Karl Popper was a rationalist of two phrases: trial and error and give and take. Popper liked argument; or, he liked to argue. “A rationalist, as I use the word, is a man who attempts to reach decisions by argument and perhaps, in certain cases, by compromise, rather than by violence. He is a man who would rather be unsuccessful in convincing another man by argument than successful in crushing him by force, by intimidation and threats, or even by persuasive propaganda” (Con and Ref, 356).
Popper didn’t like being disagreed with. In writing about Popper’s fierceness in this regard, Bryan Magee noted that Popper never spoke again to an Israeli student of his who criticized him in a book review. I think that student got his revenge. His name was XXX.
“By argument and perhaps, in certain cases, by compromise”: there was Popper admitting his reluctance to compromise, his preference for being convincing “by argument.” There wasn’t much other than argument for Popper, however often he insisted on the reality of an external world. And as often as he dismissed arguments over the meaning of words, Popper was careful to define the term “rationalist.”
Can what Popper called “the attitude of reasonableness” (C&R 356) be plotted on the violence graph?
In “What is Dialectic?” Popper wrote in his fifth footnote:
In Hegel’s terminology, both the thesis and the antithesis are, by the synthesis, (1) reduced to components (of the synthesis) and they are thereby (2) cancelled (or negated, or annulled, or set aside, or put away) and, at the same time, (3) preserved (or stored, or saved, or put away) and (4) elevated (or lifted to a higher level). The italicized expressions are renderings of the four main meanings of the one German word ‘aufgehoben’ (literally ‘lifted up’) of whose ambiguity Hegel makes much use (C&R 314).
And of Hegel’s much-made-use-of aufgehoben’s ambiguity, Heidegger, Derrida, and numerous others had made much further use by 1963, when Conjectures and Refutations: The Growth of Scientific Knowledge, was first published. (It was revised and published a second [1965] and a third time [1969].) “What is Dialectic?” was a paper read to a philosophy seminar at Canterbury University College, Christchurch, New Zealand, in 1937, and printed in Mind, N. S., 49, in 1940.
Popper’s first language was German. In English, he kept being misunderstood and misinterpreted by other philosophers. Historically, he said, all philosophers have been used to misunderstanding. He did’t say that; he said, used to being misunderstood. Popper probably nowhere admitted that he himself was used to misunderstanding philosophers. He nowhere conjectured that philosophy was a using to misunderstand, a method of misunderstanding.
Contradictions, Popper said, “are extremely fertile” (CR 316). For “fertile,” I read “futile.” I might have read “feral.” No, Popper said, that was “nothing better than a loose and wooly way of speaking” (CR 316). Contradictions were “extremely fertile” if only we refused to “put up with” them. If we accept them, “then they will be barren, and rational criticism, discussion, and intellectual progress will be impossible” (CR 317). Popper’s metaphor was sexual: we should choose to be fruitful and multiply. But he didn’t develop that metaphor. He turned instead to laws of logic and “rules of inference” (317), and criticized the way “dialecticians” use and take “much too seriously” “a number of metaphors”:
An example is the dialectical saying that the thesis ‘produces’ its antithesis. Actually it is only our critical attitude which produces the antithesis, and where such an attitude is lacking—which often is the case—no antithesis will be produced. Similarly, we have to be careful not to think that it is the ‘struggle’ between a thesis and its antithesis which ‘produces’ a synthesis. The struggle is one of minds; and these minds must be productive of new ideas: there are many instances of futile struggles in the history of human thought, struggles which ended in nothing. And even when a synthesis has been reached, it will usually be a rather crude description of the synthesis to say that it ‘preserves’ the better parts of both the thesis and the antithesis (CR 315).
