Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality: Testing Religious Truth-claims (Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies) 9781409434863, 9781409434870, 1409434869

Citation preview

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality Testing Religious Truth-claims

R. Scott Smith

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality Philosophical naturalism is taken to be the preferred and reigning epistemology and metaphysics that underwrites many ideas and knowledge claims. But what if we cannot know reality on that basis? What if the institution of science is threatened by its reliance on naturalism? R. Scott Smith argues in a fresh way that we cannot know reality on the basis of naturalism. Moreover, the “fact-value” split has failed to serve our interests of wanting to know reality. The author provocatively argues that since we can know reality, it must be due to a non-naturalistic ontology, best explained by the fact that human knowers are made and designed by God. The book offers fresh implications for the testing of religious truth-claims, science, ethics, education, and public policy. Consequently, naturalism and the fact-value split are shown to be false, and Christian theism is shown to be true.

ASHGATE NEW CRITICAL THINKING IN RELIGION, THEOLOGY AND BIBLICAL STUDIES The Ashgate New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. Headed by an international editorial advisory board of acclaimed scholars spanning the breadth of religious studies, theology and biblical studies, this openended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. Other Recently Published Titles in the Series: Dalit Theology and Christian Anarchism Keith Hebden Kierkegaard, Pietism and Holiness Christopher B. Barnett Piety and Responsibility Patterns of Unity in Karl Rahner, Karl Barth, and Vedanta Desika John N. Sheveland The Trinity and Theodicy The Trinitarian Theology of von Balthasar and the Problem of Evil Jacob H. Friesenhahn Dharma and Ecology of Hindu Communities Sustenance and Sustainability Pankaj Jain Thomas Torrance’s Mediations and Revelation Titus Chung Concepts of Power in Kierkegaard and Nietzsche J. Keith Hyde Beyond Evangelicalism The Theological Methodology of Stanley J. Grenz Steven Knowles

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality Testing Religious Truth-claims

R. Scott Smith Biola University, La Mirada, CA, USA

© R. Scott Smith 2012 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. R. Scott Smith has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. Published by Ashgate Publishing Limited Ashgate Publishing Company Wey Court East Suite 420 Union Road 101 Cherry Street Farnham Burlington Surrey, GU9 7PT VT 05401-4405 England USA www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Smith, R. Scott, 1957  Naturalism and our knowledge of reality : testing religious truth-claims. —   (Ashgate new critical thinking in religion, theology and biblical studies)   1. Naturalism—Religious aspects. 2. Naturalism. 3. Realism. 4. Mind and reality.   5. Knowledge, Theory of (Religion)  I. Title II. Series   210–dc22 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Smith, R. Scott, 1957–   Naturalism and our knowledge of reality : testing religious truth-claims / R. Scott Smith. p. cm. — (New critical thinking in religion, theology and Biblical studies)  Includes bibliographical references and index.  ISBN 978-1-4094-3486-3 (hardcover : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-1-4094-3487-0 (ebook) 1. Knowledge, Theory of (Religion) 2. Philosophy, Christian. 3. Theism. 4. Knowledge, Theory of. 5. Naturalism. I. Title. II. Title: Testing religious truth-claims.   BL51.S585 2011  200.1–dc23 2011021382 ISBN 9781409434863 (hbk) ISBN 9781409434870 (ebk) V

Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJ International Ltd, Padstow, Cornwall.

To the smartest and best person I know, without whose help this project could not have been accomplished

This page has been left blank intentionally

Contents Acknowledgements   Notes on Contributors and Permissions  

ix xi

Introduction  

1

Part I

Direct Realism

1

An Introduction to Direct Realism: The Views of D.M. Armstrong  

2

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan  

21

3

Searle’s Naturalism and the Prospects for Knowledge  

55

9

Part II Philosophy as Science: Neuroscience, Neurophilosophy, and Naturalized Epistemology 4

Cognitive Science, Philosophy, and Our Knowledge of Reality, Part One: The Views of David Papineau  

71

5

Cognitive Science, Philosophy, and Our Knowledge of Reality, Part Two: The Views of Daniel Dennett  

89

6

Can the Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition Ground a Viable Epistemology?   Errin D. Clark



107

Part III Other Alternatives, and Naturalism’s Future 7

Other Proposals: Pollock’s Internalism, Kim’s Physicalist Functionalism, and More Externalist Considerations   with Peggy Burke

137

8

The Future Directions of Naturalism  

153

9

A Positive Case for Our Knowledge of Reality  

183

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

viii

10

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method, and Other Implications  

Bibliography   Index  

197 233 239

Acknowledgements I am deeply grateful for the assistance and encouragement I have received while developing the ideas for this book. In particular, I want to thank my colleagues Peggy Burke and J.P. Moreland. Peggy has discussed several aspects of this project with me, especially the views of John Searle and Jaegwon Kim, and she has been a tireless source of encouragement. She also helped to write the part in Chapter 7 on Kim. I am deeply thankful to J.P. for his encouragement, insights, and availability to talk through many ideas. He has given feedback on earlier drafts of some chapters, and he has challenged my thinking in many ways. In addition, Errin Clark has helped not only by contributing Chapter 6 on the Churchlands’ views, but also by being so supportive of my aims and attempts to develop this book. I also am indebted to Dr. Chris Grace and his staff at Biola, for giving me two research grants. My colleague, Joe Gorra, and my director, Craig Hazen, have been very supportive and encouraging through this whole process. And, Erin Peters provided much technical help with the manuscript preparation. My sister, Lynne, has encouraged me and helped provided insights on many occasions. But, no thanks would be complete without expressing my deep gratitude and abiding love for my wife, Debbie, and daughter, Anna. They have seen me work long and hard on this project, and they have been so supportive. They are the joy of my life! R Scott Smith, PhD Biola University

This page has been left blank intentionally

Notes on Contributors and Permissions Errin Clark, M.A., Talbot School of Theology, Ph.D. student, Saint Louis University, contributed Chapter 6, “Can the Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition Ground a Viable Epistemology?” Used by permission. Peggy Burke, Ph.D, Biola University, co-authored with R. Scott Smith the section in Chapter 7 “Kim’s Physicalist Functionalism.” Used by permission.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Introduction At least since Darwin’s time, naturalism has been, and still is, the dominant paradigm in at least the western universities. By and large, naturalism simply is taught as fact in most every academic discipline, especially the natural sciences. In those disciplines, those who want serious scholarly respectability must operate under the assumptions of naturalism, whether in its more philosophical or methodological forms, or both.1 One kind of evidence of naturalism’s dominance in the academy is the current understanding of the fact–value dichotomy. On that view, science is the set of disciplines that gives us knowledge of facts, truth, and reality. Of course, for a discipline to even be considered a legitimate science, those practitioners must follow methodological naturalism, which brackets out appeals to nonnatural agents or entities, thereby helping to reinforce philosophical naturalism. On the other side of this dichotomy, disciplines such as religion, theology, and ethics have been relegated to the realm of mere opinions, personal preferences, and values, and thus they do not give us knowledge of reality. Indeed, for many, ethical and religious views are personal or social constructs. Or, if some concede that they do give us knowledge, it is of a vastly inferior sort, compared to that of science. So, the deeply held conviction, even perhaps an axiom, is that on the basis of naturalism we can know reality. Of course, academically, naturalism has not gone unchallenged. A current, persistent challenge to naturalism’s dominance is postmodernism, which I believe is widely entrenched in the humanities, with the general exception, I think, of philosophy. Postmoderns tend to challenge naturalists’ claims on the basis that naturalism is but another modernist metanarrative that purports to give us objective truth from an ahistorical, neutral vantage point. But, as postmoderns would be quick to point out, no one can ever hope to attain a perspective that is blind to nothing. Thus, metanarratives (understood as grand modernist stories that attempt to achieve such a viewpoint) are illegitimate and, basically, are evidence of a will to power. So, naturalism would be just another one of the failed modernist attempts to give us knowledge of objective truth. Others, such as dualists, have tended to attack naturalism from metaphysical standpoints. Still another kind of attack has been waged by intelligent design theorists, who of course attack evolution by natural selection. 1

  Though we will see nuances and variations in the naturalists’ works that follow, very roughly I take philosophical naturalism to be a thesis that reality consists solely of the physical, spatiotemporal world; thus there are no supernatural or nonnatural entities or beings. From that stance surface epistemological, moral, and other positions.

2

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

There have been various epistemologies offered by naturalists to explain how we have knowledge of reality. What I do not think has been undertaken, however, is a close, systematic examination of the various forms of naturalism, in terms of their ontological resources, to see if indeed they can make good on the belief that we can, and often do, know reality on that basis. That examination is what I intend to do. As a big-picture overview, in Part I, I begin my examination of naturalism with three major forms of direct realism. In Part II, I shift to considering three major positions in philosophy as science (neuroscience, neurophilosophy, and naturalized epistemology). In Part III, I look at more considerations, including the views of John Pollock, Jaegwon Kim, and more externalist options. But, upon examination of each view, I believe that we will find significant reasons to show that we cannot know reality on the basis of any of these versions of naturalism, or even in principle. And those various failures will be due precisely to an inadequate set of resources available in philosophical naturalism’s ontology. Yet it should be clear, I think, that we can, and often do, know reality as it truly is. Each of us can give many examples of clear cases in which we do know reality. I do not mean to imply that our knowing reality must entail exhaustive, or even certain, knowledge of that feature. Nonetheless, we do have knowledge of reality. I know that I am writing in Starbuck’s right now; I am married to Debbie Hubbard Smith, and my daughter is Anna; George Bush was president of the United States in July 2008; and much, much more. Of course, I could be mistaken, but why should I believe that? Also, surely we have examples of scientific knowledge of reality. But if we can, and often do, know reality, then it seems it must be on the basis of a different ontology that naturalism can offer. Or so I will try to show. As a chapter-level overview, I begin in Chapter 1 by examining the views of an early direct realist, D.M. Armstrong. Though newer direct realists (Fred Dretske, Michael Tye, and William Lycan) have shifted in some of their views away from Armstrong’s, his views still are important to consider. Armstrong provides us with a theory of perception that he thinks enables us to match up with and know objective, material reality. This theory utilizes a physical, causal process that produces in us veridical perceptions and true beliefs. Part of my attention, therefore, will be on this facet of Armstrong’s thought, as it will recur in others’ views as well. Also, we may learn more lessons that could affect our study of other contemporary direct realists. In Chapter 2, I shift to the direct realist views of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan. All three are reductive materialists, and representationalists. These philosophers come to grips with giving a compelling materialist account of qualia; the firstperson, privileged point of view; introspection; and intentionality. All three affirm intentional inexistence, for instance, in the case of hallucinations. And, importantly, they each affirm direct, nonconceptual seeing. All three also reject epistemic internalism as a sense datum view, and Dretske, at the least, has offered an explicit, externalist account of warrant. And, of course, all three philosophers affirm that only physical stuff exists. But physical states can

Introduction

3

be conceptualized variously, giving rise to the notion of “levels” of description. So, they assume that we can (and do) form concepts, as well as correct them. These two factors, however, will be key issues to explore, to see if they can indeed make good on that assumption, as well as our ability to know reality. In Chapter 3, I conclude this part on direct realism with a study of John Searle’s works, in particular his views about (1) the nature of the “bedrock” of reality (which is physical); (2) the external reality that exists independently of our descriptions of it; and (3) social reality. For Searle, there is more to reality than just the physical. Intentionality, for instance, is irreducibly mental; yet, mental properties are part of the physical. Social institutions also are more than just physical stuff. We construct these by the imposition of intentionality on brute physical stuff. Though intentionality is prominent in his thought, it is not the means by which we match up with and know reality directly. Instead, the “Background,” which is neurophysiological, enables us to do this. But when we factor in Searle’s notion of conceptual relativity, his affirmation that we always know things from the standpoint of a particular conceptual scheme, as well as his uses of some of the later Wittgenstein’s ideas, a key issue we will have to examine is whether Searle can make good on his claims to know reality as it truly is, especially about the physical nature of “bedrock” reality. In Part II, we shift to study examples in naturalized epistemology, neuroscience, and neurophilosophy. In Chapter 4, I study the proposals of David Papineau, who continues the representationalist/reliabilist trajectory of thought, yet he also frames these views within an overall approach that rejects “first” philosophy. Papineau also maintains a kind of realism about mental states and their contents, all the while being a token identity reductionist. However, he does not share the Churchlands’ confidence that we will be able to eliminate folk psychological terms from our discourse. As an innovation, Papineau offers not only an explanation of how we form concepts, but also how we can use them to know if we “match up” with reality. To accomplish the former, he introduces his notion of a nonconceptual template in the brain. Part of our task in assessing his proposals, however, will be to test whether this innovation, along with his other specific views, actually will succeed in enabling us to know reality. Next, in Chapter 5, we consider Daniel Dennett’s proposals, which mark a significant shift away from the reductionist, representationalist, and reliabilist views of Papineau, Dretske, Tye, or Searle. Indeed, I think Dennett draws the most consistent conclusions from the Darwinian story, which will include his use of W.V.O. Quine’s thesis of the indeterminacy of radical translation. Thus far, the various philosophers we have studied affirm the existence of mental entities, even though they are reducible to brain states. But Dennett denies the reality of mental entities and their intentional contents, all the while insisting that he is a kind of realist. Even against the Churchlands, Dennett thinks that folk psychology still will have its usefulness, even in the “golden age” of neuroscience. But while Dennett draws out very consistent implications of Darwin, we need to see if he actually

4

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

carries them through far enough, even in terms of their possible application to his own views, and, along with that, to our ability to know reality. In Chapter 6, Errin Clark takes up the neurocomputational and epistemological views of Paul and Patricia Churchland. Clark seeks to clarify what knowledge is for them by unpacking their cognitive “mechanics,” including the nature of sensations and intentionality, and how their neurocomputational model of cognition relates concept identity and meaning. Then he attempts to characterize their epistemology, especially in light of how their theses of meaning try to account for knowledge and epistemic progression in terms of a mapping analogy. Thus, Clark addresses the relationship between their theories of cognition and meaning, and the epistemology this relationship either constitutes or implies. But at this point, we need to see whether their epistemology can be maintained as a viable option for naturalists, for it seems they implicitly deny our ability to experience things as they are in themselves, a position that may threaten to undermine their entire project. So, what other naturalistic options should we consider, to see if they can succeed in giving us knowledge of reality? In Part III, I suggest more versions. In Chapter 7, I turn to John Pollock’s and Jaegwon Kim’s proposals. I have chosen to study Pollock at this stage, and not in Part I with the direct realists, or in Part II, under cognitive science. Instead, I have chosen to take up his views now because of his nondoxastic internalism. But several familiar issues that have surfaced before seem to be poised to undermine his proposed epistemology too, so we need to carefully examine to what extent they may, or may not, apply. Another possibility I entertain is whether some other naturalistic form of externalism can give us warranted true beliefs about reality. In the case of Kim, Peggy Burke and I look at his ontological commitments, including his favored form of reduction, functionalism. For him, cognitive states, with their intentional qualities, can be reduced functionally. However, qualia remain anomalous, for he thinks they are incapable of functionalization due to their intrinsic qualities. Yet they too must be physical, but, like other “mental” qualities, they can be conceptualized variously. Can Kim’s views provide some resources to enable us to know reality? If not, where else should we turn for a naturalistic solution? At this point, I argue that we have reached an impasse. In Chapter 8, I argue that, of all the versions of naturalism that I have surveyed, none has the ontological resources needed for us to know reality. Does that mean that there are no options for naturalists? I do not think we can draw that conclusion yet. Instead, naturalists might be able to modify their conception(s) of philosophical naturalism, to remedy its deficiencies. So I then explore what I think are the most promising options available to naturalists, to try to solve these problems. After engaging those arguments, I turn to face two more serious objections to my entire line of argument. At the end, however, I argue that we cannot know reality on the basis of ontological naturalism, even in principle.

Introduction

5

Yet, we do know reality, in science and many other disciplines, as well as in our daily lives. But, if so, how? In Chapter 9, I shift from a critical posture to a constructive one, to develop a positive case for our knowledge of reality. Here, a major concern of mine will be to identify and argue for what needs to obtain ontologically, for us to know reality. Also, I develop a methodology by how we can know reality. Having laid out my case against knowledge on the basis of the ontology of naturalism, and also a positive case for how we do know reality, in Chapter 10 I turn to other implications of this study’s findings. If we cannot know reality on the basis on the ontology of naturalism, then perhaps we still could appeal to methodological naturalism in the sciences to give us knowledge. This objection might go as follows: We have gained much knowledge of the real world by science (a claim with which I agree), so even if we cannot justify the philosophy of naturalism, it does not follow that we should give up the enormously successful scientific method and methodological naturalism. So I will take up this objection, arguing that, though we do have knowledge from science, it cannot be on the basis of naturalism, philosophical or methodological. If I am correct, this will mean that the “fact” side of the split is radically mistaken and false. And, if naturalism and naturalistic science cannot give us knowledge of reality, perhaps we have been too hasty in ethics and religion to think that, in these subjects, we only can have personal opinions and preferences, but not knowledge. At the least, we would be mistaken to relegate religion and ethics to that realm for the reason that naturalism is the basis by which we know reality. I sketch an argument for how we can, and even do, have moral knowledge, based upon the methodology and epistemology I develop in Chapter 9. I also consider the possibilities of having religious knowledge, and I sketch a way how we could know whether there is indeed knowledge to be found in that “realm.” Indeed, I believe we should conclude that God is indeed real, and we can know that to be true. So my conclusions have much import for present discussions in philosophy of religion. Of course, there would be many more implications of my overall argument, such as in education, public policy (including bioethics), and public discourse, for the extent of naturalism’s reach is vast. In closing, I consider several such implications.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Part I Direct Realism

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 1

An Introduction to Direct Realism: The Views of D.M. Armstrong Introduction Several naturalists think that naturalism simply gives us the facts about the objective world, such that the real world is completely describable in the language of chemistry and physics. Though all that exists is part of the natural realm, and no supernatural (or immaterial) one exists, such philosophers think naturalism gives us the truth about the reality. Often this view is coupled with a very high confidence in modern science’s abilities, by way of employing the scientific method, to secure such knowledge. In this chapter, I will begin our assessment of strict physicalist types of naturalism1 by examining the direct realist views of one main philosopher, the Australian naturalist D.M. Armstrong, as a way to approach the issues of how this kind of naturalism can secure knowledge. Though other direct realists today have shifted in some of their positions away from Armstrong’s, nonetheless his views merit our consideration for several reasons.2 For one, he is a key thinker at the start of the rise of naturalism to its position of philosophical dominance. For another, he provides us with a robust theory of perception in which he maintains that we can match up with objective reality, which is material, through the results of a physical, causal process that produces in us veridical perceptions. Additionally, by studying a key historical representative of direct realism, we may surface some key insights (pro or con) that may help us when studying contemporary direct realists in the next two chapters. Finally, there may be other lessons to be learned that will come into play as we continue our study with other naturalists. Thus, I believe a study of Armstrong’s ideas still is helpful to the discussion of how a naturalistic approach to perception and epistemology can secure knowledge of an objective reality. In that light, I will survey his basic views, and then I will explore a few possible problems for his view. 1   By “strict physicalism,” I mean the dominant, overarching version of philosophical naturalism today, that all that exists is physical stuff. Much later, we will countenance a possibility of a more pluralistic physicalism, in which mental entities as such could exist, but they would depend completely for their existence upon the physical. 2   In Chapter 2, we will examine the positions of Fred Dretske, Michael Tye, and William Lycan, three “new” direct realists whose views nonetheless differ in some key respects from those of Armstrong.

10

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Armstrong’s Materialist Theory of Perception In his 1961 book, Perception and the Physical World, Armstrong sets forth his argument for direct realism, the view that the immediate objects of awareness in perception are physical entities that exist independently of our sense experiences of them.3 He seeks to develop this position as an empiricist. However, he realizes this position is at odds with two received understandings of empiricism, namely representationalism and phenomenalism, both of which deny that we have direct access to physical objects. So Armstrong must address these two main kinds of objections to direct realism, as well as possible objections raised from a scientifically realistic view of reality. On his view, representationalists and phenomenalists both maintain that, in perception, the immediate object of our awareness is a sense impression, or sense datum. They also usually assume that the sense impression cannot exist independently of the awareness of it. However, they divide over the nature of physical objects. For the phenomenalist, physical objects are just the constructions made out of the immediate objects of awareness (namely, sense impressions), and thus so-called “physical” objects do not exist independently of perception. On the other hand, the representationalist maintains that physical objects are distinct from our sense impressions, and they are capable of independent existence.4 However, our sense impressions stand between us and physical objects. Fortunately, in cases of veridical perception, our sense impressions can correspond with physical reality, as the object perceived causes in us the sense impressions. But even so, we are always working epistemically from within our sensory experiences.5 We do not get past them and make direct contact with physical reality. There are several points of representationalism with which Armstrong agrees. He accepts the point that veridical perceptions are caused in us by the object perceived. He also grants that sense impressions may, or may not, match up with physical reality, and that physical reality may fail radically to match up with our commonsense veridical perceptions. For example, commonsensically speaking, we often perceive that red, which would be a secondary quality, appears to be present in physical stuff such as blood. But modern physics tells us that physical objects actually are made up of just primary qualities.6 But, against both representationalism and phenomenalism, Armstrong has much to say. A primary way for him to develop his criticisms is by examining the appeal of both representationalists and phenomenalists to the argument from illusion. According to him, the argument from illusion attempts to show that, 3   D.M. Armstrong, Perception and the Physical World (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1961), p. xi. 4  Ibid. 5   On the other hand, Armstrong also believes that some of our sense impressions may fail radically to match up with physical reality. See pp. 130–31. 6   Ibid., p. 164.

An Introduction to Direct Realism

11

whether in cases of perceiving a physical object as it is, or in cases of illusion, the immediate object of apprehension is a sense impression, and not the physical object. Representationalists and phenomenalists differ, however, over the cause of illusion. For the former, they maintain that the illusion is due to a failure of the sense impression to represent the object. In the case of the latter, the illusion is due to a lack of coherence with others’ perceptions.7 The core problem, he thinks, with both views is their positing a distinct thing (a sense impression) that stands between us and physical reality. Armstrong observes that there is a connection between having a sensory illusion and a false belief. As he illustrates, “If I go into a room and have a hallucinatory visual experience as of a cat on the mat, then, under normal circumstances, I shall have a false belief about the world, viz. that there is a cat on the mat now.”8 So it seems to him that to have a sensory illusion is simply to have a false belief. As a first pass, therefore, in his attempt to address representationalism and phenomenalism, Armstrong suggests that the difference between having a veridical perception, versus having an illusion, is just the difference between having a true belief, versus a false one. And if this is the case, then, contrary to representationalism and phenomenalism, we simply need not multiply entities; instead we should apply Occam’s Razor and maintain that, in cases of sensory illusion, there is no sense impression that is the immediate object of awareness. Instead, in such cases, we just are having a false perceptual belief. Similarly, in cases of veridical perception, we simply are having a true perceptual belief, without having an additional entity involved, namely, a sense impression.9 Armstrong develops and clarifies his position when he claims that cases of sensory illusion amount to just the having of an additional false belief. That is, “there is no ‘perception’ of a quasi-object, but simply a false belief that there is an ordinary veridical perception of an ordinary physical object or state of affairs.”10 To emphasize, Armstrong explains that “when (or in so far as) we suffer form sensory illusion there is no object at all, physical or non-physical, which we are perceiving in any possible sense of the word ‘perceiving.’ There simply is the (completely) false belief that ordinary perceiving is taking place.”11 Though it will seem like I am seeing a cat on the mat, “the non-physical object of immediate apprehension is simply a ghost generated by my belief that I am seeing something.”12 Later, Armstrong refines and qualifies his theory of perception, such that perception

 7

  Ibid., p. 81.  Ibid.  9   Ibid., p. 82. 10   Ibid., p. 83. 11  Ibid. 12   Ibid., p. 84.  8

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

12

is the acquiring of knowledge of, or inclination to believe in, particular facts about the physical world, by means of the senses. And to suffer sensory illusion is to acquire a false belief, or inclination to a false belief, in particular propositions about the physical world by means of the senses.13

On his view, there is no way to distinguish sense impressions from belief.14 That finding is contrary to representationalism and phenomenalism, which posits a contingent connection between sense impressions and beliefs. To Armstrong, if the representationalist and phenomenalist views are to make sense, it cannot be the case that there is a necessary connection between sense impressions and beliefs. If there were a necessary connection, then that would imply that, contrary to representationalism and phenomenalism, sense impressions and beliefs are not distinct.15 So, the connection must be contingent, if these views are to withstand scrutiny. Why? Because knowledge of the connection between them must also derive from experience, which, on empiricism, means that the connection must be of a synthetic a posteriori type. The representationalist and phenomenalist try to force people into their respective conclusions once they accept the empiricist claim that all knowledge comes by way of the five senses. The move goes as follows: If sense impressions are distinct from beliefs, then we somehow have to have justification to move from the perceptual experience to a certain belief. That move would require that we know (contingently) that certain perceptual experiences generally occur when a certain state of affairs obtains in the physical world. But, so the representationalist or phenomenalist would argue, to know that requires an independent source of knowledge about the physical world, apart from the empirical. But if sensory experience is the basis for our knowledge of the world, then such knowledge cannot be achieved. We therefore are left behind a “screen” of sense impressions (according to representationalism), or we must identify the physical realm with sense impressions (following phenomenalism).16 But Armstrong thinks we can avoid these conclusions, both of which are inimical to his direct realism, if we do not multiply existents unnecessarily. That is, we simply recognize that having immediate, veridical perception is just the same as the event of acquiring immediate knowledge.17 In cases of veridical perception, in which we acquire a justified true belief, or inclination to believe, the object perceived causes the belief in us. Now Armstrong realizes that his own view could be taken to entail that we are trapped behind a long, potentially infinite regress, which in this case is formed by a causal chain of beliefs, such that we cannot transcend them and epistemically 13

  Ibid., pp. 120–21.   Ibid., p. 89. 15   Ibid., p. 116. 16  Ibid. 17   Ibid., p. 191. 14

An Introduction to Direct Realism

13

reach the part of physical reality that is the object of belief. There are two ways to interpret this situation. For one, this could be interpreted as a phenomenalism of beliefs, such that the physical world is constructed out of beliefs.18 The second interpretation is parallel to that posed by the representationalist. On that argument, we cannot somehow transcend sensory experience and appeal to some other form of knowledge, in order to confirm that sensory experience is a good, generally reliable way to know physical reality. Instead, we are trapped behind our beliefs and cannot escape that screen to know physical reality as it is. In either case, we are left epistemically “behind” our beliefs and unable to access physical reality. Now, if our beliefs stand between us and physical reality, Armstrong considers what it would take for us to know that fact. That would require, he contends, further beliefs that our perceptual beliefs match up with reality.19 But how can we know that that is the case? He has eliminated any appeal to sense impressions as the grounds, or evidence,20 for perceptual beliefs, for that requires that we have two entities, and not one, a result which he thinks entails that we end up trapped behind the representationalist’s screen of sense impressions. Armstrong’s solution is wisely crafted. He appeals to a particularist strategy, in order to rebut skeptical charges that we cannot know physical reality. Rather than submit a further criterion for how we know that beliefs match up with reality, he simply points out that, as an empiricist, there is no real “dogmaticism” in claiming to know certain empirical matters of fact about the physical world, without proof. Proof must begin somewhere, so why should we not know some truths about the physical world without proof? To say that there is no intrinsic mark to distinguish true belief about the physical world from false belief, is only a way of saying that such beliefs are contingent and corrigible. It is logically possible that they should be false, and it is logically possible to be mistaken about them. But this does not show that we cannot know such truths, and know them without proof. To treat such claims to knowledge as ineluctably “dogmatic,” is to refuse to give the title of “knowledge” to anything except necessary or incorrigible truths.21

Empirical knowledge has to have its starting points, and so Armstrong takes the only route available that will stop the regress and silence the skeptic’s call for a criterion for knowledge. Armstrong thinks he avoids the charge of being trapped behind beliefs, as opposed to sense impressions, by appealing to the fact that there are some things we simply know, and empirical knowledge can serve as this kind of foundation. 18

    20   21   19

Ibid., pp. 133–5. Ibid., p. 131. Ibid., pp. 128, 133. Ibid., p. 135.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

14

So by equating sense impressions with the acquiring of, or the inclination to have, knowledge, Armstrong thinks he has successfully removed any entities that would stand between us and our knowledge of physical reality. Physical objects cause veridical beliefs in us, which is a kind of reliabilism. Without the existence of such objects to cause those beliefs in us, we would not have such beliefs. This means that there is a causal, reliable relation between the object and the belief caused, such that the two relata must exist if physical things are to be objects of thought. But, and it is important to note, Armstrong denies that our believing a proposition makes it true; our beliefs do not cause physical objects to match up with those beliefs. A proposition is true if it matches up with physical reality.22 But Armstrong realizes that he might have to adjust his theory of perception in light of the modern, scientific view of reality. He considers two issues, the first being the argument from causation. On this view, instead of our being behind a screen of sense impressions or beliefs, we are behind the last physical state in a long, causal chain that began with the physical object and reached the brain. That is, the only possible immediate object of awareness is once again held to be something other than the object in itself; here, it is a brain event. But this view apparently is easy prey for him at this stage in his theory’s development, for it trades upon the confusion of perceiving something, and the causal conditions serving to bring about that perception. While acknowledging that some physical, causal chain is “surely true,” the argument has done nothing to show that we should identify perception itself with the causal conditions necessary for its occurrence.23 The second argument, the argument from science, however, poses other issues that may prove more difficult for his theory as it stands so far. On this view, physical objects are seen as being composed of molecules with atoms, and they have primary qualities, such as mass, length, motion, and shape. But ordinary perception gives us secondary qualities, such as colors, sounds, tastes, and smells, as traits of the objects themselves. How do we account for this difference? Armstrong considers two options. For the sake of argument, he accepts a realist account of modern physics, that primary qualities, but not secondary ones, are properties of physical objects. If this is the case, then “we must say that what common sense accounts to be veridical perceptions involve unsuspected illusory elements, that is, involve the acquiring of unsuspected false beliefs.”24 So, when we experience a physical object as being, say, colored, that is really just a matter of having a sensory illusion and, therefore, just the matter of having a false belief. As a concession to our ordinary experience, however, he remarks that though these beliefs are false, nonetheless it may be “convenient to go on calling such perceptions ‘veridical,’ because we want to mark them off from what are ordinarily 22

  Ibid., p. 133.   Ibid., p. 142. 24   Ibid., p. 193. 23

An Introduction to Direct Realism

15

treated as non-veridical perceptions. But then the meaning of the word ‘veridical’ has changed.”25 The second option is that we could reduce secondary qualities to nothing but primary ones, perhaps in the manner of J.J.C. Smart, who equates secondary qualities with powers to evoke certain kinds of discriminatory responses in humans.26 If we accept such a reductive thesis, then Armstrong claims we must also say that his theory of perception applies to primary qualities, but not secondary ones, since there simply would not be any secondary qualities distinct from primary ones. In summary, Armstrong’s theory is a thorough-going attempt to explain perception in a materialist and empiricist framework, yet without the typical baggage associated with representationalism and phenomenalism as he has defined them, namely, a sense impression that is the immediate object of awareness.27 He removes that obstacle to having direct access to reality by identifying the having of a sense impression with the acquiring of a belief, or an inclination to believe. His theory is reliabilist (and externalist) in that physical objects cause in us veridical perceptions. Furthermore, he addresses the concern that he simply has substituted a different entity in place of a sense impression, namely, a belief, which could now stand between us and reality. His particularist reply is that he rejects any further criterion for knowing certain truths about the physical world. That is, there simply are ones we know, without any further proof, and that rebuts the dangers of a regress that he could never epistemically traverse, to know reality. He also thinks he avoids appealing to some additional source of knowledge besides the empirical to justify the belief that our senses generally are reliable guides to knowing the truth of the physical world. Assessing His Theory Beliefs are of, or about, things, and this quality is what philosophers typically have understood as intentionality, however they proceed to explain it ontologically (for example, as a hallmark of the irreducibly mental, or as something that can be reduced and described exhaustively in the language of chemistry or physics). Now, when Armstrong tells us that we can have true beliefs that are reliably produced in us by their physical objects, clearly there is a causal relation between beliefs and their objects. Our veridical beliefs represent, are about, or are together with, their objects because the actual object caused that belief in us. To have such a relation, of course, the relata must exist, and he seems to assume a relation 25

 Ibid.   Ibid., p. 177. 27   Of course, in Chapter 2, we will encounter the representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan, and none of them thinks that a sense datum is the immediate object of our experiences. 26

16

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

of correspondence would be established as well, in order for veridical beliefs to match up with their physical objects. We also have seen that Armstrong thinks that we can correct otherwise warranted beliefs by further perceptions, or by more highly warranted theoretical beliefs. That is, he assumes we can check up on the epistemic status of our beliefs. In the case of sensory illusions and false beliefs, he assumes we can correct them by further observations. Or, we have to reject an ordinary perceptual belief, B1, about the reality of secondary qualities, if we accept another, more warranted belief, B2, that modern physics gives us a real account of the nature of qualities of objects. Surely he is right that we can adjust our beliefs in light of further evidence. For instance, a stick may appear bent when placed in water, so that we may form a belief that it is indeed bent. But, we can correct that belief by examining the stick’s appearance when outside of water. Also, we may see what appears to be a pool of water on the highway in the distance on a hot summer day in the desert. We may even form a belief that this is indeed the case. But, we can check up on that belief by further noticings as we travel further down the highway toward that point, and in light of the evidence provided by those observations, we may confirm or disconfirm that initial belief. What, then, is needed for us to check up on the epistemic status of a belief, to determine whether it is veridical or not? One thing is clear: Armstrong will not appeal to a sensory experience that provides the grounds for a belief, for he has ruled that out, lest, he fears, we multiply entities unnecessarily. Even worse, he thinks we would fall into the trap posed by representationalism, in which we cannot get past our sense impressions to physical reality. To begin to address this question, let us try to unpack somewhat more what intentionality is on his view. A representation is together with, or is about, its object since the object caused that state in the person. There is a causal covariation between the belief, with its representational state, and the object. If the object is not in that causal relation with the person, the belief will not be caused. So intentionality is, more or less, a representation due to causal covariation. Furthermore, while Armstrong does not seem to explicitly address this question, nonetheless intentionality itself seems for him to be a property, and not a relation. It is a quality of a belief that it is of some object, but there also are cases of hallucination, which Armstrong clearly acknowledges, in which we can have a belief, along with its ofness, but the object not be present. Yet when we have a false perceptual belief, he thinks there is no actual object that caused the belief. In cases of hallucination of, say, a red apple, surely there isn’t an actual red apple present that caused that false belief. Nonetheless, as a materialist, something material (some object, or state of affairs) had to cause the false belief. Maybe a brain state misfired, or a red ball caused the false perceptual belief that a red apple is present. In effect, on his materialism, whenever we have a belief, there is a relation between that belief and the object (or state of affairs) that caused it. If so, how would

An Introduction to Direct Realism

17

we be able to check up and know which beliefs are true, and which are false? For in both kinds of cases, the relation of togetherness will obtain. Furthermore, this process causing a belief (true or false) evidently simply happens to the person, and we apparently lack any ontological resource by which we can somehow bypass, or “transcend,” this process, to know if our belief matches reality or not. These considerations should remind us of Armstrong’s rebuttal of the argument from causation. In that argument, the hypothetical objector attempted to impale Armstrong’s theory of perception upon a revised version of the problem besetting representationalism: we are trapped behind the last physical state, such that it is the direct object of perception. In effect, we cannot know the real, physical objects in the real world that started the causal, physical series. But Armstrong replied that this argument trades upon a confusion of perceiving something, and the causal conditions that bring about the perception. He claims that, in effect, the argument has done nothing to demonstrate that we should identify perception itself with the causal conditions that are necessary for, and give rise to, its occurrence. Indeed, we know what perceiving is before we know anything about these causal processes. Yet, contrary to what he argues, the central issue posed by the argument from causation is not identifying perception with the causal conditions themselves. Rather, it is our inability to traverse, or transcend, the causal chain (which seems to be a potentially infinite series of physical states) and have epistemic access to the originating, physical object itself in the world. Now, if we somehow could do that, we could conceivably access the originating object that caused the belief, and then know whether the belief is veridical or not. But without that ability, Armstrong seems left with no way for us to know that we match up with real, physical objects in the world. There always will be a physical state (not to mention the whole chain) between us and the originating object in the causal chain. Consequently, it seems that there is no way we can know whether we ever did in fact get past the intermediate physical states (or the whole physical series) and reach the originating object. Somehow, then, on Armstrong’s view, we must be able to see that our belief about an object, and that object itself, match up in a correspondence relation. It seems we need to be able to make epistemic contact with that object itself, in order to be able to tell the difference between veridical and false beliefs. Moreover, we need to be able to do this in a way that does not somehow modify the object’s properties, lest we never be able to access the object itself, but only as it is modified. But on his causal view, this too seems dubious, for a physical, causal chain inevitably modifies its object. Perhaps instead Armstrong could reply that these abilities of comparison are beside the point. Indeed, he rejects a sensory experience, and, by extension, even further ones used to check up on a belief’s status, as grounds for a belief. These appeals seem to land us in the pitfalls of representationalism, namely, that by paying attention to what is represented in experience, we actually fall prey to a sense datum view, such that we cannot transcend our sense experiences and know reality directly. Instead, we need to rest in the reliability of our faculties

18

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

to give us reliably formed true beliefs. Hence we can have knowledge, without having to transcend chains, or compare what is represented in experience with the object itself. This is an important reply, and we will return to it much more in the chapter on the “new” direct realists, as well as Chapter 4 on David Papineau’s views. There we will concern ourselves in part with Fred Dretske’s point in defense of reliabilism that we do not need to verify that a given thermostat is functioning reliably in order to have knowledge; it is enough to know that it generally functions reliably. So we do not need to compare what is represented in experience with an object in order to know that such-and-such is the case. Indeed, such attention to what is being represented in experience smacks of a sense datum, internalist (and ultimately skeptical) view to him. For now, let us notice that there must be truth to reliabilism. Indeed, our cognitive faculties generally do function reliably in appropriate circumstances. And we do know that things such as thermostats generally function reliably. But a presupposition is at work here, namely that we already know what it means to function reliably. That is, we are employing a concept with which we are well familiar. But the question then becomes, how do we first form that concept? That we do indeed form and acquire concepts seems reasonable to assume, for we do not seem to come into this world with a nest of concepts, much less that one, preformed in us. My daughter has yet to form the concept of reliability, although she has experienced reliability in action, like when she clicks on a “start” button on one of her computer games. In the case of forming concepts based on perceptions, somehow the process seems to involve comparing what is represented in experiences and forming a concept from those comparisons. To be sure, there will be further issues to be explored later, such as Papineau’s contention that this process itself can be explained in a completely mechanistic way, and others from Dretske, Michael Tye, and William Lycan. But for now, to form a concept of the reliability of our sense experiences would seem to involve a similar process. If I observe a stick under normal conditions on various occasions, I can form a concept of a stick, part of which would be that it is (roughly) straight. But I can have further experiences, say, of it in water, and I then experience it as bent. Should I then form a concept of the stick as actually being bent? If I can compare what is represented in those two sets of experiences of the stick (in and out of water) with the stick itself, I also can form a concept that my sense perceptions of the stick as straight are reliable when I look at it out of the water. (Moreover, I can form the concept that my senses reliably experience the stick as bent if it is in the water.) I also can learn to associate the word “reliable” with that concept. But all these experiences presuppose that I can experience the stick itself, and also that I can compare what is represented in my experiences themselves with one another. If we are to be able to form concepts about real things in the real world, it seems we need access to them directly. Otherwise, we will be forming concepts about something else. But that ability to access the object directly seems

An Introduction to Direct Realism

19

precluded, at least on Armstrong’s view, by the very issues we have discussed above. So, appeals to reliabilism will need more strengthening, and we will return to its prospects in subsequent chapters. Finally, it does not seem on his view that beliefs can have intentionality. Why might this be so? For him, beliefs must be physical, just like all other things. Now, on the theory of modern physics, which he accepts for the sake of argument, matter has only primary qualities, such as mass, motion, length, and shape. But, primary qualities just are, and they do not seem to have any ofness or aboutness. It therefore seems strange (at least, following the theory of modern physics) to speak of beliefs as having intentionality. Yet it is hard to escape the pervasiveness of intentionality.28 Of course, this finding could be extended to other things, such as knowledge, desires, and even experiences. Now this point may have little weight, but it does help prepare us to understand a move that people like Tye and Papineau will make. For their representationalism, they introduce the notion that, while there is one kind of reality, ontologically speaking (which is physical), nonetheless there is a plurality of concepts we employ, including mentalistic ones, such that intentionality is a conceptualization of brain states. This seems to be a more consistent approach to take than Armstrong’s, and we will need to examine it more closely in chapters that follow. The Next Move My point in discussing Armstrong has not been to defend all his views as the same ones all direct realists, much less other naturalists, embrace today. Still, there are some key points to observe, and they involve the problems of how we could know the difference between veridical and false beliefs, given his materialism, and, closely related to that, how we could traverse a causal chain and know the real object in the real world that caused a belief. These issues will resurface as we continue our study. Yet there could be some possible replies from other realists. Now we will turn to three “new” direct realists, Dretske, Tye, and Lycan, and their representationalism.

