What Is Metaphysics?

Who has not wondered why we exist and where we fit into the whole of what there is? Indeed, why does anything at all exist, why not rather nothing? Is there some real or ultimate nature of things, some hidden essence, in light of which we should lead our lives? Is there some permanent reality behind the changing appearances of things? Some cosmic design that tells us who we are and what to do? Or did the universe just "happen," having no meaning save what we supply from within ourselves?

These are a few of the questions metaphysicians traditionally try to answer. We shall be looking at some of their attempts in the chapters ahead. The world's great religions also offer answers to questions like these, by appealing to their founding prophets, to revelation, scripture, mystical insight. The sciences, by contrast, are supposed to make no value judgments --certainly none of the sort needed to answer metaphysical questions. Nevertheless, the sciences do tell us a lot that must be taken into account in any attempt to find answers. Astrophysics tells us a lot about the origins of the universe, evolutionary biology about how we came into being on this planet, and psychology about the roots of our thoughts, perceptions, and emotions.

What, then, distinguishes metaphysics from religion and from science? Religion and metaphysics differ in several ways, but one is especially important. It is true that members of a given religion often reflect deeply and carefully on the relations between their faith and such knowledge as we may have from the sciences, from history, philosophy, and much else. But religious reflection of this sort -- however rigorous, however daring -- characteristically will not allow itself to reject the basic or core beliefs of the faith within which it takes place. Such reflection is to be thought of as "faith seeking understanding," an activity from within which it is inconceivable that the understanding achieved could ever impeach the faith that seeks it.

Metaphysicians, on the other hand, require themselves to be fully self-critical, at least so far as possible, in the sense of accepting nothing as beyond question. In practice, of course, many a metaphysician has assumed various matters without argument, thinking them so basic or foundational as to require none. But in principle, at least, nothing is to be accepted simply on faith or on authority or out of inertia or failure to imagine alternatives. Instead, we are to follow the evidence and arguments wherever they lead, no matter whose ox is gored. One is reminded of Nietzsche (1844-1900): "A very popular error: having the courage of one's convictions; rather it is a matter of having the courage for an attack on one's convictions." Metaphysicians need therefore to regard their enterprise with the sense of irony that comes of realizing how vulnerable one's own presuppositions can be.

But is this contrast between religion and metaphysics really so clear? Doesn't there remain room, as many would argue, for theologians -- thinkers who are both metaphysicians and of the faith? After all, the best evidence could point to the correctness of the faith in question, a possibility that should not be excluded; and a number of theologians have made profound contributions to metaphysics. True enough. But the important question is what the thinker's response is likely to be if the evidence happens to turn against the faith. If your response is immediately to reject or reinterpret the evidence and defend the faith, then for the moment you are on the religious side of the divide. On the other hand, if your response is either to suspend judgment, or to wonder whether the faith was wrong after all and to start thinking about alternatives, then you are on the metaphysical side; you have what is called the "metaphysical itch." Giving up a faith can be painful, even terrifying, not least because of the time and struggle needed to rethink one's life. Taking metaphysics seriously therefore demands considerable courage. One metaphysician -- Santayana (1863-1952) -- has even gone so far as to say, "Ah, wisdom is sharper than death and only the brave can love her."

Science shares with metaphysics the imperative to go wherever the evidence leads. Nonetheless, it too stops short of adopting the full aims of metaphysics, in at least two ways. One way is to refrain from value judgments -- or rather from certain sorts of value judgments, since important values guide the conduct of science, as for example in deciding which problems to work on, which ones to drop, and what methods to use. One sort of value judgment we are to renounce is whether a given fact -- say, that 21% of American adults believe it is the sun that goes around the earth -- is good or bad, and what we should do about it.