In being “careful” about metaphors, Popper wasn't being careful. In every instance, he preserved the metaphor he was criticizing. His target wasn’t a carelessness with metaphor in his opponents, but their reluctance to specify an agent or agency of production, struggle, and preservation. Who or what does the act, not the mode or method, not how the act is done, got Popper’s correction. After all, as a proponent of fertility, he couldn’t do without “production,” which was here synonymous with conception, gestation, and birth. What does the producing? “Minds” do, not words, concepts, or propositions called “thesis” and “antithesis.” Mind was the womb Popper wanted the dialecticians to have been careful about. People were missing from the dialectical equation, and Popper missed them. “Minds” was his metonymy for men and women, for thinkers, for those who use language to make arguments. A materialist, a rationalist, an objectivist, a methodist of the humanist school, Popper attacked the way materialists of the materialism school talked about the reproductive process. It wasn’t only a matter of preferring fertility to futility; it was a matter of preferring minds to Marxism, democracy to determinism.
In this connection, Popper’s philosophy of the growth of scientific knowledge was the foundation of whatever politics he was supposed to have espoused, just as Kenneth Boulding’s critique of dialectical materialism, which he developed during his year in Japan in 1954, and later elaborated in his Primer on Social Dynamics (1970), grew out of his habits as an economist.
Popper, Boulding, Peirce, Whitehead, Emerson, and Einstein all began with one big theory of the universe; and though they descended reluctantly into particulars, they never omitted to do so. Popper thought that the two greatest men of his time were Einstein and Churchill. Boulding named one of his certainties “the bathtub theorem”; Whitehead, one of his, “the fallacy of misplaced concreteness.” Emerson said, “The whole value of the dime is in knowing what to do with it.” Einstein wrote of clocks and trains, of lights, ships, and a fired bullet, to make his theory of special relativity understood. And as for Peirce, Popper quoted what he called “one of Peirce’s brilliant comments” (I quote Popper as he quotes Peirce):
. . . one who is behind the scenes (Peirce speaks here as an experimentalist) . . . knows that the most refined comparisons [even] of masses [and] lengths, . . . far surpassing in precision all other [physical] measurements, . . . fall behind the accuracy of bank accounts, and that the . . . determinations of physical constants . . . are about on a par with an upholsterer’s measurements of carpets and curtains . . . . (OK 212–13; from Peirce, Collected Papers 6: 35).
Peirce produced Popper; but first, in New England, Peirce produced P. W. Bridgman, who was obsessed with physical operations, and with the description of them, and with the measurement of them; and who was baffled by the way scientists talked about what they did as scientists, and by how others wrote about what scientists did, and thought.
Karl R. Popper produced struggles that preserved the productions that preserved the struggle for “intellectual progress” (317).
Popper’s problem wasn’t metaphors or production. It was what certainties to begin with, such that there was and would be no contradiction, as there seemed on the face of it to be, between the “strict Newtonian laws” and the “laws of chance” that both he and Peirce—men of “the same kidney,” to use a Peirce phrase—believed in. Hence “the most important misunderstandings and muddles arise out of the loose way in which dialecticians speak about contradictions,” Popper said (CR 316). They—Popper named no names—speak about them in a way that “amounts to an attack upon” a “law” of “traditional logic,” “a law which asserts that two contradictory statements can never be true together.” The dialecticians claimed to have a new logic, one that was “at the same time a logical theory and (as we shall see) a general theory of the world.” Nothing in it, Popper declared, “nothing better than a loose and wooly way of thinking” (CR 316).
Popper stood against “having it both ways”; he stood against “mysterious force.” Popper stood for “resolution”; he stood for full explanation; he stood for “one of the few facts of elementary logic which are not quite trivial, and deserve to be known and understood by every thinking man.” He stood for “certain rules of inference” (CR 317). He needed only two (318). He would have preferred not to use the term “dialectic” at all: “we can always use the clearer terminology of the method of trial and error” (323).