28

  For instance, John Searle realizes how important intentionality is in his various works on the topic. And Hilary Putnam too has stated that it will not be reduced to some physical state, nor will it disappear. See Hilary Putnam, Representation and Reality, Representation and Mind, ed. Hilary Putnam and Ned Block (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1992), p. 1.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 2

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan Besides D.M. Armstrong, there are other, more recent naturalists who are direct realists and representationalists. While among them there are considerable commonalities with Armstrong, there are important differences. Here we will examine the direct realist, representationalist views of Fred Dretske, Michael Tye, and William Lycan, to see what ontological resources are available on their respective views for us to know reality. After summarizing their commonalities, as well as identifying their key differences, we will critically examine their views to see if their theories’ ontological resources will enable us to know reality.1 Dretske Dretske affirms a reductive materialism, yet also offers one of the most determined attempts to take seriously the reality of qualia, intentionality, introspection, and more. Moreover, Dretske is an externalist in epistemology, which will come into play in our examination. In Naturalizing the Mind, Dretske develops the “Representational Thesis,” the view that, more or less, “all mental facts are representational facts,” and “all representational facts are facts about informational functions.”2 So, there is a core teleological element packed into Dretske’s notion of representations, for which having an information-carrying function is a normative element. He develops the core idea of representations as follows: “The fundamental idea is that a system, S, represents a property, F, if and only if S has the function of indicating (providing information about) the F of a certain domain of objects.”3 Thus, having an indicator function is essential for representations. 1   David Papineau, however, has developed his own theory of representationalism with much in common with that of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan. But I have chosen to address his views in the section addressing cognitive science and naturalized epistemology because he explicitly situates his views within a rejection of “first philosophy.” We will look at his views in Chapter 4. 2   Fred Dretske, Naturalizing the Mind: The 1994 Jean Nicod Lectures (Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books, 1995), p. xiii. 3   Ibid., p. 2 (emphasis mine).

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

22

To illustrate, Dretske gives examples of both natural and conventional representations. The latter include measuring instruments, gauges, sensors, and the like, which get their information-providing functions from those who designed and made them. This is the case with thermometers (the function of which is to represent temperature) and speedometers (which indicate the speed of vehicles). But natural representations, which are naturally acquired, can be designed to do a particular function, yet without having a designer.4 While working properly, sensory systems can give information about the world, but that is not the same as their indicator function. The senses’ job is to give representations about the world, and that is a natural function.5 Hence, on the Representational Thesis, “all mental states are natural representations,” which means that his view is a version of philosophical naturalism.6 Dretske then distinguishes systemic indicator functions (and the representations they give rise to) from acquired indicator functions (and their representations). Importantly, experiences are examples of the systemic kind, whereas concepts are examples of acquired ones. Through this discussion, he introduces what will be an important distinction between phenomenal awareness (or, simple seeing) and conceptual awareness, for the former need not be accompanied by the latter. But, what is the difference, representationally, between these two kinds of awareness? All representations are token states or events, but systemic representations arise from systemic indicator functions. The function of a thermometer is one kind of a systemic indicator function, since that system has the function to indicate (provide information about) temperature. Likewise, experiences are systemic, in that their function is to provide information about the world, even though they may fail to do so (as when they are not functioning properly). Thus, Dretske introduces the idea that we can be mistaken in what our experiences represent; if an experience is of a red hat, but there is no red hat present, then we are suffering from a hallucination. Hence, the mere fact that an experience has intentionality does not entail that the intended object must exist, and therefore intentionality is a property, and not a relation, for him. On the other hand, a token state can “acquire its indicator function, not from the system of which it is a state, but from the type of state of which it is a token.”7 A thermometer is designed to systemically indicate temperature, but we might print the word “danger” at and beyond a certain point on the scale.8 This indicator function is assigned, or acquired, independently of any systemic representations, and thus acquired representations may not be the same as systemic ones. The difference between systemic and acquired indicator functions also applies to experiences and conceptual states. Experiences are the systemic representations 4

    6   7   8   5

Ibid., p. 7. Ibid., pp. 5, 8. Ibid., p. 8. Ibid., pp. 12–13 (emphasis in original). Ibid., p. 13.

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

23

of sensory systems whose design is to indicate certain features of the world, and they “have their representational content fixed by the biological functions of the sensory systems of which they are states.”9 Dretske also acknowledges that experiences have a subjective quality. For him, a quale is the way the experience represents things (systemically) to be.10 But conceptual states are acquired representations; as he explains, “through learning I can change what I believe when I see k, but I can’t much change the way k looks (phenomenally) to me.”11 So, though two representations may be of k as red, a systemic representation of k as red (a sensation of k as red) is not the same as an acquired representation of k as red (for example, a belief that k is red). Dretske includes in his analysis of experiences the fact that we do indeed have veridical experiences of actually existing objects (say, a red hat), but we also can have hallucinatory experiences, as well as illusions and dreams. For example, a hallucination occurs when we have a red-hat experience (a systemic representation thereof), but there is in fact no red hat present. In such cases, it would not be quite correct to say that “the experience is of a red hat,” since there is no red hat present for there to be an experience of.12 In cases of illusion, we still have a red-hat experience, but something else in the world causes it. In such a case, the experience is of an object, only that object is represented as having red-hat-like properties. This analysis allows him to make an important point, that for such kinds of representations (which he calls de re), their reference “(the object it is a representation of) is not how it is represented,” for we can have a red-hat experience without having an actual red hat.13 Instead, the reference of an experience is determined by “a certain causal or contextual relation,” which he calls C.14 The reference of these representations is contextually determined, and the veridicality of experience is determined, in part, by C. In the case of a veridical experience of a red hat, the experience will stand in the C relation to an actual red hat, such that the red hat causes that experience in the person. This kind of contextual relation can be explained in terms of a speedometer that stands in the C relation to his car. That speedometer can indicate something about his car, whereas other speedometers that do not stand in that C relation to his car cannot do that. Throughout this study, Dretske has assumed that intentionality is real. Yet just what it turns out to be is another question. He considers several aspects of intentionality, but we will look at just one, aboutness. For him, this is “the  9

  Ibid., p. 15.   Ibid., p. 22. 11   Ibid., p. 15. 12   Private e-mail correspondence from Dretske, Feb. 10, 2007. 13  Dretske, Naturalizing the Mind, p. 24. 14  Ibid. 10

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

24

power or capacity of one state of affairs to refer to or be about another.”15 In claiming that aboutness has something to do with states of affairs, Dretske opens the door to states besides mental ones that can have this feature. Surely he acknowledges that, for natural representations like experiences and thoughts, they have an original (underived) intentionality. But he also considers how measuring instruments exhibit aboutness, though their aboutness is derived from us, such that their “intentionality” is conventional and not original. Nonetheless, they do “say” something about what they are designed to measure. A pressure gauge, for example, “tells” us about an intake manifold and the pressure therein. Thus Dretske unpacks aboutness in terms of the reference of a representational state, and that reference is fixed by the C relation. Nonetheless, this does not mean that he thinks intentional aboutness itself is a relation, much less a causal informational one. Rather, intentional aboutness is a property of the representation, since a thought about a red hat has the property of being about that object. If it were a relation, then that would require the existence of the relata, such that the red hat object itself would have to exist if we are thinking of it. But Dretske rightly rejects such a view, for we can and do experience hallucinations, or illusions, and we can be subject to other perceptual errors.16 Furthermore, what makes a representation be about some object k is not simply a matter that the representation stands in the C relation to k. It also must be the case that the representation is the output of a representational system, which has the function of indicating a certain property of objects that stand in the C relation to that system.17 So, sensory systems, like eyesight, have the function of indicating the property red of objects in the real world, and they can do so, if functioning properly. So, for Dretske, intentionality is real, but, like sensory experiences, it can be explained and accounted for by the Representational Thesis. There is a further distinction he makes between representational vehicles and representational content. Being a form of philosophical naturalism, mental states such as experiences have to be reducible materialistically. For him, thoughts and experiences are “in” the head in a spatial sense, but these can be understood in terms of “experiencevehicles, [that is] the physical states that have a representational-content, the states that tell (express) a story abut the world.”18 So, physical states in the brain/body are vehicles for experiences, and they have representational content, which is about things, whether or not those things actually exist in the real world. However, while the representational vehicles, such as thoughts and experiences, are in the head, we do not find sensations or feelings when we look inside the skull. When we have a blue-dog experience, what is in the brain is neither blue nor doglike. That is, “we do not find the content of experience, the properties 15

  Ibid., p. 28.   Private e-mail correspondence from Dretske, Feb. 10, 2007. 17  Dretske, Naturalizing the Mind, p. 30. 18   Ibid., p. 35 (bracketed insert mine). 16

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

25

that make the experience the kind of experience it is.”19 We do, however, find experience (representation) vehicles, and these vehicles “in no way resemble what these representations represent.”20 That is, the facts that make what is in the head mental, the facts that convert electrical and chemical activity in the cortex into blue-dog experiences, are facts that are not identifiable by looking, exclusively, at what is in the head. What makes a certain pattern of electrical activity in the cortex into a blue-dog experience is a fact about what this activity represents, what it has the function of indicating.21

In summary, for Dretske’s Representational Thesis, while the experience vehicle (which is a physical state) is in the brain, the experience’s content is not. There are no little red hats to be found in the brain while one is experiencing a red hat. Nor must there be an actual red hat standing in the causal, contextual relation to that experience. This observation allows us to explore an important extension of Dretske’s view, which is what he calls displaced perception. This notion becomes crucial in his treatment of introspection. For him, introspection is a form of representation, but it is always a metarepresentation, a representation of or about another representation. Introspective knowledge is knowledge of the mind, or mental facts. On the Representational Thesis, mental facts are representational facts, and so “introspective knowledge is a (conceptual) representation of a representation – of the fact that something else is a representation or has a certain representational content.”22 Not only are they representations of representations, but “they are representations of them as representations.”23 An illustration may help clarify this concept. According to him, when he sees the bathroom scale and stands on it, he learns a fact about himself, namely how many pounds he weighs. The perceptual fact he learns about himself is displaced, since it is not represented sensorily, but he learns it by seeing something else, the scale. As he explains, “In seeing that I have gained five pounds by looking at the bathroom scale, there is a conceptual representation of me as having gained five pounds, but a sensory representation of the scale, not me.”24 This view has significant implications. While Dretske maintains that, in cases of veridical sense perception, we do have direct, immediate access to the real objects (in the real world) of our perceptual experiences, he denies that we can introspect directly our perceptual experiences themselves. Instead, that access is always conceptually mediated. In his essay “The Mind’s Awareness of Itself,” 19

  Ibid., p. 36.  Ibid. 21   Ibid., pp. 36–7. 22   Ibid., p. 43. 23  Ibid. 24   Ibid., pp. 41–2. 20

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

26

Dretske develops his view of the nature of introspective awareness in light of two theses: 1. Conscious perceptual experiences exist inside a person (probably somewhere in the brain). 2. Nothing existing inside a person has (or needs to have) the properties one is aware in having these experiences.25 Thesis 1 is familiar: it is the affirmation that perceptual experiences (which are realized by brain states) are spatially located inside the head. Thesis 2 is a denial of a sense-datum kind of view. Clearly, if we have a veridical experience of a red hat, then nothing inside us has the properties of a red hat. But then Dretske asks a question that drives his investigation: “How, then, can I be aware of what my perceptual experiences are like – presumably a matter of knowing what qualities they have – if none of the properties I am aware of when I have these experiences are properties of the experience?”26 To develop this subject, Dretske distinguishes between three kinds of awarenesses. First, we can be p-aware, that is, aware of a property (say, the red color of the hat). For him, we can be directly aware of properties of objects in the real world. Second, we also can be o-aware, which is when we are aware of the object (the red hat); this too we can experience directly. But, third, we can be f-aware, which is when we are aware of a fact, and this awareness involves concepts. As an example, we can be aware that an experience is of a red hat, if we conceptualize the experience as such. Yet he claims that we can be f-aware of the fact that an experience is of the red hat, without being o-aware of either the experience itself or p-aware of the property of the experience that makes it that kind of experience. Hence, he thinks we are able to be aware of what our experiences are like, without being aware of the experiences themselves or the properties that give them their phenomenal character because “the mind’s awareness of itself is an awareness of facts about itself … It is not an awareness of the internal object [the experience itself] … or the property … out of which such facts are composed.”27 Dretske’s second assumption rejects sense-datum views, in which case there would be something that exists inside the head that has the properties the person is aware of when the individual sees or even hallucinates a red hat, or a pumpkin.28 The core error of such a view is to maintain that, “to be aware of what it is like to experience pumpkins, one must be aware of one’s own

  Fred Dretske, “The Mind’s Awareness of Itself,” Philosophical Studies 95 (1999):

25

103.

26

 Ibid.   Ibid., p. 104 (emphasis and bracketed inserts mine). 28   Ibid., p. 110. 27

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

27

pumpkin experiences in something like the way one is aware of pumpkins.”29 Following his second thesis, there must be something other than the properties of an experience itself that tells us what the qualities of our experiences themselves are. As he asks, if we are to be made f-aware of what an experience is like, then this must be due to an awareness of properties and objects other than those of the experience. These must be properties of the object of which the experience makes us aware. So, in case of veridical perception, when one becomes p-aware of the qualities of a red hat, those qualities are not properties of the experience, but rather are properties of the red hat. To know, then, what properties an experience has, one needs to look at the object that the experience is of, not introspectively at the experience itself.30 Dretske seems quite determined to avoid a sense-datum view, which he associates with an internalist and, ultimately, skeptical position. In correspondence, he explains that “the idea on this view is that we are only aware of what is going on ‘in here’ (in the mind)”; hence, the sense-datum kind of view is “internalist” in that sense.31 Moreover, on this theory, since we are directly aware of the experience and its properties, but only indirectly aware of the external object, we “must somehow (to achieve knowledge of the external causes) compare or figure out what the external causes of the experience are like.”32 But, for him, this view lands us in skepticism since it raises the problem of how we could “know what the external reality which causes this is like.”33 In contrast, Dretske sees this aspect of his view as a form of epistemic externalism, in which knowledge is reliably caused belief. On his representational theory of experience, “we are aware of what is ‘out there’ (the red hat). And knowledge of it requires only a reliable process in the generation of that experience.”34 Put differently, for cases of veridical perception of a red hat, “we are directly aware of the cause (the red hat) and can see (hence, know) that it is red because this information (about the hat) is being transferred in the perceptual process to the representation (experience) of the hat.”35 Moreover, he argues that, to have knowledge, we do not need to know or verify that a specific process is in fact reliable. For instance, we do not have to know that a measuring instrument is indeed “functioning properly (is reliable) in order for you to use it to find out (come to know) what it tells you about the quantity you are measuring.”36 More fully, 29

  Ibid., p. 111.   Ibid., p. 112; see also Naturalizing the Mind, pp. 134–7. 31   Private e-mail correspondence from Dretske, Feb. 10, 2007. 32  Ibid. 33  Ibid. 34  Ibid. 35  Ibid. 36  Ibid. 30

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

28

If it is, in fact, reliable (and, perhaps, you have no reason to think it isn’t) then you know what it tells you. You don’t have to compare what the instrument tells you (my gas tank is half full) with the quantity itself (you don’t have to look in the gas tank). To suppose this was necessary would defeat the purpose of gauges and measuring instruments and would, ultimately, lead to skepticism. What I am giving expression to is externalism in epistemology ….37

We now turn to examine the main contours of Michael Tye’s direct realism. We will find some major affinities with Dretske’s views, but also some of his own uniquenesses. Tye Like Dretske, Tye attempts to take seriously the phenomenon of consciousness and, in particular, the phenomenal qualities of our experiences, which have been taken by many to be the hallmark of the mental. Also like Dretske, as a reductive materialist, Tye proposes to account for these within an ontology in which there is nothing but “just good, old physical stuff.”38 One immediate use we should see him make of this position is that he thinks he can maintain both the privacy and physicality of experiences. That is, experiences are the kind of things that “cannot exist without some subject or other, and moreover that their actual subjects are essential to them.”39 The implication of this is that “we need not suppose that pains and other phenomenal objects are peculiar nonphysical items in order to account for their necessary privacy and necessary ownership.”40 For instance, my pains are particular to me, and just because no one else can undergo them, it does not follow that pains must be nonphysical. Tye considers “natural representations” and asks how any state in nature can represent anything. He suggests the case of tree rings, which, he claims, intuitively represent something about the tree (its age). Briefly, but significantly, he distinguishes between this fact, which he says is objective and observerindependent, and our knowing anything about the rings. The lesson he draws from this example is that “different numbers of rings are correlated with different ages; moreover, in any given case, a certain number of rings are present because the tree is a certain age.”41 However, certain conditions might throw off this correlation, such as disease, or unusual climatic conditions.

37

 Ibid.   Michael Tye, Ten Problems of Consciousness: A Representational Theory of the Phenomenal Mind (Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books, 1995), p. 182, box 6.3. 39   Ibid., p. 92, box 3.3. 40  Ibid. 41   Ibid., p. 100 (emphasis in original). 38

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

29

The key factors, then, are causal correlation or tracking, or, better, causal covariation under optimal conditions. More generally, Tye suggests that, for each state S of object x, “within the relevant set of alternative states of x, we may define what the state represents as follows: S represents that P = df If optimal conditions obtain, S is tokened in x if and only if P and because P.”42 As a conventional example, Tye considers a thermometer in which the height of the mercury represents temperature due to causal correlations between these two factors under optimal conditions. This notion of optimal conditions seems similar to Dretske’s appeal to a causal–contextual relation C for determining the referent of representations. If there is misrepresentation, then the conditions are not optimal or not functioning properly. While representation as causal covariation under optimal conditions will not work for all kinds of beliefs, Tye does think it will work well in the case of simple perceptual sensations. This is because they are “normally mechanically produced by external stimuli.”43 These perceptual sensations are the result of a process in which receptor cells on the retina convert light into symbolic representations of light intensity and wavelength. Importantly, Tye mentions that “these representations are themselves made up of active nerve cells. Hence, they are physical.”44 So perceptual sensations are representations that are, ontologically, just physical stuff, but nonetheless they represent (are of, or about) states of affairs in the real world (in the case of veridical perception). Thus, these representations are intentional. But the mere fact that a representation is intentional does not commit us to the intentional object’s existence. Therefore Tye seems to maintain that intentionality is a property of representations, and not a relation, and thus he is able to hold consistently that we may have cases of intentional inexistence.45 Tye also follows Dretske in that perceptual experiences (or pains, for that matter) are nondoxastic, or nonconceptual.46 We have such experiences, and they do not require having concepts. Thus, there is “simple seeing” for Tye, which he defends in part with reference to how our perceptual sensations (such as of colors) can occur without any color schemas, and these sensations vary in ways that “far outstrip” our schemas.47 But, like Dretske, Tye denies that we can directly introspect our perceptual or pain experiences. He clearly affirms that “awareness of a pain experience is itself a cognitive state. It involves bringing the experience under concepts. These concepts are what allow us to form conceptions through 42

  Ibid., p. 101.   Ibid., p. 102. 44  Ibid. 45   For example, see Tye, p. 96, where he defines, in part, an intentional mental state as one that can represent some state of affairs or object without there having to exist any such thing in the real world. The intentional content of such a state is what is “hoped for, believed, desired, and so on.” 46   Ibid., p. 104. 47  Ibid. 43

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

30

introspection of what it is like for us to undergo the experiences.”48 Later, we will see him employ this tactic against Frank Jackson’s case of “Mary,” as well as Thomas Nagel’s “what is it like to be a bat.” How does this process work? For Tye, pains are sensory representations of bodily damage or disorder and “mechanical responses to the relevant bodily damages in the same way that basic visual sensations are mechanical responses to proximate visual stimuli.”49 What is the felt-quality of pain states? Tye explains that “we often speak of bodily damage as painful,” meaning it is causing a feeling, namely, the very feeling the person is undergoing, and that this feeling elicits an immediate dislike for itself together with anxiety about … the state of the bodily region where the disturbance feels located.50

But pains are not directly introspectible. Instead, when we introspect them, “we are aware of their sensory contents as painful.”51 Moreover, a pain represents damage in some part of our bodies, which we cognitively classify as painful. Thus, introspection of a pain involves the application of the concept of painfulness to that representation. So, what are the contents of phenomenal representations? Tye notes that the phenomenal character of a state is intentional. Experiences and feelings are sensory representations; as he observes, “twinges of pain represent mild, brief disturbances; throbbing pains represent rapidly pulsing disturbances”; and so on.52 These differences go along with variations in what it is like to experience these sensations, and the reason, he suggests, for this pairing is that these phenomenal differences are intentional ones. But Tye also claims that our perceptual experiences have no introspectible features besides “those implicated in their intentional contents.”53 Why? He asks us to try to focus our attention on a perceptual experience itself and its features, to see if it has any qualities that distinguish it from some other experience, other than what it is an experience of. But this seems impossible, for one’s awareness seems always to slip through the experience to the redness and shininess, as instantiated together externally. In turning one’s mind inward to

48

  Ibid., p. 115.   Ibid., p. 113. Similarly, he writes that the feeling of thirst is a representation of dryness in the throat and mouth; and that feeling hot represents “an increase in body temperature above the normal one” (p. 117). 50   Ibid., p. 116. 51  Ibid. 52   Ibid., p. 134. 53   Ibid., p. 136. 49

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

31

attend to the experience, [in veridical cases] one seems to end up scrutinizing external features or properties.54

The lesson he draws is that phenomenal character of these kinds of experiences, “assuming the appropriate concepts are possessed and there is no cognitive malfunction … is identical with, or contained within, their intentional contents.”55 Thus Tye concludes, “phenomenology ain’t in the head … you cannot read phenomenology out of physiology.”56 Therefore there is no need to look inside the head to find qualia; “to discover what it’s like [for example, to have a certain experience], you need to look outside the head to what the brain states represent.”57 Much like Dretske, Tye thus sees no place for “internalism” in epistemology, by which I take him to mean a kind of sense-datum view.58 This treatment sets the stage for one of Tye’s most crucial concepts – the PANIC theory of phenomenal content, or character. The phenomenal character of a particular state is a particular PANIC, such that, if there are differences in PANICs, there are differences in phenomenal character. First, phenomenal content, which is nonconceptual, is poised; the content must “attach to the (fundamentally) maplike output representations of the relevant sensory modules, and they must stand ready and in position to make an impact on the belief/desire system.”59 But this does not entail that phenomenal contents always must have such impact. Second, phenomenal contents must be abstract, such that “no particular concrete objects enter into these contents (except for the subjects of experiences in some cases).”60 Tye makes this demand because different concrete objects can have the same phenomenal feel, such that it does not matter which one is present. Moreover, there might not be any actual object present (as in cases of hallucination), yet we can have a particular state with particular phenomenal contents. Tye concludes that what really counts for phenomenal character is not that particular objects are present, or that they are represented in a phenomenal state, but only that the representation is of general features. As he claims, “experiences nonconceptually represent that that there is a surface or an internal region having so-and-so features at such-and-such locations.”61 Third, phenomenal contents must be nonconceptual, for we can have experiences of things without possessing matching concepts. Rounding out the last two letters of the acronym, these contents are intentional, and (of course) they are the content of phenomenal experiences. But we must also observe that 54

  Ibid. (emphasis in original; bracketed insert mine).  Ibid. 56   Ibid., p. 151. 57   Ibid. (bracketed insert mine). 58   Ibid., p. 163. 59   Ibid., p. 138. 60  Ibid. 61   Ibid., p. 139. 55

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

32

the PANIC theory of phenomenal content should be understood as supplemented by the causal covariation approach to sensory representation we saw already. This combination is what he calls a “naturalized PANIC theory,” such that his account of phenomenology can be explained completely in terms of a reductive materialist ontology.62 So there is no additional, nonphysical stuff that is involved with experiences or feelings; there is only physical stuff. But, like Dretske, this does not mean that phenomenal character is located in neurons, or in the brain’s structure. Nor, for that matter, is it psychofunctional or computational. Yet there is a perspectival subjectivity to phenomenal states: “to undergo a state with a certain felt or phenomenal character is to be the subject of a state that represents a certain external quality.”63 After all, to know what it is like to undergo a certain phenomenal state requires having a particular point of view. But how can he account for perspectival subjectivity within his naturalized PANIC theory? Tye addresses Frank Jackson’s “Mary,” who is a scientist who has lived completely in a black-and-white room, and she views the outside world through black-and-white monitors. By stipulation, she knows all the physical and functional facts about humans when they see things. But, so the argument goes, when she sees for the first time a color such as red, she learns something she did not know before: what it is like to experience red.64 Now, Tye already has ruled out direct, nonconceptual access to our experiences themselves. Moreover, knowing always involves the employment of a conceptual mode of representation. In this context, Tye introduces a distinction between “facts” and “FACTS.” “Facts” are facts that are (in part) conceptual. This sense of facts implies that there are fine-grained distinctions between them, due to the “individuation conditions as the contents of propositional attitudes.”65 So, one state of affairs can be conceptualized differently, such as when we say “there is water ahead,” and “there is H2O ahead.” “FACTS,” on the other hand, are nonconceptual. These are objective states of affairs in the external world, and they are more “coarse-grained.” Tye argues that physicalists and functionalists can accept the view that there are “facts” that are neither functional nor (lower-level) physical. Why? There would be concepts that would not be functional or lower-level physical ones. But such concepts do not impugn physicalism, since his view does not require that there exist real, nonconceptual things that are nonphysical, at least in a broad sense. All that we have is physical stuff that is being conceived of differently. Consider a couple of examples, such as the first-person concept by which I think of myself as me. That, Tye argues, is not a concept with functional or 62

  Ibid., p. 170.   Ibid., p. 162. 64   Ibid., pp. 171–2. See also Frank Jackson, “Epiphenomenal Qualia,” Philosophical Quarterly 32 (1982): 127–36. 65   Ibid., p. 172. 63

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

33

lower-level physical content. Instead, it is a conceptualization of physical stuff (or, “something in my head [that] counts as a token of that concept if and only if it plays the right functional role”).66 Furthermore, it seems that qualia would be conceptualizations of physical stuff. So, returning to the case of Mary, does it introduce any real, nonconceptual stuff that physicalism cannot handle? According to Tye’s analysis, no: “the state of experiencing red can have a naturalized PANIC essence … and Mary will know that essence (as involving such and such causal correlation, etc.) if she knows all the facts countenanced by physicalism.”67 Furthermore, what Mary does not know in this case is how to conceptualize properly the phenomenal content of seeing red. She does not know the phenomenal content of experiencing red due to two factors: (a) she does not have the phenomenal concept red; and (b) “she cannot apply the phenomenal concept this to the color represented in the experience of red.”68 The latter factor is due to her never having experienced red, so she just cannot properly conceptualize the phenomenal content. Thus, Tye concludes the Mary case study does not introduce any nonphysical FACTS, and thus the argument fails to undercut physicalism. Tye extends this treatment to the issue of the “explanatory gap” between phenomenal experiences and brain states. As he understands the issue, it revolves around the question of how nonperspectival brain states could possibly produce, or realize, perspectivally subjective ones. To help up the stakes, Tye raises the specter of how brain states could feel any way. Wouldn’t that be amazing? His answer is instructive: “Why, yes. But so what? There are facts, and there are FACTS.”69 That is, there are various ways of conceiving of one state of affairs (which are the facts), whereas there is but one kind of states of affairs in the real world (the FACTS), which are brain states. So, to him, that brain states could feel at all is amazing, since through the use of introspection, and the application of phenomenal concepts, we conceive of a brain state as an experience of a certain sort. But, when we conceive of that brain state under a different set of concepts, we have a different set of facts. So, there is an explanatory gap simply because the concepts are irreducibly different. But that does not mean that his “perspectival physicalism” is wrong. According to his view, we understand the perspectival character of phenomenal states under the mode of presentation that uses that set of concepts. Therefore there will be many facts, but still there will be the one FACT of the matter, and these facts are due to how we conceptualize brain states differently. Indeed, Tye challenges his doubters to introspect their experiences for as long as they like: 66

  Ibid., p. 173.   Ibid., p. 174. 68  Ibid. 69   Ibid., p. 179. 67

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

34

Say to yourself repeatedly … “This cannot just be a state with such and such naturalized PANIC.” You will establish nothing. The concepts you are applying to your inner states – the concepts nature has built you to apply on such occasions – do not allow you to see in what exactly, according to the naturalized PANIC theory, the phenomenal character of a particular pain or hunger pang or feeling of elation consists.70

Thus, Tye thinks he preserves his physicalism from the introduction of “spooky stuff,” since there just is nothing but physical stuff that has been conceptualized by us in various ways. And his representationalism attempts to preserve our direct contact with reality, even though the way we know that is not by access to our experiences themselves. Now we will move to Lycan’s representationalism and direct realism, in which we will see a new emphasis on the language of thought, which is really a difference of degree over what we have seen in Tye. Lycan In Consciousness and Experience, Lycan explores largely the nature of consciousness (as well as the various problems thereof), and how he thinks we can account for it, along with intentionality, qualia, subjectivity, privileged access to our own mental states, and more, in a reductive materialist ontology.71 To him, the problem of consciousness is not just about the mind–body problem, nor does it boil down to just the problem of intentionality, “or mental aboutness, in particular, since intentional states need not be conscious in any sense at all.”72 It also is about the internal, subjective character of experiences, particularly sensory ones, and how these can be made to fit in a materialist theory of the mind. Moreover, Lycan defends what he calls the hegemony of representation, the view that “the mind has no special properties that are not exhausted by its representational properties, along with or in combination with the functional organization of its components.”73 Let us begin with his view of conscious awareness as an internal monitoring, which will allow Lycan to develop his “inner sense” theory. What distinguishes conscious from un- and subconscious mental activity is second-order representing, which is the representing of a first-order representation. As an example, there could be a first-order pain condition (a representation of pain), and then there 70

  Ibid., p. 180.   William G. Lycan, Consciousness and Experience (Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books, 1996). 72   Ibid., p. 1. 73   Ibid., p. 11; see also p. 69, where he describes it as “the doctrine that the mental and the functional/intentional are one and the same and that the mind has no distinctive properties that outrun its functional and intentional properties.” 71

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

35

would be the second-order awareness of that condition, or a representation of a representation. Conscious awareness in this sense is a form of introspective consciousness.74 Moreover, “consciousness is the functioning of internal attention mechanisms directed at lower-order psychological states and events.”75 Even more explicitly, and teleologically, these “attention mechanisms are devices that have the job of relaying and/or coordinating information about ongoing psychological events and processes.”76 These internal monitors, or scanners, are physical and subject to malfunctions, and so he rules out infallible knowledge of one’s awarenesses by introspection. They also must “emit a genuine representation, not just physical ‘information’ in the Bell Telephone sense or just a simple nomological ‘indication.’”77 In key respects, introspection as an internal monitoring is like external perception. Like cases of external perception, introspection as inner perception “normally does improve one’s epistemic position,” and being aware of a first-order state (even without being aware of the fact of being in that state, which would involve concepts) “will often directly give rise to fact-awareness, just as in the case of ordinary external perception.”78 Moreover, Lycan says that, on the “model of external perception, introspection presents its objects under an aspect, as being a certain way.”79 Now, he may mean by this what Dretske meant, that experiences of objects require seeing them under “some aspect.”80 When I asked Dretske if he meant to affirm a more Wittgensteinian notion that all seeing is aspectual (always involves a concept), he instead maintained that there is a nonconceptual way a perceptual object looks, and this is independent of “what the perceiver thinks or knows about it” (what he also calls “systemic representation”).81 Perhaps this conception is what Lycan also has in mind. Still, Lycan does not see introspection as like external perception in all respects. Specifically, we should not expect internal monitoring to share the property of involving some presented sensory quality at its own level of operation. For the sensory properties presented in first-order states are, according to me (Consciousness, chap. 8), the represented features of physical objects; the color presented in a (first-order) visual perception is the represented color of a physical object. First74

