Joseph Butler (1692—1752)

butlerBishop Joseph Butler is a well-known religious philosopher of the eighteenth century. He is still read and discussed among contemporary philosophers, especially for arguments against some major figures in the history of philosophy, such as Thomas Hobbes and John Locke. In his Fifteen Sermons Preached at the Rolls Chapel (1729), Butler argues against Hobbes’s egoism, and in the Analogy of Religion (1736), he argues against Locke’s memory-based theory of personal identity.

Overall, Butler’s philosophy is largely defensive. His general strategy is to accept the received systems of morality and religion and, then, defend them against those who think that such systems can be refuted or disregarded. Butler ultimately attempts to naturalize morality and religion, though not in an overly reductive way, by showing that they are essential components of nature and common life. He argues that nature is a moral system to which humans are adapted via conscience. Thus, in denying morality, Butler takes his opponents to be denying our very nature, which is untenable. Given this conception of nature as a moral system and certain proofs of God’s existence, Butler is then in a position to defend religion by addressing objections to it, such as the problem of evil.

This article provides an overview of Butler’s life, works, and influence with special attention paid to his writings on religion and ethics. The totality of his work addresses the questions: Why be moral? Why be religious? Which morality? Which religion? In attempting to answer such questions, Butler develops a philosophy that possesses a unity often neglected by those who read him selectively. The philosophy that develops is one according to which religion and morality are grounded in the natural world order.

Table of Contents

  1. Life
  2. Human Nature as Made for Virtue
  3. Human Life as in the Presence of God
  4. This Life as a Prelude to a Future Life
  5. The World as a Moral Order
  6. The Christian Scriptures as a Revelation
  7. Public Institutions as Moral Agents
  8. Butler’s Influence
  9. References and Further Reading
    1. Works by Butler
    2. Secondary Literature

1. Life

Joseph Butler was born into a Presbyterian family at Wantage. He attended a dissenting academy, but then converted to the Church of England intent on an ecclesiastical career. Butler expressed distaste for Oxford’s intellectual conventions while a student at Oriel College; he preferred the newer styles of thought, especially those of John Locke, the 3rd Earl of Shaftesbury and Francis Hutcheson, leading David Hume to characterize Butler as one of those “who have begun to put the science of man on a new footing, and have engaged the attention, and excited the curiosity of the public.” Butler benefited from the support of Samuel Clarke and the Talbot family.

In 1719, Butler was appointed to his first job, preacher to the Rolls Chapel in Chancery Lane, London. Butler’s anonymous letters to Clarke had been published in 1716, but a selection of his Fifteen Sermons Preached at the Rolls Chapel (1729) was the first work published under his name. The Rolls sermons are still widely read and have held the attention of secular philosophers more than any other sermons in history. Butler moved north and became rector of Stanhope in 1725. Only at this point is his life documented in any detail, and his tenure is remembered mainly for the Analogy of Religion (1736). Soon after publication of that work, Butler became Bishop of Bristol. Queen Caroline had died urging his preferment, but Bristol was one of the poorest sees, and Butler expressed some displeasure in accepting it. Once Butler became dean of St. Paul’s in 1740, he was able to use that income to support his work in Bristol. In 1750, not long before his death, Butler was elevated to Durham, one of the richest bishoprics. The tradition that Butler declined the See of Canterbury was conclusively discredited by Norman Sykes (1936), but continues to be repeated uncritically in many reference works. Butler’s famous encounter with John Wesley has only recently been reconstructed in as full detail as seems possible given the state of the surviving evidence, and we are now left with little hope of ever knowing what their actual relationship was. They disagreed, certainly, on Wesley’s right to preach without a license, and on this point Butler seems entirely in the right; but Butler may have supported Wesley more than he opposed him, and Wesley seems entirely sincere in his praise of the Analogy.

Butler has become an icon of a highly intellectualized, even rarefied, theology, “wafted in a cloud of metaphysics,” as Horace Walpole said. Ironically, Butler refused as a matter of principle to write speculative works or to pursue curiosity. All his writings were directly related to the performance of his duties at the time or to career advancement. From the Rolls sermons on, all his works are devoted to pastoral philosophy.

A pastoral philosopher gives philosophically persuasive arguments for seeing life in a particular way when such a seeing-as may have a decisive effect on practice. Butler had little interest in, and only occasionally practiced, natural theology in the scholastic sense; his intent is rather defensive: to answer those who claim that morals and religion, as conventionally understood, may be safely disregarded. Butler tried to show, as a refutation of the practice of his day (as he perceived it), that morals and religion are natural extensions of the common way of life usually taken for granted, and thus that those who would dispense with them bear a burden of proof they are unable to discharge. In arguing that morals and religion are favored by a presumption already acknowledged in ordinary life, Butler employs many types of appeal, at least some of which would be fallacious if used in an attempted demonstrative argument.

2. Human Nature as Made for Virtue

Butler’s argument for morality, found primarily in his sermons, is an attempt to show that morality is a matter of following human nature. To develop this argument, he introduces the notions of nature and of a system. There are, he says, various parts to human nature, and they are arranged hierarchically. The fact that human nature is hierarchically ordered is not what makes us manifestly adapted to virtue, rather, it is what Butler calls “conscience” that is at the top of this hierarchy. Butler does sometimes refer to the conscience as the voice of God; but, contrary to what is sometimes alleged, he never relies on divine authority in asserting the supremacy, the universality or the reliability of conscience. Butler clearly believes in the autonomy of the conscience as a secular organ of knowledge.

Whether the conscience judges principles, actions or persons is not clear, perhaps deliberately since such distinctions are of no practical significance. What Butler is concerned to show is that to dismiss morality is in effect to dismiss our own nature, and therefore absurd. As to which morality we are to follow, Butler seems to have in mind the common core of civilized standards. He stresses the degree of agreement and reliability of conscience without denying some differences remain. All that is required for his argument to go through is that the opponent accept in practice that conscience is the supreme authority in human nature and that we ought not to disregard our own nature.

The most significant recent challenge to Butler’s moral theory is by Nicholas Sturgeon (1976), a reply to which appears in Stephen Darwall (1995).

Besides the appeal to the rank of conscience, Butler offered many other observations in his attempt to show that we are made for (that is, especially suited to) virtue. In a famous attack on the egoistic philosophy of Thomas Hobbes, he argues that benevolence is as much a part of human nature as self-love. Butler also argues that various other aspects of human nature are adapted to virtue, sometimes in surprising ways. For example, he argues that resentment is needed to balance benevolence. He also deals forthrightly with self-deception.

Only three of the fifteen sermons deal with explicitly religious themes: the sermons on the love of God and the sermon on ignorance.

3. Human Life as in the Presence of God

Butler’s views on our knowledge of God are among the most frequently misstated aspects of his philosophy. Lewis White Beck’s exposition (1937) of this neglected aspect of Butler’s philosophy has itself been generally neglected, and both friends and foes frequently assert that Butler “assumed” that God exists. Butler never assumes the existence of God; rather, at least after his exchange with Clarke, he takes it as granted that God’s existence can be and has been proved to the satisfaction of those who were party to the discussion in his time. The charge, frequently repeated since the mid-nineteenth century, that Butler’s position is reversible once an opponent refuses to grant God’s existence, is therefore groundless. It is true that Butler does not expound any proof of God’s existence. (Notice that this fact makes it problematic to identify him with the character Cleanthes in Hume’s Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.) However, he does endorse many such proofs, using common names rather than citing specific texts.

The sermons on the love of God are rarely read today, but they provide abundant evidence that Butler’s God is not some remote deity who created the world and then lost interest in it. On the contrary, the difference that God makes to us is the difference that a lively sense of God’s presence makes.

4. This Life as a Prelude to a Future Life

Butler considered the expectation of a future life to be the foundation of all our hopes and fears. He does not state exactly why this is so, and most commentators have concluded that he is referring to hopes and fears regarding what will happen to us as individuals when we die. Such an intention would be contrary to Butler’s general line of thought. More consonant with what Butler does say is the Platonic point that one cannot truly benefit by acting viciously and then escaping punishment. Since that is what appears to happen in this world, appearances must be denied. Secondly, and here Butler would agree with Hume, in this world there is an appearance that the superintendence of the universe is not entirely just. Thus, there are three logical options: (1) the universe is ultimately unjust, (2) contrary to appearances, this world is somehow just, or (3) the universe is just, but only when viewed more broadly than we are able to see now. Given these options, Butler thinks there are good practical reasons for accepting the third in practice.

The first chapter of the Analogy is devoted to the argument that what little we know of the nature of death is insufficient to warrant an assurance that death is the end of us. And when we lack sufficient warrant for acting on the presumption of a change, we must act on the presumption of continuance. The recurrent objection, offered by such otherwise sympathetic readers as Richard Swinburne, is that in the physical destruction of the body, we do have sufficient warrant. Roderick Chisholm (1986) has proposed a counter to this criticism.

Butler appends to his discussion of a future life a brief essay on personal identity, and this is the only part of the Analogy widely read today. That it is read independently is perhaps just as well since it is difficult to see how it is related to the general argument. Butler says he needs to answer objections to personal identity continuing after death, which he certainly must do. But the view he proposes to refute is Locke’s, and Locke seemed not to see that his theory of personal identity presented a problem for expectation of a future life. Locke’s theory was that memory is constitutive of personal identity. Even if Butler is right in his objection to Locke’s theory, he certainly needs personal memories to be retained since they are presupposed by his theory of rewards and punishments after death.

5. The World as a Moral Order

Butler’s work is directed mainly against skeptics (and those inclined toward skepticism) and as an aid for those who propose to argue with skeptics. The general motivation for his work is to overcome intellectual embarrassment at accepting the received systems of morals and religion. To succeed, Butler must present a case that is plausible if not fully probative, and he must do so without resorting to an overly reductive account of morals and religion. Butler’s strategy is to naturalize morals and religion. Although generally scorning scholastic methods, Butler does accept the ontological argument for God’s existence, the appeal to the unity and simplicity of the soul and the distinction of natural and revealed religion. The fundamental doctrine of natural religion is the efficacy of morals—that the categories of virtue and vice, already discussed in terms of human nature, have application to the larger world of nature. To some, fortune and misfortune in this world seem not to be correlated with any moral scheme. But, with numerous examples, Butler argues that the world as we ordinarily experience it does have the appearance of a moral order.

Butler takes up two objections: the possibility that the doctrine of necessity is true and the familiar problem of evil. With regard to necessity, he argues that, even if such is the case, we are in no position to live in accord with necessity since we cannot see our own or others’ actions as entirely necessitated. Butler’s approach to the problem of evil is to appeal to human ignorance, a principal theme in various aspects of his work. What Butler must show is that we do not know of the actual occurrence of any event such that it could not be part of a just world. Since he does appeal to our ignorance, Butler cannot be said to have produced a theodicy, a justification of the ways of God to us, but his strategy may show a greater intellectual integrity, and may be sufficient for his purposes.

6. The Christian Scriptures as a Revelation

Butler’s treatment of revealed religion is less satisfactory, since he had only a partial understanding of modern biblical criticism. Butler does insist on treating the Bible like any other book for critical purposes. He maintains that if any biblical teaching appears immoral or contrary to what we know by our natural faculties, then that alone is sufficient reason for seeking another interpretation of the scripture. The point of a revelation is to supplement natural knowledge, not to overrule it. Far from compromising the role of religion, this view is entailed by the fact that nature, natural knowledge and revelation all have a common source in God.

It is only in the second part of his Analogy that Butler argues against the deists. The characterization of his work as on the whole a reply to the deists is entirely a modern invention and is not found anywhere in the first century of reactions.

Only one chapter of the Analogy is devoted to the “Christian evidences” of miracles and prophecy, and even there Butler confines himself to some judicious remarks on the logical character of the arguments, especially with regard to miracles. In general, Butler presents revelation as wholly consistent with, but also genuinely supplemental of, natural knowledge. Hume says he castrated his Treatise of Human Nature (1739/1740) out of regards for Butler. But based on the texts that survive, there is no reason to think Hume would have gotten the better of the argument. Charles Babbage (1837) eventually showed why Hume had no valid objection to Butler.

Unfortunately, Butler’s account of scripture is entirely two-dimensional. He does not doubt the point that scripture was written in terms properly applicable to a previous state of society, but he has little sense of the canonical books themselves being redactions of a multitude of oral and literary traditions and sources.

7. Public Institutions as Moral Agents

In the six sermons preserved from the years he served as the Bishop of Bristol, Butler defends the moral nature of various philanthropic and political institutions of his day. And in his Charge to the Clergy at Durham, he presents a concise rationale for the Church.

8. Butler’s Influence

Ernest Mossner (1936) is still the most useful survey of Butler’s influence. Mossner claims that Butler was widely read in his own time, but his evidence may be insufficient to convince some. However that may be, there is no doubt that by the late eighteenth century Butler was widely read in Scottish universities, and from the early nineteenth century at Oxford, Cambridge and many American colleges, perhaps especially because the Scottish influence was so strong in America. Butler’s work impressed David Hume and John Wesley, and Thomas Reid, Adam Smith and David Hartley considered themselves Butlerians. Butler was a great favorite of the Tractarians, but the association with them may have worked against his ultimate influence in England, especially since Newman attributed his own conversion to the Roman Church to his study of Butler. S. T. Coleridge was among the first to urge study of the sermons and to disparage the Analogy. The decline of interest in the Analogy in the late nineteenth century has never been satisfactorily explained, but Leslie Stephen’s critical work was especially influential.

The editions most frequently cited today appeared only after wide interest in Butler’s Analogy had evaporated. The total editions are sometimes said to be countless, but this is true only in the sense that there are no agreed criteria for individuating editions. The numerous ancillary essays and study guides are still useful as evidence of how Butler was studied and understood. At its height, Butler’s influence cut across protestant denominational lines and party differences in the Church of England, but serious interest in the Analogy is now concentrated among certain Anglican writers.

9. References and Further Reading

Butler’s first biography appeared in the supplement to the Biographia Britannica (London, 1766). The most frequently reprinted biography is by Andrew Kippis and appeared in his second edition of the Biographia Britannica (London, 1778-93). This second edition is often confused with the supplement to the first edition. The only full biography is Bartlett (1839).

The best modern edition of Butler’s works is J.H. Bernard’s, but it is a modernized text, as of 1900, and contains errors. Serious readers may consult the original editions, now available on microfilm.

a. Works by Butler

  • Several Letters to the Reverend Dr. Clarke. London: Knapton, 1716.
  • Fifteen Sermons Preached at the Rolls Chapel. London: second edition, 1729; six sermons added in the 1749 edition.
  • Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Nature. London: Knapton, 1736.
  • Charge Delivered to the Clergy. Durham: Lane, 1751.

b. Secondary Literature

  • Babbage, Charles. Ninth Bridgewater Treatise. London: J. Murray, 1837.
  • Babolin, Albino. Joseph Butler. Padova: LaGarangola, 1973. 2 vols.
  • Baker, Frank. “John Wesley and Bishop Joseph Butler: A Fragment of Wesley’s Manuscript Journal 16th to 24th August 1739.” Proceedings of the Wesley Historical Society. 42 (May 1980) 93-100.
  • Bartlett, Thomas. Memoirs of the Life, Character and Writings of Joseph Butler. London: John W. Parker, 1839.
  • Beck, Lewis White. “A Neglected Aspect of Butler’s Ethics.” Sophia 5 (1937) 11-15.
  • Butler, J.F. “John Wesley’s Defense Before Bishop Butler.” Proceedings of the Wesley Historical Society. 20 (1935) 63-67.
  • Butler, J.F. “John Wesley’s Defense Before Bishop Butler: A Further Note.” Proceedings of the Wesley Historical Society. 20 (1936) 193-194.
  • Chisholm, Roderick. “Self-Profile” in Roderick M. Chisholm, ed. Radu J. Bogdan. Dordrecht:Reidel, 1986.
  • Cunliffe, Christopher, ed. Joseph Butler’s Moral and Religious Thought: Tercentenary Essays. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992.
  • Darwall, Stephen. The British Moralists and the Internal ‘Ought’ 1640-1740. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995.
  • Mossner, E.C. Bishop Butler and the Age of Reason. New York: Macmillan, 1936.
  • Penelhum, Terence. Butler. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1985.
  • Stephen, Leslie. “Butler, Joseph.” Dictionary of National Biography, 1886.
  • Sturgeon, Nicholas L. “Nature and Conscience in Butler’s Ethics.” Philosophical Review 85 (1976) 316-356.
  • Sykes, Norman. “Bishop Butler and the Primacy” Theology (1936) 132- 137.
  • Sykes, Norman. “Bishop Butler and the Primacy” (letter) Theology (1958) 23.

Author Information

David E. White
Email: dr.david.e.white@gmail.com
St. John Fisher College
U. S. A.

Phenomenology

In its central use, the term “phenomenology” names a movement in twentieth century philosophy. A second use of “phenomenology” common in contemporary philosophy names a property of some mental states, the property they have if and only if there is something it is like to be in them. Thus, it is sometimes said that emotional states have a phenomenology while belief states do not.  For example, while there is something it is like to be angry, there is nothing it is like to believe that Paris is in France. Although the two uses of “phenomenology” are related, it is the first which is the current topic.  Accordingly, “phenomenological” refers to a way of doing philosophy that is more or less closely related to the corresponding movement. Phenomenology utilizes a distinctive method to study the structural features of experience and of things as experienced. It is primarily a descriptive discipline and is undertaken in a way that is largely independent of scientific, including causal, explanations and accounts of the nature of experience. Topics discussed within the phenomenological tradition include the nature of intentionality, perception, time-consciousness, self-consciousness, awareness of the body and consciousness of others. Phenomenology is to be distinguished from phenomenalism, a position in epistemology which implies that all statements about physical objects are synonymous with statements about persons having certain sensations or sense-data. George Berkeley was a phenomenalist but not a phenomenologist.

Although elements of the twentieth century phenomenological movement can be found in earlier philosophers—such as David Hume, Immanuel Kant and Franz Brentano—phenomenology as a philosophical movement really began with the work of Edmund Husserl. Following Husserl, phenomenology was adapted, broadened and extended by, amongst others, Martin Heidegger, Jean-Paul Sartre, Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Emmanuel Levinas and Jacques Derrida. Phenomenology has, at one time or another, been aligned with Kantian and post-Kantian transcendental philosophy, existentialism and the philosophy of mind and psychology.

This article introduces some of the central aspects of the phenomenological method and also concrete phenomenological analyses of some of the topics that have greatly exercised phenomenologists.

Table of Contents

  1. Introduction
  2. Phenomenological Method
    1. Phenomena
    2. Phenomenological Reduction
    3. Eidetic Reduction
    4. Heidegger on Method
  3. Intentionality
    1. Brentano and Intentional Inexistence
    2. Husserl’s Account in Logical Investigations
    3. Husserl’s Account in Ideas I
    4. Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty on Intentionality
  4. Phenomenology of Perception
    1. Naïve Realism, Indirect Realism and Phenomenalism
    2. Husserl’s Account: Intentionality and Hyle
    3. Husserl’s Account: Internal and External Horizons
    4. Husserl and Phenomenalism
    5. Sartre Against Sensation
  5. Phenomenology and the Self
    1. Hume and the Unity of Consciousness
    2. Kant and the Transcendental I
    3. Husserl and the Transcendental Ego
    4. Sartre and the Transcendent Ego
  6. Phenomenology of Time-Consciousness
    1. The Specious Present
    2. Primal Impression, Retention and Protention
    3. Absolute Consciousness
  7. Conclusion
  8. References and Further Reading

1. Introduction

The work often considered to constitute the birth of phenomenology is Husserl’s Logical Investigations (Husserl 2001). It contains Husserl’s celebrated attack on psychologism, the view that logic can be reduced to psychology; an account of phenomenology as the descriptive study of the structural features of the varieties of experience; and a number of concrete phenomenological analyses, including those of meaning, part-whole relations and intentionality.

Logical Investigations seemed to pursue its agenda against a backdrop of metaphysical realism. In Ideas I (Husserl 1982), however, Husserl presented phenomenology as a form of transcendental idealism. This apparent move was greeted with hostility from some early admirers of Logical Investigations, such as Adolph Reinach. However, Husserl later claimed that he had always intended to be a transcendental idealist. In Ideas I Husserl offered a more nuanced account of the intentionality of consciousness, of the distinction between fact and essence and of the phenomenological as opposed to the natural attitude.

Heidegger was an assistant to Husserl who took phenomenology in a rather new direction. He  married Husserl’s concern for legitimating concepts through phenomenological description with an overriding interest in the question of the meaning of being, referring to his own phenomenological investigations as “fundamental ontology.” His Being and Time (Heidegger 1962) is one of the most influential texts on the development of European philosophy in the Twentieth Century. Relations between Husserl and Heidegger became strained, partly due to the divisive issue of National Socialism, but also due to significant philosophical differences. Thus, unlike his early works, Heidegger’s later philosophy bears little relation to classical Husserlian phenomenology.

Although he published relatively little in his lifetime, Husserl was a prolific writer leaving a large number of manuscripts. Alongside Heidegger’s interpretation of phenomenology, this unpublished work had a decisive influence on the development of French existentialist phenomenology. Taking its lead from Heidegger’s account of authentic existence, Sartre’s Being and Nothingness (Sartre 1969) developed a phenomenological account of consciousness, freedom and concrete human relations that perhaps defines the term “existentialism.” Merleau-Ponty’s Phenomenology of Perception (Merleau-Ponty 1962) is distinctive both in the central role it accords to the body and in the attention paid to the relations between phenomenology and empirical psychology.

Although none of the philosophers mentioned above can be thought of straightforwardly as classical Husserlian phenomenologists, in each case Husserl sets the phenomenological agenda. This remains the case, with a great deal of the contemporary interest in both phenomenological methodology and phenomenological topics drawing inspiration from Husserl’s work. Accordingly, Husserl’s views are the touchstone in the following discussion of the topics, methods and significance of phenomenology.

2. Phenomenological Method

Husserlian phenomenology is a discipline to be undertaken according to a strict method. This method incorporates both the phenomenological and eidetic reductions.

a. Phenomena

Phenomenology is, as the word suggests, the science of phenomena. But this just raises the questions: “What are phenomena?” and “In what sense is phenomenology a science?”.

In answering the first question, it is useful to briefly turn to Kant. Kant endorsed “transcendental idealism,” distinguishing between phenomena (things as they appear) and noumena (things as they are in themselves), claiming that we can only know about the former (Kant 1929, A30/B45). On one reading of Kant, appearances are in the mind, mental states of subjects. On another reading, appearances are things as they appear, worldly objects considered in a certain way.

Both of these understandings of the nature of phenomena can be found in the phenomenological literature. However, the most common view is that all of the major phenomenologists construe phenomena in the latter way: phenomena are things as they appear. They are not mental states but worldly things considered in a certain way. The Phenomenologists tend, however, to reject Kantian noumena. Also, importantly, it is not to be assumed that the relevant notion of appearing is limited to sensory experience. Experience (or intuition) can indeed be sensory but can, at least by Husserl’s lights, be understood to encompass a much broader range of phenomena (Husserl 2001, sec. 52). Thus, for example, although not objects of sensory experience, phenomenology can offer an account of how the number series is given to intuition.

Phenomenology, then, is the study of things as they appear (phenomena). It is also often said to be descriptive rather than explanatory: a central task of phenomenology is to provide a clear, undistorted description of the ways things appear (Husserl 1982, sec. 75). This can be distinguished from the project of giving, for example, causal or evolutionary explanations, which would be the job of the natural sciences.

b. Phenomenological Reduction

In ordinary waking experience we take it for granted that the world around us exists independently of both us and our consciousness of it. This might be put by saying that we share an implicit belief in the independent existence of the world, and that this belief permeates and informs our everyday experience. Husserl refers to this positing of the world and entities within it as things which transcend our experience of them as “the natural attitude” (Husserl 1982, sec. 30). In The Idea of Phenomenology, Husserl introduces what he there refers to as “the epistemological reduction,” according to which we are asked to supply this positing of a transcendent world with “an index of indifference” (Husserl 1999, 30). In Ideas I, this becomes the “phenomenological epoché,” according to which, “We put out of action the general positing which belongs to the essence of the natural attitude; we parenthesize everything which that positing encompasses with respect to being” (Husserl 1982, sec. 32). This means that all judgements that posit the independent existence of the world or worldly entities, and all judgements that presuppose such judgements, are to be bracketed and no use is to be made of them in the course of engaging in phenomenological analysis. Importantly, Husserl claims that all of the empirical sciences posit the independent existence of the world, and so the claims of the sciences must be “put out of play” with no use being made of them by the phenomenologist.

This epoché is the most important part of the phenomenological reduction, the purpose of which is to open us up to the world of phenomena, how it is that the world and the entities within it are given. The reduction, then, is that which reveals to us the primary subject matter of phenomenology—the world as given and the givenness of the world; both objects and acts of consciousness.

There are a number of motivations for the view that phenomenology must operate within the confines of the phenomenological reduction. One is epistemological modesty. The subject matter of phenomenology is not held hostage to skepticism about the reality of the “external” world. Another is that the reduction allows the phenomenologist to offer a phenomenological analysis of the natural attitude itself. This is especially important if, as Husserl claims, the natural attitude is one of the presuppositions of scientific enquiry. Finally, there is the question of the purity of phenomenological description. It is possible that the implicit belief in the independent existence of the world will affect what we are likely to accept as an accurate description of the ways in which worldly things are given in experience. We may find ourselves describing things as “we know they must be” rather than how they are actually given.

The reduction, in part, enables the phenomenologist to go “back to the ‘things themselves'”(Husserl 2001, 168), meaning back to the ways that things are actually given in experience. Indeed, it is precisely here, in the realm of phenomena, that Husserl believes we will find that indubitable evidence that will ultimately serve as the foundation for every scientific discipline. As such, it is vital that we are able to look beyond the prejudices of common sense realism, and accept things as actually given. It is in this context that Husserl presents his Principle of All Principles which states that, “every originary presentive intuition is a legitimizing source of cognition, that everything originally (so to speak, in its ‘personal’ actuality) offered to us in ‘intuition’ is to be accepted simply as what it is presented as being, but also only within the limits in which it is presented there” (Husserl 1982, sec. 24).

c. Eidetic Reduction

The results of phenomenology are not intended to be a collection of particular facts about consciousness, but are rather supposed to be facts about the essential natures of phenomena and their modes of givenness. Phenomenologists do not merely aspire to offer accounts of what their own experiences of, say, material objects are like, but rather accounts of the essential features of material object perception as such. But how is this aspiration to be realized given that the method of phenomenology is descriptive, consisting in the careful description of experience? Doesn’t this, necessarily, limit phenomenological results to facts about particular individuals’ experience, excluding the possibility of phenomenologically grounded general facts about experience as such?

