Panpsychism And/Or Eliminativism

Here is the text of the talk I gave twice last month: at the OOO III conference in New York, and at the SLSA conference in Kitchener, Ontario.

PANPSYCHISM AND/OR ELIMINATIVISM

Today I would like to think, in a cosmopolitical frame, about the recent philosophical movement known as Speculative Realism. It would be better, actually, to speak of speculative realisms, in the plural; for the four thinkers who spoke at the initial Speculative Realism conference, at Goldsmiths in London in 2007, in fact have vastly different positions and programs. And still more varieties of speculative realism have been enunciated since. What justifies uniting these diverse new modes of thought is that they have a common starting point. The four original speculative realists — Quentin Meillassoux, Ray Brassier, Graham Harman, and Iain Hamilton Grant — all reject what Meillassoux calls correlationism, or what Harman characterizes as “the bland default metaphysics that reduces objects to our human access to them.” In what follows, I will consider what positive positions this initial rejection commits us to.

Correlationism is defined by Meillassoux as the doctrine according to which “we never grasp an object ‘in itself’, in isolation from its relation to the subject.” Kant’s transcendental idealism is correlationist, and so is Husserl’s noetic-noematic structure. For correlationism, a mind-independent reality cannot exist, because the very fact that we are thinking of such a reality means that it is not mind-independent after all. From the correlationist point of view, Meillassoux says, “thought cannot get outside itself in order to compare the world as it is ‘in itself’ to the world as it is ‘for us’, and thereby distinguish what is a function of our relation to the world from what belongs to the world alone.” In correlationism, as Brassier puts it, “since it is impossible to separate the subjective from the objective, or the human from the non-human, it makes no sense to ask what anything is in itself, independently of our relating to it.” Or in the words of Harman, under correlationism “everything is reduced to a question of human access to the world, and non-human relations are abandoned to the natural sciences.” In other words, “the correlationist holds that we cannot think of humans without world, nor world without humans, but only of a primal rapport or correlation between the two. For the correlationist, it is impossible to speak of a world that pre-existed humans in itself, but only of a world pre-existing humans for humans.” As Harman sarcastically summarizes the position, correlationism assumes that “what is thought is thereby converted entirely into thought, and that what lies outside thought must always remain unthinkable.”

Correlationism is not the same thing as the “bifurcation of nature” denounced by Whitehead; the critique of the correlation and the critique of the bifurcation arise from different needs and concerns. Nonetheless, the two are not unrelated. It is only when our experience has been sundered in two that we could ever think of the need for a correlational structure in order to put it back together again. Modern Western thought, from Descartes through Locke and on to Hume, partitioned the world between primary and secondary qualities, or between objectively extended objects, on the one hand, and merely subjective “psychic additions” (CN 29), on the other. This culminated in the crisis of Humean skepticism, which Kant resolved by arguing that the unknown realities “out there” must be organized in accordance with the conditions imposed by our minds. We have viewed the world through a correlationist lens ever since.

Correlationism might seem to be at odds with everyday common sense; most people, if you asked them, would unhesitatingly affirm that things outside us are real. Remember Dr. Jonson, who kicked a rock, and claimed thereby to have refuted Berkeley. Nonetheless, the idea that the world is necessarily beholden to our ways of shaping and processing it has indeed been the “default metaphysics” of the West for more than two centuries, ever since Kant. To reject the correlationist consensus is to risk being accused of “naive realism.” Now, in fact, no version of speculative realism actually maintains the “naive” thesis that we can somehow have direct, unmediated access to a reality that is simply “out there” and apart from us. However, I also agree with Harman that we should be suspicious of any argument that disparages something by characterizing it as “naive.” For there is something disingenuous about such an accusation. Usually, the critics of “naive realism” are not urging us to adopt a more robust or sophisticated sort of realism instead. Rather, they are making the underhanded rhetorical suggestion that all realism is unavoidably naive. This critical sleight of hand really works to reinforce the solipsistic primacy of thought thinking only about itself. It’s a way of refusing and denying any movement towards what Meillassoux calls “the great outdoors, the eternal in-itself, whose being is indifferent to whether or not it is thought.”

In any case, the basic speculative realist thesis is the diametrical opposite of the “naive” assertion that things in themselves are directly accessible to us. For the key point, rather, is that the world in itself — the world as it exists apart from us — cannot in any way be contained or constrained by the question of our access to it. “Man” is not the measure of all things. We habitually grasp the world in terms of our own pre-imposed concepts. We need to break this habit in order to get at the strangeness of things in the world: that is, at the ways that they exist without being “posited” by us, and without being “given” or “manifested” to us. Even the things that we have ourselves made possess their own bizarre and independent existence. If philosophy begins in wonder — and ends in wonder, too, as Whitehead insists — then its aim should not be to deduce and impose cognitive norms, or Concepts of Understanding, but rather to make us more fully aware of how reality escapes and upsets these norms.

This is why any true realism must be speculative — despite the fact that “speculation” has been held in ill repute for most of the past century. For, confronted with the real, we are compelled to speculate: that is, to do precisely what Kant told us that we cannot and must not do. Pace Kant, we must think outside of our own thought; and we must positively conceive the existence of things outside our own conceptions of them. In Eugene Thacker’s terms, it is not enough to just consider the (objective) world-in-itself, in its difference from the (subjective) world-for-us. We must also actively explore what Thacker calls the world-without-us: the world insofar as it is subtracted from, and not amenable to, our own concerns. We learn about the world-for-us through introspection, and the world-in-itself through scientific experimentation. But we can only encounter the world-without-us obliquely, through the paradoxical movement of speculation.