  Ibid., p. 13.   Ibid., p. 14. 76   Ibid. See also p. 33: “the monitor must have monitoring as its function, or one of its functions.” 77   Ibid., p. 36. 78   Ibid., p. 26. 79   Ibid., p. 27. 80  Dretske, Naturalizing the Mind, p. 31. 81   Dretske, e-mail correspondence with me, Feb. 9, 2007. 75

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

36

order states themselves do not have ecologically significant features of the sort physical objects do, and so we should not expect internal representations of firstorder states to have sensory qualities representing or otherwise corresponding to such features.82

Like Dretske and Tye, Lycan rejects any notion of a sense-datum view, for there is nothing in the head (say, the color red) that has the same properties that an external object (a red hat) has when we perceive it (whether in cases of veridical perception, or not). Lycan continues to develop these and other themes in a discussion of his materialism and the subjectivity and perspectival character of the mental, or “what it is like” to be in a particular mental state. To him, there are a number of fallacies about subjectivity that need to be cleared away before he will develop his own positive case of the subjectivity of the mental. First, “no materialist has ever thought of claiming that gray, cheesy sensations are phenomenologically or neurophysically like intense deep cyan ones.”83 Second, materialists do not deny the subjectivity of the mental in terms of how they are known or presented to their owners, versus how they can be known by others. Via introspection, or selfscanning, a subject “has this kind of access to some of his or her own first-order mental states and perhaps to a number of higher-order states,” but others do not have “functionally direct access” to that person’s mental states.84 Third, despite the intuitive appeal of Jackson’s “Mary” or Nagel’s “what it’s like to be a bat” knowledge arguments, Lycan thinks they fail. Why? He explains: “Knowledge is finicky and hyperintensional: A person can know the fact that p without knowing the fact that q, even if the fact that p and the fact that q are one and the same (lightning and electrical discharge, water and H2O).”85 Or, “the fact of its being like such and such for the bat to have its sonar sensation can be one and the same as the fact of the bat’s being in a particular neurophysiological condition, even if the chiropterologist can know the latter without knowing the former.”86 This latter example may help introduce Lycan’s own positive case for subjectivity, and how there can be a “what it is like” feel for a subject to have a mental state. These two facts can be identical, but how will Lycan account for that, when they seem to have quite different properties? Like Tye, Lycan argues that knowledge “involves the mode under which the knower represents the fact known and that this is no less true for mental facts than for ordinary physical ones.”87 If we

  Lycan, pp. 28–9; see also his Consciousness (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1987).   Ibid., p. 48. 84   Ibid., pp. 48–9. 85   Ibid., p. 49. 86   Ibid., pp. 49–50. 87   Ibid., p. 50; or, on p. 58: “Knowledge of any fact is knowledge under a representation.” 82 83

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

37

are “large collections of small physical objects and nothing more ontologically,”88 he realizes that he owes an explanation of “what it is about a mental/neural state that makes its proprietor think of it as subjective and intrinsically perspectival.”89 One source of subjectivity is due to the fact that our perceptual processes act as filters, allowing us to take in and retain just a small, selected fraction of what is available of an object being scrutinized. Moreover, since no two subjects perceive the same object in exactly the same way, “they differ informationally with respect to the same external environment, and they differ functionally in that they acquire different second-order dispositions with respect to the same external environment.”90 As a second source, Lycan explores how knowledge is always under a representation, and “one and the same fact may be known or unknown to a subject, depending on that subject’s mode of representing that fact; knowledge of the fact that a glass of water is being thrown in one’s face by an enraged party guest is not, eo ipso, knowledge that H2O is being thrown in one’s face.”91 As he observes, modes of representation help individuate facts in fine ways. Importantly, “the difference is not semantic, but rather lies in the functional role of representations.”92 For instance, the difference between “water” and “H2O” lies in the inferential role of each. So, the same underlying, physical state of affairs can be represented (or conceptualized) under different modes using different descriptions. To unpack these notions further, Lycan explains his understanding that a representation is “a token in the subject’s language of thought.”93 When a scanner S operates on a first-order representation of a pain condition, “S tokens a mental word for the type of first-order state being scanned.”94 Moreover, if we consider that “our human introspective concepts are semantically primitive lexemes of our language of thought,” Lycan claims (from his own first-person standpoint) that “I can refer to my pain using a concept that no one else can use to refer to my pain.”95 Furthermore, while anyone else can use the word “I” to designate themselves, and anyone can use some word to designate William G. Lycan, only he can use “I” to designate William G. Lycan.96 This analysis comes to the fore in his arguments to rebut the “explanatory gap” between mental states and brain states. That is, it seems that the gap between these two kinds of states is “too indirect and not analogous to the epistemic handles we 88

  Ibid., p. 45.   Ibid., p. 54. 90   Ibid., p. 55. 91   Ibid., pp. 58–9. 92   Ibid., p. 59. 93   Ibid., p. 60. 94  Ibid. 95   Ibid., p. 61. 96   Ibid., p. 67. 89

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

38

have on other a posteriori identities.”97 How, for instance, can the token identity thesis help us “trace the relation of sensations to neural firings,” and explain why sensations have their particular felt-qualities?98 Here we see his views about the nature of the internal-monitoring model of introspection come to more fruition. The so-called explanatory gap is misguided, for we should expect such a gap. Why? First, our different kinds of descriptions (mental, on the one hand, and neurophysiological, on the other) still refer to the same, underlying state of affairs. But they each depend upon their own languages which are used to conceptualize and describe that same, underlying physical reality. My mental reference to a first-order psychological state of my own is a tokening of a semantically primitive Mentalese lexeme. My mental word is functionally nothing like any of the complex expressions of English that in fact refer to the same (neural) state of affairs; certainly it is neither synonymous with, nor otherwise semantically related to, any of them.99

Moreover, since subjectivity is pronominal, no one else can use my tokening of a word to refer to my first-order psychological state: And since no one else can use that mental word or even any functionally and syntactically similar words of their own to designate that state of affairs, of course no one can explain in English or in any other language why that state of affairs feels like [that or semantha] to me.100

For these reasons, these tracings and explanations, to solve a so-called “gap,” just are not to be found. The main difference between mental states and brain states boils down to a difference in languages used to conceptualize brain states in different ways. Thus, for subjectivity, what matters is who is speaking. So, in terms of sensations, what is subjectivity? Sensations or feelings involve sensing (or feeling) under a representation. But different representations have different functional or computational roles, even when they represent the same thing. Though a doctor might speak of the firing of a patient’s c-fibers, while the patient might complain of being in pain, they both refer to the same underlying physical state of affair, though described differently. What it is like for a subject to undergo an experience will involve the output representation of an internal scanner. So, “what it is like” is a functional matter, in terms of the role that person’s introspective representation plays.  97

  Ibid., p. 62.   Ibid., p. 63.  99   Ibid., p. 64. 100  Ibid.  98

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

39

But, like Dretske and Tye, experiences and sensations need not be of actually existing objects in the real world. He assumes there is no inner sense datum since, qua materialist, it would introduce a nonphysical entity. Thus, knowing what it is like to undergo a certain sensation is a functional matter, not a referential one (since there may not be any actually existing object that caused the first-order state).101 In introspection, when a second-order representation of a first-order sensing state is outputted, the “mode of presentation determined by a representation’s functional role has little relation to the object that is the representation’s extension.”102 Lycan develops more fully a reason why he thinks that we can have experiences of things that are not real when he treats the nature of qualia. To him, a quale is roughly “the introspectible monadic qualitative property of what seems to be a phenomenal individual.”103 What, then, happens when someone has a sensation of the color red? Clearly, Lycan’s solution would not be to posit a sense datum; instead, he thinks we can “treat phenomenal individuals as intentional inexistents.”104 Qualia “supervene” on representations, but not in a sense of introducing any nonphysical entities. Rather, one registers a quale (say, a red color) whenever one perceives a real, red-colored object, or, in the case of perceptual error, if one’s “visual analyzers are functioning in some of the same ways in which they do” when that person is confronted by an actual red object.105 Though colors are real (mind-independent) for Lycan, along the lines of D.M. Armstrong’s theory of physical color, and they inhere in objects, qualia themselves are not real entities to be perceived.106 Instead, they are represented properties, and thus an intentional object.107 Whenever one perceives a colored object, that person registers a quale. Yet, like Armstrong pointed out with his example of the long-distance truck driver, we can simply register a quale without being consciously aware of it. This trucker drives on “auto-pilot” while thinking of other things. Suddenly, he comes to and realizes he is miles down the road from his last conscious recollection, without any awareness of what he was doing or what has been transpiring. Yet, along the way, he had come to stops in the road, so presumably he registered a red quale when he came to the intersection with the red stop sign; otherwise, why would he have stopped? So Lycan concludes that we can have such quale, but we need not be conscious of them (they are unintrospected).108 But qualia themselves do not seem to be entities that can be perceived directly. As representations, they are words of a certain, first-order language of thought, and when we introspect them, we represent them under a different language of 101

  Ibid., p. 66.   Ibid., p. 67. 103   Ibid., p. 69. 104   Ibid., p. 71. 105  Ibid. 106   Ibid., pp. 72–3. 107   Ibid., p. 99. 108   Ibid., p. 76. 102

40

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

thought, as the output of the internal scanner. Thus it does not seem that we can be directly aware of qualia, and the same seems to go for experiences themselves, since they too are first-order representations. Summary of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan In our survey of these representationalists, we have discovered several commonalities they all share. What follows is a brief summary of several salient points. Then we will look briefly at some of their more obvious differences. All three are reductive materialists, and, as representationalists, they affirm direct realism; we are directly aware of real objects in the real, external world, and decidedly not a sense datum. Moreover, especially in cases of perceptual experience, they have realized that they must come to grips with giving a compelling materialist account of qualia; the first-person, privileged point of view; introspection; and intentionality. In the case of intentionality, just because a mental state is of something, that does not entail that that referent must exist. Additionally, there is room for direct, nonconceptual seeing, but introspection of our experiences and other mental states always involves the use of concepts. Moreover, knowledge requires the employment of concepts. In at least Dretske, we see him cash out the epistemology of his externalism, such that knowledge is reliably produced belief. This knowledge involves a causal process that produces in us (in veridical cases) representations of real objects in the external world. But he, along with Tye and Lycan, rejects “internalism,” understood as a sense-datum view. All three philosophers affirm that, ontologically, reductive materialism is right; all that exists is “good old” physical stuff. Yet, the one and the same physical state can be characterized differently, using a different set of concepts (or, perhaps, a language of thought). It is mainly in Tye and Lycan that this emphasis upon differences of conceptualizations (and, “levels” of descriptions) comes to the fore. But as we have seen, different, definite descriptions do not entail that they refer to different entities. They simply describe, or represent, physical states and events under that particular aspect. Such conceptualizations (Tye’s “facts”) differ from “FACTS,” which are the objective state of affairs themselves, something that all three authors think we can know for what they are. Now let us assess their views, to see whether their naturalistic direct realism may enable us to have knowledge of reality. In part, we will see to what extent their views might be able to help overcome objections I raised against Armstrong’s direct realism.

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

41

Assessing Their Representationalism and Direct Realism There are several noteworthy strengths about their views that we must consider at the start. First, they commendably take seriously several phenomena that dualists have used as objections against materialism. Furthermore, they seek to account for how we experience these phenomena, rather than simply trying to reduce them (even though these phenomena must be physical stuff). I am thinking of the nature of intentionality as the ofness or aboutness of our mental life. Moreover, they realize intentionality is not a relation, for if it were, whenever we have an experience of a red hat (and there is not, indeed, a red hat present), the relata, including the red hat, would have to be made to exist (whether in the brain or in external reality). Second, they have gone to great lengths to explain the phenomenon of the subjectivity of our own mental states, as well as the privileged, felt-quality of “what it is like” to have a particular experience. They have presented sophisticated counterarguments to Jackson’s “Mary” and Nagel’s “bat” knowledge arguments. Third, they have tried to offer a penetrating analysis of how we can know reality directly. I think there are some things we simply know to be true about the real world, and their view affirms this commonsense stance. This is important for naturalists, who are concerned about our ability to know the truth of the real world, given their ontological commitments. More specifically, they rightly affirm, even if their views are not right in all particulars, that there is a causal story involved in our perceptual experiences of the real world. The world operates in lawlike ways, such that we generally can trust the deliverances of our senses, but also that we usually can check up on their reliability if they seem to be presenting to us something false, or illusory. So, there is truth to their reliabilism. Along these same lines, I think they are wise to reject a sense-datum form of internalism in epistemology. Dretske seems right; if perceptual experiences of putative objects in the real world are generated by a causal story, and if the direct object of our experiences is an object within the head that has the properties represented in experience, then that leads to skepticism about how we can know that that sense datum matches up with the real world. Yet I have several concerns with their views, to which we now turn. Causal Chain Objections, Revisited It might seem that the direct realism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan also would fall prey to the same objection to Armstrong’s view. That is, in cases of veridical perception, there is a potentially infinite causal chain that stands between the object in the external world, which causes in us the representation of that object, and ourselves as knowers. If so, how can we possibly traverse the chain and know

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

42

that that object, and not something else, is the source of the representation, and that our perceptual experience is of that object? In correspondence, Dretske has answered this objection. For him, if knowledge that x (some external object) is f is a reliably caused belief of x that it is f (a belief that is caused by the information that x is f), then you don’t have to “traverse” the causal chain resulting in the belief in order to have knowledge of the external cause. All that is required is that the belief, in fact, be the result of some reliable process.109

Moreover, he explains that, on his view, we are not directly aware of what is going on in the head, but we are directly aware of the external object, say, a red hat (again, in cases of veridical perception). It is made directly present to us via experience. Thus, there is no problem of “traversing” the causal sequence leading back to the external object. We are directly aware of the cause (the red hat) and can see (hence, know) that it is red because this information (about the hat) is being transferred in the perceptual process to the representation (experience) of the hat.110

If successful, Dretske has overcome a principled objection to any materialist form of direct realism. And, Dretske seems right, in that he maintains that, as with instruments, we do not have to know that an instrument is in fact functioning properly in order to know that what it indicates is thus-and-so. I do not verify that my car’s engine temperature gauge is working properly each time I look at it before I am entitled to believe that what it indicates is in fact correct. If I had to perform this verification each time, I would be setting myself off on an epistemic methodist’s infinite regress, that to know one thing, I would first need to know something else, which lands us in the skeptic’s trap. But Dretske explicitly rejects such skeptical moves, since he thinks we can and do have reliable knowledge about the real world. This is a good assumption, for we do operate on this kind of basis. We presuppose that we live in a lawlike world, with regularities that can be depended upon. We have developed reliable indicators, such as thermometers, and we rely upon them to give us accurate information about the world. We have learned, moreover, that the level of mercury in such an instrument causally covaries with the temperature of what is being measured. We also learn what optimal conditions are for such measurements. To get a reliable reading of my daughter’s temperature, in order to gauge just how sick she is, I use an ear probe thermometer with readings of both ears conducted within the same, brief time interval (say, fifteen seconds 109

  Dretske, private e-mail, Feb. 10, 2007.  Ibid.

110

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

43

apart, not an hour). Furthermore, I know from experience that her fever will tend to rise at night, so that I get a better indication of the state of her fever by taking her temperature not just in the morning and afternoon, but also at night. We also rightly trust the reliability of our senses, even though we learn of conditions in which they might not be so trustworthy. But now let me highlight another presupposition at work in Dretske’s reply. Not only has he presupposed that we can rely upon such instruments for knowledge (with which I agree), he also has presupposed that we can know what reliability itself is. We who read a book like this already have developed concepts of reliability, indication, representation, and much more, so we just use these instruments. But, how does someone come to understand what reliability or indication themselves are, in the first place? The same could be asked for being lawlike, optimal, causation, or covariance. These are conceptual issues, and it places us squarely in a discussion of how we form concepts, even of such fundamental matters that we who have sufficient experience and use such instruments simply now take for granted. It seems that Dretske, Tye, and Lycan all take for granted that we do form concepts. In particular, Tye and Lycan have much to say about applying concepts, and all three discuss learning to see objects under certain conceptualizations. Surely we do not come into the world with as developed a set of concepts as we would need to understand phenomena such as veridicality, causal covariation, representation, indication, and the like. So it seems we acquire them by learning. But, on their views, how would we acquire and form concepts? Moreover, do their views have the resources to account for how we generally form concepts, and even in the cases of such fundamental ones? Forming and Acquiring Concepts To start, let me offer a description of how it seems to me the process of concept formation and acquisition works, at least with observables. When my daughter, Anna, was five, she knew that Mommy, Daddy, and doctors take her temperature with an ear probe thermometer. At home, often I will take at least one reading in each ear, see the numbers on the display (which I already understand as representing degrees), and compare them with each other. If they seem reasonably close (say, 100.1° in one ear, and 100.3° in another), I know from experience that these readings are sufficiently close to justifiably conclude that her temperature is about 100.2°. At that stage, she did not know the words “reliability,” “indication,” or “representation.” But she had observed reliability in action: when she pressed a certain button of our Dish Network remote control, it consistently turned on the television. Moreover, if she pressed the right edge of another button, it would increase the volume. Even so, I think she then had yet to form a concept of reliability. Surely she has not done so with a thermometer’s readings, nor has she even formed a concept of a reading.

44

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

So, how would she learn these concepts? Permit me a possible explanation, which we will then assess from Dretske, Tye, and Lycan’s standpoint. On my account, presumably, she would observe cases involving certain features and then form a concept of regularities and the like. When she was very young and I taught her what an apple is, I would use a book that had several colored pictures of apples, oranges, lemons, bananas, and strawberries on each of two adjacent pages. I would show her the pages, point at one of the pictures of a red apple, and I would say “apple.” Then I would point at a different picture of an apple and repeat the same word. I would do that again with the third such picture. Then we might go to the refrigerator, pull out an apple (maybe of a different kind), point to it, and say “apple” again. Over time, she learned to start to identify certain fruits as apples. I could correct her if she was handling a red ball and she called it “apple.” One night, I experienced not only that she had formed the concept of an apple, but also that she could use it in conjunction with different apples. We were shopping in the local grocery store. As we approached the apple section, I noticed that there were many new kinds of apples that I had never seen before (and I have been familiar with many, having worked in a grocery store). What caught me off guard was how Anna suddenly pointed to the new varieties of apples and simply said, “Daddy, look at the apples!” What was going on in this case? I think Anna formed a concept of an apple from many noticings of apples, whether of their pictures or of actual apples. Yes, she had to have her understanding of what an apple is tweaked from time to time, which I could help do by correcting her when she mislabeled something else (say, a ripe Santa Rosa plum) as an apple. But her concept of an apple developed more and more from many noticings, such that she could go into the store, see a new kind of apple, and correctly identify (or, see) it as an apple. How will this process work with forming concepts of reliability, representation, indication, causal covariance, or veridicality? While tokens of these words can be experienced, it does not seem that these concepts are empirical givens. While a state of affairs in the physical world (say, the level of mercury in a thermometer, in relation to Anna’s temperature) may be accurately subsumed under the concept of causal covariance, nonetheless the physical states of affairs that are empirically represented in experience do not inherently contain that concept. If so, these concepts would not causally produce representations in us of themselves, unlike a red hat (as a physical object in the external world) would, assuming proper conditions and proper functioning of our sensory faculties. Somehow, then, these concepts must be formed and acquired by learning. I think the formation of these concepts will proceed similarly to that of my daughter’s formation of the concept of an apple, from making several observations, and then seeing what is in common between them by comparing them, even by recalling them in memory. Then the person can form a concept, based on many noticings, and then that concept can be tweaked, based upon more observations and the correction of others.

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

45

At a more detailed level of description, I think concept development and acquisition tends to work as follows. Consider again the case of my daughter’s learning to label her awareness of an apple with the right word. She had to be able to see an apple (for example, a red delicious one) for what it is. From many noticings of apples, she developed a concept of what an apple is, which required comparing what is represented in those experiences. She also must have seen that a particular object of her experience is another instance of an apple (perhaps a Golden Delicious or Granny Smith apple). She learned to associate a term with her awareness of the object by hearing the term for what it is, and seeing the object for what it is, and then she could compare them and see that, yes, the term fits this object, for the object is indeed an apple. She also could see that it is not an orange, and I could tell that by her saying “no” if I asked her if the object was an orange. Now, how might Dretske, Tye, or Lycan account for concept acquisition and formation? One thing is clear: it cannot be as I have described. In our correspondence, I asked Dretske that, when I am having a perceptual experience of a red hat, how can I know if my experience is of a real red hat, or if it is a hallucination? I elaborated that to know this would require my being able to compare what is represented in my perceptual experience with my concept of a red hat, to see whether they match up or not. But in reply, Dretske stated that my view seems to him to be a form of “internalism,” which he thinks is tied to a sense-datum view, and that will entail skepticism, since on such a view “we are only aware of what is going on ‘in here’ (in the mind) and how can we know what the external reality which causes this is like”?111 If such comparison between what is represented in experience with an already-formed concept is ruled out, then so would nonconceptual access to what is represented in our experiences, drawing comparisons between them, and then forming a concept based on many noticings. Perhaps Lycan may be of assistance. To him, concepts are functional/ computational roles of brain states in an overall functional/computational system. So maybe we are functionally hardwired by natural selection for certain concepts (brain states performing a particular functional role) to be outputted as the result of the operation of an internal scanner on our nonconceptual experiences. Yet if concept formation is the output of the scanner’s operation, it appears that we need never have any understanding. We can be blind to the whole process, it seems, such that the scanner simply outputs a brain state that functions in a certain way, without ever needing to form any understanding along the way. The process he describes could be one of the presence of certain inputs, which outputs, under appropriate conditions and proper functioning of the relevant systems, a brain state that we conceive as performing a functional role. There are two problems with this account. First, it just postpones explaining how we form concepts, since it assumes we do that in that answer. But, second, this account does not describe how we do form concepts. Coming to have a concept involves “seeing” some thing (an object, a state of affairs) under some 111

 Ibid.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

46

aspect, or interpretation. But conceiving involves some degree of understanding, such that a person sees some thing as fulfilling a concept. It may be the case that concepts perform functional roles, but appealing to their “nature” as functional/ computational roles will not explain how we form them. Nor is it clear what alternative explanation might be forthcoming from Lycan, Dretske, or Tye. Now let us focus on the concept of veridicality. Repeatedly, Dretske and Tye use this concept, drawing important distinctions between perceptual experiences that are veridical (of an actually existing object) and those that are not (for instance, hallucinations). Along with Lycan, they argue that objects such as the red hat cause representations in us of itself. We see the red hat directly, we are told. But we also are told something else, something which, at least at first glance, seems to contradict their direct realism. Tye claims that, according to his PANIC theory of phenomenal character, such content must be abstract, which demands “that no particular concrete objects enter into these contents.”112 His stated reasons are: (1) different concrete objects can be substituted for each other without any phenomenal differences; and (2) no particular object need be present for there to be phenomenal content (as with hallucinations). Instead, the essential feature of phenomenal character is “the representation of general features or properties. Experiences nonconceptually represent that there is a surface or an internal region having so-and-so features at such-and-such locations”.113 Dretske agrees, at least in part. In a discussion of hallucinations, he claims we are aware in those cases of properties without being aware of an object’s having them. For instance, when we experience a pumpkin hallucination, we are p-aware of color, shape, texture, etc., properties a pumpkin normally has, but we are not o-aware of a pumpkin.114 It seems, however, that we also can be aware not just of such properties, but of a whole pumpkin, even if we are hallucinating. Otherwise, it would be easy to tell the difference between veridical perceptions and hallucinations. We would not need to conduct further observations to determine whether the pumpkin was indeed present. Suppose that we have a rather vivid hallucination of a baseball thrown by a pitcher that is coming fast, right toward our heads. In this kind of case, we duck instinctively, but we would not duck at the appearance of just an off-white color patch. Dretske seems to be wrong descriptively; even in hallucinations, we can be aware of wholes and not just properties, even if those wholes do not obtain in reality. Let us assess Tye’s two reasons why phenomenal content must be abstract. Surely his second reason is correct, but what of the first? Suppose we are looking at a red Lego Duplo® piece that is four pegs long and two wide.115 Someone could have us look away, substitute another piece of exactly the same size and dye lot,  Tye, Ten Problems of Consciousness, p. 138.   Ibid., pp. 138–9. 114   Dretske, “The Mind’s Awareness of Itself,” p. 106. 115   These are the larger kind of blocks, for toddlers. 112 113

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

47

positioned in the same exact way, under the same conditions. When we look at it, it seems quite reasonable to say that, in this second experience, it could have the same phenomenal content as that of the first. Yet while this is possible, Tye concludes that, essentially, phenomenal character must be the representation of general properties. Like Dretske, Tye seems quite mistaken descriptively. While we can be aware of round, red surfaces at particular locations, what seems most often to be the case is that wholes are represented in experience, the properties of which we can then focus our attention upon. Before Anna had a concept of an apple, she still saw particular apples, and not just shiny, red (or yellow, green, etc.) surfaces, something that Tye and Dretske grant. In the baseball example above, while I could be aware of just a white color patch, it seems that I am aware of the baseball, even if I had not yet formed a concept of a baseball. Suppose in another case that we are aware of what seems to be just a white color patch (perhaps the ball is at such a distance that we cannot clearly see its other features, but just its color). Nonetheless, there are ways to come epistemically closer to the object itself, in this case by coming spatially closer. Then we can see other features more clearly and see the ball (assuming a veridical case), and not just its color. So while it is possible that we can have an awareness of just some particular property, I do not think that is the typical case we encounter in experience, and it seems we can tell the difference between cases of just an experience of a property and an experience of an object that has that property. But what follows from this descriptive mistake? If we do not have access to wholes (but only discrete properties) as represented in experience, then we simply do not have access to objects themselves in the real, external world. Objects would seem to be best construed as constructs of concepts applied to particular physical features. Nevertheless, how far we should push this point is debatable, since Tye has admitted elsewhere that objects are represented in experience. And Dretske writes that, even in hallucination, our representation still represents that something has the properties being represented, even though this is a false representation.116 So, at the least, there is a tension in their views on this matter. But even if this objection may be set aside, there is a more serious misdescription, and it involves their core claim that we do not have nonconceptual access to our experiences themselves. As we have seen, they maintain this position to avoid what they see as a skeptical form of “internalism,” namely, a sense-datum view, as well as for other reasons, such as Tye and Dretske’s appeal to the “transparency” of experience. But is this description of what occurs accurate? First, we should grant that Tye and Dretske are right in that we can have an experience and yet not be aware of it. Armstrong’s truck driver example comes to mind. Second, however, let us consider a case from psychological counseling. As a crucial component of the therapy process, quite often the patient is asked to pay attention to the feelings he or she is experiencing, which seems to involve an 116

  Dretske, private e-mail correspondence, Feb. 9, 2007.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

48

awareness of one’s experience, or, the having of a second-order experience, which then can be described in language by the patient. Perhaps the first-order experience under consideration is a feeling of sadness toward that patient’s perceived rejection by a parent. Now, paying attention to that feeling (and others) is essential to the therapy process. Of course, we should recognize that, in the therapy process, the patient may need to learn to conceive of that feeling under a different aspect, that it was due, say, to no fault of the patient, but rather to the emotional limitations and woundedness of that parent. More generally, the patient needs to learn to see that experience as x, rather than as y, and that involves concepts and, perhaps, new concept formation. But how does this happen? On my account sketched above, the patient can access the first-order experience by paying attention to it. Descriptively, this is how the counseling process seems to work, by the patient’s paying attention to his or her own experiences. It may take, perhaps, several noticings, but in that way, the patient can form a concept of what that feeling is like, or about. But, following Tye, Dretske, and Lycan, if the patient’s second-order experience of that first-order experience always requires concepts, then it seems that psychological therapy could not happen. Why? Surely it is important that the patient and therapist work on the patient’s conceptualization of that first-order experience. Nevertheless, if that is all they can access, and not the first-order experience of sadness itself, then the patient (and the therapist) will never be able to work, even indirectly, on challenging the patient’s original conceptualization of that experience, which has led to the dysfunction that brought the person into therapy.117 This is because the patient will not be able to become aware of the troubling experiences themselves, but only their conceptualizations. Experiencing those first-order feelings is essential to enable the patient to reconsider and challenge how he or she conceptualized them (and got stuck in some pattern), in order to be released from their grip on the patient’s behavior. Consider this same problem from the case study of my daughter’s forming the concept of an apple. Anna could see a real apple in her visual field, and she would be having that experience then. But, I do not think she formed a concept of an apple from one experience. She did so, I suggest, from many such experiences, which involves recalling to mind what was being experienced in the various occasions, comparing those with each other and with what she is experiencing in the present experience, to see what is in common between them. From those noticings, she formed the concept of an apple. But how could that happen, if her access to her experiences (especially past ones) is only conceptual? In that case, she would not be comparing what was represented in experience in each case, but instead she 117

  Of course, I do not mean the therapist has access in the same, first-person way to the patient’s experience as the patient has. But through the patient’s careful attention to those experiences, and then describing them, the therapist has access to what that person experienced.

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

49

would be comparing her conceptualizations of what was experienced. But if this were so, then it just postpones the issue, for how did she form those concepts? If we cannot introspect our experiences in a nonconceptual way, then two serious difficulties arise. First, from the counseling example, we see that we cannot correct concepts. We cannot compare what is represented in an experience with a concept, for, as we are told, the very act of introspecting our experiences requires a conceptualization. Second, from the case of forming a concept of an apple, it seems that, on their view, we cannot even form concepts, at least in any way that involves understanding on the person’s part, for it seems to require the very ability we supposedly lack, namely, the ability to introspect (or access) our experiences in a nonconceptual way. Moreover, unless Dretske, Tye, or Lycan can offer a cogent explanation of how we can form concepts on their view, it seems that this objection stands. The upshot of these lessons is that we cannot have knowledge, at least of an external reality, for knowledge requires not merely input from that realm (some version of the causal story is correct), but also concepts, so that we can then see that something is the case, to use the language of perceptual knowledge (or, to use Dretske’s terms, to have fact-awareness). Intentionality and Knowing the Veridicality of Experiences There is an extension of this argument, which applies to what intentionality is. As we have observed, Dretske, Lycan, and Tye are correct to treat intentionality as a property. If intentionality itself were a relation, then any time it is represented in an experience, the object it is of would have to exist. Wisely, therefore, they reject that view, since they realize that we can and do have hallucinations and other kinds of perceptual errors. But now let us take this topic a bit further by considering the role intentionality plays in how we know if a perceptual experience is veridical or not. Suppose I am walking in the local shopping mall and I seem to see my wife at a distance, yet I do not have my glasses on (and I am nearsighted). How can I tell whether this person actually is my wife? I can come closer epistemically to what I am perceiving. As I get closer to what I am experiencing, I can perform a series of observations along the way, and I can see the person a bit more clearly. As I get closer, I see that the person is a woman, and though she resembles my wife, I see that it is not her after all. What is involved here? I think it goes something like the following: I have a concept of what my wife looks like today (the clothes she wore; facial appearance; hairstyle; etc.). I pay attention to what I am experiencing, and I can compare that with my concept of what she looks like, and I can do this at each point at which I make an observation. Since I know her well, I can do this automatically, even unconsciously, but in certain circumstances, perhaps due to very poor lighting, I may need to pay close attention to what is represented in my experiences. Consider a different case of how we can look for our glasses, which we have misplaced somewhere. Often I have been distracted by my daughter when I come home from work, and I have set down my eyeglasses, only to not recall later

50

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

where I set them. How do I find them? Suppose I think I set them on the dining table. I can go to the table and observe what is there. I can compare what I see with my concept of what my eyeglasses look like. I then can see if I seem to be experiencing my glasses, and if so, I can follow up on that observation by making further ones. I may need to do some things to make good observations, such as turn on the lights, or if I am dead tired I may need to wait until I am more alert, to be able to notice whether I am seeing my glasses. I can see what is represented in my experience, compare that with my concept of what my glasses look like, and see if they match up. If they do, I can experience that too. In such cases when I clearly see the glasses, I simply go through this process unconsciously. So it might seem that we do not need to compare what we are experiencing with a concept. But what if we change the example such that I am at a friend’s house, and his glasses closely resemble mine? Now, I may seem to see my glasses, but I may have to pay closer attention to what I am seeing, and I may need to compare that with my concept of my glasses, versus one of his glasses.118 Again, I can experience a matching between what I am experiencing and my concept of my glasses, if in fact these are my glasses. Or, I can experience that they do not match up. In this kind of case, where we cannot unconsciously go about this process, we need to bring to conscious awareness what indeed is happening. However, now let us suppose that intentionality is what Dretske, Tye, and Lycan claim, namely a registration, representation, or indication of some property, which is linked to a causal covariation, or correlation. While a mental state is intentional, on their ontology this state must be a brain state under a particular kind of description (perhaps in “mentalese”). So while not a causal relation itself, intentionality still is tied to causation. Now, the work of all three authors should be applauded since they take seriously the reality of intentionality. But if intentionality is the registration/indication/representation of a property, then they need to explain how we could ever know if a perceptual experience (with its particular intentional property) is veridical or not. For on their view, in veridical cases, a causal process, beginning with an external object and resulting in the production of a perceptual state in the perceiver, simply registers the object. The perceptual experience is “of” the external object simply due to the causal correlation. So experiences are generated in the perceiver, but that is not sufficient for us to know that the experience is of a real object. Why? Knowledge as justified true belief involves concepts. Once again, the question of how we form concepts at even the most fundamental levels is crucial. Here, we must have the concept of registration (or representation, or indication), veridicality, and even ofness. But Dretske could object that we do not need to know these things; all that matters is that the causal process that produces the representation in that representation system is in fact reliable. But this reply is inconclusive, for to even get started in using the concept of reliability, we have to first acquire it, among 118   For instance, the parts that loop over my ears are an amber/brown color, whereas his are just plain brown.

