Intellectual Impostures
Page 11
2. Relativism and education.
In a book written for high-school teachers, whose goal is to explain ‘some notions of epistemology’128, one finds the following definition:
Fact
What one generally calls a fact is an interpretation of a situation that no one, at least for the moment, wants to call into question. It should be remembered that, as the common language says, a fact becomes established, which illustrates well that we’re talking about a theoretical model that one claims is appropriate.
Example: The assertions ‘The computer is on the desk’ or ‘If one boils water, it evaporates’ are considered to be factual propositions in the sense that no one wants to contest them at this moment in time. They are statements of theoretical interpretations that no one questions.
To assert that a proposition states a fact (that is, has the status of a factual or empirical proposition) is to claim that there is hardly any controversy about this interpretation at the moment one is speaking. But a fact can be put into question.
Example: For many centuries, it was considered to be a fact that the Sun revolves each day around the Earth. The appearance of another theory, such as that of the diurnal rotation of the Earth, entailed the replacement of the fact just cited by another: ‘The Earth rotates on its axis each day.’ (Fourez et al. 1997, pp. 76–77)
This confuses facts with assertions of fact.129 For us, as for most people, a ‘fact’ is a situation in the external world that exists irrespective of the knowledge we have (or don’t have) of it – in particular, irrespective of any consensus or interpretation. Thus, it makes sense to say there are facts of which we are ignorant (Shakespeare’s exact birth date, or the number of neutrinos emitted per second by the Sun). And there is a world of difference between saying that X killed Y and saying that no one, for the moment, wants to dispute this assertion (e.g., because X is black and everyone else is racist, or because biased news media successfully make people think that X killed Y). When it comes to a concrete example, the authors backtrack: they say that the Sun’s revolution around the Earth was considered to be a fact, which amounts to admitting the distinction we are stressing (i.e., it was not really a fact). But in the next sentence they fall back into confusion: one fact has been replaced by another. Taken literally, in the usual sense of the word ‘fact’, this would mean that the Earth has rotated on its axis only since Copernicus. But, of course, all the authors really mean is that people’s beliefs changed. Then why not say so, rather than confusing facts with (consensus) beliefs by using the same word to denote both concepts?130
A side benefit of the authors’ non-standard notion of ‘fact’ is that one can never be wrong (at least when asserting the same things as the people around us). A theory is never wrong in the sense that it is contradicted by the facts; rather, the facts change when the theories change.
Most importantly, it seems to us that a pedagogy based on this notion of ‘fact’ is antithetical to encouraging a critical spirit in the student. In order to challenge prevailing assumptions – other people’s as well as our own – it is essential to keep in mind that one can be wrong: that there exist facts independent of our claims, and that it is by comparison with these facts (to the extent we can ascertain them) that our claims have to be evaluated. When all is said and done, Fourez’s redefinition of ‘fact’ has – as Bertrand Russell noted in a similar context – all the advantages of theft over honest toil.131
3. Relativism in the Third World.
Unfortunately, postmodern ideas are not confined to European philosophy departments or American literature departments. It seems to us that they do they most harm in the Third World, where the majority of the world’s population lives and where the supposedly ‘passé’ work of the Enlightenment is far from complete.
Meera Nanda, an Indian biochemist who used to work in the ‘Science for the People’ movements in India and who is now studying sociology of science in the United States, tells the following story about the traditional Vedic superstitions governing the construction of sacred buildings, which aim at maximizing ‘positive energy’. An Indian politician, who found himself in hot water, was advised that
his troubles would vanish if he entered his office from an east-facing gate. But on the east side of his office there was a slum through which his car could not pass. [So he] ordered the slum to be demolished.
(Nanda 1997, p. 82)
Nanda observes, quite rightly, that
If the Indian left were as active in the people’s science movement as it used to be, it would have led an agitation not only against the demolition of people’s homes, but also against the superstition that was used to justify it. ... A left movement that was not so busy establishing ‘respect’ for non-Western knowledge would never have allowed the power-wielders to hide behind indigenous ‘experts.’
I tried out this case on my social constructionist friends here in the United States. ... [They told me] that seeing the two culturally bound descriptions of space132 at par with each other is progressive in itself, for then neither can claim to know the absolute truth, and thus tradition will lose its hold on people’s minds.
(Nanda 1997, p. 82)
The problem with this kind of answer is that practical choices have to be made – what type of medicine to use, or in which direction to orient buildings – and at this point theoretical nonchalance becomes untenable. As a result, intellectuals easily fall into the hypocrisy of using ‘Western’ science when it is essential – for example, when they are seriously ill – while urging the common people to put their faith in superstitions.
5
LUCE IRIGARAY
Luce Irigaray’s writings have dealt with a wide variety of topics, ranging from psychoanalysis to linguistics to the philosophy of science. In this latter field, she maintains that
Every piece of knowledge is produced by subjects in a given historical context. Even if that knowledge aims to be objective, even if its techniques are designed to ensure objectivity, science always displays certain choices, certain exclusions, and these are particularly determined by the sex of the scholars involved.
