I wrote the following in response to a Muslim on a New York Times opinion piece on Facebook. Everyone who discusses the actions of the Judeo-Christian and/or Muslim gods focuses far too much on the moral and legal ramifications of said actions. No one realizes that, per the theist, their god is perfectly logical. As such, the logical dimension of an action attributed to this god has to be captured. With that in mind, I offered the following.
Even if punishing children for the crimes of their parents is either moral or legal, though we haven’t apprehended that as of yet, there’s still the issue that it isn’t logical. Logic is a priori and therefore, logic for humans is logic for the god of monotheism. Just as we can’t make a round square or sided circle, neither can god. Per the philosophically inclined theist, the laws of logic, as an extension of his creative power, are part of him and as such, he can’t violate his own nature. As such, god would be perfectly logical and would thus reason perfectly, which means he wouldn’t commit logical fallacies. Given that, he wouldn’t commit an act that’s based in the fallacy of guilt by association. To punish a child for their parents crimes is exactly that! God would be finding someone guilty do to their association or more specifically, their relation to a sinner.
To my mind, this is the ultimate defeater because it should be clear that the Judeo-Christian and Muslim gods have acted on the basis of fallacious logic. It would make more sense that such actions are the actions of people who wished to attribute said actions to a god, perhaps for sake of justifying their actions and attempting to spare themselves any guilt they might have felt. Clearly, however, a perfectly logical god wouldn’t base any of its actions on fallacious logic. The doctrine of original sin, for instance, is itself based on guilt by association. So even if a Christian fails to see the moral failing in such a doctrine, they would have to concede that there’s certainly a logical failing.
As is commonplace when discussing religion, there’s always someone who will disagree, either because they’re religious or are agnostics who favor belief over non-belief. This individual contended that the soundness of informal fallacies is established a posteriori rather than a priori. He also stated that god might have written guilt into our DNA and that therefore, it is heritable. I found that both of these contentions neither change my argument nor succeed at defeating it.
The reason for this is because I don’t think that every informal fallacy’s soundness is determined a posteriori. If soundness is reached via reason, and I see no reason to add an empirical dimension to determine the soundness of an informal fallacy, then that is also a priori. Even still, however, a perfectly logical being wouldn’t reason fallaciously, let alone base his actions on fallacious reasoning. Even if inherited guilt was built into our DNA, which no empirical research has shown, there’s still a logical issue with making a child pay for their parents sins. So even if I somehow inherit the guilt of my mother’s marital infedility, that doesn’t mean that I should pay the price for her adultery.
Collective guilt, for example, is a thing. I am, for instance, ashamed of my country’s actions. I am American and at the moment and for practically my whole life, I haven’t been proud to be one. I feel guilty being a citizen of a country that murdered millions of Native Americans and stripped them of their lands, allowed slavery, incarcerated Japanese citizens in internment camps, and incarcerates rates Blacks and Latinos disproportionately in comparison to other ethnic groups — aside from the many other human rights infractions this country has committed. That, however, does not mean that I should pay the price for American crimes. While some people may be perfectly content to make me pay on the basis of guilt by association (i.e. well, he’s an American, so his arrest or death is good enough for me!), a perfectly logical being simply should not and would not be content with passing such a sentence. It isn’t logical, just, or moral, but alas, the Judeo-Christian and Muslim gods are said to behave accordingly. If a theist or an agnostic who favors theism is reluctant to admit that there are moral or legal failings in the actions of these theistic gods, they must admit that there are clear logical failings in their actions. That poses yet another problem in a long list of problems for theism.
By R.N. Carmona
As sort of a reply to the article I posted earlier, I have decided to present Chapter 4 of my book Philosophical Atheism in full. Plantinga’s version of the Ontological Argument is seen as the most updated and formidable. It also makes use of the clause in Nagasawa’s article, namely that since it’s possible that god is necessary, it follows that he is necessary. In my book I explain why I’m extremely skeptical of that clause because I see the leap from logically conceivable to logically possible as flawed; moreover, I see the jump from logically possible to logically probable as flawed, and therefore, see the leap from logically probable to actual as flawed. Never mind that the necessity of such a being is without warrant. Despite the supposed strength of Plantinga’s argument, it is irreparably more flawed than its predecessors. Please read below to find out why.
In order to be charitable to theists, I will forgo discussing Anselm’s Ontological Argument altogether, especially since most of them consider it less preferable when compared to Plantinga’s version or the modal argument. Since Plantinga’s version fails for the same reasons, I will discuss the modal ontological argument. The modal version is as follows:
P1 If God exists then he has necessary existence.
