This type of theory (axiomatic) usually emerges as a body of (supposes) truths that are not nearly organized, making the theory difficult to survey or study a whole. The axiomatic method is an idea for organizing a theory (Hilbert 1970): one tries to select from among the supposed truths a small number from which all others can be seen to be deductively inferable. This makes the theory rather more tractable since, in a sense, all the truths are contained in those few. In a theory so organized, the few truths from which all others are deductively inferred are called axioms. In that, jus t as algebraic and differential equations, which were used to study mathematical and physical processes, could themselves be made mathematical objects, so axiomatic theories, like algebraic and differential equations, which are means of representing physical processes and mathematical structures, could be made objects of mathematical investigation.
In the traditional (as in Leibniz, 1704), many philosophers had the conviction that all truths, or all truths about a particular domain, followed from a few principles. These principles were taken to be either metaphysically prior or epistemologically prior or in the fist sense, they were taken to be entities of such a nature that what exists is ‘caused’ by them. When the principles were taken as epistemologically prior, that is, as axioms, either they were taken to be epistemologically privileged, e.g., self-evident, not needing to be demonstrated or (again, inclusive ‘or’) to be such that all truths do follow from them (by deductive inferences). Gödel (1984) showed that treating axiomatic theories as themselves mathematical objects, that mathematics, and even a small part of mathematics, elementary number theory, could not be axiomatized, that, more precisely, any class of axioms that in such that we could effectively decide, of any proposition, whether or not it was in the class, would be too small to capture all of the truths.
The use of a model to test for the consistency of an axiomatized system is older than modern logic. Descartes’s algebraic interpretation of Euclidean geometry provides a way of showing that if the theory of real numbers is consistent, so is the geometry. Similar mapping had been used by mathematicians in the 19th century for example to show that if Euclidean geometry is consistent, so are various non-Euclidean geometries. Model theory is the general study of this kind of procedure: The study of interpretations of formal system. Proof theory studies relations of deducibility as defined purely syntactically, that is, without reference to the intended interpretation of the calculus. More formally, a deductively valid argument starting from true premises, that yields the conclusion between formulae of a system. But once the notion of an interpretation is in place we can ask whether a formal system meets certain conditions. In particular, can it lead us from sentences that are true under some interpretation to ones that are false under the same interpretation? And if a sentence is true under all interpretations, is it also a theorem of the system? We can define a notion of validity (a formula is valid if it is true in all interpretations) and semantic consequence (a formulae, written
{A1 . . . An} ⊨ B, if it is true in all interpretations in which they are true) The central questions for a calculus will be whether all and only its theorems are valid, and whether {A1 . . . An} ⊨ B, if and only if {A1. . . . An} ⊢ B. These are the questions of the soundness and completeness of a formal system. For the propositional calculus this turns into the question of whether the proof theory delivers as theorems all and only tautologies. There are many axiomatizations of the propositional calculus that are consistent an complete. Gödel proved in 1929 that first-order predicate calculus is complete: any formula that is true under every interpretation is a theorem of the calculus.
The propositional calculus or logical calculus whose expressions are letter present sentences or propositions, and constants representing operations on those propositions to produce others of higher complexity. The operations include conjunction, disjunction, material implication and negation (although these need not be primitive). Propositional logic was partially anticipated by the Stoics but researched maturity only with the work of Frége, Russell, and Wittgenstein.
The concept introduced by Frége of a function taking a number of names as arguments, and delivering one proposition as the value. The idea is that ‘χ love’s y’ is a propositional function, which yields the proposition ‘John loves Mary’ from those two arguments (in that order). A propositional function is therefore roughly equivalent to a property or relation. In Principia Mathematica, Russell and Whitehead take propositional functions to be the fundamental function, since the theory of descriptions could be taken as showing that other expressions denoting functions are incomplete symbols.
Keeping in mind, the two classical truth-values that a statement, proposition, or sentence can take. It is supposed in classical (two-valued) logic, that each statement has one of these values, and none has both. A statement is then false if and only if it is not true. The basis of this scheme is that to each statement there corresponds a determinate truth condition, or way the world must be for it to be true, and otherwise false. Statements may be felicitous or infelicitous in other dimensions (polite, misleading, apposite, witty, etc.) but truth is the central normative governing assertion. Considerations of vagueness may introduce greys into black-and-white scheme. For the issue of whether falsity is the only way of failing to be true.
Formally, it is nonetheless, that any suppressed premise or background framework of thought necessary to make an argument valid, or a position tenable. More formally, a presupposition has been defined as a proposition whose truth is necessary for either the truth or the falsity of another statement. Thus, if ‘p’ presupposes ‘q’, ‘q’ must be true for p to be either true or false. In the theory of knowledge of Robin George Collingwood (1889-1943), any propositions capable of truth or falsity stand on a bed of ‘absolute presuppositions’ which are not properly capable of truth or falsity, since a system of thought will contain no way of approaching such a question. It was suggested by Peter Strawson (1919-), in opposition to Russell’s theory of ‘definite’ descriptions, that ‘there exists a King of France’ is a presupposition of ‘the King of France is bald’, the latter being neither true, nor false, if there is no King of France. It is, however, a little unclear whether the idea is that no statement at all is made in such a case, or whether a statement is made, but fails of being either true or false. The former option preserves classical logic, since we can still say that every statement is either true or false, but the latter does not, since in classical logic the law of ‘bivalence’ holds, and ensures that nothing at all is presupposed for any proposition to be true or false. The introduction of presupposition therefore means that either a third truth-value is found, ‘intermediate’ between truth and falsity, or that classical logic is preserved, but it is impossible to tell whether a particular sentence expresses a proposition that is a candidate for truth ad falsity, without knowing more than the formation rules of the language. Each suggestion carries costs, and there is some consensus that at least where definite descriptions are involved, examples like the one given are equally well handed by regarding the overall sentence false when the existence claim fails.
A proposition may be true or false it be said to take the truth-value true, and if the latter the truth-value false. The idea behind the term is the analogy between assigning a propositional variable one or other of these values, as a formula of the propositional calculus, and assigning an object as the value of many other variable. Logics with intermediate values are called many-valued logics. Then, a truth-function of a number of propositions or sentences is a function of them that has a definite truth-value, depend only on the truth-values of the constituents. Thus (p & q) is a combination whose truth-value is true when ‘p’ is true and ‘q’ is true, and false otherwise, ¬ p is a truth-function of ‘p’, false when ‘p’ is true and true when ‘p’ is false. The way in which the value of the whole is determined by the combinations of values of constituents is presented in a truth table.
In whatever manner, truths of fact cannot be reduced to any identity and our only way of knowing them is empirically, by reference to the facts of the empirical world.
A proposition is knowable deductively if it can be known without experience of the specific course of events in the actual world. It may, however, be allowed that some experience is required to acquire the concepts involved in an deductive proposition. Some thing is knowable only empirical if it can be known deductively. The distinction given one of the fundamental problem areas of epistemology. The category of deductive propositions is highly controversial, since it is not clear how pure thought, unaided by experience, can give rise to any knowledge at all, and it has always been a concern of empiricism to deny that it can. The two great areas in which it seems to be so are logic and mathematics, so empiricists have commonly tried to show either that these are not areas of real, substantive knowledge, or that in spite of appearances their knowledge that we have in these areas is actually dependent on experience. The former line tries to show sense trivial or analytic, or matters of notation conventions of language. The latter approach is particularly y associated with Quine, who denies any significant slit between propositions traditionally thought of as speculatively, and other deeply entrenched beliefs that occur in our overall view of the world.
Another contested category is that of speculative concepts, supposed to be concepts that cannot be ‘derived’ from experience, bu t which are presupposed in any mode of thought about the world, time, substance, causation, number, and self are candidates. The need for such concept s, and the nature of the substantive a prior I knowledge to which they give rise, is the central concern of Kant ‘s Critique of Pure Reason.
Likewise, since their denial does not involve a contradiction, there is merely contingent: Their could have been in other ways a hold of the actual world, but not every possible one. Some examples are ‘Caesar crossed the Rubicon’ and ‘Leibniz was born in Leipzig’, as well as propositions expressing correct scientific generalizations. In Leibniz’s view truths of fact rest on the principle of sufficient reason, which is a reason why it is so. This reason is that the actual world (by which he means the total collection of things past, present and future) is better than any other possible world and therefore created by God. The foundation of his thought is the conviction that to each individual there corresponds a complete notion, knowable only to God, from which is deducible all the properties possessed by the individual at each moment in its history. It is contingent that God actualizes te individual that meets such a concept, but his doing so is explicable by the principle of ‘sufficient reason’, whereby God had to actualize just that possibility in order for this to be the best of all possible worlds. This thesis is subsequently lampooned by Voltaire (1694-1778), in whom of which was prepared to take refuge in ignorance, as the nature of the soul, or the way to reconcile evil with divine providence.
In defending the principle of sufficient reason sometimes described as the principle that nothing can be so without there being a reason why it is so. But the reason has to be of a particularly potent kind: eventually it has to ground contingent facts in necessities, and in particular in the reason an omnipotent and perfect being would have for actualizing one possibility than another. Among the consequences of the principle is Leibniz’s relational doctrine of space, since if space were an infinite box there could be no reason for the world to be at one point in rather than another, and God placing it at any point violate the principle. In Abelard’s (1079-1142), as in Leibniz, the principle eventually forces te recognition that the actual world is the best of all possibilities, since anything else would be inconsistent with the creative power that actualizes possibilities.
If truth consists in concept containment, then it seems that all truths are analytic and hence necessary. If they are all necessary, surely they are all truths of reason. In that not every truth can be reduced to an identity in a finite number of steps; in some instances revealing the connection between subject and predicate concepts would require an infinite analysis, while this may entail that we cannot prove such proposition as a prior, it does not appear to show that proposition could have ben false. Intuitively, it seems a better ground for supposing that it is a necessary truth of a special sort. A related question arises from the idea that truths of fact depend on God’s decision to create the best world: If it is part of the concept of this world that it is best, how could its existence be other than necessary? An accountable and responsively answered explanation would be so, that any relational question that brakes the norm lay eyes on its existence in the manner other than hypothetical necessities, i.e., it follows from God’s decision to create the world, but God had the power to create this world, but God is necessary, so how could he have decided to do anything else? Leibniz says much more about these matters, but it is not clear whether he offers any satisfactory solutions.
The view that the terms in which we think of some area are sufficiently infected with error for it to be better to abandon them than to continue to try to give coherent theories of their use. Eliminativism should be distinguished from scepticism that claims that we cannot know the truth about some area; eliminativism claims rather that there is no truth there to be known, in the terms that we currently think. An eliminativist about theology simply counsels abandoning the terms or discourse of theology, and that will include abandoning worries about the extent of theological knowledge.
Eliminativists in the philosophy of mind counsel abandoning the whole network of terms mind, consciousness, self, qualia that usher in the problems of mind and body. Sometimes the argument for doing this is that we should wait for a supposed future understanding of ourselves, based on cognitive science and better than any our current mental descriptions provide, sometimes it is supposed that physicalism shows that no mental description of ourselves could possibly be true.
Greek scepticism centred on the value of enquiry and questioning, scepticism is now the denial that knowledge or even rational belief is possible, either about some specific subject-matter, e.g., ethics, o r in any atra whatsoever. Classically, scepticism springs from the observation that the best methods in some area seem to fall short of giving us contact with the truth, e.g., there is a gulf between appearance and reality, and in frequency cites the conflicting judgements that our methods deliver, with the result that questions of truth become undecidable.
Sceptical tendencies emerged in the 14th-century writings of Nicholas of Autrecourt. His criticisms of any certainty beyond the immediate deliverance of the senses and basic logic, and in particular of any knowledge of either intellectual or material substances, anticipate the later scepticism of Balye and Hume. The; latter distinguishes between Pyrrhonistic and excessive scepticism, which he regarded as unlivable, and the more mitigated scepticism that accepts every day or commonsense beliefs (not as the delivery of reason, but as due more to custom and habit), but is duly wary of the power of reason to give us much more. Mitigated scepticism is thus closer to the attitude fostered by ancient scepticism from Pyrrho through to Sexus Empiricus. Although the phrase ‘Cartesian scepticism’ is sometimes used, Descartes himself was not a sceptic, but in the method of doubt, uses a sceptical scenario in order to begin the process of finding a secure mark of knowledge. Descartes himself trusts a category of ‘clear and distinct’ ideas, not far removed from the phantasia kataleptiké of the Stoics.
Scepticism should not be confused with relativism, which is a doctrine about the nature of truth, and may be motivated by trying to avoid scepticism. Nor is it identical with eliminativism, which counsels abandoning an area of thought altogether, not because we cannot know the truth, but because there are no truths capable of being framed in the terms we use.
Descartes’s theory of knowledge starts with the quest for certainty, for an indubitable starting-point or foundation on the basis alone of which progress is possible. This is eventually found in the celebrated ‘Cogito ergo sum’: I think therefore I am. By locating the point of certainty in my own awareness of my own self, Descartes gives a first-person twist to the theory of knowledge that dominated them following centuries in spite of various counter-attacks on behalf of social and public starting-points. The metaphysics associated with this priority is the famous Cartesian dualism, or separation of mind and matter into two different but interacting substances, Descartes rigorously and rightly sees that it takes divine dispensation to certify any relationship between the two realms thus divided, and to prove the reliability of the senses invokes a ‘clear and distinct perception’ of highly dubious proofs of the existence of a benevolent deity. This has not met general acceptance: as Hume drily puts it, ‘to have recourse to the veracity of the supreme Being, in order to prove the veracity of our senses, is surely making a very unexpected circuit’.
In his own time Descartes’s conception of the entirely separate substance of the mind was recognized to give rise to insoluble problems of the nature of the causal connection between the two. It also gives rise to the problem, insoluble in its own terms, of other minds. Descartes’s notorious denial that non-human animals are conscious is a stark illustration of the problem. In his conception of matter Descartes also gives preference to rational cogitation over anything derived from the senses. Since we can conceive of the matter of a ball of wax surviving changes to its sensible qualities, matter is not an empirical concept, but eventually an entirely geometrical one, with extension and motion as its only physical nature. Descartes’s thought, as reflected in Leibniz, that the qualities of sense experience have no resemblance to qualities of things, so that knowledge of the external world is essentially knowledge of structure rather than of filling. On this basis Descartes erects a remarkable physics. Since matter is in effect the same as extension there can be no empty space or ‘void’, since there is no empty space motion is not a question of occupying previously empty space, but is to be thought of in terms of vortices (like the motion of a liquid).
Although the structure of Descartes’s epistemology, theory of mind, and theory of matter have ben rejected many times, their relentless exposure of the hardest issues, their exemplary clarity, and even their initial plausibility, all contrive to make him the central point of reference for modern philosophy.
The self conceived as Descartes presents it in the first two Meditations: aware only of its own thoughts, and capable of disembodied existence, neither situated in a space nor surrounded by others. This is the pure self of ‘I-ness’ that we are tempted to imagine as a simple unique thing that make up our essential identity. Descartes’s view that he could keep hold of this nugget while doubting everything else is criticized by Lichtenberg and Kant, and most subsequent philosophers of mind.
Descartes holds that we do not have any knowledge of any empirical proposition about anything beyond the contents of our own minds. The reason, roughly put, is that there is a legitimate doubt about all such propositions because there is no way to deny justifiably that our senses are being stimulated by some cause (an evil spirit, for example) which is radically different from the objects that we normally think affect our senses.
He also points out, that the senses (sight, hearing, touch, etc., are often unreliable, and ‘it is prudent never to trust entirely those who have deceived us even once’, he cited such instances as the straight stick that looks ben t in water, and the square tower that looks round from a distance. This argument of illusion, has not, on the whole, impressed commentators, and some of Descartes’ contemporaries pointing out that since such errors become known as a result of further sensory information, it cannot be right to cast wholesale doubt on the evidence of the senses. But Descartes regarded the argument from illusion as only the first stage in a softening up process which would ‘lead the mind away from the senses’. He admits that there are some cases of sense-base belief about which doubt would be insane, e.g., the belief that I am sitting here by the fire, wearing a winter dressing gown’.
Descartes was to realize that there was nothing in this view of nature that could explain or provide a foundation for the mental, or from direct experience as distinctly human. In a mechanistic universe, he said, there is no privileged place or function for mind, and the separation between mind and matter is absolute. Descartes was also convinced, that the immaterial essences that gave form and structure to this universe were coded in geometrical and mathematical ideas, and this insight led him to invent algebraic geometry.
A scientific understanding of these ideas could be derived, said Descartes, with the aid of precise deduction, and he also claimed that the contours of physical reality could be laid out in three-dimensional coordinates. Following the publication of Newton’s Principia Mathematica in 1687, reductionism and mathematical modelling became the most powerful tools of modern science. And the dream that the entire physical world could be known and mastered through the extension and refinement of mathematical theory became the central feature and guiding principle of scientific knowledge.
Having to its recourse of knowledge, its cental questions include the origin of knowledge, the place of experience in generating knowledge, and the place of reason in doing so, the relationship between knowledge and certainty, and between knowledge and the impossibility of error, the possibility of universal scepticism, and the changing forms of knowledge that arise from new conceptualizations of the world. All of these issues link with other central concerns of philosophy, such as the nature of truth and the natures of experience and meaning.
Foundationalism was associated with the ancient Stoics, and in the modern era with Descartes (1596-1650). Who discovered his foundations in the ‘clear and distinct’ ideas of reason? Its main opponent is Coherentism, or the view that a body of propositions mas be known without a foundation in certainty, but by their interlocking strength, than as a crossword puzzle may be known to have been solved correctly even if each answer, taken individually, admits of uncertainty. Difficulties at this point led the logical passivists to abandon the notion of an epistemological foundation altogether, and to flirt with the coherence theory of truth. It is widely accepted that trying to make the connection between thought and experience through basic sentences depends on an untenable ‘myth of the given’.
Still in spite of these concerns, the problem, least of mention, is of defining knowledge in terms of true beliefs plus some favoured relations between the believer and the facts that began with Plato’s view in the 'Theaetetus,' that knowledge is true belief, and some logos. Due of its nonsynthetic epistemology, the enterprising of studying the actual formation of knowledge by human beings, without aspiring to certify those processes as rational, or its proof against ‘scepticism’ or even apt to yield the truth. Natural epistemology would therefore blend into the psychology of learning and the study of episodes in the history of science. The scope for ‘external’ or philosophical reflection of the kind that might result in scepticism or its refutation is markedly diminished. Despite the fact that the terms of modernity are so distinguished as exponents of the approach include Aristotle, Hume, and J. S. Mills.
The task of the philosopher of a discipline would then be to reveal the correct method and to unmask counterfeits. Although this belief lay behind much positivist philosophy of science, few philosophers now subscribe to it. It places too well a confidence in the possibility of a purely previous ‘first philosophy’, or viewpoint beyond that of the work one’s way of practitioners, from which their best efforts can be measured as good or bad. These standpoints now seem that too many philosophers to be a fanciefancy, that the more modest of tasks that are actually adopted at various historical stages of investigation into different areas with the aim not so much of criticizing but more of systematization, in the presuppositions of a particular field at a particular tie. There is still a role for local methodological disputes within the community investigators of some phenomenon, with one approach charging that another is unsound or unscientific, but logic and philosophy will not, on the modern view, provide an independent arsenal of weapons for such battles, which indeed often come to seem more like political bids for ascendancy within a discipline.
This is an approach to the theory of knowledge that sees an important connection between the growth of knowledge and biological evolution. An evolutionary epistemologist claims that the development of human knowledge processed through some natural selection process, the best example of which is Darwin’s theory of biological natural selection. There is a widespread misconception that evolution proceeds according to some plan or direct, but it has neither, and the role of chance ensures that its future course will be unpredictable. Random variations in individual organisms create tiny differences in their Darwinian fitness. Some individuals have more offsprings than others, and the characteristics that increased their fitness thereby become more prevalent in future generations. Once upon a time, at least a mutation occurred in a human population in tropical Africa that changed the haemoglobin molecule in a way that provided resistance to malaria. This enormous advantage caused the new gene to spread, with the unfortunate consequence that sickle-cell anaemia came to exist.
Chance can influence the outcome at each stage: First, in the creation of genetic mutation, second, in wether the bearer lives long enough to show its effects, thirdly, in chance events that influence the individual’s actual reproductive success, and fourth, in whether a gene even if favoured in one generation, is, happenstance, eliminated in the next, and finally in the many unpredictable environmental changes that will undoubtedly occur in the history of any group of organisms. As Harvard biologist Stephen Jay Gould has so vividly expressed that process over again, the outcome would surely be different. Not only might there not be humans, there might not even be anything like mammals.
We will often emphasis the elegance of traits shaped by natural selection, but the common idea that nature creates perfection needs to be analysed carefully. The extent to which evolution achieves perfection depends on exactly what you mean. If you mean 'Does natural selections always take the best path for the long-term welfare of a species?' The answer is no. That would require adaption by group selection, and this is, unlikely. If you mean 'Does natural selection creates every adaption that would be valuable?' The answer again, is no. For instance, some kinds of South American monkeys can grasp branches with their tails. The trick would surely also be useful to some African species, but, simply because of bad luck, none have it. Some combination of circumstances started some ancestral South American monkeys using their tails in ways that ultimately led to an ability to grab onto branches, while no such development took place in Africa. Mere usefulness of a trait does not necessitate a means in that what will understandably endure phylogenesis or evolution.
This is an approach to the theory of knowledge that sees an important connection between the growth of knowledge and biological evolution. An evolutionary epistemologist claims that the development of human knowledge proceeds through some natural selection process, the best example of which is Darwin’s theory of biological natural selection. The three major components of the model of natural selection are variation selection and retention. According to Darwin’s theory of natural selection, variations are not pre-designed to do certain functions. Rather, these variations that do useful functions are selected. While those that do not employ of some coordinates in that are regainfully purposed are also, not to any of a selection, as duly influenced of such a selection, that may have responsibilities for the visual aspects of a variational intentionally occurs. In the modern theory of evolution, genetic mutations provide the blind variations: Blind in the sense that variations are not influenced by the effects they would have-the likelihood of a mutation is not correlated with the benefits or liabilities that mutation would confer on the organism, the environment provides the filter of selection, and reproduction provides the retention. Fatnesses are achieved because those organisms with features that make them less adapted for survival do not survive in connection with other organisms in the environment that have features that are better adapted. Evolutionary epistemology applies this blind variation and selective retention model to the growth of scientific knowledge and to human thought processes overall.
The parallel between biological evolution and conceptual or ‘epistemic’ evolution can be seen as either literal or analogical. The literal version of evolutionary epistemology deeds biological evolution as the main cause of the growth of knowledge. On this view, called the ‘evolution of cognitive mechanic programs’, by Bradie (1986) and the ‘Darwinian approach to epistemology’ by Ruse (1986), that growth of knowledge occurs through blind variation and selective retention because biological natural selection itself is the cause of epistemic variation and selection. The most plausible version of the literal view does not hold that all human beliefs are innate but rather than the mental mechanisms that guide the acquisitions of non-innate beliefs are themselves innately and the result of biological natural selection. Ruse, (1986) demands of a version of literal evolutionary epistemology that he links to sociolology (Rescher, 1990).
On the analogical version of evolutionary epistemology, called the ‘evolution of theory’s program’, by Bradie (1986). The ‘Spenserians approach’ (after the nineteenth century philosopher Herbert Spencer) by Ruse (1986), the development of human knowledge is governed by a process analogous to biological natural selection, rather than by an instance of the mechanism itself. This version of evolutionary epistemology, introduced and elaborated by Donald Campbell (1974) as well as Karl Popper, sees the [partial] fit between theories and the world as explained by a mental process of trial and error known as epistemic natural selection.
Both versions of evolutionary epistemology are usually taken to be types of naturalized epistemology, because both take some empirical facts as a starting point for their epistemological project. The literal version of evolutionary epistemology begins by accepting evolutionary theory and a materialist approach to the mind and, from these, constructs an account of knowledge and its developments. In contrast, the metaphorical version does not require the truth of biological evolution: It simply draws on biological evolution as a source for the model of natural selection. For this version of evolutionary epistemology to be true, the model of natural selection need only apply to the growth of knowledge, not to the origin and development of species. Crudely put, evolutionary epistemology of the analogical sort could still be true even if Creationism is the correct theory of the origin of species.
Although they do not begin by assuming evolutionary theory, most analogical evolutionary epistemologists are naturalized epistemologists as well, their empirical assumptions, least of mention, implicitly come from psychology and cognitive science, not evolutionary theory. Sometimes, however, evolutionary epistemology is characterized in a seemingly non-naturalistic fashion. Campbell (1974) says that ‘if one is expanding knowledge beyond what one knows, one has no choice but to explore without the benefit of wisdom’, i.e., blindly. This, Campbell admits, makes evolutionary epistemology close to being a tautology (and so not naturalistic). Evolutionary epistemology does assert the analytic claim that when expanding one’s knowledge beyond what one knows, one must precessed to something that is already known, but, more interestingly, it also makes the synthetic claim that when expanding one’s knowledge beyond what one knows, one must proceed by blind variation and selective retention. This claim is synthetic because it can be empirically falsified. The central claim of evolutionary epistemology is synthetic, not analytic. If the central contradictory, which they are not. Campbell is right that evolutionary epistemology does have the analytic feature he mentions, but he is wrong to think that this is a distinguishing feature, since any plausible epistemology has the same analytic feature (Skagestad, 1978).
Although it is a new approach to theory of knowledge, evolutionary epistemology has attracted much attention, primarily because it represents a serious attempt to flesh out a naturalized epistemology by drawing on several disciplines. In science is relevant to understanding the nature and development of knowledge, then evolutionary theory is among the disciplines worth a look. Insofar as evolutionary epistemology looks there, it is an interesting and potentially fruitful epistemological programme.
What makes a belief justified and what makes a true belief knowledge? Thinking that whether a belief deserves one of these appraisals is natural depends on what caused the depicted branch of knowledge to have the belief. In recent decades a number of epistemologists have pursued this plausible idea with a variety of specific proposals. Some causal theories of knowledge have it that a true belief that ‘p’ is knowledge just in case it has the right causal connection to the fact that ‘p’. Such a criterion can be applied only to cases where the fact that ‘p’ is a sort that can reach causal relations, as this seems to exclude mathematically and there necessary facts and perhaps any fact expressed by a universal generalization, and proponents of this sort of criterion have usually supposed that it is limited to perceptual representations where knowledge of particular facts about subjects’ environments.
For example, Armstrong (1973), predetermined that a position held by a belief in the form ‘This perceived object is ‘F’ is [non-inferential] knowledge if and only if the belief is a completely reliable sign that the perceived object is ‘F’, that is, the fact that the object is ‘F’ contributed to causing the belief and its doing so depended on properties of the believer such that the laws of nature dictated that, for any subject ‘χ’ and perceived object ‘y’, if ‘χ’ has those properties and believed that ‘y’ is ‘F’, then ‘y’ is ‘F’. (Dretske (1981) offers a rather similar account, in terms of the belief’s being caused by a signal received by the perceiver that carries the information that the object is ‘F’).
Goldman (1986) has proposed an importantly different causal criterion, namely, that a true belief is knowledge if it is produced by a type of process that is ‘globally’ and ‘locally’ reliable. Causing true beliefs is sufficiently high is globally reliable if its propensity. Local reliability has to do with whether the process would have produced a similar but false belief in certain counterfactual situations alternative to the actual situation. This way of marking off true beliefs that are knowledge does not require the fact believed to be causally related to the belief, and so it could in principle apply to knowledge of any kind of truth.
Goldman requires the global reliability of the belief-producing process for the justification of a belief, he requires it also for knowledge because justification is required for knowledge. What he requires for knowledge, but does not require for justification is local reliability. His idea is that a justified true belief is knowledge if the type of process that produced it would not have produced it in any relevant counterfactual situation in which it is false. Its purported theory of relevant alternatives can be viewed as an attempt to provide a more satisfactory response to this tension in our thinking about knowledge. It attempts to characterize knowledge in a way that preserves both our belief that knowledge is an absolute concept and our belief that we have knowledge.
According to the theory, we need to qualify rather than deny the absolute character of knowledge. We should view knowledge as absolute, reactive to certain standards (Dretske, 1981 and Cohen, 1988). That is to say, in order to know a proposition, our evidence need not eliminate all the alternatives to that preposition, rather for ‘us’, that we can know our evidence eliminates al the relevant alternatives, where the set of relevant alternatives (a proper subset of the set of all alternatives) is determined by some standard. Moreover, according to the relevant alternatives view, and the standards determining that of the alternatives is raised by the sceptic are not relevant. If this is correct, then the fact that our evidence cannot eliminate the sceptic’s alternative does not lead to a sceptical result. For knowledge requires only the elimination of the relevant alternatives, so the relevant alternative view preserves in both strands in our thinking about knowledge. Knowledge is an absolute concept, but because the absoluteness is relative to a standard, we can know many things.
The interesting thesis that counts as a causal theory of justification (in the meaning of ‘causal theory’ intended here) are that: A belief is justified in case it was produced by a type of process that is ‘globally’ reliable, that is, its propensity to produce true beliefs-that can be defined (to a good approximation) As the proportion of the beliefs it produces (or would produce) that is true is sufficiently great.
This proposal will be adequately specified only when we are told (I) how much of the causal history of a belief counts as part of the process that produced it, (ii) which of the many types to which the process belongs is the type for purposes of assessing its reliability, and (iii) relative to why the world or worlds are the reliability of the process type to be assessed the actual world, the closet worlds containing the case being considered, or something else? Let ‘us’ look at the answers suggested by Goldman, the leading proponent of a reliabilist account of justification.
(1) Goldman (1979, 1986) takes the relevant belief producing process to include only the proximate causes internal to the believer. So, for instance, when recently I believed that the telephone was ringing the process that produced the belief, for purposes of assessing reliability, includes just the causal chain of neural events from the stimulus in my ear’s inward ands other concurrent brain states on which the production of the belief depended: It does not include any events’ I the telephone, or the sound waves travelling between it and my ears, or any earlier decisions I made that were responsible for my being within hearing distance of the telephone at that time. It does seem intuitively plausible of a belief depends should be restricted to internal omnes proximate to the belief. Why? Goldman does not tell ‘us’. One answer that some philosophers might give is that it is because a belief’s being justified at a given time can depend only on facts directly accessible to the believer’s awareness at that time (for, if a believer ought to holds only beliefs that are justified, she can tell at any given time what beliefs would then be justified for her). However, this cannot be Goldman’s answer because he wishes to include in the relevantly process neural events that are not directly accessible to consciousness.
(2) Once the reliabilist has told ‘us’ how to delimit the process producing a belief, he needs to tell ‘us’ which of the many types to which it belongs is the relevant type. Coincide, for example, the process that produces your current belief that you see a book before you. One very broad type to which that process belongs would be specified by ‘coming to a belief as to something one perceives as a result of activation of the nerve endings in some of one’s sense-organs’. A constricted type, in which that unvarying processes belong would be specified by ‘coming to a belief as to what one sees as a result of activation of the nerve endings in one’s retinas’. A still narrower type would be given by inserting in the last specification a description of a particular pattern of activation of the retina’s particular cells. Which of these or other types to which the token process belongs is the relevant type for determining whether the type of process that produced your belief is reliable?
If we select a type that is too broad, as having the same degree of justification various beliefs that intuitively seem to have different degrees of justification. Thus the broadest type we specified for your belief that you see a book before you apply also to perceptual beliefs where the object seen is far away and seen only briefly is less justified. On the other hand, is we are allowed to select a type that is as narrow as we please, then we make it out that an obviously unjustified but true belief is produced by a reliable type of process. For example, suppose I see a blurred shape through the fog far in a field and unjustifiedly, but correctly, believe that it is a sheep: If we include enough details about my retinal image is specifying te type of the visual process that produced that belief, we can specify a type is likely to have only that one instanced and is therefore 100 percent reliable. Goldman conjectures (1986) that the relevant process type is ‘the narrowest type that is casually operative’. Presumably, a feature of the process producing beliefs were causally operatives in producing it just in case some alternative feature instead, but it would not have led to that belief. (We need to say ‘some’ here rather than ‘any’, because, for example, when I see an oak or pine tree, the particular ‘like-minded’ material bodies of my retinal image is causably clearly toward the operatives in producing my belief that what is seen as a tree, even though there are alternative shapes, for example, ‘pineish’ or ‘birchness’ ones, that would have produced the same belief.)
