But look at "A nice derangement of epitaphs", were conventions are rejected in favour of interpretation - an active process! And so closer to Dummett's group dynamics, but keeping the primacy of truth. — Banno

Ok. So you could tell Williamson not to hold his breath waiting for more work to be done on the issue because the two sides crashed in the middle.

the two sides crashed in the middle — frank

Hence this:

The realist/antirealist debate petered out in the first decade of this century. Part of the reason is Williamson's essay. The debate, as can be seen in the many threads on the topic in these fora, gets nowhere, does not progress.

The present state of play, so far as I can make out, has the philosophers working in these areas developing a variety of formal systems that are able to translate an ever-increasing range of the aspects of natural language. They pay for this by attaching themselves to the linguistics or computing department of universities, or to corporate entities such as NVIDIA. — Banno

Things moved on.

Things moved on. — Banno

I see. Thanks.

The very idea of an overarching framework in which art takes place and is to be judged is anathema, to be immediately challenged. The framework becomes the target.

Much the same in philosophy. It questions the framework (aim) rather than submits to it.

↪Fire Ologist, pay attention. — Banno

I am. I find that inconsistent.

What framework clarifies “anathema”?

However, the SEP article seems to want to say that a proposition is what is in common between a number of sentences or statements. That's what I don't get. — Ludwig V

That's exactly the standard analysis. The bolded part that follows the word, "that" is a proposition. — frank

You're offering an ostensive definition, and your problem is that when you point to a proposition "the bolded part", I see a sentence. If you think about it, it isn't possible to "bold" a proposition - it's like trying to italicize an apple. Wrong category.
Not sure whether mine is the standard analysis, but it may be. It's a work in progress, anyway.

We're expressing the same proposition by way of two utterances and two sentences. If you look back at your own analysis: "How about "collection of sentences that enable us to say that the cat is on the mat in different ways" — frank

Yes, but to the extent that the two sentences are different, you give me grounds for wondering whether it is the same proposition. I would prefer to stop talking about propositions, but it's too well embedded in philosophical discourse for that to be realistic - it's tilting at windmills. The formula I've offered does avoid some of the worst problems.

Tricky stuff. .....But in the end I cannot agree with the suggestion that our study is will be like the art students, primarily about a doing and producing. I do think there is a real and meaningful distinction between the productive arts (including the "fine arts') and science and wisdom, and philosophy is heavier on the other side of this division. — Count Timothy von Icarus

Very tricky. I'm not sure I understand what you mean by "productive arts", but I didn't mean to suggest that philosophy should be counted alongside painting and music and literature. I would say that philosophy is centrally interested in truth, but, arguably, in some ways, so is painting and literature. Many people want to classify it with science, but that misrepresents it, IMO. I was just suggesting that something that works well in painting and music and literature, also works well in philosophy.
In science, do students learn a definition of a theory or an experiment and apply that, or do they learn to do science by getting into the lab and reading up on various theories?
Most disciplines are practices and, as a result have things in common, and, at the same time, each discipline is a distinctive collection of sub-practices or "games".

This works for me. The reason for reading the cannon is to improve on it. But in order to "improve" on it, one does not need already to have an idea of the perfect or ultimate item. — Banno

That's one reason. But the concept of progress in the arts is very tricky, particularly because, for me at least, the idea of the perfect novel or picture or song is meaningless. Perfection does have some application in the arts, but only in a way that does not imply finality. However, I don't see finality (whether perfection or truth) in philosophy or, indeed, in science.

“Understanding” in this context often refers to a kind of clarity—seeing how language functions, how confusion arises, and how philosophical problems dissolve when we attend closely to our forms of life and linguistic practices. It’s not about accumulating true propositions (knowledge in the epistemological sense), but about achieving perspicuous representation. — Banno

That's definitely my page. I do worry, though, about the unselfconscious use of "clarity" to identify some sort of objective property (as in "perspicuous representation") and a psychological state. What is clear to one person is not necessarily clear to another. Sometimes it is just a question of learning how to interpret, but not, I think, always.