P2 Either God has necessary existence, or he doesn’t.
P3 If God doesn‘t have necessary existence, then he necessarily doesn’t.
P4 Therefore: Either God has necessary existence, or he necessarily doesn’t.
P5 If God necessarily doesn’t have necessary existence, then God necessarily doesn’t exist.
P6 Therefore: Either God has necessary existence, or he necessarily doesn’t exist.
P7 It is not the case that God necessarily doesn’t exist.
P8 Therefore: God has necessary existence.
P9 If God has necessary existence, then God exists.
C Therefore: God exists.
The first bad assumption is found in the first premise. Before I demonstrate why, it is useful to define necessary existence. An entity that exists in all possible worlds necessarily exists, i.e., a being that cannot fail to exist. Leibniz coined the term when he put forth the idea that god created “the best of all possible worlds,” which is one of the earliest theodicies. Philosophers conclude that it is probable that god is a necessary being; however, that conclusion isn’t indicative of truth. Therefore, it is a bad assumption to begin an argument with such an obscure probability.
Philosophers do not state how probable the necessary existence of god is. It is probable that god does not necessarily exist. That allusion can be found in premise two. Also, one could just as easily argue that either there are seven perfect beings who necessarily exist or any other random number of gods so long as we are able to begin with the unwarranted assumption that there are necessary beings. Nothing but our intuition of simplicity is reason to choose one necessary being rather than seven or eight. The possibility of god not having necessary existence is entirely ignored in premise seven — the second bad assumption and the worst of the two. By what authority does one arrive at that premise? Therefore, it follows that what comes after premise seven isn’t true.
God is believed to have necessary existence for a number of reasons; the greatest of these reasons is the assumption that he is eternal, a belief stemming from Anselm. From there, believers posit that god’s existence doesn’t require an explanation. Richard Dawkins and other atheists ignore this assumption when asking, “where did god come from?” From a believer’s point of view, god isn’t a contingent being. Therefore, to them, the question is nonsensical. There is, however, a better option for atheists and it’s the option normally chosen perhaps without realizing: god is an impossible being. An impossible entity is an entity that doesn’t exist in any possible world, i.e., a being that fails to exist in all possible worlds, e.g., a seven sided octagon; a rectangular oval. With that said, I present the equally valid Modal Anti-Ontological Argument:
P1 If God doesn’t exist then he has impossible existence.
P2 Either God has impossible existence, or he doesn’t.
P3 If God doesn’t have impossible existence, then he necessarily doesn’t.
P4 Therefore: Either God has impossible existence, or he necessarily doesn’t.
P5 If God necessarily doesn’t have impossible existence, then God necessarily exists.
P6 Therefore: Either God has impossible existence, or he necessarily exists.
P7 It is not the case that God necessarily exists.
P8 Therefore: God has impossible existence.
P9 If God has impossible existence, then God doesn’t exist.
C Therefore: God doesn’t exist.
If apologists want to argue that their argument is valid, they must grant that the above argument is also. What’s left is to consider which of the two is sound. Unlike the probability apologists put forth, a probability that is bolstered by theological motivations, I can put forth a concrete probability: it is highly probable that the Judeo-Christian god — the god that the Ontological Argument was designed to defend — does not exist. Thus, the modal anti-ontological is sound. I am, of course, putting the cart before the horse as I have yet to argue for that conclusion. That will, in part, be the task of the second part of this work.
It is time now to turn to Plantinga’s version of the argument and to show why it falls into the same trap. I will also address one of the primary motivations driving believers to accept some version of the ontological argument. Plantinga’s version is considered “victorious” not because it is an ironclad, unassailable version of the argument, but rather, because it succeeds at showing that belief in god is rational. The jury is still out with regards to that, but one thing is for certain, Plantinga’s argument does not succeed where the other versions have failed. In fact, it falls victim to a similar contra-argument. Plantinga’s version can be formulated as follows:
P1 A being has maximal excellence in a given possible world W if and only if it is omnipotent, omniscient and wholly good in W; and
P2 A being has maximal greatness if it has maximal excellence in every possible world.
P3 It is possible that there is a being that has maximal greatness.
P4 Therefore, possibly, it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly good being exists.
C Therefore, it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent and perfectly good being exists.