The Husserlian answer to this difficulty is that the phenomenologist must perform a second reduction called “eidetic” reduction (because it involves a kind of vivid, imagistic intuition). The purpose of the eidetic reduction in Husserl’s writings is to bracket any considerations concerning the contingent and accidental, and concentrate on (intuit) the essential natures or essences of the objects and acts of consciousness (Husserl 1982, sec. 2). This intuition of essences proceeds via what Husserl calls “free variation in imagination.” We imagine variations on an object and ask, “What holds up amid such free variations of an original […] as the invariant, the necessary, universal form, the essential form, without which something of that kind […] would be altogether inconceivable?” (Husserl 1977, sec. 9a). We will eventually come up against something that cannot be varied without destroying that object as an instance of its kind. The implicit claim here is that if it is inconceivable that an object of kind K might lack feature F, then F is a part of the essence of K.

Eidetic intuition is, in short, an a priori method of gaining knowledge of necessities. However, the result of the eidetic reduction is not just that we come to knowledge of essences, but that we come to intuitive knowledge of essences. Essences show themselves to us (Wesensschau), although not to sensory intuition, but to categorial or eidetic intuition (Husserl 2001, 292-4). It might be argued that Husserl’s methods here are not so different from the standard methods of conceptual analysis: imaginative thought experiments (Zahavi 2003, 38-39).

d. Heidegger on Method

It is widely accepted that few of the most significant post-Husserlian phenomenologists accepted Husserl’s prescribed methodology in full. Although there are numerous important differences between the later phenomenologists, the influence of Heidegger runs deep.

On the nature of phenomena, Heidegger remarks that “the term ‘phenomenon’…signifies ‘to show itself'” (Heidegger 1962, sec. 7). Phenomena are things that show themselves and the phenomenologist describes them as they show themselves. So, at least on this score there would appear to be some affinity between Husserl and Heidegger. However, this is somewhat controversial, with some interpreters understanding Husserlian phenomena not as things as given, but as states of the experiencing subject (Carman 2006).

It is commonly held that Heidegger reject’s the epoché: “Heidegger came to the conclusion that any bracketing of the factual world in phenomenology must be a crucial mistake” (Frede 2006, 56). What Heidegger says in his early work, however, is that, for him, the phenomenological reduction has a different sense than it does for Husserl:

For Husserl, phenomenological reduction… is the method of leading phenomenological vision from the natural attitude of the human being whose life is involved in the world of things and persons back to the transcendental life of consciousness…. For us phenomenological reduction means leading phenomenological vision back from the apprehension of a being…to the understanding of the being of this being.
(Heidegger 1982, 21)

Certainly, Heidegger thinks of the reduction as revealing something different—the Being of beings. But this is not yet to say that his philosophy does not engage in bracketing,for we can distinguish between the reduction itself and its claimed consequences. There is, however, some reason to think that Heidegger’s position is incompatible with Husserl’s account of the phenomenological reduction. For, on Husserl’s account, the reduction is to be applied to the “general positing” of the natural attitude, that is to a belief. But, according to Heidegger and those phenomenologists influenced by him (including both Sartre and Merleau-Ponty), our most fundamental relation to the world is not cognitive but practical (Heidegger 1962, sec. 15).

Heidegger’s positive account of the methods of phenomenology is explicit in its ontological agenda. A single question dominates the whole of Heidegger’s philosophy: What is the meaning of being? To understand this, we can distinguish between beings (entities) and Being. Heidegger calls this “the ontological difference.”  According to Heidegger, “ontology is the science of Being. But Being is always the being of a being. Being is essentially different from a being, from beings…We call it the ontological difference—the differentiation between Being and beings” (Heidegger 1982, 17). Tables, chairs, people, theories, numbers and universals are all beings. But they all have being, they all are. An understanding at the level of beings is “ontical,” an understanding at the level of being is “ontological”. Every being has being, but what does it mean to say of some being that it is? Might it be that what it means to say that something is differs depending on what sort of thing we are talking about? Do tables, people, numbers have being in the same way? Is there such a thing as the meaning of being in general? The task is, for each sort of being, to give an account of the structural features of its way of Being, “Philosophy is the theoretical conceptual interpretation of being, of being’s structure and its possibilities” (Heidegger 1982, 11).

According to Heidegger, we have a “pre-ontological” understanding of being: “We are able to grasp beings as such, as beings, only if we understand something like being. If we did not understand, even though at first roughly and without conceptual comprehension, what actuality signifies, then the actual would remain hidden from us…We must understand being so that we may be able to be given over to a world that is” (Heidegger 1982, 10-11). Our understanding of being is manifested in our “comportment towards beings” (Heidegger 1982, 16). Comportment is activity, action or behaviour. Thus, the understanding that we have of the Being of beings can be manifested in our acting with them. One’s understanding of the being of toothbrushes, for example, is manifested in one’s capacity for utilizing toothbrushes. Understanding need not be explicit, nor able to be articulated conceptually. It is often embodied in “know-how.” This is the sense, on Heidegger’s account, that our most fundamental relation to the world is practical rather than cognitive. It is this that poses a challenge to the phenomenological reduction.

Heidegger’s relation to the eidetic reduction is complex. The purpose of the eidetic reduction in Husserl’s writings is to bracket any considerations concerning the contingent and accidental, and concentrate on (intuit) the essential natures of the objects and acts of consciousness. Heidegger’s concentration on the meaning of the Being of entities appears similar in aim. However, insofar as the Being of entities relies on the notion of essence, Heidegger’s project calls it into question. The idea that there are different “ways of being” looks as though it does not abide by the traditional distinction between existence and essence. So, on Heidegger’s account, what it takes for something to have being is different for different sorts of thing.

3. Intentionality

How is it that subjective mental processes (perceptions, thoughts, etc.) are able to reach beyond the subject and open us up to an objective world of both worldly entities and meanings? This question is one that occupied Husserl perhaps more than any other, and his account of the intentionality of consciousness is central to his attempted answer.

Intentionality is one of the central concepts of Phenomenology from Husserl onwards. As a first approximation, intentionality is aboutness or directedness as exemplified by mental states. For example, the belief that The Smiths were from Manchester is about both Manchester and The Smiths. One can also hope, desire, fear, remember, etc. that the Smiths were from Manchester.

Intentionality is, say many, the way that subjects are “in touch with” the world. Two points of terminology are worth noting. First, in contemporary non-phenomenological debates, “intentional” and its cognates is often used interchangeably with “representational” and its cognates. Second, although they are related, “intentionality” (with a “t”)  is not to be confused with “intensionality” (with an “s”). The former refers to aboutness (which is the current topic), the latter refers to failure of truth-preservation after substitution of co-referring terms.

a. Brentano and Intentional Inexistence

Franz Brentano, Husserl’s one time teacher, is the origin of the contemporary debate about intentionality. He famously, and influentially claimed:

Every mental phenomenon is characterised by what the Scholastics of the Middle Ages called the intentional (or mental) inexistence of an object, and what we might call, though not wholly unambiguously, reference to a content, direction towards an object (which is not to be understood here as meaning a thing) or immanent objectivity. Every mental phenomenon includes something as object within itself, although they do not all do so in the same way. In presentation, something is presented, in judgement something is affirmed or denied, in love loved, in hate hated, in desire desired and so on.
(Brentano 1995, 88)

Brentano thought that all and only psychological states exhibit intentionality, and that in this way the subject matter of psychology could be demarcated. His, early and notorious, doctrine of intentional inexistence maintains that the object of an intentional state is literally a part of the state itself, and is, therefore, an “immanent” psychological entity. This position is based on Brentano’s adherence to (something like) the first interpretation of the Kantian notion of phenomena mentioned above (Crane 2006).

b. Husserl’s Account in Logical Investigations

Since phenomenology is descriptive, Husserl’s aim is to describe (rather than explain or reduce) intentionality. Husserl differs from Brentano in that he thinks that, apart from some special cases, the object of an intentional act is a transcendent object. That is, the object of an intentional act is external to the act itself (Husserl 2001, 126-7) (Husserl’s “acts” are not to be thought of as actions, or even as active. For example, on Husserl’s view, a visual experience is a conscious act (Husserl 2001, 102)). The object of the belief that Paris is the capital of France is Paris (and France). This is in keeping with the suggestion above that when phenomenologists describe phenomena, they describe worldly things as they are presented in conscious acts, not mental entities.

Intentionality is not a relation, but rather an intrinsic feature of intentional acts. Relations require the existence of their relata (the things related to one another), but this is not true of intentionality (conceived as directedness towards a transcendent object). The object of my belief can fail to exist (if my belief is, for example, about Father Christmas). On Husserl’s picture, every intentional act has an intentional object, an object that the act is about, but they certainly needn’t all have a real object (Husserl 2001, 127).

Husserl distinguishes between the intentional matter (meaning) of a conscious act and its intentional quality, which is something akin to its type (Husserl 2001, 119-22). Something’s being a belief, desire, perception, memory, etc. is its intentional quality. A conscious act’s being about a particular object, taken in a particular way, is its intentional matter. An individual act has a meaning that specifies an object. It is important to keep these three distinct. To see that the latter two are different, note that two intentional matters (meanings) can say the same thing of the same object, if they do it in a different way. Compare: Morrissey wrote “I know it’s Over,” and The lead singer of the Smiths wrote the second track on The Queen is Dead. To see that the first two (act and meaning) are distinct, on Husserl’s view, meanings are ideal (that is, not spatio-temporal), and therefore transcend the acts that have them (Husserl 2001, 120). However, intentional acts concretely instantiate them. In this way, psychological subjects come into contact with both ideal meaning and the worldly entities meant.

c. Husserl’s Account in Ideas I

In his Ideas I, Husserl introduced a new terminology to describe the structure of intentionality. He distinguished between the noesis and the noema, and he claimed that phenomenology involved both noetic and noematic analysis (Husserl 1982, pt. 3, ch.6). The noesis is the act of consciousness; this notion roughly corresponds to what Husserl previously referred to as the “intentional quality.” Thus, noetic analysis looks at the structure of conscious acts and the ways in which things are consciously intended. The noema is variously interpreted as either the intentional object as it is intended or the ideal content of the intentional act. Thus, noematic analysis looks at the structure of meaning or objects as they are given to consciousness. Exactly how to interpret Husserl’s notions of the noema and noematic analysis are much debated (Smith 2007, 304-11), and this debate goes right to the heart of Husserlian phenomenology.

d. Heidegger and Merleau-Ponty on Intentionality

On Husserl’s view, intentionality is aboutness or directedness as exemplified by conscious mental acts. Heidegger and, following him, Merleau-Ponty broaden the notion of intentionality, arguing that it fails to describe what is in fact the most fundamental form of intentionality. Heidegger argues:

The usual conception of intentionality…misconstrues the structure of the self-directedness-toward….  An ego or subject is supposed, to whose so-called sphere intentional experiences are then supposed to belong…. [T]he mode of being of our own self, the Dasein, is essentially such that this being, so far as it is, is always already dwelling with the extant. The idea of a subject which has intentional experiences merely inside its own sphere and is not yet outside it but encapsulated within itself is an absurdity.
(Heidegger 1982, 63-4)

Heidegger introduces the notion of comportment as a meaningful directedness towards the world that is, nevertheless, more primitive than the conceptually structured intentionality of conscious acts, described by Husserl (Heidegger 1982, 64). Comportment is an implicit openness to the world that continually operates in our habitual dealings with the world. As Heidegger puts it, we are “always already dwelling with the extant”.

Heidegger’s account of comportment is related to his distinction, in Being and Time, between the present-at-hand and the ready-to-hand. These describe two ways of being of worldly entities. We are aware of things as present-at-hand, or occurrent, through what we can call the “theoretical attitude.” Presence-at-hand is the way of being of things—entities with determinate properties.
Thus, a hammer, seen through the detached contemplation of the theoretical attitude, is a material thing with the property of hardness, woodenness etc. This is to be contrasted with the ready-to-hand. In our average day-to-day comportments, Dasein encounters equipment as ready-to-hand,
“The kind of Being which equipment possesses – in which it manifests itself in its own right – we call ‘readiness-to-hand‘” (Heidegger 1962, sec. 15). Equipment shows itself as that which is in-order-to, that is, as that which is for something. A pen is equipment for writing, a fork is equipment for eating, the wind is equipment for sailing, etc. Equipment is ready-to-hand, and this means that it is ready to use, handy, or available. The readiness-to-hand of equipment is its manipulability in our dealings with it.

A ready-to-hand hammer has various properties, including Being-the-perfect-size-for-the-job-at-hand. Heidegger claims that these “dealings” with “equipment” have their own particular kind of “sight”: “[W]hen we deal with them [equipment] by using them and manipulating them, this activity is not a blind one; it has its own kind of sight, by which our manipulation is guided… the sight with which they thus accommodate themselves is circumspection” (Heidegger 1962, sec. 15). Circumspection is the way in which we are aware of the ready-to-hand. It is the kind of awareness that we have of “equipment” when we are using it but are not explicitly concentrating on it or contemplating it, when it recedes. For example, in driving, one is not explicitly aware of the wheel. Rather, one knowledgeably use it; one has “know how.” Thus, circumspection is the name of our mode of awareness of the ready-to-hand entities with which Dasein comports in what, on Heidegger’s view, is the most fundamental mode of intentionality.

Merleau-Ponty’s account of intentionality introduces, more explicitly than does Heidegger’s, the role of the body in intentionality. His account of “motor intentionality” treats bodily activities, and not just conscious acts in the Husserlian sense, as themselves intentional. Much like Heidegger, Merleau-Ponty describes habitual, bodily activity as a directedness towards worldly entities that are for something, what he calls “a set of manipulanda” (Merleau-Ponty 1962, 105). Again, like Heidegger, he argues that motor intentionality is a basic phenomenon, not to be understood in terms of the conceptually articulated intentionality of conscious acts, as described by Husserl. As Merleau-Ponty says, “it is the body which ‘catches’ and ‘comprehends movement’. The acquisition of a habit is indeed the grasping of a significance, but it is the motor grasping or a motor significance” (Merleau-Ponty 1962, 142-3). And again, “it is the body which ‘understands'” (Merleau-Ponty 1962, 144).

4. Phenomenology of Perception

Perceptual experience is one of the perennial topics of phenomenological research. Husserl devotes a great deal of attention to perception, and his views have been very influential. We will concentrate, as does Husserl, on the visual perception of three dimensional spatial objects. To understand Husserl’s view, some background will be helpful.

a. Naïve Realism, Indirect Realism and Phenomenalism

We ordinarily think of perception as a relation between ourselves and things in the world. We think of perceptual experience as involving the presentation of three dimensional spatio-temporal objects and their properties. But this view, sometimes known as naïve realism, has not been the dominant view within the history of modern philosophy. Various arguments have been put forward in an attempt to show that it cannot be correct. The following is just one such:

  1. If one hallucinates a red tomato, then one is aware of something red.
  2. What one is aware of cannot be a red tomato (because there isn’t one); it must be a private, subjective entity (call this a sense datum).
  3. It is possible to hallucinate a red tomato while being in exactly the same bodily states as one would be in if one were seeing a red tomato.
  4. What mental/experiential states people are in are determined by what bodily states they are in.
  5. So: When one sees a red tomato, what one is (directly) aware of cannot be a red tomato but must be a private, subjective entity (a sense datum).

The conclusion of this argument is incompatible with naïve realism. Once naïve realism is rejected, and it is accepted that perception is a relation, not to an ordinary worldly object, but to a private mental object, something must be said about the relation between these two types of object. An indirect realist view holds that there really are both kinds of object. Worldly objects both cause and are represented by sense data. However, this has often been thought to lead to a troubling skepticism regarding ordinary physical objects: one could be experiencing exactly the same sense data, even if there were no ordinary physical objects causing one to experience them. That is, as far as one’s perceptual experience goes, one could be undergoing one prolonged hallucination. So, for all one knows, there are no ordinary physical objects.

Some versions of a view known as phenomenalism answer this skeptical worry by maintaining that ordinary physical objects are nothing more than logical constructions out of (collections of) actual and possible sense data. The standard phenomenalist claim is that statements about ordinary physical objects can be translated into statements that refer only to experiences (Ayer 1946). A phenomenalist might claim that the physical object statement “there is a white sheep in the kitchen” could be analysed as “if one were to currently be experiencing sense-data as of the inside of the kitchen, then one would experience a white, sheep-shaped sense-datum.” Of course, the above example is certainly not adequate. First, it includes the unanalysed physical object term “kitchen.” Second, one might see the kitchen but not the sheep. Nevertheless, the phenomenalist is committed to the claim that there is some adequate translation into statements that refer only to experiences.

b. Husserl’s Account: Intentionality and Hyle

However, another route out of the argument from hallucination is possible. This involves the denial that when one suffers a hallucination there is some object of which one is aware. That is, one denies premise 1 of the argument. Intentional theories of perception deny that perceptual experience is a relation to an object. Rather, perception is characterised by intentionality. The possibility of hallucinations is accounted for by the fact that my perceptual intentions can be inaccurate or “non-veridical.” When one hallucinates a red tomato, one “perceptually intends” a red tomato, but there is none. One’s conscious experience has an intentional object, but not a real one.

This, of course, is the fundamental orientation of Husserl‘s view. In sensory perception we are intentionally directed toward a transcendent object. We enjoy, “concrete intentive mental processes called perceivings of physical things” (Husserl 1982, sec. 41). Further, Husserl takes this view to be consistent with the intuition that in part drives naïve realism, that in perception we are aware of three-dimensional physical things, not subjective mental representations of them. As Husserl writes, “The spatial physical thing which we see is, with all its transcendence, still something perceived, given ‘in person’ in the manner peculiar to consciousness” (Husserl 1982, sec. 43). If the intentional account of perceptual experience is correct, we can agree that naïve realism is false while avoiding the postulation of private sense data.

But if perceiving is characterised by intentionality, what distinguishes it from other intentional phenomena, such as believing? What is the difference between seeing that there is a cat on the mat and believing that there is a cat on the mat? Part of Husserl’s answer to this is that perception has a sensory character. As one commentary puts it, “The authentic appearance of an object of perception is the intentional act inasmuch and to the extent that this act is interwoven with corresponding sensational data” (Bernet, Kern, and Marbach 1993, 118). The “sensational data” (also called hyle) are non-intentional, purely sensory aspects of experience. Sensory data are, on Husserl’s account, “animated” by intentions, which “interpret” them (Husserl 1982, 85). Thus, although perception is an intentional phenomenon, it is not purely intentional; it also has non-intentional, sensory qualities. In contemporary debates over intentionality and consciousness, those who believe that experiences have such non-intentional qualities are sometimes said to believe in qualia.

c. Husserl’s Account: Internal and External Horizons

When we visually perceive a three-dimensional, spatial object, we see it from one particular perspective. This means that we see one of its sides at the expense of the others (and its insides). We see a profile, aspect or, as Husserl puts it, “adumbration.” Should we conclude from this that the other sides of the object are not visually present? Husserl thinks not, claiming that a more phenomenologically adequate description of the experience would maintain that, “Of necessity a physical thing can be given only ‘one-sidedly;’… A physical thing is necessarily given in mere ‘modes of appearance’ in which necessarily a core of what is actually presented‘ is apprehended as being surrounded by a horizon of ‘co-givenness‘” (Husserl 1982, sec. 44).

Husserl refers to that which is co-given as a “horizon,” distinguishing between the internal and external horizons of a perceived object (Husserl 1973, sec. 8). The internal horizon of an experience includes those aspects of the object (rear aspect and insides) that are co-given. The external horizon includes those objects other than those presented that are co-given as part of the surrounding environment. In visual experience we are intentionally directed towards the object as a whole, but its different aspects are given in different ways.

Husserl often uses the term “anticipation” to describe the way in which the merely co-presented is present in perceptual experience. As he says, “there belongs to every external perception its reference from the ‘genuinely perceived’ sides of the object of perception to the sides ‘also meant’—not  yet perceived, but only anticipated and, at first, with a non-intuitional emptiness… the perception has horizons made up of other possibilities of perception, as perceptions that we could have, if we actively directed the course of perception otherwise” (Husserl 1960, sec. 19). In these terms, only the front aspect of an object is “genuinely perceived.” Its other features (rear aspect and insides) are also visually present, but by way of being anticipated. This anticipation consists, in part, in expectations of how the object will appear in subsequent experiences. These anticipations count as genuinely perceptual, but they lack the “intuitional fullness” of the fully presented. The non-intuitional emptiness of the merely co-given can be brought into intuitional fullness precisely by making the previously co-given rear aspect fully present, say, by moving around the object. Perceptual anticipations have an “if…then…” structure, that is, a perceptual experience of an object is partly constituted by expectations of how it would look were one to see it from another vantage point.

d. Husserl and Phenomenalism

Above, phenomenalism was characterised in two ways. On one, the view is that ordinary physical objects are nothing more than logical constructions out of (collections of) actual and possible sense data. One the other, the view is that statements about ordinary physical objects can be translated into statements that refer only to experiences. But, in fact, these views are not equivalent. The first, but not the second, is committed to the existence of sense data.

Husserl’s intentional account of perception does not postulate sense data, so he is not a phenomenalist of the first sort. However, there is some reason to believe that he may be a phenomenalist of the second sort. Concerning unperceived objects, Husserl writes:

That the unperceived physical thing “is there” means rather that, from my actually present perceptions, with the actually appearing background field, possible and, moreover, continuously-harmoniously motivated perception-sequences, with ever new fields of physical things (as unheeded backgrounds) lead to those concatenations of perceptions in which the physical thing in question would make its appearance and become seized upon.
(Husserl 1982, sec. 46)

Here Husserl seems to be claiming that what it is for there to be a currently unperceived object  is for one to have various things given, various things co-given and various possibilities of givenness. That is, he appears to endorse something that looks rather like the second form of phenomenalism—the view that statements about physical objects can be translated into statements that only make reference to actual and possible appearances. Thus, there is some reason to think that Husserl may be a phenomenalist, even though he rejects the view that perceptual experience is a relation to a private, subjective sense datum.

e. Sartre Against Sensation

Sartre accepts, at least in broad outline, Husserl’s view of intentionality (although he steers clear of Husserl’s intricate detail). Intentionality, which Sartre agrees is characteristic of consciousness, is directedness toward worldly objects and, importantly for Sartre, it is nothing more than this. He writes, “All at once consciousness is purified, it is clear as a strong wind. There is nothing in it but a movement of fleeing itself, a sliding beyond itself” (Sartre 1970, 4). Consciousness is nothing but a directedness elsewhere, towards the world. Sartre’s claim that consciousness is empty means that there are no objects or qualities in consciousness. So, worldly objects are not in consciousness; sense data are not in consciousness; qualia are not in consciousness; the ego is not in consciousness. In so far as these things exist, they are presented to consciousness. Consciousness is nothing more than directedness toward the world. Thus, Sartre rejects Husserl’s non-intentional, purely sensory qualities.

A test case for Sartre’s view concerning the emptiness of consciousness is that of bodily sensation (for example, pain). A long tradition has held that bodily sensations, such as pain, are non-intentional, purely subjective qualities (Jackson 1977, chap. 3). Sartre is committed to rejecting this view. However, the most obvious thing with which to replace it is the view according to which bodily sensations are perceptions of the body as painful, or ticklish, etc. On such a perceptual view, pains are experienced as located properties of an object—one’s body. However, Sartre also rejects the idea that when one is aware of one’s body as subject (and being aware of something as having pains is a good candidate for this), one is not aware of it as an object (Sartre 1969, 327). Thus, Sartre is committed to rejecting the perceptual view of bodily sensations.

In place of either of these views, Sartre proposes an account of pains according to which they are perceptions of the world. He offers the following example:

My eyes are hurting but I should finish reading a philosophical work this evening…how is the pain given as pain in the eyes? Is there not here an intentional reference to a transcendent object, to my body precisely in so far as it exists outside in the world? […] [P]ain is totally void of intentionality…. Pain is precisely the eyes in so far as consciousness “exists them”…. It is the-eyes-as-pain or vision-as-pain; it is not distinguished from my way of apprehending transcendent words.
(Sartre 1969, 356)

Bodily sensations are not given to unreflective consciousness as located in the body. They are indicated by the way objects appear. Having a pain in the eyes amounts to the fact that, when reading, “It is with more difficulty that the words are detached from the undifferentiated ground” (Sartre 1969, 356). What we might intuitively think of as an awareness of a pain in a particular part of the body is nothing more than an awareness of the world as presenting some characteristic difficulty. A pain in the eyes becomes an experience of the words one is reading becoming indistinct, a pain in the foot might become an experience of one’s shoes as uncomfortable.

5. Phenomenology and the Self

There are a number of philosophical views concerning both the nature of the self and any distinctive awareness we may have of it. Husserl’s views on the self, or ego, are best understood in relation to well known discussions by Hume and Kant. Phenomenological discussions of the self and self-awareness cannot be divorced from issues concerning the unity of consciousness.

a. Hume and the Unity of Consciousness

Hume’s account of the self and self-awareness includes one of the most famous quotations in the history of philosophy. He wrote:

There are some philosophers, who imagine we are every moment intimately conscious of what we call our SELF; that we feel its existence and its continuance in existence…. For my part, when I enter most intimately into what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception or other, or heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or pleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and never can observe anything but the perception.
(Hume 1978, 251-2)

Hume claims that reflection does not reveal a continuously existing self. Rather, all that reflection reveals is a constantly changing stream of mental states. In Humean terms, there is no impression of self and, as a consequence of his empiricism, the idea that we have of ourselves is rendered problematic. The concept self is not one which can be uncritically appealed to.

However, as Hume recognized, this appears to leave him with a problem, a problem to which he could not see the answer: “…all my hopes vanish when I come to explain the principles, that unite our successive perceptions in our thought or consciousness” (Hume 1978, 635-6). This problem concerns the unity of consciousness. In fact there are at least two problems of conscious unity.

The first problem concerns the synchronic unity of consciousness and the distinction between subjects of experience. Consider four simultaneous experiences: e1, e2, e3 and e4. What makes it the case that, say, e1 and e2 are experiences had by one subject, A, while e3 and e4 are experiences had by another subject, B? One simple answer is that there is a relation that we could call ownership such that A bears ownership to both e1 and e2, and B bears ownership to both e3 and e4. However if, with Hume, we find the idea of the self problematic, we are bound to find the idea of ownership problematic. For what but the self could it be that owns the various experiences?