Speculative realism is therefore as far removed from post-Kantian “critical” thought as it is from “naive” or unreflective thought. It rejects, not only the “default metaphysics” of continental anti-realism, but also (and perhaps more importantly) what Jon Cogburn calls “neo-Kantian ‘realism of the remainder’ type realisms… the view that the real is some inarticulate and inarticulable mush.” Slavoj Žižek, for instance, proposes that human subjectivity marks a unique rupture in the fabric of being. In the light of this continuing human exceptionalism, the Real can only be regarded negatively. It is nothing more or less than the traumatic remainder of a primordial split. The Real is what’s left over from our separation from it. Since this Real resists all of our symbolizations, Žižek says, it cannot be characterized at all. For Žižek as much as for Kant, then, articulation and determination can only be found on the side of human access. Kant, after all, never denied that there was such a thing as a nonhuman real. He maintained that things-in-themselves must really exist; he only insisted that we could not know anything positive about them, or say anything meaningful with regard to them.

Let me rephrase all this as a formula. Philosophers have only described the correlationist circle, in various ways; the point, however, is to step outside it. The aim of speculative realism, as Meillassoux puts it, is to break the circle, and once more reach “the great outdoors, the absolute outside of pre-critical thinkers.” Early Modern philosophers like Spinoza and Leibniz exhibit a freedom, boldness, and daring that are scarcely imaginable today. More precisely, the question posed for speculation is how to attain this “pre-critical” freedom without reverting — as Meillassoux says we must not do — to any sort of pre-critical or pre-Kantian metaphysical “dogmatism.” How, Meillassoux asks, can we “achieve what modern philosophy has been telling us for the past two centuries is impossibility itself: to get out of ourselves, to grasp the in-itself, to know what is whether we are or not”?

In order to get beyond Kant’s assertion of unknowability, or contemporary philosophy’s disappointing “realism of the remainder,” it is necessary to propose some sort of positive, speculative thesis, alongside the negative (anti-correlationist) one. More precisely, every variant of speculative realism must maintain both a positive ontological thesis, and a positive epistemological one. The ontological thesis is that the real not only exists without us and apart from our conceptualizations of it, but that it is actually organized or articulated in some manner: on its own, without any help from us. The epistemological thesis is that it is in some way possible for us to point to, and speak about, this organized world-without-us, without thereby reducing it yet again to our own conceptual schemes.

What distinguishes the various speculative realisms from one another is that they all propose different ways of stepping outside the correlationist circle. However, I think that all these approaches do have something in common. They all return to the very starting point of correlationism — Kant’s so-called “Copernican revolution” in philosophy — in order thereby to redistribute Kant’s original terms differently. This redistribution of terms opens up a place for renewed speculation.

Meillassoux himself follows such a strategy. He disrupts correlationism from within, by establishing that the Kantian correlation of thought and being is itself contingent (or “factial”) rather than necessary. Where Kant in his Paralogisms of Pure Reason demonstrates that certain fundamental metaphysical propositions are undecidable, Meillassoux traces this undecidability back to a more fundamental contingency — which turns out to be necessary in its own right. Kant argues that the sort of logic which works in particular, limited empirical circumstances is no longer valid when applied to the world conceived as a totality. Meillassoux follows a nearly identical line of argument when he shows that probabilistic reasoning, valid when applied to “objects that are internal to our universe,” cannot be applied “to the universe as such.” The difference, of course, is that Meillassoux draws upon Cantor’s theory of transfinites (which was unknown to Kant) in order to show that any sort of totalization is a priori impossible. This radicalization of Kant’s own argument opens the way to a new kind of absolute knowledge, one that is free from Kant’s strictures against it.

Iain Hamilton Grant similarly returns to the Kantian moment of decision, and orients it otherwise, when he reconstructs and revitalizes Schelling’s critique of Kant. The Kantian transcendental argument becomes a principle of genesis and productivity, rather than one of a priori necessity. In consequence, thought does not, and cannot, posit or legislate the nature of appearance. Rather, thought is itself generated through a process that is antecedent to it, and that forever exceeds its grasp. It is a “necessary truth,” Grant says, that “antecedence is non-recoverable.” Somewhat like Meillassoux’s ancestrality, Grant’s antecedence cannot be recuperated in any sort of correlation. And yet, the “unthought” of an infinitely productive Nature is not sheer negativity (as it remains for Hegel and for Žižek). Rather, it is an active composition of powers or forces.

For his part, Harman proposes what I would like to call (echoing Derrida on Bataille) a “Kantianism without reserve.” This consists in extending the gap between phenomena and noumena to the experiences of all entities. We can no longer specially privilege human beings (or rational beings in general), because every object encounters all other objects phenomenally only, as “sensual objects,” without being able to reach those entities as they in themselves, noumenally, as “real objects.” No object can ever entirely know (grasp or comprehend) any other object; indeed, an object cannot even really “know” itself. But Harman points out that we can, and do, allude to objects — indeed, we are doing this almost all the time. We refer to objects that we do not know by designating them metaphorically, or indirectly. In this way, we can be aesthetically moved by objects, even when we do not (and cannot) actually know them. Indeed, such “vicarious” affection is a crucial mode of contact among entities. (It roughly corresponds to what Whitehead calls “conceptual prehension”). In this way, for Harman as for Whitehead, “aesthetics becomes first philosophy.”