Another and related sort of value judgment the sciences are to avoid involves "normative interpretation" of the facts. It is a fact that a brilliant sunset is a certain scattering of solar photons by particles in the atmosphere, or at least is caused by the scattering. But is this fact normatively more significant or more valuable than the fact that the sunset appears beautiful to us, or that it may mean fair weather for tomorrow's outing? Which fact takes priority, and what kind of priority is this? Physics as physics is mute here, as is meteorology, whereas metaphysics is expected to have something to say. Likewise, evolutionary biology has nothing to say about how we should lead our lives, or what meaning they can have, in light of what seems to be evolutionary biology's own lesson that humankind evolved by accident, via the mechanisms of random mutation and natural selection.

Another way in which science stops short is by not inquiring into whether its truths represent the real or ultimate nature of the world, assuming there is such a thing, or whether they are just one among many equally privileged kinds of truth. How "fundamental" are the truths of physics, and in what sense? Do they enjoy some sort of unconditional priority over truths from other domains? In particular, is it a more basic truth that the sunset is a scattering of photons than that it means certain things to us? And what of the fact that all things in the world have various objective physical properties --mass-energy, say, or gravitational relation to neighbors, or reaction to some energy field? Does this mean that all things, persons included, are physical in nature, that they are nothing but material things? Many individual scientists have definite views on these issues, but not in their professional roles as scientists. Discussions of such matters are not to be found in their scientific research papers or textbooks.

Nor do scientists in their professional roles discuss the relations between science and religion, whereas metaphysicians traditionally do. Indeed, metaphysicians traditionally are supposed to say something about the relations among all the disciplines, and further among all the varieties of experience. This ambition to be completely comprehensive -- some would say this pretension -- opens the metaphysician to ridicule in many quarters. Who, after all, can claim to know so much? Perhaps in Aristotle's day (384-322 B.C.), when the disciplines were fewer and simpler, a metaphysician could plausibly claim such sweeping knowledge, but that day is long gone. Nonetheless, in later chapters we shall see how, without pretending omniscience, today's metaphysician might explain the relations among the disciplines and among the varieties of experience.

What then is metaphysics? Evidently it is the art of wondering about certain fundamental questions -- questions that arise when we try to make sense of our lives -- including questions as to what if anything are the origins, the nature, the meaning, and the unity of all there is. Further, it is an art in which we are to follow the evidence and arguments honestly, self-critically, and with a certain sense of irony, wherever they may lead, as we attempt to form a coherent view of all there is and of our place in it. Even though the scientific facts are to be taken fully into account, we are to venture the value judgments needed for giving normative interpretations of these facts. And we are to consider whether certain kinds of truth are "basic" or "prior," scientific truth included, and to explain the relations among the disciplines and the varieties of experience.

This rough idea of what metaphysics is is not meant to cover everything that has been called "metaphysics," nor is it meant to preclude characterizations that emphasize other strands of the long tradition of philosophical reflection on these matters. But it does capture an important core of strands, a core that runs from Thales (early 6th century B.C.) to the present and through much non-Western metaphysics as well.

Even so, some philosophers will object to this portrayal of metaphysics. According to them, metaphysics by its very nature is committed to much more than the portrayal implies. In particular, they believe metaphysics is committed to there being a real or intrinsic or essential nature of things, hence to there being a privileged kind of truth about the world (spiritual truth, or moral, or physical, or whatever). Yet according to the portrayal, there could be a metaphysics committed to no such view. It says only that metaphysics is the art of wondering about what if anything are the nature, the meaning, and the unity of all there is. Hence the metaphysician is free to conclude that there is no such thing as the nature of things, the meaning of it all, the way the world is, one kind of privileged truth about the world. There may be many.

The issue here is largely whether metaphysics is committed to essentialism, according to which each thing has some of its properties not accidentally or contingently but necessarily, by virtue solely of being the thing it is. A property is said to be essential to a thing x when necessarily x has the property; x has the property in any possible world whatever in which x exists. These essential properties of x make up x's essence. They are often said to constitute the thing's real or intrinsic or ultimate nature.