The second problem concerns diachronic unity. Consider four successive conscious experiences, e1, e2, e3 and e4, putatively had by one subject, A. What makes it the case that there is just one subject successively enjoying these experiences? That is, what makes the difference between a temporally extended stream of conscious experience and merely a succession of experiences lacking any experienced unity? An answer to this must provide a relation that somehow accounts for the experienced unity of conscious experience through time.

So, what is it for two experiences, e1 and e2, to belong to the same continuous stream of consciousness? One thought is that e1 and e2 must be united, or synthesised, by the self. On this view, the self must be aware of both e1 and e2 and must bring them together in one broader experience that encompasses them. If this is right then, without the self to unify my various experiences, there would be no continuous stream of conscious experience, just one experience after another lacking experiential unity. But our experience is evidently not like this. If the unity of consciousness requires the unifying power of the self, then Hume’s denial of self-awareness, and any consequent doubts concerning the legitimacy of the idea of the self, are deeply problematic.

b. Kant and the Transcendental I

Kant’s view of these matters is complex. However, at one level, he can be seen to agree with Hume on the question of self-awareness while disagreeing with him concerning the legitimacy of the concept of the self. His solution to the two problems of the unity of concious is, as above, that diverse experiences are unified by me. He writes:

The thought that these representations given in intuition all together belong to me means, accordingly, the same as that I unite them in a self-consciousness, or at least can unite them therein…for otherwise I would have as multicoloured, diverse a self as I have representations of which I am conscious.
(Kant 1929, sec. B143)

Thus, Kant requires that the notion of the self as unifier of experience be legitimate. Nevertheless, he denies that reflection reveals this self to direct intuition:

…this identity of the subject, of which I can be conscious in all my representations, does not concern any intuition of the subject, whereby it is given as an object, and cannot therefore signify the identity of the person, if by that is understood the consciousness of the identity of one’s own substance, as a thinking being, in all change of its states.
(Kant 1929, sec. B408)

The reason that Kant can allow the self as a legitimate concept despite the lack of an intuitive awareness of the self is that he does not accept the empiricism that drove Hume’s account. On the Kantian view, it is legitimate to appeal to an I that unifies experience since such a thing is precisely a condition of the possibility of experience. Without such a unifying self, experience would not be possible, therefore the concept is legitimate. The I, on this account, is transcendental—it is brought into the account as a condition of the possibility of experience (this move is one of the distinctive features of Kantian transcendental philosophy).

c. Husserl and the Transcendental Ego

Husserl‘s views on the self evolved over his philosophical career. In Logical Investigations, he accepted something like the Humean view (Husserl 2001, 91-3), and did not appear to find overly problematic the resulting questions concerning the unity of consciousness. However, by the time of Ideas I, he had altered his view. There he wrote that, “all mental processes…as belonging to the one stream of mental processes which is mine, must admit of becoming converted into actional cogitationes…In Kant’s words, ‘The ‘I think’ must be capable to accompanying all my presentations.'” (Husserl 1982, sec. 57). Thus, Husserl offers an account of unity that appeals to the self functioning transcendentally, as a condition of the possibility of experience.

However, Husserl departs from Kant, and before him Hume, in claiming that this self is experienced in direct intuition. He claims that, “I exist for myself and am constantly given to myself, by experiential evidence, as ‘I myself.’ This is true of the transcendental ego and, correspondingly, of the psychologically pure ego; it is true, moreover, with respect to any sense of the word ego.” (Husserl 1960, sec. 33).

On Kant’s view, the I is purely formal, playing a role in structuring experience but not itself given in experience. On Husserl’s view, the I plays this structuring role, but is also given in inner experience. The ego appears but not as (part of) a mental process. It’s presence is continual and unchanging. Husserl says that it is, “a transcendency within immanency” (Husserl 1982, sec. 57). It is immanent in that it is on the subject side of experience; It is transcendent in that it is not an experience (or part of one). What Husserl has in mind here is somewhat unclear, but one might liken it to the way that the object as a whole is given through an aspect—except that the ego is at “the other end” of intentional experience.

d. Sartre and the Transcendent Ego

Sartre’s view that consciousness is empty involves the denial not only of sensory qualities but also of the view that we are experientially aware of an ego within consciousness. Sartre denies that the ego is given in pre-reflective experience, either in the content of experience (as an object) or as a structural feature of the experience itself (as a subject). As he puts it, “while I was reading, there was consciousness of the book, of the heroes of the novel, but the I was not inhabiting this consciousness. It was only consciousness of the object and non-positional consciousness of itself” (Sartre 1960, 46-7). Again, “When I run after a streetcar, when I look at the time, when I am absorbed in contemplating a portrait, there is no I.” (Sartre 1960, 48-9).

Here Sartre appears to be siding with Hume and Kant on the question of the givenness of the self with respect to everyday, pre-reflective consciousness. However, Sartre departs from the Humean view, in that he allows that the ego is given in reflective consciousness:

…the I never appears except on the occasion of a reflexive act. In this case, the complex structure of consciousness is as follows: there is an unreflected act of reflection, without an I, which is directed on a reflected consciousness. The latter becomes the object of the reflecting consciousness without ceasing to affirm its own object (a chair, a mathematical truth, etc.). At the same time, a new object appears which is the occasion of an affirmation by reflective consciousness…This transcendent object of the reflective act is the I.
(Sartre 1960, 53)

On this view, the self can appear to consciousness, but it is paradoxically experienced as something outside of, transcendent to, consciousness. Hence the transcendence of the ego, Sartre’s title.

With respect to unreflective consciousness, however, Sartre denies self-awareness. Sartre also denies that the ego is required to synthesise, or unite, one’s various experiences. Rather, as he sees it, the unity of consciousness is achieved via the objects of experience, and via the temporal structure of experience. Although his explanation is somewhat sketchy, his intent is clear:

…it is certain that phenomenology does not need to appeal to any such unifying and individualizing I…The object is transcendent to the consciousness which grasps it, and it is in the object that the unity of the consciousness is found…It is consciousness which unifies itself, concretely, by a play of “transversal” intentionalities which are concrete and real retentions of past consciousnesses. Thus consciousness refers perpetually to itself.
(Sartre 1960, 38-9)

6. Phenomenology of Time-Consciousness

Various questions have occupied phenomenologists concerning time-consciousness—how our conscious lives take place over time. What exactly does this amount to? This question can be seen as asking for more detail concerning the synthesising activity of the self with respect to the diachronic unity of consciousness. Related to this, temporal objects (such as melodies or events) have temporal parts or phases. How is it that the temporal parts of a melody are experienced as parts of one and the same thing? How is it that we have an experience of succession, rather than simply a succession of experiences? This seems an especially hard question to answer if we endorse the claim that we can only be experientially aware of the present instant. For if, at time t1 we enjoy experience e1 of object (or event) o1, and at t2 we enjoy experience e2 of object (or event) o2, then it seems that we are always experientially confined to the present. An account is needed of how is it that our experience appears to stream through time.

a. The Specious Present

When faced with this problem, a popular view has been that we are simultaneously aware of more than an instant. According to William James, “the practically cognized present is no knife-edge, but a saddle-back, with a certain breadth of its own on which we sit perched, and from which we look in two directions into time. The unit of composition of our perception of time is a duration” (James 1981, 609).The doctrine of the specious present holds that we are experientially aware of a span of time that includes the present and past (and perhaps even the future). So, at t2 we are aware of the events that occur at both t2 and t1 (and perhaps also t3).

The specious present is present in the sense that the phases of the temporal object are experienced as present. The specious present is specious in that those phases of the temporal object that occur at times other than the present instant are not really present. But this would seem to have the bizarre consequence that we experience the successive phases of a temporal object as simultaneous. That is, a moving object is simultaneously experienced as being at more than one place. It goes without saying that this is not phenomenologically accurate.

Also, given that our experience at each instant would span a duration longer than that instant, it seems that we would experience everything more than once. In a sequence of notes c, d, e we would experience c at the time at which c occurs, and then again at the time at which d occurs. But, of course, we only experience each note once.

b. Primal Impression, Retention and Protention

Husserl’s position is not entirely unlike the specious present view. He maintains that, at any one instant, one has experience of the phase occurring at that instant, the phase(s) that has just occurred, and that phase that is just about to occur. His labels for these three aspects of experience are “primal impression,” “retention” and “protention.”  All three must be in place for the proper experience of a temporal object, or of the duration of a non-temporal object.

The primal impression is an intentional awareness of the present event as present. Retention is an intentional awareness of the past event as past. Protention is an intentional awareness of the future event as about to happen. Each is an intentional directedness towards a present, past and future event respectively. As Husserl puts matters, “In each primal phase that originally constitutes the immanent content we have retentions of the preceding phases and protentions of the coming phases of precisely this content” (Husserl 1991, sec. 40). The movement from something’s being protended, to its being experienced as a primal impression, to its being retained, is what accounts for the continuous stream of experience. Retention and protention form the temporal horizon against which the present phase is perceived. That is, the present is perceived as that which follows a past present and anticipates a future present.

c. Absolute Consciousness

Not only does the present experience include a retention of past worldly events, it also includes a retention of the past experiences of those past events. The same can be said with regard to protention. The fact that past and future experiences are retained and protended respectively, points towards this question: What accounts for the fact that mental acts themselves are experienced as enduring, or as having temporal parts? Do we need to postulate a second level of conscious acts (call it “consciousness*”) that explains the experienced temporality of immanent objects? But this suggestion looks as though it would involve us in an infinite regress, since the temporality of the stream of experiences constituting consciousness* would need to be accounted for.

Husserl’s proposed solution to this puzzle involves his late notion of “absolute constituting consciousness.” The temporality of experiences is constituted by a consciousness that is not itself temporal. He writes: “Subjective time becomes constituted in the absolute timeless consciousness, which is not an object” (Husserl 1991, 117). Further, “The flow of modes of consciousness is not a process; the consciousness of the now is not itself now…therefore sensation…and likewise retention, recollection, perception, etc. are nontemporal; that is to say, nothing in immanent time.” (Husserl 1991, 345-6).

The interpretation of Husserl’s notion of absolute constituting consciousness is not helped by the fact that, despite the non-temporal nature of absolute consciousness, Husserl describes it in temporal terms, such as “flow.” Indeed, Husserl seems to have thought that here we have come up against a phenomenon intrinsically problematic to describe:

Now if we consider the constituting appearances of the consciousness of internal time we find the following: they form a flow…. But is not the flow a succession? Does it not have a now, an actually present phase, and a continuity of pasts which I am now conscious in retentions? We have no alternative here but to say: the flow is something we speak of in conformity with what is constituted, but it is not “something in objective time.” It…has the absolute properties of something to be designated metaphorically as “flow”…. For all of this we have no names. (Husserl 1991, 381-2)

7. Conclusion

Husserlian and post-Husserlian phenomenology stands in complex relations to a number of different philosophical traditions, most notably British empiricism, Kantian and post-Kantian transcendental philosophy, and French existentialism. One of the most important philosophical movements of the Twentieth Century, phenomenology has been influential, not only on so-called “Continental” philosophy (Embree 2003), but also on so-called “analytic” philosophy (Smith and Thomasson 2005). There continues to be a great deal of interest in the history of phenomenology and in the topics discussed by Twentieth Century phenomenologists, topics such as intentionality, perception, the self and time-consciousness.

8. References and Further Reading

  • Ayer, A. J. 1946. Phenomenalism. Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 47: 163-96
  • Bernet, Rudolf, Iso Kern, and Eduard Marbach. 1993. An Introduction to Husserlian Phenomenology. Evanston, Ill: Northwestern University Press.
  • Brentano, Franz. 1995. Psychology from an Empirical Standpoint. Ed. Oskar Kraus. Trans. Antos C. Rancurello, D. B. Terrell, and Linda L. McAlister. 2nd ed. London: Routledge.
  • Carman, Taylor. 2006. The Principle of Phenomenology. In The Cambridge Companion to Heidegger, ed. Charles, B. Guignon. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
  • Carman, Taylor. 2008. Merleau-Ponty. London: Routledge.
  • Cerbone, David R. 2006. Understanding Phenomenology. Chesham: Acumen.
  • Crane, T. 2006. Brentano’s Concept of Intentional Inexistence. In The Austrian Contribution to Analytic Philosophy, ed. Mark Textor. London: Routledge.
  • Dreyfus, Hubert L. 1991. Being-in-the-World: A Commentary on Heidegger’s Being and Time, Division I. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press.
  • Embree, L. 2003. Husserl as Trunk of the American Continental Tree. International Journal of Philosophical Studies 11, no. 2: 177-190.
  • Frede, Dorothea. 2006. The Question of Being:Heidegger’s Project. In The Cambridge Companion to Heidegger, trans. Charles, B. Guignon. 2nd ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
  • Gallagher, Shaun, and Dan Zahavi. 2008. The Phenomenological Mind: An Introduction to Philosophyof Mind and Cognitive Science. London: Routledge.
  • Gennaro, Rocco. 2002. Jean-Paul Sartre and the HOT Theory of Consciousness. Canadian Journal of Philosophy 32, no.3: 293-330.
  • Hammond, Michael, Jane Howarth, and Russell Keat. 1991. Understanding Phenomenology. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
  • Heidegger, Martin. 1962 [1927]. Being and Time. Trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson. Oxford: Blackwell.
  • Heidegger, Martin. 1982 [1927]. The Basic Problems of Phenomenology. Trans. Albert Hofstadter. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
  • Hume, David. 1978 [1739-40]. A Treatise of Human Nature. Ed. L. A Selby-Bigge, rev. P. H. Nidditch. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
  • Husserl, Edmund. 1960 [1931]. Cartesian Meditations: An Introduction to Phenomenology. Trans. Dorion Cairns. The Hague: Nijhoff.
  • Husserl, Edmund. 1973 [1939]. Experience and Judgement: Investigations in a Genealogy of Logic. Evanston: Northwestern University Press.
  • Husserl, Edmund. 1977 [1925]. Phenomenological Psychology: Lectures, Summer Semester, 1925. Trans. John Scanlon. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff.
  • Husserl, Edmund. 1982 [1913]. Ideas Pertaining to a Pure Phenomenology and to a Phenomenological Philosophy. Trans. F. Kersten. The Hague: Nijhoff.
  • Husserl, Edmund. 1991 [1893-1917]. On the Phenomenology of the Consciousness of Internal Time (1893-1917). Trans. John B Brough. Dordrecht: Kluwer.
  • Husserl, Edmund. 1999 [1907]. The Idea of Phenomenology. Trans. Lee Hardy. Dordrecht: Kluwer.
  • Husserl, Edmund. 2001 [1900/1901]. Logical Investigations. Ed. Dermot Moran. 2nd ed. 2 vols. London: Routledge.
  • Jackson, Frank. 1977. Perception: A Representative Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
  • James, William. 1981 [1890]. The Principles of Psychology. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press.
  • Kant, Immanuel. 1929 [1781/1787]. Critique of Pure Reason. Trans. Norman Kemp Smith. London: Macmillan.
  • Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. 1989 [1945]. Phenomenology of Perception. Trans. Colin Smith. London: Routledge.
  • Moran, Dermot. 2000. Introduction to Phenomenology. London: Routledge.
  • Polt, Richard F. H. 1999. Heidegger: An Introduction. London: UCL Press.
  • Sartre, Jean-Paul. 1972 [1936-7]. The Transcendence of the Ego: An Existentialist Theory of Consciousness. New York: Noonday.
  • Sartre, Jean-Paul. 1989 [1943]. Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology. Trans. Hazel E. Barnes. London: Routledge.
  • Sartre, Jean-Paul. 1970 [1939]. Intentionality: A fundamental idea of Husserl’s Phenomenology. Trans. J. P. Fell. Journal of the British Society for Phenomenology 1, no. 2.
  • Smith, David Woodruff. 2007. Husserl. London: Routledge.
  • Smith, David Woodruff, and Amie L Thomasson, eds. 2005. Phenomenology and Philosophy of Mind. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
  • Sokolowski, Robert. 2000. Introduction to Phenomenology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
  • Wider, Kathleen. 1997. The Bodily Nature of Consciousness. Ithaca: Cornell University Press.
  • Zahavi, Dan. 2003. Husserl’s Phenomenology. Stanford: Stanford University Press

Author Information

Joel Smith
Email: joel.smith@manchester.ac.uk
University of Manchester
United Kingdom

Anaximenes (d. 528 B.C.E.)

AnaximenesAccording to the surviving sources on his life, Anaximenes flourished in the mid 6th century B.C.E. and died about 528. He is the third philosopher of the Milesian School of philosophy, so named because like Thales and Anaximander, Anaximenes was an inhabitant of Miletus, in Ionia (ancient Greece). Theophrastus notes that Anaximenes was an associate, and possibly a student, of Anaximander’s.

Anaximenes is best known for his doctrine that air is the source of all things. In this way, he differed with his predecessors like Thales, who held that water is the source of all things, and Anaximander, who thought that all things came from an unspecified boundless stuff.

Anaximenes’ theory of successive change of matter by rarefaction and condensation was influential in later theories. It is developed by Heraclitus and criticized by Parmenides. Anaximenes’ general theory of how the materials of the world arise is adopted by Anaxagoras, even though the latter has a very different theory of matter. Both Melissus and Plato see Anaximenes’ theory as providing a common-sense explanation of change. Diogenes of Apollonia makes air the basis of his explicitly monistic theory. The Hippocratic treatise On Breaths uses air as the central concept in a theory of diseases. By providing cosmological accounts with a theory of change, Anaximenes separated them from the realm of mere speculation and made them, at least in conception, scientific theories capable of testing.

Table of Contents

  1. Doctrine of Air
  2. Doctrine of Change
  3. Origin of the Cosmos
  4. Influence on Later Philosophy
  5. References and Further Reading

1. Doctrine of Air

Anaximenes seems to have held that at one time everything was air. Air can be thought of as a kind of neutral stuff that is found everywhere, and is available to participate in physical processes. Natural forces constantly act on the air and transform it into other materials, which came together to form the organized world. In early Greek literature, air is associated with the soul (the breath of life) and Anaximenes may have thought of air as capable of directing its own development, as the soul controls the body (DK13B2 in the Diels-Kranz collection of Presocratic sources). Accordingly, he ascribed to air divine attributes.

2. Doctrine of Change

Given his doctrine that all things are composed of air, Anaximenes suggested an interesting qualitative account of natural change:

[Air] differs in essence in accordance with its rarity or density. When it is thinned it becomes fire, while when it is condensed it becomes wind, then cloud, when still more condensed it becomes water, then earth, then stones. Everything else comes from these. (DK13A5)

Using two contrary processes of rarefaction and condensation, Anaximenes explains how air is part of a series of changes. Fire turns to air, air to wind, wind to cloud, cloud to water, water to earth and earth to stone. Matter can travel this path by being condensed, or the reverse path from stones to fire by being successively more rarefied. Anaximenes provides a crude kind of empirical support by appealing to a simple experiment: if one blows on one’s hand with the mouth relaxed, the air is hot; if one blows with pursed lips, the air is cold (DK13B1). Hence, according to Anaximenes we see that rarity is correlated with heat (as in fire), and density with coldness, (as in the denser stuffs).

Anaximenes was the first recorded thinker who provided a theory of change and supported it with observation. Anaximander had described a sequence of changes that a portion of the boundless underwent to form the different stuffs of the world, but he gave no scientific reason for changes, nor did he describe any mechanism by which they might come about. By contrast, Anaximenes uses a process familiar from everyday experience to account for material change. He also seems to have referred to the process of felting, by which wool is compressed to make felt. This industrial process provides a model of how one stuff can take on new properties when it is compacted.

3. Origin of the Cosmos

Anaximenes, like Anaximander, gives an account of how our world came to be out of previously existing matter. According to Anaximenes, earth was formed from air by a felting process. It began as a flat disk. From evaporations from the earth, fiery bodies arose which came to be the heavenly bodies. The earth floats on a cushion of air. The heavenly bodies, or at least the sun and the moon, seem also to be flat bodies that float on streams of air. On one account, the heavens are like a felt cap that turns around the head. The stars may be fixed to this surface like nails. In another account, the stars are like fiery leaves floating on air (DK13A14). The sun does not travel under the earth but circles around it, and is hidden by the higher parts of the earth at night.

Like Anaximander, Anaximenes uses his principles to account for various natural phenomena. Lightning and thunder result from wind breaking out of clouds; rainbows are the result of the rays of the sun falling on clouds; earthquakes are caused by the cracking of the earth when it dries out after being moistened by rains. He gives an essentially correct account of hail as frozen rainwater.

Most commentators, following Aristotle, understand Anaximenes’ theory of change as presupposing material monism. According to this theory, there is only one substance, (in this case air) from which all existing things are composed. The several stuffs: wind, cloud, water, etc., are only modifications of the real substance that is always and everywhere present. There is no independent evidence to support this interpretation, which seems to require Aristotle’s metaphysical concepts of form and matter, substratum and accident that are too advanced for this period. Anaximenes may have supposed that the ‘stuffs’ simply change into one another in order.

4. Influence on Later Philosophy

Anaximenes’ theory of successive change of matter by rarefaction and condensation was influential in later theories. It is developed by Heraclitus (DK22B31), and criticized by Parmenides (DK28B8.23-24, 47-48). Anaximenes’ general theory of how the materials of the world arise is adopted by Anaxagoras (DK59B16), even though the latter has a very different theory of matter. Both Melissus (DK30B8.3) and Plato (Timaeus 49b-c) see Anaximenes’ theory as providing a common-sense explanation of change. Diogenes of Apollonia makes air the basis of his explicitly monistic theory. The Hippocratic treatise On Breaths uses air as the central concept in a theory of diseases. By providing cosmological accounts with a theory of change, Anaximenes separated them from the realm of mere speculation and made them, at least in conception, scientific theories capable of testing.

5. References and Further Reading

There are no monographs on Anaximenes in English. Articles on him are sometimes rather specialized in nature. A number of chapters in books on the Presocratics are helpful.

  • Barnes, Jonathan. The Presocratic Philosophers. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul (1 vol. edn.), 1982. Ch. 3.
    • Gives a philosophically rich defense of the standard interpretation of Anaximenes.
  • Bicknell, P. J. “Anaximenes’ Astronomy.” Acta Classica 12: 53-85.
    • An interesting reconstruction of the conflicting reports on Anaximenes’ astronomy.
  • Classen, C. Joachim. “Anaximander and Anaximenes: The Earliest Greek Theories of Change?” Phronesis 22: 89-102.
    • This article provides a good assessment of one of Anaximenes’ major contributions.
  • Guthrie, W. K. C. A History of Greek Philosophy. Vol. 1. Cambridge: Cambridge U. Pr., 1962. 115-40.
    • A good introduction to Anaximenes’ thought.
  • Kirk, G. S., J. E. Raven and M. Schofield. The Presocratic Philosophers. 2nd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1983. Ch. 4.
    • A careful analysis of the texts of Anaximenes.
  • Wöhrle, Georg. Anaximenes aus Milet. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1993.
    • This brief edition adds four new testimonies to the evidence about Anaximenes and challenges the standard interpretation. It is useful as a counterbalance to the received view, though I think particular criticisms it makes of that view are wrong.

Author Information

Daniel W. Graham
Email: daniel_graham@byu.edu
Brigham Young University
U. S. A.

Conceptual Role Semantics

In the philosophy of language, conceptual role semantics (hereafter CRS) is a theory of what constitutes the meanings possessed by expressions of natural languages, or the propositions expressed by their utterance. In the philosophy of mind, it is a theory of what constitutes the contents of psychological attitudes, such as beliefs or desires.

CRS comes in a variety of forms, not always clearly distinguished by commentators. Such versions are known variously as functional/causal/computational role semantics, and more broadly as use-theories of meaning. Nevertheless, all are united in seeking the meaning or content of an item, not in what it is made of, nor in what accompanies or is associated with it, but in what is done with it, the use it is put to. Roughly, according to CRS, the meaning or propositional content of an expression or attitude is determined by the role it plays in a person’s language or in her cognition.

Currently, many view CRS as the main rival to theories that take notions such as truth or reference as central (for example, Davidson 2001), although the relationship between the two is not straightforward. The following outlines the main varieties of CRS, provides a cursory survey of its history, introduces the central arguments offered in its favor, and provisionally assesses how the variants fair against a number of prominent criticisms.

Table of Contents

  1. Preparing the Ground
    1. A Theory of Linguistic Meaning
    2. A Theory of Content
    3. Normativism and Naturalism
    4. Perception and Action
    5. Language and Mind
    6. Provisional Summary
  2. A Very Brief History
  3. Arguments for CRS
    1. Attributions of Meaning and Understanding
    2. The No Intrinsic Meaning Thesis
    3. The Insufficiency of Causation
    4. The Frege-problem
    5. Methodological Solipsism
  4. Problems for CRS
    1. Holism, Compositionality and Analyticity
    2. Proper Names
    3. Externalism
    4. Truth, Reference and Intentionality
    5. Indeterminacy
    6. Defective Expressions and Conservatism
    7. Circularity
  5. Prospects and Applications
  6. References and Further Reading

1. Preparing the Ground

a. A Theory of Linguistic Meaning

CRS may be first introduced as a theory of meaning. The theory of meaning must be distinguished from a meaning-theory. The former is a philosophical project that seeks to explain what meaning is, or what the meaning possessed by expressions in a natural language consists in. The latter, in contrast, is an empirical project. More specifically, it is a specification of the meaning of each expression in a language. Since a natural language such as English contains a potential infinity of expressions, these specifications must be derived from a finite body of axioms concerning sentence constituents and their modes of combination. CRS is a theory of meaning rather than a meaning-theory, although as such it can and should inform the construction of meaning-theories.

One must also distinguish the meaning of an expression from what is said (the proposition expressed) by its utterance. For example, what is said by the use of ‘I am tired now’ varies according to who employs the expression and when, whereas the meaning remains constant. Arguably, this overt context-dependency in the case of sentences containing indexicals is quite general (see Travis 2000). Hence, the invariant meaning possessed by a sentence is distinct from the truth-evaluable propositional content expressed by its use on a particular occasion, although the former (in combination with contextual factors) determines the latter.

