A Theory of Error?

General Philosophy
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This OP returns to a favorite topic of mine, hopefully offering some new perspectives.

The history of philosophy is full of unresolved problems. Arguably, there are more of those than the other kind. To become familiar with any of the major philosophical issues is to see that there has always been disagreement about how to understand and/or resolve them.

Why?

Let me clarify what I mean by “resolved” and “unresolved.” In the usage I’m adopting here, “resolved” means “agreement has been reached among all, or most, practitioners within the discipline.” Thus, to resolve an issue doesn’t mean the correct answer has been achieved, necessarily, if such a thing is possible. It means that the relevant community has largely agreed on an answer.

Suppose philosopher A proposes a doctrine that can resolve the question of whether realism is obligatory when adopting scientific method, especially inference to the best explanation (IBE). Suppose further that A’s doctrine is rational, and based on normative standards about what counts as good evidence, consistency, perspicuity, familiarity with the literature, etc.

When A proposes her doctrine, we know what will happen. Philosophers B, D, and F will largely agree, while philosophers C, E, and G will disagree. All six of these responding philosophers will, like A, couch their responses in rational terms and employ the kinds of argumentative standards we expect from good philosophers who are serious about discussing a difficult question. And the final thing that will happen is that, while some philosophers might be swayed in one direction or another, there is virtually no chance that all seven will agree that the issue is now resolved.

Why?

Has philosopher A done something wrong? Has she failed to present her doctrine cogently enough to get the agreement she seeks? Yet philosophers B, D, and F do agree with her, and maintain that they understand her arguments and find them convincing. So perhaps the problem lies with the nay-sayers, philosophers C, E, and G. On this theory, A has presented all the evidence and argumentation one could reasonably expect in order to resolve the “scientific realism” problem, but for some reason C, E, and G can’t see this. What has gone wrong for them?

A third explanation is that the question about whether realism is a voluntary stance when doing science, or is in fact obligatory, can’t be resolved. So A is wrong about this, but if C, E, and G disagree with her because they have an alternative resolution, they are wrong too. And this aporia can be moved up a level: Philosopher H may propound a meta-philosophical doctrine that explains why a problem such as the scientific realism problem is unresolvable. Philosophers J, L, and N agree with him, while philosophers K, M, and P do not. (Should they go on to propose a meta-meta-philosophical explanation? Let’s leave it here!)

I use the term “theory of error,” somewhat tongue in cheek, to refer to an explanation of why agreement has not been reached on a non-trivial philosophical issue. (Not to be confused with “theory of error/s” in math and physics.) How can it be the case that, despite the combined work of enormous numbers of philosophers with superb intellectual firepower, nothing – or very little – has been resolved?

Again, I’m taking “resolved” to mean “agreement has been reached among all, or nearly all, the qualified practitioners.” On this usage, if an Aristotelian, or a post-structuralist, or a Kantian, believes they have resolved the major questions that concern them, they are wrong. The answers they are proposing may be right, for all we know; they themselves may be satisfied; but because they haven’t won agreement, the questions are not resolved, in my usage. The rightness of their answers, if indeed they are right, hasn’t been satisfactorily demonstrated to the philosophical community. And yes, of course, such a philosopher may simply declare that the only “qualified practitioners” are those who share their philosophical niche, but I hope we can agree that’s shabby.

An important version of this question can be posed from the point of view of one sample philosopher: “If I am so clearly right (as I believe I am) (along with [fill in blanks of great philosophers who see it my way]), why can’t I get agreement? What is wrong with those people? Why do they make the errors they make, without realizing it? How can I explain what happens from their point of view?”

There are surprisingly few theories of error out there. If anyone knows of a compendium specifically devoted to this question, I’d love to know. One senses that professional courtesy restrains philosopher A from saying something like, “Well, my ‛theory of error’ is that you’re not smart enough to understand the argument, so there!” Probably this is a good thing, as we can observe what happens on TPF when this sort of attitude comes to the fore. But what else is there? How can we construct a more nuanced theory of error that respects all the facts? – including the fact that those who disagree with us on a given position are probably going to include some of the greatest philosophers who ever lived, and to say they “aren’t smart enough” (or something similarly dismissive) to understand why they’re in error is surely a non-starter.