Brassier’s physicalist revision of the Kantian distinction between phenomena and noumena can be contrasted with Harman’s aestheticist one. Brassier converts Kant’s “transcendental idealism” into a “transcendental realism,” by asserting “the transcendental presupposition of an extra-conceptual difference between concept and object.” That is to say, the real as such is non-conceptual; and the difference between the real and our concepts of it cannot itself be conceptualized. Our concepts are always inadequate to the objects that they refer to, and that they futilely endeavor to circumscribe. Physical science is a way of exploring this gap between concept and reference — even if it can never bridge the distance altogether. Rather than thought imposing its categories on the real, Brassier says, “the reality of the object determines the meaning of its conception, and allows the discrepancy between that reality and the way in which it is conceptually circumscribed to be measured.” Kant’s own defense of scientific objectivity is thus transformed into a more robustly realist form than Kant himself was able to provide. Physical science is grounded in the inevitable failure of any correlation between thought and the world, rather than in the necessity of such a correlation. The nonconceptual remainder is no longer mute, as it was for Kant and Žižek; rather, scientific experimentation allows it (or forces it) to speak.

I have been insisting upon the Kantian background of all these speculative realist projects, even though speculative realist thinkers themselves often describe what they are doing in very different ways. I have done this because Kant’s Copernican revolution in philosophy — or rather, his “Ptolemaic counter-revolution,” as Meillassoux insists — itself establishes correlationism and anthropocentrism on the basis of its own critical self-reflexivity. We should stop to think for a minute about how strange this is. According to Kant, thought does not discover its accordance with the world by reaching out towards the world. Rather, it is precisely when thought reflects back upon itself, when it engages in the critique of its own powers and limits, that it is suddenly brought into correlation with being. It is only by focusing back upon itself, to the exclusion of all else, that thought comes into correspondence with something that lies outside it, and beyond it. And it is this strange knot of thought and being — mirrored within thought itself by the pre-established harmony of inner-directed self-reflection with outer-directed intentionality — that speculative realism strives to undo.

In order to untie this knot of thought and being, it is necessary to dislodge the self-reflexivity of thought in one way or another. Thought needs to be radically problematized, from ouside — instead of grounding and validating itself by means of its own purifying autocritique. The anthropocentrism of our “default metaphysics,” which Harman rightly finds objectionable, rests almost entirely on the dubious presupposition that human beings are uniquely rational, uniquely possessed of subjectivity and interiority, uniquely capable of thought and/or language. Such a position was radically undermined by Darwin. Whitehead entirely removed the need for it, by elaborating an analysis of prehension that applies equally to all actual entities. And human exceptionalism is even less tenable today, now that we know that not only chimpanzees and parrots, but also slime molds and bacteria, communicate, calculate, and make arbitrary decisions.

But in fact correlationism is not reducible to humanism, nor to notions of subjectivity. As Meillassoux writes: “we must emphasize that the correlation of thought and being is not reducible to the correlation between subject and object.” Even the freeing of thought from subjectivity and from representation — Meillassoux gives the example of Heidegger — does not suffice to undo correlationism. And further, even the deconstruction and dissolution of the humanist subject does not really get us away from anthropocentrism: at best, it merely replaces this with an impersonal noocentrism or logocentrism.

In order to step outside the correlationist circle, Meillassoux insists that we must displace thought (and language) altogether. We need to adopt a stance, he says, “which takes seriously the possibility that there is nothing living or willing in the inorganic realm.” If we are to reject the phenomenological notion of “the givenness of the world,” then we must recognize the existence of “a world capable of subsisting without being given” to us or to any other perceiver: a world that is “capable of existing whether we exist or not.” Reality for Meillassoux is “totally a-subjective.” We must “think a world that can dispense with thought, a world that is essentially unaffected by whether or not anyone thinks it” (emphasis added).

I think that we need to take this radical purgation of thought from being seriously. Anti-correlationism can plausibly lead to radical eliminativism, as Meillassoux’s formulations at least suggest, and as Brassier argues much more forcefully and straightforwardly. For such an account, matter must be entirely impassive — devoid of life, initiative, or active force — in order that it not be affected by thought. And sensation and perception need to be downgraded — or even abolished — because (like anything carnal) they imply an interaction between an observer and something being observed.

In his quest to guarantee the independence of being from thought, Meillassoux goes so far as to reintroduce into philosophy the explicit distinction between primary and secondary qualities. Meillassoux privileges mathematical formalism at the expense of perception and sensation: this is the only way to “remove the observer,” leaving behind just those properties that an object has in and of itself. “All those aspects of the object that can be formulated in mathematical terms,” Meillassoux writes — and only those aspects, we might add — “can be meaningfully conceived as properties of the object in itself.” Radicalizing Badiou’s dictum that mathematics is ontology, Meillassoux argues that it is exclusively through “the mathematization of nature” that physical science indubitably allows us “to know what may be while we are not.” In effect, Meillassoux resolves the bifurcation of nature by brutally amputating the subjective side of the duality.

