What’s wrong with philosophy? Does it have any relevance to contemporary problems and issues?
Noted British philosopher, Philip Kitcher, tackles these questions head on. He makes no distinction between the analytic and continental strands. But offers a somewhat clinical diagnosis of the multiple neuroses afflicting analytic philosophy in the contemporary moment. What’s the Use of Philosophy? can be seen as manifesto-cum-toolkit for reform of philosophy as a discipline. But – perhaps strikingly – the work is unintentionally evocative of a subtle association between madness and philosophical thought that has marked the discipline at least in its European form.
In Ancient Greece, being possessed with a ‘divine madness’ was seen as a blessing from the gods. This was a popular view that received public endorsement from Plato in his Socratic dialogues. Hence, in the Phaedrus, Socrates extolls madness in its variety of manifestations: in love, in poetry, and in religious ritual and devotion, where the latter can be truly cathartic and bring solace in times of hardship. While madness was not a key ingredient in philosophical thinking, its status was still elevated outside philosophy in its ability to stimulate creativity and enhance perception and consciousness.
Philip Kitcher, What’s the Use of Philosophy, Oxford University Press, 2023.
At the advent of modern western philosophy, madness can be detected as a spectral presence in Descartes’ formulation of the thinking subject and his accompanying methodology, supposedly grounding knowledge upon a process that culminates in clear and distinct ideas. Descartes’ thought is given a stimulus through his interplay with a hypothetical, sceptical interlocutor; the philosopher’s sparring partner, who assumes the role of asking provocative questions, such as in expressing radical doubt on whether the subject can have any access to an external reality beyond itself. Curiously enough, as noticed by Michel Foucault, the French philosopher and historian of ideas, the means by which Descartes discounts the notion that the subject may be enthralled to a reality distorting madness, differs markedly from his argument dismissing the possibility of the subject’s dream induced deception. Madness is seen, by its very nature, as exterior to thought; it is excluded in aprioristic fashion as outside the very conditions required for sound cognition. Not only is madness beyond the confines of philosophy; it is also a pure negation of the thinking person per se. In contradistinction, with the dreamer, truth always re-emerges as grounds for doubt. Simply by doubting one is dreaming, the critical and thinking subject irrepressibly springs forth once again.
It is worth noting how the methodology deployed in the process of coming to clear and distinct ideas within analytic philosophy, taken to excess, acts as one of the pathologies Kitcher identifies within the discipline. Far from being a creative impulse, as it was for Plato, madness materialises within philosophical practice as a form of neurasthenia. To elaborate, madness resurfaces in the obsessive quest for an absolute clarity of ideas – of continuously refining concepts and the terminology which expresses them – something which will always, ultimately, evade the philosopher’s grasp. And while many would subscribe to the notion that concepts possess an inherent mutability and dynamism, a quality which ought to stimulate their re-evaluation over time within new contexts, the analytic process is more concerned with attempting to apply a final fixity to concepts through increasingly meaningless layers of granularity. Under these circumstances, madness almost becomes one of the prerequisites for thought within the discipline; far from being on the outside of thought, it is internalised within institutionalised approaches to philosophy.
This is expanded upon in Kitcher’s chapter on the ‘pathology report’, as he assesses a number of acute syndromes endemic to philosophy. Alongside the fetishism of ‘complete clarity’, he adds the tendency for superfluous formalisation: the unnecessary usage of pseudo-mathematical formulas to lay bare the cognitive, logical calculations behind judgements. Furthermore, he takes issue with the proliferation of hypothetical cases or thought experiments to test concepts or ethical principles; most particularly scenarios that become more and more estranged from the textured nature of the reality they act as abstract surrogates for. In the American pragmatist school, concepts are tools that have a social application; continuously tinkering with them losses sight of this. In Kitcher’s view, this is an outcome of a rigid Neo-Scholasticism that incentives game-playing technical brilliance over meaningful advances of substantial projects.
Kitcher’s stance brings to mind the eloquent critique of ‘disciplinary decadence’ by Lewis Gordon, the Afro-American philosopher of race, racism and Black existentialism. Gordon’s criticism aptly centres on the propensity for methodologies and schematic models to ‘turn away from living thought and engagement with reality’ to avoid coming face to face with their ‘own limitations’. Put differently, the totalising pretensions of the ‘core’ of analytic philosophy have unmoored themselves from the world; preferring the internal monologue to meaningful and reflective engagement with contemporary issues. In accentuating what is at stake here, Kitcher is fond of quoting the twentieth century American pragmatist philosopher John Dewy’s warning that philosophy could well become a ‘sentimental indulgence for a few’.
Thus we encounter Kitcher’s prospectus for revitalisation of the grand old discipline, which seeks to save philosophy from the madness that continually threatens to turn it into a cloistered and isolated undertaking. He attempts to turn it back from making, in the alluring phraseology of late Columbian magical realist novelist Gabriel Garzia Marquez, an ‘honourable pact with solitude’.