(3) Should the justification of a belief in a hypothetical, non-actual example turn on the reliability of the belief-producing process in the possible world of the example? That leads to the implausible result in that in a world run by a Cartesian demon-a powerful being who causes the other inhabitants of the world to have rich and coherent sets of perceptual and memory impressions that are all illusory the perceptual and memory beliefs of the other inhabitants are all unjustified, for they are produced by processes that are, in that world, quite unreliable. If we say instead that it is the reliability of the processes in the actual world that matters, we get the equally undesired result that if the actual world is a demon world then our perceptual and memory beliefs are all unjustified.
Goldman’s solution (1986) is that the reliability of the process types is to be gauged by their performance in ‘normal’ worlds, that is, worlds consistent with ‘our general beliefs about the world . . . ‘about the sorts of objects, events and changes that occur in it’. This gives the intuitively right results for the problem cases just considered, but indicate by inference an implausible proportion of making compensations for alternative tending toward justification. If there are people whose general beliefs about the world are very different from mine, then there may, on this account, be beliefs that I can correctly regard as justified (ones produced by processes that are reliable in what I take to be a normal world) but that they can correctly regard as not justified.
However, these questions about the specifics are dealt with, and there are reasons for questioning the basic idea that the criterion for a belief’s being justified is its being produced by a reliable process. Thus and so, doubt about the sufficiency of the reliabilist criterion is prompted by a sort of example that Goldman himself uses for another purpose. Suppose that being in brain-state ‘B’ always causes one to believe that one is in brained-state ‘B’. Here the reliability of the belief-producing process is perfect, but ‘we can readily imagine circumstances in which a person goes into grain-state ‘B’ and therefore has the belief in question, though this belief is by no means justified’ (Goldman, 1979). Doubt about the necessity of the condition arises from the possibility that one might know that one has strong justification for a certain belief and yet that knowledge is not what actually prompts one to believe. For example, I might be well aware that, having read the weather bureau’s forecast that it will be much hotter tomorrow. I have ample reason to be confident that it will be hotter tomorrow, but I irrationally refuse to believe it until Wally tells me that he feels in his joints that it will be hotter tomorrow. Here what prompts me to believe dors not justify my belief, but my belief is nevertheless justified by my knowledge of the weather bureau’s prediction and of its evidential force: I can advert to any disavowable inference that I ought not to be holding the belief. Indeed, given my justification and that there is nothing untoward about the weather bureau’s prediction, my belief, if true, can be counted knowledge. This sorts of example raises doubt whether any causal conditions, are it a reliable process or something else, is necessary for either justification or knowledge.
Philosophers and scientists alike, have often held that the simplicity or parsimony of a theory is one reason, all else being equal, to view it as true. This goes beyond the unproblematic idea that simpler theories are easier to work with and gave greater aesthetic appeal.
One theory is more parsimonious than another when it postulates fewer entities, processes, changes or explanatory principles: The simplicity of a theory depends on essentially the same consecrations, though parsimony and simplicity obviously become the same. Demanding clarification of what makes one theory simpler or more parsimonious is plausible than another before the justification of these methodological maxims can be addressed.
If we set this description problem to one side, the major normative problem is as follows: What reason is there to think that simplicity is a sign of truth? Why should we accept a simpler theory instead of its more complex rivals? Newton and Leibniz thought that the answer was to be found in a substantive fact about nature. In 'Principia,' Newton laid down as his first Rule of Reasoning in Philosophy that ‘nature does nothing in vain . . . ‘for Nature is pleased with simplicity and affects not the pomp of superfluous causes’. Leibniz hypothesized that the actual world obeys simple laws because God’s taste for simplicity influenced his decision about which world to actualize.
The tragedy of the Western mind, described by Koyré, is a direct consequence of the stark Cartesian division between mind and world. We discovered the ‘certain principles of physical reality’, said Descartes, ‘not by the prejudices of the senses, but by the light of reason, and which thus possess so great evidence that we cannot doubt of their truth’. Since the real, or that which actually exists external to ourselves, was in his view only that which could be represented in the quantitative terms of mathematics, Descartes conclude that all quantitative aspects of reality could be traced to the deceitfulness of the senses.
The most fundamental aspect of the Western intellectual tradition is the assumption that there is a fundamental division between the material and the immaterial world or between the realm of matter and the realm of pure mind or spirit. The metaphysical frame-work based on this assumption is known as ontological dualism. As the word dual implies, the framework is predicated on an ontology, or a conception of the nature of God or Being, that assumes reality has two distinct and separable dimensions. The concept of Being as continuous, immutable, and having a prior or separate existence from the world of change dates from the ancient Greek philosopher Parmenides. The same qualities were associated with the God of the Judeo-Christian tradition, and they were considerably amplified by the role played in theology by Platonic and Neoplatonic philosophy.
Nicolas Copernicus, Galileo, Johannes Kepler, and Isaac Newton were all inheritors of a cultural tradition in which ontological dualism was a primary article of faith. Hence the idealization of the mathematical ideal as a source of communion with God, which dates from Pythagoras, provided a metaphysical foundation for the emerging natural sciences. This explains why, the creators of classical physics believed that doing physics was a form of communion with the geometrical and mathematical forms’ resident in the perfect mind of God. This view would survive in a modified form in what is now known as Einsteinian epistemology and accounts in no small part for the reluctance of many physicists to accept the epistemology associated with the Copenhagen Interpretation.
At the beginning of the nineteenth century, Pierre-Simon LaPlace, along with a number of other French mathematicians, advanced the view that the science of mechanics constituted a complete view of nature. Since this science, by observing its epistemology, had revealed itself to be the fundamental science, the hypothesis of God was, they concluded, entirely unnecessary.
LaPlace is recognized for eliminating not only the theological component of classical physics but the ‘entire metaphysical component’ as well’. The epistemology of science requires, he said, that we proceed by inductive generalizations from observed facts to hypotheses that are ‘tested by observed conformity of the phenomena’. What was unique about LaPlace’s view of hypotheses was his insistence that we cannot attribute reality to them. Although concepts like force, mass, motion, cause, and laws are obviously present in classical physics, they exist in LaPlace’s view only as quantities. Physics is concerned, he argued, with quantities that we associate as a matter of convenience with concepts, and the truths about nature are only the quantities.
As this view of hypotheses and the truths of nature as quantities was extended in the nineteenth century to a mathematical description of phenomena like heat, light, electricity, and magnetism. LaPlace’s assumptions about the actual character of scientific truths seemed correct. This progress suggested that if we could remove all thoughts about the ‘nature of’ or the ‘source of’ phenomena, the pursuit of strictly quantitative concepts would bring us to a complete description of all aspects of physical reality. Subsequently, figures like Comte, Kirchhoff, Hertz, and Poincaré developed a program for the study of nature hat was quite different from that of the original creators of classical physics.
The seventeenth-century view of physics as a philosophy of nature or as natural philosophy was displaced by the view of physics as an autonomous science that was ‘the science of nature’. This view, which was premised on the doctrine of positivism, promised to subsume all of the nature with a mathematical analysis of entities in motion and claimed that the true understanding of nature was revealed only in the mathematical description. Since the doctrine of positivism assumes that the knowledge we call physics resides only in the mathematical formalism of physical theory, it disallows the prospect that the vision of physical reality revealed in physical theory can have any other meaning. In the history of science, the irony is that positivism, which was intended to banish metaphysical concerns from the domain of science, served to perpetuate a seventeenth-century metaphysical assumption about the relationship between physical reality and physical theory.
Epistemology since Hume and Kant has drawn back from this theological underpinning. Indeed, the very idea that nature is simple (or uniform) has come in for a critique. The view has taken hold that a preference for simple and parsimonious hypotheses is purely methodological: It is constitutive of the attitude we call ‘scientific’ and makes no substantive assumption about the way the world is.
A variety of otherwise diverse twentieth-century philosophers of science have attempted, in different ways, to flesh out this position. Two examples must suffice here: Hesse (1969) as, for summaries of other proposals. Popper (1959) holds that scientists should prefer highly falsifiable (improbable) theories: He tries to show that simpler theories are more falsifiable, also Quine (1966), in contrast, sees a virtue in theories that are highly probable, he argues for a general connection between simplicity and high probability.
Both these proposals are global. They attempt to explain why simplicity should be part of the scientific method in a way that spans all scientific subject matters. No assumption about the details of any particular scientific problem serves as a premiss in Popper’s or Quine’s arguments.
Newton and Leibniz thought that the justification of parsimony and simplicity flows from the hand of God: Popper and Quine try to justify these methodologically median of importance is without assuming anything substantive about the way the world is. In spite of these differences in approach, they have something in common. They assume that all users of parsimony and simplicity in the separate sciences can be encompassed in a single justifying argument. That recent developments in confirmation theory suggest that this assumption should be scrutinized. Good (1983) and Rosenkrantz (1977) has emphasized the role of auxiliary assumptions in mediating the connection between hypotheses and observations. Whether a hypothesis is well supported by some observations, or whether one hypothesis is better supported than another by those observations, crucially depends on empirical background assumptions about the inference problem here. The same view applies to the idea of prior probability (or, prior plausibility). In of a single hypo-physical science if chosen as an alternative to another even though they are equally supported by current observations, this must be due to an empirical background assumption.
Principles of parsimony and simplicity mediate the epistemic connection between hypotheses and observations. Perhaps these principles are able to do this because they are surrogates for an empirical background theory. It is not that there is one background theory presupposed by every appeal to parsimony; This has the quantifier order backwards. Rather, the suggestion is that each parsimony argument is justified only to each degree that it reflects an empirical background theory about the subjective matter. On this theory is brought out into the open, but the principle of parsimony is entirely dispensable (Sober, 1988).
This ‘local’ approach to the principles of parsimony and simplicity resurrects the idea that they make sense only if the world is one way rather than another. It rejects the idea that these maxims are purely methodological. How defensible this point of view is, will depend on detailed case studies of scientific hypothesis evaluation and on further developments in the theory of scientific inference.
It is usually not found of one and the same that, an inference is a (perhaps very complex) act of thought by virtue of which act (1) I pass from a set of one or more propositions or statements to a proposition or statement and (2) it appears that the latter are true if the former is or are. This psychological characterization has occurred over a wider summation of literature under more lesser than inessential variations. Desiring a better characterization of inference is natural. Yet attempts to do so by constructing a fuller psychological explanation fail to comprehend the grounds on which inference will be objectively valid-A point elaborately made by Gottlob Frége. Attempts to understand the nature of inference through the device of the representation of inference by formal-logical calculations or derivations better (1) leave ‘us’ puzzled about the relation of formal-logical derivations to the informal inferences they are supposedly to represent or reconstruct, and (2) leaves ‘us’ worried about the sense of such formal derivations. Are these derivations inference? Are not informal inferences needed in order to apply the rules governing the constructions of formal derivations (inferring that this operation is an application of that formal rule)? These are concerns cultivated by, for example, Wittgenstein.
Coming up with an adequate characterization of inference-and even working out what would count as a very adequate characterization here is demandingly by no means nearly some resolved philosophical problem.
The rule of inference, as for raised by Lewis Carroll, the Zeno-like problem of how a ‘proof’ ever gets started. Suppose I have as premises (I) ‘p’ and (ii) p ➝ q. Can I infer ‘q’? Only, it seems, if I am sure of (iii) (p & p ➝q) ➝ q. Can I then infer ‘q’? Only, it seems, if I am sure that (iv) (p & p ➝ q & (p & p ➝ q) ➝ q) ➝ q. For each new axiom (N) I need a further axiom (N + 1) telling me that the set so far implies ‘q’, and the regress never stops. The usual solution is to treat a system as containing not only axioms, but also rules of inference, allowing movement from the axioms. The rule ‘modus ponens’ allow ‘us’ to pass from the first premise to ‘q’. Carroll’s puzzle shows that distinguishing two theoretical categories is essential, although there may be choice about which theses to put in which category.
Traditionally, a proposition that is not a ‘conditional’, as with the ‘affirmative’ and ‘negative’, modern opinion is wary of the distinction, since what appears categorical may vary with the choice of a primitive vocabulary and notation. Apparently categorical propositions may also turn out to be disguised conditionals: ‘X’ is intelligent (categorical?) Equivalent, if ‘X’ is given a range of tasks, she does them better than many people (conditional?). The problem is not merely one of classification, since deep metaphysical questions arise when facts that seem to be categorical and therefore solid, come to seem by contrast conditional, or purely hypothetical or potential.
Its condition of some classified necessity is so proven sufficient that if ‘p’ is a necessary condition of ‘q’, then ‘q’ cannot be true unless ‘p’; is true? If ‘p’ is a sufficient condition, thus steering well is a necessary condition of driving in a satisfactory manner, but it is not sufficient, for one can steer well but drive badly for other reasons. Confusion may result if the distinction is not heeded. For example, the statement that ‘A’ causes ‘B’ may be interpreted to mean that ‘A’ is itself a sufficient condition for ‘B’, or that it is only a necessary condition fort ‘B’, or perhaps a necessary parts of a total sufficient condition. Lists of conditions to be met for satisfying some administrative or legal requirement frequently attempt to give individually necessary and jointly sufficient sets of conditions.
What is more, that if any proposition of the form ‘if p then q’. The condition hypothesized, ‘p’. Is called the antecedent of the conditionals, and ‘q’, the consequent? Various kinds of conditional have been distinguished. Its weakest is that of ‘material implication’, merely telling that either ‘not-p’, or ‘q’. Stronger conditionals include elements of ‘modality’, corresponding to the thought that ‘if p is truer then q must be true’. Ordinary language is very flexible in its use of the conditional form, and there is controversy whether conditionals are better treated semantically, yielding differently finds of conditionals with different meanings, or pragmatically, in which case there should be one basic meaning with surface differences arising from other implicatures.
It follows from the definition of ‘strict implication’ that a necessary proposition is strictly implied by any proposition, and that an impossible proposition strictly implies any proposition. If strict implication corresponds to ‘q follows from p’, then this means that a necessary proposition follows from anything at all, and anything at all follows from an impossible proposition. This is a problem if we wish to distinguish between valid and invalid arguments with necessary conclusions or impossible premises.
The Humean problem of induction is that if we would suppose that there is some property ‘A’ concerning and observational or an experimental situation, and that out of a large number of observed instances of ‘A’, some fraction m/n (possibly equal to 1) has also been instances of some logically independent property ‘B’. Suppose further that the background proportionate circumstances not specified in these descriptions have been varied to a substantial degree and that there is no collateral information available concerning the frequency of ‘B’s’ among ‘A’s or concerning causal or nomologically connections between instances of ‘A’ and instances of ‘B’.
In this situation, an ‘enumerative’ or ‘instantial’ induction inference would move rights from the premise, that m/n of observed ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s’ to the conclusion that approximately m/n of all ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s. (The usual probability qualification will be assumed to apply to the inference, rather than being part of the conclusion.) Here the class of ‘A’s’ should be taken to include not only unobserved ‘A’s’ and future ‘A’s’, but also possible or hypothetical ‘A’s’ (an alternative conclusion would concern the probability or likelihood of the adjacently observed ‘A’ being a ‘B’).
The traditional or Humean problem of induction, often referred to simply as ‘the problem of induction’, is the problem of whether and why inferences that fit this schema should be considered rationally acceptable or justified from an epistemic or cognitive standpoint, i.e., whether and why reasoning in this way is likely to lead to true claims about the world. Is there any sort of argument or rationale that can be offered for thinking that conclusions reached in this way are likely to be true in the corresponding premisses is true ‒or even that their chances of truth are significantly enhanced?
Hume’s discussion of this issue deals explicitly only with cases where all observed ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s’ and his argument applies just as well to the more general case. His conclusion is entirely negative and sceptical: Inductive inferences are not rationally justified, but are instead the result of an essentially a-rational process, custom or habit. Hume (1711-76) challenges the proponent of induction to supply a cogent line of reasoning that leads from an inductive premise to the corresponding conclusion and offers an extremely influential argument in the form of a dilemma (a few times referred to as ‘Hume’s fork’), that either our actions are determined, in which case we are not responsible for them, or they are the result of random events, under which case we are also not responsible for them.
Such reasoning would, he argues, have to be either deductively demonstrative reasoning in the concerning relations of ideas or ‘experimental’, i.e., empirical, that reasoning concerning matters of fact or existence. It cannot be the former, because all demonstrative reasoning relies on the avoidance of contradiction, and it is not a contradiction to suppose that ‘the course of nature may change’, that an order that was observed in the past and not of its continuing against the future: But it cannot be, as the latter, since any empirical argument would appeal to the success of such reasoning about an experience, and the justifiability of generalizing from experience are precisely what is at issue-so that any such appeal would be question-begging. Hence, Hume concludes that there can be no such reasoning (1748).
An alternative version of the problem may be obtained by formulating it with reference to the so-called Principle of Induction, which says roughly that the future will resemble the past or, somewhat better, that unobserved cases will resemble observed cases. An inductive argument may be viewed as enthymematic, with this principle serving as a supposed premiss, in which case the issue is obviously how such a premiss can be justified. Hume’s argument is then that no such justification is possible: The principle cannot be justified a prior because having possession of been true in experiences without obviously begging the question is not contradictory to have possession of been true in experiences without obviously begging the question.
The predominant recent responses to the problem of induction, at least in the analytic tradition, in effect accept the main conclusion of Hume’s argument, namely, that inductive inferences cannot be justified in the sense of showing that the conclusion of such an inference is likely to be true if the premise is true, and thus attempt to find another sort of justification for induction. Such responses fall into two main categories: (I) Pragmatic justifications or ‘vindications’ of induction, mainly developed by Hans Reichenbach (1891-1953), and (ii) ordinary language justifications of induction, whose most important proponent is Frederick, Peter Strawson (1919-). In contrast, some philosophers still attempt to reject Hume’s dilemma by arguing either (iii) That, contrary to appearances, induction can be inductively justified without vicious circularity, or (iv) that an anticipatory justification of induction is possible after all. In that:
(1) Reichenbach’s view is that induction is best regarded, not as a form of inference, but rather as a ‘method’ for arriving at posits regarding, i.e., the proportion of ‘A’s’ remain additionally of ‘B’s’. Such a posit is not a claim asserted to be true, but is instead an intellectual wager analogous to a bet made by a gambler. Understood in this way, the inductive method says that one should posit that the observed proportion is, within some measure of an approximation, the true proportion and then continually correct that initial posit as new information comes in.
The gambler’s bet is normally an ‘appraised posit’, i.e., he knows the chances or odds that the outcome on which he bets will actually occur. In contrast, the inductive bet is a ‘blind posit’: We do not know the chances that it will succeed or even that success is that it will succeed or even that success is possible. What we are gambling on when we make such a bet is the value of a certain proportion in the independent world, which Reichenbach construes as the limit of the observed proportion as the number of cases increases to infinity. Nevertheless, we have no way of knowing that there are even such a limit, and no way of knowing that the proportion of ‘A’s’ are in addition of ‘B’s’ converges in the end on some stable value than varying at random. If we cannot know that this limit exists, then we obviously cannot know that we have any definite chance of finding it.
What we can know, according to Reichenbach, is that ‘if’ there is a truth of this sort to be found, the inductive method will eventually find it’. That this is so is an analytic consequence of Reichenbach’s account of what it is for such a limit to exist. The only way that the inductive method of making an initial posit and then refining it in light of new observations can fail eventually to arrive at the true proportion is if the series of observed proportions never converges on any stable value, which means that there is no truth to be found pertaining the proportion of ‘A’s additionally constitute ‘B’s’. Thus, induction is justified, not by showing that it will succeed or indeed, that it has any definite likelihood of success, but only by showing that it will succeed if success is possible. Reichenbach’s claim is that no more than this can be established for any method, and hence that induction gives ‘us’ our best chance for success, our best gamble in a situation where there is no alternative to gambling.
This pragmatic response to the problem of induction faces several serious problems. First, there are indefinitely many other ‘methods’ for arriving at posits for which the same sort of defence can be given-methods that yield the same result as the inductive method over time but differ arbitrarily before long. Despite the efforts of others, it is unclear that there is any satisfactory way to exclude such alternatives, in order to avoid the result that any arbitrarily chosen short-term posit is just as reasonable as the inductive posit. Second, even if there is a truth of the requisite sort to be found, the inductive method is only guaranteed to find it or even to come within any specifiable distance of it in the indefinite long run. All the same, any actual application of inductive results always takes place in the presence to the future eventful states in making the relevance of the pragmatic justification to actual practice uncertainly. Third, and most important, it needs to be emphasized that Reichenbach’s response to the problem simply accepts the claim of the Humean sceptic that an inductive premise never provides the slightest reason for thinking that the corresponding inductive conclusion is true. Reichenbach himself is quite candid on this point, but this does not alleviate the intuitive implausibility of saying that we have no more reason for thinking that our scientific and commonsense conclusions that result in the induction of it ‘ . . . is true’ than, to use Reichenbach’s own analogy (1949), a blind man wandering in the mountains who feels an apparent trail with his stick has for thinking that following it will lead him to safety.
An approach to induction resembling Reichenbach’s claiming in that those particular inductive conclusions are posits or conjectures, than the conclusions of cogent inferences, is offered by Popper. However, Popper’s view is even more overtly sceptical: It amounts to saying that all that can ever be said in favour of the truth of an inductive claim is that the claim has been tested and not yet been shown to be false.
(2) The ordinary language response to the problem of induction has been advocated by many philosophers, none the less, Strawson claims that the question whether induction is justified or reasonable makes sense only if it tacitly involves the demand that inductive reasoning meet the standards appropriate to deductive reasoning, i.e., that the inductive conclusions are shown to follow deductively from the inductive assumption. Such a demand cannot, of course, be met, but only because it is illegitimate: Inductive and deductive reasons are simply fundamentally different kinds of reasoning, each possessing its own autonomous standards, and there is no reason to demand or expect that one of these kinds meet the standards of the other. Whereas, if induction is assessed by inductive standards, the only ones that are appropriate, then it is obviously justified.
The problem here is to understand to what this allegedly obvious justification of an induction amount. In his main discussion of the point (1952), Strawson claims that it is an analytic true statement that believing it a conclusion for which there is strong evidence is reasonable and an analytic truth that inductive evidence of the sort captured by the schema presented earlier constitutes strong evidence for the corresponding inductive conclusion, thus, apparently yielding the analytic conclusion that believing it a conclusion for which there is inductive evidence is reasonable. Nevertheless, he also admits, indeed insists, that the claim that inductive conclusions will be true in the future is contingent, empirical, and may turn out to be false (1952). Thus, the notion of reasonable belief and the correlative notion of strong evidence must apparently be understood in ways that have nothing to do with likelihood of truth, presumably by appeal to the standard of reasonableness and strength of evidence that are accepted by the community and are embodied in ordinary usage.
Understood in this way, Strawson’s response to the problem of inductive reasoning does not speak to the central issue raised by Humean scepticism: The issue of whether the conclusions of inductive arguments are likely to be true. It amounts to saying merely that if we reason in this way, we can correctly call ourselves ‘reasonable’ and our evidence ‘strong’, according to our accepted community standards. Nevertheless, to the undersealing of issue of wether following these standards is a good way to find the truth, the ordinary language response appears to have nothing to say.
(3) The main attempts to show that induction can be justified inductively have concentrated on showing that such as a defence can avoid circularity. Skyrms (1975) formulate, perhaps the clearest version of this general strategy. The basic idea is to distinguish different levels of inductive argument: A first level in which induction is applied to things other than arguments: A second level in which it is applied to arguments at the first level, arguing that they have been observed to succeed so far and hence are likely to succeed in general: A third level in which it is applied in the same way to arguments at the second level, and so on. Circularity is allegedly avoided by treating each of these levels as autonomous and justifying the argument at each level by appeal to an argument at the next level.
One problem with this sort of move is that even if circularity is avoided, the movement to higher and higher levels will clearly eventually fail simply for lack of evidence: A level will reach at which there have been enough successful inductive arguments to provide a basis for inductive justification at the next higher level, and if this is so, then the whole series of justifications collapses. A more fundamental difficulty is that the epistemological significance of the distinction between levels is obscure. If the issue is whether reasoning in accord with the original schema offered above ever provides a good reason for thinking that the conclusion is likely to be true, then it still seems question-begging, even if not flatly circular, to answer this question by appeal to anther argument of the same form.
(4) The idea that induction can be justified on a pure priori basis is in one way the most natural response of all: It alone treats an inductive argument as an independently cogent piece of reasoning whose conclusion can be seen rationally to follow, although perhaps only with probability from its premise. Such an approach has, however, only rarely been advocated (Russell, 19132 and BonJour, 1986), and is widely thought to be clearly and demonstrably hopeless.
Many on the reasons for this pessimistic view depend on general epistemological theses about the possible or nature of anticipatory cognition. Thus if, as Quine alleges, there is no a prior justification of any kind, then obviously a prior justification for induction is ruled out. Or if, as more moderate empiricists have in claiming some preexistent knowledge should be analytic, then again a prevenient justification for induction seems to be precluded, since the claim that if an inductive premise ids truer, then the conclusion is likely to be true does not fit the standard conceptions of ‘analyticity’. A consideration of these matters is beyond the scope of the present spoken exchange.
There are, however, two more specific and quite influential reasons for thinking that an early approach is impossible that can be briefly considered, first, there is the assumption, originating in Hume, but since adopted by very many of others, that a move forward in the defence of induction would have to involve ‘turning induction into deduction’, i.e., showing, per impossible, that the inductive conclusion follows deductively from the premise, so that it is a formal contradiction to accept the latter and deny the former. However, it is unclear why a prior approach need be committed to anything this strong. It would be enough if it could be argued that it is deductively unlikely that such a premise is true and corresponding conclusion false.
Second, Reichenbach defends his view that pragmatic justification is the best that is possible by pointing out that a completely chaotic world in which there is simply not true conclusion to be found as to the proportion of ‘A’s’ in addition that occur of, but B’s’ is neither impossible nor unlikely from a purely a prior standpoint, the suggestion being that therefore there can be no a prior reason for thinking that such a conclusion is true. Nevertheless, there is still a substring wayin laying that a chaotic world is a prior neither impossible nor unlikely without any further evidence does not show that such a world os not a prior unlikely and a world containing such-and-such regularity might anticipatorially be somewhat likely in relation to an occurrence of a long-run patten of evidence in which a certain stable proportion of observed ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s’ ~. An occurrence, it might be claimed, that would be highly unlikely in a chaotic world (BonJour, 1986).
Goodman’s ‘new riddle of induction’ purports that we suppose that before some specific time ’t’ (perhaps the year 2000) we observe a larger number of emeralds (property A) and find them all to be green (property B). We proceed to reason inductively and conclude that all emeralds are green Goodman points out, however, that we could have drawn a quite different conclusion from the same evidence. If we define the term ‘grue’ to mean ‘green if examined before ’t’ and blue examined after t ʹ, then all of our observed emeralds will also be gruing. A parallel inductive argument will yield the conclusion that all emeralds are gruing, and hence that all those examined after the year 2000 will be blue. Presumably the first of these concisions is genuinely supported by our observations and the second is not. Nevertheless, the problem is to say why this is so and to impose some further restriction upon inductive reasoning that will permit the first argument and exclude the second.
The obvious alternative suggestion is that ‘grue. Similar predicates do not correspond to genuine, purely qualitative properties in the way that ‘green’ and ‘blueness’ does, and that this is why inductive arguments involving them are unacceptable. Goodman, however, claims to be unable to make clear sense of this suggestion, pointing out that the relations of formal desirability are perfectly symmetrical: Grue’ may be defined in terms if, ‘green’ and ‘blue’, but ‘green’ an equally well be defined in terms of ‘grue’ and ‘green’ (blue if examined before ‘t’ and green if examined after ‘t’).
The ‘grued, paradoxes’ demonstrate the importance of categorization, in that sometimes it is itemized as ‘gruing’, if examined of a presence to the future, before future time ‘t’ and ‘green’, or not so examined and ‘blue’. Even though all emeralds in our evidence class grue, we ought must infer that all emeralds are gruing. For ‘grue’ is unprojectible, and cannot transmit credibility from known to unknown cases. Only projectable predicates are right for induction. Goodman considers entrenchment the key to projectibility having a long history of successful protection, ‘grue’ is entrenched, lacking such a history, ‘grue’ is not. A hypothesis is projectable, Goodman suggests, only if its predicates (or suitable related ones) are much better entrenched than its rivalrous past successes that do not assume future ones. Induction remains a risky business. The rationale for favouring entrenched predicates is pragmatic. Of the possible projections from our evidence class, the one that fits with past practices enables ‘us’ to utilize our cognitive resources best. Its prospects of being true are worse than its competitors’ and its cognitive utility is greater.
So, to a better understanding of induction we should then term is most widely used for any process of reasoning that takes ‘us’ from empirical premises to empirical conclusions supported by the premises, but not deductively entailed by them. Inductive arguments are therefore kinds of applicative arguments, in which something beyond the content of the premise is inferred as probable or supported by them. Induction is, however, commonly distinguished from arguments to theoretical explanations, which share this applicative character, by being confined to inferences in which he conclusion involves the same properties or relations as the premises. The central example is induction by simple enumeration, where from premises telling that Fa, Fb, Fc . . . ‘where a, b, c’s, are all of some kind ‘G’, it is inferred that G’s from outside the sample, such as future G’s, will be ‘F’, or perhaps that all G’s are ‘F’. In this, which and the other persons deceive them, children may infer that everyone is a deceiver: Different, but similar inferences of a property by some object to the same object’s future possession of the same property, or from the constancy of some law-like pattern in events and states of affairs ti its future constancy. All objects we know of attract each other with a force inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them, so perhaps they all do so, and will always do so.
The rational basis of any inference was challenged by Hume, who believed that induction presupposed belie in the uniformity of nature, but that this belief has no defence in reason, and merely reflected a habit or custom of the mind. Hume was not therefore sceptical about the role of reason in either explaining it or justifying it. Trying to answer Hume and to show that there is something rationally compelling about the inference referred to as the problem of induction. It is widely recognized that any rational defence of induction will have to partition well-behaved properties for which the inference is plausible (often called projectable properties) from badly behaved ones, for which it is not. It is also recognized that actual inductive habits are more complex than those of similar enumeration, and that both common sense and science pay attention to such giving factors as variations within the sample giving ‘us’ the evidence, the application of ancillary beliefs about the order of nature, and so on.
Nevertheless, the fundamental problem remains that ant experience condition by application show ‘us’ only events occurring within a very restricted part of a vast spatial and temporal order about which we then come to believe things.
Uncompounded by its belonging of a confirmation theory finding of the measure to which evidence supports a theory fully formalized confirmation theory would dictate the degree of confidence that a rational investigator might have in a theory, given some-body of evidence. The grandfather of confirmation theory is Gottfried Leibniz (1646-1718), who believed that a logically transparent language of science would be able to resolve all disputes. In the 20th century a fully formal confirmation theory was a main goal of the logical positivist, since without it the central concept of verification by empirical evidence itself remains distressingly unscientific. The principal developments were due to Rudolf Carnap (1891-1970), culminating in his 'Logical Foundations of Probability' (1950). Carnap’s idea was that the measure necessitated would be the proportion of logically possible states of affairs in which the theory and the evidence both hold, compared ti the number in which the evidence itself holds that the probability of a preposition, relative to some evidence, is a proportion of the range of possibilities under which the proposition is true, compared to the total range of possibilities left by the evidence. The difficulty with the theory lies in identifying sets of possibilities so that they admit of measurement. It therefore demands that we can put a measure on the ‘range’ of possibilities consistent with theory and evidence, compared with the range consistent with the evidence alone.
Among the obstacles the enterprise meets, is the fact that while evidence covers only a finite range of data, the hypotheses of science may cover an infinite range. In addition, confirmation proves to vary with the language in which the science is couched, and the Carnapian programme has difficulty in separating genuinely confirming variety of evidence from less compelling repetition of the same experiment. Confirmation also proved to be susceptible to acute paradoxes. Finally, scientific judgement seems to depend on such intangible factors as the problems facing rival theories, and most workers have come to stress instead the historically situated scene of what would appear as a plausible distinction of a scientific knowledge at a given time.
Arose to the paradox of which when a set of apparent incontrovertible premises is given to unacceptable or contradictory conclusions. To solve a paradox will involve showing either that there is a hidden flaw in the premises, or that the reasoning is erroneous, or that the apparently unacceptable conclusion can, in fact, be tolerated. Paradoxes are therefore important in philosophy, for until one is solved it shows that there is something about our reasoning and our concepts that we do not understand. What is more, and somewhat loosely, a paradox is a compelling argument from unacceptable premises to an unacceptable conclusion: More strictly speaking, a paradox is specified to be a sentence that is true if and only if it is false. A characterized objection lesson of it would be: 'The displayed sentence is false.'