CRS can be profitably viewed as a refinement of the claim that the meaning of an expression is its use (Wittgenstein 1967: §43; cf. Alston 2000; see Wittgenstein, Ludwig). While many philosophers might accept as platitudinous that, in some sense, an expression means what it does because of how it is employed, what is here distinctive is the claim that its having a meaning is its having a use. So stated, however, the view suffers from a number of objections. Many things have a ‘use’ (for example, hammers) but no meaning. More seriously, there are linguistic expressions with a use but no meaning, such as ‘um’ or ‘abracadabra’. Likewise, there can be differences in use without differences in meaning. For example, where and by whom a word is used can vary while meaning remains constant (see Glock 1996; Lycan 2000: 94ff; Rundle 2001: 100-1; Whiting 2007b).

One response to such criticisms is to identify more narrowly the specific kind of use that is supposed to be constitutive of meaning. According to CRS, it is use in inference. Roughly, it claims that to understand an expression is to be prepared to make certain inferential transitions. Accordingly, the meaning of the expression is its inferential role. If one were to enumerate all the transitions an expression is involved in, one would thereby give its meaning. So, to take a simplified example, to grasp the meaning of ‘brother’ is to be prepared to make linguistic moves of the following kind:

x is a male sibling” → “x is a brother”

x is a brother” → “x has parents”

Note that it is somewhat misleading to call the above ‘inferential’ transitions, since properly-speaking inferential relations hold between propositions not sentences. Nevertheless, the basic idea remains the same once qualified. One might say that the invariant meaning an expression possesses is its inferential potential, that is, its usability by speakers to make certain inferential transitions.

Note also that it is sentences that in the first instance can properly be said to have inferential significance, since ordinarily it is only by uttering a sentence that one make a claim from which other claims might be said to follow. Hence, for CRS, it is sentences that are the primary bearers of meaning. Nonetheless, a proponent of CRS can still speak of the meaning of a word as its stable contribution to the inferential potential of sentences or, more abstractly, as the set of inferential roles of sentences in which it occurs.

b. A Theory of Content

CRS extends straightforwardly to a theory of the propositional content expressed by the use of an expression. According to it, to know what is said by an utterance is to know, given the context, what the grounds for making the utterance are, and which further utterances are thereby in order. For an utterance to express such content just is for speakers to perform, and respond to performances, in a characteristic way. The proposition expressed is determined by the inferential network the utterance is caught up in, the linguistic moves that lead to and from it.

CRS simultaneously provides a theory of what constitutes mental content. So-called psychological attitudes, such as beliefs, desires and fears, appear to have two components: an attitude—believing, desiring, fearing and so on—and a content—that which is believed, desired, feared and so on. One can hold the same attitude toward different contents, and different attitudes toward the same content. According to CRS, for an attitude to have as its content a particular proposition just is for it to play a particular role in cognition, and to grasp that conceptual content is to be prepared to make certain inferential transitions. So, to take another simplified example, to possess the concept vixen, or to have thoughts involving it, is to be prepared to make moves conforming to the following pattern:

x is a female fox → x is a vixen

x is a vixen → x is a mammal

c. Normativism and Naturalism

So far, this survey has talked neutrally of subjects being ‘prepared’ to make inferences. But how exactly should this be understood? On this issue, there is a broad division among theorists between what one might label naturalists (for example, Block 1986; Field 1977; Harman 1999; Horwich 1998; 2005; Loar 1981; Peacocke 1992) and normativists (for example, Brandom 1994; von Savigny 1988; Skorupski 1997; Travis 2000). Exploring this distinction will simultaneously address another matter. One might have qualms about CRS as outlined above, since the notion of inference is itself semantic. Surely, one might complain, philosophy requires that a theory of meaning provide a more illuminating explanation of what constitutes meaning or content. Through outlining the naturalist and normativist positions, one can see in each case how their proponents seek to capture the notion of an inferential role in more fundamental terms.

According to normativists, content or meaning is constituted by those transitions one ought to or may (not) make, and to grasp that content or meaning is to grasp the propriety of those moves. While many philosophers recognise that what an expression means, for example, has normative implications, what is distinctive of the normativist view is that such norms do not merely follow from but are rather determinative of its meaning. Hence, such a theory typically takes as basic a primitive normative notion, with which to explain semantic notions. That said, one need not take the existence of such norms to be inexplicable; one might instead view them as instituted in some way, perhaps behaviorally or socially.

An issue on which normativists are divided is whether the existence of such proprieties requires the existence of rules. If the issue is not to be purely terminological, it presumably turns on whether the relevant standards of usage stem from generalisations or from particular considerations, and on whether to qualify as such, rules must always be explicitly formulated. (For a defence of the appeal to rules, see Glock 2005. For resistance, see Boghossian 1989; Brandom 1994: ch. 1; Dancy 2004: ch. 13.)

Naturalists in turn divide into two camps (although, it is fair to say, they are typically not distinguished). According to regularists, meaning or content is determined by those behavioral or psychological transitions a person regularly or generally makes. According to dispositionalists, in contrast, meaning or content is determined by those transitions a person is disposed in certain actual and counterfactual circumstances to make. On such accounts, the notion of inferential role gives way to that of causal or computational role.

d. Perception and Action

In addition, one can distinguish the more liberal CRS from the more restricted inferential role semantics (IRS) (sometimes referred to as ‘long-’ and ‘short-armed’ respectively). According to the latter, meaning or content is determined by intra-linguistic transitions only. According to the former, meaning or content is partially constituted by the tokenings of a concept or expression that result from perceptual experience, and the action such tokenings elicit. That is to say, extra-linguistic transitions—which Sellars (2007: 36) dubs ‘language-entry’ and ‘language-departure’ moves—contribute to the determination of meaning or content (cf. Harman 1999; McCulloch 1995).

e. Language and Mind

A final preliminary matter concerns the relative priority of (public) language and mind. Some philosophers hold that CRS provides, in the first instance, a theory of mental content, viewed as independent of its public expression, and only derivatively extended to linguistic content and meaning. On this view, the semantics of language is parasitic upon the semantics of mental states (for example, Loar 1981; Peacocke 1992). Typically, the connection between the two is thought to be effected by various Gricean mechanisms (1989). Crudely, on this picture, speakers intend to communicate their thoughts to one another, and over time such thoughts are conventionally correlated with particular linguistic expressions.

Alternatively, one might take mastery of a public language to be prior to possession of psychological attitudes and view mental content as derivative (for example, Sellars 1997), or hold that the two develop in unison (for example, Brandom 1994; Harman 1999; Horwich 2005). One reason for rejecting the priority of mind over language is that there is arguably no substance in attributing beliefs to a creature incapable in principle of manifesting them, and only linguistic behavior is sufficiently fine-grained for this task.

f. Provisional Summary

By now it should be clear that, when investigating or propounding CRS, one must keep in view a number of issues:

1. Is it a theory of meaning or propositional content?

2. Is it normativist or naturalist?

i. If normativist, are the norms in the forms of rules?

ii. If naturalist, is it regularist or a dispositionalist?

3. Does it incorporate language-entry and language-exit moves?

4. Is the mind prior to language or vice versa?

In many cases, which objections to CRS are relevant or effective will depend on how these questions are answered.

2. A Very Brief History

Although this is not an exegetical essay, it is worth noting that CRS has a distinguished history. Arguably, it goes back at least as far as Kant, if not further (Brandom 2002). Uncontroversially, however, it can be traced to Wittgenstein’s dictum that

the meaning of a word is its use in the language. (1967: §43)

Likewise:

The use of the word in practice is its meaning. (1969: 69)

This putative insight was endorsed by, and in turn influenced the methods of, Oxford philosophers such as Ryle (1968) and Strawson (2004: 7).

Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the influence of Wittgenstein, there are clear affinities between CRS and verificationism, according to which for an expression to have a meaning is for it to possess evidential conditions that warrant its application (Ayer 1959; Dummett 1991; 1996; Waismann 1968: 36). The shared idea is that the meaning of an expression, or the content it expresses, is given in part by what justifies and what are the implications of its employment.

One can also note similarities between CRS and the structuralist and phenomenological traditions. Saussure, for example, held that the meaning of a sign is determined by its role within a system of signs, its structural relations to other signs (1983). And according to Heidegger, for an expression to have a certain significance is for it to occupy a role within a network of linguistic and non-linguistic practices and, more specifically, for it to be subject to proprieties of usage (1962: 203ff).

Arguably, however, it was Sellars (2007: pt. 1) who first explicitly placed the notion of inference at the centre of the theory of meaning, and advocated the first systematic and unmistakable version of CRS.

Having precedent, no matter how distinguished, is of course no guarantee of correctness. So as to place us in a position to evaluate CRS, the next section outlines a number of prominent arguments in its favor, and the following introduces a number of prominent objections.

3. Arguments for CRS

a. Attributions of Meaning and Understanding

Reflection on our ordinary practices of attributing both meaning and understanding lend support to CRS (Horwich 1998: 48-9; Wittgenstein 1969: 102-3). One would typically say of a word in a foreign language that it has the same meaning as one in English if it has the same role. And if a word has no discernible use, one would be reluctant to attribute it meaning. Correlatively, if a person is able to use a word correctly, and respond to its employment appropriately, one would usually claim that she understands it. All of these observations suggest that the meaning of an expression is its role within a language.

Similar results are obtained by reflecting on everyday explanations of the meaning of an expression. This can take a number of forms, including exhibiting a familiar expression that plays a similar role, indicating the circumstances or grounds for introducing the expression, or noting what follows from its introduction. This likewise indicates that the expression’s meaning is given by its linguistic role.

b. The No Intrinsic Meaning Thesis

A different route to CRS is via the ‘no intrinsic meaning’ thesis (Skorupski 1997). It begins with the observation that a sign, considered in itself, is a mere noise or ink-mark, and as such, surely lacks any intrinsic meaning. That same noise or mark could have had a different meaning altogether, or none at all. One might be tempted to think that what ‘animates’ it is some entity to which it is (somehow) related, perhaps an image in the mind or abstract object.

However, this appears only to push the explanation back a stage, since one now needs to know in virtue of what these entities have the significance that they do. What an expression means has consequences for how it is to be employed on an indefinite number of occasions. Hence, one requires an account of how the mental or abstract entity could have such consequences when the mere noise or mark could not. As Wittgenstein remarks,

whatever accompanied [the sign] would for us just be another sign. (1969: 5)

Once one feels the force of the no intrinsic meaning thesis, one might be tempted by CRS. This view has the advantage of not positing any further entity that accompanies or is associated with an expression to act as an unexplained explainer, but instead looks to how the word is employed to account for its significance, specifically its role in inference.

c. The Insufficiency of Causation

Another motivation for endorsing CRS is through contrasting it with a competitor, one which also accepts the no intrinsic meaning thesis. According to it, the meaning or content of an item is determined by that which typically causes its tokenings (Dretske 1981; Fodor 1990). (This is no doubt crude but sufficient for present purposes.) Even if such a differential response to environing stimuli were necessary to grasp certain meanings or possess certain concepts, it cannot be sufficient (Brandom 1994; Harman 1999: 211; Sellars 1997). To put it vividly, it would not distinguish one who genuinely possesses understanding from a thermostat! Surely, in order properly to grasp the concept red, say, one must not only be able to respond differentially to red things, but in addition know that if something is red then it is not blue, or that if it is red it is colored, and so on. Hence, these entailments and incompatibilities, that is, these inferential connections, seem to be determinative of the relevant concept. And to accept that is to accept CRS.

d. The Frege-problem

Diagnosis of what is often labelled the ‘Frege-problem’ likewise speaks in favor of CRS (Frege 1997; see Frege and Language and Frege, Gottlob). A prominent and intuitive view is that for an expression to have a meaning is for it to refer to something. However, two expressions can refer to the same thing, for example, ‘table salt’ and ‘sodium chloride’, and yet one acquainted with both expressions could rationally adopt conflicting attitudes towards sentences containing them. One might accept:

(1) Table salt dissolves.

but not:

(2) Sodium chloride dissolves.

It seems, therefore, that a term’s ‘cognitive significance’ cannot reside solely in its having a reference.

CRS is consonant with this observation. According to it, what distinguishes co-referring (or co-extensive) terms is precisely their cognitive role, or the inferential networks they are involved in.

e. Methodological Solipsism

A final, and more controversial, reason to endorse IRS (rather than CRS) is to respect ‘methodological solipsism’ (see Lepore 1994). Methodological solipsism requires that mental content properly so-called supervene upon a person’s internal physical and functional make-up considered in isolation from her physical and social environment, by ‘what is in her head’. This is in part intended to respect the conviction that mental states are causes of behavior, and that such causes must be proximal rather than distal, and is presumed indispensable for the ability to make generalisations about subjects’ behavior.

If, as IRS holds, the content of a mental state is determined by its cognitive role, where this cognitive role is specified without reference to the person’s physical or social environment, then the requirements imposed by methodological solipsism are satisfied.

4. Problems for CRS

Despite the number of factors that seem to point to CRS, it faces a number of potential problems. The remainder outlines those difficulties and suggests various possible responses one might offer on its behalf. These issues not only pose a challenge for CRS, but also serve to bring into view the respective strengths and weaknesses of the various forms it might take.

a. Holism, Compositionality and Analyticity

CRS is evidently a holistic view of meaning or content. Since an expression’s meaning is possessed in virtue of the inferential relations it stands in to other expressions, it follows that an expression cannot have meaning on its own. This might seem innocuous, but it leads swiftly to seemingly grave problems.

What one takes the inferential significance of an expression to be depends on what beliefs one has. Therefore, since no two speakers share the same beliefs, they will inevitably be disposed to make, or treat as correct, different inferential transitions involving an expression. Hence, according to CRS, the same word in different mouths will possess a different meaning and be understood in different ways. It seems to follow that communication is impossible. Relatedly, since a particular speaker’s beliefs are constantly changing, at different times she will inevitably be disposed to make, or treat as correct, different inferential transitions involving an expression. Hence, according to CRS, the same word in the same mouth will possess a different meaning and be understood differently at different times. It seems to follow that constancy of meaning is impossible.

One possible response to this is to reject the need for CRS to incorporate shareable, constant meaning, and hold instead that what is required is only sufficiently similar understanding of an expression (Block 1995; Harman 1993). But this is hard to stomach. It seems a mere platitude, and is arguably definitive of the relevant notions, that two speakers can understand one another or say the same thing, that terms in different vocabularies might be synonymous, and so on. One requires a better reason for rejecting such trivialities than the fact that they are hard to accommodate in one’s preferred theory of meaning.

In any event, rather than offering an alternative, the above suggestion simply takes for granted the possibility of shared concepts or mutual understanding of the corresponding expressions (see Fodor and Lepore 1992: 17-22; for further discussion, see Pagin 2006). Consider how one might ascertain similar understandings. Presumably one would need to enumerate the various inferences that any two subjects are prepared to make. Their understanding is alike in so far as they are prepared to make a sufficient number of the same inferences. But what is to count as the same inference? Surely those that contain identical concepts.

Related to the communication and constancy problems are difficulties concerning the phenomena of productivity—the fact that competent speakers of a language are able to produce and understand a potential infinity of novel sentences—and systematicity—the fact that if a speaker understands an expression that expresses a proposition of the form aRb, then typically she will also understand one that expresses a proposition of the form bRa. The best explanation of both is that meanings are compositional. The meanings of the potentially infinite complex expression in a language are a function of the meanings of their parts, which constitute a finite vocabulary.

Therein lies the apparent difficulty for CRS, since inferential roles are not usually compositional (Fodor and Lepore 1992; Lepore 1994). The inferential role of ‘Cars pollute’, for example, is not determined by the meanings of ‘cars’ and ‘pollute’ alone, but in part by auxiliary information.

Proponents and critics alike typically accept that for CRS to avoid all of the above problems it requires some kind of analytic/synthetic distinction (Boghossian 1994; 1997; Fodor and Lepore 1992; Horwich 1998; Lepore 1994; Loewer 1997: 120-1). That is, a distinction in kind between those transitions that are determinative of meaning or content and those that are not. This would provide something constant—an invariant significance—that could be grasped despite differences in belief. And, moreover, it respects compositionality, since the meaning of a complex expression is fixed only by its role in analytic inferences, and that is determined by the meanings of its parts.

Where proponents and critics differ is over whether any such distinction can and should be drawn. Some suggest that it would be circular to appeal to the notion of analyticity in an analysis of meaning, since ‘analytic’ just means true/valid in virtue of meaning (Fodor and Lepore 1992; Lepore 1994; cf. Quine 1980: ch. 2). But clearly the advocate of CRS need not specify the analytic inferences using that very description, but might rather seek to do so in more basic terms (Boghossian 1994; Horwich 1998; 2005; cf. Block 1993: 64). Alternatively, one might challenge the requirement of reductionism. CRS might serve to illuminate the nature and role of semantic notions without appealing only to independently intelligible notions.

Nonetheless, since Quine’s ‘Two Dogmas of Empiricism’ (1980: ch. 2), many consider the notion of analyticity to be spurious (see The Classical Theory of Concepts). Therefore, if CRS requires an analytic/synthetic distinction, however specified, so much the worse for it.

Crucially, however, Quine’s target is a conception of analyticity according to which analytic statements possess no experiential implications or factual content whatsoever. In virtue of this, they owe their truth-value to meaning alone, and thereby provide a priori knowledge. With this target in view, Quine argues that no statement is immune from revision in the light of empirical data, and so no statement is such that it possesses no factual content whatsoever, is true in virtue of meaning alone, or knowable a priori. Therefore, there is no such thing as analyticity.

Note, however, that to grant Quine undermines one conception of the analytic/synthetic distinction is not to concede that he shows it to be bogus as such. A notion of analyticity might be available that respects the obviously fluctuating status of those statements considered determinative of meaning, and does not involve such notions as truth/validity in virtue of meaning, or a priori knowledge, or, if it does, admits only watered-down versions. There is something of a resurgence of work in this area and scepticism at this stage would be precipitate (see Boghossian 1997; 2003; Glock 2003: ch. 3; Horwich 2005: 38-9; Lance and Hawthorne 1997).

Additionally, a quick argument is available to show that any account of meaning must recognise some version of the analytic/synthetic distinction (Boghossian 1997; cf. Glock 2003: 93-5; Grice and Strawson 1989). Certain putatively analytic statements—that is, statements that might license analytically valid inferences—are such that they can be turned into logical truths by replacing synonyms with synonyms. For example:

(3) All bachelors are unmarried men.

is equivalent to:

(3’) All unmarried men are unmarried men.

So, to say that there are no facts as to whether such statements are analytic is just to say that there are no facts about synonymy. From this it surely follows that there are no facts about meaning, which is a conclusion few would accept whether they wish to defend CRS or an alternative. Thus, the mere fact that CRS requires certain inferential transitions to be privileged as analytic cannot be thought a devastating problem peculiar only to it. All (realist) theories of meaning are in the same boat.

b. Proper Names

Certain specific kinds of expression pose a potential problem for CRS. One in particular is proper names, such as ‘Kelly’ or ‘O Brother! Where Art Thou?’ According to one very influential view, proper names have no meaning. Nevertheless, they certainly have a use and play a role in cognition and language. Therefore, CRS must be rejected (Lycan 2000: 94; Rundle 2001: 101).

One response is to insist that proper names do indeed have meaning (Baker and Hacker 2004; Horwich 1998: 88-9, 124ff). But this seems strange. One does not find them in the dictionary, and the question ‘What does “David” mean?’ sounds confused. A more promising strategy is to offer an explanation—consonant with CRS—as to why proper names do not possess meaning, despite having a usage. That is, to show that although they have a role it is not of the right kind. To do so, I shall examine Kripke’s arguments for the view that proper names ‘directly refer’.

Kripke (1980) convincingly shows that there are no descriptions that warrant (a priori) the introduction of a proper name, and the latter’s use alone does not license the transition to any such description. Consider, for example, ‘Aristotle’ and the following:

the greatest pupil of Plato

the author of De Anima

the most famous teacher of Alexander the Great

As a matter of fact, one is warranted in replacing any of the above descriptions with ‘Aristotle’. Thus, the transition from ‘This was written by the greatest pupil of Plato’ to ‘This was written by Aristotle’ is correct. But in principle one could be unprepared to make such a transition without failing to understand ‘Aristotle’. One could revise which transitions one takes to be correct, and the term would still designate the same individual. Hence, there is no essential relation between ‘Aristotle’ and the above descriptions. This is supposed to generalise to cover any possible set of descriptions and associated proper names.

These observations point toward a distinguishing feature of proper names. They simply lack the kind of intra-linguistic role that bestows meaning on other expressions; they really just function as labels or proxies for their bearers. There are no transitions involving a proper name that one who masters it must be prepared to make. So, rather than count against CRS, one can precisely explain why proper names lack meaning by pointing out that they lack the relevant established usage, or inferential role, that is distinctive of meaningful expressions.

c. Externalism

This section temporarily focuses on IRS and the difficulty externalism seems to pose for it. According to externalism, meaning and content are determined by environmental, that is, extra-linguistic, factors. This is in manifest tension with IRS, according to which meaning and content are determined by intra-linguistic relations alone.

Different versions of externalism emphasise different environmental factors. According to ‘social’ externalism (Burge 1979), the content of a person’s claim or thought is determined in part by the linguistic community to which she belongs (so long as she is suitably deferent to the ‘experts’). What a person says, for example, in uttering ‘I have arthritis’ (and so whether what she says is true or false) is fixed by how her medical community employ ‘arthritis’. While this form of externalism is evidently in tension with methodological solipsism, it is not in tension with IRS per se. On this account, the meaning of a term is still its inferential significance, but that significance is fixed communally not individually.

It is ‘physical’ externalism that is typically thought to pose problems for IRS (Lepore 1994: 197-8; Lycan 2000: 93; McGinn 1982; Putnam 1991: 46ff). Imagine that Sally on Earth has a twin on Twin Earth. The term ‘water’ plays just the same role in the language of Sally and Twin Sally. Both, for example, would make the transition from ‘That is the colorless, odorless liquid in lakes and rivers’ to ‘That is water’, and vice versa. Nevertheless, the colorless odorless liquid on Earth consists of H2O, whereas on Twin Earth it consists of XYZ. Hence, the referent of ‘water’ is different on each planet, and insofar as meaning determines reference, the meaning likewise differs (Putnam 1975). Therefore, linguistic role alone does not determine meaning. This point is supposed to generalise to hold for propositional content too. Since intuitions about thought-experiments of this kind appear strongly to support externalism, it would seem IRS must be false.

One response to such cases regarding mental content is to postulate ‘narrow content’, to be explained by IRS. Narrow content has a cognitive role but it does not have truth-conditions and its constituents do not refer (Block 1986; Fodor 1990; McGinn 1982). ‘Wide content’ involving truth-conditions and reference-relations is then viewed as a mere device for attributing (narrow) thoughts to subjects, or some additional (perhaps causal) theory is wheeled in to explain how it attaches to the relevant item or state. Crucially, on such ‘two-factor’ accounts, only narrow content is genuinely, cognitively ‘real’ (since only it respects methodological solipsism).

Alternatively, one might reject Putnam’s assumption that meaning determines reference. On this account, ‘water’ would be treated as equivalent to ‘the colorless, odorless liquid in our lakes and rivers’. Since this involves an indexical, it combines the externalist intuition that the reference varies across worlds, with the view compatible with IRS that its meaning is not determined by the physical environment. The expression’s role is constant across on Earth and Twin Earth (Horwich 2005: ch. 1; Putnam 1975: 229ff).

While this might work for linguistic meaning, it is less clear that the same account can be given for mental content. The worry with this strategy is that it looks like what it offers is content in name only (McCulloch 1995). Surely thoughts (unlike meanings) are essentially truth-evaluable, and typically concern extra-mental reality. Such features play a crucial part in their role in psychological explanation. To divorce in this way the contents of beliefs, desires and thoughts from their objects is deeply unpalatable. This objection applies equally to the two-factor strategy mentioned above of postulating narrow content.

A different tact is to adopt CRS rather than IRS (Harman 1999; McCulloch 1995). On this view, since perception of distal objects and action on those objects contributes to individuating cognitive roles, one can indeed distinguish the roles of ‘water’ on Earth and Twin Earth (even if subjectively things appear just the same to Sally and her twin).

A concern with this suggestion is that it threatens to divorce the notions of meaning and content from those of understanding and grasp of content. According to it, the meaning of ‘water’, for example, is partially determined by the micro-physical constitution of water, even if a subject is utterly unaware of it. Hence, it apparently follows that she is ignorant of what she says and thinks in employing that expression or the corresponding concept. Insofar as this leaves a subject unable to distinguish the contents of her thoughts, one would expect this to have devastating consequences for her ability to reason.

That externalism in general makes problematic knowledge of one’s own mind is widely-recognised (see Brown 2004), but it seems especially acute in the case of CRS. There will inevitably be a disparity between a concept’s role as individuated by the physical environment and its role in a subject’s cognition, and insofar as they cannot be reconciled, it is hard to imagine how a particular role (hence content) could be assigned to the concept. Perhaps this problem facing CRS can be resolved, but prima facie an alternative response to externalism is preferable.

The above are conciliatory strategies, which accept the externalist’s claim and seek a theory of meaning to accommodate it. An altogether different approach is to reject the externalist intuitions and insist that Sally and Twin Sally mean the same thing by ‘water’, say colorless, odorless liquid, and so both think thoughts that are true of colorless, odorless liquid (whether H2O or XYZ). This is supported by the observation that both subjects would behave, explain their terms and react to their use in identical ways. Perhaps if deferential relations are taken into consideration, one might be able to point to relevant differences that would indicate semantic differences, but this only pushes us toward social rather than physical externalism, and the former has already been shown to be compatible with IRS.

Different strategies for responding to externalism have been considered, and the issue remains unresolved. Nevertheless, there is reason to be confident that intuitions about Twin-Earth style cases do not present insuperable problems for CRS, and especially IRS.

d. Truth, Reference and Intentionality

This discussion points towards a further potential difficulty for CRS (Loewer 1997; Putnam 1978), one which is sometimes treated simultaneously. Thoughts and statements are ‘about’ the world; they possess intentionality. And what they are about is determined by their content. However, according to CRS, content consists primarily in word-word relations (exclusively in some instances), whereas intentionality is on the face of it a word-world relation.

This issue can be reformulated in terms of truth and reference. Statements and thoughts are true or false, depending on how matters stand in the world, and those statements refer to objects and events in that world. How, one might ask, can CRS explain the evident conceptual links between meaning, truth and reference? What is required, surely, is a theory according to which for something to have meaning is for it to stand in some relation to extra-linguistic reality, from which one derives its truth-conditions and reference. (For the remainder, I shall focus on truth. The relevant points can easily be extended to reference, or being true of.)