I’ll mention one other wrinkle on the “not smart enough” response. Instead of acknowledging that your opponents include historically great and super-intelligent philosophers, you can deny that this is a fact, and say, “Because I am right about this issue, it must follow that Aristotle/Locke/Hegel/Husserl/Charlie Brown was not a great philosopher. There’s no point your telling me that ‛a great philosopher’ has disagreed, because a truly great philosopher could not disagree.” This is an ingenious flipping of the script on what makes a philosopher great: Only those who accept certain argumentative conclusions count as great – or even good, I suppose. We could call this the “Ayn Rand gambit,” and in its own way, it does respect the facts – as long as “the facts” don’t include a statement to the effect that “Great philosophers can disagree.”

I don’t think I’m propounding an unsolvable conundrum – some sort of indictment of philosophical inutility. I have a few tentative thoughts about how one could develop a theory of error, and I can also offer a few examples I’m aware of that I think do better than “You’re just not smart enough” or “You don’t understand the question” or “You lack insight” or “You’re a victim of Culture X or Society Y or Neurosis Z.”

But first, I’m curious how this lands. Have you asked yourself similar questions, especially when your own favorite argument is met with persisent objections? (“What’s wrong with those people?” :wink:) Does it seem odd that there is so much unresolvable (so far) disagreement within philosophy? Or does this come with the territory, so to speak? i.e., philosophy is not the sort of discipline that leads to the resolution of intellectual conflicts in a broad community.

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Great line of thought. I’ve definitely had and continue to have thoughts along this line, especially with respect to meta- moves in philosophy.

Not so much “What is wrong with them?”, but rather what you describe seems to describe philosophy as its actually practiced. A cursory look at the history shows some very smart people even in similar circumstances disagreeing in a similar manner to what you describe. I infer that it’s the topics of philosophy which have something about them that make them unresolvable, rather than the intelligence of a thinker, the eloquence of a writer, the erudition of a scholar, and so on.

“you’re not smart”, “you don’t understand”, “your culture/neurosis/condition renders your point moot”, etc. are all theories of error, as you put it. It’s a theory about how the other person is wrong.

I want to say that the way they’re described here is a “terminal” sort of theory of another’s error: they may well be true, but it also terminates the conversation such that my interlocutor cannot participate due to some perceived defect in character/circumstance/position(irrational) which makes the other’s beliefs irrelevant to the concerns of our philosopher thinking about the error of their interlocutor.

In contrast a theory of another’s error could be generative. Suppose the theory “Neither of us knows”: then it is in our interest to discover just what it is we’re right or wrong about in the “naive” mode even while understanding that philosophy often leads to the dialectic of disagreement you have described.

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You can look at how others handle error. Errors are a bane to not just philosophy; they have to be taken into account universally.

I like where you’re going with agreement/disagreement among members of a group. That’s why we have thinktanks, expert panels, etc. Do you have problems with voting? I mean disagreements can be resolved with a vote, where the majority wins. There are quite a number of options. For example if you really want X but are afraid they might lose the vote, you can exclude X from the options, while the others are voted on. That way you can, at the very least, reduce the number of apples you have to juggle with.

Another solution would be to preassign points to the choices. For example, X could be awarded 100 points before actual voting takes place. That way you can quasi-legitimize X.

Other possibilities are available. I’m sure you know where to look.

If the above is not to your preferences, you could roll a die or flip a coin. A die can handle 6 possible claims and a coin 2. As before if there’s a favorite X, you could load the die/coin as may be appropriate.

A fancier way to resolve disagreements or come to an agreement could be an oracle. I’m not saying this tongue-in-cheek though. The Greeks had Socrates but they still kept consulting the Oracle of Delphi.

The more mundane way of getting to the answer is but logic. You might choose a particular logic for a specific occasion.