Those who believe metaphysics is committed to essentialism tend to rely on the following account. Aristotle originated or at least defined metaphysics as the theory of being qua being (that is, of being as being). Metaphysicians have followed Aristotle in this regard ever since. Further, Aristotle's theory of being qua being was a theory of what each and every thing is essentially, qua itself. The metaphysician is to start by considering an individual -- Jones, say -- not under this or that aspect (not as student or as friend or as athlete or ... )but simply as Jones. Next, one is to find what properties Jones has as Jones -- what properties are essential to Jones' being Jones, the properties without which Jones could not exist. It follows that the inquiry Aristotle defined presupposes essentialism, and so therefore does all metaphysics properly so-called.

If this historical account is right, anyone who rejects essentialism will be compelled to reject metaphysics. Many of the leading philosophers of the 20th century do emphatically reject essentialism. Under the influence of this historical account, many of them go on to reject the whole enterprise of metaphysics; its ancestry conceals a horse thief. But is it so clear that essentialism is presupposed by the inquiry Aristotle defined? In particular, why doesn't anti-essentialism also count as a theory of being qua being?

According to anti-essentialism, to be is to have no property essentially; given any being qua being, there is no necessary connection between it and any property it may have. There is no necessary connection between Jones qua Jones and any property Jones may have. There are plenty of properties Jones does have, qua student, or qua friend, or whatever. We may even say that Jones is "essentially human," but only so long as we recognize that this just means Jones is essentially human qua student or qua friend, and that the necessity involved in Jones' being essentially human qua student, for instance, derives from a necessary connection between properties: necessarily, anything that has the property of being a student has the property of being human. This is very different from a necessary connection between an individual and a property. Thus talk of essence and accident is admissible, but only if such talk is relativized to a context in which the individual is being represented or described under some particular aspect (as student, as friend, as ... ).

Whether or not anti-essentialism is right, the fact that it can be construed as a theory of being qua being shows that essentialism is not presupposed by the inquiry Aristotle defined. Aristotle may be entitled to his essentialist theory of being qua being, but he falls short of methodological neutrality insofar as he defines metaphysics as the general theory of what each and every thing is essentially, qua itself. The kind of systematic philosophy we call metaphysics evidently is not committed to "the notion that man's essence is to be a knower of essences," though of course some varieties of systematic philosophy are so committed.

One can even argue that Protagorean relativism is a theory of being qua being, and thus counts as a metaphysics. Protagoras (fifth century B.C.) believed that nothing exists in itself but only in relation to something else. In particular, all things exist only in relation to human perception, so that "Man is the measure of all things." For Protagoras, a thing has its properties not in itself, not absolutely, but only relatively; to be is to be relative. This kind of view surely counts as a theory of being as being. Thus "if metaphysics ... is to be identified with [the theory of being qua being], no purer metaphysical doctrine can possibly be found than the Protagorean thesis that to be (anything at all)is to be relative (to something or other)."

Note also that if relativism is right, essentialism is automatically wrong. For if a thing exists and has all its properties only relative to something else, it can have none of its properties solely by virtue of being the thing it is. If relativism is wrong, so that at least some of a thing's properties belong to it absolutely, then the debate between essentialists and anti-essentialists is a debate about whether, among the properties a thing has absolutely, it also has some essentially. All this is true not only of Protagorean perceptual relativism but of conceptual relativism (stimulated largely by Kant (1724-1804)). Conceptual relativists hold that a thing does not exist in itself or independently, but only relative to some conceptual scheme, as we see further in Chapter 4, when we discuss what a thing or a being is, and whether there is a ground of beings.

Much traditional metaphysics is essentialist to some degree. Much of it presupposes there is some one way the world essentially or really is, so that a certain kind of description is basic or privileged, or forms the one true theory. Such a presupposition is said to be "totalizing" or "monopolistic." But this presupposition, like any other, is in uneasy tension with the metaphysician's own ironic imperative to be fully self-critical and to go wherever the evidence might lead. For we might be led to reject the very idea of the way the world is and of some uniquely privileged vocabulary to describe the way. That it rarely occurred to traditional metaphysicians to suspect that the evidence might actually turn against the very idea is no reason to enshrine their contrary presupposition as some sort of defining feature of metaphysics. Why define metaphysics in such a way as to prejudge one of its fundamental questions? Instead, we should think of "pluralism," as we might call it, as a logically possible metaphysical position that happened not to be filled.

