The Psychology of the Mysterian

There are not many mysterians in the world, at least visible out-of-the-closet mysterians, but the following four people clearly qualify: me, Chomsky, Fodor, and Pinker. This is a large enough sample to inquire what the mysterian psychology is like–what do the four of us have in common? It might be supposed that a mysterian is apt to be theoretically timid, reluctant to stick his neck out: he is always warning others about their theoretical recklessness, urging caution. He is a nay-sayer, a conservative, a coward of the intellect. He thinks theories are for the birds–hubristic folly. But actually the four people on my list are the very opposite–they are all theoretical adventurers, their necks fully extended. They love theories, the more adventurous the better. They are indeed frequently criticized for their theoretical excesses. They are not timid but bold. This suggests another account of their mysterian tendencies: they know what a good theory looks like and what it takes to establish one, and they can see that nothing of this kind is available in the domain in which they sense mystery. They are disappointed theorists, not overly cautious anti-theorists.

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Mystery Max

“For proper appreciation of Maeterlinck, you must have, besides a sense of beauty, a taste for wisdom. Maeterlinck is not less a sage than a poet. Of all living thinkers whose names are known to me, he has the firmest and widest grasp of the truth. He more clearly than any other thinker is conscious of the absurdity of attempting to fashion out of the vast and impenetrable mysteries of life any adequate little explanation–any philosophy.”

 

Beerbohm, mysterian.

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Plumbing

I had the plumbers at my house yesterday and it occurred to me to wonder: Isn’t plumbing really an instance of the “extended gut”? Isn’t it rather arbitrary where we conventionally think the digestive system leaves off? What if your colon were replaced with a PVC prosthesis and extended further out into the environment? What if a creature were born with a whole plumbing system attached to it? We refer to our digestive system as our plumbing; can’t we also refer to our plumbing as our (extended) digestive system? It’s all just a way to dispose of waste products produced by eating.

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Ad

I see that MIT Press has put an ad for my book Philosophy of Language on Leiter’s blog, which seems kinda funny to me. On the right side is an ad for a new book by Max Deutsch, The Myth of the Intuitive, who was a PhD student of mine at Rutgers.

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More Max

I’ve been deep in Max Beerbohm. I want to recommend him to you, one and all. But he is so impossible to summarize or encapsulate, his qualities so resistant to paraphrase, that all one can is quote him, and then stand back in wonder. Let me just say that he is the most pleasurable writer I have ever read–but I fear to say more in case I reveal my own critical inadequacies.

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Max on Enoch Soames

“He was a stooping, shambling person, rather tall, very pale, with longish and brownish hair. He had a thin vague beard–or rather, he had a chin on which a large number of hairs weakly curled and clustered to cover its retreat.”

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Nature

The birds sing, the butterflies fly, and the reptiles scamper–and that’s just in my garden. Meanwhile the earth turns heavily on its axis.

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The Animals

This morning I had an interesting experience. I was due to speak on a panel for the BBC World Service about animal experimentation, especially on primates, along with four other people. The other panelists were from other parts of the world, including the UK, and so I needed to be at the studio by 8 am, which meant getting up before 6 am. At 7.15 the taxi came for me and drove me through thick traffic into Little Havana. I wasn’t much in the mood for it (though I’ve spoken on animal issues many times in the past). When I arrived at the studio I was greeted by Carlos and it quickly became apparent that this was set up as a music recording studio. I was confronted by a full set of drums, and Carlos was their owner. So we started talking about drumming, me being a drummer too, and before long we were having an animated discussion about music in the Sixties. I mentioned The Beatles’ This Boy as a memorable song, though not well known, and he didn’t know it (despite his extensive knowledge).  We agreed to listen to it when the interview was over. So I had that to look forward to. The discussion went on for an hour and a half, with the usual things said and disputed–blah-blah-blah. Then, when it was over, Carlos played This Boy through the studio speakers, paying particular attention to the middle eight, where John Lennon lets rip, ending with that piercing “cry-eye-eye”. We chatted a bit more, agreed to jam together, and then the taxi picked me up for the return home. I thought: Now that was a morning well spent. And maybe the animals will get something out of it too.

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