Good luck.

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I would say that I have not given much thought to why people don’t agree on things in regard to philosophy. I have considered it a lot in regard to everyday life and how some people seem to operate in a different reality.

Keep in mind, I have not studied the great philosophers, but I always have an opinion. :laughing: Anyway, there are a few factors that come to mind. The first being cognitive dissonance. If the proposed answer is something that breaks a deeply held belief, the mind will go out of its way to correct that. This is shaped by culture, events that shape identity, temperament, genetics, etc.

The second is the nature of asking questions that aren’t easily answerable, even if you have one that is really close. This allows there to always be room for one more possible answer, even if it is less likely. For example, if I used logic alone, I would probably be a pure atheist. However, simply knowing that we don’t know for sure is reason enough for me to choose to believe maybe there’s something even if I don’t know what it is. So even though that answer seems much less likely, I choose it because it appeals to me and simply can’t be ruled out completely.

Finally, while humans being unable to agree on things can make life complicated, I think it’s also valuable in that it prevents us from stagnating in ideas that may seem valid but are still wrong.

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In my view, there is a certain pleasure in a problem not being definitively solved. There is pleasure in the act of thinking. The philosopher has the ability not so much to solve problems as to squeeze the problem and find new ways of thinking about it; and if new problems emerge from this squeezing, so much the better. I mean, there may be a solution to a problem, but if the solution is obvious, I find it rather boring. This has to do with the depth of a problem. If a problem is truly deep, it will be harder to solve, but it allows for more possibilities of thought. We shouldn’t view error so negatively. As you know, it’s all about trial and error. Perhaps philosophy is the story of constant error, if by that you mean that major problems remain unsolved for a long time.

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I think the most interesting and productive feature of philosophical history is not disagreement over how to understand or resolve a problem, it’s the ability to change the question. Philosophy is a normative
enterprise. That is, in a given era there are substantial communities of thinkers who agree on the path to resolving a set of philosophical problems. And there is an even larger group who, even while disagreeing on the solutions, agree on how to define what constitutes the problems. Only when there is agreement on the definition of the problem space can concepts like ‘error’ and ‘incorrectness’ make sense.

But perhaps more important than the the fact that philosophy constructs a normative problem space is its capacity to change the questions and produce new spaces of problems within which particular solutions can be determined to be correct or incorrect. The changes in philosophical worldviews from era to era evince this kind of gestalt shift.

Recognizing this implies a certain philosophical stance, which could be called constructive alternativism, the idea that there are an infinity of ways to construe the world that usefully answer our questions. According to constructive alternativism, it isn’t necessary to invalidate a particular philosophical approach before exploring alternative ways of thinking. Furthermore, one need not judge competing theories to be ‘in error’. On the contrary, one can acknowledge their usefulness while subsuming their central features within a transformation perspective which also explains why adherents of the subsumed approach can’t make sense of the new alternative.

From this vantage, it’s less important to achieve universal consensus than to have a useful way to understand why other fail to embrace one’s own perspective without having to resort to accusations of ‘error’.

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A well-written, well-thought-out, and interesting OP.

I think a big part of the reason is that many people don’t recognize or accept that many of the kinds of questions you are talking about represent metaphysical/epistemological issues rather than matters of fact. As I understand it, that means disagreements are differences of point of view or values, not truth or falsity. As R.G. Collingwood wrote:

Metaphysics is the attempt to find out what absolute presuppositions have been made by this or that person or group of persons, on this or that occasion or group of occasions, in the course of this or that piece of thinking…

…[An absolute presupposition] is a thing we take for granted in [our thinking]. We don’t question it. We don’t try to verify it. It isnt a thing anybody has discovered, like microbes or the circulation of the blood. It is a thing we just take for granted.

I like the way you’ve framed this. I think it’s consistent with what Collingwood wrote–metaphysical positions are not for ever and for always, they’re for a specific purpose at a specific time. Realism can be a useful approach for scientists. As an engineer, that’s generally the way I look at things when I’m acting professionally. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the only reasonable approach. I think that’s where a lot of the disagreement comes from.