This assumption, however, takes for granted a conception of truth according to which it consists in some substantial, non-semantic relation between an item and the world. According to deflationism, in contrast, the notion of truth does not pick out any such relation (see Horwich 1990; 1998). Rather, its content is exhausted by the schema:

(T) The proposition that p is true if and only if p

To grasp the notion of truth is to be disposed to accept, or grasp the propriety of, statements of that form. No deeper account of truth is needed or available. On this view, the reason for having an expression such as ‘is true’ in a language is solely to enable us to make generalisations such as ‘Everything the Pope says is true’.

If the deflationary theory is correct then, since truth does not consist in a non-semantic word-world relation, there is no reason to expect or demand a theory that shows possessing meaning or content to consist in such a relation either. A statement of the truth-conditions of a sentence can be derived trivially from a statement of the content it expresses.

More generally, if correct, the outcome of deflationism is that the notion of truth cannot play a fundamental explanatory role in the theory of meaning, as is commonly assumed, since it is to be explained via an antecedently intelligible notion of proposition (or meaning). Crucially, CRS need not deny the platitude that to grasp the content of an attitude or utterance is to grasp its truth-conditions, but instead can be seen as giving a theoretical account of what it is to possess such truth-conditions (Field 1994; Harman 1999: 195).

There is obviously much more to be said for and against deflationism (see Truth). But what should be clear is that it complements CRS and (if successful) shows it to be compatible with the obvious conceptual links between the notions of meaning and content on the one hand and truth and reference on the other.

e. Indeterminacy

This section explores again the views of Kripke, who, on supposed behalf of Wittgenstein, presents several notorious arguments against regularist and dispositionalist theories of meaning (1982). If his arguments succeed, those versions of CRS must be abandoned. (Quine reaches similar conclusions (see 1993).)

The problem with regularism, according to Kripke’s Wittgenstein (1982: 7), is that the actual use of an expression is consistent with an indefinite number of semantic interpretations. A stretch of behavior is only finite, whereas what a word means has consequences for its use on an indefinite number of occasions. For example, that a person to date has uttered ‘blue’ in response to all and only blue things does not determine that by ‘blue’ she means blue, since that behavior is consistent with its meaning ‘blue until 2146AD and green thereafter.’ Thus, regularities of employment leave meaning indeterminate.

Such observations might lead one to dispositionalism. The apparent advantage here is that it includes facts about what speakers would say in an indefinite number of counterfactual circumstances, and thereby promises to rule out gerrymandered interpretations. For example, if a person would assent to an utterance of ‘blue’ in the presence of blue after 2146AD, then by ‘blue’ she means what we mean and not ‘blue until 2146AD and green thereafter.’

Nevertheless, Kripke’s Wittgenstein points out, focus on dispositions fails to exclude deviant interpretations. The fact that a person utters ‘blue’ in the presence of blue after 2146AD does not determine that the expression means blue, since she might be making a mistake and using the expression incorrectly, that is, in a way that conflicts with its meaning. This in turn points to Kripke’s fundamental claim—dispositionalism fails because it does not accommodate the intrinsically normative nature of meaning. What an expression means is a matter of how it ought to or may (not) be used. If one understands an expression, one knows not simply how it is as a matter of fact employed but how it should be. Hence, for an expression to have a meaning cannot be merely for a subject to be disposed to employ it in certain circumstances, since a speaker’s disposition only fixes for what she would do, not what she should.

Several philosophers take this to show that the relevant use constitutive of meaning must be specified using wholly semantic, intentional or normative concepts (Boghossian 1989; Brandom 1994: ch. 1; McDowell 1998: chs. 11-2; Stroud 2002), that is, to favor normativism. If the relevant behavior is described in the first instance in normative terms, that is, as according or failing to accord with a certain standard, then it would seem that the gap between it and the relevant pattern picked out by the semantic interpretation is closed. Alternatively, a dispositionalist or regularist might challenge the claim that dispositions and regularities of use leave meaning indeterminate, perhaps by rejecting the suggestion that meaning is an essentially normative dimension (for discussion, see Hattiangadi 2007; Horwich 1998; 2005; Miller 2007: ch. 5). It is fair to say that the issue of how exactly to respond to Kripke’s Wittgenstein’s challenge is very much a live one.

f. Defective Expressions and Conservatism

Prior (1960) objects to CRS on the following grounds. Given IRS, one could presumably provide a meaning for a connective ‘tonk’ by stipulating that it is to be employed according to the following rules:

Tonk-introduction: p


p tonk q

Tonk-elimination: p tonk q


q

Evidently, by following these rules for the use of ‘tonk’, one could infer any claim from any other claim. Prior took this to be a reductio ad absurdum of IRS. One cannot give an expression a genuine meaning simply be stipulating that it is to be employed in inference in a certain way. As Belnap diagnoses the complaint, a ‘possible moral to draw from this’ is that one ‘must first […] have a notion of what [an expression] means, independently of the role it plays as premise or conclusion’ (1962: 130). That is, the example seems to show that it is in virtue of having an antecedent grasp of an expression’s meaning that one can make judgments as to its inferential significance. Hence, the latter cannot be constitutive of the former.

The traditional response on behalf of CRS is to maintain that the relevant expression does not have a genuine meaning, since the introduction of ‘tonk’ does not constitute a conservative extension of the language (Belnap 1962; see also Dummett 1973: 397; 1991). An extension of the language is conservative if and only if one cannot use the new vocabulary to derive any statements in the original vocabulary that could not already be derived using the original vocabulary. More informally, the problem is that non-conservative rules for the use of an expression clash with the meanings of existing expressions or, rather, the rules governing their employment. The novel rules ‘clash’ in the sense that, when added to the established rules, they lead to contradiction. As a result, the extended language is inconsistent.

This is evident in the case of ‘tonk’. Were one to employ the connective according to the above rules, one could derive any statement in our tonk-free vocabulary from any other statement in that vocabulary. Suppose, for example, that one accepts ‘Grass is green’. According to tonk-introduction, from that sentence, ‘Grass is green tonk it is not the case that grass is green’ follows. From this, in turn, according to tonk-elimination, ‘Grass is not green’ follows, which manifestly contradicts the original sentence from which it was derived. In such a way, assuming the meanings or rules for the use of the other expressions remain constant, the tonk-rules lead immediately and without auxiliary premises to contradiction; their introduction to the language renders it inconsistent.

The constraints imposed by conservatism proscribe the fraudulent connective ‘tonk’ by ruling out the introduction of non-conservative rules of the kind that would generate inconsistency in the manner outlined above. In doing so, they guarantee that there is no defective meaning possessed by ‘tonk’ and so no counter-example to CRS.

According to Prior, CRS allows one to introduce into a language obviously defective expressions. According to a recent twist on this objection, our language obviously contains certain defective expressions and CRS is unable to explain how (see Williamson 2003; cf. Hornsby 2001; cp. Whiting 2007a; 2008). Pejorative terms like ‘Boche’ provide vivid examples. A proponent of CRS might, following Dummett (1973), hold that to grasp the meaning possessed by ‘Boche’ is to infer according to rules such as:

Boche-introduction: x is German


x is Boche

Boche-elimination: x is Boche


x is cruel

As Williamson says (although he does not accept this evaluation), one might regard the above account as providing CRS ‘with a positive success by elegantly explaining in inferentialist terms what is wrong with pejorative expressions’. Unfortunately, however, it instead leads immediately to the following problem.

Since most speakers (including you and I) are simply not disposed to infer according to rules such as Boche-introduction and Boche-elimination and do not consider it proper to do so, it appears to follow (given CRS) that those speakers do not understand the term ‘Boche’ or grasp its meaning. This is, of course, implausible. As Williamson glibly says, ‘We find racist and xenophobic abuse offensive because we understand it, not because we fail to do so’ (2003: 257). Pejorative terms, then, appear to provide a counter-example to CRS. An expression can possess a certain meaning without speakers being prepared to make the relevant inferences involving it; its inferential role is therefore not constitutive of its meaning. It is in virtue of having an antecedent grasp of meaning that one can make judgments as to the inferential significance of an expression.

A possible solution to this problem runs parallel to Belnap’s reply to Prior. One might reject the Boche-introduction and Boche-elimination rules on the grounds that they are non-conservative. They allow one to make without the aid of collateral information the transition from, for example, ‘Merkel is German’ to ‘Merkel is cruel’, when one could not do so in the ‘Boche’-free language. More informally, Boche-introduction and Boche-elimination clash with the rules governing the employment of existing terms, in the sense that supplementing them with the Boche-rules leads to contradiction, rendering the extended language inconsistent. Suppose, for example, that Merkel was born in Germany and does not cause suffering with disregard. On this basis—given what one may assume to be among the established inferential rules for the employment of ‘German’ and ‘cruel’—one infers ‘Merkel is German and is not cruel’. However, by following Boche-introduction one may make the transition to ‘Merkel is Boche and is not cruel’, and in turn Boche-elimination allows one to infer ‘Merkel is cruel and is not cruel’. Hence, in such a way, the introduction of the Boche-rules to a ‘Boche’-free language leads to contradiction.

Since it is non-conservative, the above account of the meaning of ‘Boche’ is bogus and so does not constitute a counter-example to IRS. This point does not depend on the exact details of Dummett’s proposal; the same will be true of any model of pejoratives according to which we accept the grounds for introducing them but not the consequences of doing so.

This proposal might generate the following worry:

It is hard to believe that racists who employ boche-like concepts fail to express complete thoughts. (Boghossian 2003: 243)

Accepting the above, however, does not lead to the conclusion that bigots are not saying anything whatsoever, or express no thoughts, when they use the term ‘Boche’; it is to deny one account of its meaning, not to deny that it has meaning. Indeed, a proponent of CRS might view the term ‘Boche’ as having the same meaning as ‘German’. Thus, the meaning of ‘Boche’ is given by whatever (conservative) rules govern ‘German’. One can in turn explain the pejorative nature of ‘Boche’ by appeal not to its literal, semantic content, but to its offensive associations, its conventional implications (see Grice 1989 ch. 2). According to this account, CRS deals with that aspect of a word that is shared by its neutral counterpart (for example, ‘German’) and an additional apparatus is wheeled in to explain the respect in which it causes offence. (The former is the remit of semantics, the latter of pragmatics.)

Williamson claims that such an account is not available to one who recommends CRS (2003: 267-8). Even if the ‘Boche’ is governed by the same rules as ‘German’, it is still the case that most speakers are not prepared—given its offensive implications—to employ ‘Boche’ in accordance with those rules. According to CRS, then, they do not understand the term ‘Boche’ or grasp the concept it expresses, which is implausible.

Note, however, that this criticism is effective against regularism and dispositionalism, but not normativism. The normativist can insist that the propriety of employment that is constitutive of the concept is distinctively semantic, as opposed to (say) moral. Once this is recognised, one can appreciate that speakers can indeed acknowledge that inferring from ‘x originates in Germany’ to ‘x is Boche’ is correct as far as the language is concerned, or according to the semantic norms determinative of the relevant expressions’ meanings, and still refuse actually to use the term ‘Boche’, since the propriety of doing so is trumped by other considerations (in this instance, moral). So, if CRS distinguishes the relevant normative notion according to which inferences are correct or incorrect, it has the resources to meet Williamson’s objection.

g. Circularity

The above discussion leads almost directly to a concern about CRS that Davidson voices in the following passage:

It is empty to say that meaning is use unless we specify what use we have in mind, and when we do specify, in a way that helps with meaning, we find ourselves going in a circle. (2005: 13)

This is perhaps especially relevant to normativism. According to it, for an expression to possess meaning, or express content, is for it be correctly used in a certain way. But intuitively the ‘correct’ use is just that which accords with meaning, or mastery of which is required for understanding. Further, it was suggested above that norms of meaning must be distinguished from other kinds of norm and hence viewed as distinctively semantic. Clearly, for a theory of meaning to appeal to such notions would be circular.

Two alternatives present themselves. One strategy would be to show how the relevant norms can be picked out in independently intelligible or more basic terms, say epistemological (Brandom 2000: ch. 6; Skorupski 1997; cf. Dummett 1991; 1996). Alternatively, one might reject the requirement of reductionism (Alston 2000; Stroud 2002; Whiting 2006). The assumption that an account of semantic notions must be given in independently intelligible or more basic terms is one that should not go unchallenged.

Note that dispositionalism arguably suffers from its own, distinctive problem of circularity (see Boghossian 1989; Kripke 1982: 28). According to it, to grasp the meaning of an expression is to be disposed to use it in a certain way. So, for example, to grasp the meaning of ‘bachelor’ is to be disposed to make the transition from ‘He is an unmarried man’ to ‘He is a bachelor’. But, of course, a person might fully understand the expression and yet not be disposed to make that transition. Perhaps she desires to confuse her interlocutor, or does not have long to live and wishes not to waste words, or believes that within the elapsed time the person has married, and so on. Evidently, the dispositionalist must say that to grasp the meaning one must be disposed to perform in a certain way in optimal circumstances. However, it appears unlikely that those circumstances could possibly be specified without employing semantic notions of the same kind as that of meaning or content.

5. Prospects and Applications

This entry has surveyed some of the arguments in favor of CRS and sketched briefly a number of the prominent problems it faces. Its critics’ claims notwithstanding, there is no reason to think that CRS faces proportionally more difficulties than its competitors. And in each case there are lines of response that, if not immediately decisive, are worthy of investigation.

For those sympathetic to CRS, examining such matters provide a means of adjudicating between the different versions. Specifically, it seems that the threats of indeterminacy and defective concepts point strongly toward normativism. Of course, once one accepts that semantic concepts are intrinsically normative, one must further distinguish such norms from other kinds of propriety, and it is doubtful that this can be done without making use of semantic concepts on a par with meaning or content. Nevertheless, the assumption that the only satisfactory philosophical explanations are those that provide analyses in independently intelligible and more basic terms is arguably unfounded and certainly not to be assumed.

In closing, it is worth noting that some consider CRS to provide insights into the possibility of a priori knowledge (see A Priori and A Posteriori), and as explaining our entitlement to follow certain fundamental epistemic and ethical principles (Boghossian 1997; 2000; 2003; Hale and Wright 2000; Peacocke 1992; Wedgwood 2006; cp. Horwich 2005 ch. 6; Williamson 2003). This is a burgeoning field of research and deserves investigation. In order to evaluate such claims, however, the details of CRS need first to be spelled out. It is on that task that this entry has focussed.

6. References and Further Reading

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  • Davidson, D. 2005: Truth, Language, and History. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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  • Dummett, M. 1973: Frege: Philosophy of Language. London: Duckworth.
  • Dummett, M. 1991: The Logical Basis of Metaphysics. London: Duckworth.
  • Dummett, M. 1996: The Seas of Language. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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  • Field, H. 1994: Deflationist views of meaning and content. Mind 103: 249-85.
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  • Fodor, J. and Lepore, E. 1992: Holism. Oxford: Blackwell.
  • Frege, G. 1997: The Frege Reader, ed. M. Beaney. Oxford: Blackwell.
  • Glock, H-J. 1996: Abusing use. Dialectica 50: 205-233.
  • Glock, H-J. 2003: Quine and Davidson on Thought, Language, and Reality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
  • Glock, H-J. 2005: The normativity of meaning made simple. In Philosophy—Science—Scientific Philosophy, ed. A. Beckermann and C. Nimtz. Paderborn: Mentis.
  • Grice, P. 1989: Studies in the Way of Words. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.
  • Grice, P. and Strawson, P. 1989: In defense of dogma. In Studies in the Way of Words. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.
  • Hale, B. and Wright, C. 2000: Implicit definition and the a priori. In New Essays on the A Priori, ed. P. Boghossian and C. Peacocke. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
  • Harman, G. 1993: Meaning holism defended. Grazer Philosophische Studien 46: 163-71.
  • Harman, G. 1999: Reasoning, Meaning and Mind. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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  • Horwich, P. 1990: Truth. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
  • Horwich, P. 1998: Meaning. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
  • Horwich, P. 2005: Reflections on Meaning. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
  • Kripke, S. 1980: Naming and Necessity. Oxford: Blackwell.
  • Kripke, S. 1982: Wittgenstein on Rules and Private Language. Oxford: Blackwell.
  • Lance, M. and Hawthorne, J. 1997: The Grammar of Meaning. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
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  • Lycan, W. 2000: Philosophy of Language. London: Routledge.
  • McCulloch, G. 1995: The Mind and its World. London: Routledge.
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  • Miller, A. 2007: Philosophy of Language, 2nd ed. London: Routledge.
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  • Putnam, H. 1991: Representation and Reality. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press.
  • Quine, W. 1980: From a Logical Point of View, 2nd ed. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.
  • Quine, W. 1993: Mind and verbal dispositions. In Meaning and Reference, ed. A. Moore. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
  • Rundle, B. 2001: Meaning and understanding. In Wittgenstein: A Critical Reader, ed. H-J. Glock. Oxford: Blackwell.
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  • Sellars, W. 2007: In the Space of Reasons, ed. K. Scharp and R. Brandom. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.
  • Skorupski, J. 1997: Meaning, use, verification. In A Companion to the Philosophy of Language, ed. B. Hale and C. Wright. Oxford: Blackwell.
  • Strawson, P. F. 2004: Logico-Linguistic Papers, new ed. Aldershot: Ashgate.
  • Stroud, B. 2002: Meaning, Understanding, and Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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  • Williamson, T. 2003: Understanding and inference. Aristotelian Society Supplementary Volume 77: 249-93.
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Author Information

Daniel Whiting
Email: d.whiting@soton.ac.uk
University of Southampton
United Kingdom

Disjunctivism

Disjunctivism, as a theory of visual experience, claims that the mental states involved in a “good case” experience of veridical perception and a “bad case” experience of hallucination differ. They differ even in those cases in which the two experiences are indistinguishable for their subject. Consider the veridical perception of a bar stool and an indistinguishable hallucination; both of these experiences might be classed together as experiences of a bar stool or experiences of seeming to see a bar stool. This might lead us to think that the experiences we undergo in the two cases must be of the same kind, the difference being that the former, but not the latter, is connected to the world in the right kind of way. Such a conjecture has been called a “highest common factor” or “common kind” assumption. At heart, disjunctivism consists in the rejection of this assumption. According to the disjunctivist, veridical experiences and hallucinations do not share a common component.

There are a host of interesting questions surrounding disjunctivism including: What is involved in the claims that good case and bad case experiences differ? Why might one want to be a disjunctivist? What kinds of claims can the disjunctivist make about hallucination and illusion? These questions, and problems for the thesis, will be discussed as we proceed.

Table of Contents

  1. Introduction
  2. Disjunctivism and Naïve Realism
  3. Types of Disjunctivism
  4. Arguments for Disjunctivism
    1. Epistemological Motivations
    2. Modesty
    3. Naïve Realism: Phenomenology
    4. Naïve Realism: Demonstrative Reference
  5. Objections to Disjunctivism
    1. The Causal Argument
    2. The “Screening Off” Objection
    3. Matching Hallucinations to Perceptions
  6. Theories of Hallucination
    1. Positive Disjunctivism
    2. Negative Disjunctivism
    3. Negative Disjunctivism and Indiscriminability: Objections
  7. Theories of Illusion
    1. Illusion as Hallucination
    2. Illusion as Veridical Perception
  8. Conclusion
  9. References and Further Reading

1. Introduction

If disjunctivism consists in the rejection of the claim that veridical perceptions and hallucinations share a common factor, why “disjunctivism”? The thesis acquires its name from the particular way in which it reinterprets statements that, at face value, might appear to commit us to the existence of experiences, understood as good case/bad case common factors. Consider the sentence, ‘I seem to see a flash of light’. Such a sentence could be true regardless of whether we are perceiving or hallucinating. As such, the truthmaker of such a sentence might seem to be something common to the two cases, and a commitment to the truth of such sentences in turn to commit us to a common factor. However, J.M. Hinton contends that ‘I seem to see a flash of light’ is simply “a more compact way of saying” something like this: “Either I see a flash of light, or I have an illusion of a flash of light” (1967: 217).

It is this reinterpretation of seems-sentences as disjunctive in form that gives disjunctivism its name. Moreover, not only do disjunctivists insist that a seems-statement is shorthand for a disjunctive statement, they insist that such statements have a disjunctive truthmaker. The statement, Either I see an F or it merely seems to me as if that were so, can be made true in two different ways: either by its being true that I actually do see an F, or by its being true that I don’t see an F but that it is for me as if I did. To see how this is supposed to work, consider the following example from Don Locke:

“This is a woman, or a man dressed as a woman” does not assert the presence of a woman/transvestite-neutral entity … its truth depends simply on the presence of either a woman or a transvestite, as the case may be. (1975: 467)

In this way, Hinton shows how we can be committed to the existence of true seems-statements without being committed to a common factor that makes them true.

In reinterpreting seems-statements in this way, Hinton opens the door for philosophers to claim that veridical perception and hallucination might be psychologically different kinds of experience, which nonetheless both make it the case that it seems to the subject to be a certain way. The core disjunctive claim is therefore that “we should understand statements about how things appear to a perceiver to be equivalent to a disjunction that either one is perceiving such and such or one is suffering a … hallucination; and that such statements are not to be viewed as introducing a report of a distinctive mental event or state common to these various disjoint situations. (Martin 2004: 37).

2. Disjunctivism and Naïve Realism

In insisting that veridical perceptions and hallucinations are mental states of different kinds, the disjunctivist takes on the explanatory burden of giving an account of how two experiences could be indistinguishable without being experiences of the same kind. Given this, what might lead someone to endorse disjunctivism? We shall consider specific arguments for disjunctivism in section 4, but for present purposes it will suffice to note that the typical motivation has been to make room for a “naïve realist” theory of veridical experience. The naïve realist claims that, in the good cases, external objects and their properties “partly constitute one’s conscious experience” (Martin 1997: 83) and thereby “shape the contours of the subject’s conscious experience” (Martin 2004: 64). So naïve realism entails disjunctivism: if naïve realism is true, then the kind of mental state that is involved in a veridical perception – a mental state that relates the subject to elements of the mind-independent environment – could not be involved in a hallucinatory situation. The hallucinatory state must therefore be of a different kind. A defence of naïve realism therefore requires a defence of disjunctivism.

As there is such an intimate connection between disjunctivism and naïve realism, some theorists have actually incorporated naïve realism about the good cases into the very definition of disjunctivism. Paul Snowdon, one of the names most closely associated with the theory, takes disjunctivism to involve the claim that: “the experience in a genuinely perceptual case has a different nature to the experience involved in a non-perceptual case. It is not exhausted, however, by the simple denial of a common nature, but involves also the characterisation of the difference between the perceptual and non-perceptual in terms of the different constituents of the experiences involved. The experience in the perceptual case in its nature reaches out to and involves the perceived external object, not so the experience in other cases.” (2005: 136-7; for a similar formulation, see Sturgeon 2006: 187). However, despite the fact that naïve realism entails the denial of the common kind thesis, the denial of the common kind thesis does not entail naïve realism. For this reason, I think it makes taxonomic sense to restrict the label “disjunctivist” to theories that deny that there is a common factor to indistinguishable cases of veridical perception and hallucination. Yet of course, as naïve realism entails disjunctivism, an argument for naïve realism is thereby also an argument for disjunctivism. We will come back to this when considering motivations for disjunctivism in section 4. Before we do this, however, we need to take a moment to look closely at the claim that veridical perception and hallucination share a common component.

3. Types of Disjunctivism

The reason for caution is that, if we read this claim as holding that veridical perception and hallucination have nothing in common whatsoever, then it is surely false. As we have already seen, a veridical perception of an F and a hallucination of an F have at least this in common: they are both visual experiences of an F / cases of seeming to see an F. So the “no common factor” claim must be read as allowing that they have something in common. This, however, raises an important question. In what respects can the mental states involved in veridical perception and hallucination be the same and the theory remain a version of disjunctivism? This opens up the possibility of different types of disjunctivism.

For example, Byrne and Logue formulate a version of disjunctivism they call epistemological disjunctivism, which is disjunctivist about perceptual evidence (2008: 66). That is, the epistemological disjunctivist denies that one’s perceptual evidence is the same across indistinguishable cases of veridical perception and hallucination. As Snowdon puts it, “we can divide cases where it is true that it appears to the subject as if P into two sorts; one is where the subject is in a position to know that P, in that the fact that P is manifested to him, and others where the subject is in a position to know merely that it appears to be P” (2005: 140). On both Byrne and Logue’s presentation and Snowdon’s, epistemological disjunctivism is consistent with the two experiences having substantial commonalities. As Snowdon asks, “why cannot a single basic sort of (inner) experience have quite different epistemological significance in different cases, depending, say, on the context and on facts about causation?” (ibid.)

Epistemological disjunctivism, then, leaves room for veridical perception and hallucination to be of the same metaphysical kind, so long as they do not have the same epistemological status. More robust versions of disjunctivism will go on to reject the claim that veridical perception and hallucination are of the same metaphysical kind. For example, we might define “metaphysical disjunctivism” as the claim that veridical perceptions and hallucinations are different kinds of mental states in as much as they have different constituents, or different supervenience bases. Yet as Byrne and Logue point out, even this seems to be compatible with the two mental states having something in common. Thus they introduce the “moderate view” (2008: 71), which accepts that the good cases and bad cases “are different in significant mental respects, despite having a common mental element,” where this common mental element is in the picture to ground the phenomenal similarity of the two states. A yet more robust version of disjunctivism, then, holds that, despite cases of veridical perception and hallucination both being cases in which it seems to the subject as if P, they nonetheless do not have even phenomenal character in common.

In an attempt to impose some order, Martin characterizes disjunctivism as committed to the claim that the “most fundamental kind that the perceptual event is of, the kind in virtue of which the event has the nature that it does, is one which couldn’t be instanced in the case of hallucination.” (2004: 60). They key notion here is that of a “fundamental kind” – the kind in virtue of which the event has the nature it does. How do we determine the fundamental kind a particular mental state or event belongs to? By determining the “most specific answer to the question, ‘What is it?’” (2006: 361). So, for example, take our veridical experience of a bar stool. If the common kind theory were correct, then the “best candidate for the fundamental or essential kind” of both a veridical perception of a bar stool and a hallucination of a bar stool would be that they are both instances of the kind: experience (as) of a bar stool. Disjunctivism, however, allows that the “best candidate for the fundamental or essential kind” of a veridical perception of a bar stool is that it is an instance of the kind: veridical perception of a bar stool. Hallucinations, of course, do not belong to this kind (2004: 72). We will discuss the kinds that hallucinations do belong to in section 6.2.