The contra-argument would begin with (1) and (2); it would, in other words, accept the definitions of a being with maximal excellence and a being with maximal greatness. It would diverge beginning at (3) and would therefore continue as follows:
(3) It is impossible that there is a being that has maximal greatness.
(4) Therefore, possibly, it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent, and perfectly good being does not exist.
(5) Therefore, it is necessarily true that an omniscient, omnipotent and perfectly good being does not exist.
Like in the case of the modal version, if a believer claims that Plantinga’s version is valid, s/he must also admit that this version is also. We would again be obligated to consider which of the two is sound.
Curiously, the first premise has another glaring problem. It has, more specifically, an inescapable entailment. The first premise appears to imply that it is possible that there exists a being that has maximal excellence but doesn’t have maximal greatness. There is a being that is omnipotent, omniscient and wholly good in Y, but not in X. This possibility leaves the door wide open for polytheism and also implies that in some possible world(s) there exists beings who can rival god in the worlds in which they happen to exist. Certainly Plantinga doesn’t intend to allow for these implications, but the first premise obviously entails precisely that. Far from being “victorious,” the argument leads to issues that are simply not found in Anselm’s version.
It is useful to note that even if Plantinga or any Christian rejects the contra-argument, the first premise can be challenged. Rather than quibble with what is meant by maximal excellence, an atheist can accept the definition as it stands. The atheist can, however, question whether this is possible world W in where a being of maximal excellence exists and explore the consequences if it turns out that this isn’t that possible world. In other words, if this isn’t that specific possible world, then the argument is speaking of a possible world that is inaccessible to the believer and the believer is therefore in no better position to convince the non-believer. Put another way, if a being of maximal excellence doesn’t exist in this possible world, then it possibly exists in another world that cannot be accessed by any of the inhabitants in this world. There is therefore no utility or pragmatic value in belief. The argument would only speak of a logical possibility that is ontologically impossible in this world.
The atheist can take it a step further. What Christian theists purport to know about god stems from the Bible. The Bible, in other words, gives us information about god, his character, and his history as it relates to this world. Assuming this is possible world W, does he represent a being having maximal excellence? Is he, for instance, identical to a being who is wholly good? Any honest consideration of parts of the Bible would lead one to conclude that god is not identical to a being who is wholly good; god, in other words, isn’t wholly good. So obvious is his evil that Marcion of Sinope diverged from proto-Orthodox Christians in concluding that the Jewish God in the Old Testament is an evil deity and is in no way the father of Jesus. Yet if he’s evil, then he isn’t wholly good and if he isn’t wholly good, he fails to have maximal excellence. Moreover, and much more damning to Plantinga’s argument, is that a being of maximal greatness has maximal excellence in all worlds. Therefore, if this being does not have maximal excellence in one of those worlds or more specifically, in this world, then it does not possess maximal greatness. Far from victorious, Plantinga’s argument would taste irreparable defeat and this, in more ways than one.
It is time now to consider one motivation a believer may have for accepting a given version of the ontological argument, namely abstract objects. The prevalent school of thought among such believers is that all abstract objects depend on god for their existence. More specifically, abstract objects depend on god for their existence. When one considers that abstract objects need not depend on god for their existence, one should no longer have any motivation to accept the ontological argument as sound. Without entering the metaphysical waters of Lewis’ counterfactuals, one can consider specific abstract objects. One can consider the sort of moral truths discussed in the previous chapter and see that they have naturalistic origins.
One can also consider universals. When concerning universals, there are three views: Platonic, Aristotelian, and Nominalist. Given these three views, some have located a controversy. Yet one can dismiss one of the views on a number of grounds. Prior to dismissing one of the views, it is necessary to elaborate on them.
On the Platonic view, known as Platonic realism, universals exist in a supernatural realm, the realm of forms. These forms give meaning to the terms we use. These abstractions actually exist. So when we speak of all people having ‘humanity’, humanity exists in the realm of forms. That is to say that the form ‘humanity’ is an incorporeal form that corresponds to what all people have in common.
According to the Aristotelian view, Aristotelian realism, which was championed by Peter Abelard, universals are properties or relations held in common by given objects. Humanity therefore exists in the natural realm and not in a supernatural realm. It is a relation all people hold in common and the universal is a term that represents this relation. ‘Manhood’ or ‘blackness’ are instantiated in all men and all black things respectively. This leads to a glaring issue. Clearly, a black table, a black chair, and a black shirt are different objects and yet, they have in common the same property. These objects are thus qualitatively equal. The response to this is that though universals are natural, they do not act as natural objects.