Brassier’s arguments are similar to Meillassoux’s, but even more far-reaching. Once we accept that the difference of objects from the concepts we have of them is itself non-conceptual, and not to be subsumed by thought, then we are forced to come to terms with “a world that is not designed to be intelligible and is not originarily infused with meaning.” This leads us inexorably to the “truth of extinction,” the inevitable extermination of all thought in the future course of the universe. For Brassier, even more than for Meillassoux, the recognition of a (past or future) time without thought must radically devalue thought in the present — including even the thought of this recognition itself. Unless we were to embrace some bizarre form of extreme idealism (thought without being?), we would seem to be condemned by the rejection of correlationism to a regime of being without thought. Undoing the Kantian nexus of thought and being leads us, in this case, to the conclusion that thought is epiphenomenal, illusory, and entirely without efficacy. Where Western science has traditionally seen mere matter as passive and inert, Brassier — following Thomas Metzinger and Patricia and Paul Churchland — argues that, once we are rid of an unjustified anthropocentrism and narcissism, we must view human beings in this manner as well.

Brassier pushes this grim logic all the way to the end, proclaiming an “extinction of meaning that clears the way for the intelligibility of extinction. Senselessness and purposelessness are not merely privative; they represent a gain in intelligibility.” There is something impressively bracing about such militant nihilism, even if I am unwilling to give it the last word. But, once we accept the anti-correlationist argument, what other alternatives can there be? Must the radical annihilation of meaning and purpose be the price we pay for understanding the real as it is, apart from us?

In contrast to Brassier, Meillassoux evades the radical consequences of eliminativism by arguing for the absurd, radical emergence ex nihilo, at some point in the history of the universe, first of life and then of thought. As Harman makes evident in his recent exposition and partial translation of Meillassoux’s otherwise unpublished manuscript The Divine Inexistence, Meillassoux insists — against all of modern biology — both that life is radically discontinuous with mere matter, and that thought is radically discontinuous with mere life. Meillassoux thus maintains the Cartesian picture of matter or extension as passive and inert, while providing an escape clause in the form of the absolutely contingent and unforeseeable coming-into-existence first of life and then of thought, both of which are irreducible to matter. This restores human exceptionalism with a vengeance. The violent audacity of Meillassoux’s reversal reminds me, once again, of Kant. Just as Kant lets God back in through the back door, as it were, in the Second Critique, after having eliminated him in the First Critique by destroying the ontological argument for his existence, so Meillassoux rehabilitates life and thought in The Divine Inexistence, after having expelled them, together with the principle of sufficient reason, in After Finitude.

I am not willing, myself, to travel this route with Meillassoux. Despite his demonstrations of the contingency of the correlation, and of the impossibility of transfinite totalization, I cannot see any justification for abandoning the principle of sufficient reason. Harman observes that Meillassoux has two objections to the principle. The first objection is that it implies an infinite regress of causes, unless we bring it to an end by arbitrarily positing a First Cause or Unmoved Mover. The second objection is that it implies that effects are reducible to their causes; and if this were the case, then novelty would be impossible. But Harman replies that there is nothing wrong with conceiving an infinite regress; and that an effect can well exceed its causes, without thereby being entirely independent of those causes.

Both of Harman’s points are in accordance with Whitehead’s revision and restatement of the principle of sufficient reason in the form of what he calls the ontological principle. According to this principle, everything that exists — every actual entity — has a reason (or more than one) for being what it is; and these reasons are themselves actual entities in their own turn. “Actual entities are the only reasons; so that to search for a reason is to search for one or more actual entities” (PR 24). There is no First Cause independent of this process; even God is a particular actual entity, the reasons for whose existence reside in other actual entities. Whitehead insists that nothing is ever entirely determined by its causes. An actual entity must decide how it receives and responds to the causes that feed into it. And every such decision introduces at least a modicum of novelty into the universe. But the ontological principle also states that no entity can ever be entirely free from its antecedent reasons; “there is nothing which floats into the world from nowhere” (PR 244).

Beyond this, the real problem with Meillassoux’s and Brassier’s accounts is that they both assume that matter in itself — as it exists outside of the correlation — must simply be passive and inert, without meaning or value. But isn’t this assumption itself a consequence of the bifurcation of nature? It is only an anthropocentric prejudice to assume that things cannot be lively and active and mindful on their own, without us. Why should we suppose that these are qualities that only we possess, and that we merely project them upon the “universe of things” outside us? Eliminativist arguments thus start out by presupposing human exceptionalism, even when their explicit aim is to humble and humiliate this exceptionalism. If you take it for granted that values and meanings are nothing but subjective human impositions, then it isn’t hard to conclude that they are ultimately illusory, for human beings as well as for other entities.

What’s needed is an alternative way of unbinding the Kantian knot of thought and being. And this is what Whitehead offers us, following William James. Rather than brutally purging the physical universe of anything like thought — an enterprise as absurd as it is ultimately impossible — James and Whitehead urge us to recognize the commonness and ordinariness of thought. They do not contest thought per se, as the eliminativists do, but only its self-reflexive self-privileging, its claim to specialness and preeminence. Isabelle Stengers observes that James engaged in “a deliberate project of the ‘depsychologization’ of experience in the usual sense of conscious, intentional experience, authorizing a clear distinction between the subject and its object.” In this way, James “denied the privilege of occupying center stage to reflective consciousness and its pretensions to invariance.” Or, as James himself puts it, the reified entity known as consciousness “is fictitious, while thoughts in the concrete are fully real. But thoughts in the concrete are made of the same stuff as things are.”