So we have a number of different varieties of disjunctivism available; varieties that differ in the degree of similarities that the mental states involved in veridical perception and hallucination are allowed to share. However, as we shall see in the next section, not every type of disjunctivism just discussed will successfully legitimate the various motivations that have been cited as reasons for endorsing disjunctivism.

4. Arguments for Disjunctivism

Before we move onto reasons to think that disjunctivism is true, it is worth noting that its first outing post-Hinton was in fact as a component of an argument, due to Paul Snowdon, against the Causal Theory of Perception. But this argument does not require the truth of disjunctivism, merely its conceptual coherence, for which reason I mention it only briefly. The causal theory claims that “it is a conceptual requirement that, necessarily, if P (a subject) sees O (an object) then O is causally responsible for an experience (call it E) undergone by (or had by) P” where “experiences are amongst the events, the intrinsic natures of which are independent of anything outside the subject” (Snowdon 1990: 123). So the causal theory is committed, not only to a common factor conception of experiences, but also to the claim that this is a conceptual truth – something “immediately acknowledgeable by any person, whatever their education, who can count as having the concept in question” (1980: 176). Essentially, Snowdon’s argument consists in arguing that, even if disjunctivism turns out to be false, it will only be “scientifically established facts about perceptual and hallucinatory processes” that disprove it (1990: 130). But these are results that the man on the street could not be expected to know merely in virtue of having the concept of perception. So even if it is false, disjunctivism is not a conceptual falsehood and therefore the second claim of the causal theory – that the intrinsic nature of the experience a subject has when perceiving an object is independent of anything outside the subject – is not a conceptual truth as the causal theorist requires.

a. Epistemological Motivations

As Snowdon’s argument does not require the truth of disjunctivism, we still have been given no arguments for the thesis. One salient motivation has to do with epistemology. Consider a sceptical argument that runs as follows. When we hallucinate, the kind of experience we have clearly fails to put us in a position to know anything about the external world. The experience we have in the case of a veridical perception indistinguishable from this hallucination is an experience of the same kind. As the bad case experience fails to put us in a position to acquire knowledge, having the same kind of experience in the good case cannot place us in a better epistemic position. So even when we have veridical experiences, we are not in a position to know anything about the external world.

Disjunctivism offers to block this argument by denying the premise that the experience we have when we veridically perceive is the same as the experience we have when we hallucinate. This would not, of course, prove that we do know anything about the external world, merely that such knowledge is not impossible. Yet this would block the sceptic from using the impossibility of knowledge as a premise in an argument for this conclusion. In response, the disjunctivist’s opponent may point out that, given the acknowledged indistinguishability of veridical perception and hallucination, we cannot know, on any given occasion, whether we are hallucinating or perceiving veridically. So it is not after all clear that disjunctivism does provide any epistemic advantages. The disjunctivist might then reply that this misses the point. It is not that disjunctivism offers an argument to prove that we do have knowledge, rather it offers a rebuttal to an argument that we cannot. To illustrate this, consider the familiar sceptical claim that all of our experiences might have been just as they are even if we were in the clutches of Descartes’ demon. If the disjunctivist is correct, this is no longer possible – if any of my experiences are in fact veridical, then they could not have been as they are misleading. Suppose, then, that the sceptic were to reformulate the sceptical hypothesis as follows: all of your experiences might have been of the misleading kind. Now we can ask, so what? As long as they are not misleading, then many of our empirical beliefs will be justified. As McDowell puts it, this leaves the door open for us to hold that “our knowledge that [the sceptical] possibilities do not obtain is sustained by the fact that we know a great deal about our environment” (2008: 379).

An interesting question about the epistemological motivation for disjunctivism is that of which variety of disjunctivism it requires. In one sense, it clearly requires epistemological disjunctivism, according to which good cases and bad cases differ in epistemological significance. Yet having said this, we might also wonder to what extent two experiences that are the same in significant respects might be plausibly held to provide different levels of perceptual evidence. Could two experiences with the same constituents and phenomenal character be claimed to be significantly epistemologically different? If not, what about experiences that are metaphysically different but phenomenally similar? Or does the claim of significant epistemological difference require the most robust version of disjunctivism: phenomenal disjunctivism? The answers given to these questions will in turn depend on one’s position on other questions in epistemology, such as the nature of justification. For example, an externalist about justification can easily allow that two experiences that are metaphysically similar can differ in epistemological significance, yet one inclined to internalism about justification may need to go all the way to a phenomenal disjunctivism. How compelling we find the epistemological motivation will therefore depend on a range of other issues.

b. Modesty

Another argument that has been used to support disjunctivism is that, unlike common factor theories, it is not required to “attribute to responsible subjects potential infallibility about the course of their experiences” (2004: 51). This argument turns on what is required for a particular experiential occurrence to count as a “visual experience”, where this category includes veridical perceptions and hallucinations.

Martin begins by asking us to consider a veridical perception of a bar stool and a perfectly indiscriminable hallucination of such. Now ask, in virtue of what do these both count as experiences of a bar stool? According to the common factor theorist, veridical perceptions are experiences with certain positive characteristics that are both necessary and sufficient for that perception to qualify as an experience of a bar stool. Then, “when I come to recognize the possibility of perfect hallucination just like my current perception, what I do is both recognize the presence of these characteristics … in virtue of which this event is such an experience, and also recognize that an event’s possessing these characteristics is independent of whether the event is a perception or not.” (2004: 47). According to Martin’s kind of disjunctivist, however, nothing more needs to be said; something is an experience of a bar stool just in case it is indiscriminable from a veridical perception of a bar stool.

With these two explanations in hand, Martin then points out that as of yet, “nothing rules out as possible a situation in which [these positive characteristics] are absent but in which a subject would be unable to discriminate through reflection this situation from one in which a [bar stool] was really being seen.” (2004: 49). Now the disjunctivist’s conception of what is required for an event to qualify as visual experience would allow us to count such an event as an experience (as) of a bar stool simply in virtue of the fact that it is indiscriminable from a veridical perception of a bar stool. The alternative conception, however, could not count this as a visual experience. In order to rule out the possibility of such cases, Martin therefore suggests that the disjunctivist’s opponent will have to assume that a careful subject simply cannot fail to recognize the presence of positive characteristics when they are present, or the absence of such characteristics when they are absent. Thus unlike the disjunctivist, the common factor theorist has to immodestly attribute to subjects substantive epistemic powers. Disjunctivism is therefore a more modest and hence preferable theory.

c. Naïve Realism: Phenomenology

Another set of motivations for disjunctivism turn on the fact, noted in section 2 above, that naïve realism requires disjunctivism, and that naïve realism is the view of the ‘common man’ or, as Martin puts it, that it “best articulates how sensory experience seems to us to be just through reflection” (2006: 354). Yet as Hawthorne and Kovakovich point out, if it is true that the common man does indeed have a view of visual experience, which in itself is not obvious, it is unlikely to be specific enough to decide between philosophical theories of perception. For example, whatever force this motivation carries turns on the idea that the common man would endorse the naïve realist’s theory of the good cases. But it is entirely possible that the common man would also have views about, say, the nature of hallucination or the relationship between consciousness and the brain that are inconsistent with this view. If this were to be the case, then the appeal to the common man may well be indecisive. Finally, Hawthorne and Kovakovich argue that there would not be “much point in pursuing the philosophy of perception in a setting where it is assumed that [common sense] commitments will survive philosophical and scientific reflection. After all, we shouldn’t think that vulgar common sense has seen in advance how to handle various challenges to its commitments” (2006: 180)

Despite these difficulties, Benj Hellie has recently offered a phenomenological argument in favour of naïve realism. This argument turns on the premise that, “a judgment about an experience to the fact that it is F based on phenomenological study [by experts, under ideal circumstances] will be accurate” (2007a: 267). He then lists a number of judgments from such experts on phenomenological study, which he claims embody judgments that veridical visual experience is naïve realist in character. To give a flavour of these quotes, consider Levine’s claim that the “ripe tomato seems immediately present to me in experience […] The world is just there” (2006: 179) and Campbell’s claim that “the phenomenal character of your experience … is constituted by the layout of the room itself” (2002: 116).

An alternative phenomenological motivation is also developed by Martin. This motivation is distinctive, however, in that it turns on the phenomenology of sensory visual imagination rather than that of visual perception per se (2002: 402-19). In brief, Martin argues first for the Dependency Thesis – that imagining X = imagining experiencing X – and then for the claim that to imagine experiencing is to imagine how things would be immediately presented to us in such an experience. He then argues that the naïve realist can give a much better account of this imagined immediacy than can a representationalist because, according to naïve realism, the immediacy of a visual experience of X is explained by X’s being presented to the subject. So in imagining an experience of X, one thereby imagines X being presented to the subject and immediacy follows. The representationalist’s account of visual immediacy, on the other hand, turns on the fact that the attitude the subject bears to the relevant content is stative – i.e. committal to the truth of the content – whereas, in imagination, one does not bear a stative attitude to the imagined content. One “is not thereby in a state whose attitudinative aspect would give rise to the phenomenon of immediacy” (2002: 415). According to Martin, naïve realism therefore gives the correct account of the phenomenology of sensory visual imagination.

d. Naïve Realism: Demonstrative Reference

John Campbell (2002) has argued that a naïve realist conception of experience is a requirement for the very possibility of having thoughts about mind-independent objects at all. Campbell’s contention is that, if you are to know what my use of a demonstrative expression refers to, you have to be able to consciously single out the relevant object, an ability that requires a naïve realist conception of conscious visual experience. To illustrate this, Campbell uses an example of a party where you ask me questions about ‘that woman’. Even if it turns out that I can make reliable guesses about what the woman is wearing, drinking, and so on, Campbell suggests that if I cannot consciously pick out the woman you are talking about, then I do not know to whom you are referring (2002: 8-9). He concludes that conscious (visual) attention is therefore ordinarily required for us to have knowledge of the reference of demonstratives. This therefore places a condition on an adequate account of visual experience – it must explain how it can be the source of this kind of knowledge. Campbell then asks: what would experience have to be like for it to play the role of grounding our knowledge of the reference of a demonstrative? He then argues that, to know the reference of a demonstrative, we must interpret the demonstrative as “referring to a categorical object, not merely a collection of potentialities” (2002: 145). To see why, suppose I do have the ability to reliably guess what the woman you are talking about is eating, drinking and wearing. If all there was to knowing the reference of a demonstrative was to be aware of the various potentialities that the object has, I would therefore know the reference of your use of ‘that woman’. Yet as we saw, I do not know the reference of your demonstrative. What is missing, Campbell suggests, is experience of why these potentialities exist – experience of the categorical object that grounds these potentialities. So if experience is to explain our knowledge of demonstrative reference, then an adequate analysis of experience must account for the fact that experience is experience of the categorical. This is just the kind of account that is offered by naïve realism.

5. Objections to Disjunctivism

As we have seen, as the truth of naïve realism entails the truth of disjunctivism, then arguments for naïve realism are thereby arguments for disjunctivism. And indeed, the majority of arguments for disjunctivism appear therefore to require the most robust phenomenal version of the thesis. Yet as the entailment does not go in the other direction, an objection to naïve realism is not, thereby, an objection to disjunctivism. This section focuses only on objections to disjunctivism itself. For objections to naïve realism – objections, the success of which may remove some or all of the motivations for being a disjunctivist — see Objects of Perception.

a. The Causal Argument

As an argument against disjunctivism, the causal argument starts from the obvious truth that, in order for perceiving to take place, there must be chains of causation from the perceived object to the subject’s sense organs, and then to the subject’s brain. A simple version of the causal argument proceeds as follows. At the end of this causal chain is an experience. Suppose then that the intermediate stages of the causal chain were activated in a nonstandard manner – say, by direct stimulation of the brain. So long as the later stages of the causal chain were as they would have been in the good case, the same kind of experience will result. But this is just to say that the same kind of experience can be caused in both good cases and bad cases, contra disjunctivism.

As expressed here, this argument turns on a principle we might call the “same immediate cause – same effect” principle. It asserts that, so long as the neural stage in the causal chain prior to the experience is the same then, no matter whether that prior stage was produced by external objects or internal misfirings, the effect – the experience – will be the same in both cases. The issue then becomes one of whether or not we should accept this principle. And there are reasons to think that we should not. To adapt an example from Dretske, if forgers managed to reproduce the machine that prints legitimate banknotes, the banknotes the forgers print on it will still be counterfeit, even though the immediate “cause” of these banknotes is the same as the immediate “cause” of genuine currency. Or, to take a more philosophical example, considerations familiar from the work of Putnam (1975) suggests that what makes my thoughts about water is not a feature of their immediate causes, but their distal causes. So there are reasons why we might dispute the “same immediate cause – same effect” principle when the effects in question are taken to be experiences.

For this reason, some opponents of disjunctivism have resorted to a weaker version of the principle. A.D. Smith, for example, insists that “it is surely not open to serious question that [the same immediate cause – same effect principle] does apply with respect to the merely sensory character of conscious states” (2002: 203). Here is a nice passage in which this contention is laid out in detail.

Distal environmental causes generate experiential effects only by generating more immediate links in the causal chains between themselves and experience, namely, physical stimulations in the body’s sensory receptors … These states and processes causally generate experiential effects only by generating still more immediate links in the causal chains between themselves and experience – namely, afferent neural impulses, resulting from transduction at the sites of the sensory receptors on the body. Your mental intercourse with the world is mediated by sensory and motor transducers at the periphery of your central nervous system. Your conscious experience would be phenomenally just the same even if the transducer-external causes and effects of your brain’s afferent and efferent neural activity were radically different from what they are” (Horgan and Tienson 2002: 526-7).

The contention here is that, even if there are reasons to think that changes in a subject’s environment would affect the overall nature of the mental state that results from the same type of neural stimulation (perhaps because it could make a “seeing of water” experience into a “seeing of twater” experience), the “conscious [aspects of the] experience would be phenomenally just the same”. This result, of course, would suffice to refute the phenomenal version of disjunctivism, if not the thesis in its metaphysical and epistemological forms. Again, though, for this argument to succeed, the weaker principle – that “same immediate cause – same effect” is true for the phenomenal aspects of mental states – must be found to be acceptable. One consideration that has been cited in its favour is that it provides an explanation of how indiscriminable hallucinations are possible at all: “if it were not the case that perceptual processes, however stimulated, were sufficient to generate experience, it would be a mystery why [veridical-seeming] hallucinations should occur” (Robinson 1994: 152). However the legitimacy of this motivation can be challenged.

b. The “Screening Off” Objection

Even if the causal argument in this form is rejected, the disjunctivist is still not out of the woods. Suppose the kind of neural replication appealed to by the causal argument is at least possible in principle. And suppose, too, that the mental upshot of such neural replication would be an indistinguishable hallucination. Most theorists, I think, would accept these two plausible claims. Yet if they are accepted, the disjunctivist is still in difficulty, even though we haven’t yet mentioned the phenomenal character of the experiences. The problem is this. If an indiscriminable hallucination is produced by neural replication, then we might think that there must be an explanation of this indiscriminability: that the hallucinatory experience must have a property – call it property I – that explains why the hallucination is mistaken for a veridical experience. But in these neural replication situations – Martin calls them “causally matching” hallucinations (2004: 60) – it must be that the neural activity alone suffices for the experience to have property I. Now, if the same neural activity takes place in a case of veridical perception, then it would also suffice for the veridical experience to have property I. But then the disjunctivist’s opponent can argue as follows.

We have already accepted that property I – whatever this property may be – accounts for the fact that the hallucinatory experience seems, to its subject, just like a veridical perception. Now for the reasons just given, veridical experiences also have property I, together with whatever special phenomenal character they have by virtue of being veridical. But so long as I suffices to explain why the hallucination is taken to be a veridical experience, then I also ought to suffice to explain why the veridical perception is taken to be a veridical experience. Property I would therefore seem to “screen off” whatever additional characteristics the veridical experience may have from having any explanatory import. The disjunctivist needs to be aware of this threat in developing theories of hallucination as we shall see.

c. Matching Hallucinations to Perceptions

This objection takes, as a starting point, the idea that for any possible veridical perception, there is a hallucination that ‘matches’ or ‘corresponds’ to that veridical perception – the hallucination that would, from the subject’s point of view, seem just like that veridical perception. The challenge for the disjunctivist is to give an account of what this correspondence amounts to. Farkas puts the challenge this way:

take a particular veridical perception (VP) of a teacup in front of me, and the corresponding hallucination (H). H is not a perception of the teacup – but this is true of many other events as well. What else do we have to say about H to make sure that it is the hallucination corresponding to the VP in question? (2006: 205-6).

One plausible answer to this question, suggests Farkas, is that both good cases and bad cases have to “involve the same phenomenal properties” (2006: 207). Yet as she points out, this answer has “a metaphysical character,” indeed one that commits us to the existence of something that the two cases have in common. This is, therefore, an answer that the phenomenal disjunctivist, at least, cannot endorse. Farkas then goes on to canvas a number of non-metaphysical answers to this question and argues that they all fail to provide a plausible response. The conclusion drawn is that the only way we can provide an adequate account of what it is for a hallucination to correspond to a veridical perception of a particular kind is to accept, contra phenomenal disjunctivism at least, that the two states have something metaphysical in common.

6. Theories of Hallucination

Thus far we have seen that the disjunctivist has a negative claim to make about hallucination: that it is not an experience of the same kind as a veridical perception. But what else can the disjunctivist say about hallucination?

a. Positive Disjunctivism

The positive disjunctivist insists that there is a positive story to tell about the nature of the hallucinatory state. For example, one might insist that hallucination involves the awareness of something other than external objects – some object proxy, if you will. Michael Thau (2004: 195) suggests that this is the form of disjunctivism advocated by John McDowell. In presenting his disjunctive position, McDowell suggests that “an appearance that such-and-such is the case can be either a mere appearance or the fact that such-and-such is the case making itself perceptually manifest to someone” (1982: 472). Immediately following this presentation, McDowell goes on to say that “mere appearances” are the objects of deceptive experiences. So McDowell’s complete picture looks to be one on which we have one kind of experiential relation to two different kinds of objects: “facts made manifest” in the perceptual case, and “mere appearances” in the hallucinatory ones.

A related view is presented by Mark Johnston (2004), although it is unclear whether or not it really qualifies as a variant of disjunctivism. Johnston contends that, when we have a veridical visual experience, we are aware of an instantiated sensible profile: “a complex, partly qualitative and partly relational property, which exhausts the way the particular scene before your eyes is” (2004: 134). Importantly, the sensible profile that we are aware of, says Johnston, is a type not a token; had we stood before an array of different particulars instantiating the same sensible profile, what we are aware of – the sensible profile – would have been the same. Then, when you have a hallucination that is indiscriminable from this experience, “you are simply aware of the partly qualitative, partly relational profile. … When the visual system misfires, as in hallucination, it presents uninstantiated complexes of sensible qualities and relations” (2004: 135).

On Johnston’s view, there are, then, clear similarities between good cases and bad cases – in particular, in both cases the subject is aware of the same sensible profile. Yet there are important differences too. “When we see,” says Johnston, “we are aware of instantiations of sensible profiles. When we hallucinate we are aware merely of the structured qualitative parts of such sensible profiles. Any case of hallucination is thus a case of “direct” visual awareness of less than one would be “directly” aware of in the case of seeing” (2004: 137 emphasis added). The objects of hallucination are therefore “proper parts” of the objects of seeing (140). So Johnston’s view seems best described as a variant of the moderate view outlined in section 3 above. The difficulty faced by positive views is that they flirt with the screening off problem just noted. Focusing on the McDowellian view first, suppose that a certain pattern of neural activity suffices for one to be aware of “mere appearances” in the bad cases. But then, what about the same neural activity that occurs in the good case? If it is claimed that this does not suffice for awareness of mere appearances, then we might wonder why, “if the mechanism or brain state is a sufficient causal condition for the production of an image, or otherwise characterised subjective sense-content, when the [objects] are not there, why is it not so sufficient when they are present? Does the brain state mysteriously know how it is being produced … or does the [object], when present, inhibit the production of an image by some sort of action at a distance?” (Robinson 1994: 153-4). Yet if we do accept that the pattern of neural activity also suffices for the subject to be aware of “mere appearances” in the good cases, then as these suffice to explain how things are from the subject’s perspective in the bad cases, they should likewise suffice in the good cases. But if this is so, then an appeal to the subject’s being aware of “facts made manifest” in the good cases seems superfluous, at least for the purposes of characterizing how things are from the subject’s perspective.

It is less clear how Johnston’s view fares here. At a point in his paper, he asks: “Why isn’t awareness of a sensible profile a common act of awareness as between seeing and hallucination? It may be held to be … But it does seem that once we adopt the act/object treatment of visual experience it is more natural to individuate an act of awareness occurring at a time in terms of an object that includes all that one is aware of in the relevant time” (2004: 171). Given that, as noted above, the perceiver is aware of more than the hallucinator (in that the perceiver is aware of the particulars that instantiate the sensible profile whilst the hallucinator is aware of the sensible profile alone), his suggestion seems to be that, when we account for the perceiver’s awareness of the particulars, we thereby account for the perceiver’s awareness of the sensible profile. There is then no need to introduce an additional awareness of an (uninstantiated) sensible profile. Yet this may not convince his opponents. The objection remains: if neural activity suffices for awareness of an uninstantiated sensible profile in the bad cases, it should suffice in the good cases too, whether or not we need to appeal to this to explain the fact that the subject is aware of a sensible profile at all. So Johnston’s view may also be threatened by the screening off worry, even if it is in the sense that a subject’s awareness of a particular sensible profile is overdetermined.

b. Negative Disjunctivism

It is this concern – that any positive account of hallucination will play into the hands of the screening off objection – that motivates some disjunctivists to provide an essentially negative account of hallucination. In answer to the question, “What else can the disjunctivist say about hallucination?”, the negative disjunctivist says, nothing else – all that we can say about indiscriminable hallucinations is that they are not veridical perceptions but are indiscriminable from them. This approach is most closely associated with the work of M.G.F. Martin.

Given the threat of the screening off worry, Martin investigates whether there are any limitations to the general principle that common properties screen special properties off from being causally efficacious and concludes that there are. Consider the property of being an unattended bag in an airport, which causes a security alert. Sometimes objects with this property are harmless, but sometimes they contain a bomb. Now ask: does the property common to harmless and non-harmless objects – that of being an unattended bag in an airport – screen off the non-common property of being a bomb in an airport from being explanatory? Not at all. Instead, the only reason the common property of being an unattended bag in an airport has the explanatory role it does is because, sometimes, this property is correlated with the special property of being a bomb in an airport. In such a case, we can say that the explanatory potential of the common property of being an unattended bag in airport is “inherited from” or “dependent upon” the explanatory potential of the special property of being a bomb in an airport. As Martin concludes, common properties with “inherited or dependent explanatory potential offer us exceptions to the general model of common properties screening off special ones” (2004: 70).

In the discussion of Martin’s claim that disjunctivism is a more “modest” theory of visual experience than a common factor theory (section 4.2), we saw that Martin’s kind of disjunctivist accepts that a hallucination of a certain kind has the property of being indiscriminable from a veridical perception. Now although such indiscriminability properties are common to both good cases and bad cases – a veridical perception of an F is indiscriminable from itself – whatever explanatory potential indiscriminability properties have is inherited from the explanatory potential of the associated veridical experience.

Why did James shriek like that? He was in a situation indiscriminable from the veridical perception of a spider. Given James’s fear of spiders, when confronted with one he is liable so to react; and with no detectable difference between this situation and such a perception, it must seem to him as if a spider is there, so he reacts in the same way. (2004: 68).

Martin therefore suggests that, if the screening off worry is to be avoided, the disjunctivist must characterize the hallucinatory state purely negatively – must say that “when it comes to a mental characterization of the hallucinatory experience, nothing more can be said than the relational and epistemological claim that it is indiscriminable from the perception” (2004: 72). So whilst there is a kind which is shared by hallucination and veridical perception – the kind: being indiscriminable from a veridical perception – only for hallucinations is this their most fundamental kind. Where veridical perceptions are concerned, “being a veridical perception of a tree is a better candidate for being its fundamental or essential kind than being indiscriminable from being such a veridical perception” (2004: 72). This is how Martin avoids the screening off objection.

Negative disjunctivism is also endorsed by Brewer (2008: 173) and Fish (2008). Fish does say a little more on the question of what it is that makes hallucinations indiscriminable from veridical perceptions, however. According to Fish, for a hallucination to be indiscriminable from a veridical perception of a certain kind is for it to generate the same kinds of introspective beliefs that a veridical perception of that kind would have generated. Consider again James’s veridical experience of a spider. Normally, this would lead James to believe that he sees a spider. A hallucination qualifies as indiscriminable from such a veridical perception if it also yields such beliefs. It is the presence of these beliefs that then explains why hallucinating subjects behave as they do: as a hallucination of a spider leads James to believe that he sees a spider (by definition), so James will therefore react in the way he would if he really did see a spider.

c. Negative Disjunctivism and Indiscriminability: Objections

Given the negative disjunctivist’s characterization of the hallucinatory state as a state that is indiscriminable from a veridical perception of a certain kind, a lot hangs on the way in which the key notion of indiscriminability is understood. In discussing these issues, Martin suggests that a hallucination of an F “is such that it is not possible to know through reflection that it is not one of the veridical perceptions [of an F]” (2006: 364). We can therefore define indiscriminability as follows: x is indiscriminable from a veridical perception of an F if and only if x is such that it is not possible to know through reflection that it is not a veridical perception of an F. There are two key features of this definition that have been the source of objections. First, the restriction to the relevant knowledge being acquired ‘through reflection’; second, the question of how to interpret the modality present in ‘not possible to know’.

One way of coming to know that your experience is not a veridical perception of an F is by testimony. However, Martin suggests that, even if you know that your experience is not veridical in this way, it might still qualify as indistinguishable from a veridical perception. He therefore introduces the ‘through reflection’ clause in order to rule out knowledge from testimony as a defeater for indistinguishability (2006: 364-5). Sturgeon, however, argues that it is far from straightforward to spell out just what information should be disqualified by not being available ‘through reflection’(2006: 208-10). On the one hand, he suggests that the ‘through reflection’ restriction must be strong enough to rule out any of the routes by which a hallucinating subject might ‘figure out’ that they are hallucinating and hence must be taken to stipulate that the “information involved in background beliefs cannot be generally available to reflection …. Otherwise the possibility of everyday knowledge of [hallucination] will slip through the net [and] count as knowledge obtainable by reflection” (2006: 209).