Seeing that this sentence is false if true is easy, and true if false, a paradox, in either of the senses distinguished, presents an important philosophical challenger. Epistemologists are especially concerned with various paradoxes having to do with knowledge and belief. In other words, for example, the Knower paradox is an argument that begins with apparently impeccable premisses about the concepts of knowledge and inference and derives an explicit contradiction. The origin of the reasoning is the ‘surprise examination paradox’: A teacher announces that there will be a surprise examination next week. A clever student argues that this is impossible. ‘The test cannot be on Friday, the last day of the week, because it would not be a surprise. We would know the day of the test on Thursday evening. This means we can also rule out Thursday. For after we learn that no test has been given by Wednesday, we would know the test is on Thursday or Friday -and would already know that it s not on Friday and would already know that it is not on Friday by the previous reasoning. The remaining days can be eliminated in the same manner’.
This puzzle has over a dozen variants. The first was probably invented by the Swedish mathematician Lennard Ekbon in 1943. Although the first few commentators regarded the reverse elimination argument as cogent, every writer on the subject since 1950 agrees that the argument is unsound. The controversy has been over the proper diagnosis of the flaw.
Initial analyses of the subject’s argument tried to lay the blame on a simple equivocation. Their failure led to more sophisticated diagnoses. The general format has been an assimilation to better-known paradoxes. One tradition casts the surprise examination paradox as a self-referential problem, as fundamentally akin to the Liar, the paradox of the Knower, or Gödel’s incompleteness theorem. That in of itself, says enough that Kaplan and Montague (1960) distilled the following ‘self-referential’ paradox, the Knower. Consider the sentence:
(S) The negation of this sentence is known (to be true).
Suppose that (S) is true. Then its negation is known and hence true. However, if its negation is true, then (S) must be false. Therefore (s) is false, or what is the name, the negation of (S) is true.
This paradox and its accompanying reasoning are strongly reminiscent of the Lair Paradox that (in one version) begins by considering a sentence ‘This sentence is false’ and derives a contradiction. Versions of both arguments using axiomatic formulations of arithmetic and Gödel-numbers to achieve the effect of self-reference yields important meta-theorems about what can be expressed in such systems. Roughly these are to the effect that no predicates definable in the formalized arithmetic can have the properties we demand of truth (Tarski’s Theorem) or of knowledge (Montague, 1963).
These meta-theorems still leave ‘us; with the problem that if we suppose that we add of these formalized languages predicates intended to express the concept of knowledge (or truth) and inference-as one mighty does if a logic of these concepts is desired. Then the sentence expressing the leading principles of the Knower Paradox will be true.
Explicitly, the assumption about knowledge and inferences are:
(1) If sentences ‘A’ are known, then 'a.'
(2) (1) is known?
(3) If ‘B’ is correctly inferred from ‘A’, and ‘A’ is known, then ‘B’ id known.
To give an absolutely explicit t derivation of the paradox by applying these principles to (S), we must add (contingent) assumptions to the effect that certain inferences have been done. Still, as we go through the argument of the Knower, these inferences are done. Even if we can somehow restrict such principles and construct a consistent formal logic of knowledge and inference, the paradoxical argument as expressed in the natural language still demands some explanation.
The usual proposals for dealing with the Liar often have their analogues for the Knower, e.g., that there is something wrong with a self-reference or that knowledge (or truth) is properly a predicate of propositions and not of sentences. The relies that show that some of these are not adequate are often parallel to those for the Liar paradox. In addition, one attempt of trying for reasons that seems to be an adequate solution for the Surprise Examination Paradox, namely the observation that ‘new knowledge can drive out knowledge’, but this does not seem to work on the Knower (Anderson, 1983).
There are a number of paradoxes of the Liar family. The simplest example is the sentence ‘This sentence is false’, which must be false if it is true, and true if it is false. One suggestion is that the sentence fails to say anything, but sentences that fail to say anything are at least not true. In fact case, we consider to sentences ‘This sentence is not true’, which, if it fails to say anything is not true, and hence (this kind of reasoning is sometimes called the strengthened Liar). Other versions of the Liar introduce pairs of sentences, as in a slogan on the front of a T-shirt saying ‘This sentence on the back of this T-shirt is false’, and one on the back saying ‘The sentence on the front of this T-shirt is true’. It is clear that each sentence individually is well formed, and were it not for the other, might have said something true. So any attempt to dismiss the paradox by sating that the sentence involved are meaningless will face problems.
Even so, the two approaches that have some hope of adequately dealing with this paradox is ‘hierarchy’ solutions and ‘truth-value gap’ solutions. According to the first, knowledge is structured into ‘levels’. It is argued that there be bo one-coherent notion expressed by the verb; knows’, but rather a whole series of notion of being knowable and wherefore knows, and so on (perhaps into transfinite), stated ion terms of predicate expressing such ‘ramified’ concepts and properly restricted, (1)-(3) lead to no contradictions. The main objections to this procedure are that the meaning of these levels has not been adequately explained and that the idea of such subscripts, even implicit, in a natural language is highly counterintuitive the ‘truth-value gap’ solution takes sentences such as (S) to lack truth-value. They are neither true nor false, but they do not express propositions. This defeats a crucial step in the reasoning used in the derivation of the paradoxes. Kripler (1986) has developed this approach in connection with the Liar and Asher and Kamp (1986) has worked out some details of a parallel solution to the Knower. The principal objection is that ‘strengthened’ or ‘super’ versions of the paradoxes tend to reappear when the solution itself is stated.
Since the paradoxical deduction uses only the properties (1)-(3) and since the argument is formally valid, any notion that satisfy these conditions will lead to a paradox. Thus, Grim (1988) notes that this may be read as ‘is known by an omniscient God’ and concludes that there is no coherent single notion of omniscience. Thomason (1980) observes that with some different conditions, analogous reasoning about belief can lead to paradoxical consequence.
Overall, it looks as if we should conclude that knowledge and truth are ultimately intrinsically ‘stratified’ concepts. It would seem that wee must simply accept the fact that these (and similar) concepts cannot be assigned of any-one fixed, finite or infinite. Still, the meaning of this idea certainly needs further clarification.
Its paradox arises when a set of apparently incontrovertible premises gives unacceptable or contradictory conclusions, to solve a paradox will involve showing either that there is a hidden flaw in the premises, or that the reasoning is erroneous, or that the apparently unacceptable conclusion can, in fact, be tolerated. Paradoxes are therefore important in philosophy, for until one is solved its shows that there is something about our reasoning and of concepts that we do not understand. Famous families of paradoxes include the ‘semantic paradoxes’ and ‘Zeno’s paradoxes. Art the beginning of the 20th century, paradox and other set-theoretical paradoxes led to the complete overhaul of the foundations of set theory, while the ’Sorites paradox’ has lead to the investigations of the semantics of vagueness and fuzzy logics.
It is, however, to what extent can analysis be informative? This is the question that gives a riser to what philosophers has traditionally called ‘the’ paradox of analysis. Thus, consider the following proposition:
(1) To be an instance of knowledge is to be an instance of justified true belief not essentially grounded in any falsehood.
(1) if true, illustrates an important type of philosophical analysis. For convenience of exposition, I will assume (1) is a correct analysis. The paradox arises from the fact that if the concept of justified true belief not been essentially grounded in any falsification is the analysand of the concept of knowledge, it would seem that they are the same concept and hence that:
(2) To be an instance of knowledge is to be as an instance of.
knowledge and would have to be the same propositions as (1). But then how can (1) be informative when (2) is not? This is what is called the first paradox of analysis. Classical writings’ on analysis suggests a second paradoxical analysis (Moore, 1942).
(3) An analysis of the concept of being a brother is that to be a
brother is to be a male sibling. If (3) is true, it would seem that the concept of being a brother would have to be the same concept as the concept of being a male sibling and tat:
(4) An analysis of the concept of being a brother is that to be a brother is to be a brother
would also have to be true and in fact, would have to be the same proposition as (3?). Yet (3) is true and (4) is false.
Both these paradoxes rest upon the assumptions that analysis is a relation between concepts, than one involving entity of other sorts, such as linguistic expressions, and tat in a true analysis, analysand and analysandum are the same concept. Both these assumptions are explicit in Moore, but some of Moore’s remarks hint at a solution to that of another statement of an analysis is a statement partly about the concept involved and partly about the verbal expressions used to express it. He says he thinks a solution of this sort is bound to be right, but fails to suggest one because he cannot see a way in which the analysis can be even partly about the expression (Moore, 1942).
Elsewhere, of such ways, as a solution to the second paradox, to which is explicating (3) as: (5) An analysis is given by saying that the verbal expression ‘χ is a brother’ expresses the same concept as is expressed by the conjunction of the verbal expressions ‘χ is male’ when used to express the concept of being male and ‘χ is a sibling’ when used to express the concept of being a sibling. (Ackerman, 1990).
An important point about (5) is as follows. Stripped of its philosophical jargon (‘analysis’, ‘concept’, ‘χ is a . . . ‘), (5) seems to state the sort of information generally stated in a definition of the verbal expression ‘brother’ in terms of the verbal expressions ‘male’ and ‘sibling’, where this definition is designed to draw upon listeners’ antecedent understanding of the verbal expression ‘male’ and ‘sibling’, and thus, to tell listeners what the verbal expression ‘brother’ really means, instead of merely providing the information that two verbal expressions are synonymous without specifying the meaning of either one. Thus, its solution to the second paradox seems to make the sort of analysis tat gives rise to this paradox matter of specifying the meaning of a verbal expression in terms of separate verbal expressions already understood and saying how the meanings of these separate, already-understood verbal expressions are combined. This corresponds to Moore’s intuitive requirement that an analysis should both specify the constituent concepts of the analysandum and tell how they are combined, but is this all there is to philosophical analysis?
To answer this question, we must note that, in addition too there being two paradoxes of analysis, there is two types of analyses that are relevant here. (There are also other types of analysis, such as reformatory analysis, where the analysand are intended to improve on and replace the analysandum. But since reformatory analysis involves no commitment to conceptual identity between analysand and analysandum, reformatory analysis does not generate a paradox of analysis and so will not concern ‘us’ here.) One way to recognize the difference between the two types of analysis concerning ‘us’ here is to focus on the difference between the two paradoxes. This can be done by means of the Frége-inspired sense-individuation condition, which is the condition that two expressions have the same sense if and only if they can be interchangeably ‘salva veritate’ whenever used in propositional attitude context. If the expressions for the analysands and the analysandum in (1) met this condition, (1) and (2) would not raise the first paradox, but the second paradox arises regardless of whether the expression for the analysand and the analysandum meet this condition. The second paradox is a matter of the failure of such expressions to be interchangeable salva veritate in sentences involving such contexts as ‘an analysis is given thereof. Thus, a solution (such as the one offered) that is aimed only at such contexts can solve the second paradox. This is clearly false for the first paradox, however, which will apply to all pairs of propositions expressed by sentences in which expressions for pairs of analysands and analysantia raising the first paradox is interchangeable. For example, consider the following proposition:
(6) Mary knows that some cats tail.
It is possible for John to believe (6) without believing:
(7) Mary has justified true belief, not essentially grounded in any falsehood, that some cats lack tails.
Yet this possibility clearly does not mean that the proposition that Mary knows that some casts lack tails is partly about language.
One approach to the first paradox is to argue that, despite the apparent epistemic inequivalence of (1) and (2), the concept of justified true belief not essentially grounded in any falsehood is still identical with the concept of knowledge (Sosa, 1983). Another approach is to argue that in the sort of analysis raising the first paradox, the analysand and analysandum is concepts that are different but that bear a special epistemic relation to each other. Elsewhere, the development is such an approach and suggestion that this analysand-analysandum relation has the following facets.
(a) The analysand and analysandum are necessarily coextensive, i.e., necessarily every instance of one is an instance of the other.
(b) The analysand and analysandum are knowable theoretical to be coextensive.
© The analysandum is simpler than the analysands a condition whose necessity is recognized in classical writings on analysis, such as, Langford, 1942.
(d) The analysand do not have the analysandum as a constituent.
Condition (d) rules out circularity. But since many valuable quasi-analyses are partly circular, e.g., knowledge is justified true belief supported by known reasons not essentially grounded in any falsehood, it seems best to distinguish between full analysis, from that of (d) is a necessary condition, and partial analysis, for which it is not.
These conditions, while necessary, are clearly insufficient. The basic problem is that they apply too many pairs of concepts that do not seem closely enough related epistemologically to count as analysand and analysandum. , such as the concept of being 6 and the concept of the fourth root of 1296. Accordingly, its solution upon what actually seems epistemologically distinctive about analyses of the sort under consideration, which is a certain way they can be justified. This is by the philosophical example-and-counterexample method, which is in a general term that goes as follows. ‘J’ investigates the analysis of K’s concept ‘Q’ (where ‘K’ can but need not be identical to ‘J’ by setting ‘K’ a series of armchair thought experiments, i.e., presenting ‘K’ with a series of simple described hypothetical test cases and asking ‘K’ questions of the form ‘If such-and-such where the case would this count as a case of Q? ‘J’ then contrasts the descriptions of the cases to which; K’ answers affirmatively with the description of the cases to which ‘K’ does not, and ‘J’ generalizes upon these descriptions to arrive at the concepts (if possible not including the analysandum) and their mode of combination that constitute the analysand of K’‘s concept ‘Q’. Since ‘J’ need not be identical with ‘K’, there is no requirement that ‘K’ himself be able to perform this generalization, to recognize its result as correct, or even to understand he analysand that is its result. This is reminiscent of Walton’s observation that one can simply recognize a bird as a swallow without realizing just what feature of the bird (beak, wing configurations, etc.) form the basis of this recognition. (The philosophical significance of this way of recognizing is discussed in Walton, 1972) ‘K’ answers the questions based solely on whether the described hypothetical cases just strike him as cases of ‘Q’. ‘J’ observes certain strictures in formulating the cases and questions. He makes the cases as simple as possible, to minimize the possibility of confusion and to minimize the likelihood that ‘K’ will draw upon his philosophical theories (or quasi-philosophical, a rudimentary notion if he is unsophisticated philosophically) in answering the questions. For this conflicting result, the conflict should ‘other things being equal’ be resolved in favour of the simpler case. ‘J’ makes the series of described cases wide-ranging and varied, with the aim of having it be a complete series, where a series is complete if and only if no case that is omitted in such that, if included, it would change the analysis arrived at. ‘J’ does not, of course, use as a test-case description anything complicated and general enough to express the analysand. There is no requirement that the described hypothetical test cases be formulated only in terms of what can be observed. Moreover, using described hypothetical situations as test cases enables ‘J’ to frame the questions in such a way as to rule out extraneous background assumption to a degree, thus, even if ‘K’ correctly believes that all and only P’s are R’s, the question of whether the concepts of P, R, or both enter the analysand of his concept ‘Q’ can be investigated by asking him such questions as ‘Suppose (even if it seems preposterous to you) that you were to find out that there was a ‘P’ that was not an ‘R’. Would you still consider it a case of Q?
Taking all this into account, the fifth necessary condition for this sort of analysand-analysandum relations is as follows:
(e) If ‘S’ is the analysand of ‘Q’, the proposition that necessarily all and only instances of ‘S’ are instances of ‘Q’ can be justified by generalizing from intuition about the correct answers to questions of the sort indicated about a varied and wide-ranging series of simple described hypothetical situations. It so does occur of antinomy, when we are able to argue for, or demonstrate, both a proposition and its contradiction, roughly speaking, a contradiction of a proposition ‘p’ is one that can be expressed in form ‘not-p’, or, if ‘p’ can be expressed in the form ‘not-q’, then a contradiction is one that can be expressed in the form ‘q’. Thus, e.g., if ‘p is 2 + 1 = 4, then 2 + 1 ≠ 4 is the contradictory of ‘p’, for 2 + 1 ≠ 4 can be expressed in the form not (2 + 1 = 4). If ‘p’ is 2 + 1 ≠ 4, then 2 + 1-4 is a contradictory of ‘p’, since 2 + 1 ≠ 4 can be expressed in the form not (2 + 1 = 4). This is, mutually, but contradictory propositions can be expressed in the form, ‘r’, ‘not-r’. The Principle of Contradiction says that mutually contradictory propositions cannot both be true and cannot both be false. Thus, by this principle, since if ‘p’ is true, ‘not-p’ is false, no proposition ‘p’ can be at once true and false (otherwise both ‘p’ and its contradictories would be false?). In particular, for any predicate ‘p’ and object ‘χ’, it cannot be that ‘p’; is at once true of ‘χ’ and false of χ? This is the classical formulation of the principle of contradiction, but it is nonetheless, that wherein, we cannot now fault either demonstrates. We would eventually hope to be able ‘to solve the antinomy’ by managing, through careful thinking and analysis, eventually to fault either or both demonstrations.
Many paradoxes are as an easy source of antinomies, for example, Zeno gave some famously lets say, logical-cum-mathematical arguments that might be interpreted as demonstrating that motion is impossible. But our eyes as it was, demonstrate motion (exhibit moving things) all the time. Where did Zeno go wrong? Where do our eyes go wrong? If we cannot readily answer at least one of these questions, then we are in antinomy. In the 'Critique of Pure Reason,' Kant gave demonstrations of the same kind -in the Zeno example they were obviously not the same kind of both, e.g., that the world has a beginning in time and space, and that the world has no beginning in time or space. He argues that both demonstrations are at fault because they proceed on the basis of ‘pure reason’ unconditioned by sense experience.
At this point, we display attributes to the theory of experience, as it is not possible to define in an illuminating way, however, we know what experiences are through acquaintances with some of our own, e.g., visual experiences of as afterimage, a feeling of physical nausea or a tactile experience of an abrasive surface (which might be caused by an actual surface -rough or smooth, or which might be part of a dream, or the product of a vivid sensory imagination). The essential feature of experience is it feels a certain way -that there is something that it is like to have it. We may refer to this feature of an experience as its ‘character’.
Another core feature of the sorts of experiences with which this may be of a concern, is that they have representational ‘content’. (Unless otherwise indicated, ‘experience’ will be reserved for their ‘contentual representations’.) The most obvious cases of experiences with content are sense experiences of the kind normally involved in perception. We may describe such experiences by mentioning their sensory modalities ad their contents, e.g., a gustatory experience (modality) of chocolate ice cream (content), but do so more commonly by means of perceptual verbs combined with noun phrases specifying their contents, as in ‘Macbeth saw a dagger’. This is, however, ambiguous between the perceptual claim ‘There was a (material) dagger in the world that Macbeth perceived visually’ and ‘Macbeth had a visual experience of a dagger’ (the reading with which we are concerned, as it is afforded by our imagination, or perhaps, experiencing mentally hallucinogenic imagery).
As in the case of other mental states and events with content, it is important to distinguish between the properties that and experience ‘represents’ and the properties that it ‘possesses’. To talk of the representational properties of an experience is to say something about its content, not to attribute those properties to the experience itself. Like every other experience, a visual; experience of a non-shaped square, of which is a mental event, and it is therefore not itself either irregular or is it square, even though it represents those properties. It is, perhaps, fleeting, pleasant or unusual, even though it does not represent those properties. An experience may represent a property that it possesses, and it may even do so in virtue of a rapidly changing (complex) experience representing something as changing rapidly. However, this is the exception and not the rule.
Which properties can be [directly] represented in sense experience is subject to debate. Traditionalists include only properties whose presence could not be doubted by a subject having appropriate experiences, e.g., colour and shape in the case of visual experience, and apparent shape, surface texture, hardness, etc., in the case of tactile experience. This view is natural to anyone who has an egocentric, Cartesian perspective in epistemology, and who wishes for pure data in experiences to serve as logically certain foundations for knowledge, especially to the immediate objects of perceptual awareness in or of sense-data, such categorized of colour patches and shapes, which are usually supposed distinct from surfaces of physical objectivity. Qualities of sense-data are supposed to be distinct from physical qualities because their perception is more relative to conditions, more certain, and more immediate, and because sense-data is private and cannot appear other than they are they are objects that change in our perceptual field when conditions of perception change. Physical objects remain constant.
Others who do not think that this wish can be satisfied, and who are more impressed with the role of experience in providing animisms with ecologically significant information about the world around them, claim that sense experiences represent properties, characteristic and kinds that are much richer and much more wide-ranging than the traditional sensory qualities. We do not see only colours and shapes, they tell ‘us’, but also earth, water, men, women and fire: We do not smell only odours, but also food and filth. There is no space here to examine the factors relevantly responsible to their choice of situational alternatives. Yet, this suggests that character and content are not really distinct, and there is a close tie between them. For one thing, the relative complexity of the character of sense experience places limitations upon its possible content, e.g., a tactile experience of something touching one’s left ear is just too simple to carry the same amount of content as typically convincing to an every day, visual experience. Moreover, the content of a sense experience of a given character depends on the normal causes of appropriately similar experiences, e.g., the sort of gustatory experience that we have when eating chocolate would be not represented as chocolate unless it was normally caused by chocolate. Granting a contingent ties between the character of an experience and its possible causal origins, once, again follows that its possible content is limited by its character.
Character and content are none the less irreducibly different, for the following reasons. (a) There are experiences that completely lack content, e.g., certain bodily pleasures. (b) Not every aspect of the character of an experience with content is relevant to that content, e.g., the unpleasantness of an aural experience of chalk squeaking on a board may have no representational significance. © Experiences in different modalities may overlap in content without a parallel overlap in character, e.g., visual and tactile experiences of circularity feel completely different. (d) The content of an experience with a given character may vary according to the background of the subject, e.g., a certain content ‘singing bird’ only after the subject has learned something about birds.
According to the act/object analysis of experience (which is a special case of the act/object analysis of consciousness), every experience involves an object of experience even if it has no material object. Two main lines of argument may be offered in support of this view, one ‘phenomenological’ and the other ‘semantic’.
In an outline, the phenomenological argument is as follows. Whenever we have an experience, even if nothing beyond the experience answers to it, we seem to be presented with something through the experience (which is itself diaphanous). The object of the experience is whatever is so presented to ‘us’-is that it is an individual thing, an event, or a state of affairs.
The semantic argument is that objects of experience are required in order to make sense of certain features of our talk about experience, including, in particular, the following. (I) Simple attributions of experience, e.g., ‘Rod is experiencing an oddity that is not really square but in appearance it seems more than likely a square’, this seems to be relational. (ii) We appear to refer to objects of experience and to attribute properties to them, e.g., ‘The after-image that John experienced was certainly odd’. (iii) We appear to quantify ov er objects of experience, e.g., ‘Macbeth saw something that his wife did not see’.
The act/object analysis faces several problems concerning the status of objects of experiences. Currently the most common view is that they are sense-data -private mental entities that actually posses the traditional sensory qualities represented by the experiences of which they are the objects. But the very idea of an essentially private entity is suspect. Moreover, since an experience may apparently represent something as having a determinable property, e.g., redness, without representing it as having any subordinate determinate property, e.g., any specific shade of red, a sense-datum may actually have a determinate property subordinate to it. Even more disturbing is that sense-data may have contradictory properties, since experiences can have contradictory contents. A case in point is the waterfall illusion: If you stare at a waterfall for a minute and then immediately fixate on a nearby rock, you are likely to have an experience of the rock’s moving upward while it remains in the same place. The sense-data theorist must either deny that there are such experiences or admit contradictory objects.
These problems can be avoided by treating objects of experience as properties. This, however, fails to do justice to the appearances, for experience seems not to present ‘us’ with properties embodied in individuals. The view that objects of experience is Meinongian objects accommodate this point. It is also attractive in as far as (1) it allows experiences to represent properties other than traditional sensory qualities, and (2) it allows for the identification of objects of experience and objects of perception in the case of experiences that constitute perception.
According to the act/object analysis of experience, every experience with content involves an object of experience to which the subject is related by an act of awareness (the event of experiencing that object). This is meant to apply not only to perceptions, which have material objects (whatever is perceived), but also to experiences like hallucinations and dream experiences, which do not. Such experiences none the less appear to represent something, and their objects are supposed to be whatever it is that they represent. Act/object theorists may differ on the nature of objects of experience, which have been treated as properties. Meinongian objects (which may not exist or have any form of being), and, more commonly private mental entities with sensory qualities. (The term ‘sense-data’ is now usually applied to the latter, but has also been used as a general term for objects of sense experiences, as in the work of G. E. Moore) Act/object theorists may also differ on the relationship between objects of experience and objects of perception. In terms of perception (of which we are ‘indirectly aware’) are always distinct from objects of experience (of which we are ‘directly aware’). Meinongian, however, may treat objects of perception as existing objects of experience. But sense-datum theorists must either deny that there are such experiences or admit contradictory objects. Still, most philosophers will feel that the Meinongian’s acceptance of impossible objects is too high a price to pay for these benefits.
A general problem for the act/object analysis is that the question of whether two subjects are experiencing one and the same thing (as opposed to having exactly similar experiences) appears to have an answer only on the assumption that the experiences concerned are perceptions with material objects. But in terms of the act/object analysis the question must have an answer even when this condition is not satisfied. (The answer is always negative on the sense-datum theory; it could be positive on other versions of the act/object analysis, depending on the facts of the case.)
In view of the above problems, the case for the act/object analysis should be reassessed. The phenomenological argument is not, on reflection, convincing, for it is easy enough to grant that any experience appears to present ‘us’ with an object without accepting that it actually does. The semantic argument is more impressive, but is none the less answerable. The seemingly relational structure of attributions of experience is a challenge dealt with below in connection with the adverbial theory. Apparent reference to and quantification over objects of experience can be handled by analysing them as reference to experiences themselves and quantification over experiences tacitly typed according to content. Thus, ‘The after-image that John experienced was colourfully appealing’ becomes ‘John’s after-image experience was an experience of colour’, and ‘Macbeth saw something that his wife did not see’ becomes ‘Macbeth had a visual experience that his wife did not have’.
Pure cognitivism attempts to avoid the problems facing the act/object analysis by reducing experiences to cognitive events or associated disposition, e.g., Susy’s experience of a rough surface beneath her hand might be identified with the event of her acquiring the belief that there is a rough surface beneath her hand, or, if she does not acquire this belief, with a disposition to acquire it that has somehow been blocked.
This position has attractions. It does full justice to the cognitive contents of experience, and to the important role of experience as a source of belief acquisition. It would also help clear the way for a naturalistic theory of mind, since there seems to be some prospect of a physicalist/functionalist account of belief and other intentional states. But pure cognitivism is completely undermined by its failure to accommodate the fact that experiences have a felt character that cannot be reduced to their content, as aforementioned.
The adverbial theory is an attempt to undermine the act/object analysis by suggesting a semantic account of attributions of experience that does not require objects of experience. Unfortunately, the oddities of explicit adverbializations of such statements have driven off potential supporters of the theory. Furthermore, the theory remains largely undeveloped, and attempted refutations have traded on this. It may, however, be founded on sound basis intuitions, and there is reason to believe that an effective development of the theory (which is merely hinting at) is possible.
The relevant intuitions are (1) that when we say that someone is experiencing ‘an A’, or has an experience ‘of an A’, we are using this content-expression to specify the type of thing that the experience is especially apt to fit, (2) that doing this is a matter of saying something about the experience itself (and maybe about the normal causes of like experiences), and (3) that it is no-good of reasons to posit of its position to presuppose that of any involvements, is that its descriptions of an object in which the experience is. Thus the effective role of the content-expression in a statement of experience is to modify the verb it compliments, not to introduce a special type of object.
Perhaps, the most important criticism of the adverbial theory is the ‘many property problem’, according to which the theory does not have the resources to distinguish between, e.g.,
(1) Frank has an experience of a brown triangle
and:
(2) Frank has an experience of brown and an experience of a triangle.
Which is entailed by (1) but does not entail it. The act/object analysis can easily accommodate the difference between (1) and (2) by claiming that the truth of (1) requires a single object of experience that is both brown and triangular, while that of the (2) allows for the possibility of two objects of experience, one brown and the other triangular, however, (1) is equivalent to:
(1*) Frank has an experience of something’s being both brown and triangular.
And (2) is equivalent to:
(2*) Frank has an experience of something’s being brown and an experience of something’s being triangular,
and the difference between these can be explained quite simply in terms of logical scope without invoking objects of experience. The Adverbialists may use this to answer the many-property problem by arguing that the phrase ‘a brown triangle’ in (1) does the same work as the clause ‘something’s being both brown and triangular’ in (1*). This is perfectly compatible with the view that it also has the ‘adverbial’ function of modifying the verb ‘has an experience of’, for it specifies the experience more narrowly just by giving a necessary condition for the satisfaction of the experience (the condition being that there are something both brown and triangular before Frank).
A final position that should be mentioned is the state theory, according to which a sense experience of an ‘A’ is an occurrent, non-relational state of the kind that the subject would be in when perceiving an ‘A’. Suitably qualified, this claim is no doubt true, but its significance is subject to debate. Here it is enough to remark that the claim is compatible with both pure cognitivism and the adverbial theory, and that state theorists are probably best advised to adopt adverbials as a means of developing their intuitions.
Yet, clarifying sense-data, if taken literally, is that which is given by the senses. But in response to the question of what exactly is so given, sense-data theories posit private showings in the consciousness of the subject. In the case of vision this would be a kind of inner picture show which itself only indirectly represents aspects of the external world that has in and of itself a worldly representation. The view has been widely rejected as implying that we really only see extremely thin coloured pictures interposed between our mind’s eye and reality. Modern approaches to perception tend to reject any conception of the eye as a camera or lense, simply responsible for producing private images, and stress the active life of the subject in and of the world, as the determinant of experience.
Nevertheless, the argument from illusion is of itself the usually intended directive to establish that certain familiar facts about illusion disprove the theory of perception called naïevity or direct realism. There are, however, many different versions of the argument that must be distinguished carefully. Some of these distinctions centre on the content of the premises (the nature of the appeal to illusion); others centre on the interpretation of the conclusion (the kind of direct realism under attack). Let ‘us’ set about by distinguishing the importantly different versions of direct realism which one might take to be vulnerable to familiar facts about the possibility of perceptual illusion.
A crude statement of direct realism might go as follows. In perception, we sometimes directly perceive physical objects and their properties, we do not always perceive physical objects by perceiving something ‘else’, e.g., a sense-datum. There are, however, difficulties with this formulation of the view, as for one thing a great many philosophers who are ‘not’ direct realists would admit that it is a mistake to describe people as actually ‘perceiving’ something other than a physical object. In particular, such philosophers might admit, we should never say that we perceive sense-data. To talk that way would be to suppose that we should model our understanding of our relationship to sense-data on our understanding of the ordinary use of perceptual verbs as they describe our relation to and of the physical world, and that is the last thing paradigm sense-datum theorists should want. At least, many of the philosophers who objected to direct realism would prefer to express in what they were of objecting too in terms of a technical (and philosophically controversial) concept such as ‘acquaintance’. Using such a notion, we could define direct realism this way: In ‘veridical’ experience we are directly acquainted with parts, e.g., surfaces, or constituents of physical objects. A less cautious verison of the view might drop the reference to veridical experience and claim simply that in all experience we are directly acquainted with parts or constituents of physical objects. The expressions ‘knowledge by acquaintance’ and ‘knowledge by description’, and the distinction they mark between knowing ‘things’ and knowing ‘about’ things, are generally associated with Bertrand Russell (1872-1970), that scientific philosophy required analysing many objects of belief as ‘logical constructions’ or ‘logical fictions’, and the programme of analysis that this inaugurated dominated the subsequent philosophy of logical atomism, and then of other philosophers, Russell’s 'The Analysis of Mind,' the mind itself is treated in a fashion reminiscent of Hume, as no more than the collection of neutral perceptions or sense-data that make up the flux of conscious experience, and that looked at another way that also was to make up the external world (neutral monism), but 'An Inquiry into Meaning and Truth' (1940) represents a more empirical approach to the problem. Yet, philosophers have perennially investigated this and related distinctions using varying terminology.
Distinction in our ways of knowing things, highlighted by Russell and forming a central element in his philosophy after the discovery of the theory of ‘definite descriptions’. A thing is known by acquaintance when there is direct experience of it. It is known by description if it can only be described as a thing with such-and-such properties. In everyday parlance, I might know my spouse and children by acquaintance, but know someone as ‘the first person born at sea’ only by description. However, for a variety of reasons Russell shrinks the area of things that can be known by acquaintance until eventually only current experience, perhaps my own self, and certain universals or meanings qualify anything else is known only as the thing that has such-and-such qualities.
