Before I launch into Chapter 3 of Objectivism: The Philosophy of Ayn Rand, here is a very brief recap of what’s been covered so far in the book. Chapter 1, titled Reality, was about metaphysics. I wrote one blog post for every section of the chapter, on Rand’s basic axioms; cause and effect; how existence (not consciousness) is the metaphysical starting point of the universe; how some things are changeable while other things are not; and how according to Objectivism, all of the conventional positions on metaphysics are fundamentally flawed. Chapter 2 was about Sense Perception and Volition, which Leonard Peikoff calls “pre-epistemology.” I wrote posts about the validity of sense perception; how sensory qualities are real expressions of the character of the universe; how human consciousness has specific characteristics and is not a prison; how epistemology begins with perception rather than sensation; how the most essential human freedom is the choice to focus or not; how human actions are both free and caused; and how free will is axiomatic and inescapable. It has only taken me two years to get this far!
Now that the groundwork has been laid, Chapters 3, 4, and 5 of OPAR will be focused on epistemology, which Peikoff splits into a triad: Concept-Formation, Objectivity, and Reason. Peikoff starts off Chapter 3 by depicting the way that a conceptual consciousness operates, down to the most basic nuts and bolts.
In Objectivism, concept formation is basically like a superpower, elevating humans cognitively above other animals. Concepts enable us to abstract from a few concretes universal truths that extend into the past, present, and future. Concepts empower us to make goals, to plan ahead, and to perform the actions needed to achieve those goals. While animals have to adapt themselves to nature in order to survive, humans survive by adapting nature to ourselves—using the power of concepts. Peikoff writes that the conceptual faculty is “an attribute that goes to the essence of a species, determining its method of cognition, of action, of survival” (OPAR, 74). If concept formation is so uniquely essential to the human race, then to understand humanity one must understand concepts—what they are, how they are made, how they are validated, and how people get them wrong. Chapter 3 section 1 is about how the mental processes of differentiation and integration are the means to a “unit-perspective,” which is the crux of conceptual thinking.
Chronologically speaking, conceptual cognition begins with the implicit concept of entity. As very young children, we become aware early on that there are things that exist out there, but this concept is understood implicitly rather than explicitly. Children do not actually say to themselves, “I see an entity,” but they have passively absorbed this fact, even though they cannot yet articulate it.
After implicitly grasping the concept of entity, very young humans then move on to recognize the specific characteristics of entities enough that they are able to distinguish one entity from another. At this stage, they have encountered certain objects before and can recognize at different moments that they are looking at the same thing (for example, a blanket, a dog, a parent, a toy). They are able to grasp this thing vs. that thing, which represents the implicit concept of identity.
Peikoff writes that these first two steps are not particularly unique to humans—higher animals can also perceive entities and can recognize particular objects (75). But next comes the third and most important cognitive step, where humans take a grand leap beyond the capabilities of animals. Human children then go on to grasp relationships between entities by noticing their similarities and differences. Children notice that certain entities are like each other but are different from everything else. For example, a child may notice that yogurt resembles applesauce and cabbage mush but is different than toys, furniture, and people. Human children begin to mentally sort entities according to their shared characteristics, viewing objects not as totally unique things but as members of a group (like “food”). When humans look at applesauce, for example, we are able to view applesauce not just as a unique thing, but as a member of a larger group of entities that are all related. The implicit concept represented by this stage of understanding is the concept of unit.
Ayn Rand writes in Introduction to Objectivist Epistemology that the concept of unit is “the key, the entrance to the conceptual level of man’s consciousness,” and that “the ability to regard entities as units is man’s distinctive method of cognition, which other living species are unable to follow” (75). Even though chronologically, unit is not the first implicit concept to be grasped, the “unit-perspective” is what makes human conceptual thinking so unique and powerful. This is why, according to Objectivism, conceptual cognition begins with the concept of unit. The uniquely human ability to organize perceptual data into patterns of similarity is the essence of the conceptual method, and unit formation is the most basic expression of this ability. Units are the very first step toward measurement, math, and all conceptual thought.
One very important thing to note here is that metaphysically speaking, units don’t actually exist. The metaphysical world does not group itself into categories; all that exists are separate, individual things. The concept of “unit,” according to Ayn Rand, is really just a “method of identification or classification according to the attributes which a consciousness observes in reality” (76). Units are not things that exist; they are a certain way of regarding things that exist. Rand sums it up by defining units as “things viewed by a consciousness in certain existing relationships” (76). But just because units don’t exist qua units, that doesn’t mean they are subjective or arbitrary. Units are created by human consciousness, but they are not an arbitrary creation of human consciousness. The basis of their classification is perceived in reality. Their shared attributes are undeniably real.