The debate, as can be seen in the many threads on the topic in these fora, gets nowhere, does not progress. — Banno

Light bulb! That's how progress in philosophy happens. The debate makes no progress, gets boring, so people move on. Group dynamics, I suppose.

The phrase "If meaning is use, then use must have an end" equivocates on “end.” It reads “end” as telos—as if every use must aim at a final goal or fixed purpose. — Banno

It seems that one cannot point out too often that Aristotle distinguishes between actions that have a purpose external to themselves and others are done for "their own sake". This is logically necessary to avoid an infinite hierarchy of purposes. So one needs, hastily, to go on and say that this does not necessitate one supreme good at which everything aims.

I didn't mean to suggest that philosophy should be counted alongside painting and music and literature. I would say that philosophy is centrally interested in truth, but, arguably, in some ways, so is painting and literature. Many people want to classify it with science, but that misrepresents it, IMO. — Ludwig V

A philosopher of art whom I respect, Susanne Langer, has pointed out that we can often learn more about an art by noticing what it does not have in common with other arts, rather than trying to find similarities and possible shared properties.

So with philosophy, perhaps. We can discover many commonalities between phil and literature, phil and science, phil and logic, phil and rhetoric, ad infinitum. But what we should be noticing is what makes philosophy different, unique.

And what is that? The candidate answer I like best is that philosophy inevitably questions itself, without leaving the frame of its own discipline.

“Understanding” in this context often refers to a kind of clarity—seeing how language functions, how confusion arises, and how philosophical problems dissolve when we attend closely to our forms of life and linguistic practices. It’s not about accumulating true propositions (knowledge in the epistemological sense), but about achieving perspicuous representation.
— @Banno
That's definitely my page. I do worry, though, about the unselfconscious use of "clarity" to identify some sort of objective property (as in "perspicuous representation") and a psychological state. What is clear to one person is not necessarily clear to another. — Ludwig V

Yes, this is the type of "understanding" we want to highlight, over against knowledge. And to me, it's a feature, not a bug, that "perspicuous representation" requires some sort of consensus. When we discover that Phil X finds something brilliantly illuminating, while Phil Y finds it clear as mud, we are being invited into a critical moment in philosophical dialectic. What separates them? What discussion is needed to bring them together? Is it a framing problem? Just a misunderstanding? A confusion about evidence? A logical flaw? etc. etc.

A philosopher of art whom I respect, Susanne Langer, has pointed out that we can often learn more about an art by noticing what it does not have in common with other arts, rather than trying to find similarities and possible shared properties. — J

That's good advice. I find it particularly important when I'm confronted with sweeping statements beginning "Art is...." (or whatever).

So with philosophy, perhaps. We can discover many commonalities between phil and literature, phil and science, phil and logic, phil and rhetoric, ad infinitum. But what we should be noticing is what makes philosophy different, unique. — J

I don't disagree. But I do find that most philosophers are very much inclined to focus on what makes philosophy unique anyway. It's a balance - mapping similarities and differences (in an informal and pragmatic way).

And what is that? The candidate answer I like best is that philosophy inevitably questions itself, without leaving the frame of its own discipline. — J

Yes. It may be unique in not leaving the frame of its own discipline. Psychology, perhaps is also self-reflexive, in a way.

Yes, this is the type of "understanding" we want to highlight, over against knowledge. And to me, it's a feature, not a bug, that "perspicuous representation" requires some sort of consensus. When we discover that Phil X finds something brilliantly illuminating, while Phil Y finds it clear as mud, we are being invited into a critical moment in philosophical dialectic. What separates them? What discussion is needed to bring them together? Is it a framing problem? Just a misunderstanding? A confusion about evidence? A logical flaw? etc. etc. — J

Whether the two senses are a problem or not depends on the context. If you are talking to an individual, you will probably want to focus on what helps that individual. There are times when that runs out. One of my favourite articles is C.L. Dodgson's Dialogue between Achilles and the Tortoise after their race. Achilles claims the victory on the grounds that he crossed the line first. The tortoise refuses to concede. I won't spoil the story which shows Achilles trying to get to the end of another infinite regress. The moral is that if Achilles crossed the line first, he won the race. There's nothing subjective about it. Consensus? It matters. But I'm not sure how much. I notice that one can contradict it, if one has a very clear argument. If there was a consensus against Achilles, then the question will be who misunderstood the rules - Achilles or the rest of us.