James’ thesis is both monist (since everything is “made of the same stuff”) and pluralist (since there are many thoughts and many things, which cannot be gathered together as one). But it is anti-dualist, and opposed to the bifurcation of nature. Indeed, James positions his thesis in explicit opposition to what he calls the “neo-Kantian” doctrine that “not subject, not object, but object-plus-subject is the minimum that can actually be.” In this way, James is an anti-correlationist avant la lettre.

James’ characterization of experience provides the “prototype,” as Stengers says, for Whitehead’s “actual occasions.” These are always “bipolar,” with conjoined “physical” and “mental” poles (PR 108). This means that thought is an immanent attribute — or a power — of being itself, and of each individual entity that exists. Nothing could be further from the post-Kantian (or correlationist) sense of thought as something that would approach being from without, and that would strive (successfully or not) to be adequate to it. For Whitehead, every entity immanently experiences something; or better, every entity is an experience. This does not mean, however, that every entity is conscious. Whitehead insists that “consciousness presupposes experience, and not experience consciousness” (PR 53). Timothy Morton makes a more concrete, but somewhat similar, point when he suggests “that there is something that my mind does that isn’t that different from what a pencil does when it rests on a table… It’s not that pencils have minds, it’s that minds are pencil like.” In this way, thought is common and humble, rather than rare and preeminent.

Nonconscious experience is not an oxymoron; it’s simply that more things are felt than are known. Whitehead writes that “the primitive form of experience is emotional — blind emotion” (PR 162). It is only in a few rare cases that this emotion is subsequently elaborated into self-conscious cognition. Emotional feeling, Whitehead says, is always “felt in its relevance to a world beyond”; but “the feeling is blind and the relevance is vague” (PR 163). Primordial “vector feeling,” the physical movement or “transmission” from one thing to another, is undoubtedly the raw material out of which the whole drama of correlationism was constructed. But in its non-cognitive, or pre-cognitive, blindness and vagueness, thought as Whitehead describes it happens, or passes, without any epistemological warrant. It makes to sense for thought to be correlated to a world outside itself. For thought is already a constituent — think of it as a sort of flavoring — of the very world that it is supposed to be “about,” and whose objects it is supposed to “intend.”

We might think here of George Molnar’s claim for the existence of what he calls physical intentionality. The commonly held doctrine, deriving from Brentano, is that intentionality is an exclusive mark of the mental or psychological; indeed, intentionality is generally held to provide the definitive principle of a “demarcation between the psychic and the physical.” Against this, Molnar argues that “something very much like intentionality is a pervasive and ineliminable feature of the physical world.” Rejecting commonly-held Humean or nominalist assumptions, Molnar is a thoroughgoing realist about the physical powers or dispositions of things. He insists that “physical powers, such as solubility or electrical charge, also have that direction toward something outside themselves that is typical of psychological attributes.” Of course, physical intentionality, so described, cannot be conscious; it does not have any semantic or representational content. But Molnar argues that mental intentional states are not necessarily semantic or representational either. Pain, for instance, “is directed towards its intentional object” — the location where it is felt — “without representing (symbolizing) its object.” Although Molnar does not himself put it this way, the result of his argument is to detranscendentalize intentionality. That is to say, intentionality becomes an implicit relation, or a potential for becoming, within the world — rather than being an underlying principle or structure of correlation.

Molnar admits that this point of view might lead to what he calls the “threat of panpsychism.” And he pushes away this “threat” by replacing intentionality “with another criterion of demarcation” between mind and matter. The only other available criterion, however, is precisely “the capacity for consciousness” — which Molnar embraces while acknowledging “that this position has its own distinctive difficulties.” If we accept that thought (or feeling, or experience) need not be conscious, then we might well be led to abandon the demarcation between mind and matter altogether.

Although Molnar is unwilling to embrace panpsychism, I propose that it gives us a good way to avoid the problematic baggage both of consciousness and of phenomenological intentionality. In this way, panpsychism might be a promise, rather than a “threat.” The non-eliminativist way of escaping the correlationist circle is to recognize the sheer ubiquity of thought in the cosmos. We don’t need a criterion of demarcation, because there is nothing to demarcate or separate. Once we understand “thought” in Whitehead’s deflationary sense, rather than in Kant’s grandiose one, we discover that it is everywhere, rather than nowhere.

We can take an inverted clue here from Meillassoux. If we reject his thesis of the radical emergence of thought out of nothingness, then we must rather conclude that thought is always there already, in the very place where he claims that “there is nothing living or willing.” This is basically Galen Strawson’s position. Strawson argues that radical emergence is impossible; “experiential phenomena cannot be emergent from wholly non-experiential phenomena.” Strawson regards eliminativism as absurd, “because experience is itself the fundamental given natural fact… there is nothing more certain than the existence of experience.” But since experience cannot float into the world from nowhere, our only alternative is to accept that reality is experiential, all the way down.

Panpsychism, no less than eliminativism, undoes the Kantian knot. Precisely because panpsychism claims that thought is always already present everywhere, it does not grant to thought any special foundational or reflexive privileges. If mind is intrinsic to being, then it exists in and for itself, apart from any question of what it might be correlated with. For panpsychism, everything is mindful, or has a mind; but this does not necessarily entail that everything is “given” or “manifested” to a mind.