Perhaps this isn’t primarily a question for philosophers. It might make sense to look at how practicing scientists behave and it would probably depend on the type of science they practice. I would guess most physicists would consider themselves realists/materialists while psychologists might not.

So, the final answer is not what’s right and what’s wrong, it’s what approach will work best. There’s plenty of room there for reasonable disagreement and there’s not necessarily any reason to expect consensus.

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So, two possible explanations jump to mind here, which aren’t appealed to so often today:

A. An appeal to the intellectual and moral virtues, as manifest at both the individual and social level (@Quellcrist gets at this); and

B. The heavy focus on methodology to the exclusion of said virtues, paired with the tendency to focus on public, discursive justification, if not to make it definitive of knowledge.

In terms of A, if we just have a unidirectional measure of being “smart or stupid,” that’s a pretty impoverished anthropology. Whereas, it seems mighty plausible to me that you can have scenarios where someone is incredibly smart, as well as talented in logic and rhetoric, and yet suffers from philodoxia (the love of one’s opinions) or philotimia (the love of honor), both of which can lead to errors or cognition and judgement. These can then be compounded precisely because the person in question is intelligent and well-trained, and so able to convince or undermine others. This precisely why so many traditions focused so much on praxis, asceticism, and formation, because they had the intuition that the person who was extremely talented in the arts of persuasion, but didn’t know what was worth persuading people of would be particularly dangerous.

So too, the moral virtues are important, and yet this area tends to be off-limits today because of the tendency to think of vice exclusively in terms of a sort of sui generis “moral evil,” so that to point out someone’s vices is to accuse them of violating some sort of rule, or at least to call them wicked. Yet this is an unfortunate tendency, since surely unrestrained passions and appetites can effect reasoning. A good example is Saint Augustine who is, after all a saint. However, he’s also a saint who wrote a many polemics, and polemic is a dangerous tool and needs to be used prudently. It’s not clear that Augustine is always successful at restraining himself here though, perhaps not always rightly balancing the desire to win current arguments with how much weight his words might have down the centuries.

A lot of traditions talk about the need for the proper eros for truth and wisdom as well (e.g., Plato). And this gets at how a broader anthropology can also frame things as a matter of noetic perception, which becomes difficult when our focus is solely on method and public justification. For Xunzi, for instance, praxis trains perception and our responses so that the cultivated person simply sees situations differently, which is right in line with Aristotle. But one can clearly be smart, talented at arguing, and above all influential (the main way we tend to rank “great philosophers”), and lack these virtues. In fact, depending on one’s philosophical context, vices that drive self-promotion, argumentativeness, a desire for honors, etc. can all plausibly make one more likely to become a “great philosopher” (or tenure track), while also plausibly corrupting reason.

This then gets at the social level, where societies might be said to exemplify certain intellectual virtues and vices to different degrees at different times, which will not only tend to form thinkers in vice, but more importantly, will tend to lead to ignoring the virtuous.

Now with B, we face the problem that if everyone is “following the method correctly,” we’re supposed to have everyone come to the same conclusion. Of course they don’t, in part due to different starting assumptions. Yet since all “justification” is horizontal and discursive, deciding on starting points becomes impossible. This is where notions of noetic perception and praxis can play an important role. Plato, for instance, denies that metaphysics can be discussed in a dissertation, and instead claims it requires a life lived together (Letter VII).

Or something like that-you’d have to apply it on a case-by-case basis. The larger point is that if you focus on method to the exclusion of the agent who executes the method and knows, this sort of explanation falls out of focus (so too if the anthropology is impoverished).

Now, I suppose this might seem accusatory, but it is also, to my mind, potentially far more constructive than a reduction to “you are not smart enough,” “you are a victim of x,” or “agreement is just impossible.” It is probably more constructive in contexts where self-knowledge and self-cultivation are already considered to be essential to right reasoning, rather than seemingly foreign impositions. Or, at the very least, this view gives the traditions that embrace it a pretty solid explanation of why agreement is so hard to come by.