Therefore, Kitcher seeks to recharge philosophy by reconnecting it to a wider horizon of public and social utility. Or in his words, to enable it to better ‘serve human ends’. Moreover, he attempts to strengthen the ties between philosophy and a wider vocational mission of guiding ethical life and facilitating moral advancement in society. That is, to make philosophy instrumental to the ‘progressive ethical projects of the time.’ In many respects, he sets out to recapture a scale of ambition that was, he argues, last realised in the Enlightenment philosophers, such as Kant, Hegel, and Marx; the principal source from which both traditions in philosophy trace themselves back. But he proposes to do this in a way which, perhaps, tries to avoid or at least does not consciously recreate the grand totalising projects of modernity and the Enlightenment. There is a sense that much of the analytic school has turned its back on the rich – even if highly contested and problematically Eurocentric – philosophical inheritance of the great synthesisers of the Western canon. He advocates for the need to reclaim this inheritance by outlining an animating purpose for the discipline, linking it with, in his opinion, the most productive specialist areas of philosophy. These are the ‘peripheral’ and emergent subdisciplines that tackle and develop approaches to the defining issues of our time: climate change, race equality, biotechnology.
One ought to add to this list Artificial Intelligence (AI) and machine learning, as the scope for technological development in this field is extensive and threatens to transform our world within the next decade without any ethical oversight at all (in same way as communications technology in the noughties). One already sees this with the use and generation of language model algorithms and their ductile ability to adapt to human interaction, the most well-known example being ChatGPT, developed by the tech corporate, OpenAI. There is a strong sense that these models, left to their own devices, serve only to enhance the biases inherent in society, rather than sidestepping them in a form of some ‘technological neutrality’. The input of philosophical reasoning in technical design processes, to draw out unintended consequences and firmly ground models in an ethical framework, will be crucial to widening the scope of a discourse that can be too narrowly conceived in terms of technological teething problems. Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI, has already gone on record in admitting he is somewhat ‘scared’ of the real dangers posed to humanity by AI, citing the potential widespread propagation of disinformation as a cause for concern. In his plea for regulators and society to be involved in blunting the unsettling elements of AI, one should reiterate the need for philosophical input. AI – somewhat surprisingly overlooked by Kitcher as one of the defining challenges of our time – proves the perfect example of the type of emerging field that could work against society-wide moral advancement.
The suggestion from Kitcher is then that philosophy ought to redirect itself towards its most critical marginal areas. He also points to some fecund areas of thought: some of the larger subdisciplines like the philosophy of science have already demonstrated the capacity to help refine developments in scientific methodology and in ethical considerations. On the general methodological level, historians of science such as Thomas Kuhn and Karl Popper are cited as having already shown this in their ability to conduct influential public debates, accessible to a wide audience, on areas of scientific practice. In the arena of the newly forged specialist sciences, Kitcher’s states that philosophy comes into its element as ‘midwife’ in clarifying new methodological approaches and conceptual challenges. In contrast, what comes in for Kitcher’s ire is the ‘core’ elements of philosophy such as analytic epistemology, theory of mind, and philosophy of language. This constitutes an inert topology – the hollow centre – that abandons its responsibilities to shepherd emerging areas of interest in both the specialist sciences as well as new key areas of sociological theory. In many ways, this line of argument tries to reposition philosophy as a truly transdisciplinary endeavour, arresting its retreat and placing it within the gaps opened up along the newly formed frontiers of knowledge.
And perhaps as an echo of the Kantian ‘revolution’ that posited the stability of the subject orbited by the objects of perception, Kitcher is eager to bring about an inversion between the core/centre and periphery/margins within philosophy. Hence, we read of the significance attributed to such fields as Critical Race Theory (CRT) in shaping public perceptions and social attitudes. And while I wholeheartedly concur with the cutting-edge importance he attributes to CRT – with its focus on the intersectionality of identity, lived experience, and storytelling narratives – it is worth mentioning that it has been largely influenced by legal and critical theory, fields more at home with the continental strand of philosophy, than any of the emerging areas of analytic philosophy. But perhaps this is exactly the point; that the analytic tradition needs to meaningfully engage with these new, radical strands of thought in a more productive manner rather than seemingly neglecting them.
Kitcher arrives at a formula for a refreshed philosophy as ‘partial synthesis’; coalescing different strands of thought from across disciplines, not to offer a comprehensive worldview or new ideological perspective, but to produce valuable insight into a well-defined, but nonetheless salient, contemporary issues. The formulation is: humility in scale; ambition in impact. This allows him to deftly sidestep the total, grand synthesisers of the modernist project while still laying claim to a level of ambition, recharging this current of the Western philosophical inheritance within the analytic/anglophone tradition. The approach can be used to make sense of the contemporary postnormal times, as it is better and more closely situated amongst the thicket of pressing challenges that comprise the historical conjecture, shedding a different light on them and in so doing, generating new perspectives and possibilities. The impetus behind this is for philosophy to fulfil a ‘genuine need’, rather than being sucked into the type of institutional research activity that results in ‘gap-filling’ papers and publications that adorn the dusty shelves of university libraries. This is the compulsive ‘hyper-functionalism’ that he discerns is leading to the churning out of countless volumes of works, regrettably devoid of a greater purpose.