You're offering an ostensive definition, and your problem is that when you point to a proposition "the bolded part", I see a sentence. If you think about it, it isn't possible to "bold" a proposition - it's like trying to italicize an apple. Wrong category. — Ludwig V

That's true. A proposition is along the lines of content.

Yes, but to the extent that the two sentences are different, you give me grounds for wondering whether it is the same proposition. I would prefer to stop talking about propositions, but it's too well embedded in philosophical discourse for that to be realistic - it's tilting at windmills. The formula I've offered does avoid some of the worst problems. — Ludwig V

I don't think you have to talk about propositions. It's not a bad idea to know what it is, though.

I don't think you have to talk about propositions. It's not a bad idea to know what it is, though. — frank

I agree with that. It's part of the jargon, so you will miss out if you have no idea what it's all about.

A proposition is along the lines of content. — frank

Yes. I know roughly what you mean. But making it clear is another question, and not an easy one.

:up:

If there was a consensus against Achilles, then the question will be who misunderstood the rules - Achilles or the rest of us. — Ludwig V

Yes, that's just the sort of further dialectic I was picturing. It doesn't have to follow that "consensus wins" will always be the final decision -- even when that decision is itself made by consensus.

I appreciate all your thoughtful replies.

I don't think you have to talk about propositions. It's not a bad idea to know what it is, though. — frank

In Self-Consciousness and Objectivity, Rodl says:

"If only we understood the letter p, the whole world would open up to us."

My comment on this from an earlier thread was:

"He’s being a little sarcastic, in my reading, but his meaning is clear: If we continue to allow p to float somewhere in the [Popperian] World 3 of abstracta, without acknowledging its dependence on [the 1st-person act of thinking], we are going to get a lot of things wrong."

Rodl is asking something that's right in front of our nose, so plain that we rarely question it: How do we describe or explain the being, the presence in the world, of a proposition? Where does it come from? How have we allowed it to become so central to this way of doing philosophy?

He also writes:

"My thought of judging that things are so is a different act of the mind from my judging that they are so. The former is about my judgment, a psychic act, a mental state; the latter, in the usual case, is not; it is about something that does not involve my judgment, my mind, my psyche. It is about a mind-independent reality."

This clarification is well worth keeping in mind, I think.

Yes, that's just the sort of further dialectic I was picturing. It doesn't have to follow that "consensus wins" will always be the final decision -- even when that decision is itself made by consensus. — J

I'm glad I hit that nail fair and square...

In Self-Consciousness and Objectivity, Rodl says: — J

That sounds very much like my cup or tea. It's time there was a backlash. Sadly, at that price, it will be Christmas before I get my hands on it.

My thought of judging that things are so is a different act of the mind from my judging that they are so. The former is about my judgment, a psychic act, a mental state; the latter, in the usual case, is not; it is about something that does not involve my judgment, my mind, my psyche. It is about a mind-independent reality." — J

It's funny how one can lose sight of things that are actually quite obvious, if only one could see them. On the other hand, one wants to say that there must be something going on between them - a relationship of some sort.

I appreciate all your thoughtful replies. — J

Thanks. It takes two, so I thank you also.

[Philosophy] may be unique in not leaving the frame of its own discipline. Psychology, perhaps is also self-reflexive, in a way. — Ludwig V

Now that's a can of eels! Do you think the psychologist can ask questions about psychology that are, at the same time, bracketed by psychological explanations of how questions come to be asked? What does that say about the psych's conception of psychology's explanatory powers?

