The Münchhausen Trilemma
I want to start by saying we are in a very gaslighting era. Agreed-upon “truths” have been replaced with Colbert-style “truthiness” driven, in large part, by what I described in my earlier post, this dogmatic epistemology that posits whatever the rich and powerful say is true because they are still rich and powerful. So I really don't mean the timing of this next idea to deepen that sense of “we can never really know anything.” Bear with me!
That said... how do you know what you know? How often do you sit down and think about how the precepts you trust made it into your own personal hall of knowledge? I think about it all the time, and the thing that made me tiresome is the Münchhausen Trilemma, also known as Agrippa's Principles (though those include two more “modes” which I don't really find useful).
The Münchhausen trilemma describes all the ways philosophers, specifically epistemologists, can think of to “prove” truths. When asked if something is true, generally someone will give evidence. But then it becomes reasonable to question THAT evidence, and the evidence for THAT evidence, etc. I think of this process like being a two-year-old: But why? But why?
The three ways to resolve the endless chain of questioning – parents, you're probably familiar with this – are circular reasoning (A is true because B, and B is true because A), ad infinitum (infinite) regression (A is true because B, B is true because C, etc. etc.), or a dogmatic assertion (“because!”).
None of those conclusions are typically how we think a “truth” should be established; in fact, generally each of those conclusions is considered a fault in reasoning. That's why the trilemma is named after German folklore of a man pulling himself out of a quagmire by his own bootstraps (itself a common fallacy nowadays). Of course, the secret fourth conclusion is simply that we don't know, and therefore the Münchhausen trilemma can mean one of two things:
1) We can't know anything; 2) The justifications we have for truths are logically unsatisfying.
Even though it seems like annoying philosophers prefer the first option, most epistemology is built off of sects who basically take the second statement as a starting point and then argue that the issues with their chosen solution – the infinite line, the loop, or the axiom – are trivial or can be solved or minimized by mental gymnastics.
For me, the trilemma has led me down three related paths of thought: Sophism (truth is agreed-upon?), dualism (our inability to resolve Truth stems from, or mirrors, our struggles to resolve the material world from an immaterial mind?), and deconstruction (all knowledge is metaphor?). Hence, many of my most annoying traits.
When I first learned of the trilemma I remember trying it with 2+2=4 (a classic) and the existence of atoms. I remember being struck not only that some of these foundational Truths were indeed infinitely reductive – or reductive until it reached an axiom – but also that I often couldn't regress more than a few principles back before I landed on, “I read this somewhere,” or “it is generally accepted.” Now I won't be studying mathematics to get to the axiom at the end of 2+2=4, but this process has made me attuned to the production of knowledge in each field of thought, which is honestly a fascinating and endlessly curious way to look at the world. (Someday I'll write about Kuhn's The Structure of Scientific Revolution as an excellent application of this curiosity.)
I neither take the trilemma seriously enough to be depressed nor lightly enough to be ignored. Instead, I think it's the most fruitful entry point to examining our own acquisition of knowledge, and from there the production of knowledge from without. By using the trilemma as a simple thought guide, you can start to easily see how much knowledge is persuasion, relativism, or simple dogma. And that's OK – it needn't lead to paralysis. Instead, I think it's actually made me more resilient to times like these where a comfortable common sense has given way to a struggle for ideological supremacy. And neither does it have to mean I don't “believe” in science, or trust physics, or question history – we'll get back to dualism (and I'll write about coherentism).
Try it yourself. Pick a truth, something that feels so fundamental and obvious that it can't be denied, and with applications to your lived experience. Then channel your inner toddler and ask: But why? Until you can't any longer. Where did you land? How did it make you feel? Does it change how you will think?
Thanks for listening.
~