In Harmonium

Posted By Marc on October 7, 2008

I just finished re-reading a very interesting post by John Matthew Barlow over at the CT Lab on Objectivity and Revisionist Historiography.  Towards the end of it, he notes

As the American historian Peter Novick notes, the idea of objectivity in history is about progress, moving towards some objective truth about the past. But this is not possible to find, there are always multiple stories of any one event. Facts do not speak for themselves, they require interpretation, and the interpretation we give to facts depends on our take on them. Hence the role of deconstruction, as we look at the stories we tell and why we tell those stories to ourselves. Why do we perpetuate myths as a culture? And so on.

As I read the post, I started to think about what we mean by “objectivity”, “facts” and “science” since all three are often heavily linked together at a symbolic level.  And, I’ll admit, another reason why Barlows’ post took my attention was because I am writing a paper right now that requires me to both explain and contextualize why stories are as important as theories in an particular genre of writing (Romano-Byzantine military manuals).

Let me start by saying that I suspect that “objectivity” is, de facto, a meaningless term outside the realm of metaphysics.  I was particularly struck by Barlow’s comment that “the idea of objectivity in history is about progress, moving towards some objective truth about the past.”  His comment contains an underlying metaphysical perception / assumption that “objectivity” cannot be a state that humans can inhabit but, rather, is a(n unachievable) goal to which we should strive; we are not “there”, merely “moving towards” (or away from) an ideal.  In short, “objectivity” is the Goal of a metaphysical Quest motif, one that was quite common in 19th and early 20th century science (see here for one example).

Let me expand on the idea of “objectivity” being de faco meaningless outside of metaphysics.  “Objectivity”, as a concept, relies on the assumption that it is possible to stand outside of and, in some ways disconnected from, the “object” of inquiry.  But, in any absolute sense, this is actually impossible since we must either perceive or conceive of an “object” in order to conduct our inquiry.  In the case of perceiving an object, we are not wholly “objective” since the act of perception creates an interaction between us and the object (the Observer Effect) in addition to any other interactions that may be happening.

The case of conceiving an object is somewhat trickier.   Since we cannot perceive it, we can only act as if it were real – “assume” it into existence.  But that act of “assumption into existence” in and of itself “creates” an “object” that “exists” solely within our perception and, as a result of its creation within our perception, it now has a linkage to us thereby making it subject to the Observer Effect (amongst other things) and not a “true object” (in the sense of something that is or can be wholly separate from us).

But if nothing that we perceive or conceive can be a “true object”, why then do the “objective sciences” work so well, at least in the sense of producing predictive models of “objective reality” that may be translated into technologies?  Gregory Bateson answered this question by using an old Gnostic dodge and dividing the world into two (connected but different) realms – creatura and pleroma – with the “dividing line” being that between the “living” (creatura) and the “non-living” (pleroma).  Possibly more importantly, he recognized that there was a distinction in what, for want of a better term, we might call the root of causation.  For Bateson, the world of the non-living was connected via a root of causation that was defined by forces and impacts, while the world of the living was connected via distinctions and differences or, as he phrased it “a pattern that connects” (cf pages 7-11).  This “pattern that connects” within the realm of the living, also extends into the realm of the non-living in that creatura emerges from pleroma.

Bateson (p. 11) argued that there are three logical levels to this pattern that connects.

1. The parts of any member of Creatura are to be compared with other parts of the same individual to give first-order connections.

2. Crabs are to be compared with losters or men with horse to find similar relations between parts (i.e. to give second-order connections).

3. The comparison between crabs and lobsters is to be compared with the comparison between man and horse to produce third-order connections.

Nowhere within his arguments is there a requirement that a given “thing” be studied as an “object”.  His entire approach demands that what is studied is distinction and difference in order to abstract the patterns that connect “things”.  Indeed, his metaphysical position is quite opposed to the concept of “objectivity”; an interpretation illustrated some paragraphs later when he notes

I warned some pages back that we would encounter emptiness, and indeed it is so.  Mind is empty; it is a no-thing.  It exists only in its ideas, and these again are no-things.  Only the ideas are immanent, embodied in heir examples.  And the examples are, again, no-thing.  The claw, as an example, is not the Ding an sich; it is precisely not the “thing in itself.”  Rather, it is what mind makes of it, namely, an example of something or other.

Which brings us back to Barlows remarks on History and to stories.  When we “write” history, we select our “facts”, some of which we can all agree happened (whether or not they actually did is another matter), some of which we can argue about, and many of which we construct as irrelevant to our “research” (who cares if Richard III passed gas at precisely 12:06 on the 20th of August, 1485?).  We are not achieving, despite any stated intentions to the contrary, an “objective” account of an event.  Instead, we construct a “story” based on our perception of “facts” and patterns, and our conceptions of plausibility (might Richrad III’s gas have led him to that all or nothing charge two days later at Boswirth?).

Furthermore, we usually have a purpose, an intentionality, behind our “research”.  As Barlow noted,

Thus, in order to normalise the history of Ireland, Foster and his ilk are less interested in these extraordinary moments in the history of the nation than in looking at a narrative that establishes Ireland as a Western European nation in the mainstream – one that experienced modernisation, industrialisation, and all of the other movements that England, France, Germany, the United States, and so on, experienced.

History, as with other social sciences and humanities, is all about story telling.  Research in these areas is about uncovering “patterns that connect” and communicating those patterns to selected audiences in a manner that will “captivate” them by and through evoking emotions (hopefully the emotions we aim at, but sometimes not).  “Objectiviy”, as it is practiced, is not true objectiviy – the absolute disconnect of the observer and the object.  Rather, “objectivity” is a communicative genre that evokes emotional responses in particular audiences.

Category: Epistemology
Tags: Objectivity, Science, Story telling