It was a normal sunny day in the German countryside. The German nobleman Baron Münchhausen
was out riding his horse on his way to a town many miles away. In front of him was a long,
winding path. Beside him was a large mire—an expanse of deep swamp and boggy ground. While
the Baron was looking up, peacefully enjoying the view with the sun on his face, suddenly,
his horse jolted. When the Baron looked down to see what was wrong, he saw a badger running in
the opposite direction and his horse running off the trail, straight into the mire. With several
heavy steps, the horse made it a good distance into the water before its legs began to sink and
become stuck in the mud. The Baron’s legs wedged in alongside the horse’s body, becoming stuck as
well. Frantically, the Baron looked around. He was miles from anyone and many feet from the
edge of the mire. There were no tree branches, no rocks, no logs, no solid ground to stand on.
The horse flailed and squealed. The Baron patted its mane, briefly calming it down. For several
minutes, the Baron tried to dislodge his legs with no luck. Then, out of complete desperation,
the Baron reached up and grabbed his own hair. With all his strength, he pulled up.
Upwards he and the horse went. Slowly, the Baron and the horse emerged from the mud and returned
safely to edge of the mire. ***
Of course, this is impossible and never happened. But the story of Baron Münchhausen serves as a
metaphor and reference for an incredibly significant and unsettling philosophical
thought experiment known as the Münchhausen trilemma, created by the German philosopher
Hans Albert in 1968, and named after this story. According to the trilemma,
what we think we know, what we hold to be true is impossible to ever prove. Like the Baron,
we are merely pulling ourselves up by our own hair to escape the mud and muck of uncertainty and
unknowingness, with no solid ground to stand on. Before delving further into the Münchhausen
trilemma, there’s another question (or pairing of questions) that is useful to ask first.
1. What do we know? And how do we know? In his book, Theory of Knowledge,
American philosopher Roderick Chisholm uses this pairing of questions to reveal the problem we face
at the starting point of knowledge, which is known as the problem of the criterion. For the avoidance
of confusion here, we can consider something knowledge if it is a justified, true belief.
In order to arrive at this kind of knowledge, however, we must be able to answer at least one
of these two aforementioned questions (what do we know, and how do we know?). Answering one allows
us to answer the other. And in answering both, we can define, separate, and arrive at justified,
true beliefs (or knowledge). In answering the first question, where we already know something is
true, we have a particular case of knowledge that we can determine a method (or criterion) off of
to discern true verses false beliefs and then use this method to determine other true beliefs. Or,
in answering the second question first, where we know how we know something is true, we already
have a method (or criterion) for determining true verses false beliefs that we can use and
continue to use. The problem and sort of paradox we arrive at here, though, is we can only find
an answer to either question through the other. How can we know what we know without a method (or
criterion) for knowing first? But how can we have method of knowing without knowing anything first?
In other words, we cannot answer the first question without first answering the second;
but we cannot answer the second without first answering the first. We are caught in a loop.
Now, here we find ourselves in the mire, the swamp of the Münchhausen trilemma,
trying to pull ourselves up by our hair to defend what we know (or think we know).
2. Can we ever prove that anything is fundamentally true?
The Münchhausen trilemma demonstrates that there are only three ways to justify something as true,
and none of them sufficiently do so. The first way: one attempts to justify a
proposition as true with another proposition that requires the original proposition to already be
true. This is known as circular reasoning. For example, someone might make the claim,
God exists. Another person might then ask, how do you know? The original person then says,
because the Bible says so. The other then asks, why should we believe the Bible? The
original person says, because it is the divine work of God. The problem here, of course,
is that the proposition used to justify the original proposition as true presupposes the
original proposition as already being true, or simply restates the original proposition in
different terms. This is merely stating something as true. It is not justifying or proving anything.
The second way: one attempts to justify a proposition as true with another proposition
that is not dependent on or a restatement of the original proposition, but this new proposition
requires new, further justification, and then the new justification does,
and then the justification for that, so on and so forth, into infinity. This is known as an
infinite regress. For example, someone might ask, why does the Earth exist? Another person answers,
because gravity pulled a swirling cloud of gas and dust together to form a planet.