To conclude, I need to bring this discussion back to the initial speculative realist thinkers. Neither Harman nor Grant is a full-fledged panpsychist, but they are both inclined strongly in the panpsychist direction. This is evident from their essays in David Skrbina’s anthology of contemporary panpsychist thought, Mind That Abides. Grant indeed argues for “panpsychism all the way down, that is, without exception”; but in doing so, he complicates the question of emergence. Everything is in some sense minded or mindful, he says, but this mindedness is not there at the beginning. Rather, it necessarily but belatedly arises out of the antecedence of nature’s productive powers. For his part, Harman sees mentality, or experience, as an inevitable component of any relationship, or interaction among objects. But since he claims that objects are “withdrawn,” existing apart from all relations, he doesn’t attribute mentality or experience to these objects in and of themselves. There are undoubtably objects, he says, that remain “dormant,” never entering into relation with anything else. Hence, for Harman, “even if all entities contain experience, not all entities have experience.”

Despite these qualifications, I think that we are left with a clear alternative. If we are to reject correlationism, and undo the Kantian knot of thought and being, no middle way is possible. We must say either (along with Harman and Grant) that all entities are in their own right at least to some degree active, intentional, vital, and possessed of powers; or else (along with Meillassoux and Brassier) that being is radically disjunct from thought, in which case things or objects must be entirely divested of their allegedly anthropomorphic qualities. When we step outside of the correlationist circle, we are faced with a choice between panpsychism on the one hand, or eliminativism on the other.

As a coda, I would like at least to mention — without further comment — some of the newer versions of speculative realism, beyond the four presented at the 2007 Goldsmiths conference. Ben Woodard’s “dark vitalism,” Reza Negarestani’s “dark materialism,” and Eugene Thacker’s “horror of philosophy” all seem actually to combine the most extreme tendencies of both panpsychism and eliminativism — however oxymoronic such a conjunction might appear. For these thinkers, the world-without-us is alien and actively hostile to human life and thought. If nothing else, such projects are further signs that we are beginning to think speculatively and cosmologically again — after a century in which, with the lonely exception of Whitehead, such efforts were viewed with suspicion and derision.

12 Responses to “Panpsychism And/Or Eliminativism”

  1. [...] Shaviro has kindly posted his lecture HERE. Like this:LikeBe the first to like this post. Posted by doctorzamalek Filed in Uncategorized [...]

  2. Adam says:

    Thanks for posting this! I’m excited to give it a thorough read over the next few days.

  3. [...] sad to miss out on. Lastly, Steven Shaviro has uploaded his paper from the recent OOOIII conference HERE. Shaviro’s post is one I am definitely going to get to sooner rather than later, Readers of [...]

  4. [...] his essay “Panpsychism And/Or Eliminativism” (which I highly recommend everyone read) Steven Shaviro writes: Beyond this, the real [...]

  5. Kirby Olson says:

    The heads of pins do exist, but I’m not so sure how many angels can dance on the head of one. If they have form, but no substance, it is apparently an infinite number.

    I think we can know something about thumbtacks that we can’t know about angels.

    Trees can be studied in a way that angels can’t.

    One of the surprises in Berkeley is that he never posits living things — it’s always stuff that’s far away.

    I guess the way out of this conundrum is through biology, but I admit I only read half the essay so far.

    My eyes wore out!

    I’ll finish the rest of it tomorrow, by gum.

  6. Kirby Olson says:

    I read the rest of it and found it fascinating what an increasingly bleak and disturbing world it describes. I wondered what happens to phenomena like kindness or laughter or tenderness. I guess Hume wouldn’t be able to measure it so out the window it goes. It was just so bleak, and you weren’t about to let God in through any backdoor again, as Kant does not only in the Second but also in the last twenty pages of the third. Mercy! I have no idea what it is, but often use it when thinking of students’ grades. Things like laws have no physical foundation, but still exist — not just physical laws like gravity (Sokal claimed it was socially created and got away with that — along with the laws of pataphysics we should posit a world in which all the hoaxes continue to boogie alongside one another); there are also things like the laws of grammar, and the laws of marriage, and the laws of civility.

    Ordinarily feelings aren’t considered things, I guess, and I think therefore the Humeans would reject them, but humans generally don’t.

    We live in a world of fictions that may or may not be based on a supernatural truth.

    I suppose that after reading the bleak truth in your paper I didn’t know where else to turn but to the Ol’ Tam’ Religion. At least there you get faith, hope and charity. You can’t measure them, of course, but they’re nice to dish out, and they are especially what we hope that are children and children’s children will find in their stockings at sunup.

    Still, what a weird little investigation you got going there!

  7. Kay says:

    Why should we suppose that these are qualities that only we possess, and that we merely project them upon the “universe of things” outside us?

    Because that’s what regularly happens?

    The last incident I remember was the ascription of all sorts of mental qualities to digital computers based on a superficial similarity between thinking and computing. I refused to continue following the debate at a stage were three major realist alternatives were crystallizing: 1) there is “ghost in the machine” which was basically rejected by everyone 2) we are “zombies” which are machine like with a “ghost” as a mere narrative disposition 3) Searle ( and I guess later also Molnar ) argued with distinct “causal powers” but it remained unclear why leptons and baryons in the brain should obtain them but failing to have them in a silicon chip. Programs are obviously causal but they seem to lack certain “powers”. No one I talked about this in the 1990s understood this, neither did I.