The nominalist view denies that universals exist. There are two ways to go about that. The one denies that universals exist altogether whilst the other accepts commonalities like ‘humanity’, ‘manhood’, and ‘blackness’, but denies that they can be aptly called universals. To apply these approaches, one need only offer a paraphrase of sentences that are true and entail universals. Thus, for a sentence like “all men are mortal,” the nominalist need only offer a paraphrase that denies the universal ‘mortality’ or denies that it can aptly be referred to as a universal. There are several ways to confront this.
A nominalist can take the predicate, concept, mereological, class, modal, or resemblance routes. Both the predicate and concept routes accept commonalities, but deny that they can dubbed universals. On the predicate view, the predicate “mortal” applies to men because they’re mortal and this entails the universal “mortal.” On the concept view men fall under the concept “mortal,” but there’s no such thing as “mortality.” The mereological view says that a man is mortal because he is a part of the whole of things that are mortal. Unfortunately, the mereological view cannot be used when speaking of mass or shape, for instance, since the mass or shape of the parts do not equal the sum of the mass or shape wholes. That is to say that the sum of the sides of all equilateral triangles do not themselves equal an equilateral triangle.
Class nominalism avoids these pitfalls by offering that man is mortal by virtue of belonging to the class of all mortal things. This view also runs into issues. So does David Lewis’ Modal Realism, which posits possible worlds on the basis of counterfactuals. There’s also resemblance nominalism, which offers that mortal beings don’t resemble each other because they’re mortal, but rather, they’re mortal because they resemble each other. In the case of sentient beings, resemblance nominalism seems to do well.
There are other versions of nominalism that can be discussed, e.g., causal nominalism, but much of the so-called controversy can do with some butchering. One should therefore employ Ockham’s Razor to cut off some fat. For one, Platonic Realism is simply unnecessary. If one is to offer only necessary postulates, then a realm of forms in where universals exist is unnecessary. Them who have looked instead to the way in which we employ language have the right idea. Either Aristotle’s view is correct or one of the nominalist views is correct.
On the nominalist view, there’s more fat that can be cut off. Color, for instance, is experienced in a particular way by human beings. Some animals don’t see the colors we see; others see no color; others can see in infrared; still others, one can imagine, may see in ultraviolet; we can also imagine a creature that can see the entire electromagnetic spectrum. Color, in any case, is reducible to light and need not be a property, particular or universal, of any object. On the basis of abstraction, in the same way we imagine a similarity in all black things, we can imagine these objects without ‘blackness.’ Put another way, the black sofa, the black table, and the black chairs can be as they are with no color to be found. The color need not be a part of them.
What we’re left with then is shape, mass, and other extensional properties, and also the space these objects appear to occupy. With color out of the way and with Platonic realism disqualified, we can make progress in solving the problem of universals. Obviously the answer isn’t obvious, since it’s still widely discussed. But for creatures lacking the capacity of a language formed by subjects and predicates, particulars and universals may not occur to them. It is likelier that human language leads to problems such as these and the related one-many problem. The controversy is then lifted by paying more attention to how language creates more problems than it solves.
Given the nominalist views surveyed above, it is clear that universals do not depend on god for their existence. In fact, universals may not have existence proper. In other words, if they don’t exist in a Platonic realm or within the divine thoughts of god, then they do not have a property of existence. One will find that other abstract objects can be explained in similar fashion.
Numbers, for instance, need not be Platonic in any sense. The number 4 or the a priori truth of some equation need not depend on god for their existence. Such a tangent isn’t necessary given that I discuss nominalism as it relates to numbers in chapter eleven, but at every turn when confronted with a so-called abstract object, the atheist can offer the following questions: does this abstract object have the property of existence? What is meant by existence in this case? Certainly abstract objects do not exist in the same way a person or an animal exists. The use of the word existence in this case warrants caution and skepticism. In any case, when thinking of examples of abstract objects, it is clear that all abstract objects can be explained in one or more of the following ways: (a) nominalism (b) reductionism, e.g., colors are reducible to an astrophysical phenomenon, namely light (c) the Lockean thesis, i.e., an abstract object can’t be abstracted in isolation from its physical counterpart or the object on which it acts upon. A bit of elaboration is in order.