Sadly, at that price, it will be Christmas before I get my hands on it. — Ludwig V

Same boat here with academic presses, but do you have interlibrary loan? My public library got me the Rodl book and let me keep it for months. The only drawback is that, being a respectful reader, I had to make my notes separately from the text.

Rodl is asking something that's right in front of our nose, so plain that we rarely question it: How do we describe or explain the being, the presence in the world, of a proposition? Where does it come from? How have we allowed it to become so central to this way of doing philosophy? — J

A proposition is a product of analysis. Hegel would object to hanging propositions in a netherworld, per his mechanism argument, which says we end up with component parts by way of describing the world. It's a mistake to take our understanding from that dismantled world, though. Put the clock back together and watch it functioning in time: that's where the truth lies.

Remember when I presented Scott Soames' explanation of propositions, he started with the whole scene of a person pointing and speaking. From there, he leads through an analysis. I think Hegel would approve. Soames' starting point is life in motion.

"My thought of judging that things are so is a different act of the mind from my judging that they are so. The former is about my judgment, a psychic act, a mental state; the latter, in the usual case, is not; it is about something that does not involve my judgment, my mind, my psyche. It is about a mind-independent reality." — J

If I'm understanding this, it's similar to what Russell would have said: a true proposition is a state of affairs.

Remember when I presented Scott Soames' explanation of propositions, he started with the whole scene of a person pointing and speaking. From there, he leads through an analysis. I think Hegel would approve. Soames' starting point is life in motion. — frank

Good response, thanks. I'd like to find a perspective on this that Soames, Hegel, and Rodl could all accept. Do you think Soames would say that a proposition is a product of 1st-person judgment?

Do you think Soames would say that a proposition is a product of 1st-person judgment? — J

I don't think so, but that sounds a little like an ontological question.

If I'm understanding this, it's similar to what Russell would have said: a true proposition is a state of affairs. — frank

As I understand Rodl, he's setting it out like this:

A) I think: "I judge that the cat is on the mat."
B) I think: "The cat is on the mat."

As he says, A is about my judgment, something I do or think, while B is about the cat. I would say that both A and B are true propositions about states of affairs, or at least truth-apt. Do you think Russell would agree?

Do you think Soames would say that a proposition is a product of 1st-person judgment?
— J

I don't think so, but that sounds a little like an ontological question. — frank

I agree, but no more so than "a proposition is a product of analysis"! At the level of "What is a proposition?" how would we avoid ontology?

As he says, A is about my judgment, something I do or think, while B is about the cat. I would say that both A and B are true propositions about states of affairs, or at least truth-apt. Do you think Russell would agree? — J

Yes.

I agree, but no more so than "a proposition is a product of analysis"! At the level of "What is a proposition?" how would we avoid ontology? — J

We used to have an AP expert who would stop by the forum from time to time. His name was Nagase, and I learned a lot from him. I asked him once what he thought about the ontology of propositions, and he said he didn't feel the need to address it. I think the point is that we're mapping out the way we think about communication. Ontology is a background issue.

I lean toward ontological anti-realism, in other words, I don't think ontological questions are answerable, so the question of the what X is ultimately made of, is one I'm able to drop. If you find that you aren't able to drop it, you can at least look at what you're giving up if you eliminate propositions as a component of language use. It has to do with that illusive goal of communication: the meeting of the minds.

I lean toward ontological anti-realism, in other words, I don't think ontological questions are answerable, so the question of the what X is ultimately made of, is one I'm able to drop. — frank

When it's put in terms of "what X is ultimately made of," I almost always agree. If the question is more about "What are we committing ourselves to when we talk about 'existence'?" then I think Quine's motto about bound variables will do fine.

It's unclear to me where talk of propositions fits in here -- what kind of ontology-talk it needs. I was only pointing out that I found "product of analysis" to be no more anti-metaphysical, or common-sensical, or whatever, than "product of a 1st-person judgment". In both cases, we're trying to use a neutral place-holder, "product," to stand in for we know not what. And that's fine, as long as the two cases have parity.

