hold that truth exists in many different ways, and many of those ways will specifically preclude the standard, robust, jump-up-and-bite-you-on-the-bum sense of the word. To begin with I want to deal with truth in this strong robust, empiricist sense. In the first part of this paper I will tell you why I do not like it, then tell you what I do like. In part II I will tell you a story about it. What I Do Not Like The theory of truth I am most at odds with is the correspondence theory of truth. On this theory there is one and only one correct description of the world. This description is arrived at by identifying and properly labelling the facts. (There is a good deal of confusion concerning this point. I.e., just what are the relations that exist between descriptions, propositions, the truth, and the facts is anybody's guess. I sorely hope we will not become bogged down in this particular metaphysical swamp.) There are three things wrong with this view of reality. I will call them the ontological, the epistemological, and the political objections. THE ONTOLOGICAL OBJECTION: My point here is very simple. I suggest that the world is simply not discrete. That is, it cannot be properly described by taking the set of all possible atomic statements and so permuting them that every possible state-description occurs, and then selecting the right one. This is not because we do not know which one it is, (that comes later.) It is because the world is simply not like that. Reality is not like a film - made up of discrete frames, but rather it flows like water in a river. My evidence for this is that we know so very little about reality. Were it truly static and examinable, we ought know much more. Let me follow the liquid metaphor a bit. Imagine trying to learn something about a river. There are many things one can know about it by measuring and so on. Also, one can take samples of the water flowing through and submit them to all kinds of analysis. But when can one say one knows what there is to know about the river? When one has conducted scientific studies? When one has paddled up and down its banks and made campfires on its shores? What of the flow of it? The life and environment which is constantly changing, never the same from one moment to the next, cannot be captured without essentially altering its very nature. A river that is stopped is a river no more. (Yes, Ryle is wrong: a whole is more than the sum of its parts.) A picture of reality is just that, a picture, and imagining one has reality described when one has a description of it is to simply confuse the map with the territory. I am not just concerned with locating the true essence of something, though I think that is a legitimate problem. But, in addition, there is no investigation without theories that accounts for the investigative tools, the means and values of measurement, and the organization and interpretation of the data. So not only is the object of study lost by virtue of the very attempt to examine it, but whatever results we do end up with are directly dependent on a number of theories about the construction of the very world we investigate. Little circle spin and spin. THE EPISTEMOLOGICAL OBJECTION: This objection stands in relation to the ontological objection much as agnosticism to atheism. The problem here is not so much that one is certain truth does not exist as that, even if it does, we have no access to it. Simply put, we have no sure, (even reliable) way of knowing whether or not we have the truth. The history of ideas has taught us, with a vengeance, that no idea is immune to revision, no theory secure from attack. Consequently, no matter how certain I am that I have the truth I am always forced to accept the possibility that I am wrong. So the next question is, how can I use a concept when I cannot know that the requirements for its application are present? My answer is, I cannot. Note that with the concept `truth' no halfways are acceptable. It is not like `belief' which describes a comparably simple state of mind, but rather it relates what I believe to a state of affairs alleged to exist independently of mine or any other observers' internal states. But it is precisely for this reason that I cannot use the concept: I have no epistemological access to any states other than my own. THE POLITICAL OBJECTION: So what we have now is a term that is ontologically empty and epistemologically useless. The world is not the sort of thing that stands still for descriptions, and assertions of truth are no more than assertions of belief with an exclamation point added. I suggest that like its friend, `God', 'Truth' plays a greater role as a cudgel used to beat down opposing ideas than it does as a legitimate metaphysical tool. There is an irony, but no accident, in the popularity of the slogan, "God Is Truth". This exclaims, for the theist, that truth and the deity are one and the same. All truths flow from the deity and the scriptures representing it. For the rationalist, the slogan is simply reversed: "Truth Is God". And anything that stands in the way of this model, essentially empiricist, basically logical, must be put aside using any means possible. Concepts like `truth' and `God' are dangerous just because we have no way of adjudicating between competing theories. Different gods instruct us to lay waste to different foreign groups, different truths instruct us to lay waste to different foreign views. In both cases the concepts are typically used to exclude, to oppose, to ridicule and to eliminate. Unless clear and certain meaning can be provided, and if I am correct that is impossible, then the concept of truth is simply too volatile to be used. So much for my objections. It is now incumbent upon me to sketch a means whereby we really