At the same time, I think it’s easy to oversell philosophical disagreement. There are strong perennial threads across traditions, centuries’ long periods of convergence and consolidation, etc. This can be easy to miss because we live in a period of increasing fracture, where novelty and provocation are themselves sought after (both culturally, but also due to the pressures of academia). The question then might be whether these represent intellectual vices or virtues, or more likely a mix of both that could be disentangled.

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Thank you all for these responses, and your kind words about the OP. I’ll reply as briefly as I can, as I don’t want to dominate the conversation.

Me too. And if “resolved” means bringing an actual group of people into agreement, then there are social and political obstacles as well.

Yes, and I exaggerated them a bit for clarity. More realistically, I think the attitude many philosophers have is more like, “Well, my interlocutor is definitely wrong about this issue, but I’ll keep trying and perhaps I can eventually persuade them.” It’s when “eventually” becomes “never” that the temptation arises for “terminal”-type explanations.

And I completely agree that an attitude of “I might be right about this” or even “I dunno!” can be much more productive than acting like two gladiators fighting to the death.

And we philosophers tend to insist on that. We wouldn’t be satisfied with a roll of the dice or the words of an oracle as the basis for creating resolution of a question. We want – and this is our cross to bear – to have the right answer, and one that can be shown to be right. In this we are like scientists, if in no other way.

Indeed. What a strange discipline that would make it! Is there any comparable one?

This opens the door on one of the “tentative thoughts” I mentioned I had about a more productive way to look at this issue. Why not say that philosophy has frequently achieved resolution about questions? – which ones are worth asking, which ones can be fruitfully pursued. Such resolutions are not permanent, but then my use of “resolved” wasn’t meant to imply permanence.

As you say, if there isn’t broad agreement on how to form a good question, we wouldn’t be able to go on to talk about error or incorrectness.

Also a potent thought. The question “Why do you not embrace my perspective?” can be asked in a manner that is open-minded and genuinely curious. So can “Why have I failed to secure your agreement?”

Hmm, out of time for right now, but I’ll come back to @T_Clark and @Count_Timothy_von_Icarus as soon as I can. Thanks again.

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I’d be cautious of framing it as “why don’t people agree with me.” A theory about the conditions of error doesn’t need to presuppose that its author is correct about anything other than the conditions for error.

It’s akin to how, in empirical matters, one might claim that existing instruments are not capable of settling a matter without needing to claim that one possess better instruments.

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I’d say this is right, but would we be agnostic on the question of whether our absolute presuppositions were accurate, meaningful, or even true? I can say, “I don’t know whether my presupposition of the law of non-contradiction is actually perspicuous or useful; all I know is that I can’t do without it.” But generally I think we say, and mean, more than this when we describe our hinge beliefs or presuppositions.

Yes. This particular example is a good one, because the position you’ve just articulated would be considered “stance voluntarism” – the idea that realism is useful for an engineer or a scientist but not obligatory; there are other reasonable approaches. The problem is that a committed scientific realist would dispute this. So . . . the question is unresolved.

An interesting question is, Would you say the same thing about philosophy? That is, are the so-called truths of philosophy to be seen as pragmatically motivated? That raises the issue of what the “work” is that a particular philosophical doctrine is doing best. We’d have to abandon the traditional idea that the work of philosophy is to obtain truth about the big questions. If being right – knowing things that are true – is the work of philosophy, there’s no need for a pragmatic conciliation.

Yes, this is what I meant, more or less, by saying that one common theory of error claims to detect a neurosis or psychological defect on the part of the errant person. A religious version of this would speak of sin or lack of faith. Or we can just talk in terms of a failure of character, or of vices, or a lack of the requisite virtues, or an incorrect balancing among them.

My problem with such a theory is that it’s extremely implausible when applied in practice. But more of that later, perhaps.