Because one can interpret the relation of acquaintance or awareness as one that is not ‘epistemic’, i.e., not a kind of propositional knowledge, it is important to distinguish the above aforementioned views read as ontological theses from a view one might call ‘epistemological direct realism? In perception we are, on at least some occasions, non-inferentially justified in believing a proposition asserting the existence of a physical object. Since it is that these objects exist independently of any mind that might perceive them, and so it thereby rules out all forms of idealism and phenomenalism, which hold that there are no such independently existing objects. Its being to ‘direct’ realism rules out those views defended under the cubic of ‘critical naive realism’, or ‘representational realism’, in which there is some non-physical intermediary -usually called a ‘sense-datum’ or a ‘sense impression’ -that must first be perceived or experienced in order to perceive the object that exists independently of this perception. Often the distinction between direct realism and other theories of perception is explained more fully in terms of what is ‘immediately’ perceived, than ‘mediately’ perceived. What relevance does illusion have for these two forms of direct realism?
The fundamental premise of the arguments is from illusion seems to be the theses that things can appear to be other than they are. Thus, for example, straight sticks when immerged in water looks bent, a penny when viewed from certain perspective appears as an illusory spatial elliptic circularity, when something that is yellow when place under red fluorescent light looks red. In all of these cases, one version of the argument goes, it is implausible to maintain that what we are directly acquainted with is the real nature of the object in question. Indeed, it is hard to see how we can be said to be aware of the really physical object at all. In the above illusions the things we were aware of actually were bent, elliptical and red, respectively. But, by hypothesis, the really physical objects lacked these properties. Thus, we were not aware of the substantial reality of been real as a physical objects or theory.
So far, if the argument is relevant to any of the direct realisms distinguished above, it seems relevant only to the claim that in all sense experience we are directly acquainted with parts or constituents of physical objects. After all, even if in illusion we are not acquainted with physical objects, but their surfaces, or their constituents, why should we conclude anything about the hidden nature of our relations to the physical world in veridical experience?
We are supposed to discover the answer to this question by noticing the similarities between illusory experience and veridical experience and by reflecting on what makes illusion possible at all. Illusion can occur because the nature of the illusory experience is determined, not just by the nature of the object perceived, but also by other conditions, both external and internal as becoming of an inner or as the outer experience. But all of our sensations are subject to these causal influences and it would be gratuitous and arbitrary to select from indefinitely of many and subtly different perceptual experiences some special ones those that get ‘us’ in touch with the ‘real’ nature of the physical world and its surrounding surfaces. Red fluorescent light affects the way thing’s look, but so does sunlight. Water reflects light, but so does air. We have no unmediated access to the external world.
Still, why should we consider that we are aware of something other than a physical object in experience? Why should we not conclude that to be aware of a physical object is just to be appeared to by that object in a certain way? In its best-known form the adverbial theory of something proposes that the grammatical object of a statement attributing an experience to someone be analysed as an adverb. For example,
(A) Rod is experiencing a coloured square.
Is rewritten as?
Rod is experiencing, (coloured square)-ly
This is presented as an alternative to the act/object analysis, according to which the truth of a statement like (A) requires the existence of an object of experience corresponding to its grammatical object. A commitment to t he explicit adverbializations of statements of experience is not, however, essential to adverbials. The core of the theory consists, rather, in the denial of objects of experience (as opposed ti objects of perception) coupled with the view that the role of the grammatical object in a statement of experience is to characterize more fully te sort of experience that is being attributed to the subject. The claim, then, is that the grammatical object is functioning as a modifier and, in particular, as a modifier of a verb. If it as a special kind of adverb at the semantic level.
At this point, it might be profitable to move from considering the possibility of illusion to considering the possibility of hallucination. Instead of comparing paradigmatic veridical perception with illusion, let ‘us’ compare it with complete hallucination. For any experiences or sequence of experiences we take to be veridical, we can imagine qualitatively indistinguishable experiences occurring as part of a hallucination. For those who like their philosophical arguments spiced with a touch of science, we can imagine that our brains were surreptitiously removed in the night, and unbeknown to ‘us’ are being stimulated by a neurophysiologist so as to produce the very sensations that we would normally associate with a trip to the Grand Canyon. Currently permit ‘us’ into appealing of what we are aware of in this complete hallucination that is obvious that we are not awaken to the sparking awareness of physical objects, their surfaces, or their constituents. Nor can we even construe the experience as one of an object’s appearing to ‘us’ in a certain way. It is after all a complete hallucination and the objects we take to exist before ‘us’ are simply not there. But if we compare hallucinatory experience with the qualitatively indistinguishable veridical experiences, should we most conclude that it would be ‘special’ to suppose that in veridical experience we are aware of something radically different from what we are aware of in hallucinatory experience? Again, it might help to reflect on our belief that the immediate cause of hallucinatory experience and veridical experience might be the very same brain event, and it is surely implausible to suppose that the effects of this same cause are radically different -acquaintance with physical objects in the case of veridical experience: Something else in the case of hallucinatory experience.
This version of the argument from hallucination would seem to address straightforwardly the ontological versions of direct realism. The argument is supposed to convince ‘us’ that the ontological analysis of sensation in both veridical and hallucinatory experience should give ‘us’ the same results, but in the hallucinatory case there is no plausible physical object, constituent of a physical object, or surface of a physical object with which additional premiss we would also get an argument against epistemological direct realism. That premiss is that in a vivid hallucinatory experience we might have precisely the same justification for believing (falsely) what we do about the physical world as we do in the analogous, phenomenological indistinguishable, veridical experience. But our justification for believing that there is a table before ‘us’ in the course of a vivid hallucination of a table are surely not non-inferential in character. It certainly is not, if non-inferential justifications are supposedly a consist but yet an unproblematic access to the fact that makes true our belief -by hypothesis the table does not exist. But if the justification that hallucinatory experiences give ‘us’ the same as the justification we get from the parallel veridical experience, then we should not describe a veridical experience as giving ‘us non-inferential justification for believing in the existence of physical objects. In both cases we should say that we believe what we do about the physical world on the basis of what we know directly about the character of our experience.
In this brief space, I can only sketch some of the objections that might be raised against arguments from illusion and hallucination. That being said, let us begin with a criticism that accepts most of the presuppositions of the arguments. Even if the possibility of hallucination establishes that in some experience we are not acquainted with constituents of physical objects, it is not clear that it establishes that we are never acquainted with a constituent of physical objects. Suppose, for example, that we decide that in both veridical and hallucinatory experience we are acquainted with sense-data. At least some philosophers have tried to identify physical objects with ‘bundles’ of actual and possible sense-data.
To establish inductively that sensations are signs of physical objects one would have to observe a correlation between the occurrence of certain sensations and the existence of certain physical objects. But to observe such a correlation in order to establish a connection, one would need independent access to physical objects and, by hypothesis, this one cannot have. If one further adopts the verificationist’s stance that the ability to comprehend is parasitic on the ability to confirm, one can easily be driven to Hume’s conclusion:
Let us chance our imagination to the heavens, or to the utmost limits of the universe, we never really advance a step beyond ourselves, nor can conceivable any kind of existence, but those perceptions, which have appear̀d in that narrow compass. This is the universe of the imagination, nor have we have any idea but what is there Reduced. (Hume, 1739-40, pp. 67-8).
If one reaches such a conclusion but wants to maintain the intelligibility and verifiability of the assertion about the physical world, one can go either the idealistic or the phenomenalistic route.
However, hallucinatory experiences on this view is non-veridical precisely because the sense-data one is acquainted with in hallucination do not bear the appropriate relations to other actual and possible sense-data. But if such a view were plausible one could agree that one is acquainted with the same kind of a thing in veridical and non-veridical experience but insists that there is still a sense in which in veridical experience one is acquainted with constituents of a physical object?
A different sort of objection to the argument from illusion or hallucination concerns its use in drawing conclusions we have not stressed in the above discourses. I, have in mentioning this objection, may to underscore an important feature of the argument. At least some philosophers (Hume, for example) have stressed the rejection of direct realism on the road to an argument for general scepticism with respect to the physical world. Once one abandons epistemological; direct realisms, one has an uphill battle indicating how one can legitimately make the inferences from sensation to physical objects. But philosophers who appeal to the existence of illusion and hallucination to develop an argument for scepticism can be accused of having an epistemically self-defeating argument. One could justifiably infer sceptical conclusions from the existence of illusion and hallucination only if one justifiably believed that such experiences exist, but if one is justified in believing that illusion exists, one must be justified in believing at least, some facts about the physical world (for example, that straight sticks look bent in water). The key point to stress in relying to such arguments is, that strictly speaking, the philosophers in question need only appeal to the ‘possibility’ of a vivid illusion and hallucination. Although it would have been psychologically more difficult to come up with arguments from illusion and hallucination if we did not believe that we actually had such experiences, I take it that most philosophers would argue that the possibility of such experiences is enough to establish difficulties with direct realism. Indeed, if one looks carefully at the argument from hallucination discussed earlier, one sees that it nowhere makes any claims about actual cases of hallucinatory experience.
Another reply to the attack on epistemological direct realism focuses on the implausibility of claiming that there is any process of ‘inference’ wrapped up in our beliefs about the world and its surrounding surfaces. Even if it is possible to give a phenomenological description of the subjective character of sensation, it requires a special sort of skill that most people lack. Our perceptual beliefs about the physical world are surely direct, at least in the sense that they are unmediated by any sort of conscious inference from premisses describing something other than a physical object. The appropriate reply to this objection, however, is simply to acknowledge the relevant phenomenological fact and point out that from the perceptive of epistemologically direct realism, the philosopher is attacking a claim about the nature of our justification for believing propositions about the physical world. Such philosophers need carry out of any comment at all about the causal genesis of such beliefs.
As mentioned that proponents of the argument from illusion and hallucination have often intended it to establish the existence of sense-data, and many philosophers have attacked the so-called sense-datum inference presupposed in some statements of the argument. When the stick looked bent, the penny looked elliptical and the yellow object looked red, the sense-datum theorist wanted to infer that there was something bent, elliptical and red, respectively. But such an inference is surely suspect. Usually, we do not infer that because something appears to have a certain property, that affairs that affecting something that has that property. When in saying that Jones looks like a doctor, I surely would not want anyone to infer that there must actually be someone there who is a doctor. In assessing this objection, it will be important to distinguish different uses words like ‘appears’ and ‘looks’. At least, sometimes to say that something looks ‘F’ way and the sense-datum inference from an F ‘appearance’ in this sense to an actual ‘F’ would be hopeless. However, it also seems that we use the ‘appears’/’looks’ terminology to describe the phenomenological character of our experience and the inference might be more plausible when the terms are used this way. Still, it does seem that the arguments from illusion and hallucination will not by themselves constitute strong evidence for sense-datum theory. Even if one concludes that there is something common to both the hallucination of a red thing and a veridical visual experience of a red thing, one need not describe a common constituent as awarenesses of something red. The adverbial theorist would prefer to construe the common experiential state as ‘being appeared too redly’, a technical description intended only to convey the idea that the state in question need not be analysed as relational in character. Those who opt for an adverbial theory of sensation need to make good the claim that their artificial adverbs can be given a sense that is not parasitic upon an understanding of the adjectives transformed into verbs. Still, other philosophers might try to reduce the common element in veridical and non-veridical experience to some kind of intentional state. More like belief or judgement. The idea here is that the only thing common to the two experiences is the fact that in both I spontaneously takes there to be present an object of a certain kind.
The selfsame objections can be started within the general framework presupposed by proponents of the arguments from illusion and hallucination. A great many contemporary philosophers, however, uncomfortable with the intelligibility of the concepts needed to make sense of the theories attacked even. Thus, at least, some who object to the argument from illusion do so not because they defend direct realism. Rather they think there is something confused about all this talk of direct awareness or acquaintance. Contemporary Externalists, for example, usually insist that we understand epistemic concepts by appeal: To nomologically connections. On such a view the closest thing to direct knowledge would probably be something by other beliefs. If we understand direct knowledge this way, it is not clar how the phenomena of illusion and hallucination would be relevant to claim that on, at least some occasions our judgements about the physical world are reliably produced by processes that do not take as their input beliefs about something else.
The expressions ‘knowledge by acquaintance’ and ‘knowledge by description’, and the distinction they mark between knowing ‘things’ and knowing ‘about’ things, are now generally associated with Bertrand Russell. However, John Grote and Hermann von Helmholtz had earlier and independently to mark the same distinction, and William James adopted Grote’s terminology in his investigation of the distinction. Philosophers have perennially investigated this and related distinctions using varying terminology. Grote introduced the distinction by noting that natural languages ‘distinguish between these two applications of the notion of knowledge, the one being of the Greek ϒνѾναι, nosene, Kennen, connaître, the other being ‘wissen’, ‘savoir’ (Grote, 1865). On Grote’s account, the distinction is a natter of degree, and there are three sorts of dimensions of variability: Epistemic, causal and semantic.
We know things by experiencing them, and knowledge of acquaintance (Russell changed the preposition to ‘by’) is epistemically priori to and has a relatively higher degree of epistemic justification than knowledge about things. Indeed, sensation has ‘the one great value of trueness or freedom from mistake’ (1900, p. 206).
A thought (using that term broadly, to mean any mental state) constituting knowledge of acquaintance with a thing is more or less causally proximate to sensations caused by that thing, while a thought constituting knowledge about the thing is more or less distant causally, being separated from the thing and experience of it by processes of attention and inference. At the limit, if a thought is maximally of the acquaintance type, it is the first mental state occurring in a perceptual causal chain originating in the object to which the thought refers, i.e., it is a sensation. The thing’s presented to ‘us’ in sensation and of which we have knowledge of acquaintance include ordinary objects in the external world, such as the sun.
Grote contrasted the imagistic thoughts involved in knowledge of acquaintance with things, with the judgements involved in knowledge about things, suggesting that the latter but not the former are mentally contentual by a specified state of affairs. Elsewhere, however, he suggested that every thought capable of constituting knowledge of or about a thing involves a form, idea, or what we might call contentual propositional content, referring the thought to its object. Whether contentual or not, thoughts constituting knowledge of acquaintance with a thing are relatively indistinct, although this indistinctness does not imply incommunicably. On the other hand, thoughts constituting distinctly, as a result of ‘the application of notice or attention’ to the ‘confusion or chaos’ of sensation (1900, pp. 206-7). Grote did not have an explicit theory on reference, the relation by which a thought is ‘of’ or ‘about’ a specific thing. Nor did he explain how thoughts can be more or less indistinct.
Helmholtz held unequivocally that all thoughts capable of constituting knowledge, whether ‘knowledge that has to do with Notions’ (Wissen) or ‘mere familiarity with phenomena’ (Kennen), is judgements or, we may say, have conceptual propositional contents. Where Grote saw a difference between distinct and indistinct thoughts, Helmholtz found a difference between precise judgements that are expressible in words and equally precise judgements that, in principle, are not expressible in words, and so are not communicable (Helmholtz, 19620. As happened, James was influenced by Helmholtz and, especially, by Grote. (James, 1975). Taken on the latter’s terminology, James agreed with Grote that the distinction between knowledge of acquaintance with things and knowledge about things involves a difference in the degree of vagueness or distinctness of thoughts, though he, too, said little to explain how such differences are possible. At one extreme is knowledge of acquaintance with people and things, and with sensations of colour, flavour, spatial extension, temporal duration, effort and perceptible difference, unaccompanied by knowledge about these things. Such pure knowledge of acquaintance is vague and inexplicit. Movement away from this extreme, by a process of notice and analysis, yields a spectrum of less vague, more explicit thoughts constituting knowledge about things.
All the same, the distinction was not merely a relative one for James, as he was more explicit than Grote in not imputing content to every thought capable of constituting knowledge of or about things. At the extreme where a thought constitutes pure knowledge of acquaintance with a thing, there is a complete absence of conceptual propositional content in the thought, which is a sensation, feeling or precept, of which he renders the thought incommunicable. James’ reasons for positing an absolute discontinuity in between pure cognition and preferable knowledge of acquaintance and knowledge at all about things seem to have been that any theory adequate to the facts about reference must allow that some reference is not conventionally mediated, that conceptually unmediated reference is necessary if there are to be judgements at all about things and, especially, if there are to be judgements about relations between things, and that any theory faithful to the common person’s ‘sense of life’ must allow that some things are directly perceived.
James made a genuine advance over Grote and Helmholtz by analysing the reference relation holding between a thought and of him to specific things of or about which it is knowledge. In fact, he gave two different analyses. On both analyses, a thought constituting knowledge about a thing refers to and is knowledge about ‘a reality, whenever it actually or potentially ends in’ a thought constituting knowledge of acquaintance with that thing (1975). The two analyses differ in their treatments of knowledge of acquaintance. On James’s first analysis, reference in both sorts of knowledge is mediated by causal chains. A thought constituting pure knowledge of acquaintances with a thing refers to and is knowledge of ‘whatever reality it directly or indirectly operates on and resembles’ (1975). The concepts of a thought ‘operating on’ a thing or ‘terminating in’ another thought are causal, but where Grote found teleology and final causes. On James’s later analysis, the reference involved in knowledge of acquaintance with a thing is direct. A thought constituting knowledge of acquaintance with a thing either is that thing, or has that thing as a constituent, and the thing and the experience of it is identical (1975, 1976).
James further agreed with Grote that pure knowledge of acquaintance with things, i.e., sensory experience, is epistemologically priori to knowledge about things. While the epistemic justification involved in knowledge about things rests on the foundation of sensation, all thoughts about things are fallible and their justification is augmented by their mutual coherence. James was unclear about the precise epistemic status of knowledge of acquaintance. At times, thoughts constituting pure knowledge of acquaintance are said to posses ‘absolute veritableness’ (1890) and ‘the maximal conceivable truth’ (1975), suggesting that such thoughts are genuinely cognitive and that they provide an infallible epistemic foundation. At other times, such thoughts are said not to bear truth-values, suggesting that ‘knowledge’ of acquaintance is not genuine knowledge at all, but only a non-cognitive necessary condition of genuine knowledge, knowledge about things (1976). Russell understood James to hold the latter view.
Russell agreed with Grote and James on the following points: First, knowing things involves experiencing them. Second, knowledge of things by acquaintance is epistemically basic and provides an infallible epistemic foundation for knowledge about things. (Like James, Russell vacillated about the epistemic status of knowledge by acquaintance, and it eventually was replaced at the epistemic foundation by the concept of noticing.) Third, knowledge about things is more articulate and explicit than knowledge by acquaintance with things. Fourth, knowledge about things is causally removed from knowledge of things by acquaintance, by processes of reelection, analysis and inference (1911, 1913, 1959).
But, Russell also held that the term ‘experience’ must not be used uncritically in philosophy, on account of the ‘vague, fluctuating and ambiguous’ meaning of the term in its ordinary use. The precise concept found by Russell ‘in the nucleus of this uncertain patch of meaning’ is that of direct occurrent experience of a thing, and he used the term ‘acquaintance’ to express this relation, though he used that term technically, and not with all its ordinary meaning (1913). Nor did he undertake to give a constitutive analysis of the relation of acquaintance, though he allowed that it may not be unanalysable, and did characterize it as a generic concept. If the use of the term ‘experience’ is restricted to expressing the determinate core of the concept it ordinarily expresses, then we do not experience ordinary objects in the external world, as we commonly think and as Grote and James held we do. In fact, Russell held, one can be acquainted only with one’s sense-data, i.e., particular colours, sounds, etc.), one’s occurrent mental states, universals, logical forms, and perhaps, oneself.
Russell agreed with James that knowledge of things by acquaintance ‘is essentially simpler than any knowledge of truths, and logically independent of knowledge of truths’ (1912, 1929). The mental states involved when one is acquainted with things do not have propositional contents. Russell’s reasons here seem to have been similar to James’s. Conceptually unmediated reference to particulars necessary for understanding any proposition mentioning a particular, e.g., 1918-19, and, if scepticism about the external world is to be avoided, some particulars must be directly perceived (1911). Russell vacillated about whether or not the absence of propositional content renders knowledge by acquaintance incommunicable.
Russell agreed with James that different accounts should be given of reference as it occurs in knowledge by acquaintance and in knowledge about things, and that in the former case, reference is direct. But Russell objected on a number of grounds to James’s causal account of the indirect reference involved in knowledge about things. Russell gave a descriptional rather than a causal analysis of that sort of reference: A thought is about a thing when the content of the thought involves a definite description uniquely satisfied by the thing referred to. Indeed, he preferred to speak of knowledge of things by description, rather than knowledge about things.
Russell advanced beyond Grote and James by explaining how thoughts can be more or less articulate and explicit. If one is acquainted with a complex thing without being aware of or acquainted with its complexity, the knowledge one has by acquaintance with that thing is vague and inexplicit. Reflection and analysis can lead one to distinguish constituent parts of the object of acquaintance and to obtain progressively more comprehensible, explicit, and complete knowledge about it (1913, 1918-19, 1950, 1959).
Apparent facts to be explained about the distinction between knowing things and knowing about things are there. Knowledge about things is essentially propositional knowledge, where the mental states involved refer to specific things. This propositional knowledge can be more or less comprehensive, can be justified inferentially and on the basis of experience, and can be communicated. Knowing things, on the other hand, involves experience of things. This experiential knowledge provides an epistemic basis for knowledge about things, and in some sense is difficult or impossible to communicate, perhaps because it is more or less vague.
If one is unconvinced by James and Russell’s reasons for holding that experience of and reference work to things that are at least sometimes direct. It may seem preferable to join Helmholtz in asserting that knowing things and knowing about things both involve propositional attitudes. To do so would at least allow one the advantages of unified accounts of the nature of knowledge (propositional knowledge would be fundamental) and of the nature of reference: Indirect reference would be the only kind. The two kinds of knowledge might yet be importantly different if the mental states involved have different sorts of causal origins in the thinker’s cognitive faculties, involve different sorts of propositional attitudes, and differ in other constitutive respects relevant to the relative vagueness and communicability of the mental sates.
In any of cases, perhaps most, Foundationalism is a view concerning the ‘structure’ of the system of justified belief possessed by a given individual. Such a system is divided into ‘foundation’ and ‘superstructure’, so related that beliefs in the latter depend on the former for their justification but not vice versa. However, the view is sometimes stated in terms of the structure of ‘knowledge’ than of justified belief. If knowledge is true justified belief (plus, perhaps, some further condition), one may think of knowledge as exhibiting a Foundationalist structure by virtue of the justified belief it involves. In any event, the construing doctrine concerning the primary justification is layed the groundwork as affording the efforts of belief, though in feeling more free, we are to acknowledge the knowledgeable infractions that will from time to time be worthy in showing to its recognition.
The first step toward a more explicit statement of the position is to distinguish between ‘mediate’ (indirect) and ‘immediate’ (direct) justification of belief. To say that a belief is mediately justified is to any that it s justified by some appropriate relation to other justified beliefs, i.e., by being inferred from other justified beliefs that provide adequate support for it, or, alternatively, by being based on adequate reasons. Thus, if my reason for supposing that you are depressed is that you look listless, speak in an unaccustomedly flat tone of voice, exhibit no interest in things you are usually interested in, etc., then my belief that you are depressed is justified, if, at all, by being adequately supported by my justified belief that you look listless, speak in a flat tone of voice. . . .
A belief is immediately justified, on the other hand, if its justification is of another sort, e.g., if it is justified by being based on experience or if it is ‘self-justified’. Thus my belief that you look listless may not be based on anything else I am justified in believing but just on the cay you look to me. And my belief that 2 + 3 = 5 may be justified not because I infer it from something else, I justifiably believe, but simply because it seems obviously true to me.
In these terms we can put the thesis of Foundationalism by saying that all mediately justified beliefs owe their justification, ultimately to immediately justified beliefs. To get a more detailed idea of what this amounts to it will be useful to consider the most important argument for Foundationalism, the regress argument. Consider a mediately justified belief that ‘p’ (we are using lowercase letters as dummies for belief contents). It is, by hypothesis, justified by its relation to one or more other justified beliefs, ‘q’ and ‘r’. Now what justifies each of these, e.g., q? If it too is mediately justified that is because it is related accordingly to one or subsequent extra justified beliefs, e.g., ‘s’. By virtue of what is ‘s’ justified? If it is mediately justified, the same problem arises at the next stage. To avoid both circularity and an infinite regress, we are forced to suppose that in tracing back this chain we arrive at one or more immediately justified beliefs that stop the regress, since their justification does not depend on any further justified belief.
According to the infinite regress argument for Foundationalism, if every justified belief could be justified only by inferring it from some further justified belief, there would have to be an infinite regress of justifications: Because there can be no such regress, there must be justified beliefs that are not justified by appeal to some further justified belief. Instead, they are non-inferentially or immediately justified, they are basic or foundational, the ground on which all our other justifiable beliefs are to rest.
Variants of this ancient argument have persuaded and continue to persuade many philosophers that the structure of epistemic justification must be foundational. Aristotle recognized that if we are to have knowledge of the conclusion of an argument in the basis of its premisses, we must know the premisses. But if knowledge of a premise always required knowledge of some further proposition, then in order to know the premise we would have to know each proposition in an infinite regress of propositions. Since this is impossible, there must be some propositions that are known, but not by demonstration from further propositions: There must be basic, non-demonstrable knowledge, which grounds the rest of our knowledge.
Foundationalist enthusiasms for regress arguments often overlook the fact that they have also been advanced on behalf of scepticism, relativism, fideisms, conceptualism and Coherentism. Sceptics agree with foundationalist’s both that there can be no infinite regress of justifications and that nevertheless, there must be one if every justified belief can be justified only inferentially, by appeal to some further justified belief. But sceptics think all true justification must be inferential in this way -the foundationalist’s talk of immediate justification merely overshadows the requiring of any rational justification properly so-called. Sceptics conclude that none of our beliefs is justified. Relativists follow essentially the same pattern of sceptical argument, concluding that our beliefs can only be justified relative to the arbitrary starting assumptions or presuppositions either of an individual or of a form of life.
Regress arguments are not limited to epistemology. In ethics there is Aristotle’s regress argument (in 'Nichomachean Ethics') for the existence of a single end of rational action. In metaphysics there is Aquinas’s regress argument for an unmoved mover: If a mover that it is in motion, there would have to be an infinite sequence of movers each moved by a further mover, since there can be no such sequence, there is an unmoved mover. A related argument has recently been given to show that not every state of affairs can have an explanation or cause of the sort posited by principles of sufficient reason, and such principles are false, for reasons having to do with their own concepts of explanation (Post, 1980; Post, 1987).
The premise of which in presenting Foundationalism as a view concerning the structure ‘that is in fact exhibited’ by the justified beliefs of a particular person has sometimes been construed in ways that deviate from each of the phrases that are contained in the previous sentence. Thus, it is sometimes taken to characterise the structure of ‘our knowledge’ or ‘scientific knowledge’, rather than the structure of the cognitive system of an individual subject. As for the other phrase, Foundationalism is sometimes thought of as concerned with how knowledge (justified belief) is acquired or built up, than with the structure of what a person finds herself with at a certain point. Thus some people think of scientific inquiry as starting with the recordings of observations (immediately justified observational beliefs), and then inductively inferring generalizations. Again, Foundationalism is sometimes thought of not as a description of the finished product or of the mode of acquisition, but rather as a proposal for how the system could be reconstructed, an indication of how it could all be built up from immediately justified foundations. This last would seem to be the kind of Foundationalism we find in Descartes. However, Foundationalism is most usually thought of in contemporary Anglo-American epistemology as an account of the structure actually exhibited by an individual’s system of justified belief.
It should also be noted that the term is used with a deplorable looseness in contemporary, literary circles, even in certain corners of the philosophical world, to refer to anything from realism -the view that reality has a definite constitution regardless of how we think of it or what we believe about it to various kinds of ‘absolutism’ in ethics, politics, or wherever, and even to the truism that truth is stable (if a proposition is true, it stays true).
Since Foundationalism holds that all mediate justification rests on immediately justified beliefs, we may divide variations in forms of the view into those that have to do with the immediately justified beliefs, the ‘foundations’, and those that have to do with the modes of derivation of other beliefs from these, how the ‘superstructure’ is built up. The most obvious variation of the first sort has to do with what modes of immediate justification are recognized. Many treatments, both pro and con, are parochially restricted to one form of immediate justification -self-evidence, self-justification (self-warrant), justification by a direct awareness of what the belief is about, or whatever. It is then unwarrantly assumed by critics that disposing of that one form will dispose of Foundationalism generally (Alston, 1989, ch. 3). The emphasis historically has been on beliefs that simply ‘record’ what is directly given in experience (Lewis, 1946) and on self-evident propositions (Descartes’ ‘clear and distinct perceptions and Locke’s ‘Perception of the agreement and disagreement of ideas’). But self-warrant has also recently received a great deal of attention (Alston 1989), and there is also a reliabilist version according to which a belief can be immediately justified just by being acquired by a reliable belief-forming process that does not take other beliefs as inputs (BonJour, 1985, ch. 3).
Foundationalisms also differ as to what further constraints, if any, are put on foundations. Historically, it has been common to require of the foundations of knowledge that they exhibit certain ‘epistemic immunities’, as we might put it, immunity from error, refutation or doubt. Thus Descartes, along with many other seventeenth and eighteenth-century philosophers, took it that any knowledge worthy of the name would be based on cognations the truth of which is guaranteed (infallible), that were maximally stable, immune from ever being shown to be mistaken, as incorrigible, and concerning which no reasonable doubt could be raised (indubitable). Hence the search in the 'Meditations' for a divine guarantee of our faculty of rational intuition. Criticisms of Foundationalism have often been directed at these constraints: Lehrer, 1974, Will, 1974? Both responded to in Alston, 1989. It is important to realize that a position that is Foundationalist in a distinctive sense can be formulated without imposing any such requirements on foundations.
There are various ways of distinguishing types of Foundationalist epistemology by the use of the variations we have been enumerating. Plantinga (1983), has put forwards an influential innovation of criterial Foundationalism, specified in terms of limitations on the foundations. He construes this as a disjunction of ‘ancient and medieval Foundationalism’, which takes foundations to comprise what is self-evidently and ‘evident to he senses’, and ‘modern Foundationalism’ that replaces ‘evidently to the senses’ with ‘incorrigible’, which in practice was taken to apply only to beliefs about one’s present states of consciousness. Plantinga himself developed this notion in the context of arguing those items outside this territory, in particular certain beliefs about God, could also be immediately justified. A popular recent distinction is between what is variously called ‘strong’ or ‘extreme’ Foundationalism and ‘moderate’, ‘modest’ or ‘minimal’ Foundationalism, with the distinction depending on whether various epistemic immunities are required of foundations. Finally, its distinction is ‘simple’ and ‘iterative’ Foundationalism (Alston, 1989), depending on whether it is required of a foundation only that it is immediately justified, or whether it is also required that the higher level belief that the firmer belief is immediately justified is itself immediately justified. Suggesting only that the plausibility of the stronger requirement stems from a ‘level confusion’ between beliefs on different levels.
The classic opposition is between Foundationalism and Coherentism. Coherentism denies any immediate justification. It deals with the regress argument by rejecting ‘linear’ chains of justification and, in effect, taking the total system of belief to be epistemically primary. A particular belief is justified yo the extent that it is integrated into a coherent system of belief. More recently into a pragmatist like John Dewey has developed a position known as contextualism, which avoids ascribing any overall structure to knowledge. Questions concerning justification can only arise in particular context, defined in terms of assumptions that are simply taken for granted, though they can be questioned in other contexts, where other assumptions will be privileged.
Foundationalism can be attacked both in its commitment to immediate justification and in its claim that all mediately justified beliefs ultimately depend on the former. Though, it is the latter that is the position’s weakest point, most of the critical fire has been detected to the former. As pointed out about much of this criticism has been directly against some particular form of immediate justification, ignoring the possibility of other forms. Thus, much anti-foundationalist artillery has been directed at the ‘myth of the given’. The idea that facts or things are ‘given’ to consciousness in a pre-conceptual, pre-judgmental mode, and that beliefs can be justified on that basis (Sellars, 1963). The most prominent general argument against immediate justification is a ‘level ascent’ argument, according to which whatever is taken ti immediately justified a belief that the putative justifier has in supposing to do so. Hence, since the justification of the higher level belief after all (BonJour, 1985). We lack adequate support for any such higher level requirements for justification, and if it were imposed we would be launched on an infinite undergo regress, for a similar requirement would hold equally for the higher level belief that the original justifier was efficacious.