(Irigaray 1993, p. 204)
In our opinion this thesis deserves an in-depth study. Let us look, however, at the examples Irigaray gives to illustrate it in the physical sciences:
This [scientific] subject today is enormously interested in acceleration that goes beyond our human powers, in weightlessness, in crossing through natural space and time, in overcoming cosmic rhythms and their regulation. He is also interested in disintegration, fission, explosion, catastrophes, etc. This reality can be confirmed from within the natural and the human sciences.
(Irigaray 1993, p. 204)
This catalogue of contemporary scientific work is rather arbitrary, and quite vague: what is the meaning of ‘acceleration that goes beyond our human powers’, ‘crossing through natural space and time’, or ‘overcoming cosmic rhythms and their regulation’? But what follows is even stranger:
– If the identity of the human subject is defined in the work of Freud by a Spaltung, this is also the word used for nuclear fission. Nietzsche also perceived his ego as an atomic nucleus threatened with explosion. As for Einstein, the main issue he raises, in my mind, is that, given his interest in accelerations without electromagnetic reequilibrations, he leaves us with only one hope, his God. It is true that Einstein played the violin: music helped him preserve his personal equilibrium. But what does the mighty theory of general relativity do for us except establish nuclear power plants and question our bodily inertia, that necessary condition of life?
– As for the astronomers, Reaves, following up on the American big bang theory, describes the origin of the universe as an explosion. How is it that this current interpretation so closely parallels the abstracts of the whole field of other scientific discoveries?
– René Thom, another theoretician who works at the intersection of science and philosophy, talks about catastrophes through conflicts rath
er than about generation through abundance, growth, positive attraction, particularly in nature.
– Quantum mechanics is interested in the disappearance of the world.
– Scientists today are working on smaller and smaller particles, which cannot be perceived but only defined thanks to sophisticated technical instruments and bundles of energy.
(Irigaray 1993, pp. 204–5)
Let us consider these arguments one by one:
About the Spaltung, Irigaray’s ‘logic’ is truly bizarre: Does she really think that this linguistic coincidence constitutes an argument? And if so, what does it show?
Concerning Nietzsche: the atomic nucleus was discovered in 1911, and nuclear fission in 1938; the possibility of a nuclear chain reaction, leading to an explosion, was studied theoretically during the late 1930s and sadly realized experimentally during the 1940s. It is thus highly improbable that Nietzsche (1844–1900) could have perceived his ego ‘as an atomic nucleus threatened with explosion’. (Of course, this hasn’t the slightest importance: even if Irigaray’s claim about Nietzsche were correct, what would it imply?)
The expression ‘accelerations without electromagnetic reequilibrations’ has no meaning in physics; it is entirely Irigaray’s invention. It goes without saying that Einstein could not possibly have been interested in this nonexistent subject.
General relativity bears no relation to nuclear power plants; Irigaray has probably confused it with special relativity, which does apply to nuclear power plants as well as to many other things (elementary particles, atoms, stars ...). The concept of inertia certainly appears in relativity theory, as it does in Newtonian mechanics; but it has nothing to do with human beings’ ‘bodily inertia’, whatever this is intended to mean.133
In what way does the cosmological theory of the Big Bang ‘so closely parallel ... the whole field of other scientific discoveries’? Which other discoveries, made at what time? Irigaray doesn’t say. The bottom line is that the Big Bang theory, which dates back to the late 1920s, is today supported by a plethora of astronomical observations.134
It is true that in some (highly debatable) interpretations of quantum mechanics, the concept of objective reality at the atomic level is called into question, but this has nothing to do with ‘the disappearance of the world’. Perhaps Irigaray is alluding to cosmological theories about the end of the universe (the ‘Big Crunch’), but quantum mechanics does not play a major role in these theories.135
Irigaray correctly observes that subatomic physics deals with particles that are too small to be directly perceived by our senses. But it is hard to see how this relates to the gender of the researchers. Is the use of instruments to extend the range of human sense perceptions a particularly ‘masculine’ characteristic? Marie Curie and Rosalind Franklin might beg to differ.
Let us consider, finally, an argument put forward elsewhere by Irigaray:
Is E = Mc2 a sexed equation? Perhaps it is. Let us make the hypothesis that it is insofar as it privileges the speed of light over other speeds that are vitally necessary to us. What seems to me to indicate the possibly sexed nature of the equation is not directly its uses by nuclear weapons, rather it is having privileged what goes the fastest ...
(Irigaray 1987b, p. 110)
Whatever one may think about the ‘other speeds that are vitally necessary to us’, the fact remains that the relationship E = Mc2 between energy (E) and mass (M) is experimentally verified to a high degree of precision, and it would obviously not be valid if the speed of light (c) were replaced by another speed.