And deeply misrepresentative. Your standard practice, when you don't like an argument, is to misreport it. — Banno

More evasion from the person who cannot provide a clear answer.

@Srap Tasmaner spoke of the aim of philosophy . You claimed that to speak of "aims" is Aristotelian, and you resorted to your flat-footed anti-Aristotelian polemic. I pointed out, again, that you apparently prefer aimlessness. And then you tried for the ad hominem, as usual.

Clarity is the last thing in the world you are interested in. You refuse to answer the simplest questions. Here is another one: If you reject the notion that philosophy has aims, then how do you avoid the implication that philosophy is aimless?

Ok. If meaning is use, then use must have an end. Otherwise, there cannot be any use in replying.

Or… I can just say meaning is use and that is enough; that "ends" bring baggage unnecessary to make use of language. But then, when language has been used, would we notice if the use actually occurred, would we notice it was language at all, if we did not notice some purpose or some end connected to that usage, or some effect by using the language?

Or in other words, what is the “use” of speaking becomes the same question as what is the “purpose” of speaking?

What is the use "Aristotelian framing" makes of Leon's idea, if not to relegate it and flesh out how "ends" are "figments"? "Aristotelian framing" does not merely have a use, but serves a purpose, an end, of clarifying a specific "figment".

If meaning is informed by use, then use is informed by purpose. — Fire Ologist

Well said. :up:

I don't see any coherence in fleeing from aims and purposes, as if one is acting with no aim when they use language.

It's unclear to me where talk of propositions fits in here -- what kind of ontology-talk it needs. I was only pointing out that I found "product of analysis" to be no more anti-metaphysical, or common-sensical, or whatever, than "product of a 1st-person judgment". In both cases, we're trying to use a neutral place-holder, "product," to stand in for we know not what. And that's fine, as long as the two cases have parity. — J

I see what you're saying. Somewhere along the line I started wondering if propositions might come from a time when people thought that the world was speaking to them (when it may have been their own motor cortex talking).

That would explain why propositions seem to have a God's eye view, or the way I would put it: the world is talking. This might show up in activities like I'm looking for a can of paint. I'm asking the world where it is. The world eventually tells me that it's under the work table. That it's under the table happens to be a proposition. Who asserted it? It's like the world did.

I realize my homemade origin story may make eyes glaze over, but it's an interesting possibility to me.

I realize my homemade origin story may make eyes glaze over, but it's an interesting possibility to me. — frank

Yes, it is. My eyes got wider, not glazed! And we need to acknowledge that any story we wind up telling about the origin of propositions, or reasons, or rationality itself -- anything that we say occupies the Space of Reasons -- must also have a biological/evolutionary/cultural story to go along with it. The fact that we need both stories is itself the gateway to one of the biggest philosophical problems, right?: How to reconcile physical and rational accounts, which seem to begin from incompatible premises.

I don't think it presupposes any robust sense of final causality to ask: "what is the purpose of philosophy?" or more specifically "what is the purpose of this particular area of philosophy?" How could we ever agree on methods if we do not consider what we want to accomplish (i.e. our end)?

Imagine you are giving an introductory lecture on metaphysics. You tell your class: "Metaphysics is not discovering the deep structure of the world per se, but proposing better ways to conceptualize and systematize our thought and language.”

And then a hand shoots up, and you decide to take a question and it's:

"Professor Banno, can you please explain what makes some conceptualizations and systemizations of our language better than others?"

It hardly seems adequate to say simply: "if you can't choose I'll decide" without offering an explanation. And if the next question is: "but what is the aim of even doing this?" I am not sure if it's fair to dismiss that question as "loaded" or somehow commiting us to "Aristotlianism."