Coherence is a major player in the theatre of knowledge. There are coherence theories of belief, truth, and justification. These combine in various ways to yield theories of knowledge. We will proceed from belief through justification to truth. Coherence theories of belief are concerned with the content of beliefs. Consider a belief you now have, the beliefs that you are reading a page in a book, so what makes that belief the belief that it is? What makes it the belief that you are reading a page in a book than the belief hat you have a monster in the garden?
One answer is that the belief has a coherent place or role in a system of beliefs. Perception has an influence on belief. You respond to sensory stimuli by believing that you are reading a page in a book rather than believing that you have a centaur in the garden. Belief has an influence on action. You will act differently if you believe that you are reading a page than if you believe something about a centaur. Perspicacity and action undermine the content of belief, however, the same stimuli may produce various beliefs and various beliefs may produce the same action. The role that gives the belief the content it has in the role it plays in a network of relations to the beliefs, the role in inference and implications, for example, I refer different things from believing that I am inferring different things from believing that I am reading a page in a book than from any other beliefs, just as I infer that belief from any other belief, just as I infer that belief from different things than I infer other beliefs from.
The input of perception and the output of an action supplement the centre role of the systematic relations the belief has to other beliefs, but it is the systematic relations that give the belief the specific content it has. They are the fundamental source of the content of beliefs. That is how coherence comes in. A belief has the content that it does because of the way in which it coheres within a system of beliefs (Rosenberg, 1988). We might distinguish weak coherence theories of the content of beliefs from strong coherence theories. Weak coherence theories affirm that coherences are one-determinant of the content of belief. Strong coherence theories of the contents of belief affirm that coherence is the sole determinant of the content of belief.
When we turn from belief to justification, we are in confronting a corresponding group of similarities fashioned by their coherences motifs. What makes one belief justified and another not? The answer is the way it coheres with the background system of beliefs. Again, there is a distinction between weak and strong theories of coherence. Weak theories tell ‘us’ that the way in which a belief coheres with a background system of beliefs is one determinant of justification, other typical determinants being perception, memory and intuition. Strong theories, by contrast, tell ‘us’ that justification is solely a matter of how a belief coheres with a system of beliefs. There is, however, another distinction that cuts across the distinction between weak and strong coherence theories of justification. It is the distinction between positive and negative coherence theories (Pollock, 1986). A positive coherence theory tells ‘us’ that if a belief coheres with a background system of belief, then the belief is justified. A negative coherence theory tells ‘us’ that if a belief fails to cohere with a background system of beliefs, then the belief is not justified. We might put this by saying that, according to a positive coherence theory, coherence has the power to produce justification, while according to a negative coherence theory, coherence has only the power to nullify justification.
A strong coherence theory of justification is a combination of a positive and a negative theory that tells ‘us’ that a belief is justified if and only if it coheres with a background system of beliefs.
Traditionally, belief has been of epistemological interest in its propositional guise: ‘S’ believes that ‘p’, where ‘p’ is a proposition toward which an agent, ‘S’, exhibits an attitude of acceptance. Not all belief is of this sort. If I trust what you say, I believe you. And someone may believe in Mrs. Thatcher, or in a free-market economy, or in God. It is sometimes supposed that all belief is ‘reducible’ to propositional belief, belief-that. Thus, my believing you might be thought a matter of my believing, perhaps, that what you say is true, and your belief in free-markets or in God, a matter of your believing that free-market economy’s are desirable or that God exists.
It is doubtful, however, that non-propositional believing can, in every case, be reduced in this way. Debate on this point has tended to focus on an apparent distinction between ‘belief-that’ and ‘belief-in’, and the application of this distinction to belief in God. Some philosophers have followed Aquinas ©. 1225-74), in supposing that to believe in, and God is simply to believe that certain truths hold: That God exists, that he is benevolent, etc. Others (e.g., Hick, 1957) argue that belief-in is a distinctive attitude, one that includes essentially an element of trust. More commonly, belief-in has been taken to involve a combination of propositional belief together with some further attitude.
H.H. Price (1969) defends the claims that there are different sorts of ‘belief-in’, some, but not all, reducible to ‘beliefs-that’. If you believe in God, you believe that God exists, that God is good, etc., but, according to Price, your belief involves, in addition, a certain complex pro-attitude toward its object. One might attempt to analyse this further attitude in terms of additional beliefs-that: ‘S’ believes in ‘χ’ just in case (1) ‘S’ believes that ‘χ’ exists (and perhaps holds further factual beliefs about (χ): (2)’S’ believes that ‘χ’ is good or valuable in some respect, and (3) ‘S’ believes that χ’s being good or valuable in this respect is itself is a good thing. An analysis of this sort, however, fails adequately to capture the further affective component of belief-in. Thus, according to Price, if you believe in God, your belief is not merely that certain truths hold, you posses, in addition, an attitude of commitment and trust toward God.
Notoriously, belief-in outruns the evidence for the corresponding belief-that. Does this diminish its rationality? If belief-in presupposes belief-that, it might be thought that the evidential standards for the former must be, at least as high as standards for the latter. And any additional pro-attitude might be thought to require a further layer of justification not required for cases of belief-that.
Some philosophers have argued that, at least for cases in which belief-in is synonymous with faith (or faith-in), evidential thresholds for constituent propositional beliefs are diminished. You may reasonably have faith in God or Mrs. Thatcher, even though beliefs about their respective attitudes, were you to harbour them, would be evidentially substandard.
Belief-in may be, in general, less susceptible to alternations in the face of unfavourable evidence than belief-that. A believer who encounters evidence against God’s existence may remain unshaken in his belief, in part because the evidence does not bear on his pro-attitude. So long as this is united with his belief that God exists, the belief may survive epistemic buffeting-and reasonably so in a way that an ordinary propositional belief-that would not.
At least two large sets of questions are properly treated under the heading of epistemological religious beliefs. First, there is a set of broadly theological questions about the relationship between faith and reason, between what one knows by way of reason, broadly construed, and what one knows by way of faith. These theological questions may as we call theological, because, of course, one will find them of interest only if one thinks that in fact there is such a thing as faith, and that we do know something by way of it. Secondly, there is a whole set of questions having to do with whether and to what degree religious beliefs have warrant, or justification, or positive epistemic status. The second, is seemingly as an important set of a theological question is yet spoken of faith.
Epistemology, so we are told, is theory of knowledge: Its aim is to discern and explain that quality or quantity enough of which distinguishes knowledge from mere true belief. We need a name for this quality or quantity, whatever precisely it is, call it ‘warrant’. From this point of view, the epistemology of religious belief should centre on the question whether religious belief has warrant, an if it does, hoe much it has and how it gets it. As a matter of fact, however, epistemological discussion of religious belief, at least since the Enlightenment (and in the Western world, especially the English-speaking Western world) has tended to focus, not on the question whether religious belief has warrant, but whether it is justified. More precisely, it has tended to focus on the question whether those properties enjoyed by theistic belief -the belief that there exists a person like the God of traditional Christianity, Judaism and Islam: An almighty Law Maker, or an all-knowing and most wholly benevolent and a loving spiritual person who has created the living world. The chief question, therefore, has ben whether theistic belief is justified, the same question is often put by asking whether theistic belief is rational or rationally acceptable. Still further, the typical way of addressing this question has been by way of discussing arguments for or and against the existence of God. On the pro side, there are the traditional theistic proofs or arguments: The ontological, cosmological and teleological arguments, using Kant’s terms for them. On the other side, the anti-theistic side, the principal argument is the argument from evil, the argument that is not possible or at least probable that there be such a person as God, given all the pain, suffering and evil the world displays. This argument is flanked by subsidiary arguments, such as the claim that the very concept of God is incoherent, because, for example, it is impossible that there are the people without a body, and Freudian and Marxist claims that religious belief arises out of a sort of magnification and projection into the heavens of human attributes we think important.
But why has discussion centred on justification rather than warrant? And precisely what is justification? And why has the discussion of justification of theistic belief focussed so heavily on arguments for and against the existence of God?
As to the first question, we can see why once we see that the dominant epistemological tradition in modern Western philosophy has tended to ‘identify’ warrant with justification. On this way of looking at the matter, warrant, that which distinguishes knowledge from mere true belief, just ‘is’ justification. Belief theory of knowledge-the theory according to which knowledge is justified true belief has enjoyed the status of orthodoxy. According to this view, knowledge is justified truer belief, therefore any of your beliefs have warrant for you if and only if you are justified in holding it.
But what is justification? What is it to be justified in holding a belief? To get a proper sense of the answer, we must turn to those twin towers of western epistemology. René Descartes and especially, John Locke. The first thing to see is that according to Descartes and Locke, there are epistemic or intellectual duties, or obligations, or requirements. Thus, Locke:
Faith is nothing but a firm assent of the mind, which if it is regulated, A is our duty, cannot be afforded to anything, but upon good reason: And cannot be opposite to it, he that believes, without having any reason for believing, may be in love with his own fanciers: But, neither seeks truth as he ought, nor pats the obedience due his maker, which would have him use those discerning faculties he has given him: To keep him out of mistake and error. He that does this to the best of his power, however, he sometimes lights on truth, is in the right but by chance: And I know not whether the luckiest of the accidents will excuse the irregularity of his proceeding. This, at least is certain, that he must be accountable for whatever mistakes he runs into: Whereas, he that makes use of the light and faculties God has given him, by seeks sincerely to discover truth, by those helps and abilities he has, may have this satisfaction in doing his duty as rational creature, that though he should miss truth, he will not miss the reward of it. For he governs his assent right, and places it as he should, who in any case or matter whatsoever, believes or disbelieves, according as reason directs him. He manages otherwise, transgresses against his own light, and misuses those faculties, which were given him . . . (Essays 4.17.24).
Rational creatures, creatures with reason, creatures capable of believing propositions (and of disbelieving and being agnostic with respect to them), say Locke, have duties and obligation with respect to the regulation of their belief or assent. Now the central core of the notion of justification(as the etymology of the term indicates) this: One is justified in doing something or in believing a certain way, if in doing one is innocent of wrong doing and hence not properly subject to blame or censure. You are justified, therefore, if you have violated no duties or obligations, if you have conformed to the relevant requirements, if you are within your rights. To be justified in believing something, then, is to be within your rights in so believing, to be flouting no duty, to be to satisfy your epistemic duties and obligations. This way of thinking of justification has been the dominant way of thinking about justification: And this way of thinking has many important contemporary representatives. Roderick Chisholm, for example (as distinguished an epistemologist as the twentieth century can boast), in his earlier work explicitly explains justification in terms of epistemic duty (Chisholm, 1977).
The (or, a) main epistemological; questions about religious believe, therefore, has been the question whether or not religious belief in general and theistic belief in particular is justified. And the traditional way to answer that question has been to inquire into the arguments for and against theism. Why this emphasis upon these arguments? An argument is a way of marshalling your propositional evidence-the evidence from other such propositions as likens to believe-for or against a given proposition. And the reason for the emphasis upon argument is the assumption that theistic belief is justified if and only if there is sufficient propositional evidence for it. If there is not’ much by way of propositional evidence for theism, then you are not justified in accepting it. Moreover, if you accept theistic belief without having propositional evidence for it, then you are ging contrary to epistemic duty and are therefore unjustified in accepting it. Thus, W.K. William James, trumpets that ‘it is wrong, always everything upon insufficient evidence’, his is only the most strident in a vast chorus of only insisting that there is an intellectual duty not to believe in God unless you have propositional evidence for that belief. (A few others in the choir: Sigmund Freud, Brand Blanshard, H.H. Price, Bertrand Russell and Michael Scriven.)
Now how it is that the justification of theistic belief gets identified with there being propositional evidence for it? Justification is a matter of being blameless, of having done one’s duty (in this context, one’s epistemic duty): What, precisely, has this to do with having propositional evidence?
The answer, once, again, is to be found in Descartes especially Locke. As, justification is the property your beliefs have when, in forming and holding them, you conform to your epistemic duties and obligations. But according to Locke, a central epistemic duty is this: To believe a proposition only to the degree that it is probable with respect to what is certain for you. What propositions are certain for you? First, according to Descartes and Locke, propositions about your own immediate experience, that you have a mild headache, or that it seems to you that you see something red: And second, propositions that are self-evident for you, necessarily true propositions so obvious that you cannot so much as entertain them without seeing that they must be true. (Examples would be simple arithmetical and logical propositions, together with such propositions as that the whole is at least as large as the parts, that red is a colour, and that whatever exists has properties.) Propositions of these two sorts are certain for you, as fort other prepositions. You are justified in believing if and only if when one and only to the degree to which it is probable with respect to what is certain for you. According to Locke, therefore, and according to the whole modern Foundationalist tradition initiated by Locke and Descartes (a tradition that until has recently dominated Western thinking about these topics) there is a duty not to accept a proposition unless it is certain or probable with respect to what is certain.
In the present context, therefore, the central Lockean assumption is that there is an epistemic duty not to accept theistic belief unless it is probable with respect to what is certain for you: As a consequence, theistic belief is justified only if the existence of God is probable with respect to what is certain. Locke does not argue for his proposition, he simply announces it, and epistemological discussion of theistic belief has for the most part followed hin ion making this assumption. This enables ‘us’ to see why epistemological discussion of theistic belief has tended to focus on the arguments for and against theism: On the view in question, theistic belief is justified only if it is probable with respect to what is certain, and the way to show that it is probable with respect to what it is certain are to give arguments for it from premises that are certain or, are sufficiently probable with respect to what is certain.
There are at least three important problems with this approach to the epistemology of theistic belief. First, there standards for theistic arguments have traditionally been set absurdly high (and perhaps, part of the responsibility for this must be laid as the door of some who have offered these arguments and claimed that they constitute wholly demonstrative proofs). The idea seems to test. a good theistic argument must start from what is self-evident and proceed majestically by way of self-evidently valid argument forms to its conclusion. It is no wonder that few if any theistic arguments meet that lofty standard -particularly, in view of the fact that almost no philosophical arguments of any sort meet it. (Think of your favourite philosophical argument: Does it really start from premisses that are self-evident and move by ways of self-evident argument forms to its conclusion?)
Secondly, attention has ben mostly confined to three theistic arguments: The traditional arguments, cosmological and teleological arguments, but in fact, there are many more good arguments: Arguments from the nature of proper function, and from the nature of propositions, numbers and sets. These are arguments from intentionality, from counterfactual, from the confluence of epistemic reliability with epistemic justification, from reference, simplicity, intuition and love. There are arguments from colours and flavours, from miracles, play and enjoyment, morality, from beauty and from the meaning of life. This is even a theistic argument from the existence of evil.
But there are a third and deeper problems here. The basic assumption is that theistic belief is justified only if it is or can be shown to be probable with respect to many a body of evidence or proposition -perhaps, those that are self-evident or about one’s own mental life, but is this assumption true? The idea is that theistic belief is very much like a scientific hypothesis: It is acceptable if and only if there is an appropriate balance of propositional evidence in favour of it. But why believe a thing like that? Perhaps the theory of relativity or the theory of evolution is like that, such a theory has been devised to explain the phenomena and gets all its warrant from its success in so doing. However, other beliefs, e.g., memory beliefs, feelifelt in other minds is not like that, they are not hypothetical at all, and are not accepted because of their explanatory powers. There are instead, the propositions from which one start in attempting to give evidence for a hypothesis. Now, why assume that theistic belief, belief in God, is in this regard more like a scientific hypothesis than like, say, a memory belief? Why think that the justification of theistic belief depends upon the evidential relation of theistic belief to other things one believes? According to Locke and the beginnings of this tradition, it is because there is a duty not to assent to a proposition unless it is probable with respect to what is certain to you, but is there really any such duty? No one has succeeded in showing that, say, belief in other minds or the belief that there has been a past, is probable with respect to what is certain for ‘us’. Suppose it is not: Does it follow that you are living in epistemic sin if you believe that there are other minds? Or a past?
There are urgent questions about any view according to which one has duties of the sort ‘do not believe ‘p’ unless it is probable with respect to what is certain for you; . First, if this is a duty, is it one to which I can conform? My beliefs are for the most part not within my control: Certainly they are not within my direct control. I believe that there has been a past and that there are other people, even if these beliefs are not probable with respect to what is certain forms (and even if I came to know this) I could not give them up. Whether or not I accept such beliefs are not really up to me at all, For I can no more refrain from believing these things than I can refrain from conforming yo the law of gravity. Second, is there really any reason for thinking I have such a duty? Nearly everyone recognizes such duties as that of not engaging in gratuitous cruelty, taking care of one’s children and one’s aged parents, and the like, but do we also find ourselves recognizing that there is a duty not to believe what is not probable (or, what we cannot see to be probable) with respect to what are certain for ‘us’? It hardly seems so. However, it is hard to see why being justified in believing in God requires that the existence of God be probable with respect to some such body of evidence as the set of propositions certain for you. Perhaps, theistic belief is properly basic, i.e., such that one is perfectly justified in accepting it on the evidential basis of other propositions one believes.
Taking justification in that original etymological fashion, therefore, there is every reason ton doubt that one is justified in holding theistic belief only inf one is justified in holding theistic belief only if one has evidence for it. Of course, the term ‘justification’ has under-gone various analogical extensions in the of various philosophers, it has been used to name various properties that are different from justification etymologically so-called, but anagogically related to it. In such a way, the term sometimes used to mean propositional evidence: To say that a belief is justified for someone is to saying that he has propositional evidence (or sufficient propositional evidence) for it. So taken, however, the question whether theistic belief is justified loses some of its interest; for it is not clear (given this use)beliefs that are unjustified in that sense. Perhaps, one also does not have propositional evidence for one’s memory beliefs, if so, that would not be a mark against them and would not suggest that there be something wrong holding them.
Another analogically connected way to think about justification (a way to think about justification by the later Chisholm) is to think of it as simply a relation of fitting between a given proposition and one’s epistemic vase -which includes the other things one believes, as well as one’s experience. Perhaps tat is the way justification is to be thought of, but then, if it is no longer at all obvious that theistic belief has this property of justification if it seems as a probability with respect to many another body of evidence. Perhaps, again, it is like memory beliefs in this regard.
To recapitulate: The dominant Western tradition has been inclined to identify warrant with justification, it has been inclined to take the latter in terms of duty and the fulfilment of obligation, and hence to suppose that there is no epistemic duty not to believe in God unless you have good propositional evidence for the existence of God. Epistemological discussion of theistic belief, as a consequence, as concentrated on the propositional evidence for and against theistic belief, i.e., on arguments for and against theistic belief. But there is excellent reason to doubt that there are epistemic duties of the sort the tradition appeals to here.
And perhaps it was a mistake to identify warrant with justification in the first place. Napoleons have little warrant for him: His problem, however, need not be dereliction of epistemic duty. He is in difficulty, but it is not or necessarily that of failing to fulfill epistemic duty. He may be doing his epistemic best, but he may be doing his epistemic duty in excelsis: But his madness prevents his beliefs from having much by way of warrant. His lack of warrant is not a matter of being unjustified, i.e., failing to fulfill epistemic duty. So warrant and being epistemologically justified by name are not the same things. Another example, suppose (to use the favourite twentieth-century variant of Descartes’ evil demon example) I have been captured by Alpha-Centaurian super-scientists, running a cognitive experiment, they remove my brain, and keep it alive in some artificial nutrients, and by virtue of their advanced technology induce in me the beliefs I might otherwise have if I were going about my usual business. Then my beliefs would not have much by way of warrant, but would it be because I was failing to do my epistemic duty? Hardly.
As a result of these and other problems, another, externalist way of thinking about knowledge has appeared in recent epistemology, that a theory of justification is internalized if and only if it requires that all of its factors needed for a belief to be epistemically accessible to that of a person, internal to his cognitive perception, and externalist, if it allows that, at least some of the justifying factors need not be thus accessible, in that they can be external to the believer’ s cognitive Perspectives, beyond his ken. However, epistemologists often use the distinction between internalized and externalist theories of epistemic justification without offering any very explicit explanation.
Or perhaps the thing to say, is that it has reappeared, for the dominant sprains in epistemology priori to the Enlightenment were really externalist. According to this externalist way of thinking, warrant does not depend upon satisfaction of duty, or upon anything else to which the Knower has special cognitive access (as he does to what is about his own experience and to whether he is trying his best to do his epistemic duty): It depends instead upon factors ‘external’ to the epistemic agent -such factors as whether his beliefs are produced by reliable cognitive mechanisms, or whether they are produced by epistemic faculties functioning properly in-an appropriate epistemic environment.
How will we think about the epistemology of theistic belief in more than is less of an externalist way (which is at once both satisfyingly traditional and agreeably up to date)? I think, that the ontological question whether there is such a person as God is in a way priori to the epistemological question about the warrant of theistic belief. It is natural to think that if in fact we have been created by God, then the cognitive processes that issue in belief in God are indeed realisable belief-producing processes, and if in fact God created ‘us’, then no doubt the cognitive faculties that produce belief in God is functioning properly in an epistemologically congenial environment. On the other hand, if there is no such person as God, if theistic belief is an illusion of some sort, then things are much less clear. Then beliefs in God in of the most of basic ways of wishing that never doubt the production by which unrealistic thinking or another cognitive process not aimed at truth. Thus, it will have little or no warrant. And belief in God on the basis of argument would be like belief in false philosophical theories on the basis of argument: Do such beliefs have warrant? Notwithstanding, the custom of discussing the epistemological questions about theistic belief as if they could be profitably discussed independently of the ontological issue as to whether or not theism is true, is misguided. There two issues are intimately intertwined,
Nonetheless, the vacancy left, as today and as days before are an awakening and untold story beginning by some sparking conscious paradigm left by science. That is a central idea by virtue accredited by its epistemology, where in fact, is that justification and knowledge arising from the proper functioning of our intellectual virtues or faculties in an appropriate environment. This particular yet, peculiar idea is captured in the following criterion for justified belief:
(J) ‘S’ is justified in believing that ‘p’ if and only if of S’s believing that ‘p’ is the result of S’s intellectual virtues or faculties functioning in appropriate environment.
What is an intellectual virtue or faculty? A virtue or faculty in general is a power or ability or competence to achieve some result. An intellectual virtue or faculty, in the sense intended above, is a power or ability or competence to arrive at truths in a particular field, and to avoid believing falsehoods in that field. Examples of human intellectual virtues are sight, hearing, introspection, memory, deduction and induction. More exactly.
(V) A mechanism ‘M’ for generating and/or maintaining beliefs is an intellectual virtue if and only if ‘M’‘s’ is a competence to believing true propositions and refrain from false believing propositions within a field of propositions ‘F’, when one is in a set of circumstances ‘C’.
It is required that we specify a particular field of suggestions or its propositional field for ‘M’, since a given cognitive mechanism will be a competence for believing some kind of truths but not others. The faculty of sight, for example, allows ‘us’ to determine the colour of objects, but not the sounds that they associatively make. It is also required that we specify a set of circumstances for ‘M’, since a given cognitive mechanism will be a competence in some circumstances but not others. For example, the faculty of sight allows ‘us’ to determine colours in a well lighten room, but not in a darkened cave or formidable abyss.
According to the aforementioned formulations, what makes a cognitive mechanism an intellectual virtue is that it is reliable in generating true beliefs than false beliefs in the relevant field and in the relevant circumstances. It is correct to say, therefore, that virtue epistemology is a kind of reliabilism. Whereas, genetic reliabilism maintains that justified belief is belief that results from a reliable cognitive process, virtue epistemology makes a restriction on the kind of process which is allowed. Namely, the cognitive processes that are important for justification and knowledge is those that have their basis in an intellectual virtue.
Finally, that the concerning mental faculty reliability point to the importance of an appropriate environment. The idea is that cognitive mechanisms might be reliable in some environments but not in others. Consider an example from Alvin Plantinga. On a planet revolving around Alfa Centauri, cats are invisible to human beings. Moreover, Alfa Centaurian cats emit a type of radiation that causes humans to form the belief that there I a dog barking nearby. Suppose now that you are transported to this Alfa Centaurian planet, a cat walks by, and you form the belief that there is a dog barking nearby. Surely you are not justified in believing this. However, the problem here is not with your intellectual faculties, but with your environment. Although your faculties of perception are reliable on earth, yet are unrealisable on the Alga Centaurian planet, which is an inappropriate environment for those faculties.
The central idea of virtue epistemology, as expressed in (J) above, has a high degree of initial plausibility. By masking the idea of faculties’ cental to the reliability if not by the virtue of epistemology, in that it explains quite neatly to why beliefs are caused by perception and memories are often justified, while beliefs caused by unrealistic and superstition are not. Secondly, the theory gives ‘us’ a basis for answering certain kinds of scepticism. Specifically, we may agree that if we were brains in a vat, or victims of a Cartesian demon, then we would not have knowledge even in those rare cases where our beliefs turned out true. But virtue epistemology explains that what is important for knowledge is toast our faculties are in fact reliable in the environment in which we are. And so we do have knowledge so long as we are in fact, not victims of a Cartesian demon, or brains in a vat. Finally, Plantinga argues that virtue epistemology deals well with Gettier problems. The idea is that Gettier problems give ‘us’ cases of justified belief that is ‘truer by accident’. Virtue epistemology, Plantinga argues, helps ‘us’ to understand what it means for a belief to be true by accident, and provides a basis for saying why such cases are not knowledge. Beliefs are rue by accident when they are caused by otherwise reliable faculties functioning in an inappropriate environment. Plantinga develops this line of reasoning in Plantinga (1988).
The Humean problem if induction supposes that there is some property ‘A’ pertaining to an observational or experimental situation, and that of ‘A’, some fraction m/n (possibly equal to 1) have also been instances of some logically independent property ‘B’. Suppose further that the background circumstances, have been varied to a substantial degree and that there is no collateral information available concerning the frequency of ‘B’s’ among ‘A’s’ or concerning causal nomological connections between instances of ‘A’ and instances of ‘B’.
In this situation, an enumerative or instantial inductive inference would move from the premise that m/n of observed ‘A’s’ are ‘B’s’ to the conclusion that approximately m/n of all ‘A’s’ and ‘B’s’. (The usual probability qualification will be assumed to apply to the inference, than being part of the conclusion). Hereabouts the class of ‘A’s’ should be taken to include not only unobservable ‘A’s’ of future ‘A’s’, but also possible or hypothetical ‘a’s’. (An alternative conclusion would concern the probability or likelihood of the very next observed ‘A’ being a ‘B’).
The traditional or Humean problem of induction, often refereed to simply as ‘the problem of induction’, is the problem of whether and why inferences that fit this schema should be considered rationally acceptable or justified from an epistemic or cognitive standpoint, i.e., whether and why reasoning in this way is likely lead to true claims about the world. Is there any sort of argument or rationale that can be offered for thinking that conclusions reached in this way are likely to be true if the corresponding premiss is true or even that their chances of truth are significantly enhanced?
Hume’s discussion of this deals explicitly with cases where all observed ‘A’s’ ae ‘B’s’, but his argument applies just as well to the more general casse. His conclusion is entirely negative and sceptical: inductive inferences are not rationally justified, but are instead the result of an essentially a-rational process, custom or habit. Hume challenges the proponent of induction to supply a cogent line of reasoning that leads from an inductive premise to the corresponding conclusion and offers an extremely influential argument in the form of a dilemma, to show that there can be no such reasoning. Such reasoning would, ne argues, have to be either deductively demonstrative reasoning concerning relations of ideas or ‘experimental’, i.e., empirical, reasoning concerning mattes of fact to existence. It cannot be the former, because all demonstrative reasoning relies on the avoidance of contradiction, and it is not a contradiction to suppose that ‘the course of nature may change’, tat an order that was observed in the past will not continue in the future: but it also cannot be the latter, since any empirical argument would appeal to the success of such reasoning in previous experiences, and the justifiability of generalizing from previous experience is precisely what is at issue-s o that any such appeal would be question-begging, so then, there can be no such reasoning.
An alternative version of the problem may be obtained by formulating it with reference to the so-called Principle of Induction, which says roughly that the future will resemble or, that unobserved cases will reassembly observe cases. An inductive argument may be viewed as enthymematic, with this principle serving as a suppressed premiss, in which case the issue is obviously how such a premise can be justified. Hume’s argument is then that no such justification is possible: The principle cannot be justified speculatively as it is not contradictory to deny it: it cannot be justified by appeal to its having been true in pervious experience without obviously begging te question.
The predominant recent responses to the problem of induction, at least in the analytic tradition, in effect accept the main conclusion of Hume’s argument, viz. That inductive inferences cannot be justified I the sense of showing that the conclusion of such an inference is likely to be truer if the premise is true, and thus attempt to find some other sort of justification for induction.
Bearing upon, and if not taken into account the term ‘induction’ is most widely used for any process of reasoning that takes ‘us’ from empirical premises to empirical conclusions supported by the premise, but not deductively entailed by them. Inductive arguments are therefore kinds of amplicative argument, in which something beyond the content of the premises is inferred as probable or supported by them. Induction is, however, commonly distinguished from arguments to theoretical explanations, which share this amplicative character, by being confined to inference in which the conclusion involves the same properties or relations as the premises. The central example is induction by simple enumeration, where from premiss telling that Fa, Fb, Fc. , where a, b, c ~, are all of some kind ‘G’, I t is inferred ‘G’s’ from outside the sample, such as future ‘G’s’ will be ‘F’, or perhaps other person deceive them, children may well infer that everyone is a deceiver. Different but similar inferences are those from the past possession of a property by some object to the same object’s future possession, or from the constancy of some law-like pattern in events, and states of affairs to its future constancy: all objects we know of attract each the with a fore inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them, so perhaps they all do so, an will always do so.
The rational basis of any inference was challenged by David Hume (1711-76), who believed that induction of nature, and merely reflected a habit or custom of the mind. Hume was not therefore sceptical about the propriety of processes of inducting ion, but sceptical about the tole of reason in either explaining it or justifying it. trying to answer Hume and to show that there is something rationally compelling about the inference is referred to as the problem of induction. It is widely recognized that any rational defence of induction will have to partition well-behaved properties for which the inference is plausible (often called projectable properties) from badly behaved ones for which t is not. It is also recognized that actual inductive habits are more complex than those of simple and science pay attention to such factors as variations within the sample of giving ‘us’ the evidence, the application of ancillary beliefs about the order of nature, and so on. Nevertheless, the fundamental problem remains that any experience shows ‘us’ only events occurring within a very restricted part of the vast spatial temporal order about which we then come to believe things.
All the same, the classical problem of induction is often phrased in terms of finding some reason to expect that nature is uniform. In Fact, Fiction and Forecast (1954) Goodman showed that we need in addition some reason for preferring some uniformities to others, for without such a selection the uniformity of nature is vacuous. Thus, suppose that all examined emeralds have been green. Uniformity would lead ‘us’ to expect that future emeralds will be green as well. But now we define a predicate grue: ‘χ’ is trued if and only if ‘χ’ is examined before time ‘T’ and is green, or ‘χ’ is examined after ‘T’ and is blue? Let ’T’ refer to some time around the present. Then if newly examined emeralds are like previous ones in respect of being grue, they will be blue. We prefer blueness a basis of prediction to gluiness, but why?
Goodman argued that although his new predicate appears to be gerrymandered, and itself involves a reference to a difference, this is just aparohial or language-relative judgement, there being no language-independent standard of similarity to which to appeal. Other philosophers have not been convince by this degree of linguistic relativism. What remains clear that the possibility of these ‘bent’ predicates put a decisive obstacle in face of purely logical and syntactical approaches to problems of ‘confirmation?’.
Nevertheless, in the potential of change we are to think up to the present time but although virtue epistemology has good initial plausibility, we are faced apart by some substantial objections. The first of an objection, which virtue epistemology face is a version of the generality problem. We may understand the problem more clearly if we were to consider the following criterion for justified belief, which results from our explanation of (J):
(J ʹ) ‘S’ is justified in believing that ‘p’ if and entirely if.
(1) there is a field ‘F’ and a set of circumstances ‘C’ such that
(a) ‘S’ is in ‘C’ with respect to the proposition that ‘p’, and
(b) ‘S’ is in ‘C’ with respect to the proposition that ‘p’, and
(e) If ‘S’ were in ‘C’ with respect to a proposition in ‘F’.
Then ‘S’ would very likely believe correctly with regard to
that proposition.