In summary, it seems to us that the influence of cultural, ideological and sexual factors on scientific choices – the subjects studied, the theories put forward – is an important research topic in the history of science and deserves a rigourous investigation. But, to contribute usefully to this research, one must understand at a rather deep level the scientific fields under analysis. Unfortunately, Irigaray’s claims show a superficial understanding of the subjects she addresses, and consequently bring nothing to the discussion.
Fluid Mechanics
Some years earlier, in an essay entitled ‘The “Mechanics” of Fluids’, Irigaray had already elaborated her critique of ‘masculine’ physics: she seems to claim that fluid mechanics is underdeveloped relative to solid mechanics because solidity is identified (according to her) with men and fluidity with women. (But Irigaray was born in Belgium: doesn’t she know the symbol of the city of Brussels?) One of Irigaray’s American interpreters summarizes her argument as follows:
The privileging of solid over fluid mechanics, and indeed the inability of science to deal with turbulent flow at all, she attributes to the association of fluidity with femininity. Whereas men have sex organs that protrude and become rigid, women have openings that leak menstrual blood and vaginal fluids. Although men, too, flow on occasion – when semen is emitted, for example – this aspect of their sexuality is not emphasized. It is the rigidity of the male organ that counts, not its complicity in fluid flow. These idealizations are reinscribed in mathematics, which conceives of fluids as laminated planes and other modified solid forms. In the same way that women are erased within masculinist theories and language, existing only as notmen, so fluids have been erased from science, existing only as not-solids. From this perspective it is no wonder that science has not been able to arrive at a successful model for turbulence. The problem of turbulent flow cannot be solved because the conceptions of fluids (and of women) have been formulated so as necessarily to leave unarticulated remainders.
(Hayles 1992, p. 17)
It seems to us that Hayles’ exegesis of Irigaray’s ideas is much clearer than the original. Nevertheless, because of the obscurity of Irigaray’s text, we cannot guarantee that Hayles has faithfully explicated Irigaray’s meaning. Hayles, for her part, rejects Irigaray’s reasoning on the grounds that it is too distant from the scientific facts (see note 137 below), but tries to arrive at similar conclusions by a different route. In our opinion, Hayles’ attempt doesn’t fare much better than Irigaray’s, but at least it is expressed more clearly.136
Let us now try to follow the details of Irigaray’s argument. Her essay begins as follows:
It is already getting around – at what rate? in what contexts? in spite of what resistances? – that women diffuse themselves according to modalities scarcely compatible with the framework of the ruling symbolics. Which doesn’t happen without causing some turbulence, we might even say some whirlwinds, that ought to be reconfined within solid walls of principle, to keep them from spreading to infinity. Otherwise they might even go so far as to disturb that third agency designated as the real – a transgression and confusion of boundaries that it is important to restore to their proper order.
So we shall have to turn back to ‘science’ in order to ask it some questions. [Footnote: The reader is advised to consult some texts on solid and fluid mechanics.137] Ask, for example, about its historical lag in elaborating a ‘theory’ of fluids, and about the ensuing aporia even in mathematical formalization. A postponed reckoning that was eventually to be imputed to the real. [Footnote: Cf. the signification of the ‘real’ in the writings of Jacques Lacan (Écrits, Séminaires).]
Now if we examine the properties of fluids, we note that this ‘real’ may well include, and in large measure, a physical reality that continues to resist adequate symbolization and/or that signifies the powerlessness of logic to incorporate in its writing all the characteristic features of nature. And it has often been found necessary to minimize certain of these features of nature, to envisage them, and it, only in light of an ideal status, so as to keep it/them from jamming the works of the theoretical machine.
But what division is being perpetuated here between a language that is always subject to the postulates of ideality and an empirics that has forfeited all symbolization? And how can we fail to recognize that with respect to this caesura, to the schism that underwrites the purity of logic, language remains necessarily met
a-‘something’? Not simply in its articulation, in its utterance, here and now, by a subject, but because, owing to his own structure and unbeknownst to him, that ‘subject’ is already repeating normative ‘judgments’ on a nature that is resistant to such a transcription.
And how are we to prevent the very unconscious (of the) ‘subject’ from being prorogated as such, indeed diminished in its interpretation, by a systematics that re-marks [sic] a historical ‘inattention’ to fluids? In other words: what structuration of (the) language does not maintain a complicity of long standing between rationality and a mechanics of solids alone?
(Irigaray 1985a, pp. 106–7)
Irigaray’s claims about solid and fluid mechanics demand some comment. First of all, solid mechanics is far from being complete; it has many unsolved problems, such as the quantitative description of fractures. Secondly, fluids in equilibrium or in laminar flow are relatively well understood. Besides, we know the equations – the so-called Navier–Stokes equations – that govern the behaviour of fluids in a vast number of situations. The main problem is that these nonlinear partial differential equations are very difficult to solve, in particular for turbulent flows.138 But this difficulty has nothing to do with any ‘powerlessness of logic’ or failure of ‘adequate symbolization’, nor with the ‘structuration of (the) language’. Here Irigaray follows her (ex-)teacher Lacan, in insisting too much on the logical formalism at the expense of the physical content.