Or at least it happened not to be filled very often. There seem to have been some pluralist varieties of metaphysics, or at any rate pluralist tendencies that occasionally emerge alongside the more familiar totalizing or monopolistic varieties. There are pluralist themes in some Buddhist metaphysics. Among the Hindus, a 13th-century thinker, Madhva, holds that the properties of entities are many and diverse, that their significance is relative to some aspect or point of view from which we describe an entity, and that each entity has its own peculiar character as a result of its different relations to other entities. Similar ideas can perhaps be found in what Leibniz (1646-1716) says about the monads (units) he thinks compose the world, and perhaps also in what Whitehead (1861-1947) says about the "actual occasions of becoming" he thinks compose the world. But pluralism, in the intended sense, does seem rare in Western philosophy until recently.

Traditional metaphysicians make a number of further presuppositions that are not strictly essentialist but are often associated with essentialism. Like essentialism itself, they are not entailed by the idea that metaphysics is the art of wondering what if anything are the origins, the nature, the meaning and the unity of all there is. Traditional metaphysicians often suppose that their theses are necessarily true -- true not only of this world but of any possible world, unlike contingent theses, which are true of some worlds and false of others. Often they suppose that the theses are not known a posteriori (that is, not known only after experience or observation). Instead they are known a priori (that is, prior to experience), through pure reason, rational intuition, the analysis of concepts, or inference to conditions necessary for the very possibility of understanding. Often traditional metaphysicians give pride of place to matters they think are self-evidently given or present to consciousness or to the inquiring rational subject. Or the rational subject may be conceived of as known immediately and fully to itself, and as autonomous or completely independent of any natural or social fabric of fellow inquirers, hence as disengaged and disembodied, standing over against a world of objects. Sometimes Platonic notions of truth, reality and goodness are presupposed, according to which truth, reality and goodness are transcendent objects, perhaps beyond space and time. Somehow these transcendent objects impose themselves on receptive subjects and provide unshakable foundations for all knowledge, or at least rules for reaching rational agreement. Finally, traditional metaphysicians often think of themselves as exploring a hidden, supersensible, or supernatural reality, or even a transcendental thing-in-itself behind the appearances available to common sense or to science.

In each case there is no reason to enshrine the presupposition, however traditional, as a defining feature of metaphysics. In each case we can imagine a metaphysics that rejects the presupposition (in light of some evidence or argument), and we can point to examples from the history of the subject that do so. But even though in each case there is a metaphysics that rejects the presupposition, can we conceive of a coherent metaphysics that simultaneously rejects them all? That is, could there be a coherent metaphysics that (i) rejects essentialism and the very idea of the way the world is, together with the idea of a privileged vocabulary to express it; (ii) consists of principles that are contingent, a posteriori, fallible and revisable; (iii)involves no commitment to self-evident or other givens, and none to the subject as known immediately and fully to itself, or as autonomous and disengaged; (iv) avoids not only problematic notions of truth, goodness and reality, but all talk of foundations; (v) is not about some transcendental thing-in-itself beyond the appearances available to common sense and science; and (vi) presents an intelligible overall view of what if anything are the origins, the nature, the meaning, and the unity of all there is and our place in it? Could there be such a metaphysics? Could we use it to make sense of our lives?

Perhaps. But before galloping off like don Quixote to find it, one should pause to ask how important it is that such a metaphysics be possible. The answer depends on how objectionable the traditional presuppositions are. The more objectionable they are, the more important it is for there to be a metaphysics that rejects them, and the harder the metaphysical Quixote must try to find it. Many philosophers now think these presuppositions ought to be rejected not just piecemeal but altogether, as we see in more detail in the next chapter. Indeed, some think the decisive considerations against them were implicit in much traditional metaphysics, so that there is a sense in which metaphysics has self-destructed. In any case, if the traditional presuppositions must all be rejected -- a very big `if', according to some -- and if no coherent metaphysics is possible that rejects them all, metaphysics in general is impossible. Its long history would be at an end, and any further such quest would be truly quixotic.