On the other hand, he points out that when one hallucinates an F, one is thereby in a position to know a vast array of things. As a hallucination of an F is discriminable from veridical experiences of Gs, Hs, and Js, Martin’s definition of indiscriminability will require that, for each case, a subject hallucinating an F can know, by reflection alone, that his experience is not one of these veridical experiences. But Sturgeon suggests that this “is a huge amount of knowledge to be got solely by reflection … and not by reflection on the visual character of [the hallucination], recall. … The only way that could be true, I submit, is if background beliefs were generally available to reflection on context” (2006: 210). With these two results, Sturgeon presents Martin with a dilemma. On the one hand, to rule out the possibility we might simply use our background beliefs to figure out that we are hallucinating, the ‘through reflection’ clause must restrain us from making use of background beliefs. Yet on the other, to make sense of all the reflective knowledge Martin’s theory allows that we are in a position to acquire when we hallucinate, the ‘through reflection’ clause must allow us to make use of background beliefs. But this, suggests Sturgeon, is just to say that Martin cannot give an adequate account of the ‘through reflection’ restriction.

Another source of objections has stemmed from Martin’s interpretation of the ‘not possibly knowable’ condition. The concern is that we want to allow that creatures that lack the sophistication to know things might nonetheless have hallucinations. But given the centrality of the notion of knowledge in Martin’s definition of indistinguishability, if a creature cannot know things at all, then for any hallucination it might have, the creature cannot know that it is not veridically perceiving an F, or a G, or an H, and so on. So all hallucinations will be such that, for the creature, they will qualify as indiscriminable from each and every kind of creature perception.

In discussing this concern, Martin insists that whilst a creature “might fail to discriminate one experience from another, making no judgment about them as identical or distinct at all, that is not to say that we cannot judge, in ascribing to them such experience, that there is an event which would or would not be judgeably different from another experience” (2004: 54). In other words, Martin suggests that “not possibly known” should not be interpreted personally, such that a specific creature’s capacities are relevant to the question of what qualifies as being possible to know, but rather in an impersonal way. So in saying that a hallucination is not possibly known to be distinct from a veridical perception of a certain kind, Martin does not mean not possibly known by the subject but rather, not possibly known in some impersonal sense.

Siegel argues that this claim faces the crucial problem of explaining how we can pick out the hallucinatory ‘experience’ – the state or event that is reflected upon – in an appropriate yet non question-begging manner (2008: 212). Given Martin’s view, the state or event cannot be picked out in virtue of its having any robust features as this would conflict with the claim that nothing more can be said of the hallucination than that it is indiscriminable from the veridical perception. Yet we cannot pick out the relevant state in virtue of its indiscriminability property either. As we are trying to explain what it is for a state of the creature’s to have the indiscriminability property in the first place, we cannot get a fix on which state we are talking about by appeal to its being the one that has that property.

Fish’s view diverges from Martin’s on both of these questions. Where Martin endorses an impersonal sense of indiscriminability, Fish endorses a personal sense; where Martin rules out testimony, Fish rules it in. This does mean, of course, that Fish foregoes Martin’s explanations of the indiscriminability of both animal hallucinations and hallucinations in which the subject is aware that they are hallucinating. In the case of animal hallucinations, Fish responds by extending the claim that indiscriminability requires sameness of introspective beliefs to the claim that indiscriminability requires sameness of cognitive effects, where both behaviour and (in conceptually sophisticated creatures) introspective beliefs qualify as a species of cognitive effect. Then, where animals are concerned, a hallucination can qualify as indiscriminable from a veridical perception of a certain kind so long as it yields the kinds of behaviour that a veridical perception of that kind would have yielded.

When it comes to known hallucinations, Fish contends that we do not have to rule out testimony so long as we relativize the relevant effects to the overall cognitive context the subject is in. Consider a situation in which a subject is hallucinating but comes to believe, through testimony, that their experience is hallucinatory and therefore does not form the belief that they see something. Fish asks us to consider what would be the effects of a veridical perception of the relevant kind in a parallel situation in which a subject believes, through testimony, that they are hallucinating. He suggests that, in such a case, a veridical perception would likewise fail to yield the relevant kinds of belief. On these grounds, he therefore contends that the hallucination would still have the same cognitive effects as a veridical perception would have had, and thereby qualifies as indiscriminable from that perception.

Siegel also objects to Fish’s version of negative disjunctivism by pointing out that relativizing cognitive effects to particular contexts has an unappealing consequence: that there will be contexts in which even a veridical perception would not lead a subject to believe that they saw something. But in such cases, she contends, a hallucination that had the same effects as this veridical perception would have had will lack the resources to explain how this hallucination has a felt reality (2008: 217). Likewise, she contends that an animal that was lethargic or sick might have a hallucination and fail to engage in any kind of behaviour at all. Once again, Fish’s view doesn’t appear to have the resources to accommodate this.

7. Theories of Illusion

So given the different approaches to the bad case of hallucination, what can the disjunctivist say about the bad case of illusion? The two obvious possibilities are to place illusion into one of the two disjuncts that we already have: to treat illusions as either like hallucinations or like veridical perceptions.

a. Illusion as Hallucination

McDowell seems to endorse the former approach. Recall his claim that “an appearance that such-and-such is the case can be either a mere appearance or the fact that such-and-such is the case making itself perceptually manifest to someone” (1982/1998: 386-7). As the veridical disjunct contains cases in which a “fact” is made manifest then, given that there is no such thing as a non-obtaining fact, any scenario in which it appears to the subject that such-and-such is the case when it is not could not be a case of a fact being made manifest. So illusions looks to fall into the category of cases in which it merely appears as though a fact is made manifest along with hallucinations.

However, there are concerns with an attempt to treat illusions as hallucinations. Robinson protests that, “if all non-veridical perceptions were treated in the same way as hallucinations, then every case of something not looking exactly as it is would be a case in which one was aware of some kind of subjective content. Only perfectly veridical perceptions would be free of such subjective contents” (1994: 159). This leads A.D. Smith to ridicule the view: the “picture of our daily commerce with the world through perception that therefore emerges is one of a usually indirect awareness of physical objects occasionally interrupted by direct visions of them glimpsed in favoured positions” (2002: 28).

b. Illusion as Veridical Perception

So perhaps we would do better to bring illusion under the perceptual, rather than the hallucinatory, disjunct. The key disjunctions offered by both Snowdon and Child suggest they would prefer this approach. As illusions involve situations in which something does look to be F to a subject, but where that thing – the thing that looks to be F – is not really F, the fact that both Snowdon and Child characterize the perceptual disjunct as containing cases in which something looks to S to be F suggests that they view this disjunct as containing illusions as well as veridical perceptions.

Now of course, if illusion is treated as a special case of veridical perception, then the specific way in which illusion is treated will be dictated by the theory of the good cases. Yet as we are treating disjunctivism as not being committed to any particular theory of the good cases, this doesn’t yet tell us much about illusion. However, it is worth noting that, as one of the most significant motivations for disjunctivism is to make room for a naïve realist account of the good cases, as illusions are cases in which objects look to be a way that they are not, on the face of it, this approach to illusion would not obviously be available to a disjunctivist who also wanted to be a naïve realist about the good cases.

Having said this, in a recent paper, Brewer develops an account of illusion that treats it as a special case of veridical perception, understood in broadly naïve realist terms. Brewer’s view of good case experience is that “the core subjective character of perceptual experience is given simply by citing the physical object which is its mind-independent direct object.” (2008: 171). But how, we might think, could we give an analogous account of the core subjective character of illusion? Well, suggests Brewer, when seen from different points of view and/or in different circumstances, a certain kind of external object/property may have “visually relevant similarities” with paradigms of other kinds of object/property. These visually relevant similarities may lead us to take the kind of object/property we see to be an instance of the kind for which those visual features are paradigm – a kind that the object/property is not, in fact, a member of.

To grasp the notion of a kind for which certain visual features are paradigm, consider the process of learning concepts. Our parents or teachers guide our acquisition of kind concepts by making paradigm instances of those kinds salient. To teach a child the meaning of the term, “red,” for example, we do not show the child a red object in darkness, or make the child wear unusually colored spectacles; we show the child the red object in conditions in which it will be seen as paradigmatically red. This is because, in these conditions, the object has visual features that are paradigm for the kind: red.

Brewer then shows how this can accommodate various kinds of illusion – in this case, an illusion of color:

a white piece of chalk illuminated with red light looks red. The … proposal is that the core of the subjective character of such illusory experience is constituted by that very piece of chalk itself: a particular … mind-independent physical object. From the viewpoint in question, and given the relevant perceptual circumstances – especially, of course, the abnormally red illumination – it looks red. This consists in the fact that it has visually relevant similarities with paradigm red objects: the light reflected from it is like that reflected from such paradigms in normal viewing conditions (2008: 173).

On Brewer’s view, then, illusions are not really “illusory” at all. In the case just described, we are seeing the chalk as it is in those circumstances. So the illusion is really a special case of veridical perception. However, we would also say that the white chalk looks red. This, Brewer suggests, is to say no more than that, in the circumstances in which the white object is veridically seen, it has visually relevant similarities with paradigmatically red objects. That is all that we mean when we say that this is a case of illusion. Whether this kind of approach can be extended to accommodate all illusions remains to be seen.

8. Conclusion

As a theory of visual experiences, disjunctivism is very much in its infancy, and much interesting research remains to be done.

9. References and Further Reading

References marked (*) can be found in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) (2008) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press).

References marked (+) are reprinted in Byrne, A. and Logue, H. (eds.) (2009) Disjunctivism: Contemporary Readings (Cambridge MA: The MIT Press).

Introduction

  • (+) Hinton, J. M. (1967) “Visual Experiences” Mind 76, 217-27.
  • Hinton, J. M. (1973) Experiences: An Inquiry into Some Ambiguities (Oxford: Clarendon Press).
  • (*) Snowdon, P. (2008) “Hinton and the Origins of Disjunctivism” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 35-56.

Disjunctivism and Naïve Realism

  • (+) Martin, M. G. F. (1997) “The Reality of Appearances” in M. Sainsbury (ed.) Thought and Ontology (Milan: FrancoAngeli), 81-106.
  • Snowdon, P. (2005) “The Formulation of Disjunctivism: A Response to Fish” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 105, 129-41.

Types of Disjunctivism

  • (*) Byrne, A. and H. Logue (2008) “Either / Or” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 57-94.
  • Snowdon, P. (2005) “The Formulation of Disjunctivism: A Response to Fish” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 105, 129-41.
  • (+) Martin, M.G.F. (2004) “The Limits of Self-Awareness” Philosophical Studies 120, 37-89.
  • Martin, M.G.F. (2006) “On Being Alienated” in T.S. Gendler and J. Hawthorne (eds.) Perceptual Experience (Oxford: Clarendon Press), 354-410.

Arguments for Disjunctivism

  • (+) McDowell, J. (1982) “Criteria Defeasibility and Knowledge” Proceedings of the British Academy, 455-79.
  • (+) Snowdon, P. (1981) “Perception, Vision and Causation” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 81, 175-92.
  • (+) Snowdon, P. (1990) “The Objects of Perceptual Experience” Proceedings of the. Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume 64, 121–50.

Epistemological Motivations

  • (+) Johnston, M. (2004) “The Obscure Object of Hallucination” Philosophical Studies 120, 113-83.
  • McDowell, J. (1986/1998) “Singular Thought and the Extent of Inner Space” in his Meaning, Knowledge and Reality (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press), 228-59.
  • (*) McDowell, J. (2008) “The Disjunctive Conception of Experience as Material for a Transcendental Argument” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 376-89.
  • (*) Pritchard, D. (2008) “McDowellian Neo-Mooreanism” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 283-310.
  • Wright, C. (2002) “(Anti-)Skeptics Simple and Subtle: G.E. Moore and John McDowell”, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 65, 330-48.
  • (*) Wright, C. (2008) “Comments on John McDowell’s ‘The Disjunctive Conception of Experience as Material for a Transcendental Argument’” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.)
  • Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 390-404.

Modesty

  • (+) Martin, M.G.F. (2004) “The Limits of Self-Awareness” Philosophical Studies 120, 37-89.
  • Hawthorne, J. and K. Kovakovich (2006) “Disjunctivism” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume 80, 145-83.

Naïve Realism: Phenomenology

  • Hawthorne, J. and K. Kovakovich (2006) “Disjunctivism” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume 80, 145-83.
  • Hellie, B. (2007) “Factive Phenomenal Characters” Philosophical Perspectives 21, 259-306.
  • Martin, M.G.F. (2002) “The Transparency of Experience” Mind and Language 17, 376-425.
  • Noordhof, P. (2002) “Imagining Objects and Imagining Experiences” Mind and Language 17, 426-455.

Naïve Realism: Demonstrative Reference

  • Campbell, J. (2002) Reference and Consciousness (Oxford: Clarendon Press).
  • Snowdon, P. (1992) “How to interpret ‘direct perception’” in T. Crane (ed.) The Contents of Experience: Essays on Perception (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 49-78.

The Causal Argument

  • Robinson, H. (1994) Perception (London: Routledge).
  • Smith, A. D. (2002) The Problem of Perception (Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press).
  • (*) Smith, A. D. (2008) “Disjunctivism and Discriminability” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press),181-204.

The “Screening Off” Objection

  • (+) Martin, M.G.F. (2004) “The Limits of Self-Awareness” Philosophical Studies 120, 37-89.
  • Martin, M.G.F. (2006) “On Being Alienated” in T.S. Gendler and J. Hawthorne (eds.) Perceptual Experience (Oxford: Clarendon Press), 354-410.

Matching Hallucinations to Perceptions

  • Farkas, K. (2006) “Indiscriminability and the Sameness of Appearance” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 106, 205-25.
  • Hawthorne, J. and K. Kovakovich (2006) “Disjunctivism” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume 80, 145-83.

Positive Disjunctivism

  • (+) McDowell, J. (1982) “Criteria Defeasibility and Knowledge” Proceedings of the British Academy, 455-79.
  • (+) Johnston, M. (2004) “The Obscure Object of Hallucination” Philosophical Studies 120, 113-83.

Negative Disjunctivism

  • (+) Martin, M.G.F. (2004) “The Limits of Self-Awareness” Philosophical Studies 120, 37-89.
  • Martin, M.G.F. (2006) “On Being Alienated” in T.S. Gendler and J. Hawthorne (eds.) Perceptual Experience (Oxford: Clarendon Press), 354-410.
  • (*) Fish, W.J. (2008) “Disjunctivism, Indistinguishability and the Nature of Hallucination” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 144-167.

Negative Disjunctivism and Indiscriminability: Objections

  • Siegel, S. (2004) “Indiscriminability and the Phenomenal” Philosophical Studies 120, 90-112.
  • (*) Siegel, S. (2008) “The Epistemic Conception of Hallucination” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 205-24.
  • Sturgeon, S. (2006) “Reflective Disjunctivism” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume 80, 185-216.
  • (*) Sturgeon, S. (2008) “Disjunctivism About Visual Experience” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 112-43.

Illusion as Hallucination

  • Robinson, H. (1994) Perception (London: Routledge).

Illusion as Veridical Perception

  • (*) Brewer, B. (2008) “How to Account for Illusion” in A. Haddock and F. Macpherson (eds.) Disjunctivism: Perception, Action, and Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press),168-180.
  • Fish, W.J. (forthcoming) Perception, Hallucination, and Illusion (New York: Oxford University Press).

Other References

  • Chalmers, D.J. (2006) “Perception and the Fall from Eden” in T.S Gendler and J. Hawthorne (eds.) Perceptual Experience (Oxford: Clarendon Press), 49-125.
  • Dretske, F. (1969) Seeing and Knowing (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul).
  • Locke, D. (1975) “Review of Hinton’s ExperiencesMind 84, 335, 466-468.
  • Horgan, T. and J.L. Tienson (2002) “The Intentionality of Phenomenology and the Phenomenology of Intentionality” in D. J. Chalmers (ed.) Philosophy of Mind: Classical and Contemporary Readings (New York: Oxford University Press).
  • Putnam, H. (1975) “The Meaning of “Meaning”” Minnesota Studies in the Philosophy of Science 7:131-193.
  • Thau, M. (2004) “What is Disjunctivism?” Philosophical Studies 120, 193-253.

Author Information

William Fish
Email: W.J.Fish ‘at’ massey.ac.nz
Massey University
New Zealand

The New Evil Demon Problem

The new evil demon problem first emerged in the literature as a problem for reliabilist theories of epistemic justification. The old evil demon problem is the skeptical problem that preoccupied Descartes. Basically, it is the problem that arises once we acknowledge that it is possible that someone might have had (apparent) perceptual experiences and memories indistinguishable from our own that were induced by a powerful demon bent on deceiving this hapless subject. Since there is nothing introspectively available that would allow us to state that this hapless subject’s plight is not our own, it is hard to determine what justification we might have to claim that we truly know what the external world is like through our sensory experience.

Unlike the old evil demon problem, the new one is not primarily a skeptical problem. Imagine an epistemic counterpart of yours. That is, imagine there is a subject who happens to believe precisely what you believe, undergoes experiences indistinguishable from your own, seems to recall and remember everything you recall and remember, finds intuitive everything you find intuitive, and is disposed to reason in precisely the same way you reason. Imagine that this subject has been in precisely the same non-factive mental states as you have since birth. Imagine that this subject is deceived by a Cartesian demon. Then let us suppose that you are not. By bracketing the skeptical worries, it seems that many of your beliefs about the external world constitute knowledge. As your counterpart is systematically deceived, her beliefs about the external world do not constitute knowledge. Moreover, it seems that while you might suppose that your beliefs are produced by processes that can reliably lead you to the truth, the means by which your counterpart arrives at her beliefs are wholly unreliable. On a reliabilist view, since you cannot have a justified belief about some matter unless the means by which you arrive at that belief is reliable, it seems the reliabilist ought to say that your counterpart’s beliefs are not justified. However, many would consider that position to be strongly counterintuitive. They are convinced that while your counterpart knows nothing, your counterpart is no less justified in her beliefs than you are in yours. The new evil demon problem is the problem of accommodating these intuitions about the justificatory status of your counterpart’s beliefs.

Table of Contents

  1. Introduction
  2. Reliabilist Responses
    1. Denial
    2. Normal Worlds Reliabilism
    3. Weak Justification and Strong Justification
    4. Apt-Justification Beliefs and Adroit-Justification Beliefs
    5. Home World Reliabilism
    6. Personal Justification and Doxastic Justification
  3. Newer Evil Demon Problems
    1. The Internalism/Externalism Debate
    2. Evidence
    3. Warranted Assertion
  4. Conclusion
  5. References and Further Reading

1. Introduction

When the new evil demon problem first surfaced in the literature (Cohen and Lehrer (1983) and Cohen (1984)), it surfaced as a problem for reliabilists about justification. Consider Goldman’s process-reliabilist account of justification:

R:

S’s belief that p is justified iff the processes that produced S’s belief are reliable in the kind of environment in which S’s belief was formed and there is no reliable process the subject has such that if this process were used as well this would result in the subject’s not believing p (1979: 20).

The problem Goldman faced was that of trying to show how this simple and intuitively powerful argument could go wrong:

  1. Our deceived counterparts are no less justified in their beliefs than we are in ours.
  2. The processes that produce our deceived counterparts’ beliefs are wholly unreliable.
  3. It is possible for someone’s beliefs to be justified even if the processes that produced those beliefs are not reliable.

This conclusion contradicts the reliabilist thesis that reliability is necessary for justification. It is backed by the widely reported intuition that supports (1), which states that our counterparts are no less justified in their beliefs than we are in ours. Assuming that we are in fact justified in our beliefs, it seems we ought to acknowledge that they are justified in their beliefs. In turn, should we reject reliabilism? Below, we shall consider reliabilist responses to the argument.

2. Reliabilist Responses

a. Denial

Although some might reject (R) upon considering the new evil demon thought experiment, some do not. It seems most epistemologists who have discussed the problem in the literature do have the intuition that underwrites (1), but few intuitions are universally shared. Some defend reliabilism by denying the relevant intuitions. Others say that if your beliefs about the external world are induced by hallucinatory experiences, you do not have the right to believe what you do; rather, you only appear to have that right. Bach (1985), Brewer (1997), Engel (1992), and Sutton (2005, 2007) have denied that our counterparts’ beliefs are justified. If we accept that you have a right to believe only those beliefs you would be justified in holding, this response concedes nothing. It simply denies the claim described as being supported by ordinary intuition.

What is wrong with asserting that the beliefs of our deceived counterparts cannot be justified? There have been at least three ways of trying to bolster the appeal to intuition in the literature. First, Cohen suggested that this response indicates a failure to appreciate that justification is fundamentally a normative notion:

My argument [against reliabilism] hinges on viewing justification as a normative notion. Intuitively, if S’s belief is appropriate to the available evidence, he is not to be held responsible for circumstances beyond his ken (1984: 282).

Second, some hold the view that justification is a deontological notion. That is to say, a belief is justified when that belief can be held without violating any of your epistemic duties. It seems wrong to some to say that our deceived counterparts have failed to fulfill their epistemic duties. Haven’t they “done their duty,” provided that they reflect on the evidence available to them and judge that things are for them the way that we think things are for us? Plantinga (1993: 14) suggests that it is part of our traditional view that “you are properly blamed for failing to do something A if and only if it is your duty to do A (and you fail to do it).” If there is an epistemic duty to refrain from believing any belief for which there is not sufficient justification to hold and if we accept R, it seems to follow that our epistemic counterparts are properly blamed for failing to refrain from believing the mundane propositions that seem to them to be immediately verified through experience (for example, that they have hands, that the sun is shining, etc…). Surely that is too harsh. Third, some hold the view, defended by Langsam (2008: 79), on which “a justified belief is [simply] a belief that is held in a rational way.” Few are willing to characterize our deceived counterparts as irrational for believing falsely that they have hands.

In light of these responses, one might say that if you deny that your deceived counterparts are justified in their beliefs, you should be willing to say that your deceived counterparts are irrational, that they are blameworthy, and that they are less than fully responsible. If you say that they are irresponsible, it seems that you have all but done away with the category of the non-culpable mistake. The beliefs of our deceived counterparts are mistaken, to be sure, but they reason just as carefully as we do. If you are to charge them with irrationality, it seems there ought to be some way of identifying where their reasoning goes wrong. If you consider them blameworthy, it seems you will be hard pressed to avoid the unpalatable skeptical view that anyone who believes propositions about the external world ought to know better than to do so. It seems to be part of our ordinary practice to say that if two subjects are perfectly alike in terms of how things seem to them, the two are equally blameworthy for their inferences. (This, too, is subject to controversy. Gibbons (2006) and challenges the idea that credit and blame depend only on the internal factors common to our counterparts and us.) Some will say that these are not costs we should be willing to pay.

Not everyone believes these are consequences of denying that our deceived counterparts’ beliefs are justified. It seems that justification might be a normative notion even if it is not a normative notion that depends only on matters that are within the subject’s ken (that is, a normative notion that depends only on factors that determine what a subject’s perspective is like or are accessible to the subject). Permissibility is a normative notion. We often excuse people for performing impermissible acts when the facts in virtue of which these acts were impermissible were facts of which the subject is non-culpably ignorant. If this is so, reliabilists can agree with Cohen that justification is a normative notion while denying that justification is among the normative notions that in no way depends on factors beyond our ken.

Cohen does suggest that by stating that justification is a normative notion, he is asserting that it does not depend on factors for which the subject cannot be held responsible. So, perhaps he thinks we ought to sever the connection between justification and any normative notion that depends (in part) upon factors beyond those we can be faulted for failing to take account of. Perhaps he thinks we can only fail to have justified beliefs if we can be blamed for believing what we do. It is worth noting that in his remarks concerning blameworthiness, Plantinga (1993) immediately qualifies his initial remark quoted above by saying that his remarks concern only “subjective” duty. On the ordinary conception of objective duty, one might non-culpably fail to do what one ought to do. If justification is a matter of fulfilling one’s objective duty and the failure to fulfill such duties does not mean that the subject is culpable for the failure, it does not follow from the claim that our deceived counterparts believe without justification that they are properly blamed for so doing. (See Bergmann (2006: 77-105) for further discussion of this point.)

Finally, the identification of the rationally held belief or reasonably held belief with the justified belief is itself a matter of controversy. Sutton (2005, 2007) rejects this identification and attributes much of what he regards as misplaced antipathy towards externalist accounts of justification, such as reliabilism, as stemming from conflating the two notions. It would be unfair to suggest that he believes that subjects who believe without sufficient justification are less than fully rational or reasonable. Again, suppose we think of the justified belief as the permissibly held belief and allow for the possibility of non-culpable, but wrongly held, belief. It seems that if a subject were normatively competent (that is, the subject is not an infant, not subject to brainwashing, and so forth), it would only be proper to excuse them for their failings if we thought that they arrived at their beliefs in a rational way.

Rather than try to explain away the intuitions underwriting the new evil demon argument against reliabilism, the trend in the literature has been to try to accommodate these intuitions. Below, I shall discuss five strategies for trying to reconcile the reliability’s approach with seemingly anti-reliabilist intuitions.

b. Normal Worlds Reliabilism

Goldman tried to reformulate reliabilism so that it did not carry with it the implication that our systematically deceived counterparts cannot have justified beliefs:

Rnw:

S’s belief that p is justified only if the processes that produced S’s belief are reliable in normal worlds (1986: 107).

Because the new evil demon argument concerns the necessity of reliability for justification, we need not consider what additional conditions might be needed for stating the set of sufficient conditions for justification. Note the crucial difference between (R) and (Rnw). According to (R), someone’s belief can be justified only if the processes that produce that belief are reliable in the very circumstances they operate or are imagined to operate in. According to (Rnw), what matters is that the processes that produce a belief are reliable in normal worlds. Normal worlds are worlds in which our general beliefs about the actual world are true. A general belief we all seem to share is that perceptual experience is a good guide to our immediate surroundings. In evaluating our beliefs and the beliefs of our epistemic counterparts, we have to identify the processes by which we all arrive at our beliefs (for example, taking experience at face value) and then ask whether such processes are reliable in normal worlds. Since the processes that lead our counterparts as well as ourselves to hold our beliefs about our immediate surroundings are reliable in normal worlds (that is, it is part of our very conception of such a world that perception is generally reliable in such worlds), the beliefs of our counterparts do not turn out to be unjustified. The conflict between reliabilism and the intuition that our deceived counterparts are justified has been removed.