To say: "'[some]thing speaks for [or] against it...' presupposes a principle of speaking for and against. That is, [we] must be able to say what would speak for it." That's Wittgenstein, On Certainty 117, not Ol' Slick Ari. — Count Timothy von Icarus

Yep. :up:

Darwin replaced natural teleology with natural selection. — Banno

Likewise, I hardly think one can invoke Darwin as eliminating the explanatory function of aims within the context of intentional human practices. Darwin didn't think he had shown that human science is without aims. — Count Timothy von Icarus

More than that, Darwin's theory is itself teleological, as he himself acknowledged (see recent thread).

Anti-Aristotelian and anti-religious prejudice is in fact not philosophy, and it places one into an irrational straightjacket of their own making. Can the so-called "dissector" allow his own claims to be dissected, or not?

My eyes got wider, not glazed! — J

Cool. :grin:

And we need to acknowledge that any story we wind up telling about the origin of propositions, or reasons, or rationality itself -- anything that we say occupies the Space of Reasons -- must also have a biological/evolutionary/cultural story to go along with it. — J

Well, yes, but it could still be that consciousness is related to something undreamt of in our philosophy. We'll know if we ever know.

How to reconcile physical and rational accounts, which seem to begin from incompatible premises. — J

Yep.

Now that's a can of eels! Do you think the psychologist can ask questions about psychology that are, at the same time, bracketed by psychological explanations of how questions come to be asked? What does that say about the psych's conception of psychology's explanatory powers? — J

I have no idea. Perhaps someone will pop up with an answer.

while "knowledge" might mean different things to different philosophers, I'm not sure there's a philosophy which aims at understanding as opposed to knowledge. — Moliere

To make this more than a slogan, you'd need some sort of theory (hermeneutics would be an example), and I think what that theory would try to account for is, first of all, the "as opposed to science" part.

Williamson begins by claiming (uncontroversially) a shared lineage for science and philosophy, and he mentions the relation of science to philosophy at several points. (The other disciplines that can discipline philosophy; whether a theory can be used in empirical linguistics; etc.)

And this is as it should be, because Williamson wants to talk about rigor, and throughout the 20th century, at least, that discussion took this form: (1) Can philosophy be a science? (2) Should philosophy be a science?

(Williamson doesn't quite approach the issue this way, so his answer seems to be that philosophy can and should be science-ish.)

So we need to talk about science, and what the comparison to science might reveal about philosophy.

Here's where I thought to start, with the self-image of a toy version of science: in order to study and theorize the laws of nature, science breaks itself into one part that is by design subject to those laws, and another that is not. (There's a problem with this we'll get to, but it's not where you start.)

What I mean by that is simply that the data a scientist wants is generated by the operation of the laws of nature in action. You can observe events where those laws are operative; you can also conduct experiments to try to isolate specific effects, which you then observe. But the whole point of an experiment is to submit some apparatus or material to the forces of nature so that you can see what happens. This part of the work of science deliberately submits itself to nature at work.

But the two further steps, observing and theorizing, are intended to be separate, and not subject to the forces and constraints and whatnot under investigation. The weights fall from the tower and I observe the action of gravity upon them, but my watching them does not require that I too fall from the tower. I need not submit my process of observation to gravity to observe the effect of gravity on bodies.

Then I collect my observations and I work out a mathematical description. My mathematics describes the action of gravity, but is not subject to it, and need not be to describe it. My mathematics is not a theory of gravity, but provides constraints on the theories I produce. (By showing what it does to what, and how much it does it, and what it doesn't do because it's not part of that equation, and so on.) My theories of gravity are also not subjected to the work of gravity as the bodies I observed were.

Before getting to philosophy, I'll note that this self-division of science worked right up until it didn't, but also that when it stopped working, it didn't entirely stop working. It seems when you observe nature at very small scales the process of observation itself has effects on the observed big enough that they must be taken into account. We might wonder whether something similar happens in philosophy, but for now I'll just observe that we know more or less exactly why this happens at quantum scale, and could have predicted it would. (But we don't end up with the equations I write on a whiteboard changing the outcome of an experiment, for instance.)