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

51

others. It does not solve the issue at hand; the cogency of his reply depends upon our first forming those concepts, and I am arguing our ability to do that is not workable on their views. While they rightly argue that we cannot conclude just from a mere experience of something that that thing really exists, can they provide an answer as to how we are to go about determining whether the object is real or not? On the view I have sketched, if we can compare the object (real or not) as it is represented in experience with our concepts of such things, then we can see whether they match up or not, and this may well involve performing more observations, so as to come closer epistemically to the object. But on their views, all we seem to have are the registration of representations as the result of the input from the causal chain, and these states are “of” their object simply in the sense that they causally covary (with their appropriate qualifications) with an object that caused them. And this is how it should be for them, for on their reductive materialism, experiences are brain states that have been caused in the relevant manner, and, following Lycan, they are conceived as experiences due to their functional role(s). So, ofness, aboutness, and directedness, the hallmarks of intentionality, which generally have been understood to be crucial in explaining how an experience is “together with” what is being experienced, end up being the indication of a physical state (under a different description) that is “together with” the thing that physically caused it due to their causal covariation. Clearly, on their view, the states we conceptualize as intentional would have to be physical ones that are being represented under a particular aspect. Intentionality, therefore, is identical to a conceptualization of a brain state due to that state’s functional role, which is, it seems, to bring “together” an experience “with” its object. At the basic ontological level, though, intentionality is physical stuff; thus, why should we conceptualize that physical stuff in this way?119 What we are considering must be a completely physical process, such that intentionality, experiences, and even concepts themselves are physical stuff, just being conceived differently. This would explain Lycan’s view that concepts are functional things, since they play functional roles in a completely physical system. If not that, then we seem faced with realizing that conceiving of brain states under different aspects really is just “subsuming” one kind of physical stuff (experiences) under other physical stuff (concepts). But two questions will remain: Why should we conceive of a physical state in such a way? And, how we can first form that concept? Now, if intentionality is an indication or registration due to a causal covariation, and that conceptualization of a brain state serves a functional role, to enable our experiences to be together with their objects, the physical process apparently happens to the person. If a person is experiencing an actual red hat, the red hat is 119

  Not to mention how this conceptualization of a brain state is even possible, if we cannot get started in forming concepts. If so, then to continue to maintain that we do apply concepts seems to be due to their being hard-wired in us, presumably by natural selection. But that move lands us back in problems we already have seen.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

52

causing that experience. However, if the person still has the same experience, but it is being produced by some other object, how will the person be able to know the difference between the veridical experience and the hallucinatory one? In both cases, we have a red hat experience, but the brain states that are being conceived under that aspect will still perform the functional role of enabling our experience to be together with the object. But if intentionality just is the indication of some physical state (under a certain conception) that causally covaries with its cause, then it does not seem that the person will be able to tell the difference between the veridical and hallucinatory experiences. This is because there does not seem to be an ontological resource to be able to discern whether an experience is veridical or not. All these processes simply seem to happen to the person, and thus the person lacks the ability to find out through more observations if there is a real object that is appearing to the person, or not.120 Moreover, a physical state that causally interacts with another inevitably modifies the first one. So, intentionality qua brain state being conceptualized as indicating something due to causal covariation, must also modify whatever it interacts with. As we saw when considering Armstrong’s views, the physical, causal series that produces experiences in us modifies the brain. In the case of veridical perception, allegedly a relation of correspondence obtains between the experience and the originating physical object. But now the causal chain objections against Armstrong’s views resurface here, despite Dretske’s replies. How can the person ever traverse the chain, to know that the object actually is what caused this experience? If the process is at root entirely physical, then though we talk of intentionality as ofness, aboutness, or directedness that brings together experience with its object, we simply cannot be directly aware of the object as it truly is in itself. Of course, Dretske would object that the chain “problem” is no such thing after all, since on his Representationalism, the object just is directly represented in experience. But this move will not help, since it depends upon our ability to form concepts in the first place, to even know what reliability itself is, and we have seen reasons to believe that, on their view, we will not be able to do this. We should expect a reductive materialist account of intentionality in terms of a physical, causal process. Dretske, Tye, and Lycan are right to try to account for intentionality, but it does not seem that their view will be able to do so. For on it, we are left without an ability to know how to tell the difference between actual and counterfactual states of affairs. Surely we can have experiences of things that are not actual. If we could not, we would not be able to test an empirical hypothesis, whether in something as mundane as finding where we left our glasses, or in science. 120

  Dretske might object that, unlike in veridical cases, in hallucinations we do not have an experience of a red hat. Instead, we have experiences of the properties that a red hat normally has, but we do not experience the whole. However, we treated this subject above, and it just does not seem to be the case that we cannot experience wholes in cases of perceptual error.

The Representationalism of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan

53

This ability, however, suggests that two features of intentionality are needed: (1) a mental state could have ofness, yet such that it does not somehow modify its object; and (2) apart from a purely physical process, the subject can actively use such states to direct attention to, and make observations of, some putative state of affairs, to see if such-and-such is the case or not (to tell the difference between cases of veridical perceptions and perceptual errors). Coupled with my conclusion that we cannot form concepts on their view, these features should make us realize that what Dretske, Tye, and Lycan are asking us to believe cannot meet these features of intentionality or even concept formation. Concluding Remarks Where do these conclusions leave us? I have not disputed that, on their views, real objects can be represented in experience, but we can never know that, for knowing always involves concepts, which we cannot form on this view. But these conclusions drawn from their views have many more implications. For one, on their representationalism, it does not seem we can conduct observations in the world to verify the truth of naturalism. Science, therefore, could not provide the evidence needed to show the truth of naturalism. If it is argued by way of reply that the evidence for naturalism is conceptual, and not empirical, then we face the problem of how we generate concepts. Two, if reductive materialism is true, then intentionality is a conceptualization of brain states. But so is anything else that cannot be described at the level of chemistry and physics. A major feature that includes is qualia, something that occupies much of Tye’s attention. Despite his efforts to take seriously these feltqualities of phenomenal states, it seems they too are brain state conceptualizations. Furthermore, Tye himself seems to realize that qualia are not necessary for phenomenal content. In his argument against “Mary,” he concludes that she can have knowledge of the essence of the state of experiencing red if she knows all the facts provided by physicalism.121 In perhaps his clearest statement on this topic, he comments that, when she sees a red rose, she does learn a new fact, in that “she acquires some new information about how things look.”122 Notice, though, that what she discovers is not the experience of a quale, as though there was some new FACT to be discovered. Instead, she has learned a new fact, to conceive a physical state under a particular classification, or conceptualization. And Tye seems to realize this, for he adds that “the position I am proposing can allow this so long as it is only the conceptual sense of ‘fact’ that is operative in these claims.”123 Elsewhere, Tye discusses the felt-qualities of certain bodily sensations. For example, “the feeling of thirst represents dryness in the throat and mouth. Feeling  Tye, Ten Problems of Consciousness, p. 174.   Ibid., p. 175. 123  Ibid. 121 122

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

54

hot is a state that represents an increase in bodily temperature above the normal one. Hunger pangs represent contractions of the stomach walls when the stomach is empty.”124 These physical states are the causes of the feelings, but these feltqualities seem unnecessary in light of his definition of representation as causal covariation under optimal conditions. Nevertheless, though he addresses several examples of felt-qualities, apparently he has little place for them in his analysis, and this makes sense if they are conceptualizations of brain states. Finally, we should realize that their reductive materialism itself, as a form of naturalism, likewise ends up being a conceptualization of brain states. That everything is physical, that token identity theory is true, and so forth are all conceptualizations. But why should we conceive of brain states in these ways? Moreover, if concepts themselves are basically “good old” physical stuff, what does it even mean to “conceive” of some brain states under some aspect? It might mean to spatially arrange some matter in a particular configuration. Or, following Lycan, it might mean that these states (so conceived) play a functional role. But that is just how he has characterized brain states; how can he know that those particular brain states (and not others) do indeed match up with the role he ascribes to them? And how did he first form the concept of a functional role? Finally, on these views, how can we be directly aware of anything as it truly is? Indeed, their appeal to concepts is used in a way to characterize the features of reality we experience, and also to preserve and account for the root ontological view of reductive materialism. And this appeal to concepts can seem to fit within that ontology, for they can be understood to be word tokens. But even the view that everything is physical is not directly represented in experience; it too is a conceptualization. If we cannot form concepts, and if we cannot transcend our representations, and somehow compare what is represented in experience with our concepts, then their ontology cannot get started and somehow lift itself “off the canvas.” At best, on this set of representational views, everything (including naturalism) ends up being a conceptualization, but due to these aforementioned problems that means that their form of naturalism cannot give us knowledge of reality. Now we will turn to examine the views of another prominent direct realist, John Searle, to see to what extent his particular views might help us secure knowledge of reality.

124

  Ibid., p. 117. Moreover, one can feel hot without having an elevated bodily temperature. Even without a fever, and in a room with air temperature of 70°, my daughter often reports feeling hot on her bare feet at bedtime, even though if you touch them, they do not feel hot. So these correlations might not be as clear cut as he thinks.

Chapter 3

Searle’s Naturalism and the Prospects for Knowledge Despite our findings so far, perhaps there are resources available in other formulations of direct realism. In that case, it would behoove us to examine the work of John Searle, whose work as a naturalist is some of the most important in the field. He maintains that, though there exists a bedrock of physical reality, and an external reality that exists independently of our descriptions of it, there still is more to reality than just the physical. For instance, he maintains that there is something irreducibly mental about intentionality, yet mental properties are part of the physical. There also is something more than just the physical to our social institutions. Human beings construct these by the imposition of intentionality on brute physical stuff, and this imposition of what he calls “status functions” makes these institutions what they are. But as he explains, these social institutions have no prelinguistic reality; they are formed by the imposition of language. Searle wants to hold that, while we know there is a bedrock of physical reality, we do not know it by an intentional awareness. Intentionality is not the vehicle by which we match, or “hook-up,” with reality; instead, we know reality by what he calls the “Background,” which ends up being neurophysiological. But in addition to his own understanding of naturalism, he is strongly influenced by the later Wittgenstein’s views of language. As we investigate several of his concepts, such as the Background, external reality, intentionality, and even the brute facts of the physical world, we will seek to understand the resources in his own view that enable us to know reality. Then we will assess whether, on his version of naturalism, he can make good on that claim. To begin to address these and other issues, we will start with his view of social reality. Searle’s View of Social Reality In his book The Construction of Social Reality, Searle addresses the question, in “a world made up entirely of physical particles in fields of force,” how is that social institutions, which have been made by human beings, have an objective existence?1 Though his focus is on social reality, he maintains his earlier views, that reality ultimately is a bedrock of brute, physical facts. Even so, in a move that 1   John R. Searle, The Construction of Social Reality (New York: The Free Press, 1995), p. 7.

56

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

separates Searle from some naturalists, he upholds that there are indeed mental states, a key one of which is intentionality. He claims that intentionality is “the capacity of the mind to represent objects and states of affairs in the world other than itself.”2 Furthermore, he thinks “consciousness is a biological, and therefore physical, though of course also mental, feature of certain higher-level nervous systems, such as human brains.”3 But regarding the reality of social institutions, Searle realizes that there is more to the world than just brute physical facts. There also are, for example, $5 bills that are forms of money. People must agree upon something to be money, and if everyone always thinks of it as money, uses it as money, and treats it as such, then it is money.4 Other examples he offers include institutional facts that are created by performative utterances, such as “war is declared,” or “I give and bequeath my entire fortune to my nephew.”5 Searle concludes that these are facts that are not intrinsically natural; before we agreed upon a certain piece of paper to stand as a medium of exchange, or a set of words to mean that we are at war, there were no pre-linguistic, natural phenomena there. Instead, these phenomena have been made by collective, human agreement, which Searle claims involves the imposition of collective intentionality. Collective intentionality means that humans, along with various animal species, “engage in cooperative behavior” and “share intentional states such as beliefs, desires, and intentions.”6 This does not mean that he repudiates the physical bedrock of reality, for “collective intentionality is a biologically primitive phenomenon that cannot be reduced to or eliminated in favor of something else.”7 What makes intentionality collective “is a sense of doing (wanting, believing, etc.) something together, and the individual intentionality that each person has is derived from the collective intentionality that they share.”8 It is this concept of collective intentionality that allows Searle to develop his view of constitutive rules, ones that do not merely regulate, but create the very possibility of, certain activities. These are rules that have been agreed upon by a group of people. A main example is the game of chess; there is a set of rules that create the very possibility of playing chess. But while institutional facts require constitutive rules for their existence, such rules cannot create brute, physical facts. Searle maintains that the brute facts of the world exist independently of

2   Ibid. Here he defines intentionality as ‘that property of the mind by which it is directed at objects and states of affairs in the world’ (p. 18, footnote). 3   Ibid., p. 6. 4   Ibid., p. 32. 5   Ibid., p. 34. 6   Ibid., p. 23. 7   Ibid., p. 24.; see also p. 25, where Searle asserts that, for all humans, all mental phenomena occur inside the brain. 8   Ibid., pp. 24–5.

Searle’s Naturalism and the Prospects for Knowledge

57

their linguistic expression, whereas institutional facts require some sort of representation. How, then, do collective intentionality and constitutive rules work together for him? Searle offers a generalization of the way social facts are created, where X (a brute physical fact) counts as Y (some social fact) in context C.9 If we do indeed construct social reality, then, as Searle maintains, the constructive work must be done out of something that already exists, and ultimately this must be the physical world.10 Here, X is some physical feature of the world, such as the physical properties of pieces of paper, but that alone will not get us money, nor will this physical stuff be sufficient to specify the causal features needed for the paper to be counted as money without regards to human agreement.11 The move from a brute fact to a socially constructed one takes place by the imposition of a status function upon X by the social group, and this is done by using its collective intentionality. This imposition of a status function involves our representing the Y (socially constructed) element, and this requires words or symbols to label the social fact. Apart from these representations, the institutional facts have no existence, since the X and Y elements are exactly the same physically. As Searle stresses, “there can be no prelinguistic way to represent the Y element because there is nothing there prelinguistically that one can perceive or otherwise attend to in addition to the X element.”12 There simply is no way to read the institutional fact off just the brute physical stuff. Thus, it is this imposition of the status function by way of language or symbols that makes these social facts what they are. He illustrates this with the example of a football game. While it is possible without language for us to see a man cross a white line with a ball, nonetheless we cannot see him score six points without language. But once these social facts and institutions have been constructed by collective agreement, Searle wants to know how it is that we can be guided by these rules if we are not conscious of them. For instance, if I go into a restaurant and give $5 to the cashier, I do not think that I am taking a $5 bill as a medium of exchange in context C. So how do we follow these rules? Searle’s answer is instructive, for it is not by our intentionality, by which we would direct our awarenesses toward a state of affairs. Instead, it is by means of what he calls the Background, which is a “certain category of neurophysiological causation.”13 As a physical kind of thing, the Background capacities “are not, and could not be, construed as further intentional contents.”14 Instead, the Background seems to be a physical precondition for intentionality.  9

    11   12   13   14   10

Ibid., p. 43ff. Ibid., p. 191. Ibid., p. 44. Ibid., p. 68. Ibid., p. 129. Ibid., p. 132.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

58

Furthermore, the Background relates to collective intentionality in a complex way. Somehow the Background “can be causally sensitive to the specific forms of the constitutive rules of the institutions without actually containing any beliefs or desires or representations of those rules.”15 A prime illustration for Searle is that of a person who learns how to play baseball. At first, new players need to follow the rules of the game closely. But later, as they develop skill and proficiency in playing the game, these ball players can respond appropriately by having cultivated skills that are functionally equivalent to the rules “without actually containing any representations or intentions” of them.16 Moreover, the Background makes linguistic use possible. Searle observes that it “enables linguistic interpretation [presumably, in the move from brute to social facts] to take place.”17 So far, we have seen that Searle maintains a distinction between, on the one hand, an unconstructed, physical reality that exists independently of our representations, and on the other, a socially, linguistically constructed reality. While we already have seen a significant role for language use in constructing social reality, Searle’s views of language are more extensive. For instance, he makes reference to the work of the later Wittgenstein, including that much of what the later Wittgenstein had to say was about Searle’s notion of the Background.18 And, as we will see, since Searle claims that we always work from under an aspect, or conceptual scheme, which is intricately related to a language, this raises the question to what extent we can know what objective, external reality is like in itself. Searle and Language When Searle says that much of what Wittgenstein had to say was about the Background, what aspect of Wittgenstein’s thought did he have in mind? Presumably, the Background functions either as a form of life, which would provide the C element, or context, for Searle’s construction of social reality, or it is something akin to primitive reactions. Now, Wittgenstein focused much upon the particular, discrete, local character of languages, which would strengthen the supposition that Searle has in mind the concept of a form of life. On the other hand, primitive reactions are behaviors that seem basic and, perhaps, automatic, and they might include, for instance, grimacing when stuck with a pin, or squinting at bright lights. In Brad Kallenberg’s interpretation of Wittgenstein, congruity in primitive reactions is the behavioral basis upon which language use, and therefore meaning, depends.19 Similarly, Searle thinks the Background makes linguistic use 15

  Ibid., p. 14.   Ibid., pp. 141–2. 17   Ibid., p. 132 (bracketed insert mine). 18   Ibid. 19   See Brad J. Kallenberg, Ethics as Grammar (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2002), p. 106. See also Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, 16

Searle’s Naturalism and the Prospects for Knowledge

59

possible. Another reason why Searle may have in mind Wittgenstein’s notion of primitive reactions is that the Background seems to be a physical precondition for intentionality. So, at least at first glance, there are apparent affinities between Searle’s concept of the Background and both Wittgensteinian concepts. However, for at least one major reason, it is doubtful that Searle has in mind Wittgenstein’s concept of primitive reactions, at least as interpreted by Kallenberg. For Kallenberg’s Wittgenstein, we should focus on these behaviors without searching for their essence, for that kind of metaphysical search is a disease that leads to a conceptual confusion of which we need to be cured.20 For Searle, however, the Background is neurological, and our beliefs, thoughts, and skills are rooted in the physical. Regardless of the correct interpretation of this point, the Background provides a condition for the possibility of linguistic interpretation (something that both the form of life and primitive reactions provide). Searle also claims that the Background enables perceptual interpretation to take place. For him, all perception is aspectual. He uses Wittgenstein’s illustration of seeing an illustration as a rabbit or a duck: for him, this illustrates that we bring to bear on the “raw perceptual stimulus” a whole set of Background “skills” to interpret the raw data.21 The Background serves many other functions. Not only is perception a matter of interpretation by the employment of Background skills or “capacities,” but so is intentionality itself. Searle asserts, Because all intentionality is aspectual, all conscious intentionality is aspectual; and the possibility of perceiving, that is, the possibility of experiencing under aspects requires a familiarity with the set of categories under which one experiences those aspects. The ability to apply those categories is a Background ability.22

So Background capacities, or categories (a chief one of which is language), enable the possibility of experiencing conscious states, as well as understanding utterances in a language. But the Background also provides “dramatic categories” that “extend over sequences of events and structure those sequences into narrative shapes.”23 Searle claims that the sequence of our experiences has a narrative shape, but this itself cannot be a feature of brute physical reality. Somehow the Background helps structure the raw, physical data into interpretations with this character. 3rd edn, ed. G.E.M. Anscombe and Rush Rhees, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1958), §244, 257. 20   Kallenberg, pp. 34, 212–13. See also Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, §65, 109. 21   Searle, The Construction of Social Reality, p. 133. 22   Ibid. 23   Ibid., p. 135.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

60

Aspect seeing has at least two highly important extensions for Searle. The first is the concept of external realism. Searle has claimed that there is a language, representation-independent world, which he says is physical, but he also has claimed that all intentionality (presumably, what he had “in mind” when he wrote this and other books) always is aspectual. Therefore, he must address the apparent tension that his own naturalist view is just one more interpretation under some particular aspect. He does this by raising the importance of external realism (ER), which he says is the straightforward claim that “reality exists independently of our representations of it.”24 And, “from the fact that our knowledge/conception/picture of reality is constructed by human brains in human interactions, it does not follow that the reality of which we have the knowledge/conception/picture is constructed by human brains in human interactions.”25 It would seem, therefore, that Searle thinks he can keep a firm grip on our ability to know the reality of an external world. But that conclusion might be premature. Elsewhere he claims that ER “functions as a taken-for-granted part of the Background.”26 Somehow ER is part of the Background, and therefore is a neurophysiological phenomenon. Searle tries to clarify his view by arguing that ER is intricately related to conceptual relativity (CR), which is the second extension of aspect seeing. By CR, he means that “all representations of reality are made relative to some more or less arbitrarily selected set of concepts,”27 or conceptual scheme, a view that he takes to be correct and not necessarily problematic for his naturalism.28 Why is that the case? For him, ER functions in a Kantian-like way, as a Background condition for the possibility of the intelligibility of utterances, whatever forms those representations take. As he puts it, “Unless we take ER for granted, we cannot understand utterances the way we normally do.”29 And a Kantian corollary would be that the social world, along with the brute physical realm, functions like Kant’s phenomenal world. Therefore, ER is not something we can prove, and he thinks there is no non-question-begging way to show its truthfulness. Instead, he offers a neoKantian “transcendental” argument for it, in order to show the conditions for the intelligibility of language use, and then show what those conditions presuppose.30 One such presupposition is that language use is public, and somehow we must be able to use referring expressions in ways that require sameness of understanding on

24

    26   27   28   29   30   25

Ibid., p. 161. Ibid., p. 159. For him, neither are brains a human construct (see footnote). Ibid., p. 182. Ibid., p. 161. Ibid. Ibid., p. 182. Ibid., p. 183.

Searle’s Naturalism and the Prospects for Knowledge

61

the part of both speaker and hearer.31 Otherwise, how could collective agreement ever take place? In short, the concept of ER functions as a presupposition that makes sense of how we talk.32 In keeping with his understanding of CR, there are many languages, each with its own related conceptual scheme: Strictly speaking, there is an indefinitely large number of conceptual schemes under which anything can be represented. If that is right, and it surely is, then it will be impossible to get the coincidence between truth and reality after which so many traditional philosophers seem to hanker. Every representation has an aspectual shape … in short, it is only from a point of view that we represent reality, but ontologically objective reality does not have a point of view.33

Thus, for Searle, truth is correspondence, yet we need to understand that we always represent our propositions from the standpoint of a conceptual scheme, and that representing is done by language use. Addressing the Challenges of Conceptual Relativity Now at this point, it seems that Searle’s strong views about the inability to make sense of utterances apart from a conceptual scheme should apply to his own claims about the objective truth of naturalism, which he thinks we know to be the case. His own clear claims about the language-independent existence of the bedrock of physical reality seem to be utterances made just from the vantage of his conceptual scheme. How can he escape this charge? Searle attempts to ward off apparent problems with ER due to conceptual relativity by how he addresses several people, including Hilary Putnam and Nelson Goodman, and their understanding of conceptual relativity. In The Construction of Social Reality, Searle depicts Putnam’s view as an epistemic one, that “the whole content of Realism lies in the claim that it makes sense to think of a God’s-Eye View (or, better, a ‘View from Nowhere’).”34 But, repeatedly, Searle says that his view of ER is ontological, not epistemic.35 Nevertheless, he describes Putnam’s view as one in which the objects in the world are relative to concepts. So, however many objects obtain in a world depend upon the conceptual scheme and how people use it to carve up the world. Similarly, he portrays Goodman as holding

31

  Ibid., p. 186.   Ibid., p. 184. 33   Ibid., p. 176 (emphasis mine). 34   Hilary Putnam, Realism with a Human Face, ed. James Conant (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1990), p. 23, cited in Searle, p. 154. 35   For example, see Searle, p. 195. 32

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

62

that we make worlds by how we draw boundaries; hence, we make Sirius, food, the Great Dipper, and all sorts of other objects.36 Searle’s reply is instructive. To his way of thinking, there simply is no problem with these various descriptions of the world; after all, since there are many conceptual schemes, we should expect there to be a plurality of such descriptions. Since he claims that the externally real world is ontologically independent of such descriptions, then so what? As he puts it, “the real world does not care how we describe it and it remains the same under the various different descriptions we give of it.”37 To him, antirealism just does not follow from CR. But one key result of this is that there is no privileged way of talking, or a privileged conceptual scheme (PCS). Searle seems to think that Putnam believes that there is no (determinate?) world whatsoever apart from linguistic expressions, and thus their views would be quite at odds. Searle explains, Putnam’s writings give the impression that he thinks that by refuting PCS he has refuted ER [external realism]. Perhaps he does not think that the “refutation” touches ER, in which case a bald assertion in favor of ER would have been helpful to his readers. But he makes no such assertion; on the contrary, he endorses a view he calls “internal realism.” I do not think there is a coherent position of “internal realism” that is halfway between external realism, as I have defined it, and out-and-out antirealism which Putnam also claims to reject.38

But Searle’s conclusion seems inaccurate for at least three reasons. First, Putnam has a similar aim to Searle. In Representation and Reality, he wants to unpack how terms can succeed in referring to their objects in the real world, which Searle accounts for as a function of the Background.39 For Putnam, and like Searle, this “togetherness” is not accomplished by intentionality, even though Putnam shares with Searle the view that intentionality will not be reduced to some physical state, and it simply will not disappear.40 Instead, for Putnam, we know this togetherness by our language use, and this must be done in a public language by following its rules. Although Searle tells us that this “togetherness” is a Background function, we seem to know this also by collective agreement upon how we will use terms.

36

  Ibid., pp. 162–3.   Ibid., p. 163. 38   Ibid., p. 164, footnote (bracketed insert mine). Earlier, Searle says Putnam does not want us to think in terms of a mind-independent reality (p. 163). 39   This concern on Putnam’s part involves reference, how words are together with their objects. See Hilary Putnam, Representation and Reality, Representation and Mind, ed. Hilary Putnam and Ned Block (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1992), especially chapters 2 and 7. 40   Putnam, Representation and Reality, p. 1. 37

Searle’s Naturalism and the Prospects for Knowledge

63

This is due to the fact that Searle emphasizes that language itself is formed by collective agreement, hence making it a public matter. Second, like Searle, Putnam does not endorse antirealism. At the time of his writing Representation and Reality, Putnam embraced what he calls internal realism. The world in which we live is one that has been shaped and formed by the language of a particular way of life, but that does not mean that there is no world beyond our descriptions. Indeed, that is part of his conclusion of his cookie cutter metaphor. In this example, the cookie dough seems to represent the indeterminate world, one that exists yet has not yet been shaped by linguistic use. By imposing the cookie cutter on the dough, we make it have a determinate quality. But then Putnam rightly tells us that this illustration breaks down: What is wrong with the notion of objects existing “independently” of conceptual schemes is that there are no standards for the use of even the logical notions apart from conceptual choices … The alternative to this idea is not the view that it’s all just language. We can and should insist that some facts are there to be discovered and not legislated by us. But this is something to be said when one has adopted a way of speaking, a language, a “conceptual scheme.” To talk of “facts” without specifying the language to be used is to talk of nothing; the word “fact” no more has its use fixed by the world itself than does the word “exist” or the word “object.”41

More recently, Putnam has acknowledged a mistake he made in terms of how he had characterized internal realism. Formerly, he had depicted that view as one in which our experiences and conceptual schemes are “between” us and reality.42 But now he realizes that he should characterize this relation as one in which our experiences and concepts enable us to see aspects of reality directly.43 He also has repudiated his former way of depicting our constructive efforts as being a way we “make” reality. While we do contribute constructively to knowledge, he now maintains that what we make should be understood to be limited to concepts and conceptual schemes, language-games, and word uses.44 Clearly, therefore, and pace Searle, it is not the case that Putnam has denied, or now denies, the reality of an external world. Like Searle, Putnam wants to maintain the reality of a world independent of our linguistic expressions.45

41

  Ibid., p. 114.   Hilary Putnam, “From Quantum Mechanics to Ethics and Back Again,” presentation at “Putnam at 80” conference, University College Dublin, Ireland, March 14, 2007, p. 14. 43   Hilary Putnam, e-mail correspondence, Aug. 6, 2007. 44   Putnam, “From Quantum Mechanics to Ethics and Back Again,” pp. 14, 16, and 18. 45   Interestingly, he also still affirms conceptual relativity. See Chapter 8 for more discussion on this and other updated views offered by Putnam. There, I also try to show some key problems with his newer views. 42

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

64

This second point can help us see a third one, which is related to the first, that for Putnam, although our words can be together with their objects in the real world, there is no such thing as reference-as-such that we may know. If there were, it would be something we could know apart from the standards for the uses of these notions. And those standards come from conceptual and linguistic choices. For Searle, he thinks words can be together with their objects, but he does not explain how the Background enables this to take place. Most charitably, it must be a matter of neurophysiological causation, but at the same time, the Background functions like a posit, in a Kantian transcendental fashion – as a condition just for the possibility of reference. These strong similarities between Searle’s and Putnam’s views are suggestive. Putnam wisely argues that not all reality can be a construction, and Searle makes a very similar claim in that there is an external reality that exists independently of expressions. Surely it would seem that Searle would want us to take his many clear statements about the brute, physical bedrock of reality to be of that very external reality. But later, he backs off that claim. As he puts it, “Realism does not say how things are but only that there is a way that they are.”46 What, then, are we to make of his very strong claims about the brute physical realm? These are constructions, made from under his conceptual scheme (biological naturalism), according to the use of his language. To be consistent, outsiders of his way of life should not understand them as giving us the representationindependent truth of the matter. For if, as Searle claims, “all representation, and a fortiori all truthful representation, is always under certain aspects”;47 and if there are no “privileged conceptual schemes,” but instead only many different ways to interpret the world, then Searle’s own claims about the truth of naturalism are just expressions of how he happens to talk. But why should others who do not accept his particular conceptual scheme talk that way? It seems his position entails a view that we cannot access directly an external, representation-independent world as it is in itself. If so, then he should be consistent and heed Putnam’s admonition: “What is wrong with the notion of objects existing ‘independently’ of conceptual schemes is that there are no standards for the use of even the logical notions apart from conceptual choices.”48 Thus, Searle’s many claims should be understood just as Putnam says, as those uttered once one has adopted a way of speaking. But this point helps us see a deeper problem. Searle has stated his accounts of biological naturalism and the construction of social reality in language. Even his claims that the bedrock is physical must be just an expression formed from the standpoint of his conceptual scheme, as must also be the case with his many other concepts, such as the Background and ER. Due to his views about language, and 46

  Searle, p. 155.   Ibid., p. 175. 48   Putnam, Representation and Reality, p. 114. 47

Searle’s Naturalism and the Prospects for Knowledge

65

our apparent inability to know reality as it truly is (in a non-conceptualized way), all these many claims are just constructs made by him by his language use. At this point, however, Searle might simply deny my conclusion that he is committed to the view that we cannot have direct acquaintance with external reality as it is. Indeed, he indicates in two places that he might think we can make epistemic contact with the real world. First, Searle asserts that, though all representation and cognition occurs from the standpoint of a conceptual scheme, it simply does not follow that cognition never can be of a representation-independent reality.49 Second, he argues that, even though all perception is aspectual, and the Background is essential to perceptual interpretation, nonetheless it does not follow that all perception involves an act of interpretation. In fact, he argues that “we normally just see an object or understand a sentence, without any act of interpreting.”50 Now Searle has a very specific notion of such acts, which occur when “we actually perform a conscious and deliberate act of interpreting.”51 So, contrary to my argument, Searle could counter that he does support our ability to make direct epistemic contact with the external, real world. Yet, on his view, since all cognition and representations are under some aspect, we should give up on knowing any coincidence between truth and reality. So even if it happens to be the case that some cognition is of reality itself, we could not know it as such. For him, we are always working epistemically from the standpoint of our conceptual schemes. So, these two claims (along with all others he makes) are constructs made from the standpoint of his conceptual scheme, with its way of talking. But why should others talk, or conceive of the world, in this way?52 Further, I think Searle is right in that we do not necessarily perform conscious, deliberate acts of interpretation whenever we have a perception, such as when we see the color blue or an apple, or pay for a burger with a $5 bill. But that does not remove the difficulty, namely that, on his view, even these perceptions are what they are only because we had them under an aspect, and there is no way we can match up our perceptions or cognitions with reality itself. Thus, we cannot know whether under our conceptual scheme our beliefs are right. So, despite these two objections, Searle’s view does not allow for him to know that he can match up with reality, even if he in fact did so. The identity of Searle’s particular linguistic, conceptual scheme is an issue of critical importance, and this is especially so when we see that for him language must be public. In The Construction of Social Reality he emphasizes the public nature of language use and social agreement to even form language, and perhaps 49

  Searle, p. 175.   Ibid., p. 134. 51   Ibid. 52   Later, in Chapter 8, we will consider possible resources available in Alasdair MacIntyre’s views to help someone like Searle with this very issue. MacIntyre will contend that, though rationality is aspectual (that is, “tradition”-dependent), there still is a way to adjudicate between contending traditions and determine which is the most rational. 50

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

66

this is due to the Wittgensteinian notion that language cannot be private, or else terms might not refer. So we should ask, what is the community out of which Searle speaks? He could claim that he is speaking out of a community of naturalists, but since his views are at odds with some such philosophers, he needs to specify his particular linguistic community. For if language use is tied to communities, of which there are many, and that use constructs at the least all our views of reality, he must specify his community, to see if we do talk that way, too, or if we want to learn to talk that way. But this we do not see him do. Now, Searle could reply that we all simply do talk the language of the atomic theory of matter and evolutionary biology. This seems to be his intent, for it simply is the case that we are so educated in this day and age in western societies. 53 But so what if this is the case? If all cognition and representation is done from under the aspect of a conceptual scheme, with its language, then Searle simply has given us his particular version of a naturalistic way of talking. And if there are many different ways of “carving up” the world according to conceptual schemes, which will involve the use of particular languages, then there seems to be no languageindependent reason for adopting his particular way of talking.54 Still, Searle could reply that, in order for contemporary philosophers to intelligently discuss issues related to ontology, we simply should learn the language of naturalism. This would appear to be a generalization, as though the language of naturalism has an essential nature we may know. Yet, again, Searle has his own particular innovations within the broad naturalist paradigm, as do others. But if we take the later Wittgenstein seriously, it seems we should give up craving for essences, which is a disease, something from which Wittgenstein sought to cure us.55 If so, then we should stop craving after universal truths (even those offered by naturalism) and realize instead that forms of life, along with languages, do not have an essence that we can know apart from a given language. Of course, we come to this same conclusion just considering naturalism’s own denial of essences. Searle owes us an account of which linguistic community it is out of which he speaks. But he does not do this, and it works as a rhetorical advantage, for it allows him to make sweeping claims about how things really are without having to admit that these claims are dependent upon the conceptual scheme of his particular community. But that conclusion would render his claims to know how things are rather uninteresting to those outside his particular conceptual scheme. And it makes his claims about the objective truth of the physical nature of bedrock reality just a claim made from under the aspect of his conceptual scheme, one that cannot give us the literal truth of reality itself. There remains another way Searle could reply. He could claim that there are good, independent reasons (perhaps from science) for adopting his naturalistic 53

  Searle, p. 6.   This need will underscore the importance of examining MacIntyre’s solution, even though he now writes as a Thomist. 55   Kallenberg, p. 212. See also Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, §109. 54

Searle’s Naturalism and the Prospects for Knowledge

67

conceptual scheme. After all, this would be in keeping with his claims that there is indeed a bedrock of brute, physical phenomena. Even so, this move will not secure his claim that there is an unconstructed realm (the physical bedrock), since even this claim is one made from his conceptual scheme. It seems clear, therefore, that he should not repudiate Putnam; instead, Searle should embrace Putnam’s admonition that, whatsoever claims we make, these are done once we have adopted a way of speaking. I think Putnam realizes more fully the implications of using Wittgenstein’s views of language, and he draws what I think is the more consistent conclusion than Searle is willing to make. But then we should see Searle’s views, even his claims about the reality of the bedrock of brute, physical phenomena, are just claims made from some particular linguistic community, and one that he does not specify. But if we follow the later Wittgenstein consistently, specification of the relevant community makes all the difference. If there is no language-as-such, but there are only discrete languages as writtenand-spoken in specific, space–time locations (as Alasdair MacIntyre argues),56 then all Searle’s claims amount to is how his discrete community happens to talk according to the rules of its grammar. But on this view, there does not seem to be a normative basis that transcends his form of life’s way of talking as to why outsiders to his specific community should talk as he does. That we should talk as he does is just a claim he would make from his community. We as his readers have our own particular languages, and if we cannot access the real world as it is except from under the aspect of our conceptual schemes, then, at the least, our views of the world are made by how we talk in our specific communities. So Searle owes us a much deeper account of why we should talk as he does, and simply claiming that our accepted university education must include certain naturalistic accounts is not sufficient to alleviate this difficulty, for, as I already argued, his own version of naturalism is not one accepted by all naturalists. Therefore, Searle’s constructivism cannot support his many claims about the nature of the bedrock physicality of reality, and our knowledge thereof. We are left with interpreting his many views (and especially those of naturalism) as just a way of talking of some discrete (and unspecified) linguistic community, one that cannot be the norm even for all naturalists.57 The Next Naturalistic Options So it seems that there are serious problems with naturalistic direct realism to give us knowledge of reality. Still, some may complain that I have not considered the views of another direct realist, John McDowell, and thus I conclude far too 56   Alasdair MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality? (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988), p. 357. 57   I am thankful to Peggy Burke and Garrett DeWeese for very helpful comments on an earlier draft of this essay.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

68

quickly that naturalistic direct realism cannot give us knowledge of reality. But I do not think McDowell will help here, for he understands the relationship of the “mind” to the world in a Kantian–Davidsonian way, specifically how concepts (or, language, for Davidson) mediate the relationship between them. That mediation ends up being a kind of “making,” not matching, such that the object (or whatever) under consideration has the character it does due to the application of a concept to it. But that move will not allow us to have access directly to an object as it truly is in itself, so his direct realism seems seriously undermined.58 What, then, are the next kinds of approaches to naturalism that we should consider? Just because these views have failed to deliver on their promise to give us such knowledge, it does not mean that others cannot succeed. In Part II, we will examine the prospects for a more naturalized epistemology to give us knowledge of reality.