According to the Lockean thesis, one cannot think of motion abstractly without also thinking of an object in motion. The same applies to abstract objects. One cannot think of a moral truth, e.g. murder is wrong, without thinking of or imagining a murder. One can’t think of the number 4 without reference to the number as it appears in a book, a sheet of paper, or a chalkboard. Even if one imagines a blue number 4 within one’s mind, one is still representing in one’s mind the number as s/he has seen it before. The numbers and their sequence aren’t innate; we all learned of their value and their appearance at some point in childhood and there’s no way to think of them as abstract in the absence of some physical counterpart. Much more can be said about abstract objects and numbers specifically, but it should be clear now that the purported relation between god and abstract objects is a dubious motivation for accepting the ontological argument. Despite this, there’s a specific abstraction that warrants much attention and it is for this reason, I’ve devoted the entire next chapter to it.
All citations can be found in my book Philosophical Atheism.
By R.N. Carmona
If I’m right to assume that all Gettier Problems involve a change either in the true aspect of our beliefs or the justified aspect of our beliefs, then there’s a way to salvage this intuitive definition of knowledge. Knowledge is ceteris paribus justified true belief. That is to say that knowledge, assuming that all things remain equal, is justified true belief. Gettier problems are set up using luck and fallibility. Clearly, most of what we think counts as knowledge doesn’t involve luck. When I say that I know there’s milk in my fridge, there’s no luck to be had. If all things remain equal, there’s definitely milk in my fridge and I know it. This discounts milk drinking ghosts or dairy loving burglars. In that case, the only reason I don’t actually know what I thought I knew is because I don’t know an added and pertinent fact: a) there are milk drinking ghosts or b) there are dairy loving burglars.
Consider a Gettier Problem to see what I mean:
The case’s protagonist is Smith. He and Jones have applied for a particular job. But Smith has been told by the company president that Jones will win the job. Smith combines that testimony with his observational evidence of there being ten coins in Jones’s pocket. (He had counted them himself — an odd but imaginable circumstance.) And he proceeds to infer that whoever will get the job has ten coins in their pocket. (As the present article proceeds, we will refer to this belief several times more. For convenience, therefore, let us call it belief b.) Notice that Smith is not thereby guessing. On the contrary; his belief b enjoys a reasonable amount of justificatory support. There is the company president’s testimony; there is Smith’s observation of the coins in Jones’s pocket; and there is Smith’s proceeding to infer belief b carefully and sensibly from that other evidence. Belief b is thereby at least fairly well justified — supported by evidence which is good in a reasonably normal way. As it happens, too, belief b is true — although not in the way in which Smith was expecting it to be true. For it is Smith who will get the job, and Smith himself has ten coins in his pocket. These two facts combine to make his belief b true. Nevertheless, neither of those facts is something that, on its own, was known by Smith. Is his belief b therefore not knowledge? In other words, does Smith fail to know that the person who will get the job has ten coins in his pocket? Surely so (thought Gettier).
Setting aside my lack of appreciation for outlandish thought experiments like this one, a few things are clear. For one, everyday knowledge and even esoteric knowledge don’t work like this. What’s also clear is precisely what I’ve argued hitherto: what one doesn’t know interferes with what one knew. Assuming the ten coins had any bearing on who got hired, the fact that Smith didn’t know that he himself had ten coins explains why he didn’t know what he thought he knew. Knowledge, in this case, isn’t ceteris paribus. In this specific case, a gap was present in Smith’s knowledge. This is to say that what he called knowledge fell victim to fallibility. The fact that he didn’t know a given pertinent fact led him to draw a false conclusion.
On my estimation, every Gettier-like problem proceeds in this manner. The problems are definitely structured around fallibility. Devisers of such problems ignore the fact that actual knowledge doesn’t contain gaps. Think of the many locations you know, the many people you know, the many facts, both mundane and esoteric, that you know; none of these fall victim to fallibility. You can’t fail to know who your mother and/or father are — unless you develop Capgras syndrome or prosopagnosia, which again, would be a relevant change. You can’t fail to be wrong about the nearest grocery store — unless you develop paramnesia or begin to suffer from a neurodegenerative disorder like Alzheimer’s, which again are important changes to consider.
In the case presented in this article, the woman assumed that the man on the couch was her husband only because her husband is usually the only man in the house. She didn’t know that her husband’s brother was in town. So again (!), there was a change that she was ignorant of. Thus, when we fail to know something, it’s because a gap already exists or because something of importance changed. If I fail to know that there’s milk in my fridge, it’s because there are milk drinking ghosts or dairy loving burglars. It wouldn’t be because I never had actual knowledge of there being milk in my fridge.