do have a world in which to operate. I would not like anyone to think I am a solipsist or even a naive subjectivist. It is common for one who makes the sort of objections I have made to be so labelled by truth-theists. To avoid those charges I need to sketch some positive platform. Before I go on, however, let me reiterate one point. If the view of truth which one holds admits of alternate truths comtemporaneously existent, then we likely have room for negotiation. If it does not, then we are truly opposed, the only difference being that I freely admit I might be wrong. What I Think I Like Facts, I have written, are what people in a dispute agree to (Gilbert, 1979). This statement represents a view which I will call a Consensual Theory Of Truth. Simply put, we all belong to numerous consensus groups into which we are inculcated at various stages of our lives, though some basic ones necessarily begin at birth. These groups may include almost all the members of a given society or set of societies, e.g., contemporary Western culture, or some much smaller subset, e.g., environmental activists. The essence of a group is a set of shared assumptions or outlooks or perspectives. The end effect is a worldview that is developed through a psycho-sociological indoctrination of varying intensity depending on numerous variables. We may belong to consensus groups that are in conflict or that clash, and we can expect such a situation to create a degree of stress. Further, consensus groups will form hierarchies that will differ from one individual to the next. I.e., two individuals who, let us suppose, belong to the identical set of consensus groups could still hold different values and outlooks depending on their respective hierarchical ordering of those groups. We belong to groups voluntarily, like professions, or involuntarily, like racial groups or religious groups. One can, and does, quit a group, though this may at times be difficult. We all know how hard it is to make the switch from, say, one culture to another, while it is easier to make the switch from being an academic to being an artist (though the latter as well will have its difficulties.) Sometimes, especially as regards the broadest, most basic groups, the attempt to resign is given up. We most of us here belong to a Western civilization group that holds that life is to be cherished and neither taken nor given up lightly. One would have to go through a major transformation to switch to a different sort of perspective that holds, say, that life is worthless and does not warrant protecting. Not that such a switch cannot be made, rather that it is very difficult. Let me use this sketch to answer a puzzle about truth that Agassi poses in a paper (Agassi, 19??). In his example a group of scientists have approved a chemical for farm use. They tested it and inspected it and so on. Along comes an agronomist who claims it is poisonous and dangerous. The agronomist and the scientists belong to connected but differing groups. (And yes, by the way, there are mavericks in every tribe.) In this situation we expect that certain hierarchical orderings of the tribes will be different between the scientists and the agronomist. The claim the agronomist is making is that his tests, done his way, and interpreted his way (even if they are the "very same" testing procedures as used in the original report,) are the most persuasive. And in his defense he will point to certain values they all, scientists and agronomist, share and hold. I.e., there is a consensus group to which they all belong which would, if it accepted the agronomist's evidence, be relevant to the feelings and decisions of the scientists. They might never agree with the agronomist, but might grudgingly accept the decision, however it is reached. Now here is the problem: Since I do not accept an empiricist notion of truth, but rather one which admits of flexibility, were the toxins, on the consensual theory, not poisonous before the consensus changed? If you believe that, Agassi says, you will believe anything. And what must be further stipulated, to be fair to Aggasi's challenge, is that the original scientists who approved the stuff were essentially men and women of goodwill. In other words, they did not believe the stuff was bad and say otherwise, and neither did they distort any data. They believed it was safe. And, no question, it was not. As soon as it was out long enough, people began getting sick and, perhaps, even dying. The agronomist began collecting his data. Much were correlations between use of the substance and abnormal cancer rates. There were many cross studies made to pinpoint the blame. Finally, enough people, or at any event enough of the right people (i.e., policy-makers,) became convinced that the stuff was dangerous so that it was finally listed as a prohibited substance. Within that context, what happened? Well, to whom? Consider the original scientists. Basically, one of two things happened to each of them. On the one hand, the individual member remained convinced that the substance was not harmful, or, to avoid a charge of false dilemma, not all that harmful. She might argue, for example, that it was not the sole presence of her product that caused the sickness, but that other factors, e.g., improper application, influenced the results. Or, she might agree that it is not as virginal as originally concluded, and even that it should, at least for the time being, be withdrawn from the market. But, all in all, she, and she will not be alone, believes they were right in the first place. On the other hand, there is her colleague. He now believes that the cause, conditional or not, of the reported illness is their substance. He feels sickened by the thought that their lack of discipline