The problem here, however, is where this then goes. In order to use this proposition as a
justification, it also needs to be justified. And then, the next justification, and the next,
and the next, ad infinitum. Why does Earth exist? Because a swirling cloud of gas and dust clumped
together. Why did the gas and dust exist? This continual requirement for justification would
continue on in all directions into infinity or into circular reasoning. The gas and dust came
to exist because of the big bang. Why did the big bang create gas and dust? Because
it caused matter to exist and the universe to expand. Why did matter come to exist and the
universe expand? Because the big bang occurred. The initial proposition cannot be justified
as true if there is never any conclusive grounding or foundational truth (a stopping
or starting point) present in the series of subsequent propositions used to justify it.
The last way: one attempts to justify a proposition as true by simply asserting it as true
without subjecting it to further justification or proof. For example, someone might say,
that car is objectively red. Another person might then ask, how do you know? Because I can see the
red. In this case, a premise is merely assumed to be true (i.e. one’s perception of red makes the
redness of the car true). But of course, assuming something is true, or claiming something is true,
does not prove that anything is. Obviously, red may not exist outside the human mind. The
human mind may be deceiving the individual. The individual might simply be wrong with no way of
showing or proving that there is an objectivity to what is being perceived and or measured. Even with
tools and devices, the human mind is still the final stop for everything, and there is no way to
prove a final belief without assumption and dogma. In the end, we are left with justification either
by circular reasoning, by infinite regress, or by axiomatic statements (or assumptions).
But if justification by all of these is not legitimate, then justification is
not possible. And if knowledge is justified, true beliefs, then knowledge is not possible.
This leads us to our final question and philosophical problem.
3. Can there be any philosophical progress? If absolute knowledge is impossible, how do we
know if we are improving our knowledge? How do we know if we are garnering any new knowledge?
What is the point of philosophy if we can never prove or know anything for sure in this realm?
The prominent Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein took this question very seriously.
Wittgenstein believed that philosophy, in the traditional sense, is futile. For him,
there is no structured, logical answer or solution to life. And there are very few if not no genuine
philosophical problems. And any individual who seeks them, to answer them conclusively,
are, as he put it, like flies trapped in a transparent glass bottle, trying to escape
by bashing against the side. With regard to his aim in philosophy, Wittgenstein said,
“To show the fly the way out of the fly-bottle.” Of course, ironically, Wittgenstein,
a philosopher, asked and answered these questions (doubting the purpose and value of philosophy)
through philosophy. Perhaps asking what is the point of philosophy is the kind of question that
contains the answer in the mere act of asking it. Perhaps the purpose of philosophy is less
about progress toward some end and more about a process of inquiry and self-understanding, about
examination and exploration, about expression and connection—with oneself, with others,
with the chaotic but beautiful nature of the world. Theoretical physicist Richard Feynman said:
I can live with doubt and uncertainty and not knowing. I think it is much more interesting
to live not knowing than to have answers that might be wrong. If we will only allow that,
as we progress, we remain unsure, we will leave opportunities for alternatives. We will not become
enthusiastic for the fact, the knowledge, the absolute truth of the day, but remain
always uncertain … In order to make progress, one must leave the door to the unknown ajar.
Sometimes philosophy is like science and math. Sometimes it is like music. Sometimes you walk
away with learning something about the nature of things (or believing that you have). Sometimes
you walk away simply with the feeling that you are a part of the nature of things—that
you’ve been heard, been understood; that someone out there, who you’ll likely never know,
separated by potentially immense distance and time, is deeply connected to you in thought,
in sensibility; that someone knows you well. Perhaps philosophical progress is not merely
contingent on uncovering truths, but aiding in the harsh, barren reality that there aren’t
any—at least none that we have access to. Perhaps we are all trapped in the fly-bottle, and no one’s
coming to let us out. But through things like science and math, music and art, and philosophy,
we can make the most of our time with each other in here, while we are still in here.