The problem arises in how we are to select an appropriate ‘F’ and ‘C’. For given any true belief that ‘p’, we can always come up with a field ‘F’ and a set of circumstances ‘C’, such that ‘S’ is perfectly reliable in ‘F’ and ‘C’. For any true belief that ‘p’, let ‘F’s’ be the field including only the propositions ‘p’ and ‘not-p’. Let ‘C’ include whatever circumstances there are which causes ‘p’s’ to be true, together with the circumstanced which causes ‘S’ to believe that ‘p’. Clearly, ‘S’ is perfectly reliable with respect to propositions in this field in these circumstances. But we do not want to say that all of S’s true beliefs are justified for ‘S’. And of course, there is an analogous problem in the other direction of generality. For given any belief that ‘p’, we can always specify a field of propositions ‘F’ and a set of circumstances ‘C’, such that ‘p’ is in ‘F’, ‘S’ is in ‘C’, and ‘S’ is not reliable with respect to propositions in ‘F’ in ‘C’.
Variations of this view have been advanced for both knowledge and justified belief. The first formulation of a reliability account of knowing appeared in a note by F.P. Ramsey (1931), who said that a belief was knowledge if it is true, certain and obtained by a reliable process. P. Unger (1968) suggested that ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ just in case it is not at all accidental that ‘S’ is right about its being the case that ‘p’. D.M. Armstrong (1973) drew an analogy between a thermometer that reliably indicates the temperature and a belief that reliably indicate the truth. Armstrong said that a non-inferential belief qualified as knowledge if the belief has properties that are nominally sufficient for its truth, i.e., guarantee its truth via laws of nature.
Closely allied to the nomic sufficiency account of knowledge, primarily due to F.I. Dretske (19712, 1981), A.I. Goldman (1976, 1986) and R. Nozick (1981). The core of tis approach is that S’s belief that ‘p’ qualifies as knowledge just in case ‘S’ believes ‘p’ because of reasons that would not obtain unless ‘p’s’ being true, or because of a process or method that would not yield belief in ‘p’ if ‘p’ were not true. For example, ‘S’ would not have his current reasons for believing there is a telephone before him, or would not come to believe this, unless there was a telephone before him. Thus, there is a counterfactual reliable guarantor of the belief’s being true. A variant of the counterfactual approach says that ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ only if there is no ‘relevant alterative’ situation in which ‘p’ is false but ‘S’ would still believe that ‘p’.
To a better understanding, this interpretation is to mean that the alterative attempt to accommodate any of an opposing strand in our thinking about knowledge one interpretation is an absolute concept, which is to mean that the justification or evidence one must have in order to know a proposition ‘p’ must be sufficient to eliminate all the alternatives to ‘p’ (where an alternative to a proposition ‘p’ is a proposition incompatible with ‘p’). That is, one’s justification or evidence for ‘p’ must be sufficient fort one to know that every alternative to ‘p’ is false. These elements of our thinking about knowledge are exploited by sceptical argument. These arguments call our attention to alternatives that our evidence cannot eliminate. For example, (Dretske, 1970), when we are at the zoo. We might claim to know that we see a zebra on the basis of certain visual evidence, namely a zebra-like appearance. The sceptic inquires how we know that we are not seeing a clearly disguised mule. While we do have some evidence against the likelihood of such a deception, intuitively it is not strong enough for ‘us’ to know that we are not so deceived. By pointing out alternatives of this nature that cannot eliminate, as well as others with more general application (dreams, hallucinations, etc.), the sceptic appears to show that this requirement that our evidence eliminate every alternative is seldom, if ever, met.
The above considerations show that virtue epistemology must say more about the selection of relevant fields and sets of circumstances. Establishing addresses the generality problem by introducing the concept of a design plan for our intellectual faculties. Relevant specifications for fields and sets of circumstances are determined by this plan. One might object that this approach requires the problematic assumption of a Designer of the design plan. But Plantinga disagrees on two counts: He does not think that the assumption is needed, or that it would be problematic. Plantinga discusses relevant material in Plantinga (1986, 1987 and 1988). Ernest Sosa addresses the generality problem by introducing the concept of an epistemic perspective. In order to have reflective knowledge, ‘S’ must have a true grasp of the reliability of her faculties, this grasp being itself provided by a ‘faculty of faculties’. Relevant specifications of an ‘F’ and ‘C’ are determined by this perspective. Alternatively, Sosa has suggested that relevant specifications are determined by the purposes of the epistemic community. The idea is that fields and sets of circumstances are determined by their place in useful generalizations about epistemic agents and their abilities to act as reliable-information sharers.
The second objection which virtue epistemology faces are that (J) and
(J ʹ) are too strong. It is possible for ‘S’ to be justified in believing that ‘p’, even when S’s intellectual faculties are largely unreliable. Suppose, for example, that Jane’s beliefs about the world around her are true. It is clear that in this case Jane’s faculties of perception are almost wholly unreliable. But we would not want to say that none of Jane’s perceptual beliefs are justified. If Jane believes that there is a tree in her yard, and she vases the belief on the usual tree-like experience, then it seems that she is as justified as we would be regarded a substitutable belief.
Sosa addresses the current problem by arguing that justification is relative to an environment ‘E’. Accordingly, ‘S’ is justified in believing that ‘p’ relative to ‘E’, if and only if S’s faculties would be reliable in ‘E’. Note that on this account, ‘S’ need not actually be in ‘E’ in order for ‘S’ to be justified in believing some proposition relative to ‘E’. This allows Soda to conclude that Jane has justified belief in the above case. For Jane is justified in her perceptual beliefs relative to our environment, although she is not justified in those beliefs relative to the environment in which they have actualized her.
We have earlier made mention about analyticity, but the true story of analyticity is surprising in many ways. Contrary to received opinion, it was the empiricist Locke rather than the rationalist Kant who had the better information account of this type or deductive proposition. Frége and Rudolf Carnap (1891-1970) A German logician positivist whose first major works was 'Der logische Aufbau der Welt' (1926, translates, as 'The Logical Structure of the World,' 1967). Carnap pursued the enterprise of clarifying the structures of mathematics and scientific language (the only legitimate task for scientific philosophy) in 'Logische Syntax der Sprache' (1934, trans. As 'The Logical Syntax of Language,' 1937). Yet, refinements continued with 'Meaning and Necessity' (1947), while a general losing of the original ideal of reduction culminated in the great 'Logical Foundations of Probability' and the most importantly single work of ‘confirmation theory’ in 1950. Other works concern the structure of physics and the concept of entropy.
Both, Frége and Carnap, represented as analyticity’s best friends in this century, did as much to undermine it as its worst enemies. Quine (1908-) whose early work was on mathematical logic, and issued in 'A System of Logistic' (1934), 'Mathematical Logic' (1940) and 'Methods of Logic' (1950) it was with this collection of papers a 'Logical Point of View' (1953) that his philosophical importance became widely recognized, also, Putman (1926-) his concern in the later period has largely been to deny any serious asymmetry between truth and knowledge as it is obtained in natural science, and as it is obtained in morals and even theology. Books include 'Philosophy of logic' (1971), 'Representation and Reality' (1988) and 'Renewing Philosophy (1992). Collections of his papers include 'Mathematics, Master, sand Method' (1975), 'Mind, Language, and Reality' (1975), and 'Realism and Reason (1983). Both of which represented as having refuted the analytic/synthetic distinction, not only did no such thing, but, in fact, contributed significantly to undoing the damage done by Frége and Carnap. Finally, the epistemological significance of the distinctions is nothing like what it is commonly taken to be.
Locke’s account of an analyticity proposition as, for its time, everything that a succinct account of analyticity should be (Locke, 1924, pp. 306-8) he distinguished two kinds of analytic propositions, identified propositions in which we affirm the said terms if itself, e.g., ‘Roses are roses’, and predicative propositions in which ‘a part of the complex idea is predicated of the name of the whole’, e.g., ‘Roses are flowers’ (pp. 306-7). Locke calls such sentences ‘trifling’ because a speaker who uses them ‘trifles with words’. A synthetic sentence, in contrast, such as a mathematical theorem, states ‘a truth and conveys with its informative real knowledge’. Correspondingly, Locke distinguishes two kinds of ‘ necessary consequences’, analytic entailment where validity depends on the literal containment of the conclusions in the premiss and synthetic entailments where it does not. (Locke did not originate this concept-containment notion of analyticity. It is discussions by Arnaud and Nicole, and it is safe to say it has been around for a very long time (Arnaud, 1964).
Kant’s account of analyticity, which received opinion tells ‘us’ is the consummate formulation of this notion in modern philosophy, is actually a step backward. What is valid in his account is not novel, and what is novel is not valid. Kant presents Locke’s account of concept-containment analyticity, but introduces certain alien features, the most important being his characterizations of most important being his characterization of analytic propositions as propositions whose denials are logical contradictions (Kant, 1783). This characterization suggests that analytic propositions based on Locke’s part-whole relation or Kant’s explicative copula are a species of logical truth. But the containment of the predicate concept in the subject concept in sentences like ‘Bachelors are unmarried’ is a different relation from containment of the consequent in the antecedent in a sentence like ‘If John is a bachelor, then John is a bachelor or Mary read Kant’s Critique’. The former is literal containment whereas, the latter are, in general, not. Talk of the ‘containment’ of the consequent of a logical truth in the metaphorical, a way of saying ‘logically derivable’.
Kant’s conflation of concept containment with logical containment caused him to overlook the issue of whether logical truths are synthetically deductive and the problem of how he can say mathematical truths are synthetically deductive when they cannot be denied without contradiction. Historically. , the conflation set the stage for the disappearance of the Lockean notion. Frége, whom received opinion portrays as second only to Kant among the champions of analyticity, and Carnap, who it portrays as just behind Frége, was jointly responsible for the appearance of concept-containment analyticity.
Frége was clear about the difference between concept containment and logical containment, expressing it as like the difference between the containment of ‘beams in a house’ the containment of a ‘plant in the seed’ (Frége, 1853). But he found the former, as Kant formulated it, defective in three ways: It explains analyticity in psychological terms, it does not cover all cases of analytic propositions, and, perhaps, most important for Frége’s logicism, its notion of containment is ‘unfruitful’ as a definition; mechanisms in logic and mathematics (Frége, 1853). In an insidious containment between the two notions of containment, Frége observes that with logical containment ‘we are not simply talking out of the box again what we have just put inti it’. This definition makes logical containment the basic notion. Analyticity becomes a special case of logical truth, and, even in this special case, the definitions employ the power of definition in logic and mathematics than mere concept combination.
Carnap, attempting to overcome what he saw a shortcoming in Frége’s account of analyticity, took the remaining step necessary to do away explicitly with Lockean-Kantian analyticity. As Carnap saw things, it was a shortcoming of Frége’s explanation that it seems to suggest that definitional relations underlying analytic propositions can be extra-logic in some sense, say, in resting on linguistic synonymy. To Carnap, this represented a failure to achieve a uniform formal treatment of analytic propositions and left ‘us’ with a dubious distinction between logical and extra-logical vocabulary. Hence, he eliminated the reference to definitions in Frége’s of analyticity by introducing ‘meaning postulates’, e.g., statements such as (∀χ) (χ is a bachelor-is unmarried) (Carnap, 1965). Like standard logical postulate on which they were modelled, meaning postulates express nothing more than constrains on the admissible models with respect to which sentences and deductions are evaluated for truth and validity. Thus, despite their name, its asymptomatic-balance having to pustulate itself by that in what it holds on to not more than to do with meaning than any value-added statements expressing an indispensable truth. In defining analytic propositions as consequences of (an explained set of) logical laws, Carnap explicitly removed the one place in Frége’s explanation where there might be room for concept containment and with it, the last trace of Locke’s distinction between semantic and other ‘necessary consequences’.
Quine, the staunchest critic of analyticity of our time, performed an invaluable service on its behalf-although, one that has come almost completely unappreciated. Quine made two devastating criticism of Carnap’s meaning postulate approach that expose it as both irrelevant and vacuous. It is irrelevant because, in using particular words of a language, meaning postulates fail to explicate analyticity for sentences and languages generally, that is, they do not define it for variables ‘S’ and ‘L’ (Quine, 1953). It is vacuous because, although meaning postulates tell ‘us’ what sentences are to count as analytic, they do not tell ‘us’ what it is for them to be analytic.
Received opinion gas it that Quine did much more than refute the analytic/synthetic distinction as Carnap tried to draw it. Received opinion has that Quine demonstrated there is no distinction, however, anyone might try to draw it. Nut this, too, is incorrect. To argue for this stronger conclusion, Quine had to show that there is no way to draw the distinction outside logic, in particular theory in linguistic corresponding to Carnap’s, Quine’s argument had to take an entirely different form. Some inherent feature of linguistics had to be exploited in showing that no theory in this science can deliver the distinction. But the feature Quine chose was a principle of operationalist methodology characteristic of the school of Bloomfieldian linguistics. Quine succeeds in showing that meaning cannot be made objective sense of in linguistics. If making sense of a linguistic concept requires, as that school claims, operationally defining it in terms of substitution procedures that employ only concepts unrelated to that linguistic concept. But Chomsky’s revolution in linguistics replaced the Bloomfieldian taxonomic model of grammars with the hypothetico-deductive model of generative linguistics, and, as a consequence, such operational definition was removed as the standard for concepts in linguistics. The standard of theoretical definition that replaced it was far more liberal, allowing the members of as family of linguistic concepts to be defied with respect to one another within a set of axioms that state their systematic interconnections -the entire system being judged by whether its consequences are confirmed by the linguistic facts. Quine’s argument does not even address theories of meaning based on this hypothetico-deductive model (Katz, 1988 and 1990).
Putman, the other staunch critic of analyticity, performed a service on behalf of analyticity fully on a par with, and complementary to Quine’s, whereas, Quine refuted Carnap’s formalization of Frége’s conception of analyticity, Putman refuted this very conception itself. Putman put an end to the entire attempt, initiated by Fridge and completed by Carnap, to construe analyticity as a logical concept (Putman, 1962, 1970, 1975a).
However, as with Quine, received opinion has it that Putman did much more. Putman in credited with having devised science fiction cases, from the robot cat case to the twin earth cases, that are counter examples to the traditional theory of meaning. Again, received opinion is incorrect. These cases are only counter examples to Frége’s version of the traditional theory of meaning. Frége’s version claims both (1) that senses determines reference, and (2) that there are instances of analyticity, say, typified by ‘cats are animals’, and of synonymy, say typified by ‘water’ in English and ‘water’ in twin earth English. Given (1) and (2), what we call ‘cats’ could not be non-animals and what we call ‘water’ could not differ from what the earthier twin called ‘water’. But, as Putman’s cases show, what we call ‘cats’ could be Martian robots and what they call ‘water’ could be something other than H2O Hence, the cases are counter examples to Frége’s version of the theory.
Putman himself takes these examples to refute the traditional theory of meaning per se, because he thinks other versions must also subscribe to both (1) and. (2). He was mistaken in the case of (1). Frége’s theory entails (1) because it defines the sense of an expression as the mode of determination of its referent (Fridge, 1952, pp. 56-78). But sense does not have to be defined this way, or in any way that entails (1). / it can be defined as (D).
(D) Sense is that aspect of the grammatical structure of expressions and sentences responsible for their having sense properties and relations like meaningfulness, ambiguity, antonymy, synonymy, redundancy, analyticity and analytic entailment. (Katz, 1972 & 1990).
(Note that this use of sense properties and relations is no more circular than the use of logical properties and relations to define logical form, for example, as that aspect of grammatical structure of sentences on which their logical implications depend.)
(D) makes senses internal to the grammar of a language and reference an external; matter of language use -typically involving extra-linguistic beliefs, Therefore, (D) cuts the strong connection between sense and reference expressed in (1), so that there is no inference from the modal fact that ‘cats’ refer to robots to the conclusion that ‘Cats are animals’ are not analytic. Likewise, there is no inference from ‘water’ referring to different substances on earth and twin earth to the conclusion that our word and theirs are not synonymous. Putman’s science fiction cases do not apply to a version of the traditional theory of meaning based on (D).
The success of Putman and Quine’s criticism in application to Fridge and Carnap’s theory of meaning together with their failure in application to a theory in linguistics based on (D) creates the option of overcoming the shortcomings of the Lockean-Kantian notion of analyticity without switching to a logical notion. this option was explored in the 1960s and 1970s in the course of developing a theory of meaning modelled on the hypothetico-deductive paradigm for grammars introduced in the Chomskyan revolution (Katz, 1972).
This theory automatically avoids Frége’s criticism of the psychological formulation of Kant’s definition because, as an explication of a grammatical notion within linguistics, it is stated as a formal account of the structure of expressions and sentences. The theory also avoids Frége’s criticism that concept-containment analyticity is not ‘fruitful’ enough to encompass truths of logic and mathematics. The criticism rests on the dubious assumption, parts of Frége’s logicism, that analyticity ‘should’ encompass them, (Benacerraf, 1981). But in linguistics where the only concern is the scientific truth about natural concept-containment analyticity encompass truths of logic and mathematics. Moreover, since we are seeking the scientific truth about trifling propositions in natural language, we will eschew relations from logic and mathematics that are too fruitful for the description of such propositions. This is not to deny that we want a notion of necessary truth that goes beyond the trifling, but only to deny that, that notion is the notion of analyticity in natural language.
The remaining Frégean criticism points to a genuine incompleteness of the traditional account of analyticity. There are analytic relational sentences, for example, Jane walks with those with whom she strolls, ’Jack kills those he himself has murdered’, etc., and analytic entailment with existential conclusions, for example, ‘I think’, therefore ‘I exist’. The containment in these sentences is just as literal as that in an analytic subject-predicate sentence like ‘Bachelors are unmarried’, such are shown to have a theory of meaning construed as a hypothetico-deductive systemisations of sense as defined in (D) overcoming the incompleteness of the traditional account in the case of such relational sentences.
Such a theory of meaning makes the principal concern of semantics the explanation of sense properties and relations like synonymy, an antonymy, redundancy, analyticity, ambiguity, etc. Furthermore, it makes grammatical structure, specifically, senses structure, the basis for explaining them. This leads directly to the discovery of a new level of grammatical structure, and this, in turn, makes possible a proper definition of analyticity. To see this, consider two simple examples. It is a semantic fact that ‘a male bachelor’ is redundant and that ‘single person’ is synonymous with ‘woman who never married; . In the case of the redundancy, we have to explain the fact that the sense of the modifier ‘male’ is already contained in the sense of its head ‘bachelor’. In the case of the synonymy, we have to explain the fact that the sense of ‘sinister’ is identical to the sense of ‘woman who never married’ (compositionally formed from the senses of ‘woman’, ‘never’ and ‘married’). But is so fas as such facts concern relations involving the components of the senses of ‘bachelor’ and ‘spinster’ and is in as far as these words are syntactic simple, there must be a level of grammatical structure at which syntactic simple are semantically complex. This, in brief, is the route by which we arrive a level of ‘decompositional semantic structure; that is the locus of sense structures masked by syntactically simple words.
Discovery of this new level of grammatical structure was followed by attemptive efforts as afforded to represent the structure of the sense’s finds there. Without going into detail of sense representations, it is clear that, once we have the notion of decompositional representation, we can see how to generalize Locke and Kant’s informal, subject-predicate account of analyticity to cover relational analytic sentences. Let a simple sentence ‘S’ consisted of a -place predicate ‘P’ with terms T1 . . . ,. Tn occupying its argument places. Then:
The analysis in case, first, S has a term T1 that consists of a place predicate Q (m > n or m = n) with terms occupying its argument places, and second, P is contained in Q and, for each term TJ. . . . T1 + I,. . . . , Tn, TJ is contained in the term of Q that occupies the argument place in Q corresponding to the argument place occupied by TJ in P. (Katz, 1972). To see how (A) works, suppose that ‘stroll’ in ‘Jane walks with those whom she strolls’ is decompositionally represented as having the same sense as ‘walk idly and in a leisurely way’. The sentence is analytic by (A) because the predicate ‘stroll’ (the sense of ‘stroll) and the term ‘Jane’ * the sense of ‘Jane’ associated with the predicate ‘walk’) is contained in the term ‘Jane’ (the sense of ‘she herself’ associated with the predicate ‘stroll’). The containment in the case of the other terms is automatic.
The fact that (A) itself makes no reference to logical operators or logical laws indicate that analyticity for subject-predicate sentences can be extended to simple relational sentences without treating analytic sentences as instances of logical truths. Further, the source of the incompleteness is no longer explained, as Fridge explained it, as the absence of ‘fruitful’ logical apparatus, but is now explained as mistakenly treating what is only a special case of analyticity as if it were the general case. The inclusion of the predicate in the subject is the special case (where n = 1) of the general case of the inclusion of an–place predicate (and its terms) in one of its terms. Noting that the defects, by which, Quine complained of in connection with Carnap’s meaning-postulated explication are absent in (A). (A) contains no words from a natural language. It explicitly uses variable ‘S’ and variable ‘L’ because it is a definition in linguistic theory. Moreover, (A) tell ‘us’ what property is in virtue of which a sentence is analytic, namely, redundant predication, that is, the predication structure of an analytic sentence is already found in the content of its term structure.
Received opinion has been anti-Lockean in holding that necessary consequences in logic and language belong to one and the same species. This seems wrong because the property of redundant predication provides a non-logic explanation of why true statements made in the literal use of analytic sentences are necessarily true. Since the property ensures that the objects of the predication in the use of an analytic sentence are chosen on the basis of the features to be predicated of them, the truth-conditions of the statement are automatically satisfied once its terms take on reference. The difference between such a linguistic source of necessity and the logical and
mathematical sources vindicate Locke’s distinction between two kinds of ‘necessary consequence’.
Received opinion concerning analyticity contains another mistake. This is the idea that analyticity is inimical to science, in part, the idea developed as a reaction to certain dubious uses of analyticity such as Frége’s attempt to establish logicism and Schlick’s, Ayer’s and other logical; postivists attempt to deflate claims to metaphysical knowledge by showing that alleged deductive truths are merely empty analytic truths (Schlick, 1948, and Ayer, 1946). In part, it developed as also a response to a number of cases where alleged analytic, and hence, necessary truths, e.g., the law of excluded a seeming next-to-last subsequent to have been taken as open to revision, such cases convinced philosophers like Quine and Putnam that the analytic/synthetic distinction is an obstacle to scientific progress.
The problem, if there is, one is one is not analyticity in the concept-containment sense, but the conflation of it with analyticity in the logical sense. This made it seem as if there is a single concept of analyticity that can serve as the grounds for a wide range of deductive truths. But, just as there are two analytic/synthetic distinctions, so there are two concepts of concept. The narrow Lockean/Kantian distinction is based on a narrow notion of expressions on which concepts are senses of expressions in the language. The broad Frégean/Carnap distinction is based on a broad notion of concept on which concepts are conceptions -often scientific one about the nature of the referent (s) of expressions (Katz, 1972) and curiously Putman, 1981). Conflation of these two notions of concepts produced the illusion of a single concept with the content of philosophical, logical and mathematical conceptions, but with the status of linguistic concepts. This encouraged philosophers to think that they were in possession of concepts with the contentual representation to express substantive philosophical claims, e.g., such as Fridge, Schlick and Ayer’s, . . . and so on, and with a status that trivializes the task of justifying them by requiring only linguistic grounds for the deductive propositions in question.
Finally, there is an important epistemological implication of separating the broad and narrowed notions of analyticity. Fridge and Carnap took the broad notion of analyticity to provide foundations for necessary and a priority, and, hence, for some form of rationalism, and nearly all rationalistically inclined analytic philosophers followed them in this. Thus, when Quine dispatched the Frége-Carnap position on analyticity, it was widely believed that necessary, as a priority, and rationalism had also been despatched, and, as a consequence. Quine had ushered in an ‘empiricism without dogmas’ and ‘naturalized epistemology’. But given there is still a notion of analyticity that enables ‘us’ to pose the problem of how necessary, synthetic deductive knowledge is possible (moreover, one whose narrowness makes logical and mathematical knowledge part of the problem), Quine did not under-cut the foundations of rationalism. Hence, a serious reappraisal of the new empiricism and naturalized epistemology is, to any the least, is very much in order (Katz, 1990).
In some areas of philosophy and sometimes in things that are less than important we are to find in the deductively/inductive distinction in which has been applied to a wide range of objects, including concepts, propositions, truths and knowledge. Our primary concern will, however, be with the epistemic distinction between deductive and inductive knowledge. The most common way of marking the distinction is by reference to Kant’s claim that deductive knowledge is absolutely independent of all experience. It is generally agreed that S’s knowledge that ‘p’ is independent of experience just in case S’s belief that ‘p’ is justified independently of experience. Some authors (Butchvarov, 1970, and Pollock, 1974) are, however, in finding this negative characterization of deductive unsatisfactory knowledge and have opted for providing a positive characterisation in terms of the type of justification on which such knowledge is dependent. Finally, others (Putman, 1983 and Chisholm, 1989) have attempted to mark the distinction by introducing concepts such as necessity and rational unrevisability than in terms of the type of justification relevant to deductive knowledge.
One who characterizes deductive knowledge in terms of justification that is independent of experience is faced with the task of articulating the relevant sense of experience, and proponents of the deductive ly cites ‘intuition’ or ‘intuitive apprehension’ as the source of deductive justification. Furthermore, they maintain that these terms refer to a distinctive type of experience that is both common and familiar to most individuals. Hence, there is a broad sense of experience in which deductive justification is dependent of experience. An initially attractive strategy is to suggest that theoretical justification must be independent of sense experience. But this account is too narrow since memory, for example, is not a form of sense experience, but justification based on memory is presumably not deductive. There appear to remain only two options: Provide a general characterization of the relevant sense of experience or enumerates those sources that are experiential. General characterizations of experience often maintain that experience provides information specific to the actual world while non-experiential sources provide information about all possible worlds. This approach, however, reduces the concept of non-experiential justification to the concept of being justified in believing a necessary truth. Accounts by enumeration have two problems (1) there is some controversy about which sources to include in the list, and (2) there is no guarantee that the list is complete. It is generally agreed that perception and memory should be included. Introspection, however, is problematic, and beliefs about one’s conscious states and about the manner in which one is appeared to are plausible regarded as experientially justified. Yet, some, such as Pap (1958), maintain that experiments in imagination are the source of deductive justification. Even if this contention is rejected and deductive justification is characterized as justification independent of the evidence of perception, memory and introspection, it remains possible that there are other sources of justification. If it should be the case that clairvoyance, for example, is a source of justified beliefs, such beliefs would be justified deductively on the enumerative account.
The most common approach to offering a positive characterization of deductive justification is to maintain that in the case of basic deductive propositions, understanding the proposition is sufficient to justify one in believing that it is true. This approach faces two pressing issues. What is it to understand a proposition in the manner that suffices for justification? Proponents of the approach typically distinguish understanding the words used to express a proposition from apprehending the proposition itself and maintain that it is the latter which are relevant to deductive justification. But this move simply shifts the problem to that of specifying what it is to apprehend a proposition. Without a solution to this problem, it is difficult, if possible, to evaluate the account since one cannot be sure that the account since on cannot be sure that the requisite sense of apprehension does not justify paradigmatic inductive propositions as well. Even less is said about the manner in which apprehending a proposition justifies one in believing that it is true. Proponents are often content with the bald assertions that one who understands a basic deductive proposition can thereby ‘see’ that it is true. But what requires explanation is how understanding a proposition enable one to see that it is true.
Difficulties in characterizing deductive justification in a term either of independence from experience or of its source have led, out-of-the-ordinary to present the concept of necessity into their accounts, although this appeal takes various forms. Some have employed it as a necessary condition for deductive justification, others have employed it as a sufficient condition, while still others have employed it as both. In claiming that necessity is a criterion of the deductive. Kant held that necessity is a sufficient condition for deductive justification. This claim, however, needs further clarification. There are three theses regarding the relationship between the theoretically and the necessary that can be distinguished: (I) if ‘p’ is a necessary proposition and ‘S’ is justified in believing that ‘p’ is necessary, then S’s justification is deductive: (ii) If ‘p’ is a necessary proposition and ‘S’ is justified in believing that ‘p’ is necessarily true, then S’s justification is deductive: And (iii) If ‘p’ is a necessary proposition and ‘S’ is justified in believing that ‘p’, then S’s justification is deductive. For example, many proponents of deductive contend that all knowledge of a necessary proposition is deductive. (2) and (3) have the shortcoming of setting by stipulation the issue of whether inductive knowledge of necessary propositions is possible. (I) does not have this shortcoming since the recent examples offered in support of this claim by Kriple (1980) and others have been cases where it is alleged that knowledge of the ‘truth value’ of necessary propositions is knowable inductive. (I) has the shortcoming, however, of either ruling out the possibility of being justified in believing that a proposition is necessary on the basis of testimony or else sanctioning such justification as deductive. (ii) and (iii), of course, suffer from an analogous problem. These problems are symptomatic of a general shortcoming of the approach: It attempts to provide a sufficient condition for deductive justification solely in terms of the modal status of the proposition believed without making reference to the manner in which it is justified. This shortcoming, however, can be avoided by incorporating necessity as a necessary but not sufficient condition for a prior justification as, for example, in Chisholm (1989). Here there are two theses that must be distinguished: (1) If ‘S’ is justified deductively in believing that ‘p’, then ‘p’ is necessarily true. (2) If ‘S’ is justified deductively in believing that ‘p’. Then ‘p’ is a necessary proposition. (1) and (2), however, allows this possibility. A further problem with both (1) and (2) is that it is not clear whether they permit deductively justified beliefs about the modal status of a proposition. For they require that in order for ‘S’ to be justified deductively in believing that ‘p’ is a necessary preposition it must be necessary that ‘p’ is a necessary proposition. But the status of iterated modal propositions is controversial. Finally, (1) and (2) both preclude by stipulation the position advanced by Kripke (1980) and Kitcher (1980) that there is deductive knowledge of contingent propositions.
The concept of rational unrevisability has also been invoked to characterize deductive justification. The precise sense of rational unrevisability has been presented in different ways. Putnam (1983) takes rational unrevisability to be both a necessary and sufficient condition for deductive justification while Kitcher (1980) takes it to be only a necessary condition. There are also two different senses of rational unrevisability that have been associated with the deductive (I) a proposition is weakly unreviable just in case it is rationally unrevisable in light of any future ‘experiential’ evidence, and (II) a proposition is strongly unrevisable just in case it is rationally unrevisable in light of any future evidence. Let us consider the plausibility of requiring either form of rational unrevisability as a necessary condition for deductive justification. The view that a proposition is justified deductive only if it is strongly unrevisable entails that if a non-experiential source of justified beliefs is fallible but self-correcting, it is not a deductive source of justification. Casullo (1988) has argued that it vis implausible to maintain that a proposition that is justified non-experientially is ‘not’ justified deductively merely because it is revisable in light of further non-experiential evidence. The view that a proposition is justified deductively only if it is, weakly unrevisable is not open to this objection since it excludes only recision in light of experiential evidence. It does, however, face a different problem. To maintain that S’s justified belief that ‘p’ is justified deductively is to make a claim about the type of evidence that justifies ‘S’ in believing that ‘p’. On the other hand, to maintain that S’s justified belief that ‘p’ is rationally revisable in light of experiential evidence is to make a claim about the type of evidence that can defeat S’s justification for believing that ‘p’ that a claim about the type of evidence that justifies ‘S’ in believing that ‘p’. Hence, it has been argued by Edidin (1984) and Casullo (1988) that to hold that a belief is justified deductively only if it is weakly unrevisable is either to confuse supporting evidence with defeating evidence or to endorse some implausible this about the relationship between the two such as that if evidence of the sort as the kind ‘A’ can defeat the justification conferred on S’s belief that ‘p’ by evidence of kind ‘B’ then S’s justification for believing that ‘p’ is based on evidence of kind ‘A’.
The most influential idea in the theory of meaning in the past hundred years is the thesis that the meaning of an indicative sentence is given by its truth-conditions. On this conception, to understand a sentence is to know its truth-conditions. The conception was first clearly formulated by Fridge, was developed in a distinctive way by the early Wittgenstein, and is a leading idea of Donald Herbert Davidson (1917-), who is also known for rejection of the idea of as conceptual scheme, thought of as something peculiar to one language or one way of looking at the world, arguing that where the possibility of translation stops so dopes the coherence of the idea that there is anything to translate. His [papers are collected in the 'Essays on Actions and Events' (1980) and 'Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation' (1983). However, the conception has remained so central that those who offer opposing theories characteristically define their position by reference to it.