Normal worlds reliabilism never really caught on. First, it seemed to have the unhappy implication that a process such as clairvoyance could not confer justification under any possible circumstance. In normal worlds, clairvoyance is unreliable. So, in any world in which it is reliable, that world is abnormal. It seems wrong to some to say that there could be no possible world in which clairvoyance generated knowledge much in the way that, say, perception does. Yet, in evaluating the beliefs of these subjects, (Rnw) states that we can only say that their beliefs are justified if they would be reliable not in the circumstances in which they are used, but reliable in worlds that are normal (Lemos 2007: 96). Second, it seems that the normal worlds reliabilist has to say that we cannot coherently question the justification of those beliefs that determine our conception of what a normal world is like. A normal world is a world in which our general beliefs about the actual world are true. The claim that those general beliefs are justified would seem to be trivial, according to the normal worlds reliabilist. Yet, it seems to be no trivial matter whether those beliefs are in fact justified (Peacocke 2004: 133).

c. Weak Justification and Strong Justification

Goldman was not satisfied with the normal worlds reliabilist response to the new evil demon problem and sought to accommodate the intuitions causing trouble for (R) by appealing to a distinction between what he calls “weak” and “strong” justification. According to Goldman, a belief might be either strongly justified or weakly justified:

SJ:

S’s belief that p is strongly justified only if the processes that produced S’s belief are reliable in the kind of environment in which S’s belief was formed.

WJ:

S’s belief that p is weakly justified if and only if S is blameless for believing p but believes p on the basis of a process that is unreliable in the circumstances in which S’s belief is produced.

How does this distinction help? Goldman (1988: 59) tries to accommodate the intuition that our deceived counterparts’ beliefs are justified by saying that their beliefs are weakly justified. Having drawn the distinction between weak and strong justification, he has shown that there is a sense in which even the uncompromising reliabilist can say that our deceived counterparts’ beliefs are justified while saying that there is also a sense in which no belief can be justified unless the processes that produced it were reliable in the circumstances in which they produced that belief.

Critics cried foul. BonJour remarked (2002: 248), “The question is whether this really accommodates the intuition … which seems to be that the demon world people are at least as justified in their beliefs as we are in ours.” BonJour seems to be suggesting that what the intuitive observation critics of reliabilism want explained is not how there is some sense in which the beliefs of the demonically deceived are justified. What they want to see is how the reliabilist can explain how it is that the demonically deceived are no less justified than we are. Goldman wants to distinguish between two types of justification, assigning one type to the demonically deceived and another type to us. BonJour seems to suggest that while this might take care of the problem by saying that our deceived counterparts are irrational, unreasonable, or blameworthy, it does not take care of the problem that it seems, intuitively, that there is a sense in which they are as well aware of as we are.

It might seem that this problem could be mitigated if Goldman made a simple modification to his proposal. As it stands, no belief can be both weakly justified and strongly justified. A belief is weakly justified only if it is blamelessly held and ill formed. A belief is strongly justified only if reliable processes produce that belief. Suppose Goldman were to modify (WJ) as follows:

WJ*:

S’s belief that p is weakly justified if and only if S is blameless for believing p.

Someone might wonder why a reliabilist would propose (WJ*) since the concept of reliability does not figure in the formulation of (WJ*), but the concept of reliability does not play any significant role in (WJ), either. Moreover, it is not entirely clear why Goldman would insist that there is a kind of justification that requires unreliability. On this modified proposal, we can say that our beliefs are both strongly justified and weakly* justified. We can satisfy BonJour’s demand that we not only say that there is a perfectly good sense in which their beliefs are “justified,” but also that there is a sense in which we are no more justified in our beliefs than they are in theirs. Our beliefs and the beliefs of our deceived counterparts are all weakly* justified. The problem with this proposal, however, is that it seems not to go far enough. If someone has been brainwashed into believing p, it seems they would be weakly* justified in believing p. Suppose we might know p on the basis of veridical perception and our demonically deceived counterparts might believe p on the basis of a subjectively indistinguishable veridical perception. As Audi (1993: 28) stresses, it seems there is more going for the beliefs of our demonically deceived counterparts than there is for someone who has been brainwashed into thinking that p is true. Unfortunately, (WJ*) fails to capture this. Moreover, (SJ) cannot help us distinguish between the beliefs of the deceived and the beliefs of the brainwashed since we are supposing that neither arrives at their beliefs by reliable means.

d. Apt-Justification Beliefs and Adroit-Justification Beliefs

Sosa (1991) maintains that a justified belief is arrived at through the exercise of one or more intellectual virtues. In turn, he maintains that nothing could count as an intellectual virtue unless it would lead us to a high ratio of true beliefs through its exercise. Comesana (2002) and Sosa (2003: 159-61) have tried to solve the new evil demon problem by drawing a distinction between two ways in which we might use the notion of an intellectual virtue in appraising someone’s beliefs. We can say that someone’s belief about p is “apt-justified” only if the belief is acquired through the exercise of an intellectual virtue that is reliable in the circumstances in which that belief is formed. The beliefs formed by the demonically deceived are, unfortunately, not apt-justified. However, we can say that their beliefs are “adroit-justified.” A belief is adroit-justified only if the belief is acquired in an intellectually virtuous way where this is partially a matter of acquiring beliefs in a way that would be reliable if only the subject did not suffer the misfortune of being in the inhospitable epistemic environment in which a demon is bent on deceiving our intellectually virtuous counterparts. The suggestion is that in some contexts we refer to someone’s belief as justified if the belief is produced in such a way that beliefs of that type will reliably turn out to be correct in the very circumstances they are formed while in other contexts we refer to someone’s belief as justified if the processes would have reliably led to the truth here. Sosa (1985) considers this latter notion of adroit-justification as being largely a matter of the coherence of the attitudes of the subject being evaluated, and since our deceived counterparts’ beliefs are no less coherent than our own, we are entitled to say that there is a sense in which justification requires reliability (apt-justification) and a sense in which our deceived counterparts are no less justified than we are (adroit-justification).

Goldman (1993: 281) objected to this proposal by saying that ordinary folk are in no way inclined to engage in the sort of epistemic appraisal that would make use of both of these notions. If Comesana and Sosa are suggesting that their account accommodates folk intuition because the folk use both of their notions of justification, Comesana and Sosa seem to be suggesting that we describe our beliefs as “justified” because the processes that produced them were reliable in the circumstances in which they were deployed (that is, they are apt-justified) while we state that our counterparts’ beliefs are “justified” because the processes that produced them were reliable in circumstances other than those in which those processes were deployed (that is, they are adroit-justified). Goldman thinks that it is not part of our ordinary practice of epistemic evaluation to make attributions of justification by making them relative to these different kinds of circumstances in this way.

e. Home World Reliabilism

Majors and Sawyer have defended a version of reliabilism–home world reliabilism– which states that what is necessary for justified belief is not reliability in normal worlds or reliability in the scenario in which a belief is actually formed, but instead says this:

Rhw:

S’s belief that p is justified only if the processes that produced S’s beliefs are reliable in S’s home world understood as that set of environments relative to which the natures of her intentional contents are individuated (2005: 272).

To understand this view, it is important to understand something about the anti-individualist approach to the individuation of intentional contents. It is now widely believed that features of the external environment are among the conditions that go towards determining the contents of our intentional states. It has been suggested w that it is possible for two individuals who are microphysical duplicates to have different beliefs if they were raised in different environments and the further view that the contents of their perceptual states could also differ in light of differences in their environments. If the first individual had been raised in a linguistic community such as ours where “gold” was used to refer to a metallic element which had 79 protons in its nucleus and the second individual was raised in a linguistic community similar to ours that used “gold” to refer to a superficially similar metal which did not have 79 protons in its nucleus, what these two speakers would assert if they said “That is gold” would differ. For example, what the first speaker says might be false if said while pointing at a hunk of fool’s gold even if what the second speaker says could be true if said while pointing at the same hunk. Suppose these speakers then added, “Well, that is what I believe, at any rate.” Just as, “That is gold,” would express different propositions, “I believe that that is gold” would express different propositions. Unless we are prepared to assert that one of these speakers cannot correctly self-ascribe beliefs, we have to accept that their assertions and beliefs differ in content. The conditions that determine what these individuals believe include their “narrow” conditions (that is, the conditions held constant when we say that these two individuals are microphysical duplicates) and the conditions found in their environment (that is, the conditions that determine whether they have been interacting with gold or some superficially similar metal that is not gold).

To see why this matters, note that in setting up the new evil demon thought experiment, we were asked to imagine that there was an individual who is mentally just like us (that is, an epistemic counterpart), who was situated in an environment that is radically different from our own insofar as this subject was systematically deceived and cut off from causally interacting with her environment in the ways that we do. Anti-individualists might say that this is latent nonsense. An anti-individualist can say that it is impossible for a subject to satisfy the first condition and be mentally just like us whilst being situated in a radically different environment because a condition necessary to being mentally just like us is that the subject causally interacts with the kinds of things that we do. The home world reliabilist can say that the new evil demon thought experiment does not cause trouble for reliabilist accounts of justification because when we describe a systematically deceived subject, we are not describing a genuine possibility in which an epistemic counterpart of ours has beliefs produced by wholly unreliable processes. Thus, the home world reliabilist can say that if a subject is an epistemic counterpart of ours, that subject’s beliefs are justified and to the extent that this subject’s mental life is like ours, we have to assume that this subject is not prevented from causally interacting with the environment in the way that the systematically deceived subjects would have to be.

As Comesana (2002: 264) notes, however, it isn’t clear that an appeal to anti-individualism alone can take care of the problem because the problem can reemerge in the form of “switching” cases. Let us suppose that anti-individualism is true and that it is impossible for a subject who has been tormented by a Cartesian demon from birth to be an epistemic counterpart of ours. By depriving this subject of the opportunity to causally interact with an environment like ours, the demon prevents this individual from acquiring the kinds of intentional thought contents that we have. What if a subject were allowed to acquire the kinds of thought contents we have by interacting with her environment for a period of thirty years, but the day after the subject’s thirtieth birthday the demon decides to cause her to hallucinate and so deceive her about her surroundings? Intuitively, it seems that this newly deceived subject is no less justified in forming her beliefs, but her beliefs will now be wrong as a rule. The home world reliabilist might say that their view delivers this verdict because if the subject had been forming beliefs in the kind of epistemically hospitable environment in which she initially had been forming her beliefs, her beliefs would have largely turned out to be correct. This seems to require the home world reliabilist to individuate environments in such a way that with the demon’s decision to start deceiving our hapless subject, the subject is thereby “moved” into an environment that is not part of the “home world”. I suppose that those sympathetic to Goldman’s (1979) original formulation of reliabilism would be bothered by the implication that so far as the facts that matter to justification are concerned, nothing of significance happened when the demon decided to deceive the subject. It is also odd that on the home world reliabilist view, if the subject thought to herself just after the switch that the beliefs formed after her thirtieth birthday were justified, that belief would be true, but if the subject inferred that those very same beliefs are produced by reliable processes, that belief would be false.

It is worth noting that if the home world reliabilist response is to be complete, it must mention something about the epistemic status of a demonically tormented subject’s beliefs. Even if no subject tormented from birth by a demon has thoughts or perceptual experiences with the contents that ours have, unless the home world reliabilist is going to say that such subjects have no beliefs at all, we can ask whether such a subject is justified in believing whatever they happen to believe. We know that the home world reliabilist will have to say that if these subjects have justified beliefs, there must be some matters about which their beliefs are reliably correct. It is hard to imagine what these subjects might have reliably correct beliefs about. It is also worth noting that the view’s verdicts might not be quite in line with the intuitions to which the critics of reliabilism appeal. Suppose that philosophers discovered that some sort of error theory is true. Although the folk might believe things are colored, noisy, good, or what have you, philosophers learn that the world contains no secondary qualities or moral properties. Are we to say that in light of this hard-earned philosophical discovery, the ordinary judgments that ordinary folk make about colors or moral properties can never be justified? It seems that the home world reliabilist would have to say that if we were to discover that a subject’s beliefs are not reliably correct by taking account of facts of which ordinary folk are non-culpably ignorant, we would have to describe their beliefs as unjustified. It is not clear that this is consistent with the basic intuition that underwrites the new evil demon argument.

f. Personal Justification and Doxastic Justification

According to Bach (1985) and Engel (1992), the intuitions thought to cause trouble for reliabilism do no such thing. They think we should grant that our deceived counterparts are no less justified than we are. Intuition confirms this. Nevertheless, these authors claim that this observation is consistent with R. While R does imply that the beliefs of our deceived counterparts are not justified, it does not carry with it the further implication that the systematically deceived believers are any less justified than we are. Following Bach, these authors claim that there is an important difference between ascriptions of “personal” justification (that is, ascriptions of the form “S is justified in believing p”) and ascriptions of “doxastic” justification (that is, ascriptions of the form “S’s belief that p is justified”). Both ascriptions attest to the fact that something is justified. Reliabilism is a theory about the conditions under which a belief is justified and ascriptions of doxastic justification turn out to be true. The intuition underwriting the new evil demon argument, according to Bach, concern ascriptions of personal justification. Since the reliabilist need not say that any justified believer who believes p has a justified belief that p is the case, the reliabilist view is consistent with the intuition that our systematically deceived counterparts are all justified in believing what they do.

The basic idea behind this proposal is simple enough. If epistemic evaluation is concerned with believer qua believer, it is not surprising that we end up saying that our systematically deceived counterparts are no less justified than we are because they reason just as well as we do and take just as much care as we do. If epistemic evaluation is concerned with our beliefs, there is a perfectly good sense in which our beliefs turn out to be better than theirs (their beliefs cannot constitute knowledge because the processes by which their beliefs are produced are unreliable, their beliefs are all false, etc…). In asserting that a believer is justified, we are asserting that the believer does not hold the beliefs she does because of some defect in her. In asserting that a belief is justified, we are asserting that there is not some defect in the belief or the means by which the belief is produced that should lead us to give up that belief.

Perhaps the most serious difficulty for this proposal is that it can only accommodate the relevant intuitions by saying that we are just as (personally) justified in our beliefs as our counterparts are in theirs while denying that their beliefs are (doxastically) justified. According to Kvanvig and Menzel (1990), ascriptions of personal justification of the form “S is justified in believing p” logically entail ascriptions of doxastic justification of the form “S’s belief that p is justified.” If this account of the logic of justification ascriptions is correct, then we cannot consistently say that while our deceived counterparts are justified in their beliefs, their beliefs are not justified. argues that there is no entailment from ascriptions of personal justification to ascriptions of doxastic justification and that we need the personal/doxastic justification distinction to make sense of the more familiar distinction between excuses and justifications.

3. Newer Evil Demon Problems

The original new evil demon problem was a problem for reliabilism. The intuitions thought to cause trouble for the reliabilist now play a role in the internalism/externalism debate, discussions of the nature of evidence, and the literature on warranted assertion.

a. The Internalism/Externalism Debate

Reliabilism is not the only account of epistemic justification that seems to deliver the wrong verdict by classifying the beliefs of our deceived counterparts as unjustified. Consider the proper-functionalist account of epistemic justification defended by Bergmann (2006). While Plantinga (1993) defends a proper-functionalist account of warrant, warrant is typically taken to be distinct from justification and Bergmann intends his account to be one of justification rather than warrant. According to the proper-functionalist account of justification, a belief can be justified only if the belief is the product of cognitive faculties that are functioning properly in an environment in which those faculties will reliably lead to the truth and for which that faculty was “designed” to function. The proper-functionalist position about justification can assert that our systematically deceived counterparts can be justified in their beliefs provided that cognitive faculties that would be truth-conducive in the environments for which they are designed to operate produce their beliefs. However, it seems they must concede that if a counterpart of ours lacks cognitive faculties that reliably lead to truth in the environments in which they were designed to function, this counterpart could never have justified beliefs in spite of being our counterpart. So, it seems that proper-functionalism is at odds with the intuition underwriting the first premise in the argument against reliabilism. This point is not lost on Bergmann (2006: 136), who concedes that only some of our systematically mistaken epistemic counterparts have justified beliefs.

Consider also the knowledge account of epistemic justification defended by Sutton (2005, 2007) or the knowledge account of epistemic reasons defended by According to the knowledge account of justification, a belief can be justified only if it constitutes knowledge. According to the knowledge account of epistemic reasons, p is an epistemic reason of S’s if S knows p. We know that our deceived counterparts do not know their external world beliefs to be true. The knowledge account of justification implies that our deceived counterparts do not have adequate justification for their beliefs. If you think that it is possible for S to have a justified belief that p is the case only if p can serve as an epistemic reason for S to believe obvious consequences of p, it follows from the knowledge account of epistemic reasons that our deceived counterparts’ external world beliefs are unjustified.

According to Wedgwood (2002), the intuitions that underwrite the argument against reliabilism underwrite an argument against all versions of externalism about justification. If a theory of epistemic justification is committed to saying that some subject’s belief about p can be justified only if some condition C obtains such that C does not strongly supervene on the subject’s (non-factive) mental states, it seems that this theory will be at odds with the intuition that underwrites (1). He maintains that the new evil demon thought experiment does not merely tell us what justification is not. It tells us something about what justification is. It tells us that epistemic justification is an internalist notion. It tells us that so long as two subjects are in precisely the same (non-factive) mental states, their beliefs will attain the same justificatory status.

Nelson (2002) has further claimed that the intuitions underwriting the new evil demon argument tell us something about the epistemic status of epistemic principles (that is, principles that state non-normative conditions in virtue of which we might have prima facie justification for our beliefs). He suggests that our intuitions provide us with a priori justification for believing that certain modes of belief formation (for example, perception) confer justification. If this is right, then it seems that the externalist position regarding epistemic justification faces a further difficulty. It seems that on some externalist views (for example, Goldman’s (1979) reliabilist account or Bergmann’s (2006) proper-functionalist account), it is a purely contingent matter that perceptual experience provides justification for our beliefs about the external world. If an externalist were to agree with Nelson that we have a priori justification for saying that perceptual experience confers justification, it seems that they will have to say that this proposition is a contingent proposition for which we have a priori justification.

b. Evidence

The new evil demon problem also seems to be a problem for externalist accounts of evidence. Internalists, such as Conee and Feldman (2004), maintain that if two subjects are in precisely the same (non-factive) mental states, they will necessarily share the same evidence. The externalists deny this and assertthat it is possible for two subjects to be in precisely the same (non-factive) mental states while having different bodies of evidence. Some epistemologists (for example, Hyman (1999), Unger (1975), and Williamson (2000)) defend views of evidence in the neighborhood of this view:

E = K:

S’s evidence includes the proposition that p if S knows p.

According to E = K, since you and some deceived counterpart of yours know different propositions to be true, there are propositions included in your evidence that are not included in your deceived counterpart’s evidence. To make this concrete, suppose that you know you have hands. Your counterpart’s “experience” of the external world is nothing more than a series of demonically induced hallucinations. Your counterpart might be a handless, disembodied spirit living in a dark world. According to E = K, while your evidence will include the proposition that you have a hand, your counterpart’s evidence will not include this proposition. Some find this implication of E = K problematic. First, says it is intuitively correct to say that the two of you share the same evidence. Perhaps this is what explains the comparative epistemic judgment that the two of you are equally justified in your beliefs about the external world. Second, Silins (2005) notes that if we think that a subject’s degree of confidence ought (ideally) to match their evidence, E = K has the odd implication that you ought to have a higher degree of confidence in the belief that you have hands than your counterpart should in her (false) belief that she has hands.

c. Warranted Assertion

Let us say that a subject’s assertion that p is the case is warranted if the subject’s assertion that p is true is epistemically permissible. That is to say, the subject’s assertion is warranted when it is not the case that the subject ought to refrain from asserting that p is true for epistemic reasons. One of the more popular accounts of warranted assertion is the knowledge account of assertion, ascribed to byDeRose (1996), Slote (1979), Sutton (2005, 2007), Williamson (2000), and Unger (1975). According to this account, assertion is governed by the knowledge norm:

K:

S ought not assert that p unless S knows p.

Some (for example Weiner (2005)) have defended the weaker externalist view that assertion is governed by the truth norm:

T:

S ought not assert that p unless p is true.

Suppose we were to grant that our intuitions concerning our deceived counterparts did in fact show that their beliefs are justified. According to Lackey (2008), the intuitions that cause trouble for externalist accounts of epistemic justification cause trouble for externalist accounts of warranted assertion on which knowledge or truth is necessary for permissible assertion. Just as it seems intuitive to some to say that our epistemic counterparts’ beliefs are justified, it seems to her that our epistemic counterparts’ assertions are warranted.

It seems that epistemologists either do not share Lackey’s intuitions about warranted assertion or do not think that they ought to accommodate those intuitions in their accounts of warranted assertion. It is interesting to note that many who defend externalist accounts of warranted assertion are unwilling to defend externalist accounts of epistemic justification. But, it might be that this is an untenable combination of views. For, if Sutton (2005, 2007) is right, you cannot be justified in believing what you lack warrant for asserting:

J:

If S’s belief that p is justified and S asserts that p is the case, S’s assertion that p is the case is warranted.

If our deceived counterparts’ beliefs are justified and there is nothing wrong with their holding them, how could it be wrong for them to assert that their beliefs are true? Since, according to (K) or (T), it would be wrong to assert that something is true unless it actually is true, those who endorse (K) or (T) either ought to say that our deceived counterparts do not have sufficient justification for their beliefs or deny (J) and say that a person’s beliefs can be justified even if the person lacks sufficient warrant for asserting what she justifiably believes to be the case. At any rate, the arguments that have been offered for (J) suggest that the position of those who adopt internalist accounts of justification because of intuitions about our systematically deceived counterparts while defending externalist accounts of warranted assertion cannot have it both ways.

4. Conclusion

The new evil demon problem has been a persistent problem for reliabilists for over two decades. It is most unclear how someone can consistently maintain that the justification of our beliefs depends on the reliability of the processes that produce them while at the same time acknowledging that our systematically deceived counterparts are fully justified in their beliefs. The problem is now not a problem for reliabilists only. The thought experiment Cohen introduced into the literature and the intuitions it elicits now play a significant role in the literature on the internalism/externalism debate, the nature of evidence, and the conditions of warranted assertability.

5. References and Further Reading

  • Audi, R. 1993. The Structure of Justification. New York: Cambridge University Press.
  • Bach, K. 1985. A Rationale for Reliabilism. The Monist 68: 246-63.
  • Bergmann, M. 2006. Justification Without Awareness. (New York: Oxford University Press).
  • BonJour, L. 2002. Internalism and Externalism. In P. Moser (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of Epistemology. (New York: Oxford University Press): 234-64.
  • Brewer, B. 1997. Foundations of Perceptual Knowledge. American Philosophical Quarterly 34: 41-55.
  • Cohen, S. 1984. Justification and Truth. Philosophical Studies 46: 279-96.
  • Cohen, S. and K. Lehrer. 1983. Justification, Truth, and Knowledge. Synthese 55.
  • Comesana, J. 2002. The Diagonal and the Demon. Philosophical Studies 110: 249-66.
  • Conee, E. and R. Feldman. 2004. Evidentialism. (New York: Oxford University Press).
  • DeRose, K. 1996. Knowledge, Assertion, and Lotteries. Australasian Journal of Philosophy 74: 568-80.
  • Engel, M. 1992. Personal and Doxastic Justification. Philosophical Studies 67: 133-51.
  • Gibbons, J. 2006. Access Externalism. Mind 115: 19-39.
  • Goldman, A. 1979. What is Justified Belief? In G. Pappas (ed.) Justification and Knowledge (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press): 1-23.
  • Goldman, A. 1986. Epistemology and Cognition. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press).
  • Goldman, A. 1988. Strong and Weak Justification. Philosophical Perspectives 2: 51-69.
  • Goldman, A. 1993. Epistemic Folkways and Scientific Epistemology. Philosophical Issues 3: 271-85.
  • Knowledge and Action. Journal of Philosophy Hyman, J. 1999. How Knowledge Works. Philosophical Quarterly 49: 433-51.
  • Kvanvig, J. and C. Menzel. 1990. The Basic Notion of Justification. Philosophical Studies 59: 235-61.
  • Lackey, J. 2008. Learning from Words. (New York: Oxford University Press).
  • Langsam, H. 2008. Rationality, Justification, and the Internalism/Externalism Debate. Erkenntnis 68: 79-101.
  • Lemos, N. 2007. An Introduction to the Theory of Knowledge. (New York: Cambridge University Press).
  • Littlejohn, C. 2009. The Externalist’s Demon. Canadian Journal of Philosophy 39 (3): 399-434.
  • Majors, B. and S. Sawyer. 2005. The Epistemological Argument for Content Externalism. Philosophical Perspectives 19: 257-80.
  • Nelson, M. 2002. What Justification Could Not Be. International Journal of Philosophical Studies 10: 265-81.
  • Peacocke, C. 2004. The Realm of Reason. (New York: Oxford University Press).
  • Plantinga, A. 1993. Warrant: The Current Debate. (New York: Oxford University Press).
  • Silins, N. 2005. Deception and Evidence. Philosophical Perspectives 19: 375-404.
  • Slote, M. 1979. Assertion and Belief. In J. Dancy (ed.) Papers on Language and Logic (Keele: Keele University Library): 177-90.
  • Sosa, E. 1985. The Coherence of Virtue and the Virtue of Coherence. Synthese 64: 3-28.
  • Sosa, E. 1991. Knowledge in Perspective. (New York: Cambridge University Press).
  • Sosa, E. 2003. Epistemic Justification: Internalism vs. Externalism, Foundations vs. Virtues (Malden, MA: Blackwell).
  • Sutton, J. 2005. Stick To What You Know. Nous 39: 359-96.
  • Sutton, J. 2007. Without Justification. (Cambridge, MA: MIT University Press).
  • Turri, J. The Ontology of Epistemic Reasons. Nous.
  • Unger, P. 1975. Ignorance. (New York: Oxford University Press).
  • Weatherson, B. Deontology and the Demon. Journal of Philosophy.
  • Wedgwood, R. 2002. Internalism Explained. Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 65: 349-69.
  • Weiner, M. 2005. Must We Know What We Say? Philosophical Review 114: 227-51.
  • Williamson, T. 2000. Knowledge and its Limits. (New York: Oxford University Press).

Author Information

Clayton Littlejohn
Email: cmlittlejohn@yahoo.com
Southern Methodist University
U. S. A.