  For a statement of McDowell’s views, see his Mind and World (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994), p. 3. For an assessment of his views, see Michael Friedman, “Exorcising the Philosophical Tradition: Comments on John McDowell’s Mind and World,” Philosophical Review, 105:4 (October 1996), pp. 427–67 (especially pp. 443–4). 58

Part II Philosophy as Science: Neuroscience, Neurophilosophy, and Naturalized Epistemology

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 4

Cognitive Science, Philosophy, and Our Knowledge of Reality, Part One: The Views of David Papineau The philosophers we have considered so far all have a robust confidence in the natural sciences to give us knowledge of reality. Others argue that philosophy actually should be seen as continuous with science, and not as an autonomous discipline that somehow stands outside of and can judge science. Indeed, some have argued for a naturalized epistemology. On such a view, knowledge is not equated with certainty, as though knowledge could be secured by a priori theorizing alone. Instead, just like investigations of the real world, knowledge too should be investigated using the assumptions and practices of the natural sciences, thereby yielding a scientific explanation, which will be a posteriori driven and defeasible. Furthermore, it will not be an account of knowledge based upon an introspective study of the mind and its contents. Instead, it will tend to adopt a third-person perspective. In Part 2, we will examine the works of four philosophers who embrace an approach that philosophy is continuous with science, yet their ideas vary in some crucial ways from each other. We will start in this chapter with the views of David Papineau, and I will focus on two of his books, Philosophical Naturalism (1993) and Thinking about Consciousness (2002).1 Like Dretske, Lycan, and Tye, Papineau continues the token identity/representationalist/reliabilist line of thought, yet in his own unique ways, and he situates it within an overall framework that rejects “first” philosophy. Though he writes much about mental entities, he has no delusions about their existence as nonphysical things. Yet, he maintains a kind of realism about them and their contents. But he also has much less confidence than Patricia or Paul Churchland on the prospects for neuroscience (and philosophy reconceived as neurophilosophy) to eliminate any need for such “folk psychological” concepts.

1   David Papineau, Philosophical Naturalism (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1993), and Thinking about Consciousness (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002).

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

72

The Relationship of Philosophy and Science As a naturalist, Papineau thinks philosophy is continuous with empirical science.2 It is the task of philosophers “to bring coherence and order to the total set of assumptions we use to explain the empirical world.”3 That is, philosophical difficulties are of a special kind, in that they cannot be settled just by appeal to further empirical evidence; rather, they involve “conceptual unraveling.” In Thinking about Consciousness, Papineau still maintains his ontological reductionism, yet he also develops a conceptual dualism. Though everything can be reduced to just what is physical, nonetheless there is much room for concepts of both physical objects and conscious properties, and the latter are not reducible to the former. Hence, with an irreducible plurality of concepts, “conceptual analysis alone is impotent to uncover the material essence of conscious properties.”4 Papineau rejects any idea that philosophy can serve as an autonomous discipline to science, as “first philosophy,” in which case philosophers would privilege categories like thought and knowledge as more fundamental than, and even presupposed by, science. Rather than starting from a pure, presuppositionless point, Papineau contends that even these disciplines must start with some assumptions about the mind and its relation to reality. In that case, he thinks there is no good reason for thought and knowledge to not start with “our empirically best-attested theories of the mind and its relation to reality.”5 Moreover, if philosophy were to need firmer foundations for knowledge than can be supplied by the empirical sciences, then indeed we would need to concede the importance of having a “first philosophy.” If knowledge needs to rest on certainty, then we will need methods that give us necessary truths, which the a posteriori methods of science cannot deliver. That requirement would push us toward reliance upon infallibility through introspective awareness, deduction, and conceptually guaranteed truths. But Papineau rejects such a need for certainty, replacing it with a form of reliabilism that is adequate to give us knowledge. Papineau’s Core Ontology In 1993, Papineau defends a form of physicalism in philosophy of mind, arguing both that “the mental is determined by the physical” (which he calls supervenience) and that “the mental is in some sense the same substance as the physical” (which he explains as token congruence).6 Generally speaking, token congruence maintains  Papineau, Philosophical Naturalism, p. 1.   Ibid., p. 3. 4  Papineau, Thinking about Consciousness, p. 175. 5  Papineau, Philosophical Naturalism, p. 3. 6   Ibid., p. 11. 2 3

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Papineau

73

that “each dated mental occurrence is the same as some dated physical occurrence.”7 Papineau’s physicalism is the conjunction of supervenience and token congruence, which he claims is strongly supported by the internal “completeness of physics,” by which he means “that physics, unlike the other special sciences is complete, in the sense that all physical events are determined, or have their chances determined, by prior physical events according to physical laws.”8 At the physical level, all facts can be described exhaustively by using the language of physics. But, we also have nonphysical concepts and terms, such as when we attribute beliefs, desires, hopes, fears, and the like to people. Consider a mental cause, like the decision to raise one’s arm. Following his token congruence thesis, Papineau argues that the best way to understand this phenomenon is by the concept of realization. There are two properties, a mental one with its physical correlate, and “the instantiation of one is realized by the instantiation of the other.”9 More formally, In order for a mental or other special type M to be realized by an instance of some physical type P, M needs to be a second-order property, the property of having some property which satisfies certain requirements R. And then M will be realized by P in some individual X if and only if this instance of P satisfies requirements R. In such a case we can say X satisfies M in virtue of satisfying P.10

But Papineau is clear to rule out any form of dualism of mental states in his token congruence. He insists “that no physical state P could possibly have” certain conscious characteristics.11 So his view is clearly ontologically reductive, and, like Dretske, Tye, and Lycan, Papineau opts for token identity form of reduction. We should, however, note some qualifications of his ontology that he makes in 2002. There, Papineau makes a distinction between physicalism and materialism, and he defends a form of property-identity materialism. Terminologically, he reserves the term “physical” for those “kinds of first-order properties studied by the physical sciences.”12 In regards to conscious properties, physicalism is the view that they are reducible to physical ones. On the other hand, “materialism” is a term he uses more broadly, to include both these physical properties and other properties “[that] are not strictly physical – that is, for functional higher-order properties or disjunctions of physical properties or supervenient properties.”13 Physicalism, therefore, is a strict identification of conscious states with physical ones, whereas materialism is less strict. Both physicalism and materialism, however, will still  7

  Ibid., p. 12.   Ibid., p. 16 (bracketed insert mine; emphasis in original).  9   Ibid., p. 24. 10   Ibid., p. 25. 11   Ibid., p. 27. 12  Papineau, Thinking about Consciousness, p. 15. 13   Ibid., p. 31.  8

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

74

be token reductionist, and they both “tie conscious states constitutively to the physical world.”14 Moreover, the materialist option seems to give Papineau the latitude he thinks he needs to explain why we have a duality of concepts for thinking about conscious states. On the one hand, when we think about them as physical states, we use physical conceptions. On the other hand, qua feelings, for instance, we think about them using phenomenal concepts. Importantly, at the ontological “level,” there is but one property, a brain state, since a so-called “mental state” is nothing but a brain state. But, at the conceptual level, the material and phenomenological conceptions are irreducible, yet both types still refer to one and the same ontological reality. Like Tye, there is just one kind of thing that exists (physical stuff), but it can be described and conceived of variously. Hence, such higher-order properties are multiply realizable. But, of course, Papineau is concerned with addressing much more than just the details of his ontology. He wants to be able to show how his form of naturalism can account for knowledge of a real, mind-independent world. That is, he affirms realism in two forms: (a) in terms of mental content; and (b) in terms of knowledge. In the next section, we will address first his realism about mental content, and then we will develop his realism about knowledge of reality. The Teleological Theory of Mental Representation, and Reliabilism In 1993, Papineau believes he needs to give an account of mental representation that deals with a potential problem for physicalism. That is, mental states “have representational contents: they represent the world as being a certain way.”15 As such, they would seem to be a problem for physicalism: But how can this be, if such mental states involve nothing more than physical states of the brain? If my belief that Lima is the capital of Peru is realized by an arrangement of neurons, then how does this belief manage to reach out across the world and latch on to a city I have never seen?16

This is a problem due to the “nature” of representations, which stand for, or are of, or about, other things. Put differently, how can we make sense of the intentional qualities of representations on his token identity theory? Still differently, Papineau describes the central question of this topic as follows: “How could representational relationships to often distant states of affairs be intrinsic to the internal causal roles of mental states?”17 14

  Ibid., p. 16.  Papineau, Philosophical Naturalism, p. 55. 16  Ibid. 17   Ibid., p. 57. 15

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Papineau

75

His answer lies in his teleological theory of representation. Though there are similarities between the representationalism of Tye, Dretske, Lycan, and Papineau, it is Papineau who introduces most explicitly a theory of representational contents in terms of biological purpose. In a treatment of representational states such as desires and beliefs, Papineau claims that “we can pick out a desire’s real satisfaction condition as that effect it is the desire’s biological purpose to produce.”18 Not only that, truth is a representational notion, and “we can pick out the real truth condition of a belief as that condition which it is the biological purpose of the belief to be co-present with.”19 Notice that, for Papineau, these are real conditions, that is, real states of affairs that obtain in the real, independent world. As Papineau makes clear, his teleological notions (function, purpose, desire, etc.) are aetiological; that is, they are, at root, causal notions. So he argues that “the purpose of A is to do B if and only if A is now present because in the past some selection process selected items that do B.”20 His crucial point is that mental states are “products of selection processes,” whether or not someone likes his aetiological account of teleological discourse.21 In keeping with a causal understanding of teleology, these selection-based purposes are “always a matter of results.”22 For beliefs, then, their normal purpose is “to ensure the satisfaction of desires,” such that “any given belief will be present in order to produce actions which will produce desired results if a certain condition p obtains, which condition is therefore that belief’s truth condition.”23 So truth itself, and our having knowledge of truth, matters, and it is due to evolution, which “has arranged for us to have information about our circumstances, in the form of our current beliefs, and then to choose actions which those beliefs indicate will satisfy the goals signaled by our current desires.”24 Moreover, since natural selection cannot favor beliefs or desires if they do not exist, they must be real. Papineau, therefore, is a realist about not just representational (or, mental) contents, but also about mental entities themselves.25 Therefore, there is a crucial significance of representation in his view of how our beliefs can enable us to achieve our desired results, as well as how they can “latch onto” some state of affairs in the world. That is, his representationalism explains in part how we can know the reality of an external, independent world. 18

  Ibid., p. 58 (emphasis in original).   Ibid., p. 57 (emphasis in original). 20   Ibid., p. 59. 21  Ibid. 22   See Papineau, Philosophical Naturalism, p. 59, note 3 (emphasis in original). 23   Ibid., pp. 62–3. 24   Ibid., p. 66. 25   Ibid. Of course, this does not entail that mental states are irreducible ontologically; at the end of the day, they are (ontologically speaking) identical with token brain states. As we have seen, this realist position is quite consistent with the views of Dretske and Tye, but, as we will see, it will be denied by Dennett. 19

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

76

This is accomplished by three core features: “the satisfaction condition of the desire specifies what external result is at issue, the truth condition of the belief specifies how things must be to ensure this result, and the actual truth of the belief specifies that things are indeed so.”26 But Papineau realizes that he has been helping himself thus far to the use of the notion of truth without unpacking just what it is. Truth, like belief and desire, is a representational notion; it is of or about states of affairs. Yet, he needs to explain what truth is in such a way that is in keeping with both his teleological theory of representation (i.e., as a causal matter) and his reductive token identity thesis. These factors force him to reject any view of truth itself as an abstract entity, for he does not want to commit himself as a naturalist to the existence of such “dubious” things, which he thinks will happen if we reify truth conditions. Instead, he explains truth in terms of truth-conditional content, “which therefore gives us a recipe for determining the specific content of any given belief.”27 This does not, however, involve the reification of truth or truth conditions. Papineau thinks that truth need not be analyzed as possible states of affairs, which would reify it. Instead, we may embrace a redundancy theory of truth, on which “nothing more is needed to understand claims about the truth of beliefs than to understand that such claims stand or fall with the claims made by the beliefs themselves.”28 That is, the redundancy theory gives us “knowledge of what is required for any given belief to be true.”29 So, the belief that snow is white is true if and only if snow is white, and the belief that I own a 1999 Nissan Sentra is true if and only if I own a 1999 Nissan Sentra. But the redundancy theory does not reify truth, since it does not explain truth as a property in common with these and other true beliefs.30 So while there are corresponding facts that make true beliefs true, truth itself is not explained in terms of correspondence with facts.31 Like other representational states, truth conditions hinge on results, not causes, in Papineau’s teleological theory, for truth conditions are “those circumstances in which the actions prompted by a belief cause the satisfaction of desires.”32 But these are not the same as those circumstances that could serve as grounds that lead us to adopt a belief. Why is this distinction important to him? Papineau goes to great length in Philosophical Naturalism to deny any conceptual connection between circumstances in which a belief is true (its contents), and the circumstances in which we are inclined to form a belief (e.g., its evidence). He identifies this line of thought with a British sense of “anti-realism,” according to which it is a conceptual truth that content (such as truth conditions) 26

  Ibid., p. 69.   Ibid., p. 81. 28   Ibid., p. 83. 29   Ibid., p. 86. 30  Ibid. 31   See Papineau, Philosophical Naturalism, p. 85, note 17. 32   Ibid., p. 99 (emphasis in original). 27

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Papineau

77

and evidence covary, such that beliefs cannot be false.33 According to Papineau, the anti-realist attempts to achieve certainty in beliefs by “collapsing the world into the mind by arguing that the contents of claims about the world don’t extend beyond what introspection and logical analysis guarantees.”34 This kind of move should remind us, of course, of the sense-datum/“internalist” view, and its motivation to achieve certainty that Dretske so passionately rejects, in favor of his reliabilism as a form of externalism in epistemology. It is no surprise, then, to see Papineau proceed epistemologically in much the same direction, rejecting much the same kind of view. For him, this “anti-realist” (his term), “internalist” (Dretske’s notion) view can be overcome by a reliabilism in epistemology that does not give us certainty in our beliefs, but it still reliably gives us knowledge of the real world. And if correct, Papineau thinks that a major motivation to hold onto knowledge as “first philosophy” will fade away, since it will be sufficient for philosophy to have the less-than-certain foundations available within empirical science.35 Papineau’s theory of knowledge is realist in that he understands knowledge to be “the state … of having acquired a true belief from a process which generally produces true beliefs.”36 He rejects any certainty requirement, even for perceptual, memory, or inductive beliefs. We do not need infallible inferences from infallible sources to have knowledge, such as from introspection of some sensory idea. Instead, “according to reliabilism, we will know, say, that there is a table in front of us, just in case the unconscious visual processes that give rise to such perceptual beliefs generally deliver true beliefs, whether or not we are aware of this.”37 Thus subjective warrants are not required for knowledge. Both Papineau’s 1993 and 2002 works have crucial roles for concepts. In 2002, he distinguishes concepts of physicalism from materialism, arguing that we should be ontological monists, yet conceptual dualists. In both books, the teleological theory of representation employs many representational concepts, such as purposes, beliefs, desires, truth, and more. Reliabilism draws upon several core conceptualizations as well. We already have addressed how Tye, Lycan, and Dretske presuppose that we can and do form concepts, but I argued that they do not provide an explanation how that happens. But Papineau goes beyond their efforts by doing just that. Moreover, he develops an explanation as to how we then use concepts to “match up” with and know reality. If sound, his ideas could be immensely important to naturalism in our study to see whether we can know reality on that basis. It is time, therefore, to examine more closely his understanding of concepts and our uses of them, and this investigation may 33

    35   36   37   34

Ibid., p. 172 (see especially note 1). Ibid., pp. 173–4. Ibid., p. 4. Ibid., p. 143. Ibid., p. 144.

78

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

provide a possible line of rebuttal to part of my arguments against Tye, Lycan, and Dretske on concept formation. On Concepts and their Formation First, what are concepts for Papineau? In one sense, beliefs, thoughts, desires, and more are formed of concepts, and since concepts also are representational notions (they are of or about things), they should be explicable in terms of their biological purposes. But, of course, concepts cannot be abstract entities, lest he allow some nonphysical entities into his ontology. Accordingly, concepts must be token brain states under certain descriptions, to which various concepts, physical and otherwise, co-refer.38 Second, how can concepts be “together with,” “latch onto,” or, to use common intentional terminology, be of or about some state of affairs in the world? Or, how do they refer? Again, it seems the answer must lie significantly within the boundaries of his teleological theory of representations. Concepts are representational notions every bit as much as are beliefs and experiences. This approach is quite in keeping with his treatment in 2002 of phenomenal concepts. For him, an everyday term such as “pain” “expresses both a phenomenal concept of pain, a concept of a state that feels a certain way, and a psychological concept of pain, a concept that refers by association with a certain causal role.”39 We derive a phenomenal concept from our having peeled off a purely phenomenal element from the notions expressed by the everyday term “pain”. This will be what we are left with, so to speak, when we have subtracted all psychological ideas of pain, all ideas of pains as things with certain characteristic causes and effects.40

Furthermore, phenomenal concepts are compound referring terms, and they are formed in accordance with a quotational model.41 We form phenomenal concepts by entering some state of perceptual classification or re-creation into the frame provided by a general experience operator “the experience: ---.” For example, we might apply this experience operator to a state of visually classifying something as red, or a state of visually re-creating something red, and thereby 38   For that matter, so are experiences: “experiences are material states.” The same would be true for any putative mental property, such as qualia. See Papineau, Thinking about Consciousness, p. 198. 39   Ibid., p. 98 (emphasis in original). 40   Ibid., p. 103. 41   Ibid., p. 116.

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Papineau

79

form a term which refers to the phenomenal experience of seeing something red. Very roughly, we refer to a certain experience by producing an example of it.42

Restating this idea, “the referring term incorporates the things referred to, and thereby forms a compound which refers to that thing.”43 Even more explicitly, “when we deploy phenomenal concepts, we also characteristically instantiate some version of the conscious property we are referring to.”44 Papineau explains that, in two cases, we may see how this works. First, in introspective uses of phenomenal concepts, “when I pick out some aspect of my current experience introspectively (‘this feeling…’), I have that feeling at the same time as referring to it.”45 Second, in cases of imaginative uses of these concepts, “when I later think imaginatively about some earlier experience, like seeing red (‘that experience…’), I won’t actually have an experience of seeing red, but my experience is likely to bear some phenomenal similarity to the experience of seeing red – to be ‘a faint copy,’ as Hume put it.”46 In keeping with his teleological theory of representation from 1993, phenomenal concepts have semantic power that derives from the biological purpose of their deployment. On this basis, “the referential value of the concept can then be equated with those items which it is the biological function of the concept to track.”47 Additionally, a semantic approach will look at the contributions of the various parts of the compound referring term to explain its referential power. In turn, those contributions will be viewed in terms of “the systematic contribution which those parts make to the causes or biological functions of the wholes they enter into.”48 So we may say that concepts have the general biological purpose of producing certain effects, namely, the classification of some entity or state of affairs as such and such, which is why that concept has been selected. Moreover, the representational/ intentional qualities of concepts may be analyzed as having a related, yet distinct, biological purpose, and that would be a concept’s having been selected to cause a particular effect, viz., that our beliefs, thoughts, and desires (i.e., any mental state which has that concept) would be “together with,” or refer to, some state(s) of affairs in the world. Of course, as we have seen already, Papineau denies that there is any conceptual connection between the deployment of a phenomenal concept and reality; instead, their correspondence (or lack thereof) will be resolved on an a posteriori basis. Like other biological traits, concepts can malfunction, and thereby engender misrepresentation.49 42

 Ibid.   Ibid., p. 117. 44   Ibid., p. 105 (emphasis in original). 45   Ibid. (emphasis in original). 46   Ibid.; see also p. 115 for a summary of this discussion. 47   Ibid., p. 113. 48   Ibid., p. 117. 49   Ibid., p. 113. 43

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

80

Third, Papineau develops his idea of concept formation in terms of neural configurations. In 1993, Papineau discusses Jackson’s “Mary” case, and his solution is to argue that Mary need not have gained any new knowledge about some new, nonphysical features of reality; instead, she has acquired a new introspective ability to re-identify a red experience when she has one again. How do we explain this new ability? Papineau thinks we can suppose that Mary simply acquires a “non-conceptual template,” in David Lewis’s phrase, which can then be compared directly with further experiences, and cause Mary to believe that she is experiencing red again. She doesn’t arrive at this belief by noting that the experience has property P, and concluding that it is an experience of seeing red. There is simply a mechanism in her brain which compares the experience with the template which yields this belief directly.50

We should notice that, by stipulation, this template is non-conceptual. Moreover, the comparison between the template and a new experience is direct, without, apparently, the need of employing any concepts in that process. And, Mary need not introspect her experience and observe its properties, in order to reliably form the belief that she is experiencing red. Papineau takes this treatment further in 2002. There he argues that, “in neural terms, we can usefully think of classification as occurring when some stored ‘template’ resonates with incoming signals, and thereby reinforces or augments them.”51 These templates are neural configurations, it seems, and now this comparison process (between the original neural configuration caused by experiencing red, and the neural pattern caused by experiencing red later) is undertaken by a mechanism in the brain. Papineau describes the process of classification as a matter of perception, not judgment (which would involve belief formation). Suppose we see something as red, As I am understanding it, the underlying power of perceiving as involves nothing beyond some kind of attention, wherein incoming stimuli are compared with some stored pattern, and a match between them is registered. Exercises of this underlying power can be taken up to form concepts which enter into fullfledged judgements (this kind of seagull is not found in Britain), but the power of perceiving as is in itself perceptual rather than judgemental.52

Apparently, this new experience, which has been matched up by a mechanism with this template, may then be inserted into the experience operator (i.e., following the quotational model) to form a phenomenal concept. It follows, then, that the deployment of a perceptual concept to think about some non-mental entity (e.g.,  Papineau, Philosophical Naturalism, p. 110.  Papineau, Thinking about Consciousness, p. 120. 52   Ibid., p. 108. 50 51

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Papineau

81

the ball’s red color) will involve activation of the neural pattern associated with that experience. Before leaving this topic, we should note that, for Papineau, it simply seems unproblematic that more than one person can have the same phenomenal concept. Again, for the same reasons we have seen above, this would not be a conceptual truth, for it too is an empirical matter. He admits that a key empirical presupposition is at work here, namely that, to make sense of our phenomenal talk, we presuppose that different people have the same experience in relevantly similar circumstances. Though it is an empirical matter that this is true, he seeks to rebut concerns by resting confidently that “there seems no reason to doubt that the general run of such presuppositions can be confirmed by the kind of empirical evidence” available to us.53 We now have surveyed Papineau’s naturalistic philosophy in 1993 and 2002, in particular in relation to the prospects for knowledge of reality. Before moving to an assessment of his proposals, I want to make a few observations about his own view of the prospects for cognitive science, given his other findings. Can the mental be explained thoroughly by cognitive science, such that we can (someday) dismiss such concepts and discourse? The Prospects for Cognitive Science Although Papineau has no real place for “first philosophy,” nor philosophy as providing certain foundations through a priori reasoning, he also has some interesting comments on the limits of cognitive science in Thinking about Consciousness. In particular, it should not surprise us at this juncture that Papineau does not think that a mature cognitive science will be able to do away with our mentalistic notions. This confidence stems from his firm belief that, while we should be ontological monists, nonetheless we also should be conceptual dualists. There is more to reality than can be conceived and described by physical concepts. As he puts it, “we need to recognize a special phenomenal way of thinking about conscious properties, if we are to dispel the confusions that so readily persuade us that conscious properties cannot possibly be material.”54 Furthermore, mere conceptual analysis of conscious properties “is impotent to uncover the material essence of conscious properties.”55 This is because there is no a priori link between phenomenal concepts and material ones. Thus, it is always an empirical matter to discover what specific material property a phenomenal concept refers to. Now, this would seem to position science perfectly to investigate such connections. And Papineau applauds scientific consciousness studies, such as of pain. But, even under ideal epistemological circumstances, including however 53

  Ibid., p. 131.   Ibid., p. 175. 55   Ibid. (emphasis added). 54

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

82

much we know about our “cerebral innards,” “there will still be a number of distinct properties which this sort of research will be unable to decide between as the material essence of pain.”56 This same problem becomes more acute when we consider non-human creatures, such as other animals, future robots, or aliens, if they have experiences like painfulness, especially with their different material properties. Papineau concludes that, since standard empirical research involving humans “cannot pinpoint any precise material property as the essence of pain, it cannot tell us exactly what is required for non-human creatures to feel pain.”57 But, couldn’t these empirical problems be overcome by more extensive empirical research? Papineau doesn’t think so, for the root problem here is a principled one. The issue revolves around his claim that phenomenal concepts are too vague to draw precise enough boundaries to decide whether, in cases beyond those where they normally work, a particular creature (such as an octopus) is in pain. He reminds us that this is not to say that it is vague for how it is for the octopus; instead, the vagueness lies in our phenomenal concepts themselves.58 Papineau ties this discussion to his teleological theory of representation as the way to explain the referential power of phenomenal concepts. The reason they refer is due to “characteristic causes or biological functions they enter into.”59 But that account will leave it indeterminate which exact material property, out of all correlated ones, any particular phenomenal concept refers to. As he observes, there can be many correlated material properties with any given phenomenal concept, and all of them “will figure equivalently in the characteristic causes or biological functions of the relevant phenomenal judgements.”60 Scientific studies of consciousness are interesting and have provided much interesting research into the correlations between a subject’s having of a particular phenomenal property and the processes that are simultaneously present. But, due to the vagueness of phenomenal concepts, such scientific research will never be able to identify the specific material property “which is guaranteed to make its possessor feel like this” (say, being in pain).61 For there are “many different material properties that are present whenever humans apply that concept firstpersonally and absent whenever they deny it, and scientific research will therefore be unable to discriminate between them.”62 With this background now in place, we will turn to assess Papineau’s proposals, to see to what extent they may serve to enable us to have knowledge of reality, and to overcome objections I have raised for others’ views. 56

  Ibid., p. 177.  Ibid. 58   Ibid., pp. 179, 200. 59   Ibid., p. 198. 60  Ibid. 61   Ibid., p. 228. 62   Ibid., p. 229. 57

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Papineau

83

Assessing Papineau’s Proposals Contributions Let us start by considering some contributions of Papineau’s works. Some of these will be similar to ones I mentioned for Dretske, Tye, and Lycan, so I will be brief in listing them here. For one, like those “new” direct realists, he tries to take seriously the phenomenal aspects of experience, including qualia. For another, like them, he offers a sophisticated analysis of how we can know reality directly. We also generally can trust the deliverances of our senses, but we usually can check up on their reliability. Just as we saw with Dretske, Tye, and Lycan, there is truth to his reliabilism. And, like them, Papineau wisely rejects a sense-datum form of internalism in epistemology. Papineau has given additional emphasis upon the nature of phenomenal concepts, and how those play a key role in why we would think that there is a mind that is ontologically distinct from the brain. Furthermore, Papineau gives more explicit attention to the role of biological purpose in developing his teleological theory of representation, which fits well with natural selection. But most of all, I think Papineau has given an extended attempt to explain how we form concepts, in terms of both the contributions made at the neurological level with the operation of a mechanism that compares neuronal configurations, and at the level at which we make compound terms, with the quotational model. In this, he has gone beyond Dretske’s, Tye’s, or Lycan’s explicit proposals and attempted to deal with this issue. Papineau on Concept Formation and Acquisition While there are differences between his views and those of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan, Papineau’s theory of concept formation and acquisition might be the most significant. For in my critique of their views, I focused in part on their inability to account for concept formation. Therefore, can Papineau’s views solve this problem, and perhaps other issues I raised in Chapter 2? Let us begin with an examination of his quotational model of concept formation. As we have observed, Papineau maintains that, when we deploy a phenomenal concept, characteristically, we instantiate some version of that conscious property (say, a felt quality), whether that be a faint copy or the feeling itself. Consider the latter case; is he descriptively right? Christopher Hill observes that, on Papineau’s quotational view, “phenomenal concepts literally have phenomenal states as their constituents, and can therefore be said to have phenomenal characteristics in their own right.”63 So, for concepts of pain, when they are formed by attaching the

63   Christopher S. Hill, “Remarks on David Papineau’s Thinking about Consciousness,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research LXXI:1 (July 2005): 151.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

84

experience operator, the experience: to particular pains, the particular concept of pain formed thereby literally has a painful feel to it. Now, if so, it would seem to be impossible to deploy a phenomenal concept (in this second kind of case) without having that painful feel. But this is descriptively mistaken. While I can have the painful feeling on identifying a specific feeling as a particular kind of pain, nonetheless I can think of a pain without being in pain, or without instantiating a faint copy thereof. For instance, I can describe what it feels like to have a “dry socket,” which can occur when a small piece of food gets trapped within the opening created by the extraction of, for instance, a wisdom tooth. The socket then becomes infected, which happened to me after my wisdom teeth were removed over twenty years ago. The pain can be excruciating, but surely I can think of that pain now without having any such painful quality being instantiated. I might recall that felt quality, but it does not seem I have to, in order to think of it. So it seems that Papineau is mistaken in his description of the nature of phenomenal concepts. But, even more importantly, we need to consider whether his account of concept formation is valid. We should observe that Papineau clearly thinks we can see objects in the external world without classifying them. As he states, we can consciously see a kestrel, or the redness of some object, without also visually classifying something as a kestrel, or as red.64 There is room in his views for a simple, direct seeing, as opposed to seeing as, and seeing that, and he surely seems right. When I argued against Dretske’s, Tye’s, and Lycan’s views, that we are unable to form concepts thereon, a major reason was that we do not have nonconceptual access to experiences themselves, with the result being that we do not seem able to get started with forming concepts. Where, then does Papineau stand on this issue? Unfortunately, his own statements on this topic do not seem definitive. There is the affinity between his views and theirs, namely, a concern to avoid “internalism,” construed as a sense-datum view, which they see as leading to skepticism. Still, I have not observed explicit statements by Papineau on this question. Perhaps, then, my argument against Dretske, Tye, and Lycan will not carry through against Papineau’s proposal. On the other hand, according to his ontological monism, every human state is reducible to token brain states, and external reality is, at the end, physical stuff. Yet we describe material reality in terms of physical concepts, as well as mental, social, and many other kinds. So even though we may not have explicit statements from Papineau on whether we can, or cannot, have nonconceptual access to experiences themselves, his position is strongly implied. Why? At the end of the day, experiences themselves are conceptualizations of brain states. That is, experiences as such are not givens, which can be read directly off of matter. Therefore, though Papineau claims that we see the kestrel directly, we must realize that this experience is a conceptualization of matter. For him,  Papineau, Thinking about Consciousness, p. 121, note 11.

64

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Papineau

85

then, all experiences end up requiring concepts, for they cannot help but be conceptualizations of brain states. Now, Papineau wants to hold onto realism in terms of mental content, and in terms of his theory of knowledge of the external, real world. Moreover, he has argued that science, using empirical methods, can give us knowledge of reality, which then should be used as the basis for adjudicating philosophy’s claims. But how can we have knowledge of the real, empirical world as it is, if all experiences thereof are already conceptualizations? It would seem that there is no room for any direct seeing, but only seeing as or seeing that something is the case. Perhaps this line of argument would not bother Papineau; after all, one could still maintain that we see the real world by way of our concepts. That is, they enable us to see directly red objects, such as balls and apples, and not just red color patches, round shapes, etc. There is truth in this: for instance, as I argued in Chapter 2, my daughter could go with me into a grocery store one night and see directly the new kind of apple for what it is on the produce department’s shelf. But though this is true, as I argued in Chapter 2, we still need to account for this ability. We do not come pre-wired with concepts, and surely not of apples; we have to learn and acquire them. The above reply trades upon a way we may commonly use the language of seeing, but it fails to bring to light the need that nonetheless is real: that classification is needed to see an object as an apple, and that presupposes that we have formed and acquired the concept of an apple. But, how can we do that, if all experiences of the apples already are conceptualizations? It would seem that we would always be working “within” a preexisting conceptual scheme, without an ability to even adjust it, much less correct it, by further observations, for they too would be conceptualizations. But that we do form concepts, adjust them, and correct them shows that we must have some abilities to see things directly, in a nonconceptual way. Similarly, in that chapter, I argued that from my daughter’s paying attention to several experiences of apples, she formed the concept of an apple. But how could that happen, if all her experiences of apples already have packed into them a concept of apples? In that case, she would not be comparing what was given in experience in each case, but instead she would be comparing her conceptualizations of what was experienced. But if this were so, then it just postpones the issue, for how did she form those concepts? And the question can be repeated at each step, leaving us without an answer as to how we could ever get started to form concepts. In effect, Papineau’s view seems to face the same problem that Dretske’s, Tye’s, and Lycan’s views encounter, that we end up not being able to have nonconceptual access to our experiences themselves, for in Papineau’s case they already are conceptualizations, and any access to them also is a conceptualization of brain states. Put differently, we may summarize this issue as follows: there is nothing in experience that is just given; everything is a taking of a material state to be something else. That is, there is an inevitable, even inescapable layer of interpretation built right into the heart of Papineau’s project (not to mention

86

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Dretske’s, Tye’s, and Lycan’s). It would seem, then, that everything ends up being an interpretation on this kind of view, and we utterly lack any way to know reality as it is apart from our conceptualizations. But perhaps Papineau’s appeal to a neurological, nonconceptual template, or “pattern,” and a mechanism that directly compares that pattern formed from an original experience with those patterns from subsequent ones, allows him to avoid this predicament. That is, this process would be a nonconceptual one, up to the stage of the creation of a concept itself. Will this move alleviate the difficulties I have posed above? To begin, we should notice that the same issue resurfaces with the notion of comparison, for it too is a conceptualization of brain states. Moreover, the process used by this mechanism not only compares an original neuronal configuration (call it NCo ) with subsequent ones (call them NC1, NC2, etc.), but it matches, or identifies, two or more subsequent patterns with the original one. This “identification” itself apparently is a neuronal configuration that in turn causes a concept as its effect.65 Additionally, the notions of patterns, or templates, also are conceptualizations of brain states. Thus, as an initial rejoinder to this reply, we should notice that the very “building blocks,” or core ingredients, of the process of concept formation presupposes that there already are concepts that have been formed and are available for use. But how did we form them on Papineau’s theory? It seems that, to make even an initial conceptualization, we need certain concepts, and thus his theory seems circular. However, perhaps this problem can be bypassed by focusing our attention on the biological purpose and the physical aspects and processes of this mechanism, rather than on our more “intentionalistic” conceptualizations (such as matchings, comparisons, identifications, and even patterns) of them. Consider biological purpose; earlier, I described the representational/intentional qualities of concepts in terms of their biological purpose(s), and there I identified two such purposes. For one, a concept produces the effect of the classification of some entity or state of affairs as such and such. For another, a concept would have been selected to cause particular beliefs, thoughts, and desires (i.e., any mental state in possession of that concept) to be “together with,” or refer to, some state(s) of affairs in the world. Now, let us consider the more physical aspects of the mechanism in terms of concept formation. Evidently, as an output of this mechanism’s processes, a concept is, at the physical level, a neuronal configuration, too. Moreover, a concept that is selected performs the role of causing (as its biological purposes) the classification, or grouping, of objects (or states of affairs), or togetherness of thought (belief, desire) with an object. Much like Tye and Dretske, Papineau is asking us to believe that a belief, thought, or desire (with their particular concepts) 65   Perhaps this identification could be based upon a complete, exact matching; that is, the one neuronal configuration matches another in every detail. Or, perhaps it could be based upon exact similarity, in which one matches another based upon certain key respects.

