Monday Morning Musings: The Unavoidability of Anthropomorphism
All descriptive, explanatory, and normative language is, in
one (I hope) nontrivial sense, “anthropocentric.” Indeed, language itself is
anthropomorphic by definition, even if it need not be strongly anthropocentric (as in concepts of impartiality,
objectivity and truth, for example, or in scientific endeavors to understand the
natural world). Poets, philosophers and scientists, as well as the rest of us, depend
on human language to communicate, and thus we are necessarily implicated in
anthropomorphic and often anthropocentric expressions, conceptualizations, and characterizations
or, at the very least, anthropomorphic presuppositions, assumptions and
presumptions. Even the “deepest” ecologist and the most devoted Daoist cannot free
themselves from, or avoid the constraints of, anthropomorphism. Consider, for
instance, the latter: although the Daodejing
of the Daoist—one of the most exquisitely profound expressions of classical
Chinese philosophy—includes many (evocative) suggestions or “imperatives” to
follow (literally and figuratively) the course or order of nature, it too is unavoidably
anthropomorphic. In conceding this, we need not deny the text’s desire, wish,
or quest to transcend, as it were, an anthropomorphic perspective.1 To keep with
our example, the Daoist is insistent that the nature of Dao cannot be put into words, that all “names” are perspectival and
limiting … and often misleading. And yet the Daoist is perforce compelled to
speak about the Dao, even if
enigmatically, aphoristically, and metaphorically, while simultaneously
attempting to have us bear in mind the limitations of language and
conceptualization, much like, if not identical to, the motivating rationale of poetry,
which at once exploits the possibilities and limitations of linguistic expression.
Perhaps the words and formulations of the non-theistic mystic
come as close as is humanly possible to avoiding conceptual anthropomorphism
when endeavoring to “point to” or characterize as best as possible, the nature
of mystical (i.e., the heights of spiritual) experience.2 And one might
plausibly argue that “the misanthrope,” insofar as he can be truly systematic
or consistent (e.g., avoiding all-too-human behavioral and emotional
dispositions or following through on the behavioral consequences or conclusions
of such thoughts and sentiment) in his dislike of or contempt for human beings,
can more or less steer clear of all species of anthropocentrism and
anthropomorphism. Finally, nothing said here denies our ability and frequent need
to distinguish crude from sophisticated anthropomorphism or weak from strong
anthropocentrism.
The following passage from Hilary Putnam’s chapter, “Values,
facts and cognition” in his book Reason,
Truth and History (Cambridge University Press, 1981), well illustrates our contention
regarding the ubiquity of the anthropomorphic bias if you will, or what I
prefer to call the unavoidability of anthropomorphism:
“[F]act, (or truth) and rationality are
interdependent notions. A fact is something that it is rational to believe, or,
more precisely, the notion of a fact (or a true statement) is an idealization
of the notion of a statement that it is rational to believe. [….] [B]eing
rational involves having criteria of relevance as well as criteria of
rational acceptability, and…all of our values are involved in our criteria of
relevance. The decision that a picture of the world is true (or true by our
present lights, or “as true as anything is”) and answers the relevant
questions (as well as we are able to answer them) rests on and reveals our
total system of value commitments. A being with no values would have no facts
either. The way in which criteria of relevance involves values, at least
indirectly, may be seen by examining the simplest statement. Take the sentence ‘The
cat is on the mat.’ If someone actually makes this judgment in a particular
context, then he employs conceptual resources—the notions ‘cat,’ ‘on,’ and ‘mat’—which
are provided by a particular culture, and whose presence and ubiquity reveal
something about the interests and values of that culture, and of almost every
culture. We have the category ‘cat’ because we regard the division of the world
into animals and non-animals as significant, and we are further
interested in what species a given animal belongs to. It is relevant that
there is a cat on the mat and not just a thing. We have the category ‘mat’ because we regard the
division of inanimate things into artifacts and non-artifacts as
significant, and we are further interested in the purpose and nature
a particular artifact has. It is relevant that it is a mat that the cat
is on and just something.
We have the category ‘on’ because we are interested in spatial relations. Notice what we have: we took the
most banal statement imaginable, ‘the cat is on the mat,’ and we found that the
presuppositions which make this statement a relevant one in certain contexts
include the significance of the categories animate/inanimate, purpose,
and space. To a mind
with no disposition to regard these as relevant categories, ‘the cat is
on the mat’ would be as irrational as ‘the number of hexagonal objects
in this room is 76’ would be, uttered in the middle of a tête-à-tête between
young lovers. Not only do very general facts about our value system show
themselves in our categories (artifacts, species name, term for a spatial
relation) but, our more specific values (for example, sensitivity and
compassion), also show up in the use we make of specific classificatory words
(‘considerate,’ ‘selfish’). To repeat, our criteria of relevance rest on and
reveal our whole system of values.”—Hilary Putnam
Notes
1. Cf. the well-known passage from chapter 5: “Heaven and earth are
not humane, they regard the ten thousand things as straw dogs [As Hans-Georg
Moeller explains, ‘straw dogs … were highly revered elements in sacrificial
rituals, but after the ritual they lost all their meaning and were simply
discarded.’]. The sage is not humane. He regards all the people as straw dogs.”
2. See, for example, the
argument(s) on behalf of “pure consciousness events” (PCE) in Robert K.C.
Forman, ed., The Problem of Pure
Consciousness: Mysticism and
Philosophy (Oxford University Press, 1990).
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