    I do think many researchers nevertheless followed Searle’s desctructive criticism articulated in his influential chinese room thought experiment that was convincing precisely because it was done “within the correlationist circle” which has, as we see, critical virtue. We have a tendency to be superstitious and criticisms like Searle’s are going to correct this.

    Searle overstretched his argument later in his book “Rediscovery of the mind” when he said that computers don’t compute because “computation” is a mere analogy to what our mind does when it clumsily calculates. However “computation” has a precise mathematical definition in terms of the actions of a TM on an infinite tape and doesn’t require psychological crutches of any form. Historically the TM became very quickly the bureau-of-standards but achieved this status only because all competing attempts to define computation could be shown to be equivalent and therefore equally valid. Otherwise we would have a variety of definitions today.

    I do think this achievement cannot be overstated. Computations as programs+data are neither an ontological nor an epistemological proposition. They allow to compare widely different ways to achieve the same results. Whether neurons or transistors or the holy spirit is used to compute the first 500 primes is of no interest for computational theory. All ways can be converted into one another by converting their specific method into program code + data of a TM and its tape. It doesn’t mean though that the TM and the tape literally exist. It is a theoretical device to understand equivalence. That’s how it is used. It doesn’t mean it somehow “produces” this equivalence. This would be a magical operation within the “correlationist circle”.

    This has practical implications far beyond mathematics and computational theory. In order to have a true “democracy of things” ( but why restricting it to “things”? This smells like a mere linguistic habit … ) one needs a protocol for participation, not ontological sameness or complicated systems of grades of sharing occult properties ( “this object has between 2-4% of human intentionality” ), which is what racist and totalitarian regimes try to establish. Beyond the protocol, its extension and the power to maintain it, everyone is free to be and to do whatever they are and want and it is an act of courtesy to not asking deeper questions and being too nosy about private matters.

  8. Liam says:

    Thanks for the great paper, I agree that a return to the fundamental Kantian knot is required. Possibly even further as panpsychism vs eliminativism seems to go right back to the one and the many, or, Parmenides and Heraclitus?
    Is it possible to get the references for the Brassier quotes in paragraph 14?

  9. Jonah Dempcy says:

    @Kirby: Instead of turning to Ol’ Tam’ Religion, what about the area of Archetypal Cosmology investigated by such writers as Richard Tarnas? It incorporates the collective unconscious theory of CG Jung with Alfred North Whitehead’s process philosophy, Stanislav Grof’s transpersonal psychology and other related fields of interest.

  10. Jonah Dempcy says:

    “I read the rest of it and found it fascinating what an increasingly bleak and disturbing world it describes. I wondered what happens to phenomena like kindness or laughter or tenderness.”

    I don’t think a world such described could exist. To paraphrase Deleuze in Bergsonism, when we hear an amazing piece of music (say, Ave Maria) that evokes all sorts of emotions within us, it is not that we, the human individuals are being introduced to ‘new emotions,’ rather that the existing emotions are being introduced to new humans.

    In other words, kindness, laughter, all these personal and human things also exist (or rather, insist) as the most universal and objective psychic realities. My understanding of Jungian archetypes as elucidated by Tarnas in his book ‘Cosmos and Psyche’ are that they are themes (in the sense that Deleuze uses this word in ‘The Logic of Sense’), and that these themes are universal as well as personal, that there is no conflict between something experienced subjectively as the most uniquely personal pain and observed as a universal objective archetypal psychological reality.

    I guess my perspective is to start with the range of human emotion as a given (just like the range of colors– there is no 8th color; or the musical notes in the scale, or mathematical operators such as addition and subtraction). So I just accept a priori this range almost as an artist would their palette. I don’t try to imagine a world lacking all humanity and then ask how we humans develop a coping mechanism to project meaning onto meaninglessness, or how we enchant a world that is basically disenchanted.

    I start with the world as enchanted. I start with mystery as a given, with human emotion as a given. And I see most of the problems society is facing (extreme narcissistic splitting, devaluation of feelings below thoughts, devaluation of intuition below sense) as basically due to disenchantment. I’m in agreement with Richard Tarnas that the solution to many of society’s woes is in re-enchantment. Or as Zizek put it, if we observe a judge in a courtroom and only see a pathetic human being, if we are so cynical as to not be able to be deceived, to believe the illusion that the judge is an arbiter of Justice, Truth and so on, then we are actually missing out. Surely it is naive to elevate a human judge to the level of servant of objective Justice, Truth and so on, but doesn’t the cynic miss something as well, with their disenchantment?

  11. Jonah Dempcy says:

    ‘I have been insisting upon the Kantian background of all these speculative realist projects, even though speculative realist thinkers themselves often describe what they are doing in very different ways. I have done this because Kant’s Copernican revolution in philosophy — or rather, his “Ptolemaic counter-revolution,” as Meillassoux insists — itself establishes correlationism and anthropocentrism on the basis of its own critical self-reflexivity. We should stop to think for a minute about how strange this is. According to Kant, thought does not discover its accordance with the world by reaching out towards the world. Rather, it is precisely when thought reflects back upon itself, when it engages in the critique of its own powers and limits, that it is suddenly brought into correlation with being. It is only by focusing back upon itself, to the exclusion of all else, that thought comes into correspondence with something that lies outside it, and beyond it. And it is this strange knot of thought and being — mirrored within thought itself by the pre-established harmony of inner-directed self-reflection with outer-directed intentionality — that speculative realism strives to undo.’