and sloppiness permitted this disaster. He feels responsible. What he feels is that he ought to have been able to produce the conclusions the agronomist produced. He believes that the chemical was toxic from the word go, and believes he should have uncovered that fact. And, there, finally, is the word, fact. Did the facts change? Yes, the opinions of those who make the decision changed. It was now accepted fact that the stuff was dangerous. But doesn't that mean that there were false facts before? No, because facts have nothing to do with truth and falsity, only with agreement and disagreement. Truth and falsity are defined from facts, not vice versa. What was believed then, is that the chemical was not harmful, what is believed now, is that the chemical is and was harmful. This is accepted by the highest consensus group of all the people involved in the decision. But note carefully that in Agassi's example it is the agronomist, the outsider who first begins to raise concerns about the substance. Let us put the question in its baldest form. The believers of a hearty, correspondence type of truth, assert that it is no more true that the truth is dependent on my choices and decisions than it is that I can walk through a wall. And that, in the last analysis is the anti-consensualist argument: if you're so smart, why can't you walk through walls? The answer is simple. I belong to a consensus group that eschews that belief very strongly. In fact, it is one of the broadest groups I belong to. "Ha!" the empiricist replies, "everyone belongs to that group because there is no choice - no one can walk through walls." Not so fast. First of all, it is true that the existence of a consensus group that absolutely everyone belonged to without choice, would be, prima facie, damaging to the consensualist programme. That is so because it would then become analytic that anything an empiricist labelled `brute fact' would be explained away by the consensualist as a "posit of the universal group". Fortunately for the view I am defending, there is no universal consensus group. A very large group of people in Asia, Africa, Central America and even right here in North America, believe that skilled people can walk through walls, fly, and perform other magical acts. (Vide, for example, Castenada, 19 .) That is irrelevant, says the empiricist, because it cannot really be done. I know. I, too, belong to a consensus group that says it is impossible. It might even be so foreign to me that I cannot understand the belief, (this is what is usually termed "incommensurable"). So all I can do is decide to be tolerant of the rights of others to believe what they like so long as it does not harm me. (This last, by the way, is a belief held by a consensus group I belong to which includes, unfortunately, relatively few of the people in the previous group.) I have not forgotten Agassi's question. Was it true that the stuff was toxic back when the original report was made? Yes, it was true. How do you know? Because we now know the facts, and they say that the original scientists had their facts wrong. Now we have our facts right, and can say that the original group of scientists was wrong. So, that means there really is truth? Of course, it is determined by the facts. The facts are consensual. The consensus is relative to various and often intrapersonally conflicting groups. The consensualist view explains agreement much more easily than the correspondence theorist. For the empiricist agreement is supposed to have something to do with truth. If it does not, then the idea that "truth will out" must be abandoned and with it much of the motivation for empiricism. People are supposed to agree because what they are agreeing on is the truth. For the consensualist theory they are agreeing because they have no or minimal conflicts between their respectives beliefs. Agreement is something that takes place between persons, not between an individual and nature. Error, or falsity, on the other hand, is more difficult for the consensual theory. If truth is agreement, then why should we ever be wrong? Well, first of all, as explained above, truth is not agreement. Truth is something that flows from the facts which themselves are a function of the consensual process. Second, and most importantly, consensus must not be confused with choice. That there are choice limitations on consensual groups goes without saying. Every group carries limitations of belief, action, and attitude. To go beyond the limits of that group is to resign and join another. I may, slowly or suddenly, decide that my belief that people cannot walk through walls ought be replaced by its negate. When I do that, I abandon my Western rationalist group, and join some other, presumably mystical, group. Can I now walk through walls? No, not at all. But I am now in a context where it has become a possibility, where if I practice and work and study I might succeed. (Remember, I, the author of this essay, cannot perform open heart surgery, but that does not mean it cannot be done.) The main function of consensus groups is not to decide the truth, but to decide the means for deciding the truth. That is why disagreement and error is possible. Indeed, the facts follow consensus, but the consensus itself will be determined by appealing the values, assumptions, and criteria of the particular group. For one group that the Ayatollah asserted P is sufficient evidence for the truth of P. For another the truth of P must be dependent upon the absence of disconfirming instances. For a third, P will only be true if is witnessed within the deepest realms of meditative insight. None of these groups can get a productive argument started simply because their criteria for what is and is not a good argument are