Knowledge is ceteris paribus justified true belief. Assuming all facts remain the same and that there aren’t any gaps in someone’s knowledge, a person can claim to know that x. If there’s any fallibility or any change, that belief is false and/or unjustified, and therefore, does not count as knowledge. This is my solution to the Gettier problems — one that hinges on Correspondence Theory.
As always, questions, comments, and rebuttals are welcome. Do you think my solution succeeds? Why or why not? Do you think there’s a solution? If so, what works better?
Book is now available for purchase here! Here are the Table of Contents to whet the appetite:
Chapter 1: Philosophical Approaches to Atheism
Chapter 2: Refuting the Kalam Cosmological Argument
Chapter 3: The Moral Argument Refuted
Chapter 4: Refuting Plantinga’s Victorious Ontological Argument
Chapter 5: On Qualia and A Refutation of the Argument from Consciousness
Chapter 6: Refuting the Fine-Tuning Argument
Chapter 7: The Failures of Aquinas’ Five Ways
Chapter 8: Transcendental Arguments and Presuppositionalism Refuted
Chapter 9: The Argument from Assailability
Chapter 10: The Arguments from History and The Multiplicity of Religions
Chapter 11: The Argument from Cosmology
Chapter 12: On the Leibnizian Cosmological Argument
I hope you guys enjoy!
In the past, I’ve argued that the laws of logic can be challenged or even violated. A response to my post on procedural realism and the Moral Argument mentioned that the laws of excluded middle and non-contradiction have been challenged by analytic philosophers. I found it curious that there was no mention of a challenge to the law of identity, since I think it’s the most easily challenged.
In order to challenge the law of identity, one need only challenge its underlying assumption, namely essentialist ontology. “The essentialist tradition, in contrast to the tradition of differential ontology, attempts to locate the identity of any given thing in some essential properties or self-contained identities” (see here). According to modern physics, as it now stands, all objects are atoms in flux and empty space. Where then is the atomic glue that holds a table or chair together and how does one differentiate between two chairs that look precisely alike without presupposing the essentialist tradition?
The essentialist tradition begs the question when concerning identity, since there’s no way to prove that any one object has essential properties. Interestingly, the reason for presupposing the essentialist tradition might have everything to do with personal identity. People are animate objects, but objects nonetheless. Without essentialism, we can no longer assume that we have a distinct identity. Physically, we are atoms in flux and empty space as well and thus, what we’re left with are second order grounds for personal identity. In other words, we can avoid talk of atoms and empty space and instead look to DNA, neurons, brain anatomy, and so on. In this way we retain our uniqueness without first order grounds.
That aside, if we instead argue from the basis of differential ontology, the law of identity is no longer as unassailable as it appeared. As stated, we would rely on second order grounds. “Differential ontology…understands the identity of any given thing as constituted on the basis of the ever-changing nexus of relations in which it is found, and thus, identity is a secondary determination, while difference, or the constitutive relations that make up identities, is primary.” We would therefore ignore notions of a stable identity and instead look to differences between objects.
Given this, the law of identity (A = A) will be replaced with the law of distinction, i.e., something like A =/= B or C or D and so on. Since A is not B or C or D, then we identify A because it is contrasted with objects in relation to it. We are no longer assuming that there are essential properties that make A, A. This is, after all, what we say of ourselves. We do not say I am me because I have essential characteristics. Instead we contrast ourselves with others; we factor in physical appearance, ethnicity, gender, personality, and so on. We then add other factors like level of income and education, personal tastes, and so on. Clearly none of these characteristics are essential.
Ultimately, the law of identity is not unassailable and can be challenged by uprooting its essentialist assumption. One way of doing so is by positing differential ontology. One can, however, do so by positing human consciousness. In other words, another traditional philosophical assumption (contra-pragmatism) is that there’s a deeper reality that goes beyond our everyday experience; perhaps quantum mechanics hints at this. On the basis of this, we cannot draw ontological conclusions on the basis of our faculties. In other words, the four chairs and dining room table in my living room look distinct because my faculties see them as such. In reality, however, there’s nothing but atomic flux and empty space. This is in no way an attempt to undermine the usefulness of our faculties, but if there’s a deeper layer to reality that we cannot capture, then there’s no way we can argue for essential properties. Furthermore, we wouldn’t be able to argue from difference either. We would, in other words, have to assume the accuracy of our faculties in order to argue for a law of identity.