    I can’t help but think of Jung’s study of the Great Work undertaken by the alchemists. Through the various alchemical texts, all which reflect the motto “As above, so below,” one sees a continual striving to turn thought back on itself and thus discover the articulations of the real. Although the alchemists worked completely pre-psychologically (perhaps in a similar state, lacking differentiation, to the boldness the pre-critical philosophers had), they nevertheless discovered psychological realities, obfuscated as they were by esoteric and poetic speech, and projected as they were confusedly onto that other slope of the Absolute, namely, space. That is to say, the alchemists used a method perhaps similar to historic Chinese philosophy and its use of I Ching and other divination methods, a method of intuition based on observation of inner states and their coincidentia oppositorum with outer states. Their mistake was in confusing psychological realities with physical realities. But the psychological realities were no less real, it simply requires a discerning mind to interpret. When we read an alchemical text today that speaks of dragons, we do not take it literally, nor naively assume that dragons = x, where x is something quite simple. (Jung abhorred naive dream readings of the type “this character in your dream is the shadow, that character is your anima” and so on). Rather, we can see how the alchemists were actively engaged in a very real psychological process which presents itself to everyone, which Jung called the individuation process. And it would seem, as Jung contended, philosophers who fetishize thinking above all else would be halting their own individuation, the solution being to open up to feelings, bodily sensations, intuitions and all of the extraversions (observations) that such extreme introversion (reflection) ignores.

    ‘In order to untie this knot of thought and being, it is necessary to dislodge the self-reflexivity of thought in one way or another. Thought needs to be radically problematized, from outside — instead of grounding and validating itself by means of its own purifying autocritique. The anthropocentrism of our “default metaphysics,” which Harman rightly finds objectionable, rests almost entirely on the dubious presupposition that human beings are uniquely rational, uniquely possessed of subjectivity and interiority, uniquely capable of thought and/or language. Such a position was radically undermined by Darwin. Whitehead entirely removed the need for it, by elaborating an analysis of prehension that applies equally to all actual entities. And human exceptionalism is even less tenable today, now that we know that not only chimpanzees and parrots, but also slime molds and bacteria, communicate, calculate, and make arbitrary decisions.’

    I agree entirely, but instead of rendering human emotions obsolete, it actually renders valid the reading of human emotions into any and everything. That is to say, if there is nothing distinctly human, or exceptional about humanity, then there is nothing distinctly human about love, hate, kindness, generosity, humor, laughter, wonder, agape, beauty, happiness, sadness and so on.

    ‘But in fact correlationism is not reducible to humanism, nor to notions of subjectivity. As Meillassoux writes: “we must emphasize that the correlation of thought and being is not reducible to the correlation between subject and object.” Even the freeing of thought from subjectivity and from representation — Meillassoux gives the example of Heidegger — does not suffice to undo correlationism. And further, even the deconstruction and dissolution of the humanist subject does not really get us away from anthropocentrism: at best, it merely replaces this with an impersonal noocentrism or logocentrism.’

    This is precisely why Jung urges us not to throw the baby out with the bath water when it comes to giving up on God. He writes, in response to ‘God is dead,’ that God is not dead, we have merely lost our way to find him, we have lost our word for him and our symbol for him. The signs we have for God no longer evoke God experiences. Our symbols have been explained away too well, disenchanted, and we are left with dried up rituals devoid of the ability to conjure up numinous experiences.

    In other words, like Bucky Fuller, Jung sees God as a verb: God can be experienced as in mystical revelation, or perhaps in a DMT or psilocybin trip, or during an epiphany, as in when one has a breakthrough or witnesses a scene or piece of art that evokes a sense of agape, wonder, amazement and so on. So, for Jung, these transcendental experiences (in the sense of trascending so-called mundane or purely Western-scientific reality) are what is lost when one disenchants. These experiences are lost when one realizes nothing is intelligent after all (I disagree of course!), when one has the realization that it is naive and immature to imagine human emotions as existing in outer things. These realizations can be liberating, only to form a new, subtler prison. When one ‘grows up’ and stops projecting human emotions onto objects, when one sees trees as meaningless instead of full of personality, when one ceases to live a life of wonder and amazement and instead enters the adult world lacking in synchronicity, where synchronicities are only half-seen (rather than accepted as meaningful coincidence, they are seen as “just” coincidence).

    Of course, for Jung, this was not maturing at all in the sense of following the individuation process, rather it was the drying up or dying of the soul. I suppose one matures whether in the direction of cynicism and bitterness or towards newfound rejuvenation for life. Yet, for Jung, the goal was individuation. Which is why Jung, Marie Louise von Franz and other authors in a similar vein have admonished intellectual fetishism. (I recently read a Jungian author’s critique of deconstruction as basically intellectual fetishism to avoid taking on the hard work of the individuation process, to remain undifferentiated and avoid the painful impotence one experiences when face-to-face with God, so to speak).

  12. [...] experience.  Steven Shaviro posted his talk from SLSA ’11 where he writes, “Nonconscious experience is not an oxymoron; it’s simply that more things are felt than are known.” Shaviro argues that panpsychism, the idea that “all entities are in their own right [...]

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