Wittgenstein’s main achievement is a uniform theory of language that yields an explanation of logical truth. A factual sentence achieves sense by dividing the possibilities exhaustively into two groups, those that would make it true and those that would make it false. A truth of logic does not divide the possibilities but comes out true in all of them. It, therefore, lacks sense and says nothing, but it is not nonsense. It is a self-cancellation of sense, necessarily true because it is a tautology, the limiting case of factual discourse, like the figure ‘0' in mathematics. Language takes many forms and even factual discourse does not consist entirely of sentences like ‘The fork is placed to the left of the knife’. However, the first thing that he gave up was the idea that this sentence itself needed further analysis into basic sentences mentioning simple objects with no internal structure. He was to concede, that a descriptive word will often get its meaning partly from its place in a system, and he applied this idea to colour-words, arguing that the essential relations between different colours do not indicate that each colour has an internal structure that needs to be taken apart. On the contrary, analysis of our colour-words would only reveal the same pattern-ranges of incompatible properties-recurring at every level, because that is how we carve up the world.
Indeed, it may even be the case that of our ordinary language is created by moves that we ourselves make. If so, the philosophy of language will lead into the connection between the meaning of a word and the applications of it that its users intend to make. There is also an obvious need for people to understand each other’s meanings of their words. There are many links between the philosophy of language and the philosophy of mind and it is not surprising that the impersonal examination of language in the 'Tractatus: was replaced by a very different, anthropocentric treatment in 'Philosophical Investigations?'
If the logic of our language is created by moves that we ourselves make, various kinds of realisms are threatened. First, the way in which our descriptive language carves up the world will not be forces on ‘us’ by the natures of things, and the rules for the application of our words, which feel the external constraints, will really come from within ‘us’. That is a concession to nominalism that is, perhaps, readily made. The idea that logical and mathematical necessity is also generated by what we ourselves accomplish what is more paradoxical. Yet, that is the conclusion of Wittengenstein (1956) and (1976), and here his anthropocentricism has carried less conviction. However, a paradox is not sure of error and it is possible that what is needed here is a more sophisticated concept of objectivity than Platonism provides.
In his later work Wittgenstein brings the great problem of philosophy down to earth and traces them to very ordinary origins. His examination of the concept of ‘following a rule’ takes him back to a fundamental question about counting things and sorting them into types: ‘What qualifies as doing the same again? Of a courser, this question as an inconsequential fundamental and would suggest that we forget it and get on with the subject. But Wittgenstein’s question is not so easily dismissed. It has the naive profundity of questions that children ask when they are first taught a new subject. Such questions remain unanswered without detriment to their learning, but they point the only way to complete understanding of what is learned.
It is, nevertheless, the meaning of a complex expression in a function of the meaning of its constituents, that is, indeed, that it is just a statement of what it is for an expression to be semantically complex. It is one of the initial attractions of the conception of meaning as truths-conditions that it permits a smooth and satisfying account of the way in which the meaning of a complex expression is a dynamic function of the meaning of its constituents. On the truth-conditional conception, to give the meaning of an expression is to state the contribution it makes to the truth-conditions of sentences in which it occurs. for singular terms-proper names, indexicals, and certain pronoun’s -this is done by stating the reference of the term in question.
The truth condition of a statement is the condition the world must meet if the statement is to be true. To know this condition is equivalent to knowing the meaning of the statement. Although, this sounds as if it gives a solid anchorage for meaning, some of the security disappears when it turns out that the truth condition can only be defined by repeating the very same statement, the truth condition of ‘snow is white’ is that snow is white, the truth condition of ‘Britain would have capitulated had Hitler invaded’ is that Britain would halve capitulated had Hitler invaded. It is disputed whether this element of running-on-the-spot disqualifies truth conditions from playing the central role in a substantive theory of meaning. Truth-conditional theories of meaning are sometimes opposed by the view that to know the meaning of a statement is to be able to users it in a network of inferences.
On the truth-conditional conception, to give the meaning of expressions is to state the contributive function it makes to the dynamic function of sentences in which it occurs. For singular terms-proper names, and certain pronouns, as well are indexicals-this is done by stating the reference of the term in question. For predicates, it is done either by stating the conditions under which the predicate is true of arbitrary objects, or by stating the conditions under which arbitrary atomic sentence containing it is true. The meaning of a sentence-forming operator is given by stating its distributive contribution to the truth-conditions of a complete sentence, as a function of the semantic values of the sentences on which it operates. For an extremely simple, but nonetheless, it is a structured language, we can state the contributions various expressions make to truth conditions as follows:
A1: The referent of ‘London’ is London.
A2: The referent of ‘Paris’ is Paris.
A3: Any sentence of the form ‘a is beautiful’ is true if and only if the referent of ‘a’ is beautiful.
A4: Any sentence of the form ‘a is larger than b’ is true if and only if the referent of ‘a’ is larger than the referent of ‘b’.
A5: Any sentence of the form ‘It is not the case that A’ is true if and only if it is not the case that ‘A’ is true.
A6: Any sentence of the form 'A and B’ are true if and only is ‘A’ is true and ‘B’ is true.
The principle’s A2-A6 form a simple theory of truth for a fragment of English. In this theory, it is possible to derive these consequences: That ‘Paris is beautiful’ is true if and only if Paris is beautiful (from A2 and A3), which ‘London is larger than Paris and it is not the cases that London is beautiful’ is true if and only if London is larger than Paris and it is not the case that London is beautiful (from A1-As): And in general, for any sentence ‘A’ of this simple language, we can derive something of the form ‘A’ is true if and only if A’.
The theorist of truth conditions should insist that not every true statement about the reference of an expression be fit to be an axiom in a meaning-giving theory of truth for a language. The axiom:
London’ refers to the city in which there was a huge fire in 1666
is a true statement about the reference of ‘London?’. It is a consequence of a theory that substitutes this axiom for A! In our simple truth theory that ‘London is beautiful’ is true if and only if the city in which there was a huge fire in 1666 is beautiful. Since a subject can understand the name ‘London’ without knowing that last-mentioned truth conditions, this replacement axiom is not fit to be an axiom in a meaning-specifying truth theory. It is, of course, incumbent on a theorist of meaning as truth conditions to state the constraints on the acceptability of axioms in a way that does not presuppose a deductive, non-truth conditional conception of meaning.
Among the many challenges facing the theorist of truth conditions, two are particularly salient and fundamental. First, the theorist has to answer the charge of triviality or vacuity. Second, the theorist must offer an account of what it is for a person’s language to be truly descriptive by a semantic theory containing a given semantic axiom.
We can take the charge of triviality first. In more detail, it would run thus: Since the content of a claim that the sentence ‘Paris is beautiful’ in which is true of the divisional region, which is no more than the claim that Paris is beautiful, we can trivially describe understanding a sentence, if we wish, as knowing its truth-conditions, but this gives ‘us’ no substantive account of understanding whatsoever. Something other than a grasp to truth conditions must provide the substantive account. The charge rests upon what has been called the redundancy theory of truth, the theory that, is somewhat more discriminative. Horwich calls the minimal theory of truth, or deflationary view of truth, as fathered by Fridge and Ramsey. The essential claim is that the predicate’ . . . is true’ does not have a sense, i.e., expresses no substantive or profound or explanatory concepts that ought be the topic of philosophical enquiry. The approach admits of different versions, but centres on the points (1) that ‘it is true that p’ says no more nor less than ‘p’ (hence redundancy) (2) that in less direct context, such as ‘everything he said was true’, or ‘all logical consequences of true propositions are true’, the predicate functions as a device enabling ‘us’; to generalize than as an adjective or predicate describing the thing he said, or the kinds of propositions that follow from true propositions. For example, the second may translate as ‘ (∀ p, q) (p & p ➝ q ➝q) ‘ where there is no use of a notion of truth.
There are technical problems in interpreting all uses of the notion of truth in such ways, but they are not generally felt to be insurmountable. The approach needs to explain away apparently substantive uses of the notion, such a; science aims at the truth’, or ‘truth is a norm governing discourse’. Indeed, postmodernist writing frequently advocates that we must abandon such norms, along with a discredited ‘objective’ conception of truth. But perhaps, we can have the norms even when objectivity is problematic, since they can be framed without mention of truth: Science wants it to be so that whenever science holds that ‘p’. Then ‘p’. Discourse is to be regulated by the principle that it is wrong to assert ‘p’ when ‘not-p’.
The disquotational theory of truth finds that the simplest formulation is the claim that expressions of the fern ‘S is true’ mean the same as expressions of the form ’S’. Some philosophers dislike the idea of sameness of meaning, and if this is disallowed, then the claim is that the two forms are equivalent in any sense of equivalence that matters. That is, it makes no difference whether people say ‘Dogs bark’ is true, or whether they say that ‘dogs bark’. In the former representation of what they say the sentence ‘Dogs bark’ is mentioned, but in the latter it appears to be used, so the claim that the two are equivalent needs careful formulation and defence. On the face of it someone might know that ‘Dogs bark’ is true without knowing what it means, for instance, if one were to find it in a list of acknowledged truths, although he does not understand English, and this is different from knowing that dogs bark. Disquotational theories are usually presented as versions of the redundancy theory of truth.
The minimal theory states that the concept of truth is exhausted by the fact that it conforms to the equivalence principle, the principle that for any proposition ‘p’, it is true that ‘p’ if and only if ‘p’. Many different philosophical theories of truth will, with suitable qualifications, accept that equivalence principle. The distinguishing feature of the minimal theory is its claim that the equivalence principle exhausts the notion of truths. It is how widely accepted, that both by opponents and supporters of truth conditional theories of meaning, that it is inconsistent to accept both minimal theory of truth and a truth conditional account of meaning (Davidson, 1990, Dummett, 1959 and Horwich, 1990). If the claim that the sentence ‘Paris is beautiful’ is true is exhausted by its equivalence to the claim that Paris is beautiful, it is circular to try to explain the sentence’s meaning in terms of its truth conditions. The minimal theory of truth has been endorsed by Ramsey, Ayer, the later Wittgenstein, Quine, Strawson, Horwich and-confusingly and inconsistently if be it correct-Fridge himself. But is the minimal theory correct?
The minimal or redundancy theory treats instances of the equivalence principle as definitional of truth for a given sentence. But in fact, it seems that each instance of the equivalence principle can itself be explained. The truths from which such an instance as:
‘London is beautiful’ is true if and only if London is beautiful
preserve a right to be interpreted specifically of A1 and A3 above? This would be a pseudo-explanation if the fact that ‘London’ refers to ‘London is beautiful’ has the truth-condition it does. But that is very implausible: It is, after all, possible to understand the name ‘London’ without understanding the predicate ‘is beautiful’. The idea that facts about the reference of particular words can be explanatory of facts about the truth conditions of sentences containing them in no way requires any naturalistic or any other kind of reduction of the notion of reference. Nor is the idea incompatible with the plausible point that singular reference can be attributed at all only to something that is capable of combining with other expressions to form complete sentences. That still leaves room for facts about an expression’s having the particular reference it does to be partially explanatory of the particular truth condition possessed by a given sentence containing it. The minimal; theory thus treats as definitional or stimulative something that is in fact open to explanation. What makes this explanation possible is that there is a general notion of truth that has, among the many links that hold it in place, systematic connections with the semantic values of sub-sentential expressions.
A second problem with the minimal theory is that it seems impossible to formulate it without at some point relying implicitly on features and principles involving truths that go beyond anything countenanced by the minimal theory. If the minimal theory treats truth as a predicate of anything linguistic, be it utterances, type-in-a-language, or whatever, then the equivalence schema will not cover all cases, but only those in the theorist’s own language. Some account has to be given of truth for sentences of other languages. Speaking of the truth of language-independence propositions or thoughts will only postpone, not avoid, this issue, since at some point principles have to be stated associating these language-independent entities with sentences of particular languages. The defender of the minimalist theory is likely to say that if a sentence ‘S’ of a foreign language is best translated by our sentence ‘p’, then the foreign sentence ‘S’ is true if and only if ‘p’. Now the best translation of a sentence must preserve the concepts expressed in the sentence. Constraints involving a general notion of truth are persuasive in a plausible philosophical theory of concepts. It is, for example, a condition of adequacy on an individualized account of any concept that there exists what is called ‘Determination Theory’ for that account-that is, a specification of how the account contributes to fixing the semantic value of that concept, the notion of a concept’s semantic value is the notion of something that makes a certain contribution to the truth conditions of thoughts in which the concept occurs. but this is to presuppose, than to elucidate, a general notion of truth.
It is also plausible that there are general constraints on the form of such Determination Theories, constraints that involve truth and which are not derivable from the minimalist’s conception. Suppose that concepts are individuated by their possession conditions. A concept is something that is capable of being a constituent of such contentual representational in a way of thinking of something-a particular object, or property, or relation, or another entity. A possession condition may in various says makes a thanker’s possession of a particular concept dependent upon his relations to his environment. Many possession conditions will mention the links between a concept and the thinker’s perceptual experience. Perceptual experience represents the world for being a certain way. It is arguable that the only satisfactory explanation of what it is for perceptual experience to represent the world in a particular way must refer to the complex relations of the experience to the subject’s environment. If this is so, then mention of such experiences in a possession condition will make possession of that condition will make possession of that concept dependent in part upon the environment relations of the thinker. Burge (1979) has also argued from intuitions about particular examples that, even though the thinker’s non-environmental properties and relations remain constant, the conceptual content of his mental state can vary if the thinker’s social environment is varied. A possession condition which property individuates such a concept must take into account the thinker’s social relations, in particular his linguistic relations.
One such plausible general constraint is then the requirement that when a thinker forms beliefs involving a concept in accordance with its possession condition, a semantic value is assigned to the concept in such a way that the belief is true. Some general principles involving truth can indeed, as Horwich has emphasized, be derived from the equivalence schema using minimal logical apparatus. Consider, for instance, the principle that ‘Paris is beautiful and London is beautiful’ is true if and only if ‘Paris is beautiful’ is true if and only if ‘Paris is beautiful’ is true and ‘London is beautiful’ is true. This follows logically from the three instances of the equivalence principle: ‘Paris is beautiful and London is beautiful’ is rue if and only if Paris is beautiful, and ‘London is beautiful’ is true if and only if London is beautiful. But no logical manipulations of the equivalence schemas will allow the deprivation of that general constraint governing possession conditions, truth and the assignment of semantic values. That constraint can have courses be regarded as a further elaboration of the idea that truth is one of the aims of judgement.
We now turn to the other question, ‘What is it for a person’s language to be correctly describable by a semantic theory containing a particular axiom, such as the axiom A6 above for conjunction?’ This question may be addressed at two depths of generality. At the shallower level, the question may take for granted the person’s possession of the concept of conjunction, and be concerned with what has to be true for the axiom correctly to describe his language. At a deeper level, an answer should not duck the issue of what it is to possess the concept. The answers to both questions are of great interest: We will take the lesser level of generality first.
When a person means conjunction by ‘sand’, he is not necessarily capable of formulating the axiom A6 explicitly. Even if he can formulate it, his ability to formulate it is not the causal basis of his capacity to hear sentences containing the word ‘and’ as meaning something involving conjunction. Nor is it the causal basis of his capacity to mean something involving conjunction by sentences he utters containing the word ‘and’. Is it then right to regard a truth theory as part of an unconscious psychological computation, and to regard understanding a sentence as involving a particular way of depriving a theorem from a truth theory at some level of conscious proceedings? One problem with this is that it is quite implausible that everyone who speaks the same language has to use the same algorithms for computing the meaning of a sentence. In the past thirteen years, thanks particularly to the work of Davies and Evans, a conception has evolved according to which an axiom like A6 is true of a person’s language only if there is a common component in the explanation of his understanding of each sentence containing the word ‘and’, a common component that explains why each such sentence is understood as meaning something involving conjunction (Davies, 1987). This conception can also be elaborated in computational terms: Suggesting that for an axiom like A6 to be true of a person’s language is for the unconscious mechanisms which produce understanding to draw on the information that a sentence of the form ‘A and B’ are true if and only if ‘A’ is true and ‘B’ is true (Peacocke, 1986). Many different algorithms may equally draw n this information. The psychological reality of a semantic theory thus involves, in Marr’s (1982) famous classification, something intermediate between his level one, the function computed, and his level two, the algorithm by which it is computed. This conception of the psychological reality of a semantic theory can also be applied to syntactic and phonol logical theories. Theories in semantics, syntax and phonology are not themselves required to specify the particular algorithms that the language user employs. The identification of the particular computational methods employed is a task for psychology. But semantics, syntactic and phonology theories are answerable to psychological data, and are potentially refutable by them-for these linguistic theories do make commitments to the information drawn upon by mechanisms in the language user.
This answer to the question of what it is for an axiom to be true of a person’s language clearly takes for granted the person’s possession of the concept expressed by the word treated by the axiom. In the example of the axiom A6, the information drawn upon is that sentences of the form ‘A and B’ are true if and only if ‘A’ is true and ‘B’ is true. This informational content employs, as it has to if it is to be adequate, the concept of conjunction used in stating the meaning of sentences containing ‘and’. So the computational answer we have returned needs further elaboration if we are to address the deeper question, which does not want to take for granted possession of the concepts expressed in the language. It is at this point that the theory of linguistic understanding has to draws upon a theory of concepts. It is plausible that the concepts of conjunction are individuated by the following condition for a thinker to possess it.
Finally, this response to the deeper question allows ‘us’ to answer two challenges to the conception of meaning as truth-conditions. First, there was the question left hanging earlier, of how the theorist of truth-conditions is to say what makes one axiom of a semantic theory is correctly in that of another, when the two axioms assign the same semantic values, but do so by means of different concepts. Since the different concepts will have different possession conditions, the dovetailing accounts, at the deeper level of what it is for each axiom to be correct for a person’s language will be different accounts. Second, there is a challenge repeatedly made by the minimalist theorists of truth, to the effect that the theorist of meaning as truth-conditions should give some non-circular account of what it is to understand a sentence, or to be capable of understanding all sentences containing a given constituent. For each expression in a sentence, the corresponding dovetailing account, together with the possession condition, supplies a non-circular account of what it is to understand any sentence containing that expression. The combined accounts for each of he expressions that comprise a given sentence together constitute a non-circular account of what it is to understand the compete sentences. Taken together, they allow the theorists of meaning as truth-conditions fully to meet the challenge.
A curious view common to that which is expressed by an utterance or sentence: The proposition or claim made about the world. By extension, the content of a predicate or other sub-sentential component is what it contributes to the content of sentences that contain it. The nature of content is the central concern of the philosophy of language, in that mental states have contents: A belief may have the content that the prime minister will resign. A concept is something that is capable of bringing a constituent of such contents. More specifically, a concept is a way of thinking of something-a particular object, or property or relation, or another entity. Such a distinction was held in Frége’s philosophy of language, explored in 'On Concept and Object' (1892). Fridge regarded predicates as incomplete expressions, in the same way as a mathematical expression for a function, such as sines . . . a log . . . , is incomplete. Predicates refer to concepts, which themselves are ‘unsaturated’, and cannot be referred to by subject expressions (we thus get the paradox that the concept of a horse is not a concept). Although Fridge recognized the metaphorical nature of the notion of a concept being unsaturated, he was rightly convinced that some such notion is needed to explain the unity of a sentence, and to prevent sentences from being thought of as mere lists of names.
Several different concepts may each be ways of thinking of the same object. A person may think of himself in the first-person way, or think of himself as the spouse of Mary Smith, or as the person located in a certain room now. More generally, a concept ‘c’ is distinct from a concept ‘d’ if it is possible for a person rationally to believe ‘d is such-and-such’. As words can be combined to form structured sentences, concepts have also been conceived as combinable into structured complex contents. When these complex contents are expressed in English by ‘that . . . ’clauses, as in our opening examples, they will be capable of being true or false, depending on the way the world is.
The general system of concepts with which we organize our thoughts and perceptions are to encourage a conceptual scheme of which the outstanding elements of our every day conceptual formalities include spatial and temporal relations between events and enduring objects, causal relations, other persons, meaning-bearing utterances of others, . . . and so on. To see the world as containing such things is to share this much of our conceptual scheme. A controversial argument of Davidson’s urges that we would be unable to interpret speech from a different conceptual scheme as even meaningful, Davidson daringly goes on to argue that since translation proceeds according ti a principle of clarity, and since it must be possible of an omniscient translator to make sense of, ‘us’ we can be assured that most of the beliefs formed within the commonsense conceptual framework are true.
Concepts are to be distinguished from a stereotype and from conceptions. The stereotypical spy may be a middle-level official down on his luck and in need of money. None the less, we can come to learn that Anthony Blunt, art historian and Surveyor of the Queen’s Pictures, are a spy; we can come to believe that something falls under a concept while positively disbelieving that the same thing falls under the stereotype associated wit the concept. Similarly, a person’s conception of a just arrangement for resolving disputes may involve something like contemporary Western legal systems. But whether or not it would be correct, it is quite intelligible for someone to rejects this conception by arguing that it dies not adequately provide for the elements of fairness and respect that are required by the concepts of justice.
Basically, a concept is that which is understood by a term, particularly a predicate. To posses a concept is to be able to deploy a term expressing it in making judgements, in which the ability connection is such things as recognizing when the term applies, and being able to understand the consequences of its application. The term ‘idea’ was formally used in the came way, but is avoided because of its associations with subjective matters inferred upon mental imagery in which may be irrelevant ti the possession of a concept. In the semantics of Fridge, a concept is the reference of a predicate, and cannot be referred to by a subjective term, although its recognition of as a concept, in that some such notion is needed to the explanatory justification of which that sentence of unity finds of itself from being thought of as namely categorized lists of itemized priorities.
A theory of a particular concept must be distinguished from a theory of the object or objects it selectively picks the outlying of the theory of the concept under which is partially contingent of the theory of thought and/or epistemology. A theory of the object or objects is part of metaphysics and ontology. Some figures in the history of philosophy-and are open to the accusation of not having fully respected the distinction between the kinds of theory. Descartes appears to have moved from facts about the indubitability of the thought ‘I think’, containing the fist-person was of thinking, to conclusions about the nonmaterial nature of the object he himself was. But though the goals of a theory of concepts and a theory of objects are distinct, each theory is required to have an adequate account of its relation to the other theory. A theory if concept is unacceptable if it gives no account of how the concept is capable of picking out the object it evidently does pick out. A theory of objects is unacceptable if it makes it impossible to understand how we could have concepts of those objects.
A fundamental question for philosophy is: What individuates a given concept-that is, what makes it the one it is, rather than any other concept? One answer, which has been developed in great detail, is that it is impossible to give a non-trivial answer to this question (Schiffer, 1987). An alternative approach, addressees the question by starting from the idea that a concept id individuated by the condition that must be satisfied if a thinker is to posses that concept and to be capable of having beliefs and other attitudes whose content contains it as a constituent. So, to take a simple case, one could propose that the logical concept ‘and’ is individuated by this condition, it be the unique concept ‘C’ to posses that a thinker has to find these forms of inference compelling, without basing them on any further inference or information: From any two premisses ‘A’ and ‘B’, ACB can be inferred, and from any premiss ACB, each of ‘A’ and ‘B’ can be inferred. Again, a relatively observational concept such as ‘round’ can be individuated in part by stating that the thinker finds specified contents containing it compelling when he has certain kinds of perception, and in part by relating those judgements containing the concept and which are not based on perception to those judgements that are. A statement that individuates a concept by saying what is required for a thinker to posses it can be described as giving the possession condition for the concept.
A possession condition for a particular concept may actually make use of that concept. The possession condition for ‘and’ does so. We can also expect to use relatively observational concepts in specifying the kind of experience that have to be mentioned in the possession conditions for relatively observational concepts. What we must avoid is mention of the concept in question as such within the content of the attitudes attributed to the thinker in the possession condition. Otherwise we would be presupposing possession of the concept in an account that was meant to elucidate its possession. In talking of what the thinker finds compelling, the possession conditions can also respect an insight of the later Wittgenstein: That to find her finds it natural to go on in new cases in applying the concept.
Sometimes a family of concepts has this property: It is not possible to master any one of the members of the family without mastering the others. Two of the families that plausibly have this status are these: The family consisting of some simple concepts 0, 1, 2, . . . of the natural numbers and the corresponding concepts of numerical quantifiers there are 0 so-and-so, there is 1 so-and-so, . . . and the family consisting of the concepts; belief’ and ‘desire’. Such families have come to be known as ‘local holism’. A local holism does not prevent the individuation of a concept by its possession condition. Rather, it demands that all the concepts in the family be individuated simultaneously. So one would say something of this form: Belief and desire form the unique pair of concepts C1 and C2 such that for as thinker to posses them are to meet such-and-such condition involving the thinker, C1 and C2. For these and other possession conditions to individuate properly, it is necessary that there be some ranking of the concepts treated. The possession conditions for concepts higher in the ranking must presuppose only possession of concepts at the same or lower levels in the ranking.
A possession conditions may in various way’s make a thinker’s possession of a particular concept dependent upon his relations to his environment. Many possession conditions will mention the links between a concept and the thinker’s perceptual experience. Perceptual experience represents the world as a certain way. It is arguable that the only satisfactory explanation of what it is for perceptual experience to represent the world in a particular way must refer to the complex relations of the experience to the subject’s environment. If this is so, then mention of such experiences in a possession condition will make possession of that concept dependent in part upon the environmental relations of the thinker. Burge (1979) has also argued from intuitions about particular examples that, even though the thinker’s non-environmental properties and relations remain constant, the conceptual content of his mental state can vary if the thinker’s social environment is varied. A possession condition that properly individuates such a concept must take into account the thinker’s social relations, in particular his linguistic relations.
Concepts have a normative dimension, a fact strongly emphasized by Kripke. For any judgement whose content involves a given concept, there is a correctness condition for that judgement, a condition that is dependent in part upon the identity of the concept. The normative character of concepts also extends into making the territory of a thinker’s reasons for making judgements. A thinker’s visual perception can give him good reason for judging ‘That man is bald’: It does not by itself give him good reason for judging ‘Rostropovich ids bald’, even if the man he sees is Rostropovich. All these normative connections must be explained by a theory of concepts one approach to these matters is to look to the possession condition for the concept, and consider how the referent of a concept is fixed from it, together with the world. One proposal is that the referent of the concept is that object (or property, or function, . . .) which makes the practices of judgement and inference mentioned in the possession condition always lead to true judgements and truth-preserving inferences. This proposal would explain why certain reasons are necessity good reasons for judging given contents. Provided the possession condition permits ‘us’ to say what it is about a thinker’s previous judgements that masker it, the case that he is employing one concept rather than another, this proposal would also have another virtue. It would allow ‘us’ to say how the correctness condition is determined for a judgement in which the concept is applied to newly encountered objects. The judgement is correct if the new object has the property that in fact makes the judgmental practices mentioned in the possession condition yield true judgements, or truth-preserving inferences.
These manifesting dissimilations have occasioned the affiliated differences accorded within the distinction as associated with Leibniz, who declares that there are only two kinds of truths-truths of reason and truths of fact. The forms are all either explicit identities, i.e., of the form ‘A is A’, ‘AB is B’, etc., or they are reducible to this form by successively substituting equivalent terms. Leibniz dubs them ‘truths of reason’ because the explicit identities are self-evident deducible truths, whereas the rest can be converted to such by purely rational operations. Because their denial involves a demonstrable contradiction, Leibniz also says that truths of reason ‘rest on the principle of contradiction, or identity’ and that they are necessary [propositions, which are true of all possible words. Some examples are ‘All equilateral rectangles are rectangles’ and ‘All bachelors are unmarried’: The first is already of the form AB is B’ and the latter can be reduced to this form by substituting ‘unmarried man’ fort ‘bachelor’. Other examples, or so Leibniz believes, are ‘God exists’ and the truths of logic, arithmetic and geometry.
Truths of fact, on the other hand, cannot be reduced to an identity and our only way of knowing them is empirically by reference to the facts of the empirical world. Likewise, since their denial does not involve a contradiction, their truth is merely contingent: They could have been otherwise and hold of the actual world, but not of every possible one. Some examples are ‘Caesar crossed the Rubicon’ and ‘Leibniz was born in Leipzig’, as well as propositions expressing correct scientific generalizations. In Leibniz’s view, truths of fact rest on the principle of sufficient reason, which states that nothing can be so unless there is a reason that it is so. This reason is that the actual world (by which he means the total collection of things past, present and future) is better than any other possible worlds and was therefore created by ‘God’.
In defending the principle of sufficient reason, Leibniz runs into serious problems. He believes that in every true proposition, the concept of the predicate is contained in that of the subject. (This holds even for propositions like ‘Caesar crossed the Rubicon’: Leibniz thinks anyone who dids not cross the Rubicon, would not have been Caesar). And this containment relationship! Which is eternal and unalterable even by God ~?! Guarantees that every truth has a sufficient reason. If truths consists in concept containment, however, then it seems that all truths are analytic and hence necessary, and if they are all necessary, surely they are all truths of reason. Leibnitz responds that not every truth can be reduced to an identity in a finite number of steps, in some instances revealing the connection between subject and predicate concepts would requite an infinite analysis. But while this may entail that we cannot prove such propositions as deductively manifested, it does not appear to show that the proposition could have been false. Intuitively, it seems a better ground for supposing that it is necessary truth of a special sort. A related question arises from the idea that truths of fact depend on God’s decision to create.
the best of all possible worlds: If it is part of the concept of this world that it is best, now could its existence be other than necessary? Leibniz answers that its existence is only hypothetically necessary, i.e., it follows from God’s decision to create this world, but God had the power to decide otherwise. Yet God is necessarily good and non-deceiving, so how could he have decided to do anything else? Leibniz says much more about these masters, but it is not clear whether he offers any satisfactory solutions.
Necessary truths are ones that must be true, or whose opposite is impossible. Contingent truths are those that are not necessary and whose opposite is therefore possible. 1-3 below is necessary, 4-6, contingent.
1. It is not the case that it is raining and not raining
2. 2 + 2= 4
3. All bachelors are unmarried.
4. It seldom rains in the Sahara.
5. There are more than four states in the USA.
6. Some bachelors drive Maserati.
Plantinga (1974, p. 2) characterizes the sense of necessity illustrated in 1-3 as ‘broadly logical’. For it includes not only truths of logic, but those of mathematics, set theory, and other quasi-logical ones. Yet it is not so broads as to include matters of causal or natural necessity, such as: Nothing travels faster than the speed of light.
One would like an account of the basis of our distinction and a criterion by which to apply it. Some suppose that necessary truths are those we know as deductively possible. But we lack the criterion for deductive truths, and there are necessary truths we do not know at all, e.g., undiscovered mathematical ones. It would not help to say that necessary truths are one, and it is possible, in the broadly logical sense, to know of a deductive circularity. Finally, Kripke (1972, p.253 v) and Plantinga (1974, p. 8) argues that some contingent truths are knowable by deductive reasoning. Similar problems face the suggestion that necessary truths are the ones we know with the fairest of certainties: We lack a criterion for certainty, there are necessary truths we do not know, and (barring dubious arguments for scepticism) it is reasonable to suppose that we know some contingent truths with certainty.
Leibniz defined a necessary truth as one whose opposite implies a contradiction. Every such proposition, he held, is either an explicit identity, i.e., of the form ‘A is A’, ‘AB is B’, etc.) or is reducible to an identity by successively substituting equivalent terms. (thus, 3 above might be so reduced by substituting ‘unmarried man’; for ‘bachelor’.) This has several advantages over the ideas of the previous paragraph. First, it explicated the notion of necessity and possibility and seems to provide a criterion we can apply. Second, because explicit identities are self-evident a deductive propositions, the theory implies that all necessary truths are knowable deductively, but it does not entail that wee actually know all of them, nor does it define ‘knowable’ in a circular way. Third, it implies that necessary truths are knowable with certainty, but does not preclude our having certain knowledge of contingent truths by means other than a reduction.
Nevertheless, this view is also problematic, and Leibniz’s examples of reductions are too sparse to prove a claim about all necessary truths. Some of his reductions, moreover, are deficient: Fridge has pointed out, for example, that his proof of ‘2 + 2 = 4' presupposes the principle of association and so does not depend on the principle of identity. More generally, it has been shown that arithmetic cannot be reduced to logic, but requires the resources of set theory as well. Finally, there are other necessary propositions, e.g., ‘Nothing can be red and green all over’, which do not seem to be reducible to identities and which Leibniz does not show how to reduce.
Leibniz and others have thought of truths as a property of propositions, where the latter are conceived as things that may be expressed by, but are distinct from, linguistic items like statements. On another approach, truth is a property of linguistic entities, and the basis of necessary truth in convention. Thus A.J. Ayer, for example, argued that the only necessary truths are analytic statements and that the latter rest entirely on our commitment to use words in certain ways.