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Papineau

87

represents some property such that it is “together with” a state of affairs due to their causal covariation, and this “togetherness” has been established by natural selection. Suppose we do form a concept in this way, as a product of a mechanism’s directly comparing a nonconceptual template with subsequent NCs. Still, I do not think this will help us know whether or not the object or state of affairs being classified is veridical. Nor will it help with our knowing whether our thought (belief, desire) is indeed together with that object, or state of affairs. Why? When we classify, or group, objects (e.g., apples) that are represented in experience, we rely upon a presupposition that we can reliably know that an apple (say, a red delicious variety) produces certain experiences under certain circumstances. We know, for instance, that a red delicious apple appears to have a particular shape, a red color, a stem, and so forth, as opposed to a green color (as would be the case with a Pippin apple), etc. We also can reliably know, via brain studies, what kind of neuronal configuration is produced in a person when he or she sees a red delicious apple. The same problems, however, that faced Dretske’s, Tye’s, and Lycan’s views return to confront Papineau’s theory. For on his view, every bit as much as on theirs, the experience need not be veridical. Just as we saw when examining their views, we could be having a veridical experience of a real apple, but we also could be having one that is hallucinatory. Something that exists caused the experience/ template, but it could have been caused by a red ball, or even something else wildly implausible. If so, how will the person know the difference between a veridical experience and a hallucinatory one? A belief formed on the basis of a perceptual experience is a brain state that is being conceived under that aspect, but that state will perform its functional role of enabling the belief to be together with (or group) the object, whether the belief is of a real object or not. And if the intentional qualities just are the indication, or representation, of some physical state under a particular conception that causally covaries with its cause, the person will lack the ability to tell the difference between these two possibilities. The causal chain issues we discussed there also apply here, for we lack any ontological resource that will allow us to transcend the chain and know whether or not the object is real. So, on Papineau’s view, we could have a concept that is formed from experiences that have nothing to do with reality. But Papineau might reply that, though that is possible, natural selection will weed out that concept, since it will not serve the biological purposes of concepts. Additionally, he may not be concerned with this objection, since he is not attempting to find a conceptual connection between a thought and its object. However, though both replies are attractive, they will not help. Due to the same reasons, we simply will not be able to know whether indeed we end up having concepts selected that do match up with reality. This result directly impacts the very empirical basis he seeks for knowledge. Perhaps in turn Papineau could object that we do not need to know whether the concept has anything to do with reality. All that we need to know is that the

88

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

process that produces the beliefs in us is in fact reliable. But, as we have seen in Chapter 2, this reply begs the question. To get started and form the concept of reliability requires that we first acquire it, among others, and that process will not be immune from the same issues I have been arguing against Papineau’s views. Conclusion The ability to compare what is represented in one experience with what is represented in others is something we presuppose every day, whether that be in scientific inquiry or more mundane tasks of life. We form concepts on this basis, which Papineau realizes, only he cannot account for it on his view. If knowledge is true belief plus a normative condition (warrant, justification), then this ability seems to be a necessary “pre-condition” for knowledge. Without it, we cannot form concepts. But without them, we cannot have beliefs, for they require concepts. Something, then, has gone quite wrong for any view, such as Papineau’s, that undercuts our very ability to form concepts, not to mention our ability to have experiences that are not themselves conceptualizations. Without either one, knowledge of an external, real world becomes impossible, and certainly this carries over to scientific knowledge. Thus Papineau’s attempt to make science the standard by which philosophy is judged cannot succeed. Papineau wants to maintain a form of realism about mental entities, mental content, and knowledge of an external, real world, and his views land in trouble because of difficulties in making good on these positions. But just because we have seen several problems that afflict his views, it does not follow that a different approach to neuroscience will not work. Indeed, Daniel Dennett’s treatments of mental entities and their contents might provide some handy ways to resolve these problems, so we will examine them next.

Chapter 5

Cognitive Science, Philosophy, and Our Knowledge of Reality, Part Two: The Views of Daniel Dennett As we continue our study of philosophers who embrace a view of philosophy as continuous with science, now we will survey the proposals of Daniel Dennett. In his views, we will find a more radical shift away from the reductionist, representationalist, and reliabilist confidence of Papineau, or Dretske and Tye, or Searle. Of all those philosophers, Dennett seems to draw the most consistent conclusions from the Darwinian story, and we will see how that involves his appeal in crucial ways to W.V.O. Quine’s thesis of the indeterminacy of radical translation. Instead of thinking the mental can be reduced to the physical (like Papineau), or basically eliminated (like the Churchlands), Dennett stakes out a different approach, one that still allows him to uphold a sort of realism, all the while denying the reality of mental entities and their intentional contents. I will be focusing upon two important works of his, The Intentional Stance (revised, 1990), and his essay about his own views in Blackwell’s A Companion to the Philosophy of Mind (1994). Now, it may seem offhand that this focus immediately dates my understanding of him. Yet, Dennett himself has told me in correspondence that he has not done “any revolutionary tinkering” with the intentional stance.1 He did refer me to his essay “The Evolution of ‘Why?’” yet in it he does not seem to adjust his basic thinking on the intentional stance; rather, he seems mainly to use it to help engage with Robert Brandom’s work.2 He also referred me to his “Real Patterns,” an essay that originally came out in 1991, which was reproduced in his Brainchildren in 1998.3 Yet while that essay seems to clarify his own “stance” about the “reality” of things like beliefs, it does not seem to call into question his basic reasons for adopting the intentional stance.

1

  E-mail correspondence with Daniel Dennett, Dec. 1, 2010.   Daniel Dennett, “The Evolution of ‘Why?’ Essay on Robert Brandom, Making It Explicit” (July 31, 2006), http://ase.tufts.edu/cogstud/papers/Brandom.pdf, accessed March 23, 2011. 3   Daniel C. Dennett, “Real Patterns,” The Journal of Philosophy 88:1 (Jan. 1991): 27–51; and Daniel C. Dennett, Brainchildren: Essays on Designing Minds (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998), pp. 95–120. 2

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

90

Dennett’s Project In his own summation of his views in 1994, Dennett describes his starting point as the “‘third-person point of view’ of science.’”4 In The Intentional Stance, Dennett declares as a “tactical” choice his starting point to be “the objective, materialistic, third-person world of the physical sciences,” as it is the “orthodox” choice among philosophers in the English-speaking portion of the world.5 Moreover, for him, “philosophy is … continuous with, the physical sciences,” and that view grounds his “modesty about philosophical method” and his “optimism about philosophical progress.”6 This tactical choice may not lay a foundation of inscrutable first principles from which to argue. Nonetheless, Dennett claims that, by starting from this point, in order to understand the mind, we will make more fruitful discoveries and predictions than if we started otherwise. Before we survey Dennett’s views about mental entities and their contents, and even consciousness, let us consider briefly some of his presuppositions about the brain. Working from the standpoint of Darwinian orthodoxy, Dennett asserts that, through evolutionary processes over the long haul, “brains could be designed … to do the right thing (from the point of view of meaning) with high reliability.”7 Moreover, “the only thing brains could do was to approximate the responsivity to meanings that we presuppose in our everyday mentalistic discourse.”8 Brains, it turns out, are “syntactic engines that can mimic the competence of semantic engines.”9 This view allows Dennett to deny as an illusion our common conviction that there is a self, an “I,” that deals directly with meanings. This illusion ends up being a “metaphorical by-product of the way our brains do their approximating work.”10 Mental Entities, Their Content, and the Intentional Stance According to his own self-description, Dennett considers his theory of “mental” content (the intentional content of beliefs, desires, fears, hopes, etc.) to be functionalist, and not realist. By functionalist, he means that “all attributions of content are founded on an appreciation of the functional roles of the items in question in the biological economy of the organism (or the engineering of the   Daniel C. Dennett, “Dennett, Daniel C.,” A Companion to the Philosophy of Mind: Blackwell Companions to Philosophy, ed. Samuel Guttenplan (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994), p. 236.  5   Daniel C. Dennett, The Intentional Stance, 3rd edn (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1990), p. 5.  6  Ibid.  7   Dennett, “Dennett, Daniel C.,” p. 237.  8   Ibid. (emphasis in original).  9   Ibid. (emphasis in original). 10  Ibid.  4

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Dennett

91

robot).”11 This understanding of function, he claims, is “teleological,” and not that of a mere “causal role,” and it is the same concept of function in engineering in “the design of artefacts, but also in biology.”12 This functionalist approach to mental content works together with his concept of an intentional system, which works hand in hand with his tactical strategy called the intentional stance. An intentional system is, “by definition, anything that was amenable to analysis by a certain tactic, which I called the intentional stance. This is the tactic of interpreting an entity by adopting the presupposition that is an approximation of the ideal of an optimally designed (i.e. rational) self-regarding agent.”13 Obviously, humans are intentional systems of the highest order on the planet, but other entities’ behavior could be analyzed by using the intentional stance. For instance, Dennett suggests that treating amphibians, animals, and more “from the intentional stance not only comes naturally, but also works extremely well within its narrow range. Try catching frogs without it.”14 But aren’t these applications of the intentional stance just farfetched anthropomorphisms? While they are anthropomorphisms, the tactic enables us to organize and simplify our expectations of the frog’s moves, and they are “compelling.”15 They enable us to make useful predictions of the frog’s behavior without committing ourselves to attributing real beliefs, desires, and the like to the frog. The intentional stance is not the only tactic Dennett advocates to explain the behavior of given entities. The physical stance treats an entity from the standpoint of the physical sciences, drawing upon the entity’s physical make-up and the laws of physics. Here we could predict the behavior of tides, or the temperature at which water freezes, or that a piece of chalk of a certain mass and weight, when released from our hand, will fall to the floor.16 These predictions all can be made from the physical stance. Then there is a somewhat riskier tactic, the design stance. Under this tactic, we treat an entity as having been designed in a certain way, and then we make predictions that it will behave according to that design. Consider the case in which we set an alarm clock to ring at 6:00 a.m. Based on the clock’s design, we predict that the clock will give its alarm sound at that time.17 Or, when we get into our car, insert the key and turn it, we predict the car will turn over, based upon its design. Notice that we do not have to know anything about the clock’s (or car’s) inner 11

  Ibid., p. 239 (emphasis in original).  Ibid. 13  Ibid. 14  Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 108. 15  Ibid. 16   These examples come from Amy Kind, “The Intentional Stance,” Dictionary of Philosophy of Mind, http://philosophy.uwaterloo.ca/MindDict/intentionalstance.html, accessed November 9, 2011. 17   Again, I am indebted to Kind’s example. 12

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

92

physical parts or properties to make such predictions, and, indeed, a number of different physical arrangements of parts could produce the same result. Making predictions from the design stance can be risky, in that we assume the clock is designed, and that it will function as designed, yet it is possible that it could malfunction. Yet the risk usually is worth taking; the advantage over the physical stance is that the design stance enables us to make reliable predictions while simplifying what we have to know. If we were to make predictions of the car’s behavior just from the physical stance, we would have to know much more detail about the parts and their working condition. Yet we still could treat the clock or car from the physical stance, and we would want to do so if one failed to behave as predicted from the design stance. The design stance could be applied not just to artifacts, but also to living organs, such as hearts, which, from the design stance, we can predict will pump blood. Predictive power therefore increases (and expectations can be simplified) by moving from the physical stance to the higher-level design stance. But Dennett also maintains that we can adopt the still-higher (and riskier) intentional stance, in which case we treat an entity (perhaps a computer that plays chess) as a rational agent, and we attribute intentional states to it that (we assume) govern behavior. Adopting the intentional stance involves a “decision to conduct one’s science in terms of beliefs, desires, and other ‘mentalistic’ notions,” and this, Dennett observes, is not unusual at all in science.18 Indeed, it is a quite familiar strategy, of “changing levels of explanation and description in order to gain access to greater predictive power or generality.”19 The intentional stance also does not involve a shift to a priori reasoning, but instead, in keeping with scientific exploration, maintains an empirical focus. Amy Kind observes that a computer that plays chess can be considered from the point of view of all three stances: as a physical system that operates according to the laws of physics; as a designed mechanism with certain parts and functions that are to produce particular, characteristic behaviors; and as an intentional system that acts “rationally relative to a certain set of beliefs and goals.”20 Which stance we take reflects the need to predict and explain the computer’s behavior. Adopting the intentional stance allows us much efficiency and power in predicting and explaining what the computer will do. When functioning properly, the intentional stance allows us the efficiency of not having to know all (or many of) the details of the computer’s design, or even its physical make-up. Also, many different designs could be used to construct the computer’s hardware and software, and likewise the physical constitution of the computer could vary widely from others. Importantly, we do not have to “worry” about all those details. Instead, by treating the computer as a rational agent with beliefs about the rules and strategies of chess, along with  Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 239.  Ibid. 20  Kind. 18 19

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Dennett

93

the desires to win, we can predict that the computer will make the best available move in a given set of circumstances. Importantly, then, the intentional stance is a tactic that enables us to (defeasibly) predict the behavior of entities via the attribution of intentionality. But it does not commit us to the reality of such mental entities, or their content. Rather, these attributions “are interpretations of the phenomena,” and they serve as a “heuristic overlay.”21 Clearly, he denies that beliefs and desires that are posited by the intentional stance have an independent and concrete existence, just like “abstracta as centres of gravity and parallelograms of force.”22 Some, therefore, have labeled Dennett as an instrumentalist of sorts. In The Intentional Stance, Dennett addresses this issue by considering but then rejecting some versions of instrumentalism.23 The first, “classical instrumentalism,” completely rejects realism, treating electrons, cells, planets, as well as centers of gravity, indeed, everything that cannot be empirically known by the senses, instrumentally. But Dennett objects that he has been a realist about brains and their parts and states. The second version, “selective instrumentalism,” reflects an attempt by Dennett to distinguish between those features he takes as real, and propositional attitudes, which he considers to be abstracta, that is, attributions made when someone is attempting to interpret phenomena from the intentional stance. But adopting this terminology did not alleviate the confusion about how his views could be instrumentalist. Third, Dennett describes how some instrumentalists have embraced fictionalism, “the view that certain theoretical statements are useful falsehoods,” while others maintain that “the theoretical claims in question were neither true nor false but mere instruments of calculation.”24 But he resoundly rejects these versions, for people do have beliefs.25 Does this mean that he has changed to a realist view about the status of mental entities? Certainly not; while attributions of belief and desire from the standpoint of the intentional stance can be true, we must remember that they are but attributions.26 Such attributions do not commit us to the reality of mental entities, but the status of belief talk “derives from the uses we find for the intentional stance.”27

21

  Dennett, “Dennett, Daniel C.,” p. 239; see also p. 206.   Ibid., p. 239. 23   Dennett discusses such classifications in The Intentional Stance, pp. 71ff. William Lycan classifies Dennett as broadly instrumentalist in regards to propositional attitudes and their intentional contents. See William G. Lycan, “Dennett, Daniel Clement,” in E. Craig (ed.), Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy (London: Routledge, 1998), routledge.com/ article/DD082, accessed Nov. 9, 2011. 24  Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 72. 25  Ibid. 26   Ibid., pp. 72–3 (emphasis in original). 27   Ibid., p. 73. 22

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

94

While Dennett denies the reality of mental entities and their content, he does affirm the objective reality of patterns in the real world that we can detect.28 So Dennett concludes that he is a realist of sorts; there are real patterns that we can detect and interpret. We do not make these patterns, for they are “out there” in the real world. As we have seen, Dennett stipulates that he takes his starting point to be the objective, materialistic world of the natural sciences. So there are features of reality that are what they are independently of our interpretations drawn from the various stances. Importantly, though, Dennett quickly cautions us that, while these objective patterns are real, they always fall short of perfection, and thus there will always be uninterpretable gaps. That is, Dennett draws upon Quine’s thesis of the indeterminacy of radical translation and extends it to the “‘translation’ of not only the patterns in subjects’ dispositions to engage in external behavior (Quine’s ‘stimulus meanings’), but also the further patterns in dispositions to ‘behave’ internally.”29 That there always will be such gaps entails that it is “always possible in principle for rival intentional stance interpretations of those patterns to tie for first place, so that no further fact could settle what the intentional system in question really believed.”30 Quine himself explains his thesis in regards to attributions of intentionality: The problem is not one of hidden facts, such as might be uncovered by learning more about the brain physiology of thought processes. To expect a distinctive physical mechanism behind every genuinely distinct mental state is one thing; to expect a distinctive mechanism for every purported distinction that can be phrased in traditional mentalistic language is another. The question whether … the foreigner really believes A or believes rather B, is a question whose very significance I would put in doubt. This is what I am getting at in arguing for the indeterminacy of translation.31

Dennett also draws upon Donald Davidson, who explains this principle in terms of its application to belief: “If there is indeterminacy [of meaning or translation], it is because when all the evidence is in, alternative ways of stating the facts remain open.”32 Interestingly, Dennett interacts with Brentano’s thesis of the irreducibility of intentionality in his discussion of intentional attribution. It is noteworthy that he understands it to be a thesis about the irreducibility of intentional idioms 28

  Ibid., p. 40 (emphasis in original).  Ibid. 30   Ibid. (emphasis in original). 31   W.V.O. Quine, “On the Reasons for Indeterminacy of Translation,” Journal of Philosophy LXVII (1970): 178–83, at 180–81, quoted in Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 40. 32   Donald Davidson, “Belief and the Basis of Meaning,” Synthese 27 (1974): 322, quoted in Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 41(bracketed insert mine). 29

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Dennett

95

(mentalistic terms and discourse). As Dennett observes, Quine used his thesis of the indeterminacy of translation to come to the conclusion that we cannot translate intentional idioms “into the language of the physical sciences.”33 But Quine did not share Brentano’s (or Husserl’s) ontology; unlike them, Quine flatly rejected the existence of essences or mental entities (or content), which view Dennett describes as a kind of eliminative materialism.34 Therefore, while Quine saw Brentano’s thesis as showing the indispensability of intentionalistic discourse, he did not see such talk as being grounded in actual mental states. This understanding allows Dennett to use Quine in support of his own denial of the reality of mental entities and content, for “Quine’s thesis of the indeterminacy of radical translation is thus of a piece with his attack on essentialism; if things had real, intrinsic essences, they could have real, intrinsic meanings.”35 So, if there were such essences, then meanings (along with other intentional states) could be determinate. There could be a single, correct answer to questions such as, “What does the foreigner really believe?” For Dennett, like Quine, these entities and their content do not really exist, and while there are real brains and real patterns in the objective materialistic world, it is a pipe dream to think that we can match up purported (or attributed) mental entities and contents with their physical correlates, simply because in principle these patterns are capable of being interpreted variously from the intentional stance, and the interpretations of those patterns could tie for first place. There literally are no deeper facts (in this case, no essences) to give a determinate answer to the question, “What does it mean?” There simply isn’t any “real, natural, universal … semantic information.”36 Thus, mental content always will be a complicated matter. Dennett follows Quine’s advice that we employ a double standard in regards to the language used to describe the physical and behavioral traits of living things and other objects, and mentalistic language.37 With respect to the former, we take as real the entities referred to (or being discussed) by that language, but we do not do so with regards to the latter. Following Quine, Dennett maintains that there are brute facts in the real world, something that can be described accurately from the standpoint of the Darwinian, materialistic story. But then there also are “dramatic” idioms, and as such intentional idioms are “practically indispensable.”38 The use of intentional idioms is a pragmatic matter, and not one of picking out real entities. And, whenever we use these idioms, we inevitably employ an element of “dramatic” interpretation. We do this as a “prelude to interpretation theory,” that

 Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 340.  Ibid. 35   Ibid., p. 319, note 8. 36   Ibid., p. 208 (emphasis in original). 37   For example, see W.V.O. Quine, Word and Object (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1960), p. 221, quoted in Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 342. 38  Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 342. 33 34

96

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

is, to enable us to make accurate and efficient predictions of behavior from the intentional stance.39 Just what principles should we employ in this “game” of interpretation? Dennett suggests two major principles, the “normative principle,” and the “projective principle.” According to the former, “one should attribute to a creature the propositional attitudes it ‘ought to have’ given its circumstances,” whereas the latter maintains that “one should attribute to a creature the propositional attitudes one supposed one would have in those circumstances.”40 Dennett explains that Quine actually is the father of both principles, but that the difference between them is at most a matter of emphasis. But Dennett has a broader range of views in mind when he attacks realism than just those of essentialists. He also has in mind the views of several fellow naturalists, such as Fred Dretske, or Jerry Fodor. In general, Dennett construes realism about mental entities and their contents as involving the claim that there are definite, determinate facts of the matter that can, in principle, settle questions of what someone really intended, desired, or believed. The beliefs and desires are real, and not just metaphorical, although just what (ontologically) beliefs, desires, and other propositional attitudes turn out to be could be quite different. For the one who affirms essences, they could be immaterial, irreducible mental states. But for Dretske, ultimately they could be identified with token brain states. Or, for Fodor, for instance, they could be reduced to “being in some computational relation to an internal representation.”41 Nonetheless, they are real and they are not to be eliminated; propositional attitudes just are those states. Of course, Dennett rejects such a realist view. He refuses to identify our intentional attributions with the actual internal states of the brain or nervous system that cause behavior, because he does not expect those states to “be functionally individuated, even to an approximation, the way belief/desire psychology carves things up.”42 Instead, as we have seen, mental content therefore will always be a “complicated” matter, and not so clearly fixed as realists suppose. Yet he describes himself “as staunch a realist as anyone about those core informationstoring elements in the brain, whatever they turn out to be, to which our intentional interpretations are anchored.”43

39   While Dennett and Davidson agree on this point, due to their following of Quine, they nonetheless differ over purpose. According to Dennett, whereas Davidson wants to identify mental and physical events, Dennett just thinks this is a pipe dream, for reasons we have seen already. See Dennett, The Intentional Stance, pp. 348–50, for more discussion of their similarities and differences. 40  Dennett, The Intentional Stance, pp. 342–3. 41   Jerry Fodor, The Language of Thought (Hassocks, Sussex: Harvester Press, 1975), p. 198, quoted in Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 228. 42  Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 71. 43   Ibid., pp. 70–71 (emphasis mine).

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Dennett

97

Another major reason why Dennett rejects realism of mental content is due to how he understands Darwinian evolutionary considerations. From that starting point, Dennett draws the implications of natural selection that he thinks undermines realism of mental content. Natural selection is a process that utterly lacks foresight, and it does not involve any representations at all.44 Moreover, it is obvious that all artifact intentionality (such as the ofness or aboutness of computer programs, or the robot with the most sophisticated AI designs) is derived. But if we take natural selection seriously, as Dennett proposes, we must realize that we humans also are artifacts, and our intentionality therefore is not original, but derived as well.45 Dennett takes this as decisive against realism of mental content, against people like Fodor, Searle, Dretske, and others, who argue that there is always a matter of fact what a person (or his or her mental state) really means, which would be real, objective, and have original, intrinsic intentionality.46 But if humans’ intentionality is derived, are we not off on an infinite regress, therefore being unable to account for how we have intentionality at all? Not necessarily, according to Dennett. We do not need an intrinsic foundation to have knowledge of, for instance, the reality of today’s mammals. Instead, we can permit a finite regress that peters out without thresholds, essences of mammalhood, or marked foundations (with intrinsic intentionality), which connects them “to their non-mammalian ancestors by a sequence that can only be partitioned arbitrarily” (by us).47 If we start with the Darwinian, materialistic standpoint, there are some things we still just know, even if that commits us to the reality that we utterly lack any intrinsic intentionality. In this treatment, Dennett adopts the intentional stance toward evolution itself.48 There is a certain usefulness to this tactic, which we will explore more fully shortly. But for now, Dennett thinks that, without employing this tactic, we will lack the ability to identify beliefs, actions, desires, and other behaviors. That is, just as we select a mechanism for a particular purpose in a given context, “so evolution can select an organ for its capacity to oxygenate blood, can establish it as a lung. And it is only relative to just such design ‘choices’ or evolution‘endorsed’ purposes – raisons d’être – that we can identify behaviors, actions … or any of the other categories of folk psychology.”49 Now this way of speaking of natural selection, or Mother Nature, can provide rationale for its being the source for our derived intentionality. That is, if there

44

  Ibid., p. 299.   Ibid., p. 298. 46   Ibid., p. 294. 47   Dennett, “Dennett, Daniel C.,” p. 240. 48  Dennett, The Intentional Stance, for example, p. 300. 49   Ibid. See Dennett’s example of a “two-bitser” vending machine, designed originally for use in detecting U.S. quarters, but then adapted for use in Panama with quarter-balboas, pp. 290ff. 45

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

98

is any original intentionality, “natural selection deserves the honor.”50 Indeed, Dennett observes this way of speaking of the design of artifacts by natural selection is quite common, even compelling. So, he questions why realists would not want to embrace that implication of natural selection, when they embrace others. Dennett suggests two main, yet unobvious, reasons. First, if we are artifacts with derived intentionality, then we have no special authority over our mental lives via privileged access. But, second, even if we have such access to “deeper” facts (our mental states’ contents), in order to fix the meanings of our thoughts, statements, etc., it will fail to achieve its desired result, since there are no deeper facts, period.51 Being derived from Mother Nature, our intentionality “is not independent of the intentions and purposes of Mother Nature, and hence is, in the end, just as derived and hence just as subject to the indeterminacy of interpretation,” as the meaning in other mechanisms we design for our purposes.52 The Usefulness of the Intentional Stance Thus, the intentional stance has much usefulness. Dennett explains that intentional system theory is like a competence model, rather than a performance one. That is, “before we ask ourselves how mechanisms are designed, we must get clear about what the mechanisms are supposed to (be able to) do.”53 If we lack “answers to ‘why’ questions, we cannot begin to categorize what has happened into the right sort of parts.”54 This is the same kind of reasoning we saw above, when considering that, to even identify folk psychological entities, we need to see them in light of their evolutionary purposes. Consider also examples from psychology and biology. Dennett thinks that psychologists need the rationality (or optimality) assumption of the intentional stance to do their work, and biologists need the optimality assumption of the adaptationist thought. Why? They should not embrace these optimality assumptions naively, as though evolution has made this the best of all possible worlds. Instead, Dennett argues that we need these stances in order to make any progress at all, for we must be interpreters, and “interpretation requires the invocation of optimality.”55 To help illustrate, we could consider the following question:

50

  Ibid., p. 318.   Ibid., p. 300. 52   Ibid., p. 305. In this context, Dennett draws the parallel between the derivative “nature” of our intentionality and that of his two-bitser mechanism. Also, that Mother Nature has intentions is itself just an attribution we make from the intentional stance. 53   Ibid., p. 74. 54   Ibid., p. 278. 55   Ibid., pp. 278–9. 51

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Dennett

99

Why, asks the adaptationist, do these birds lay four eggs? The adaptationist starts with the supposition that there is a (good) reason: that four eggs are better, somehow, than two or three or five or six. Looking for possible answers to that “why” question opens up an exploration.56

These in turn can lead to various calculations and possible explanations, which suggest certain predictions, which can be verified or falsified. But, will the intentional stance and folk psychological language continue to be useful after we reach a “golden age” of neuroscience? Or, won’t these be replaced by a complete neuroscientific language? Dennett thinks that, even in such a time, the intentional stance will be useful. To illustrate this, he employs the analogy of a judge before whom eliminativists, like Stephen Stich and the Churchlands, are asked to give sworn testimony in court. When they are asked by the judge, whether they believe they have seen the defendant before, what will they say? Surely they must deny that they are saying what they believe, since they believe (uh-oh) that there is no such thing as belief. That is to say, they are of the opinion (will that do?) that there is no such thing as belief. What they mean is, the theory they, um, espouse or champion has no room in its ontology for beliefs.57

A key tactical lesson to be drawn from this humorous analogy is that the judge’s “official desire to learn what you believe is not irrational; his method is, beyond any doubt, the best way we know of getting at the truth.”58 Thus, the intentional stance provides this very useful tool to help us know truth, and it helps us achieve that goal by its “tremendous – if flawed – predictive power.”59 Therefore, unlike for the Churchlands, neuroscience should not turn its back on folk psychology, for there is an “obvious empirical fact … that there are reliable, robust patterns in which all behaviorally normal people participate,” and we traditionally describe these in folk psychological terms.60 A prime example of a widespread belief around the world took place on July 20, 1969, namely, the belief that a man stepped on the moon. For Dennett, to claim that no person had anything in common (namely, an actually existing belief) is clearly false. Moreover, “there are indefinitely many ways one could reliably distinguish those with the belief from those without it.”61 If so, science should not turn its back on such methods, due to their usefulness. Moreover, at least in biology, the utility of the intentional stance is “inescapable.” As we progress in our mechanical knowledge, “we need the 56

  Ibid., p. 279.   Ibid., pp. 233–4. 58   Ibid., p. 234 (emphasis mine). 59  Ibid. 60   Ibid., p. 235. 61  Ibid. 57

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

100

intentional characterizations of biology to keep track of what we are trying to explain.”62 But even when we reach a point in which all mechanical explanations are in place, “we will continue to need the intentional level against which to measure the bargains Mother Nature has struck.”63 These metaphors enable us to categorize the objective patterns in terms of a purposeful scheme, thereby enabling us to address our “why” questions. And, though we can describe natural selection’s processes in non-intentional idioms, doing so requires an “enormous cost of cumbersomeness, lack of generality, and unwanted detail.”64 There is a sort of linguistic efficiency we gain by employing mentalistic language. Multiple Drafts View of Consciousness Finally, Dennett rejects the realism of mental entities due to his “multiple drafts” view of consciousness. According to him, a materialist understanding of consciousness that assumes a central, “Cartesian” processing center is mistaken. On that view, “the fundamental work done by any observer can be characterized as confronting something ‘given’ and taking it – responding to it with one interpretive judgment or another.”65 That is, all the taking is deferred “until the raw given, the raw materials of stimulation, have been processed in various ways and sent to central headquarters. Once each bit is ‘finished’ it can be appreciated for the first time.”66 In contrast, on his model, “there is no place where ‘it all comes together’, no line the crossing of which is definitive of the end of pre-conscious processing and the beginning of conscious appreciation.”67 Therefore, Dennett draws the conclusion that our familiar assumptions about the “entities” of human phenomenology are radically mistaken, despite how obvious and self-evident they may seem to us. That is, there is no actual unified “I,” or mind, on his view, and the same would follow for qualia, or the various mental states, like beliefs, desires, fears, and so on. While they seem to be unique existents, that interpretation of the objective patterns is the result of many distributed takings performed by the brain, and not real entities that we may know immediately and in themselves by introspective awareness.68

62

  Ibid., p. 315.  Ibid. 64   Ibid., p. 316. 65   Dennett, “Dennett, Daniel C.,” p. 242 (emphasis in original). 66   Ibid. (emphasis in original). 67  Ibid. 68  Ibid. 63

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Dennett

101

Assessing Dennett’s Proposal Surely Dennett has provided a highly well-thought-out set of positions, over and against a number of critics. For instance, if he is right about his materialistic, multiple drafts view of consciousness, then he also is right to draw the implication that there is no unified “I,” nor unified, determinate qualia, or other mental states. Another of his strengths is the implications he draws from his materialistic starting point. While not a realist about mental entities or their content, nonetheless it does seem improper to not classify Dennett as a realist at all. For him, there are many things that are real: for example, objective patterns in the world; the brain, and its core information-storing qualities; and, the real, external world. So it is important to read him correctly on this matter, rather than read him generally as an instrumentalist (which he has rejected). Given the Darwinian, scientific aspects of his starting point, I also think he has taken a more consistent stance in regards to how he treats mental entities and their content than, say, Papineau, Dretske, or Tye. If there are no mental entities or content, then it seems the only room for them is in our use of such terms. Dennett and Quine seem right: if there are no essences to words or meanings, or mental states, or if there are no intrinsically mental qualities (a lesson we should draw from a consistent reading of naturalistic evolution), then the thesis of indeterminacy of translation seems right, and it is integrally involved with their attack on essentialism. If so, then moves to identify token mental states (or their contents) with specific brain states seem to be misguided. The power of the physical, design, and intentional stances also are well taken. The description of the use of these stances with artifacts seems to reflect well how we do in fact treat and act upon them. As we saw, there is efficiency and ease of predictability by treating the alarm clock as a designed artifact, and yet the use of the physical stance readily helps explain what we need to do if the clock does not function as predicted from the design stance. There is, therefore, tremendous power in predicting behavior by employing these stances, and it seems to allow Dennett great freedom ontologically, since he does not have to also posit also some specified internal workings to account for the behavior. Even so, there are some criticisms that I will examine, and these will bear some similarities to ones to which Dennett is already sensitive. To begin, let us take note of a footnote that Dennett seems to make in passing in The Intentional Stance. In the context of a discussion of real patterns and deeper facts, and Quine’s thesis of the indeterminacy of translation, Dennett remarks that Samuel C. Wheeler draws insightful connections between Derrida, Quine, and Davidson. Per Wheeler, Derrida provides “important, if dangerous, supplementary arguments and considerations” to the ones that Davidson and other Quinians have put forth.69 As Wheeler notes, “For Quinians, of course, it is obvious already that speech and 69   Samuel C. Wheeler III, “Indeterminacy of French Interpretation: Derrida and Davidson,” in E. Lepore, ed., Truth and Interpretation: Perspectives on the Philosophy

102

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

thought are brain-writing, some kind of tokenings which are as much subject to interpretation as any other.”70 In the same context, Dennett distances himself from Richard Rorty’s “radical perspectivalism,” due to his own realism. Though Dennett denies any sort of essences, or intrinsically mental features, in the real world, he maintains that there are certain brute facts that are true of the real world. If so, then there are no representations that are intrinsically about anything. Furthermore, if we take seriously the story of natural selection as being completely unrepresenting, then it seems there cannot be any “natural signs,” something that intrinsically would represent something else. Indeed, this seems utterly ruled out (a priori?) by Dennett. So, as Dallas Willard has remarked, all Dennett seems to be left with are events of “taking as,” in which we take some input as something else.71 Dennett has almost explicitly stated this point in his discussion of how brains process their raw stimulation: “there is no place where ‘it all comes together’, no line the crossing of which is definitive of the end of pre-conscious processing and the beginning of conscious appreciation.”72 There is no room, it seems, for any aspect of the world as it is in itself to come before us and be known as it is, apart from how that input has been “cooked” and processed. Likewise, if any event of “taking as” cannot intrinsically represent something, then it too must be taken to be something else. Of course, that taking also must be taken as something else, and so on to infinity, it would seem, without any way to get started with these takings. As Willard argues, “Either there is going to be at some point a ‘taking as’ which does not itself represent anything (even what is ‘taken’) – which certainly sounds like a self-contradiction and is at best unlike the instances of ‘taking’ featured in Dennett’s explanations – or there is going to be an infinite regress of takings.”73 Furthermore, this conclusion would hold not just for mental entities, but every bit as much for those aspects of the materialistic, real world that Dennett takes to be objective. If everything that can be known (or even thought about, processed, etc.) by the brain is the result of a process with nothing but takings, since nothing is immediately given to us, then it seems there is no room for Dennett’s “brute facts” to be exempt from Derrida’s point: that everything is a “text” that therefore stands in need of interpretation. The so-called “brute facts” are conceptualizations, the result of the “raw stimulus” having been “cooked” by the brain’s distributed processes. Even the so-called “raw stimulus” ends up being a taking (of something, but what?) as something else. Now, it makes sense to affirm that there must be some raw stimulus, just like it makes sense to affirm that there is a real world; of Donald Davidson (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986), p. 477, quoted in Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 40, note 2. 70   Wheeler, p. 492, quoted in Dennett, The Intentional Stance, p. 40, note 2. 71   Dallas Willard, “Knowledge and Naturalism,” in Naturalism: A Critical Analysis, ed. J.P. Moreland and William Lane Craig (New York: Routledge, 1999), p. 40. 72   Dennett, “Dennett, Daniel C.,” p. 242. 73   Willard, p. 41.

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Dennett

103

no one who takes the need for interpretation seriously, at least whom I know, denies that there is a real world. But, like all else, the raw stimulus, and even the “objective” patterns, also must be takings of some things as such; they too are conceptualizations, the result of the cognitive process, every bit as much as anything else. For Dennett’s view, even the “facts” of the objective, materialistic world of the natural sciences, are interpretations (of what?), every bit as much as the attributions of intentionality and folk psychological entities. If so, then on what rational justification can Dennett privilege the third-person, objective, materialistic, Darwinian view of the real world? On his view, the language of materialism, cognitive science, etc., would be just as subject to Quine’s thesis of the indeterminacy of translation as the language of folk psychology. Why? The language of materialism also ends up being a brain-writing, which is a tokening, and therefore, as Dennett himself has noted, would be as much in need of interpretation as any other facet of existence. Thus, when all the “facts” are in, there still will be alternative ways of stating them, in addition to the language of materialism and cognitive science. And, there will be no deeper facts (for there are no essences) to settle any disputes that would arise. Therefore, applying Dennett’s own logic, in principle, it will always be possible for rival interpretations to tie for first place. Now, how might Dennett reply? First, he simply could move to block the infinite regress by adopting a similar move that we have seen above. The purported regress can peter out in a finite one, without having to search for essential features of reality. There are some things we simply know, he might reply, and just as our knowledge of mammals alive today is secure without having foundations built upon finding essences for mammals, so our knowledge of the brute facts of the world is secure. Dennett is right in that there are some things we simply know. A particularist reply to a skeptical strategy to require a criterion for how someone knows anything is a wise move. I would agree with Dennett that the reality of the external world is one of those things we simply know. There are also brains, and there are objectively real patterns, too. But, the problem is not with particularism per se; mine is not a skeptical strategy. The problem for Dennett is endemic to his own view, for it cannot meet its own criteria for knowledge. He claims to know several things, but on his own view, it does not seem he could not know them. Perhaps Dennett could shift his tact and concede, much as he has said, that his choice of a starting point is well justified, in that the materialistic, objective view of the world by the natural sciences is orthodoxy, and it also has proven to be immensely progressive. For instance, by focusing on behaviors from the standpoints of the physical, design, and intentional stances, we can predict with great success the behaviors of entities, and we can do all this without having to have a precise, detailed mapping out of internal workings of entities, and how they actually operate. In that, we do not need to posit unnecessary entities, and this enjoys the virtue of simplicity.