This seems more promising. If the ground of disagreement goes all the way down, so to speak, where does it hit rock bottom? Presumably with something like what @T_Clark was referring to – a basic presupposition about reality. This can be called noetic, certainly. And there is a tradition which says that noesis must be cultivated using methods that are non- or pre-philosophical. I would tentatively accept this as a way of exploring why some philosophical questions remain apparently unresolvable.

Yes, the same idea I was getting at above.

Not so much accusatory, but as I was saying, implausible. It would mean not only that we can accurately deploy the standards of self-knowledge and self-cultivation in all key philosophical cases, but that those who disagree with us must be exemplifying such a lack. How could we discover if this were so, without begging the question by assuming that it’s the only explanation?

Sure – that’s what I meant by people sharing one’s “philosophical niche.” I think my problem doesn’t arise in those circumstances. It’s quite possible to resolve questions among proponents within a philosophical tradition. But my problematic looks at the wider picture, where traditions themselves are in disagreement.

You mean, as a characteristic of philosophy? I’d need convincing of that. I can’t think of a single question raised by Plato that has been resolved (other than scientific ones), and that goes back a long way.

Yes, good point.

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It’s not the only explanation, I was taking flaws in method, or available evidence for granted.

Plus, it seems you are missing the crucial option where we are deficient, or some combination of the two.

As for how it is discovered, presumably through both reasoned discourse, dialectic, etc. and praxis and contemplation. Contemporary traditions tend to axe the latter, but I know of none the do without the former. Normally they’re supposed to be in partnership.

Sure, but one need not limit oneself to some one given tradition to set limits. Nor does the existence of a perennial philosophy require that all thought that calls itself “philosophy” be included. Perhaps one easier way to delineate this is by considering what is said to be the end of philosophy, since arts/sciences ordered to different, or even contrary ends are simply not the same art.

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Collingwood again:

Absolute presuppositions are not verifiable. This does not mean that we should like to verify them but are not able to; it means that the idea of verification is an idea which does not apply to them…

So, absolute presuppositions are neither true nor false.

Why can’t I know, or at least evaluate rationally? The metaphysical foundation of modern mathematical science was established in the 1600s by Newton and others. I don’t think anyone can deny that it has been useful. Of course, there are still potential for disagreement, but I contend that’s not a big philosophical question in the sense you’re talking about.

This brings us back to what I said in my first post:

In my first post, I identified this issue as an important reason, not the only reason, for a lack of agreement.

That’s fine, but then you will never achieve the agreement you seem to think is important.

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I worked quite hard to come up with those options for your problem. Sad that you went back to the troublemaker, logic, to solve the problem it created/couldn’t tackle, in the first place. Are you ok? :smiley:

One more to the pile. ChatGPT or actual AGI, when it finally dawns on civilization. A modern LLM \equiv 30,000 years of nonstop study by 1 human. It would solve any philosophical conundrum in mere seconds (with 0 errors). That would be very satisfying I presume.

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Well, I’m a philosopher, so . . . good question! :wink:

I think you may have misunderstood my problem, though. I’m not looking for a path or a technique to achieve resolution of a philosophical question. I agree that there are many of those, including the ones you name. My problem might be phrased this way: “Given all these options, why haven’t any of them succeeded in resolving the questions of philosophy?” Another way of putting it: “Why have philosophers rejected decision by vote, exclusion of controversial options, and coin flips as acceptable ways to resolve philosophical questions?”

I suspect that the answer is that none of those methods result in a resolution that is philosophically acceptable – but tell me what you think.

My reply to you on the original point was hasty and not deeply thought – I can’t help feeling pressure to respond quickly on TPF, which isn’t good for philosophical nuance. Let me do some proper thinking about this . . .

One need not, but this raises the familiar problem that limit-setting is generally done in the context of a certain tradition. Do you think it’s possible to survey, as best we can, the entirety of philosophy and find a way to set limits that all the traditions would agree upon? Without that agreement, we haven’t resolved the problem, in the sense of the word that I’m using.

Yes, so it isn’t an “absolute presupposition” in the sense we’re describing. It can be explained, argued for, and recommended. But I thought you (and Collingwood) were saying that an absolute presupposition, being neither true nor false, can’t be evaluated rationally.