The Hegelian dialectic was futile, but Popper patiently described his understanding of it (324–331). Popper wasn’t as patient, or as “objective,” about Hegel’s “philosophy of identity.” He gave his “personal opinion” about it. “I think it represents the worst of all those absurd and incredible philosophical theories to which Descartes refers in the sentence which I have chosen as the motto for this paper” [“There is nothing so absurd or incredible that it has not been asserted by one philosopher or another” (312)] (330). Popper had found Hegel’s philosophy of identity “offered without any sort of serious argument,” and the problem it was “invented to answer—the question, ‘How can our minds grasp the world?’—seemed to Popper confusingly formulated. Popper was funny about how the idealist answer, “namely, ‘Because the world is mind-like,’” had “only the appearance of the answer” (330). He asked, Can the mirror reflect my face because it is face-like? Was Joyce’s symbol of Irish art “the cracked looking-glass of a servant” because Irish art was cracked-looking-glass-like? “Utterly unsound” way to argue, Popper said, but “formulated time and time again.”
Popper picked on James Jeans, the great popularizer of science in the 1920s and 30s, along with Arthur Eddington, but for an interesting reason. “Jeans was uneasy about the fact that our world happens to suit mathematical formulae originally invented by pure mathematicians who did not intend at all to apply their formulae to the world” (330–31). Here Popper, who may never have set out to be a popularizer of anything, followed Einstein, who looked on theories as “free creations of the human mind,” not conclusions arrived at after collecting and analyzing massive data samples. Popper didn’t find that Descartes, Kant, or Hegel began to theorize out of a sense of uneasiness, but Jeans did. Popper said that Kant “started from the fact that science exists. He wanted to explain this fact” (325). Where did Jeans’s uneasiness come from, an uneasiness that most people would feel along with Jeans, if they knew the stimulus as he did? Popper attributed the feeling to Jeans because Jeans “apparently” started off on his intellectual progress as “an ‘inductivist’; that is,”
he thought that theories are obtained from experience by some more or less simple procedure of inference. If one starts from such a position it obviously is astonishing to find that a theory which has been formulated by pure mathematicians, in a purely speculative manner, afterwards proves to be applicable to the physical world (331).
Maybe Popper himself started life as what he called an “inductivist.” Bryan Magee said several times that Popper’s greatness as a philosopher was diminished by his dogged intellectualism, his lack of interest in such crudities as psychology, human interest, etc. Here it is, though: Popper couldn’t stand men who were uneasy with the way things are. Nor was he pure in his conviction that the world was governed strictly by Newton and by chance, and that there was no perfection: if he were, how could he think that there was such a thing as a “pure mathematician” or a “purely speculative manner”? Popper, like the dialectician, would have it both ways, but his two ways weren’t their two ways: that was the difference. Or his two ways weren’t had both ways “at the same time,” as their two ways were had. Poor Jeans, to have gotten started on the wrong foot. What a good boy Karl was, to have stuck in a thumb and pulled out a plum(b):
But for those who are not inductivists, this is not astonishing at all. They know that it happens quite often that a theory put forward as a pure speculation, as a mere possibility, later proves to have its empirical applications. They know that often it is this speculative anticipation which prepares the way for the empirical theories. (In this way the problem of induction, as it is called, has a bearing on the problem of idealism with which we are concerned here.) (331)
And so Popper found himself running backwards and forwards in 1940 and getting nowhere but into the clouds and clocks of 1965, which were Peirce’s haunts in 1865. The important thing, though, was not to be at all astonished. The point was to find oneself in agreement with one of those pure mathematicians, David Hilbert, a sentence of whose Popper made the complementary motto to the third part of his 1940 talk, the synthesis, called “Dialectic After Hegel.” Hilbert’s sentence reads: “The thought that facts or events might mutually contradict each other appears to me as the very paradigm of thoughtlessness” (331). We can all understand that thoughtless thought, and the thoughtful thought that finds it thoughtless—and can do so before Hegel, after Hegel, and without Hegel. Even without Popper.