104

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Again, Dennett is right; his starting point is today’s orthodoxy. Further, his approach does allow us to make good predictions and solve a number of problems, and it does seem to enjoy the virtue of simplicity. But we also might be premature to think that his “simple” ontology is virtuous, for if on his own view we cannot have knowledge of reality, then its apparent simplicity may actually be a vice. So this rebuttal misses the point of my criticism. Dennett first needs to address the issue of how we can know reality before appealing to a virtue of simplicity. The foregoing discussion suggests a second line of criticism. That is, adopting the intentional stance presupposes that we know what having intentional states is like, in order for us to attribute them to objects under consideration. For if intentionality, rational choices, beliefs, desires, etc., were totally foreign to us, then we could not even begin to attribute these states to entities. I do not intend to push this consideration in the direction of Frank Jackson’s “Mary” argument, in which she would come to know something new when she first experiences a color, despite her complete knowledge of the physics of color and color seeing. Dennett would be ready to counter me, if that were my point. He could appeal to the fact that we just do have intentional states (from the standpoint of the intentional stance, of course). I do not see Dennett denying that we have these states; but he would deny that they are what realists claim them to be (and they certainly would not be real, immaterial states). Instead, I raise different question: What is the basis for our attributing intentionality, when we know that, at the end of the day, there is no such thing, once we take the story of natural selection and naturalistic evolution seriously? If there really is no such thing as intentionality, but only interpretations (takings) of material patterns and processes as intentional, then, for one, we are only playing a game by engaging in this dramatic interpretation. But Dennett seems to realize this, so what is the problem? But, two, we ourselves would have no knowledge of what it even means to be a rational agent, or to have intentional states (for instance, having beliefs about, or desires for, something), because in the final analysis, there is no such thing. Therefore, it does not seem possible for us to even know what it would be like to have such states, in order to attribute them. But couldn’t Dennett reply that Mother Nature has original intentionality? Perhaps then we know what intentionality is like since ours would be derivative from that of Mother Nature. But, Mother Nature has original intentionality only in the sense that we attribute it to Mother Nature, to help us categorize facts. Dennett is clear: it is only from treating evolution from the intentional stance that we posit that Mother Nature has intentionality. But he also realizes that, strictly speaking, there is no such thing as intentionality; there are just the blind, unrepresenting processes of natural selection. Since intentionality always involves representations (after all, intentional states are of or about things), then there is no intentionality in Dennett’s ontology, apart from our attributions. Without that bedrock, I do not think it even makes sense to know what it would be like to adopt the intentional stance, for we would have no idea of what having intentions would even be like.

Cognitive Science, Philosophy and Our Knowledge of Reality: Dennett

105

Fundamentally, this is because there really is no such thing as intentionality that exists, apart from attributions made from the standpoint of the intentional stance. So it seems that Dennett should take his own suggestion more seriously, that there are important, if not dangerous, parallels between his views and those of Derrida. But the danger is to Dennett’s own views; Derrida draws the more consistent conclusion than Dennett seems willing to do, once we acknowledge that there are only takings as. Derrida realizes that, if there are no givens, nothing that is ever directly present (immediately) before us, then this entails that everything is interpretation, all the way down. Dennett, however, wants to privilege his own particular story, with its realist elements, as the objective truth about reality, but his own views end up being another interpretation, and one that cannot give us the objective truth of the matter. The parallels between him and Derrida may break down at various points, however. At least in these works, Dennett does not take up the issue of the lack of identity of words, which helps drive Derrida’s project. Moreover, it seems Dennett presupposes some identity of them. But Derrida may be more consistent here, once we give up on natures, for he denies that any two uses of a word are literally identical. Furthermore, Dennett seems to back off Derrida’s position that, though there is a real world, to even experience it requires interpretation. And I do not see Dennett explicitly taking up the question of whether for him, just as for Derrida, all reality is mediated through language. But that may be an interesting question to pursue. After all, Dennett continually draws our attention to an emphasis on languages, including the indeterminacy of translation between various discourses, such as between the language of folk psychology and that of materialistic, cognitive science. But all attributions of intentionality must be done in that language; what, then, of attributions of physical reality? If all we have are takings as, and nothing is ever directly given to us, then it seems that all we have are our interpretations and conceptualizations. But if so, it seems we never can know how those compare with the real world. Moreover, what are concepts on Dennett’s view? Clearly, they cannot be immaterial entities. They have ofness or aboutness, so perhaps they are just intentional attributions, made from the intentional stance. But, if so, they cannot be real. Yet we (not to mention Dennett) do form concepts and use them; as such, they do exist. And, it would appear problematic to even conceive of materialistic, cognitive science as having its own concepts, for, on his terms, concepts themselves would seem to belong, necessarily, to folk psychology. So, to even get started, it seems the natural sciences would have to borrow from folk psychology. Alternatively, perhaps he could maintain that each language has its own concepts, and so those in the language of cognitive science would be part of that overall discourse. This approach may be more palatable than the above option, but it too has a serious pitfall. Since there are no givens, but only takings as, it means that the brute facts of material reality end up being conceptualizations drawn from the language of cognitive science. In this case, it seems that Dennett would end up right where Derrida is, that reality (even physical reality) is mediated through

106

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

language, and there is no escaping its pervasive influences. That reality is objective and material, or, for example, that the “I” is just an intentional attribution, are just Dennett’s interpretations, and we lack any way to know that they are how the world truly is. It seems Dennett would end up being a postmodern, however unpalatable that may be. Regardless of how we propose to answer this last question of whether for Dennett all reality ends up being mediated through language, we still have seen serious problems for his view. The chief culprit is his position that we as humans only have access to takings as, and never to any givens. It seems, therefore, that Dennett’s view cannot even lift itself off the ground, to get started and even support itself. Nonetheless, we still have yet to examine the views of the Churchlands, who help give shape to a major set of views within the broad field of cognitive science. In the next chapter, we will turn to study their views, to see what resources they may offer to enable us to know reality.

Chapter 6

Can the Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition Ground a Viable Epistemology? Errin D. Clark

Introduction We are concerned here with the sort of constraints a naturalist ontology puts on a detailed account of the nature of knowledge. Naturalism, as I will understand it, is basically what John Searle has called our “scientific view of the world” based chiefly upon the atomic theory of matter and biological evolution.1 I also have in mind what Frank Jackson dubbed “serious” metaphysics, an enterprise whose principle aim is to limit ontological categories to those that are irreducible and that explain all other types of entity.2 Adherents to naturalism, then, limit the fundamental categories of ontology to the types of entities described by physics and the natural sciences. Accordingly, if everything that exists is ultimately just a matter of particles and their nomic behaviors, then so is knowledge. Traditionally, however, epistemology has been concerned with concepts of “rationality,” “truth,” and “intentionality,” which cannot play a basic part of a naturalist ontology. Therefore, one task of naturalists who engage in epistemology might be to reductively explain these sorts of concepts by those that are basic to a naturalist ontological framework. Or, naturalists may prefer to eliminate the traditional concepts in favor of those that are compatible with a naturalist ontology. Yet there are various objections that have been raised against the reduction or rejection of concepts central to traditional epistemology. For example, such objections might maintain that naturalists reject a certain notion of rational normativity and thus change the subject of epistemology as traditionally understood3 or that 1   John Searle, Rediscovery of the Mind (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1992), pp. 85–6. 2   See Frank Jackson, From Metaphysics to Ethics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). 3   For discussion of normativity in epistemology with respect to naturalism see Jaegwon Kim, “What is Naturalized Epistemology,” reprinted in Naturalizing Epistemology, ed. Hilary Kornblith, 2nd edn (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1994), pp. 33–56; and Richard Fumerton, “The Internalism/Externalism Controversy,” Readings in Epistemology, ed.

108

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

naturalist accounts stand at odds with the reliability of our rational faculties,4 or that such accounts preclude what is requisite for the kind of teleology our rational faculties need to lead us to true beliefs.5 Naturalists who call for a radical elimination of commonsense concepts about the mind and propose theories of cognition and knowledge from conceptual schemes compatible with naturalism have had to face special problems in arguing for their positions. These problems turn on the deep-seated assumptions about knowledge we seem to share and the vocabulary we use to express those assumptions. For example, we commonly think that much of our knowledge involves belief and that if we assert something we take ourselves to know, we are asserting something that is true. Eliminative materialists reject those sorts of assumptions, which they see as partly constituting the false theory of “folk psychology.” But philosophy and common discourse have been riddled with such assumptions and vocabulary, seemingly for all of its history, and the literature of eliminativism has been found to be no exception.6 Hence eliminativists have had to face the charge of selfreferential incoherence since, in order to promote their views, they have employed the very concepts their views preclude. Paul and Patricia Churchland7 are leading proponents of eliminative materialism, and their writings have been a target of such criticism. Their views, nevertheless, form an important and unique example of how a theory of knowledge might be established wholly within a naturalist framework. They ground their models of cognition specifically in the properties and computational powers of neural networks enjoyed by cognitive creatures. On their neurocomputational account of cognition, terms such as “judgment,” “concept,” “theory,” and “truth,” for example, have been reconstrued and employed to construct an epistemology according to the findings, and therefore language, of neuroscience. Further, they wish to recommend their neuroscience-based epistemology as a more powerful view than traditional “sentence”-oriented epistemology. For the Churchlands, a more powerful view is simply one that gives us more or better knowledge of our Jack S. Crumley II (Mountain View, CA: Mayfield Publishing Company, 1999), pp. 404– 12. Also see Philip Kitcher, “The Naturalists Return,” The Philosophical Review, 101:1 (January 1992): 53–114. 4   See, for example, Thomas Nagel, The Last Word (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997). See especially chapter 7. 5   See, for example, Alvin Plantinga, Warrant and Proper Function (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993). See especially chapter 12. 6   For some specific examples of eliminativists’ use of the vocabulary of folk psychology, see William Hasker, The Emergent Self (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001), pp. 1–26. 7   Both philosophers generally agree to the extent that it is fair to say they partner in a unified philosophical project. Thus, when I address the various facets or tenets of the project, I attribute the ideas as theirs. I sought to be careful to distinguish their various contributions where it seemed necessary.

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

109

natural environment and of the naturally occurring distinctions and processes that our environment contains. That is to say, the import of their views of cognition and knowledge lies not merely in solving conceptual or predictability problems, but also in taking stock of what is out there. They maintain that such knowledge is genuinely of a mind-independent natural world, and that their epistemology is, accordingly, realist. My aim in this chapter is to assess whether the Churchlands’ theory of cognition is able to provide us with the theoretical foundations for a genuinely viable epistemology. By “viable epistemology” I mean one that satisfies the following conditions.8 First, it maintains a fundamental distinction between knowing and being rational.9 Second, it involves an analysis of knowledge that is applicable to those situations where we generally apply our concept of knowledge. And third, it shows promise in accounting for how it is that we have knowledge. The second and third conditions reveal the self-referential character of epistemology: whatever knowledge turns out to be, and whether we can attain it, must not exclude or undermine our epistemological suppositions, affirmations and lines of reasoning. One might object to these two conditions by arguing that a viable epistemology requires only an adequate characterization and account of rationality, that the explication of what rationality consists in and how to attain it should be the aim of epistemology.10 Moreover, one might obviate the first condition by identifying knowledge with rationality, as some coherence or pragmatic theories of truth seem to do.11 But we should not content ourselves with countenancing some notion of what it is to be rational merely on the supposition that we are rational to do so, for that would be question begging. If there is any hope of realizing a viable epistemology, such question begging must be avoidable in virtue of what knowledge is and whether we attain it in the circumstances that have founded the arrival at, and elucidation of, our epistemological concepts. Suppose that in doing epistemology we arrive at some conception of knowledge or rationality we provisionally find acceptable. This will have occurred, in part, necessarily on the basis of some privileged assertions relied upon as cases of knowledge and not as mere rationality. One important example of those cases is the abundance  8

  I do not intend this list to be exhaustive, but to include those conditions most pertinent to the issue at hand.  9   By “being rational” I mean having in one’s reasonings coherence, justification, well-foundedness, theoretical virtue, or other similar sorts of appraisals of positive noetic status. 10   For an example of what such a proposal might look like, see Laurence Bonjour, Epistemology (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2002), p. 49. Also see Michael Welbourne, Knowledge (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2001), p. ix. I do not imply here that these authors make this proposal. 11   See for example, Alisdair MacIntyre, Whose Justice, Which Rationality (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame Press, 1988), p. 358.

110

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

of necessarily presupposed or employed conditionals that supposedly ground or elucidate the concept at which we have arrived. We take ourselves to know at least some of the definitional or supportive relations among our various reasonings, hypotheses, and epistemological concepts. Thus, for instance, regarding what we might take rationality to be, that it is that concept under consideration, and that it relates conditionally in a variety of ways to the reasonings that have lead us to countenance that concept or formulate it the way we do, will be affirmed, at least tacitly, as cases of knowledge on pain of a vicious regress. And whatever knowledge turns out to be, our granting the fact of its residing in the course of our reasonings will be more basic than our descriptions of rationality. In sum, the analysis of what rationality is and whether we have attained it must presuppose putative cases of knowledge. And insofar as what knowledge is grounds, in a nonquestion-begging way, the elucidation of epistemological concepts, including the concept of knowledge itself, epistemology will be viable. In what follows I seek to clarify what knowledge amounts to on the views of cognition presented in the Churchlands’ writings. First I will present the cognitive “mechanics” that underlie the Churchlands’ theory of knowledge. This section will include discussions of the nature of sensations and intentionality in a purely causal system, and how concept identity is understood both in terms of causal relation and in terms of meaning. Second, in light of the theses that will have emerged, I will address the question about how meaning is supposed to be a condition for knowledge, especially perceptual knowledge. Central to this discussion will be an account of epistemic progression in terms of a “mapping” analogy. Third, I will briefly explain how Churchlands’ epistemology purports to be both a kind of epistemological realism and an epistemological pluralism. Fourth, I will assess whether the Churchlands’ epistemology can be maintained as a viable option for naturalists. I will argue that systematic ambiguities in their views lead to mutually exclusive interpretations of the Churchlands’ philosophical project and of several key theses that are part and parcel of it. Moreover, I shall argue that their project, on any of these interpretations, violates the conditions I set forth as necessary for an epistemology worth pursuing. One last note before I begin. It might seem that I am begging questions against the Churchlands’ views by using the terms “knowledge” and “rationality.” I don’t think so. The Churchlands want to eliminate commonsense notions of knowledge and rationality; but they also seek to replace these notions with neuroscientifically informed concepts that are supposed to play a similar role or hold the same sort of importance to us as those commonsense concepts. Indeed, that is the sense in which they are doing epistemology. They affirm the existence of epistemic states that have various degrees of goodness; that is, that there are epistemic virtues and cognitive norms we should aspire to. “Good epistemic states” and “cognitive norms we should aspire to” are circumlocutions that might be employed for the sake of neutrality between eliminativist and non-eliminativist philosophies, but in this chapter I will simply use “knowledge” and “rationality” with the same respect

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

111

for neutrality. Whether it is really possible to be theoretically neutral given the Churchlands’ views is a subject I will address in the course of this chapter. Neuromechanics and Sensation The picture of the cognition-world relation that emerges from the Churchlands’ writings is that cognitive beings are epistemic subjects in virtue of having a biological computational apparatus that receives and processes stimuli from the environment and enables navigation of the environment more or less in conformity with real features it has. From birth, the cognitive creature learns to distinguish features of our environment in a systematic way that allows it to interact with it advantageously. Thus, it enjoys epistemic states that are constantly changing with changes in the environment and the encountering of new environmental stimuli.12 Such epistemic states just are the brain’s neurocomputational states that constitute the brain’s activity of receiving and using stimuli from the environment. A central question of the Churchlands’ project is “how real physical systems might embody representation of the world, and how they might execute principled computations on these representations in such a fashion as to learn.”13 The basic answer is that brains represent natural distinctions by means of synaptic weight configurations prompted by, and hence corresponding to, patterns of external stimuli. This way they might learn to more or less correctly carve the world at the joints, or at least some of those joints. The “world” here is, of course, the physical world of natural objects as described by the natural sciences. The “carving” is the brain’s assignment and use of synaptic weight patterns to record and recognize natural distinctions, which are the world’s “joints.” Because information about the world is received though the senses, we would do well to understand the nature of sensory experience, and how, in the process of receiving and distinguishing environmental information, sensations enable the brain to make the appropriate distinctions and responses. What are sensations and sense experiences, and how do they relate both to objects in the environment and to the individual? Both Paul and Patricia Churchland discuss the nature of sensations and sensory experience in the context of the reduction/anti-reduction controversy over qualia.14 In his article “Reduction, Qualia and the Direct Introspection of Brain

  Paul M. Churchland, Scientific Realism and the Plasticity of the Mind (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 125. Churchland uses scare quotes for the locution “epistemic states.” 13   See Paul M. Churchland, A Neurocomputational Perspective (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1989), pp. 157–60. 14   See, for example, Patricia Smith Churchland, Neurophilosophy (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1986), p. 327. 12

112

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

States,”15 Paul maintains that qualia can be reduced to physical states, but it is not totally clear what qualia turn out to be. His essay begins with the locutions “phenomenological or qualitative features of sensations,”16 and yet elsewhere he mentions “objective phenomenal properties,” such as, for instance, the redness of an apple. We soon discover that he distinguishes “objective qualia” from “subjective qualia.”17 The former belong to the object of perception (say, an apple) and in general just are perceptible properties of macro objects. These properties may prompt subjective qualia, which are events or states in the perceiver—the physical subject. Consequently, both types of qualia are reduced in their respective domains. We might initially suppose, then, that subjective qualia just are sensations. But such a conclusion seems somewhat inaccurate when we consider Churchland’s comments about the objects known by subjective qualia. His comments on Frank Jackson’s “knowledge argument” are relevant here. Jackson has argued that an individual may know everything about brain states and their properties, but not know everything about sensations and their properties. Churchland believes that “knows about” is used equivocally in this argument. He concludes that the same things are known but that they are known in different ways. What it is that the individual with qualia knows are sensations.18 Sensations and their features are identical to brain states and their features. Subjective qualia, then, it seems, are either some further brain state by which sensations are known (but, then, how are these further states known?); or they are simply features of sensations, available in a unique way to the subject upon its having some sensation or other (but if they are physical, why can’t they be, at least in principle, available to the public as they are to the subject?). Queries aside, the important point here is that there are some features of our sensory experience that somehow correspond to features of our environment. Just how sensations facilitate knowledge of the environment will be more fully understood by noting that sensations are intentional. Churchland distinguishes between two ways a sensation can be of an object.19 He defines the “objective intentionality” of a sensation as the systematic pattern of its occurrence with respect to a particular object. For instance, particular sensations systematically occur when we look at ripe strawberries. A sensation has “subjective intentionality,” by contrast, when it systematically causes a particular judgment about the object. On this view, sensations-of-x, where x is any environmental feature, have only causal identity conditions.

15   Paul M. Churchland, “Reduction, Qualia and the Direct Introspection of Brain States,” Journal of Philosophy, 82:1 (1985): 8–28. 16   Ibid., p. 8. 17   Ibid., p. 18. 18   Ibid., p. 24. 19   Paul M. Churchland, Scientific Realism, p. 14.

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

113

We should note that sensations yield two types of neuronic causal offspring: on the one hand, those connected with creaturely actions (motor neuronic firings) and, on the other hand, concepts and judgments. A judgment’s intentionality, then, is a matter of its being systematically caused by a particular sensation. That is, a judgment’s being of an object is not a matter of its happening to be merely the result of a causal chain that links back to stimulus from the object, but rather its being systematically the eventual result of that stimulus.20 This point raises the following question: Since sensations are epistemically relevant insofar as they, in a systematic way, enable the creature to advantageously interact with its environment, and since this is purely causal, what are the relevance of concepts and judgments? The answer to this question seems to be, at least in part, that a dynamic web of concepts and judgments constitutes a creature’s means of representing the environment learning to navigate it. In short, the conceptual framework enables the creature to adapt its behaviors.21 The framework functions both causally and semantically. That is, in addition to having identities in virtue of causal eventhistories, concepts and judgments have semantic identities. The semantic identity of a concept or judgment is a matter of the place it holds in the overall framework. This view of meaning is called the “network theory of meaning.” On the network theory, a judgment J, for instance, has the identity of-x in its being systematically caused by sensations-of-x, but it also has a distinct semantic identity based on its role in a conceptual economy. Sensory experience or qualia do not in any way contribute to the semantic identity of concepts or judgments.22 So, for example, it is not the case that the concept “red” has its peculiar meaning by means of a certain sensation, even if “red” systematically accompanies a certain property had by ripe strawberries. Its meaning just is the place that it plays in the conceptual economy of which it is member. Further, for human beings, the conceptual network is conditioned by language. An observational term like “red,” for example, derives its meaning from the way that English speakers use the sentences that contain the term.23 To tease this thesis out a bit, we might consider following. An infant repeatedly encounters objects reflecting a particular frequency of electromagnetic energy. As she observes the ways others use the word “red” in the presence of such object, she will form a concept that is systematically connected with that term. That concept enables her to reliably interact, in a fashion similar to that of other individuals, with those objects that cause the same sensations (namely, all red objects). But a blind man who cannot visually receive electromagnetic stimuli may still learn to use the term “red” correctly and make correct discriminatory judgments (ripe strawberries are red). Thus, the infant can apply the concept of red but does not know its meaning, 20

  Ibid., p. 11.   Ibid., p. 11. 22  Ibid., pp. 7–14. Also see Patricia Smith Churchland, Neurophilosophy, pp. 269–70. 23   Paul M. Churchland, Scientific Realism, pp. 11–12. 21

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

114

whereas the blind man knows the meaning of the term but without thereby being epistemically capacitated in a certain way: he cannot distinguish red objects in the environment though visual observation.24 It seems, then, that the semantic identities of terms or concepts pull apart from their epistemic roles with respect to perception of the environment. The semantic feature of concepts is its standard placement in a conceptual system, and its epistemic role is its placement in the causal nexus of stimulus and response. The immediately preceding considerations, then, raise an urgent question about the role of this theory of meaning in the Churchlands’ epistemology. Is meaning at all epistemically relevant to perception? That is, if perceptual judgments do not require language, how is it that perception is conditioned by language, as Paul Churchland maintains?25 It will turn out that the answer to this has to do with how we progress from one epistemic state to a better one—namely, by means of the replacement of one conceptual framework by another. But for humans, learning occurs largely through language. So, if the meaning of the concepts we use in judgments derives from common language use, it might be tempting to surmise that either some perceptual concepts do not have meaning, or that an individual cannot have perceptual concepts independent of linguistic know-how. And yet we saw that what a concept is of—its intentionality—is purely a matter of causal history. How, then can we have a unified understanding of concept identity so that common cases of perceptual knowledge such as, for example, knowing the color of ripe strawberries, do not admit of two radically different types of cognitive states or abilities? Recall that sensations, which are brain states, are subjectively of-x, in their systematically causing particular judgments. These judgments are, then, judgments-of-x. But judgments are of-x in virtue of two possible conditions: (a) their being caused systematically by sensations-of-x, and (b) their systematically being caused by those sensations prompted by linguistic behavior. Consequently, we might be inclined to suppose that there could be two very different states we should call “concept-of-red”—one based on perception of an object and another based on involvement in linguistic intercourse—that participate in two distinct causal networks and thus semantic networks. Or we might feel inclined to distinguish judgments-perceptually-of-x from judgments-linguistically-of-x. For, we might wonder, why would the linguistic conditions match up with the sensory conditions regarding judgments-of-x; that is, why think that a judgmentperceptually-of-x and a judgment-linguistically-of-x would ever be the one and the same judgment-of-x? We need further clarity about what subjective experience and perception amount to on the Churchlands’ neurocomputational theory of the cognition. The former is defined is characterized as a “way of knowing.” And the latter is described as being conditioned by semantic networks. Therefore, exactly in what way some specific semantic network shape or structure is supposed to enable knowledge of the environment, and the relationship between experience 24

  Ibid., p. 14.   Ibid., p. 7.

25

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

115

and perception, will be subjects of inquiry in the following section. To these epistemological puzzles we now turn. Cognitive World-Maps A concept or judgment’s being of or about something—whatever it is—is a question of extrinsic and contingent causal relations. “Intrinsic of-ness is an illusion,” affirms Patricia Churchland.26 But concepts and judgments do not only stand in causal relations, they are part of a semantic system realized in the neurological network of the brain. We are left wondering how it should be that the semantic properties of a concept or judgment have epistemic relevance for perception and why we should suspect that causal stimulus-input-to-behavior-output patterns should coincide with particular semantic networks. To address this concern, we should note that the having of certain coordinates in a network is the means by which the network represents certain features of the environment, and that these coordinates are realized and reinforced by stimulusresponse patterns. Depending on how well an action or behavior functions to meet an individual’s needs or to confirm prediction, an activation pattern is reinforced or not. Thus, the Churchlands say, brains “train” themselves up, zeroing in their coordinate values on an “error” minimum. Over time, the various recurring activation vectors come to constitute an over-all habitual, and pragmatically viable, structure of activation patterns that represent, with more or less fidelity, the causal structure of the environment.27 How do neuronic networks represent the environment? Complex neuronic relations develop over time and “map onto” entities and their relations in the real world. Representation is a brain-realized map of the world. Thus, we might suppose at this point, meaning is a function of cognitive representation. This initial description of how meaning might relate to neural causal patterns has two components that need elaboration: the training process that realizes a brain map, and in exactly what fashion it is supposed to represent the world—in what “fidelity” might be supposed to consist. First we address the brain–environment relation. We have seen that it is a dynamic flow of causal interaction. This cause–effect repetition of stimulusresponse events grounds learning. A conceptual network emerges over time and constitutes a basis of further action and information assimilation. But Paul Churchland makes a distinction between “the ephemeral vehicles of our knowledge and the fleeting here-and-now on the one hand, and the comparatively stable and enduring vehicles of our background knowledge of the world’s-general-structure-

26   Patricia Smith Churchland and Paul M. Churchland, “Stalking the Wild Epistemic Engine,” Nous, 17:1 (March 1983): 11. 27   Patricia Smith Churchland and Paul M. Churchland, “Neural Worlds and Real Worlds,” Nature Reviews Neuroscience, 3 (November 2002): 904.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

116

in-space-and-time on the other.”28 So there exist (i) fleeting activation patterns and (ii) the “background” general knowledge, where “the unit of representation is the entire conceptual framework … sculpted by months or years of learning, a space that encompasses all of the possible instances of which the creature has any conception.”29 Further, learning on this picture is a matter of prediction: “testing and having one’s expectations met or surprised is the key to falsification and revision of representational models.”30 And the basis of prediction is “sensory information.”31 Since environmental information is not contained intrinsically in the various qualities of a sensation, the conceptual framework generated by sensory information ultimately transmits that information to behavior according to features of sensory information that are extrinsic, that is, relational features. We might suppose that the merely causal feedback loop of stimuli–behavior–stimuli that refines an individual’s conceptual framework by reinforcing already existing activation patterns, or prompting new ones, suffices to render some degree of mapping fidelity of the framework to the world. This would be to explicate fidelity purely in terms of the passive practicality of mere causal structures. It amounts to a simple input–output functionalism regarding epistemic progression. But Paul and Patricia Churchland want to retain the notion of representation in cognition because, at least in part, it is supposed to ground a much more efficient and sophisticated means of exploiting information. Thus, even though “the brain is but one result in evolution’s blind maunderings,”32 it is no purely “passive system.”33 If the information contained in sensory experience is not to be understood merely in terms of varying causal chains and growing utility thereof, then an alternative thesis is that sensations transmit information taxonomically. That is, the epistemic significance of sensory experience is not a matter of peculiar qualitative experience, but of assortment and structure (temporal, spatial, statistical, etc.). In turn, taxonomical distinctions in the conceptual framework are supposed to pair up with real distinctions in the environmental extension. The better this pairing up is, the more faithful the framework. According to this second thesis, fidelity is explained in terms of degrees of relational isomorphism. A chief way brain maps represent the world more or less faithfully is in virtue of being more or less fine-grained, in the sharpness of 28

  Paul M. Churchland, “Inner and Outer Spaces: the New Epistemology,” in Epistemology Futures, ed. Stephen Hetherington (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. 51. 29  Ibid. 30   Patricia Smith Churchland and Paul M. Churchland, “Neural Worlds and Real Worlds,” p. 906. 31  Ibid. 32   Patricia Smith Churchland and Paul M. Churchland, “Stalking the Wild Epistemic Engine,” p. 8. 33   Ibid., pp. 12–13.

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

117

distinctions in a web of discriminatory concepts or judgments. For instance, a conceptual framework F1 is more adequate than F2, if an individual, by being in the epistemic state of conceiving the world by means of F1, is able to make finer distinctions and adequate predictions. Paul Churchland illustrates this by considering the distinction we might make between whales and fish.34 “Fish” in F2 might encompass whales in its extension, whereas F1 makes a distinction by means of the terms “fish” and “whales,” the conceptual framework reflecting a systematic recognition of the differences in the way these creatures generate offspring. Suppose that individual-1 understands the world through F1, and individual-2 through F2. And suppose that both see the same baleen whale being attended by some cleaner fish. Though presented with structurally similar visual experiences, individual-2 enjoys one spontaneously generated classificatory judgment, here: fish, whereas individual-1 enjoys two, here: fish and here: whale. Moreover, “fish” and “whale” might be understood in terms of a distinction of genus. The example is extremely simplistic given all the types of judgments that are permutations or amplifications of the ones mentioned, but it illustrates that the same sensory structure may connect to different webs of judgment involving slightly different conceptual taxonomies. F1 has a higher resolution than F2. Inasmuch as F1 successfully bears out behavior through confirmation (consistent ongoing discrimination between whales and fish), “whale” takes its place in the conceptual economy as one of numerous stable “prototypical patterns” of “activational tendencies” whose meaning “is the overall role that this vector plays in the larger cognitive and motor economy of which it is an interlocking part.”35 F1 maps a difference in the environment that F2 does not—differences that are cognition independent. Hence, F1 is the more epistemically adequate, or the more explanatorily powerful, framework. Another name for “explanatory framework” is “theory.” On the Churchlands’ view, then, particular theories are simply brain maps constituted holistically by neural activation patterns. Various theories have degrees of fidelity and thus usefulness. It is here we encounter the backdrop of the Churchlands’ theses regarding reduction and eliminativism in general, and their eliminative materialism about mental states in particular. The traditional distinction between observation and theory disappears, for each concept—even perceptual concepts—are theoretical positings that might be refined or eliminated at a later time. Consequently, a theoretical explanation of, and a perceptual judgment about, some natural feature x include essentially the same neural state. One’s perceptual judgments of x just are theoretical explanations of x; they are proposed or confirmed predictions as to how the world is with respect to some particular detail or collection of details. The brain is just “a purely physical system that recognizes such intricacies”36 as   Paul M. Churchland, Scientific Realism, p. 48.   Paul M. Churchland, “State–Space Semantics and Meaning Holism,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 53:3 (September 1993): 668. 36   Paul M. Churchland, A Neurocomputational Perspective, p. 164. 34 35

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

118

colors, sounds, shapes, fragrances, etc. As the brain fine-tunes the recognition and distinction of natural types of environmental information, it learns to minimize error. This activity is the same as “the functions typically ascribed to theories.”37 It can now be explained how reference to an object is enabled by theory. Simply put, semantic space is cognitive space. A conceptual network enjoys a structure that develops by means of causal cycles of output behaviors and the re-received environmental stimuli that confirm or challenge the network. Insofar as some node (or collection of nodes), C, of the network systematically plays, or could play, a role of facilitating behavior in this purely causal cycle of an individual’s navigating its environment with respect to some environmental feature x, it is participating in that role we have called “concept” or “judgment.” And C, in virtue of its realizing that specific role (the with-respect-to-x role) fulfills the function we have just recently called “reference.” Two points, then, can be made to sum up here. First, meaning is a feature, and reference a capacity, of concepts and judgments. Second, we become aware of the meanings of our concepts, and derivatively our terms, by learning the common language, the terms of which “one comes to understand as one learns to use the predictive and explanatory generalizations in which they figure.”38 Now, regarding the question about the relationship of meaning structures and causal structures in the brain, we can conclude that both structures supervene, one upon the other. This can be seen by considering the following. We begin with the thesis that there is a causal chain of stimuli to cognitive input resulting in sensations. These sensations yield a web-like structure of concepts and judgments, whose meanings are a matter of their relative placement in this structure. But there is another cyclical structure of input to output to input (stimulus–response– restimulus) that constitutes a cognitive creature’s epistemic connection to its environment. Reference is a matter of some concept’s or judgment’s role in the cyclical causal structure; but a concept’s or judgment’s role in these specific causal chains (or loops) is covariant with its position in semantic space. Given what has been said about language, then, reference may be altered, or even enabled, by adopting a new framework through linguistic discourse. That is, if we were to change the way we use terms or if we were to eliminate or augment our conceptual vocabulary, then we might put ourselves in a position to perceive features of the world that were until then unnoticed, that weren’t registered on the cognitive maps.39 An important upshot of this discussion is that perception is not to be understood as directly conditioned by specific qualitative experience, but rather it is to be understood as a function of reference. And reference is a function of meaning—of nodes in semantic space whose computational role coincides, or is 37

  Ibid., p. 177.   Ibid., p. 60. 39   See Paul M. Churchland, “Reduction, Qualia and the Direct Introspection of Brain States,” p. 16. 38

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

119

identical to, the totality of particular “prototypical patterns” of neural activation.40 Reference happens in virtue of the entire network. It is theoretical. When we consider some semantic node’s corresponding to some environmental feature in virtue of the network’s fidelity to the environment, we can see that reference just is the corresponding of the node to that environmental feature. If so, reference is dispositional and non-occurrent. Bur perception is occurrent. A creature’s behavior expresses that creature’s relation to some specific situation in its environment (for instance, relating to the situation in terms of use or avoidance). This episodic relating to the world just is perception. For behavior that involves judgment, the appropriate behaviors require the appropriate judgment. Perception is the prompting of the appropriate concept or judgment in the relevant context. Consequently, perception is the epistemological end result of the above story. Objects in, or features of, the environment are not perceived by being given in an instance of experience; rather, perception occurs in the episodic employment of a theory. Epistemic Realism and Epistemic Pluralism Up to this point I have simply labored to provide a unified presentation of a variety of theses about cognition found in the Churchlands’ writings over the years. I will now provide a brief and general characterization of their epistemology. A cognitive creature can register and represent, in a neural network, natural features of its environment. And it can do so in a variety of ways—variety in terms of degrees of fidelity and in terms of taxonomy. The epistemology in view here is thus both realist and pluralist. First, I will say a few words about the Churchlands’ realism. Since all knowledge is theoretical, realism must be understood in terms of how theories epistemically relate cognitive beings to their environment. And it is clear by now that theories are functionalized in that they are construed as groups of linguistically and non-linguistically influenced and activated neurological states that position the cognitive creature to interact with the world by way of a set of useful behaviors and a framework of concepts and judgments. The conceptual framework is supposed to map real environmental distinctions to some degree, and in this way, represent those features. But since theories are functional, there could be a plurality of maximal neurological states whose configurations are quite dissimilar, and which constitute a framework of judgments whose semantic identity is also quite dissimilar. Yet these dissimilar networks might function to carve up the world in such a way as to yield similar degrees of adequacy. In other words, both frameworks enable or prompt the same discriminatory behaviors. In this way the Churchlands’ theory of knowledge is a constructivist epistemology whose conceptions of knowledge, 40

  Paul M. Churchland, “Space–State Semantics,” p. 669.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

120

learning, or understanding do not involve notions of arriving at a “true” description of the world in virtue concepts that represent the world by means of some intrinsic affinity they have with the world’s features. Rather, such concepts are understood in terms of the enabling of one to navigate life in an advantageous way. Indeed, this is an accurate portrayal of the Churchlands’ epistemology, as Paul’s words confirm: When we consider the great variety of cognitively active creatures on this planet … [the] term “construction” begins to seem highly appropriate. There is an endless construction and reconstruction, both functional and structural. Further it is far from obvious that the truth is either the primary or the principle product of this activity. Rather, its function would appear to be the ever more finelytuned administration of the organism’s behavior.41

There is no intrinsic match that our ideas must have to the world. Knowledge, on this view, does not entail truth; rather, it entails functionality for advantageous behavior in an environment. The supposition that the there is a world, a cognitionindependent environment to more or less successfully navigate, is necessary to Churchland’s view as a type of realism. Taking a cue from the sciences, however, successful navigation of, or orientation in, the environment is to be evaluated chiefly in terms of successful prediction—and this may be pluralistically realized. In sum, therefore, the realism that emerges from Churchland’s writings is extremely idiosyncratic. It is neither a construal of some sort of representational realism nor a direct realism, both of which have vied for the correct realist account of knowledge of the external world, but operated from what might be called an “experiential” or “phenomenal” understanding of perception. In both of these traditional realist views, it seems, the experiential quality of a sensation determines the identity of a concept or judgment it prompts. But the Churchlands’ realism is what we might call a “functional realism,” from the supposition that the world is as the Churchlands describe it; or “pragmatic idealism,” on the additional consideration that their description of the world is radically provisional. A concept’s or judgment’s identity just is its instrumentality in a complex causal nexus, and the positive epistemic status of a judgment or concept is a matter of the degree of utility of the framework in which it is embedded. Problems with Neuroepistemology In the beginning of this chapter I stated that there are systematic ambiguities in the Churchlands’ project. I want to now argue that these ambiguities lend to several dilemmas of incompatible interpretations of their neuroscience-based epistemology and that the adoption of either interpretative horn in each dilemma results in an   Paul M. Churchland, A Neurocomputational Perspective, p. 150.