The slogan ‘the meaning of a statement is its method of verification’ expresses the empirical verification’s theory of meaning. It is more than the general criterion of meaningfulness if and only if it is empirically verifiable. If says in addition what the meaning of a sentence is: It is all those observations that would confirm or disconfirmed the sentence. Sentences that would be verified or falsified by all the same observations are empirically equivalent or have the same meaning. A sentence is said to be cognitively meaningful if and only if it can be verified or falsified in experience. This is not meant to require that the sentence be conclusively verified or falsified, since universal scientific laws or hypotheses (which are supposed to pass the test) are not logically deducible from any amount of actually observed evidence.
When one predicate’s necessary truth of a preposition one speaks of modality dedicto. For one ascribes the modal property, necessary truth, to a dictum, namely, whatever proposition is taken as necessary. A venerable tradition, however, distinguishes this from necessary de re, wherein one predicates necessary or essential possession of some property to an on object. For example, the statement ‘4 is necessarily greater than 2' might be used to predicate of the object, 4, the property, being necessarily greater than 2. That objects have some of their properties necessarily, or essentially, and others only contingently, or accidentally, are a main part of the doctrine called; essentialism’. Thus, an essentials might say that Socrates had the property of being bald accidentally, but that of being self-identical, or perhaps of being human, essentially. Although essentialism has been vigorously attacked in recent years, most particularly by Quine, it also has able contemporary proponents, such as Plantinga.
Modal necessity as seen by many philosophers whom have traditionally held that every proposition has a modal status as well as a truth value. Every proposition is either necessary or contingent as well as either true or false. The issue of knowledge of the modal status of propositions has received much attention because of its intimate relationship to the issue of deductive reasoning. For example, no propositions of the theoretic content that all knowledge of necessary propositions is deductively knowledgeable. Others reject this claim by citing Kripke’s (1980) alleged cases of necessary theoretical propositions. Such contentions are often inconclusive, for they fail to take into account the following tripartite distinction: ‘S’ knows the general modal status of ‘p’ just in case ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ is a necessary proposition or ‘S’ knows the truth that ‘p’ is a contingent proposition. ‘S’ knows the truth value of ‘p’ just in case ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ is true or ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ is false. ‘S’ knows the specific modal status of ‘p’ just in case ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ is necessarily true or ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ is necessarily false or ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ is contingently true or ‘S’ knows that ‘p’ is contingently false. It does not follow from the fact that knowledge of the general modal status of a proposition is a deductively reasoned distinctive modal status is also given to theoretical principles. Nor des it follow from the fact that knowledge of a specific modal status of a proposition is theoretically given as to the knowledge of its general modal status that also is deductive.
The certainties involving reason and a truth of fact are much in distinction by associative measures given through Leibniz, who declares that there are only two kinds of truths-truths of reason and truths of fact. The former are all either explicit identities, i.e., of the form ‘A is A’, ‘AB is B’, etc., or they are reducible to this form by successively substituting equivalent terms. Leibniz dubs them ‘truths of reason’ because the explicit identities are self-evident theoretical truth, whereas the rest can be converted to such by purely rational operations. Because their denial involves a demonstrable contradiction, Leibniz also says that truths of reason ‘rest on the principle of contraction, or identity’ and that they are necessary propositions, which are true of all possible worlds. Some examples are that All bachelors are unmarried’: The first is already of the form ‘AB is B’ and the latter can be reduced to this form by substituting ‘unmarried man’ for ‘bachelor’. Other examples, or so Leibniz believes, are ‘God exists’ and the truth of logic, arithmetic and geometry.
Truths of fact, on the other hand, cannot be reduced to an identity and our only way of knowing hem os a theoretical manifestations, or by reference to the fact of the empirical world. Likewise, since their denial does not involve as contradiction, their truth is merely contingent: They could have been otherwise and hold of the actual world, but not of every possible one. Some examples are ‘Caesar crossed the Rubicon’ and ‘Leibniz was born in Leipzig’, as well as propositions expressing correct scientific generalizations. In Leibniz’s view, truths of fact rest on the principle of sufficient reason, which states that nothing can be so unless thee is a reason that it is so. This reason is that the actual world (by which he means the total collection of things past, present and future) is better than any other possible world and was therefore created by God.
In defending the principle of sufficient reason, Leibniz runs into serious problems. He believes that in every true proposition, the concept of the predicate is contained in that of the subject. (This hols even for propositions like ‘Caesar crossed the Rubicon’: Leibniz thinks anyone who did not cross the Rubicon would not have been Caesar) And this containment relationship-that is eternal and unalterable even by God-guarantees that every truth has a sufficient reason. If truth consists in concept containment, however, then it seems that all truths are analytic and hence necessary, and if they are all necessary, surely they are all truths of reason. Leibniz responds that not evert truth can be reduced to an identity in a finite number of steps: In some instances revealing the connection between subject and predicate concepts would require an infinite analysis. But while this may entail that we cannot prove such propositions as deductively probable, it does not appear to show that the proposition could have been false. Intuitively, it seems a better ground for supposing that it is a necessary truth of a special sort. A related question arises from the idea that truths of fact depend on God’s decision to create the best world, if it is part of the concept of this world that it is best, how could its existence be other than necessary? Leibniz answers that its existence is only hypothetically necessary, i.e., it follows from God’s decision to create this world, but God is necessarily good, so how could he have decided to do anything else? Leibniz says much more about the matters, but it is not clear whether he offers any satisfactory solutions.
The modality of a proposition is the way in which it is true or false. The most important division is between propositions true of necessity, and those true asa things are: Necessary as opposed to contingent propositions. Other qualifiers sometimes called ‘modal’ include the tense indicators ‘It will be the case that p’ or It was the case that p’, and there are affinities between the ‘deontic indicators’, as it ought to be the case that p’ or ‘it is permissible that p’, and the logical modalities as a logic that study the notions of necessity and possibility. Modal logic was of a great importance historically, particularly in the light of various doctrines concerning the necessary properties of the deity, but was not a central topic of modern logic in its golden period at the beginning of the 20th century. It was, however, revived by C. I. Lewis, by adding to a propositional or predicate calculus two operators, □ and ◊ (sometimes written N and M), meaning necessarily and possibly, respectively. These like p ➞ ◊ p and □ p ➞ p will be wanted. Controversial theses include □ p ➞ □□ p (if a proposition is necessary, it is necessarily necessary, characteristic of the system known as S4) and ◊ p ➞ □ ◊ p (if a proposition is possible, it is necessarily possible, characteristic of the system known as S5). The classical ‘modal theory’ for modal logic, due to Kripke and the Swedish logician Stig Kanger, involves valuing propositions not as true or false ‘simplicitiers’, but as true or false art possible worlds, with necessity then corresponding to truth in all worlds, and possibly to truths in some world.
The doctrine advocated by David Lewis, which different ‘possible worlds’ are to be thought of as existing exactly as this one does. Thinking in terms of possibilities is thinking of real worlds where things are different, this view has been charged with misrepresenting it as some insurmountably unseeing to why it is good to save the child from drowning, since there is still a possible world in which she (or her counterpart) drowned, and from the standpoint of the universe it should make no difference that world is actual. Critics asio charge either that the notion fails to fit with a coherent theory of how we know about possible worlds, or with a coherent theory about possible worlds, or with a coherent theory of why we are interested in them, but Lewis denies that any other way of interpreting modal statements is tenable.
Thus and so, the ‘standard analysis’ of propositional knowledge, suggested by Plato and Kant among others, implies that if one has a justified true belief that ‘p’, then one knows that ‘p’. The belief condition ‘p’ believes that ‘p’, the truth condition requires that any known proposition be true. And the justification condition requires that any known proposition be adequately justified, warranted or evidentially supported. Plato appears to be considering the tripartite definition in the 'Theaetetus' (201c-202d), and to be endorsing its jointly sufficient conditions for knowledge in the 'Meno' (97e-98a). This definition has come to be called ‘the standard analysis’ of knowledge, and has received a serious challenge from Edmund Gettier’s counterexamples in 1963. Gettier published two counterexamples to this implication of the standard analysis. In essence, they are:
(1) Smith and Jones have applied for the same job. Smith is justified in believing that (a) Jones will get the job, and that (b) Jones has ten coins in his pocket. On the basis of (a) and (b) Smith infers, and thus is justified in believing, that ©) the person who will get the job has ten coins in his pocket. At it turns out, Smith himself will get the job, and he also happens to have ten coins in his pocket. So, although Smith is justified in believing the true proposition ©), Smith does not know ©).
(2) Smith is justified in believing the false proposition that (a) Smith owns a Ford. On the basis of (a) Smith infers, and thus is justified in believing, that (b) either Jones owns a Ford or Brown is in Barcelona. As it turns out, Brown or in Barcelona, and so (b) is true. So although Smith is justified in believing the true proposition (b). Smith does not know (b).
Gettier’s counterexamples are thus cases where one has justified true belief that ‘p’, but lacks knowledge that ‘p’. The Gettier problem is the problem of finding a modification of, or an alterative to, the standard justified-true-belief analysis of knowledge that avoids counterexamples like Gettier’s. Some philosophers have suggested that Gettier style counterexamples are defective owing to their reliance on the false principle that false propositions can justify one’s belief in other propositions. But there are examples much like Gettier’s that do not depend on this allegedly false principle. Here is one example inspired by Keith and Richard Feldman:
(3) Suppose Smith knows the following proposition, ‘m’: Jones, whom Smith has always found to be reliable and whom Smith, has no reason to distrust now, has told Smith, his office-mate, that ‘p’: He, Jones owns a Ford. Suppose also that Jones has told Smith that ‘p’ only because of a state of hypnosis Jones is in, and that ‘p’ is true only because, unknown to himself, Jones has won a Ford in a lottery since entering the state of hypnosis. And suppose further that Smith deduces from ‘m’ its existential generalization, ‘q’: There is someone, whom Smith has always found to be reliable and whom Smith has no reason to distrust now, who has told Smith, his office-mate, that he owns a Ford. Smith, then, knows that ‘q’, since he has correctly deduced ‘q’ from ‘m’, which he also knows. But suppose also that on the basis of his knowledge that ‘q’. Smith believes that ‘r’: Someone in the office owns a Ford. Under these conditions, Smith has justified true belief that ‘r’, knows his evidence for ‘r’, but does not know that ‘r’.
Gettier-style examples of this sort have proven especially difficult for attempts to analyse the concept of propositional knowledge. The history of attempted solutions to the Gettier problem is complex and open-ended. It has not produced consensus on any solution. Many philosophers hold, in light of Gettier-style examples, that propositional knowledge requires a fourth condition, beyond the justification, truth and belief conditions. Although no particular fourth condition enjoys widespread endorsement, there are some prominent general proposals in circulation. One sort of proposed modification, the so-called ‘defeasibility analysis’, requires that the justification appropriate to knowledge be ‘undefeated’ in the general sense that some appropriate subjunctive conditional concerning genuine defeaters of justification be true of that justification. One straightforward defeasibility fourth condition, for instance, requires of Smith’s knowing that ‘p’ that there be no true proposition ‘q’, such that if ‘q’ became justified for Smith, ‘p’ would no longer be justified for Smith (Pappas and Swain, 1978). A different prominent modification requires that the actual justification for a true belief qualifying as knowledge not depend I a specified way on any falsehood (Armstrong, 1973). The details proposed to elaborate such approaches have met with considerable controversy.
The fourth condition of evidential truth-sustenance may be a speculative solution to the Gettier problem. More specifically, for a person, ‘S’, to have knowledge that ‘p’ on justifying evidence ‘e’, ‘e’ must be truth-sustained in this sense for every true proposition ‘t’ that, when conjoined with ‘e’, undermines S’s justification for ‘p’ on ‘e’, there is a true proposition, ‘t’, that, when conjoined with ‘e’ & ‘t’, restores the justification of ‘p’ for ‘S’ in a way that ‘S’ is actually justified in believing that ‘p’. The gist of this resolving evolution, put roughly, is that propositional knowledge requires justified true belief that is sustained by the collective totality of truths. Herein, is to argue in Knowledge and Evidence, that Gettier-style examples as (1)-(3), but various others as well.
Three features that proposed this solution merit emphasis. First, it avoids a subjunctive conditional in its fourth condition, and so escapes some difficult problems facing the use of such a conditional in an analysis of knowledge. Second, it allows for non-deductive justifying evidence as a component of propositional knowledge. An adequacy condition on an analysis of knowledge is that it does not restrict justifying evidence to relations of deductive support. Third, its proposed solution is sufficiently flexible to handle cases describable as follows:
(4) Smith has a justified true belief that ‘p’, but there is a true proposition, ‘t’, which undermines Smith’s justification for ‘p’ when conjoined with it, and which is such that it is either physically or humanly impossible for Smith to be justified in believing that ‘t’.
Examples represented by (4) suggest that we should countenance varying strengths in notions of propositional knowledge. These strengths are determined by accessibility qualifications on the set of relevant knowledge-precluding underminers. A very demanding concept of knowledge assumes that it need only be logically possible for a Knower to believe a knowledge-precluding underminer. Less demanding concepts assume that it must be physically or humanly possible for a Knower to believe knowledge-precluding underminers. But even such less demanding concepts of knowledge need to rely on a notion of truth-sustained evidence if they are to survive a threatening range of Gettier-style examples. Given to some resolution that it needs be that the forth condition for a notion of knowledge is not a function simply of the evidence a Knower actually possesses.
The higher controversial aftermath of Gettier’s original counterexamples has left some philosophers doubted of the real philosophical significance of the Gettier problem. Such doubt, however, seems misplaced. One fundamental branch of epistemology seeks understanding of the nature of propositional knowledge. And our understanding exactly what prepositional knowledge is essentially involves our having a Gettier-resistant analysis of such knowledge. If our analysis is not Gettier-resistant, we will lack an exact understanding of what propositional knowledge is. It is epistemologically important, therefore, to have a defensible solution to the Gettier problem, however, demanding such a solution is.
Propositional knowledge (PK) is the type of knowing whose instance are labelled by means of a phrase expressing some proposition, e.g., in English a phrase of the form ‘that h’, where some complete declarative sentence is instantial for ‘h’.
Theories of ‘PK’ differ over whether the proposition that ‘h’ is involved in a more intimate fashion, such as serving as a way of picking out a proposition attitude required for knowing, e.g., believing that ‘h’, accepting that ‘h’ or being sure that ‘h’. For instance, the tripartite analysis or standard analysis, treats ‘PK’ as consisting in having a justified, true belief that ‘h’, the belief condition requires that anyone who knows that ‘h’ believes that ‘h’, the truth condition requires that any known proposition be true, in contrast, some regarded theories do so consider and treat ‘PK’ as the possession of specific abilities, capabilities, or powers, and that view the proposition that ‘h’ as needed to be expressed only in order to label a specific instance of ‘PK’.
Although most theories of Propositional knowledge (PK) purport to analyse it, philosophers disagree about the goal of a philosophical analysis. Theories of ‘PK’ may differ over whether they aim to cover all species of ‘PK’ and, if they do not have this goal, over whether they aim to reveal any unifying link between the species that they investigate, e.g., empirical knowledge, and other species of knowing.
Very many accounts of ‘PK’ have been inspired by the quest to add a fourth condition to the tripartite analysis so as to avoid Gettier-type counterexamples to it, whereby a fourth condition of evidential truth-sustenance for every true proposition when conjoined with a regaining justification, which may require the justified true belief that is sustained by the collective totality of truths that an adequacy condition of propositional knowledge not restrict justified evidences in relation of deductive support, such that we should countenance varying strengths in notions of propositional knowledge. Restoratively, these strengths are determined by accessibility qualifications on the set of relevant knowledge-precluding underminers. A very demanding concept of knowledge assumes that it need only be logically possible for a Knower to believe a knowledge-precluding undeterminers, and less demanding concepts that it must physically or humanly possible for a Knower to believe knowledge-precluding undeterminers. But even such demanding concepts of knowledge need to rely on a notion of truth-sustaining evidence if they are to survive a threatening range of Gettier-style examples. As the needed fourth condition for a notion of knowledge is not a function simply of the evidence, a Knower actually possesses. One fundamental source of epistemology seeks understanding of the nature of propositional knowledge, and our understanding exactly what propositional knowledge is essentially involves our having a Gettier-resistant analysis of such knowledge. If our analysis is not Gettier-resistant, we will lack an exact understanding of what propositional knowledge is. It is epistemologically important, therefore, to have a defensible solution to the Gettier problem, however, demanding such a solution is. And by the resulting need to deal with other counterexamples provoked by these new analyses.
Keith Lehrer (1965) originated a Gettier-type example that has been a fertile source of important variants. It is the case of Mr Notgot, who is in one’s office and has provided some evidence, ‘e’, in response to all of which one forms a justified belief that Mr. Notgot is in the office and owns a Ford, thanks to which one arrives at the justified belief that ‘h': ‘Someone in the office owns a Ford’. In the example, ‘e’ consists of such things as Mr. Notgot’s presently showing one a certificate of Ford ownership while claiming to own a Ford and having been reliable in the past. Yet, Mr Notgot has just been shamming, and the only reason that it is true that ‘h1' is because, unbeknown to oneself, a different person in the office owns a Ford.
Variants on this example continue to challenge efforts to analyse species of ‘PK’. For instance, Alan Goldman (1988) has proposed that when one has empirical knowledge that ‘h’, when the state of affairs (call it h*) expressed by the proposition that ‘h’ figures prominently in an explanation of the occurrence of one’s believing that ‘h’, where explanation is taken to involve one of a variety of probability relations concerning ‘h*’, and the belief state. But this account runs foul of a variant on the Notgot case akin to one that Lehrer (1979) has described. In Lehrer’s variant, Mr Notgot has manifested a compulsion to trick people into justified believing truths yet falling short of knowledge by means of concocting Gettierized evidence for those truths. It we make the trickster’s neuroses highly specific ti the type of information contained in the proposition that ‘h’, we obtain a variant satisfying Goldman’s requirement That the occurrences of ‘h*’ significantly raises the probability of one’s believing that ‘h’. (Lehrer himself (1990, pp. 103-4) has criticized Goldman by questioning whether, when one has ordinary perceptual knowledge that abn object is present, the presence of the object is what explains one’s believing it to be present.)
In grappling with Gettier-type examples, some analyses proscribe specific relations between falsehoods and the evidence or grounds that justify one’s believing. A simple restriction of this type requires that one’s reasoning to the belief that ‘h’ does not crucially depend upon any false lemma (such as the false proposition that Mr Notgot is in the office and owns a Ford). However, Gettier-type examples have been constructed where one does not reason through and false belief, e.g., a variant of the Notgot case where one arrives at belief that ‘h’, by basing it upon a true existential generalization of one’s evidence: ‘There is someone in the office who has provided evidence e’, in response to similar cases, Sosa (1991) has proposed that for ‘PK’ the ‘basis’ for the justification of one’s belief that ‘h’ must not involve one’s being justified in believing or in ‘presupposing’ any falsehood, even if one’s reasoning to the belief does not employ that falsehood as a lemma. Alternatively, Roderick Chisholm (1989) requires that if there is something that makes the proposition that ‘h’ evident for one and yet makes something else that is false evident for one, then the proposition that ‘h’ is implied by a conjunction of propositions, each of which is evident for one and is such that something that makes it evident for one makes no falsehood evident for one. Other types of analyses are concerned with the role of falsehoods within the justification of the proposition that ‘h’ (Versus the justification of one’s believing that ‘h’). Such a theory may require that one’s evidence bearing on this justification not already contain falsehoods. Or it may require that no falsehoods are involved at specific places in a special explanatory structure relating to the justification of the proposition that ‘h’ (Shope, 1983.).
A frequently pursued line of research concerning a fourth condition of knowing seeks what is called a ‘defeasibility’ analysis of ‘PK.' Early versions characterized defeasibility by means of subjunctive conditionals of the form, ‘If ‘A’ were the case then ‘B’ would be the case’. But more recently the label has been applied to conditions about evidential or justificational relations that are not themselves characterized in terms of conditionals. Early versions of defeasibility theories advanced conditionals where ‘A’ is a hypothetical situation concerning one’s acquisition of a specified sort of epistemic status for specified propositions, e.g., one’s acquiring justified belief in some further evidence or truths, and ‘B’; concerned, for instance, the continued justified status of the proposition that ‘h’ or of one’s believing that ‘h’.
A unifying thread connecting the conditional and non-conditional approaches to defeasibility may lie in the following facts: (1) What is a reason for being in a propositional attitude is in part a consideration, instances of the thought of which have the power to affect relevant processes of propositional attitude formation? : (2) Philosophers have often hoped to analyse power ascriptions by means of conditional statements: And (3) Arguments portraying evidential or justificational relations are abstractions from those processes of propositional attitude maintenance and formation that manifest rationality. So even when some circumstance, ‘R’, is a reason for believing or accepting that ‘h’, another circumstance, ‘K’ may present an occasion from being present for a rational manifestation of the relevant power of the thought of ‘R’ and it will not be a good argument to base a conclusion that ‘h’ on the premiss that ‘R’ and ‘K’ obtain. Whether ‘K’ does play this interfering, ‘defeating’. Role will depend upon the total relevant situation.
Accordingly, one of the most sophisticated defeasibility accounts, which has been proposed by John Pollock (1986), requires that in order to know that ‘h’, one must believe that ‘h’ on the basis of an argument whose force is not defeated in the above way, given the total set of circumstances described by all truths. More specifically, Pollock defines defeat as a situation where (1) one believes that ‘p’ and it is logically possible for one to become justified in believing that ‘h’ by believing that ’p’, and (2) on e actually has a further set of beliefs, ‘S’ logically has a further set of beliefs, ‘S’, logically consistent with the proposition that ‘h’, such that it is not logically possible for one to become justified in believing that ‘h’ by believing it ion the basis of holding the set of beliefs that is the union of ‘S’ with the belief that ‘p’ (Pollock, 1986, pp. 36, 38). Furthermore, Pollock requires for ‘PK’ that the rational presupposition in favour of one’s believing that ‘h’ created by one’s believing that ‘p’ is undefeated by the set of all truths, including considerations that one does not actually believe. Pollock offers no definition of what this requirements means. But he may intend roughly the following: There ‘T’ is the set of all true propositions: (I) one believes that ‘p’ and it is logically possible for one to become justified in believing that ‘h’; by believing that ‘p’. And (II) there are logically possible situations in which one becomes justified in believing that ‘h’ on the bass of having the belief that ‘p’ and the beliefs in ‘T’. Thus, in the Notgot example, since ‘T’ includes the proposition that Mr. Notgot does own a Ford, one lack’s knowledge because condition (II) is not satisfied.
But given such an interpretation. Pollock’s account illustrates the fact that defeasibility theories typically have difficulty dealing with introspective knowledge of one’s beliefs. Suppose that some proposition, say that ƒ, is false, but one does not realize this and holds the belief that ƒ. Condition
(II) has no knowledge that h2? : ‘I believe that ƒ’. At least this is so if one’s reason for believing that h2 includes the presence of the very condition of which one is aware, i.e., one’s believing that ƒ. It is incoherent to suppose hat one retains the latter reason, also, believes the truth that not-ƒ. This objection can be avoided, but at the cost of adopting what is a controversial view about introspective knowledge that ‘h’, namely, the view that one’s belief that ‘h’ is in such cases mediated by some mental state intervening between the mental state of which there is introspective knowledge and he belief that ‘h’, so that is mental state is rather than the introspected state that it is included in one’s reason for believing that ‘h’. In order to avoid adopting this controversial view, Paul Moser (1989) gas proposed a disjunctive analysis of ‘PK’, which requires that either one satisfy a defeasibility condition rather than like Pollock’s or else one believes that ‘h’ by introspection. However, Moser leaves obscure exactly why beliefs arrived at by introspections account as knowledge.
Early versions of defeasibility theories had difficulty allowing for the existence of evidence that is ‘merely misleading’, as in the case where one does know that ‘h3: ‘Tom Grabit stole a book from the library’, thanks to having seen him steal it, yet where, unbeknown to oneself, Tom’s mother out of dementia gas testified that Tom was far away from the library at the time of the theft. One’s justifiably believing that she gave the testimony would destroy one’s justification for believing that ‘h3' if added by itself to one’s present evidence.
At least some defeasibility theories cannot deal with the knowledge one has while dying that ‘h4: ‘In this life there is no timer at which I believe that ‘d’, where the proposition that ‘d’ expresses the details regarding some philosophical matter, e.g., the maximum number of blades of grass ever simultaneously growing on the earth. When it just so happens that it is true that ‘d’, defeasibility analyses typically consider the addition to one’s dying thoughts of a belief that ‘d’ in such a way as to improperly rule out actual knowledge that ‘h4'.
A quite different approach to knowledge, and one able to deal with some Gettier-type cases, involves developing some type of causal theory of Propositional knowledge. The interesting thesis that counts as a causal theory of justification (in the meaning of ‘causal theory; intended here) is the that of a belief is justified just in case it was produced by a type of process that is ‘globally’ reliable, that is, its propensity to produce true beliefs-that can be defined (to a god enough approximation) as the proportion of the bailiffs it produces (or would produce were it used as much as opportunity allows) that are true-is sufficiently meaningful-variations of this view have been advanced for both knowledge and justified belief. The first formulation of reliability account of knowing appeared in a note by F.P. Ramsey (1931), who said that a belief was knowledge if it is true, certain can obtain by a reliable process. P. Unger (1968) suggested that 'S’ knows that ‘p’ just in case it is not at all accidental that ‘S’ is right about its being the casse that ‘p’. D.M. Armstrong (1973) said that a non-inferential belief qualified as knowledge if the belief has properties that are nominally sufficient for its truth, i.e., guarantee its truth through and by the laws of nature.
Such theories require that one or another specified relation hold that can be characterized by mention of some aspect of cassation concerning one’s belief that ‘h’ (or one’s acceptance of the proposition that ‘h’) and its relation to state of affairs ‘h*’, e.g., h* causes the belief: h* is causally sufficient for the belief h* and the belief have a common cause. Such simple versions of a causal theory are able to deal with the original Notgot case, since it involves no such causal relationship, but cannot explain why there is ignorance in the variants where Notgot and Berent Enç (1984) have pointed out that sometimes one knows of ‘χ’, that is ø thanks to recognizing a feature merely corelated with the presence of oness without endorsing a causal theory themselves, there suggest that it would need to be elaborated so as to allow that one’s belief that ‘χ’ has ø has been caused by a factor whose correlation with the presence of oness has caused in oneself, e.g., by evolutionary adaption in one’s ancestors, the disposition that one manifests in acquiring the belief in response to the correlated factor. Not only does this strain the unity of as causal theory by complicating it, but no causal theory without other shortcomings has been able to cover instances of deductively reasoned knowledge.
Causal theories of Propositional knowledge differ over whether they deviate from the tripartite analysis by dropping the requirements that one’s believing (accepting) that ‘h’ be justified. The same variation occurs regarding reliability theories, which present the Knower as reliable concerning the issue of whether or not ‘h’, in the sense that some of one’s cognitive or epistemic states, θ, are such that, given further characteristics of oneself-possibly including relations to factors external to one and which one may not be aware-it is nomologically necessary (or at least probable) that ‘h’. In some versions, the reliability is required to be ‘global’ in as far as it must concern a nomologically (probabilistic) relationship) relationship of states of type θ to the acquisition of true beliefs about a wider range of issues than merely whether or not ‘h’. There is also controversy about how to delineate the limits of what constitutes a type of relevant personal state or characteristic. (For example, in a case where Mr Notgot has not been shamming and one does know thereby that someone in the office owns a Ford, such as a way of forming beliefs about the properties of persons spatially close to one, or instead something narrower, such as a way of forming beliefs about Ford owners in offices partly upon the basis of their relevant testimony?)
One important variety of reliability theory is a conclusive reason account, which includes a requirement that one’s reasons for believing that ‘h’ be such that in one’s circumstances, if h* were not to occur then, e.g., one would not have the reasons one does for believing that ‘h’, or, e.g., one would not believe that ‘h’. Roughly, the latter is demanded by theories that treat a Knower as ‘tracking the truth’, theories that include the further demand that is roughly, if it were the case, that ‘h’, then one would believe that ‘h’. A version of the tracking theory has been defended by Robert Nozick (1981), who adds that if what he calls a ‘method’ has been used to arrive at the belief that ‘h’, then the antecedent clauses of the two conditionals that characterize tracking will need to include the hypothesis that one would employ the very same method.
But unless more conditions are added to Nozick’s analysis, it will be too weak to explain why one lack’s knowledge in a version of the last variant of the tricky Mr Notgot case described above, where we add the following details: (a) Mr Notgot’s compulsion is not easily changed, (b) while in the office, Mr Notgot has no other easy trick of the relevant type to play on one, and ©) one arrives at one’s belief that ‘h’, not by reasoning through a false belief ut by basing belief that ‘h’, upon a true existential generalization of one’s evidence.
Nozick’s analysis is in addition too strong to permit anyone ever to know that ‘h’: ‘Some of my beliefs about beliefs might be otherwise, e.g., I might have rejected on of them’. If I know that ‘h5' then satisfaction of the antecedent of one of Nozick’s conditionals would involve its being false that ‘h5', thereby thwarting satisfaction of the consequent’s requirement that I not then believe that ‘h5'. For the belief that ‘h5' is itself one of my beliefs about beliefs (Shope, 1984).
Some philosophers think that the category of knowing for which true. Justified believing (accepting) is a requirement constituting only a species of Propositional knowledge, construed as an even broader category. They have proposed various examples of ‘PK’ that do not satisfy the belief and/ort justification conditions of the tripartite analysis. Such cases are often recognized by analyses of Propositional knowledge in terms of powers, capacities, or abilities. For instance, Alan R. White (1982) treats ‘PK’ as merely the ability to provide a correct answer to a possible questions, however, White may be equating ‘producing’ knowledge in the sense of producing ‘the correct answer to a possible question’ with ‘displaying’ knowledge in the sense of manifesting knowledge. (White, 1982). The latter can be done even by very young children and some non-human animals independently of their being asked questions, understanding questions, or recognizing answers to questions. Indeed, an example that has been proposed as an instance of knowing that ‘h’ without believing or accepting that ‘h’ can be modified so as to illustrate this point. Two examples concerns an imaginary person who has no special training or information about horses or racing, but who in an experiment persistently and correctly picks the winners of upcoming horseraces. If the example is modified so that the hypothetical ‘seer’ never picks winners but only muses over whether those horses wight win, or only reports those horses winning, this behaviour should be as much of a candidate for the person’s manifesting knowledge that the horse in question will win as would be the behaviour of picking it as a winner.
These considerations expose limitations in Edward Craig’s analysis (1990) of the concept of knowing of a person’s being a satisfactory informant in relation to an inquirer who wants to find out whether or not ‘h’. Craig realizes that counterexamples to his analysis appear to be constituted by Knower who are too recalcitrant to inform the inquirer, or too incapacitate to inform, or too discredited to be worth considering (as with the boy who cried ‘Wolf’). Craig admits that this might make preferable some alternative view of knowledge as a different state that helps to explain the presence of the state of being a suitable informant when the latter does obtain. Such the alternate, which offers a recursive definition that concerns one’s having the power to proceed in a way representing the state of affairs, causally involved in one’s proceeding in this way. When combined with a suitable analysis of representing, this theory of propositional knowledge can be unified with a structurally similar analysis of knowing how to do something.
Knowledge and belief, according to most epistemologists, knowledge entails belief, so that I cannot know that such and such is the case unless I believe that such and such is the case. Others think this entailment thesis can be rendered more accurately if we substitute for belief some closely related attitude. For instance, several philosophers would prefer to say that knowledge entail psychological certainties (Prichard, 1950 and Ayer, 1956) or conviction (Lehrer, 1974) or acceptance (Lehrer, 1989). None the less, there are arguments against all versions of the thesis that knowledge requires having a belief-like attitude toward the known. These arguments are given by philosophers who think that knowledge and belief (or a facsimile) are mutually incompatible (the incomparability thesis), or by ones who say that knowledge does not entail belief, or vice versa, so that each may exist without the other, but the two may also coexist (the separability thesis).
The incompatibility thesis is sometimes traced to Plato (429-347 Bc) in view of his claim that knowledge is infallible while belief or opinion is fallible ('Republic' 476-9). But this claim would not support the thesis. Belief might be a component of an infallible form of knowledge in spite of the fallibility of belief. Perhaps, knowledge involves some factor that compensates for the fallibility of belief.
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