incommensurable. Within a group, on the other hand, appeals to the shared values, shared assumptions, shared criteria of acceptability allow for richer communication. It also shows why, on this view, the theory of dispute is so crucial. It is through dispute and argumentation that we come to identify agreement and forge consensus. So, a hearty, satisfying sense of truth that gives us a real, concrete, unwavering world, is simply not available. We are in the midst of and part of a process, not actors in a cinematograph, and to still it, to halt it, to describe it, is to change it and colour it with value and judgement. `truth' and 'fact' are, really, terms that ought be abandoned in favour of `belief' and `agreement', but they are, I fear, too ingrained to weed out. I don't like truth because it is limiting and, like God, takes responsibility away from humankind and places it in external hands. I honestly do believe we create the world and ourselves, and only wish we could control it as simply as we create it. II. Fiction/Fact published in NOW MAGAZINE April 24, 1986 “Gideon Finds The Truth” He had been searching for it so long that he had really given up. The actual find, the discovery, came as a great shock, and for a long time he just stood there dumbly staring at it. Maybe he fretted, it isn't really the truth. But no, this was it, the real thing. It had that natural glow, that aura of supreme self-evidence that adheres solely to the truth. It was bigger than he expected, oblongish, and about twelve feet in diameter. It was a grey metallic colour, and seemed to somehow throb, or at least, to breathe. Gideon's feelings ran through a whole gamut of emotions, which for Gideon, not being very emotional, was a small gamut indeed. He would have to go back and get a truck. Roberta's pick-up would do nicely. He would take it to his garage and begin to study it there. And Roberta could be trusted. He knew he would have to go public soon, keeping the truth to yourself is never a good idea, but he did want at least some private time before he had to share it. There were many things he wanted to know. Already, he was examining it for seams and faults where his tools could fit in and crack it open. But enough, he must get Roberta and her truck. Gideon should have anticipated Roberta's skepticism. After all, his own reaction those many times someone had announced the discovery had been the same. But this time there was no mistake. Still, he felt some anxiety as they bounced along in Roberta's pick-up, and wished they were already there. And then they were. Gideon had cleverly marked the route so as to be recognizable by no one but himself, and the truth itself would be, as ever, invisible to all but the discerning. But when the last corner had been turned, Gideon's eye, clever though it was, discerned naught. He screamed. Roberta slammed on the brakes. He leapt out of the cab and began frantically to search the area. But twelve foot grey oblongs are not that hard to spot, and none was present. Roberta stood, lips in a sneer, hands on hips, and watched Gideon race about in search of the truth. "I knew it," she said, "a wild goose chase." "No, no," Gideon cried, "it was here. Someone's taken it." "Sure it was," Roberta mocked. "You are such a jerk, Gideon. It'll be a long time before I play vegetable stand with you again," she promised. She looked around her and shrugged her shoulders. She was about to get into the truck and leave when something caught her attention. There was a small brown box or something a ways off to her left. She went over to inspect it, but did not pick it up. "Gideon," she called, "c'mere." Gideon came over and stood beside her. At their feet was a brown furry square. Had it not been so geometric, it might have been taken for a small mammal, but nothing in nature had corners that perfect. "Gideon," Roberta said, her voice hushed, her manner subdued, "that's the truth." "No," Gideon said hesitantly, "the truth is large and grey, not small and furry." But they could both feel his lack of conviction in the face of the glow of veridicality emanating from the little box. "That is the truth," Roberta reiterated. "It changed," Gideon said. Roberta looked at him skeptically. "Promise it did," Gideon insisted. "Yeah, okay," Roberta said. "You gonna take it?" Gideon shrugged. "What if it changes again? What if I take it home and it becomes the size of a mountain? What if I tell everyone I found it and it becomes a puff of smoke?" Now Roberta shrugged. "You're the one who's been lookin' for it, not me." "But it's not supposed to change," Gideon insisted. Roberta looked at him and saw he was close to tears. "Hey," she said, "forget this stuff. Let's go home and play organ grinder." Gideon sniffed and nodded. Together they backed away from the truth. As they did the brown furry box became a golden ball from which long thin spikes began to protrude. Boing, boing, boing, the spikes sprang out. They leapt away and raced for the truck with sparkling golden needles of truth right after them. Only when they were safely on the highway did they dare speak. "Who," Gideon asked tremulously, "get to be the monkey this time?" Selected Bibliography Agassi, Joseph. 1988. "(Non-) Participant-Observers of Science." In *The Gentle Art of Philosophical Polemics.* La Salle, IL: Open Court. Castenada, Carolos. The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowing Feyerabend, P., Against Method, Gilbert, Michael A., How To Win An Argument, McGraw-Hill, 1979. Perelman, Chaim, and Olbrechts-Tyteca, L.. The New Rhetoric, University of Notre Dame Press, 1969. (Orig. French, 1958.) Toulmin, S., The Uses Of Argument, Willard, Charles, "Argument Fields", in Advances in Argumentation Theory and Research, SIU Press, 1982.