Against Empiricism: Galen’s Arguments

Galen’s Rationalism, properly understood and practiced, involves an appropriation of experience, in that by taking hold of and building upon phenomena the doctor-philosopher achieves a superior type of knowledge, an art of medicine.  Insofar as this is the case then, Rationalism is inarguably a more robust theory of knowledge compared to Empiricism, which in fact is subsumed into this Galenic Rationalism.  On the other hand, however, if Empirical phenomena are not incorporated into the superior methods of Rationalist understanding, then to this same degree they are deficient and wanting.  This naked kind of Empiricism is exactly the target of Galen’s criticism, of which I present two arguments below.

The first of these criticisms can be subtle on a first reading, and deals with argument itself.  Galen says,

For it is not their view [the Empiricists] that one can judge the truth of the matters in question in these accounts, since they believe that evident perception and memory suffice for the constitution of all arts.  But, to judge such matters it is necessary to suppose that there is some power in us which is able to consider and to judge what is incompatible and what follows.  If, then, there is no such power in us, we should not endeavor either to produce arguments ourselves or to refute those arguments which have been argued badly (Outline of Empiricism 44 trans. Walzer, Frede).(1)

Galen is not here saying that Empiricists recuse themselves from the dispute about the role of reason in medicine; rather he is forcing the point that the Empiricists have no standing when it comes to arbitrating any dispute because they have nothing to arbitrate by, except inert experience.  In order to appeal to the superiority of Empiricism over Rationalism, one has to make use of reason itself, but this would appeal to something beyond experience and memory, a resource which Empiricism does not have.  In fact, Galen implies that Empiricists are unable to be consistent in their adherence to Empiricism, since even it requires “some power in us which is able to consider and to judge what is incompatible and what follows.”  Thus, even on a strictly Empiricist program, there must be judgments about what is similar or dissimilar, compatible or incompatible, consistent or inconsistent concerning the phenomena under investigation, if one is expected to categorize or understand the information.  In summary, to argue at all is to enter into the Rationalist camp.(2)

There is an equally clever, perhaps sophistic, argument against Empiricism which was mentioned earlier in the treatise as well, but gets it full narrative force in On Medical Experience.  Galen is attempting to use a traditional sorites-type argument and apply it to medical practice.  The puzzle is summarized as follows: if it is agreed that the art of medicine is constituted only by a number of experiences, at precisely what number of experiences do we say that a doctor has acquired the art of medicine?  He pesters the Empiricist to respond as to why a certain number of experiences is not sufficient to guarantee this art: is it 12, 40, 100 times?  No matter the number, though, says Galen, it will be a finite number.  He can then ask why it is that one less than this critical number is not sufficient to constitute the art.  More importantly though, he has shown a point of inconsistency in the Empiricist’s method which cannot be solved by experience.  The inconsistency is that the Empiricist’s initial position was that one experience was insufficient for the acquisition of the art.  But now when say the critical number is 50, in the process of passing from 49 to 50 experiences, that is, the addition of one experience, then the Empiricist claims that this single experience makes all the difference.  I take it this sorites argument appeals to Galen’s earlier contention that Empiricism, in its very nature, is not equipped to deal with arguments, since these lay outside the realm of phenomena.  Yet it also seems that Galen is pointing out something about the very nature of experience.  Experience, as the Empiricist wishes to have it in the medical art, is deeply limited in Galen’s view, because, were it not for the addition of something else at a given point during the procedure of induction, induction would blithely continue on ad infinitum with, quite literally, no reason for it to pause in its course.  The impetus for experiences to coalesce into an art cannot come from experiences themselves, no matter how numerous, but from some guiding rational principle that orders and arranges the information into a comprehensible whole.  This rational principle, of course, if it is discerned by a faculty specially designated to identify this rationality, need only be exposed to the faculty a single time for it to be properly identified.  This efficacy, a singular identification from a single exposure, is Galen’s point, and he is here forcing the Empiricist to concede it, whether it be Galen’s explanation of a Rationalist faculty or under the conditions of Empiricist induction, as this sorites argument would have it.


 

Footnotes:

(1) This text is extant only in a Latin translation by Nicolaus of Reggio in 1341.  I unfortunately do not have access to this text.

(2) There is not only an appeal to rational argument, but further, to a faculty, perhaps analogous to that between experience and the senses.  Thus there is both reason and the faculty of reason, neither of which the Empiricist can appeal to.  This argument plays right into Galen’s second objection as well, as I show.

References:

Galen. “An Outline of Empiricism.” Three Treatises on the Nature of Science. Trans. Richard Walzer and Michael Frede. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Pub., 1985.

Galen. “On Medical Experience.” Three Treatises on the Nature of Science. Trans. Richard Walzer and Michael Frede. Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Pub., 1985.

What is Aether in Aristotle and Plato (and Hesiod)?