In sum, this is a call for a mission centred philosophy capable of fulfilling social needs, and in which the synthetic energy of new combinations of ideas maintains its close interaction with the world, shaping real world consequences. Aligned to this, Kitcher seeks research frameworks that are action-oriented (the influence of Pragmatism is clear here) and reflective of the potential represented by emerging, exciting subdisciplines. Towards the latter third of the book, there is a sense that the author is also grappling with the deep-rooted institutional pathology of the academy, which goes beyond the perceived malaise within philosophy. Hence his plea for the instituting of a new ‘public philosophy’, which is conceived of as carrying more capacity for directly influencing public policy and governance through plugging critical thought directly into the decision-making process. Beyond the academy, a new public philosophy brings the discipline nearer to informing areas of governmentality.
Perhaps unsurprising then, the final chapter of The Use of Philosophy gives some practical career guidance to anxious young philosophers who are devoted to the project of transforming the discipline. Yet, Kitcher is concerned with how this may affect their employment prospects in a now highly professionalised line of work. Many young scholars seeking to challenge the status quo of powerful academic interests may well raise this question in light of the intensifying constraints that they are placed under. There is a feeling here that Kitcher is politely raging against the worrying trends which are accelerating within higher education; what could be characterised as the problematic, institutional pathology that grips much of the academic establishment. In the UK context, this has been charted by the likes of the Cambridge historian Stephan Collini, who points to a sector which is being reshaped by the casualisation of the academic workforce, a narrowing regulatory focus on measuring the economic impact of research, and fierce competition causing high rates of burnout and fatigue. Many of these trends have been firmly entrenched within the United States for some time, which gives aspiring philosophers even less leeway to rebel against their superiors within institutional settings.
At the centre of this discussion is an unedifying paradox: Kitcher proposes what one imagines to be a vocational mission for philosophy; however, the overly professionalised nature of the discipline renders this noble aim out of reach for the vast majority of academic philosophers. The advice he gives in thinking through the ways to navigate this challenge attempts to strike a compromise position between conforming to imposed academic practices and expectations on the one hand and breaking with the conventional approaches altogether on the other. Kitcher fully acknowledges his own privileged position as Professor Emeritus of Columbia University and in his ability to speak his mind without fear of penalty from institutional authority, and so treads very self-consciously and with a great deal of care when offering his wise counsel. He works through a menu of options: such as bursting the confines of the academy through seeking alternative sites of knowledge production, taking philosophy to the streets through social projects (in prisons, in schools, etc.) in the manner of an organic intellectual or social worker peddling a curative philosophy amongst the masses. Other routes involve facilitating the slow reform of the academy by playing to its rules in a way reminiscent of the Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich’s compliance with communist party ideology and Soviet artistic orthodoxy – the aesthetic of social realism. That is to say, practicing a form of subversive compliance which still leaves room for transformative projects (the partial synthesis mode of philosophy) either from the very outset of one’s career or at a point when a reputation has been duly secured. The idea with this strategy is that eventually a critical mass – or a ‘community of rebels’ – is reached when enough tenured track philosophers can pool together to effect the wholescale reform the discipline so desperately needs. Further reform could be given a boost with the development of institutional infrastructure – scholarships and centres of excellence reserved for furthering the aims of fostering a public philosophy.
With Kitcher’s final chapter we return once again to the lurking madness readily incubated within philosophy itself, and which threatens to consume it from within. Reforming the discipline, it would seem, is inherently tied to the wider transformation of the academic establishment itself. Changes in philosophy necessitate institutional renewal as well. This is what leads me to the conviction that in many ways the madness of philosophy is due to its deeply traumatised psyche. Its obsession with itself and its growing solitude is a natural result of a siege mentality in reaction to an academy that has become increasingly market oriented, professionalised, and instrumentalised.
In relation to the wider institutional context, the British sociologist Roger Burrows has made an insightful point. Borrows observed that sociologists were encouraged to engage critical reflexivity in their own practice, but the same did not appear to apply to the ‘very conditions and settings of knowledge production.’ This is also relevant to Philosophy. It is a discipline that is desperately struggling to find its place alongside the other fields being reshaped by the forces of academic capitalism. Kitcher says that philosophy is ‘currently an isolated discipline within a larger cluster of academic fields’, situated amongst the ‘besieged’ humanities, which are always in the line of fire when university budgets are cut. As I have stated, the isolation of the discipline – or at least of its ‘core’ – has also a lot to do with its own self-imposed exile. One is reminded of the final haunting words of Gabriel Garza Marquez’s breathtaking novel, One Hundred Years of Solitude, which sounds a quite eerie warning on this note:
He [Aureliano II] had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors (or mirages) would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.