The practice of science doesn't make a universal claim about not being subject to the laws it studies. The paper upon which my equations describing gravity are written is itself subject to the force of gravity, but not in a theoretically important way. The self-division of science is not absolute. (It is even plausible to claim that the division itself is not a posit of theory, but is itself found in nature -- right up until you hit the exception at quantum scale.)

Now what about philosophy?

Can it achieve this sort of self-division? Must it do so to achieve the same rigor as science? (Or can it be just as rigorous without doing so?)

--- I spent a few pages trying to answer these questions, but it was a mess, so here's just a couple obvious points:

1. If you think philosophy (or logic) studies the laws of thought or of reason, you're unlikely to think any of your work needs to separate itself from those laws

2. If you think philosophy studies norms of thought and behavior, neither making your work subject to the specific norms you're studying nor making it subject to different norms seems obviously satisfactory. Both present problems.

I think Williamson wishes to describe something like an experimental approach to philosophy, and that's what his whole competition between theories business is meant to be. Is it really similar to how science does this? If it's not, does it still make sense?

Well, yes, but it could still be that consciousness is related to something undreamt of in our philosophy. — frank

True. My comment reveals which ticket I hold in the Consciousness Lottery: I think it'll turn out to be biological. But we don't have a clue at the moment.

Excellent. Let me say this in slightly different words, to see if I've understood.

You're positing that science goes about its business by splitting off its own rational warrants, so as to avoid making science itself a totalizing critique of those warrants. In other words, a thoroughgoing scientism would seem to leave no room for parts 2 and 3 of your description of how science works. It would have to admit that "observing" and "theorizing" are subject to laws that are ultimately physical, just like anything else. So we're left with the familiar problem of how to give reason the last word -- how to exempt the truths we're claiming to discover from the obvious point that we would presumably be saying them anyway, true or not, if scientistic law-like explanations prevailed.

And I think you're right that quantum weirdness doesn't change this picture -- at least not yet.

You write:

The practice of science doesn't make a universal claim about not being subject to the laws it studies. — Srap Tasmaner

The example you give is the piece of paper on which the equations are written, but as you say, that's theoretically unimportant. I'd rather take your claim to be stronger: Scientists have to either ignore the question of how their own pronouncements may or may not be the result of law-like processes, or simply declare what you have declared: "We don't really know, but we make that assumption and it doesn't matter for our practice."

Now what about philosophy?

Is philosophy in danger of also being a totalizing critique of itself? Is there such a thing as "philosophism," which would cast into doubt the very conclusions that philosophy tries to deliver, on the grounds that there are "philosophical explanations" that explain them away?

By putting it this way, I think we can see what's wrong with that picture. A "philosophical explanation" can't call into question the entire practice of philosophical explanation in the same way that a "scientific explanation" can call into question the practice of scientific explanation, or at least make us scratch our heads and wonder how to justify the "breaking into parts." We don't have to break anything into parts when we apply philosophy to other philosophy. Philosophy's framing is unique among the inquiries.

So if that's right, I guess that puts me in camp 1.

Why might someone argue for camp 2? As you say, either fork you take there is problematic. But one might say: "Well, that's just how it is. We don't know whether 'applying norms' to our theories about norms is necessarily viciously circular. Some of us think so, some don't. Nor do we know whether the possibility of 'different norms' is enough to make the whole camp-2 approach wrong, and move us over to the camp that believes we need laws, not norms. This unresolved question requires . . . more philosophy."

Writing that, I've almost persuaded myself! At any rate, I'm not so clearly in camp 1.

I think Williamson wishes to describe something like an experimental approach to philosophy, and that's what his whole competition between theories business is meant to be. — Srap Tasmaner

Yes, I picture him invoking a kind of ideal community of practitioners, converging Peircean-ly (sorry, that's an adverb) on the truth, much as we would hope exists in a scientific discipline. I'm not sure how close this is to actual scientific practice. How close do you think it is, or could be, to philosophical practice? I think you've been saying, Not very.