Here we have three accounts: Aristotle, Plato and Hesiod, on the etymology of aether. Despite being the non-philosopher, with typically non-rational, mythological explanations, guess who comes closest to the correct explanation as originating from aitho (αἴθω) light up, kindle and in the passive (αἴθομαι) burn, blaze? On a related and decidedly politically incorrect note, the Greek name for Ethiopians is literally “[sun]burnt face.”

We call the substance of the heaven and stars “aether,” not as some do, because it burns (aithesthai), being fire-like, although they are wrong about this ability, which is confused for fire’s, but because it is always moving (aei thein), being carried in a circular motion, being an element different than the four, unmixed and divine. (Aristotle, On the Cosmos, 392a) [1]

I construe “aether” in this way, that it is always running (aei thei), because it flows around the air (aera reon), so it would justly be called aeitheer. (Plato, Cratylus, 410b) [2]

and in turn Aether and Day came forth from Night,
whom she gave birth to after mingling in love with Erebus…
(Hesiod, Theogony, 124-125) [3]

We can see here that, although not explicit, Hediod’s account, which pairs Day and Aether together, clearly considers Aether to be something like “shining” or “brightness,” in contrast to the blackness of Night, from which every day, and its light, comes forth.

Hesiod appears to be the clear winner, although to be fair, Aristotle is usually not taken to be the author of On The Cosmos.

 


REFERENCES

[1] Οὐρανοῦ δὲ καὶ ἄστρων οὐσίαν μὲν αἰθέρα καλοῦμεν, οὐχ, ὥς τινες, διὰ τὸ πυρώδη οὖσαν αἴθεσθαι, πλημμελοῦντες περὶ τὴν πλεῖστον πυρὸς ἀπηλλαγμένην δύναμιν, ἀλλὰ διὰ τὸ ἀεὶ θεῖν κυκλοφορουμένην, στοιχεῖον οὖσαν ἕτερον τῶν τεττάρων, ἀκήρατόν τε καὶ θεῖον.

[2] τὸν δὲ αἰθέρα τῇδέ πῃ ὑπολαμβάνω, ὅτι ἀεὶ θεῖ περὶ τὸν ἀέρα ῥέων ἀειθεὴρ δικαίως ἂν καλοῖτο.

[3] Νυκτὸς δ᾿ αὖτ᾿ Αἰθήρ τε καὶ Ἡμέρη ἐξεγένοντο,
οὓς τέκε κυσαμένη Ἐρέβει φιλότητι μιγεῖσα..

 

The “Verbatim Standard” of Quoting Texts

You construe it exactly, Theatetus.  For I say it is necessary for us to make the path in this way, as if they were present while we learn by asking them (translation mine, Sophist, 243d6-8). [1]

In the previous post I discussed the infamous critique of writing from Plato’s dialogue, the Phaedrus.  Much of the gravity of Plato’s critique depends on the conviction that the written word is an inadequate representation of the language breathed by a real-life author.  Of course, for this to have its proper impact, the author is, metaphorically, the master, while the text is the slave.  That is, the text is fully subordinate to the designs of the author, to whom we should really or imaginatively direct our questions and critiques.

One non-obvious consequence that follows from such a view is the principle of charity.  When a given text is like an envoy, limited in the expression of official policy, we will not attack vulnerable nouns and verbs to manipulate into contradiction.  We are to understand, or imagine, that the author would readily refute our misunderstandings or mischaracterizations.

Yet there is another aspect in the critique of writing relating to how we do the history of philosophy.  Some would claim, as I have written before, that “ancient philosophy” is not out there as a hunted animal to be found, but it must be created from a dilapidated carcass, more or less well as it turns out, if we are bad or good reconstructive taxidermists.  An extreme, yet not unfamiliar version is that the text can be nothing until it is interpreted in some way–– meaning not that there is always a need for a reader, but that the reader has the freedom to call forth a privileged reading of the text exclusively, and perhaps non-critically, available only to himself.

If one is committed to this view about texts though, there is actually little to encourage him to reference an opponent’s actual words.  That is, verbatim citation is superfluous and rudimentary: what is valuable is the textual chemistry that has been brought into being, the ingredients which spurred the reading are merely an intellectual curio.  Nor would it seem very fruitful to excavate the means by which the reader arrived at the particular interpretation, for this would involve an impossible penetration into the workings of an idiosyncratic mind and a dynamic text.  Furthermore there would be little ground to stand on to support the criticism, as there often is now, about Plato or Aristotle for instance, who seem to have loose criteria for what qualifies as quotations.  If a loyal reading of Parmenides emerges for Plato, then his lack of accuracy when it comes to quotations is unproblematic.  On the other hand, if Plato’s reading of Parmenides does not maintain a certain fidelity to its source, then this does not matter either, for on the view we have been considering, there is no such original entity, nor, we may assume, is there an author of something which does not exist.


 

REFERENCES:

[1] Κατὰ πόδα γε, ὦ Θεαίτητε, ὑπέλαβες. λέγω γὰρ
δὴ ταύτῃ δεῖν ποιεῖσθαι τὴν μέθοδον ἡμᾶς, οἷον αὐτῶν
παρόντων ἀναπυνθανομένους ὧδε·