Could you say more about this? I’m not sure I’ve quite got it.

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What I see is a rejection of a perfectly workable solution to your conundrums. Perhaps you should look at how countries decide on whether to wage war/not, legalize/outlaw abortion, decide whether guilty/innocent, etc.. You must know about expert consensus. These are out in the public domain, time-tested, with reasonable success rates. You must’ve been preoccupied with the problem to notice. :smiley: Happens, but do be careful. :heart:

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That’s not true at all. There are differences between different metaphysical positions. I generally identify the appropriate standard to apply as usefulness–for addressing a particular question, by a particular group of people, at a particular time. I’m not sure Collingwood would agree with that way of saying it.

Going back to my original answer to your question–I claim that a primary reason for the inability of philosophers to agree on the answers to “big” questions is their inability or unwillingness to recognize that many of those questions are metaphysical and, for that reason, they don’t have unconditional yes or no answers. I recognize you are skeptical of that claim. I think that’s true of many people.

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No, I’m comfortable with the idea that many metaphysical questions may not have yes or no answers. But that too, as a position, is contested.

The problem is this: As you point out, there are other philosophers, many of them highly respected, who disagree. Therefore, the answer you’re proposing hasn’t succeeded in resolving the issue. It may be right, but it hasn’t won agreement. So my OP asks: Why not? It’s an interesting “level-up” question. You propose that the reason so many phil questions don’t get resolved is that they’re unresolvable due to their subject matter. And that very proposal, or explanation, is widely contested! So, while your answer may be right, it hasn’t carried the day. Is that because its subject matter is likewise unresolvable? I think you would have to deny that, but tell me if that’s wrong.

We’re left with a desire to say more than just, “Well, some people think metaphysics raises questions that can’t be definitively answered, while others think they can be.” The “more” we’re wanting is an explanation of why neither side has prevailed. I don’t think that question can be answered simply by repeating the claim that metaphysical questions can’t be answered in this way – because it’s not clear that either claim (for or against resolution of metaphysical claims) is itself metaphysical.

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And that’s because my argument itself is metaphysics, or maybe meta-metaphysics.

Isn’t the situation you’ve described in the OP some sort of evidence that my claim is a useful one, if not exactly true.

Whether or not you agree with my characterization of the issues we’re discussing as metaphysics, I think it is true that the answers everyone is looking for are not empirically verifiable. I’m not sure whether that is a metaphysical statement or not. After all, is there any way to test realism or materialism or idealism empirically? So, even if it’s not metaphysics, it’s unresolvable.

Now all we have to do is come to an agreement among all of us together that it really is unresolvable. Then your troubles are over.

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I looked back at the OP to see what is on the list of What Would Resolve Our Disputes, since these aren’t; I didn’t find anything.

You gesture at things like this:

Which sounds like persuasion, and fair enough philosophy is almost never demonstrative but persuasive.

Only, for the question at issue, this is not much help; it’s just redescription. Didn’t persuade. Didn’t reach agreement. Question remains open. These all say the same thing.

So ask yourself this: what could resolve a dispute? It’s not agreement or persuasion, right, because those are other ways of saying the dispute is resolved. How is it resolved? To what can anyone appeal in philosophy with the expectation that it will, almost without exception, resolve the dispute, for the time being at least? Nothing.

How are disputes resolved elsewhere?

In other disciplines—law, the sciences, history—there are established procedures, not exhaustive, not always definitive, whatever, but the important thing is that people have by and large agreed on what they all accept as the thing that settles the dispute. You could say the same about how people handle their everyday differences, only the process and the standards are largely implicit.

In philosophy, we don’t have that.

Why not? Well, why do other disciplines have it and how did they get it?

We can also try this: could those other disciplines carry on just as well without a somewhat definite process for settling disputes? Doesn’t look that way to me. So how is it philosophy carries on perfectly fine—if it is fine—without having settled on such a process long ago?