But what exactly is the human mind doing here that the animal mind cannot? What are the mental processes that are involved with viewing things as units? The answer is two important volitional mental processes: differentiation and integration. Differentiation is pulling apart, or analyzing. It is when you grasp differences or divide one thing from another. Integration is putting together, or synthesizing. It is when you take different things and unite them together into an indivisible coherence. Both of these processes must happen in order for the unit-perspective to be achieved.
The first step in viewing things as units is to differentiate some concretes from other concretes by noting that they are unique in some particular way. For example, you might notice that the stuff that makes up lakes, rivers, puddles, and streams is different than the stuff that makes up dirt, tables, plants, people, and the sky. You can stick your hand right into a lake and move it around, and it’s a bit cold, and it has weight, and you can see through it and splash it around, and put it into buckets—and it’s just different.
In differentiation, humans also utilize a uniquely-human ability: the power of abstraction. Abstraction is when you pull a particular, shared characteristic out of a bunch of things that are actually quite different and consider that characteristic all by itself. A lake, for example, is different from a stream, which is different from a puddle, which is different from the stuff that comes out of the spout over the kitchen sink. But by abstracting, human beings are able to say: even though all of these particular things are very different, they share a common characteristic that can be considered separately. Animals cannot abstract; while they may be able to notice some similarities and differences in things, they cannot isolate those characteristics and do anything with them.
But humans can do something once they’ve separated out a group of particulars. By integrating the common aspects of diverse particulars together into a new, inseparable whole, humans can form concepts. For example, you could integrate the relevant similarities you’ve observed in lakes, rivers, puddles, and streams into the concept of “water.” This concept then endures in the mind and can be applied to all future water that is encountered. But in order to fully capture a concept in the mind, you need language. You need an actual word to help you retain the new integration you have made. Words are symbols for concepts (79), and they allow us to use a single denotation to represent similarities among many particular concretes. As Peikoff puts it, “The word constitutes the completion of the integration stage—it is the form in which the concept exists” (79). In this way, words become a whole new kind of mental entity.
This brings us to an ancient philosophical dilemma that has been debated for millennia: what exactly do concepts refer to in reality? Concepts require a process of abstraction (for example, pulling the characteristic of “water-ness” out of the lakes, streams, and puddles one has observed in reality), but abstractions do not actually exist. Since “water-ness” is not an existent that can be directly perceived, what exactly is it? Particular instances of water differ from each other very much in sight, sound, taste, smell, and feel—and so, what is “water-ness” exactly?
Aristotle’s answer was that concepts refer to the essential characteristic that all objects in a given class share in common. According to Aristotle, “water-ness” would refer to that particular attribute that is the same in every instance of water that has ever existed. But—how would a person know what that attribute actually is? Peikoff further illustrates this question using the concept of “manness.” Since no human being is exactly the same as any other, with different heights, weights, intelligence, etc., how can we use the concept “man” to represent them all as if they were actually the same? Exactly what is this “manness” that is supposedly intrinsic in us all?
Could it be that the concepts refer not to our objective reality but to mystical ideas that come from some other-worldly heaven? Or could it be that concepts have no objective basis in this world but are totally arbitrary constructs made up by the human mind for practical purposes? Or could it be something else? The fundamental problem of epistemology, writes Peikoff, is that these questions can only be asked and answered with concepts. And if we don’t know what concepts refer to in reality, we can’t be confident in any answer to those questions. And so, before we proceed further, Peikoff says that concepts must be grounded somehow in reality.
How does Objectivism connect concepts to reality? The answer is coming soon.
Questions and Notes:
- This is an extremely important topic that is also very abstract and controversial. I may need to come back to this post at some point in the future and revise things, but I’m not sure.
- Initially, I was confused by the term “implicit concept.” I was not sure what it was and how implicit concepts differ from perceptual integrations. But I think I’ve figured this one out.
- How does Rand know what animal consciousness is like?
- The title of this section in the book is, “Differentiation and Integration as the Means to a Unit-Perspective, but why is it not called, “Differentiation, Integration, and Abstraction as the Means to a Unit-Perspective?” I don’t understand why abstraction was left out of the title, as it seems like all three of those processes are necessary for achieving the unit-perspective. Animals can differentiate and integrate to a certain degree, but they cannot abstract, so abstraction seems like the real ability that you need to have in order to achieve the unit-perspective. I may have an answer to this question, but I’m not sure.
Level of Difficulty: High
Mystery Number: 50
Works Cited:
1. Peikoff, Leonard. Objectivism: The Philosophy of Ayn Rand (New York: Dutton, 1991). New York: Meridian, 1993.
Muggleray 