41

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

121

unintelligible version of their project. I have noticed three areas of ambiguity. The first regards the nature of sensory experience and perceptual representation. The second regards concept application, concept–object correspondence and truth. And the third regards the general structure of the entire project. I will conclude my critique by reiterating and elaborating upon the first condition I proposed as necessary for a viable epistemology and explaining why the Churchlands’ theory of cognition can never involve such a condition. First Ambiguity: Perception and Experience The Churchlands do not hold an experiential or phenomenological understanding of perception, where perceiving x involves an episodic or occurrent, qualitatively determined experience of x. Their rejecting this view of perception is, in part, a result of their adoption of the network theory of meaning. Nevertheless, it is not clear from their writings whether they accept some sort of representationalist view of perception, where some specific phenomenal experience represents some specific environmental feature or object. Herman Philipse believes that Paul Churchland presupposes a traditional representationalist theory of perception.42 On Philipse’s view, Churchland maintains that what we perceive is in fact given in our experience, and that this presupposition is the basis for his argument for the network theory of meaning. The network theory presupposes the givenness of objects in experience because it presupposes a plurality of ways the objects are given. Different creatures can have different phenomenal representations of a single feature of the environment. The meaning of concepts cannot derive from the quality of sensations that the feature prompts, but the concept must be correspond to the feature of the environment for a plurality of cognizers. Thus, for Philipse, Paul Churchland must presuppose a representationalist theory of perception in order to say that the world appears to cognitive beings in some qualitative manner. Appearing in some specific manner must mean, Philipse argues, that our sensations and their qualities are representations of the world and that our semantics are grounded in the qualities of our sensations, even if there might be a biologically fixed plurality of sensory experiences that are prompted by features of the world. The notion of appearing is a necessary element in Churchland’s argument for the network theory of meaning, as the plurality of appearances is what initially poses the problem for the traditional view of meaning—meaning by “inner ostension”—that Churchland rejects. So if Philipse is correct, there is a serious problem for the Churchlands’ epistemology because the network theory yields the denial of such a representationalist theory of perception. But since the network theory of meaning entails the denial of a

42   Herman Philipse, “The Absolute Network Theory of Language and Traditional Epistemology on the Philosophical Foundations of Paul Churchland’s Scientific Realism,” Inquiry 33 (1990): 127–78.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

122

representationalist theory, Churchland’s epistemology is incoherent: it essentially both affirms and denies the traditional representationalist theory of perception. Philipse’s interpretation of Paul Churchland’s discussion of sense experience is the first interpretative horn, and, if right, yields a theory of perception that is incoherent. Nevertheless, Philipse’s objection might rest on a misunderstanding, or at least it might be able to be circumvented. It depends on the epistemic role of appearances. Perception for the Churchlands seems dependent merely upon the functionality of our sensations. The specific qualia that accompany our sensations have no determinate bearing on what is being perceived. For Philipse, Paul Churchland in effect presupposes a representational theory because he assumes that “the way the world appears to the hominids is determined by their sensations”;43 but “appearance determined by their sensations” does not necessarily suggest a “givenness” or “resemblance” that traditional representationalist theories suggest. The specific quality of an experience is not epistemically relevant to perception for the Churchlands if we understand perception to be understood in terms of mere discriminatory behavior. What is an essential characteristic of the Churchlands’ epistemology, then, seems to me to provide a basis to fend off Philipse’s objection. On one hand, how things look—that is, the particularity of the subjective qualia they prompt—has nothing to do with their genuinely being perceived or not. The Churchlands may present an argument for the network theory of meaning from a plurality of patterns of sensory experience without any immediate problem so to avoid committing to environmental feature being given in the intrinsic qualities of experience. So, even though he affirms that knowledge of the world is mediated through qualitative experience, this only commits him to some experiential quality or other being a causal intermediary that constitutes part of the mechanics of perception. But any experiential quality will do. On the other hand, the Churchlands could contend that, if Paul’s argument for the network theory presupposes representationalism, then the resulting theory of perception does not reject representationalism in an inconsistent manner, as Philipse contends. What is important for the Churchlands is how our qualitative experience represents the world. There is a distinction between two ways the phenomenal quality of a sensation can be epistemically relevant. One way the phenomenal quality of a sensation can be epistemically relevant is with respect to the properties of a perceived object, that is, that by means of the specific quality of sensory experience the properties of an environmental object are being given, or are appearing, in some way to the cognizer. This is what Philipse thinks Churchland both presupposes and rejects. But a second way the phenomenal quality of a sensation can be epistemically relevant is that it is merely a means of discrimination such that the qualities of experience function to orient behavior with regard to environment. A second interpretation of the Churchlands’ theory of perception holds that the theory embraces the latter, “functionalist” view 43

  Ibid., p. 141.

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

123

of representation in sensory experience, but rejects the former “intrinsicallist” view of representation. Unfortunately, however, if we embrace the latter interpretation, we are faced with another problem. Perception radically underdetermines phenomenal experience in the sense that perception (the occurrence of some concept or judgment) is not directly determined by what the object of perception is like—that is, not unless we assume some sort of natural kind essentialism such that objects have natural identity conditions that demarcate what properties are their properties. Without some sort of natural kind of essentialism, something determinate to be mapped by the brain, reference is indeterminate. But perception depends upon reference. To deal with this worry, one might assume that there exist nomic relations that realize determinate structures of property bundles. These structures are what define the identity conditions for natural kinds. The problem is that, if we are to rest this assumption on empirical considerations, legions of differing structures might be found in a vast continuum of micro- and macro levels. There is a radical generality problem for object identity and therefore property-bundle ascription. Therefore, experience is a radically indeterminate means of discrimination. What is being discriminated, and the very fact of any act of discrimination, is not given at all in experience—neither synchronically nor diachronically. Moreover, it was understand that phenomenal experience is a “way of knowing” sensations, which just are brain states that supposedly map the world. If phenomenal experience is a way of knowing brain states, however, this pushes us into a deep form of skepticism, for what is known, ex hypothesi, are only brain states and their lawlike relations. Further, in view of the reasoning above, the claim that we are knowing brain states is not warranted, for our qualitative experience is radically indeterminate of that theory too. It seems to me that, as a result of the functionalist theory of perception, we are, against all better intentions, thrust into something like a Berkeleyan idealism. The only argument against this unsavory result I have found in the Churchlands’ writings is something like the following: idealism cannot account for lawlike regularity in the world and in our thoughts; these regularities are only explicable if idealism is false. This response, however, is not even slightly compelling. It is an a priori argument, and whatever the a priori is for the Churchlands, it must be grounded in lawlike regularities that are empirically contingent. A priori relations cannot be logically necessary because the absoluteness of logical necessity is at odds with their project, which both Churchlands admit.44 Nor is some notion of metaphysical necessity available. Since the argument is grounded merely in qualitative experience, the consequent of the conditional, if our phenomena behave in a lawlike manner, then there exists a cognition-independent reality, is question begging. Here, then, is the skeptical result: each of us only has our own experience, our own “way of knowing” we know not what. Representationalism, even understood 44   Patricia Smith Churchland, “Epistemology in the Age of Neuroscience,” Journal of Philosophy 84:10: 545.

124

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

in terms of the mere utility of appearances, engenders, it seems to me, a radical skepticism regarding the “outside” world. Second Ambiguity: Correspondence and Truth The second dilemma flows from an ambiguity in how the notion of truth is to be understood. We find sundry statements about the notion of truth in the complex terrain of the Churchlands’ writings. In some places, we are told that theories can be “true” or “false.”45 In other places, any standard conception of truth is met with either scorn or indifference. Patricia muses that truth, “whatever that is,” is of relatively little importance,46 while earlier in the same publication she identifies it as the artifact of sentence-based epistemologies.47 Paul echoes this general estimation: Truth, as currently conceived, might cease to be an aim of science. Not because we had lowered our sights and reduced our epistemic standards … but because we had raised our sights, in pursuit of some epistemic goal even more worthy than truth … The notion of truth, after all, is but the central element on a clutch of descriptive and normative theories (folk psychology, folk epistemology, folk semantics, classical logic), and we can expect conceptual progress here as appropriately as anywhere else.48

Yet truth, in some sense, is a characteristic of theories for the Churchlands. In one publication, we learn that truth is “primarily a matter of the relative power and adequacy of a theory.”49 It seems fair, then, to land on the following interpretation. Truth is degreed, where the degree of the truth of a theory is a function of the degree of behavioral competency the theory affords the creature employing the theory. Theories are pragmatic things: theoretical power is practical utility. Let us call this interpretation of their view of truth the “scientific theory” of truth. The scientific theory of truth has two key facets. One is that the truth of a theory is determined by a theory’s relative strength, and thus the relative weakness of other theories. A second facet is that truth is holistic; it is not determined by any particular features of an environmental object. Both of these facets of the scientific theory of truth raise a worry. The first raises a worry about how to adjudicate between rival theories. The second facet raises the worry that the scientific theory of truth tacitly presupposes a secondary notion of truth that seems to be precluded by the Churchlands’ overall project. I will unpack these two worries in turn. 45   Paul M. Churchland, “Reduction, Qualia and the Direct Introspection of Brain States,” p. 10. 46   Patricia Smith Churchland, “Epistemology in the Age of Neuroscience,” p. 549. 47   Ibid., p. 545. 48   Paul M. Churchland, A Neurocomputational Perspective, pp. 150–51. 49   Paul M. Churchland, Scientific Realism, p. 24.

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

125

The first worry might be called the “evidential problem” for the scientific theory of truth. The evidential problem is the problem of deciding what sort of characteristics of a theory indicate that it is true. One characteristic proposed by Patricia is that any theory or hypothesis is to be evaluated on its “explanatory and predictive results.”50 We may in turn ask: what would count as evidence for a theory’s relative predictive success? One answer to this question is that a theory’s relative internal virtues are indicative. Paul Churchland countenances internal virtues such as simplicity and economy. For example, he says, “Superior generalization is genuinely an epistemic virtue, and it is regularly displayed by networks constrained … to find the simplest hypothesis concerning whatever structures might be hidden in, or behind, their input vectors.”51 Internal virtues, such as simplicity or efficiency, alone, however, are grossly insufficient to be marks of truth. Suppose that folk psychology turns out to be much simpler and more internally economical than neurocomputational theory, even though, let us suppose, neurocomputational theory more accurately represents reality. The internal virtues, here, would favor folk psychology. Perhaps we should include external virtues such as explanatory fruitfulness in prediction in conjunction with conservation of computational energy. Paul Churchland himself describes the virtue whereby a neurocomputational system makes “more use of” its “representational resources.”52 Let us call this virtue “efficiency.” Then let us ask, what is the nature of an efficient use of representational resources? Since representations function to facilitate behavior, efficient use of representational resources amounts to the using of the fewest resources for the most successful facilitation of behavior. But successful behavior requires successful prediction. Hence, efficiency does not constitute an indication of what network has the most predictive power; rather, it just is predictive power. We are still left with the need of some means of theory adjudication. Perhaps we might find a good example of how theory adjudication is supposed to work by looking at the way in which the Churchlands contend for one theory of cognition over another. In their publications, the project of eliminative materialism contains, among other elements, these two theses: (I) the framework of commonsense concepts constitutes a false theory of cognition, and (II) the neurocomputational view of the mind is a new and quite probably more adequate theory. One critique eliminative materialism faces is the contention that eliminative materialists use folk psychological language to explain the inadequacies of folk psychology in contrast with neurocomputational theory. We might suppose, however, that it is not necessarily problematic to recommend the adoption of a more adequate theory, but do so from within the language of a less adequate theory. Nevertheless, what does seem problematic is that eliminative materialism 50   Patricia Smith Churchland and Paul M. Churchland, “Neural Worlds and Real Worlds,” p. 905. 51   Paul M. Churchland, A Neurocomputational Perspective, p. 181. 52   Ibid., pp. 193–5.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

126

presupposes the neurocomputational theory of mind regarding the nature of theories and yet uses the language of folk psychology—a less adequate theory—as a way to propose the neurocomputational perspective. Since it seems that the Churchlands and others cannot yet speak in this new perspective, it is difficult to understand what the eliminativist project amounts to. If we interpret the project of eliminative materialism to be a proposal offered from the neurocomputational framework, eliminative materialism succumbs to the charge of self-referential incoherence, for eliminative materialists simply do not use a wholesale replacement vocabulary to make their proposals. On the other hand, let us suppose that eliminativists have some basis to think that the neurocomputational account is a better way of talking and conceiving. But then we must ask, how could one “see” that neurocomputational theory is superior to folk psychology, and thus be motivated to adopt it? The glaring problem here is that we are being asked to consider (II) on the basis of (I), yet our acceptance of (I) presupposes our acceptance of (II) since the epistemological considerations for accepting (I) are theses that follow from a neurocomputational theory of cognition. How is deciding for (II), then, not simply arbitrary? Recalling the scientific theory of truth, we might suppose the following. First, we are asked to have our ontological commitments qualified by this epistemological principle: it is successful prediction that renders the world intelligible by establishing a coherent or intelligible set of observation sentences.53 Second, since this sense of successful prediction is indeed a principle of theoretical virtue within the theory of folk psychology, a systematic failure of folk psychology to conform to this principle should appear, from within the view of folk psychology, as a reason to abandon the theory. The eliminativist project, then, is a critique of folk psychology using some of folk psychology’s own standards of theory acceptability. Further, the scientific theory of truth might include the thesis that the conditions for theory virtue are universal. Let us suppose that eliminative materialism includes this thesis. If it were to include this thesis, one would not have to presuppose (II) to argue for (I). Instead of assuming the acceptability of neurocomputational theory, we consider its acceptability based on a universal claim about what indicates the truth of a theory. The claim is that truth is to be understood and evaluated in terms of relative predictive success of conceptual frameworks. If we can accept this thesis, then support for (II), that neurocomputational theory ought to replace folk psychology, is garnered from supposed demonstrations of the inadequacy of folk psychology according to this standard of evaluation, which folk psychology includes. Moreover, this standard of evaluation seems to be compatible with the neurocomputational theory. But in order to abandon the entire conceptual framework of folk psychology, more is needed. The rival conceptual scheme ought to show promise for being more adequate than folk psychology on the very grounds for which folk psychology is rejected. One problem is that psychology does not include predictive success as   Paul M. Churchland, Scientific Realism, pp. 23–4.

53

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

127

the only measure of theoretical virtue. Why should we limit ourselves to only this virtue? We might mitigate this first problem by supposing that such a principle of epistemic virtue is robust enough a notion to encompass and/or conceptually found any other epistemic virtues, such that notions like coherence, justification, etc., are all evaluated ultimately as functions of predictive success. We might thus assume that we can evaluate conceptual frameworks based on whether future suppositions embedded in, and made possible given the structure of, one conceptual system might continue to adequate us to the world better than those embedded in, and compatible with, another. Nevertheless, there remains a further problem, even if we do grant that predictive success is a robust enough principle. Predictive success is relative. Theoretical virtue consists in standing on the privileged side of “better than” relations with other theories. Therefore, failure of one framework in some measure of predictive success does not seem to do any work in recommending another framework. Arbitrariness threatens because conceptual frameworks are holistic. Since they are holistic, one can only see the virtue of another conceptual framework by employing it. In order to elaborate upon this second, I have two points to make. First, according to the Churchlands’ epistemology, there are many incommensurable ways to see the world, each with their own degrees of adequacy and even some with similar or equal degrees of adequacy. Paul says, “[T]he proper course to pursue in epistemology lies in the direction of a highly naturalistic and pluralistic form of pragmatism.”54 In light of this, it seems that an individual could not consider the merits of an alternative theoretical framework from the perspective of the framework that the individual has at that time assumed. These theoretical frameworks are how we see the world. But since what one sees is based on the taxonomy and structure of a language or an entire system of concepts, in the case of incommensurable frameworks there seems to be no way to see from one framework that from another framework one sees better. Mutual intelligibility would require commensurability, one framework having roughly the same semantic structure as the other. Therefore, it appears there is no way to consider the benefits of a conceptual framework other than by arbitrarily adopting the framework. Apparently the only way eliminative materialism seems to be acceptable is by a leap of faith, which is accomplished by beginning to speak the language of a robust neuroscience with its own taxonomy of discriminations. A new conceptual framework cannot be adopted piecemeal by adjusting one’s current network of concepts a bit at a time, for the semantic identity of a concept is a matter of its place in the entire network. Second, in light of this first point, it turns out that there is no theory-neutral means of evaluating the virtue of a theoretical framework. Any particular notion of a theory’s virtue will be a notion that plays a role in a conceptual scheme. There is something eliminative materialists like the Churchlands can do to recommend their neurocomputational theory of cognition only if there were   Paul M. Churchland, A Neurocomputational Perspective, p. 194.

54

128

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

both some universal principle of adjudication or motivation that transcends all conceptual frameworks and some way of seeing that is common to all conceptual frameworks. But predictive success is a notion of evaluation from within a specific system of concepts and judgments. This principle is assumed to be compatible with neurocomputational theory, but the very supposition that it is compatible is not made within neurocomputational theory. Why suppose it really is compatible? Indeed, it seems that there is no sense had by the locution “predictive success” except that provided by folk psychology. I will end my discussion of the first horn of the interpretative dilemma here. I find the scientific theory of truth untenable since it cannot provide desiderata for theory adjudication that can guide reflection and the interpretation of observations. Nevertheless, I did mention a second problem with this theory of truth and I want to quickly treat it. I stated that the scientific theory of truth tacitly presupposes a secondary notion of truth. The Churchlands talk about “primitive theories, and their ontologies” being replaced by “more encompassing and more powerful theories.”55 But this picture already commits the Churchlands to some specific ontology, a certain naturalist one with its peculiar characterization of what knowledge and theories are. The result is that their epistemology necessitates an immutable or transcendent ontology. A second interpretation of their project, then, is that there are transcendent facts, and there could possibly be a determinate correspondence of our concepts and those facts. Let us call this correspondence “transcendent truth.” The problem is that transcendent truth does not have any epistemic import, given their view. Whether our cognitive situations correspond with the world as it really is will be ever out of our ability to ascertain at any instance. Supposing there is transcendent truth about the world, this would not negate the scientific theory of truth as a thesis of how we should make decisions about what theory to adopt. What we take our theories to be about, the ontology that matters, turns out not to be transcendent, for “excellence in theory is the measure of ontology.”56 But there still is talk as if there is some transcendent ontology. An adherent of neurocomputational theory might propose that our cognitive faculties are naturally geared to zeroing in on these facts such that there is some determinate cognitive representation of reality, but can those theorists really be committed to this? It seems not. Indeed, it seems that “fact” and “truth” language can amount to nothing more than theory affirmation. “Such-and-such is the case” is just the affirmation that the theory being espoused is a better way of judging and talking. For the Churchlands, the better way of judging and talking is the employment of that conceptual framework by which we will better navigate our environment. Let us call this their declaration, D. If we accept D, we accept the notions of “environment” and “positive interaction” with it. Even these notions, however, 55   Patricia Smith Churchland and Paul M. Churchland, “Stalking the Wild Epistemic Engine,” p. 7. 56   Paul M. Churchland, Scientific Realism, p. 43.

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

129

are just some part of a provisional conceptual framework. I cannot see that it is a good framework. I cannot see whether it might include or confirm D. I cannot see what network it really is in which those notions participate or whether they have any meaning at all. I cannot even see why D should be intelligible. If I pause and think about what I am doing once I have accepted D, I realize that I don’t have any stable comprehension of what I have accepted unless I assume that the notions D includes match in a determinate way with some extra-conceptual facts. But that contradicts D, and so I am not sure what D is supposed to be saying. I conclude that it really doesn’t make any sense. The unintelligibility of D yields what Philipse, citing Husserl, calls a “skepticism in the strictest sense,”57 for “it is the essence of a skeptical theory to be nonsensical.”58 Third Ambiguity: Realism or Idealism? One more ambiguity in the Churchlands’ project is important to note: it regards the logical structure of their project. After all, it might seem that their view of what epistemic states are rests upon their acceptance of a naturalist view of the world, for which they supposedly have reasons to adopt that are independent and external to their views of cognition. The interpretation of the Churchlands as having an independently justified naturalist position that motivates their epistemological views, I believe, is the common one. But a different picture that emerges when we consider the Churchlands’ project as a whole is that their naturalism is qualified by an epistemology that is described in terms of seeing the world through theories. The elimination of folk psychology is motivated by a hope for a better way of seeing the world through the descriptions of neuroscience. But this conception of seeing the world already presupposes a rejection of folk psychology and an adoption of the neurocomputational theory. The Churchlands’ project thus seems to be a type of transcendental idealism, and be characterized as neo-Kantian. Given the Churchlands’ epistemology, there is nothing external to the view that would justify the adoption of naturalism. This presents quite a different sort of naturalism than most naturalists accept, I take it. The Churchlands’ naturalism is provisional, not in the sense that it could possibly fail to match up with the way the world really is, but in that the notion of matching up with the world is part of a false way of thinking and speaking. Therefore, naturalism, which involves descriptions of natural environments, physical laws, causes, stimuli, creature responses, natural selection, and a host of other concepts and terms, is just a part of a conceptual scheme with neurocomputational theory. But these concepts, which form part of the naturalist view of the world, are necessary preconditional notions for the Churchlands’ epistemology, just as, with Kant, there are some notions, such

57

  See Philipse, p. 148, n57.   Edmund Husserl, Logical Investigations I, trans. J.N. Findlay (1970; repr., New York: Routledge, 2003), sec. 32, p. 76. 58

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

130

as “agents” and “acts,” that are not part of empirical knowledge because they form the preconditional basis of empirical knowledge.59 Nevertheless, whereas for Kant knowledge is unique and universal interpretive organization of phenomena according to a priori, for the Churchlands it is not phenomenal. It is not a matter of how the experience is to be interpreted. Knowledge is transcendental because it is a matter of how our experience functions to adequate us to the environment—whatever it is. Since such an environment always transcends our experience and conceptual economies, then the relation between our theories and the world also transcends them. The world’s nature and its characteristics cannot be determinately characterized by experience. Yet it was maintained that relative predictive success serves to render some theories more true than others. Paul Churchland is clear about his view having just this virtue: “This all that the neurocomputational account of cognition … aspires to: to be a good theory, better than any of its predecessors.”60 Consequently, naturalism and scientific realism also amount to nothing more than a good theory. As with the “nature” of our cognitive processes, the “world can be endlessly recarved into new and different objects and classes as our knowledge and conceptual sophistication increases.”61 A neo-Kantian interpretation is therefore appropriate despite the actual process of how the Churchlands may have come to hold their views. Philipse’s comment is relevant here. Philipse argues that the epistemological considerations to which Paul Churchland appeals in order to recommend eliminative materialism require as presuppositions the naturalism and natural cognition–environment relationship that Churchland describes.62 His realism about “the world,” embodied in these descriptions, therefore plays the role of a transcendental postulate that makes their view work, much like Kant’s postulated “things-in-themselves” provided the realist presuppositions that made his view work.63 So the Churchlands’ project seems neo-Kantian in two respects. The first respect is epistemological. Experience and inference do not inform us of the determinate nature of “world-in-itself.”64 Secondly, the “natural world” functions as precondition for epistemological realism. This is because any realist conception of knowledge, once a network theory of meaning is assumed, is only made possible by his naturalist account

  J.N. Findlay, Kant and the Transcendental Object (New York: Clarendon Press, 1981), p. 5. 60   Paul M. Churchland, “Activation Vectors versus Propositional Attitudes: How the Brain Represents Reality,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 52:2 (June 1992): 423. 61   Ibid., p. 423. 62   Philipse’s comments are directed primarily to Churchland’s discussion in Scientific Realism. 63   Philipse, p. 168. 64   Paul M. Churchland, “Inner and Outer Spaces,” p. 48. 59

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

131

of cognition, the environment and their relations. So if the Churchlands are to be realists, their functional account of knowledge must be the case. The Churchlands’ realism is tenable only by something akin to a transcendental appeal to naturalism, since their neurocomputational account presupposes naturalism. Unfortunately, they cannot appeal to universally valid reasons to adopt this view of the world. At least Kant could invite us to make inferences, but it seems the Churchlands cannot do so and remain consistent with their account of knowledge. While there is no determinate principle of rationality, they state, there are “useful rules of thumb.”65 But even those bits of practical knowledge are only as sound as the theories that contain them, and are only intelligible by means of those theories. There can be no normative principles that stand over, above, and outside some theory-in-use because all judgments are theoretical. Whereas Kant appeals to reason as universal and necessary for the explanation of all phenomena, the Churchlands appeal to successful prediction. And whereas, for Kant, reason is categorical and unchangeable, for the Churchlands, reason is pragmatic and, therefore, contingent. Reason, for Kant, serves to provide us with the necessary preconditions for a total and coherent system of experience, for knowledge requires universally valid rules of how to identify and think about objects.. With the Churchlands’ epistemology, by contrast, there is nothing universally valid that determines what ought to be “predicted,” “fulfilled,” and “practiced”—or even what importance those considerations have with respect to knowledge. Therefore Philipse asks, If what we perceive and what we, on the basis of perception, think to be true, is a function of a linguistic network, does this not hold also for the naturalist picture of the world and of ourselves as epistemic engines? And if different networks are incommensurable, is naturalism or scientific realism then not just an arbitrary choice?66

He concludes, “Churchland’s naturalism or scientific realism collapses into a ‘neoKantian’ transcendental idealism, which says reality as we perceive it is a product of the conceptual structures we adopt.”67 But, whereas for Kant, the categories were a priori and universally valid, for the Churchlands there seems to be as many guiding rational principles as there are possible conceptual frameworks. Thus confidence in the prospects of neuroscience and naturalism in general being any less arbitrary than other conceptual frameworks seems to be wishful thinking, “[f] or it presupposes the correctness of the scientific view of ourselves as epistemic engines, whereas the correctness of this view is the very issue at stake.”68 And the 65   Patricia Smith Churchland and Paul M. Churchland, “Neural Worlds and Real Worlds,” p. 906. 66   Philipse, p. 169. 67  Ibid. 68  Ibid.

132

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

“correctness” of this view is not ascertainable by reason. Indeed, the nature of “correctness” itself is determined by some particular conceptual scheme. Thus it seems that if, on the one hand, we interpret the Churchlands as making tacit appeals to inferential reasoning as traditionally understood, even in the form of scientific considerations, they are open to the charge of self-referential incoherence, whereas on the other hand if we view their neurocomputational theory of cognition and their naturalism in light of the epistemological considerations of his network theory of meaning they have no non-arbitrary way of recommending these views. Concluding Remarks One recurring rebuttal the Churchlands make against their critics is that, by and large, evaluation of their project will need to be based on further empirical discoveries, primarily in the field of neuroscience. They advance it as a theory that is in the process of being confirmed. I have sought to show, as others have, that their project is deeply incoherent in some of its key theses and in its structure. A major fount of its incoherence, I believe, is conceiving of knowledge fundamentally in terms of degrees of rationality. Their conception of knowledge entails the denial that we can experience things as they are in themselves, and, I believe, undermines any attempt at a coherent or workable epistemology. Moreover, what I have tried to surface is that the Churchlands, while they preclude the knowing of things as they are, tacitly rely on these instances of knowledge in their acts of reasoning from premises to conclusions or in presenting some situation or other as correct or of practical value. In all their reasoning, suggesting, and supposing, they are paying for their results with conceptual capital borrowed from what they take to be false ways of understanding the world. What they simultaneously presuppose and explicitly deny is knowledge of “essences” or “essential relations” in the world that are manifest to us in our experience. I understand this type of knowledge to be a necessary precondition for rationality. Dallas Willard observes: Whenever we think—believe, remember, assume, or merely consider or wonder whether—a certain thing exists or is qualified in such-and-such a manner, we always have some idea of what it would be like to determine whether it really is as it is thought to be. The procedures of confirmation or disconfirmation which occur to us may not be the ones we carry out in actuality, but unless some general procedure can be brought to mind, there is little point in insisting that our thought is of any definite thing at all, or that it is even a thought.69

69   Dallas Willard, Logic and the Objectivity of Knowledge: A Study in Husserl’s Early Philosophy (1984; repr. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2003), p. 206.

The Churchlands’ Neurocomputational Theory of Cognition

133

Rationality and conceptual evaluation involve awareness—a givenness to our experience—of the essential structures of particular means-to-ends states of affairs. This is true whether the particular situation one is working through is the assessment of a philosophical thesis or deciding to see whether the cat is on the mat. And this is what I mean when I say that some types of knowledge are necessary conditions for rationality. The Churchlands’ epistemology, an epistemology implied by their theory of cognition, precludes this type of knowledge. But they simultaneously presuppose this type of knowledge by their practice of offering arguments and descriptions that lead us to suppose, accept, or reject particular ideas and theses. The grasp of relevant notions or proper use of terms in any explanation or description necessarily presupposes the awareness of necessary features and relations of realities being described or explained, or else we fall into skepticism about the world and even about the coherence of our own discourse. In conclusion, the Churchlands define positive epistemic status in terms of theory virtue or positive cognitive norms because in a purely causal system, it seems, norms must be merely pragmatic. On this view, knowledge has to be a function of rationality. This has the unfortunate result of making theses about knowledge radically provisional because for every thesis affirmed there would be always a begging of the question about what counts as evidence for the thesis and why. That seems philosophically intolerable. That is why, I take it, the Churchlands’ project systematically and explicitly seeks the establishment of the what it would be like to have knowledge by means of discovering whether it is that some state of affairs obtains. This explains their encouragement to engage in the empirical enterprise that might bear out a neurocomputation-based epistemology. But they bring in unresolvable ambiguity by implying that any discovery would not involve a determinate awareness that something is the case. And this last consideration seems to undermine all hope for their project. It entails the radical provisionality, not only of any description of a state of affairs, but also of any description of the means by which we should discover if a state of affairs obtains or what it would be like for it to obtain. Bereft of allowing for determinate awareness—that is, knowledge of at least some essential features of reality—this is an epistemology deeply at odds with itself and one whose key theses seem to lead us to the deepest sort of skepticism.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Part III Other Alternatives, and Naturalism’s Future

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 7

Other Proposals: Pollock’s Internalism, Kim’s Physicalist Functionalism, and More Externalist Considerations with Peggy Burke1

There still remain other versions of naturalism for us to consider. Thus far we have examined several views that are explicitly externalist in epistemology, such as those of Armstrong, Dretske, Tye, Lycan, and Papineau. They reject internalism as a view that lands us in skepticism. Yet, in Chapter 2, I sketched possible, alternative explanations of how we form and correct concepts, which involves our being able to pay attention directly to what is given to us in conscious awareness, and that in turn can provide warrant for beliefs. If that account is at least on track, then it seems that some internalist criterion for warrant is needed for us to have knowledge of reality. Of course, internalism, understood as a sense-datum view, or as requiring a dualist metaphysic, would be unacceptable for naturalists. Yet John Pollock’s internalist views are a naturalistic version, and so they might provide some help to our study. I could have chosen to study Pollock with the direct realists, or with other proposals for cognitive science. However, because of his explicit internalism, I have chosen to position his views at this stage. Moreover, he is a nondoxastic internalist who also embraces direct realism. Thus, his approach to naturalism might be a possible way for naturalists to go, to explain how we can and do have knowledge of reality. As we survey this final set of naturalistic offerings, we also will consider the functionalism of Jaegwon Kim. He is a strict physicalist ontologically, and his favored form of reduction is functionalism. Cognitive states, with their intentional qualities, can be given functionalist reductions, but qualia remain anomalous on his views, being incapable of functionalization due to their intrinsic qualities. Yet they too must be physical, but, like other “mental” qualities, they can be conceptualized variously. Despite some key affinities with the views of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan, which we already have seen fail to give us knowledge of reality, can Kim’s views provide some resources to enable us to know reality? If not, might some other externalist options yet provide a way to warrant our knowledge claims about reality? If not, where else should we turn for a naturalistic solution?   Peggy Burke, Ph.D, Biola University, co-authored with R. Scott Smith the section “Kim’s Physicalist Functionalism.” Used by permission. 1

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

138

Pollock’s Procedural Epistemology In his various works, Pollock concerns himself with the structures of epistemology and its application to cognizers, whether human or artificial intellects, or “artilects.” Thus his work places him squarely in the field of artificial intelligence, especially with his attempt to develop such an artilect, Oscar. For Pollock, humans are “a kind of biological information processor,” and he believes “considerable light can be thrown on human epistemology by reflecting on the workings of cognitive machines in general.”2 Pollock differentiates between various levels of investigation in epistemology, the lowest level of which concerns particular knowledge claims. At the intermediate level, theories of reasoning, defeasible and deductive, occur, while at the highest level we consider “general epistemological theories that attempt to explain how knowledge in general is possible.”3 At such a level, Pollock claims we can understand these broad theories as theories of justification, but we also can regard them as “descriptions of the overall structural relations that give rise to epistemic justification.”4 But Pollock’s concerns are not just with these structures; he mainly wants to examine what he considers to be the central question of epistemology, “How do you know?” He takes that to be a matter of “the rational procedures that give rise to our knowledge of the world – rational procedures for belief formation.”5 A central component to his account of procedural epistemology is the notion of epistemic norms (which I will call “e-norms”). Pollock introduces this concept because when we ask if a belief is justified, we are asking equivalently if it is epistemically permissible to believe it. His first approximation at describing e-norms is that they describe “when it is epistemically permissible to hold various beliefs.”6 That is, e-norms involve what we should do epistemically. Pollock claims that e-norms guide “our epistemic behavior at the very time it is occurring.”7 They must do this, but not “merely [in] a negative, corrective, role in guiding reasoning, nor can they function in a way that requires us to already make judgments before we can make judgments.”8 Instead, Pollock draws analogies between e-norms and other action-guiding norms that have become habituated in us. For example, when first learning to drive a car, we may well use a manual, but   John L. Pollock, Contemporary Theories of Knowledge (Savage, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 1987), p. 149. 3   John L. Pollock, “Procedural Epistemology – At the Interface of Philosophy and AI,” in The Blackwell Guide to Epistemology, ed. by John Greco and Ernest Sosa (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, Ltd., 1999), p. 383. 4   Ibid., p. 384. 5   Ibid., p. 385. 6  Pollock, Contemporary Theories of Knowledge, pp. 124–5. 7   Ibid., p. 129. 8  Ibid. 2

Other Proposals

139

once we have learned, we simply drive. The same goes for learning how to ride a bike: when first learning to ride, we learn a norm that tells us to turn the handles to the right when the bike leans to the right. But once we have internalized that norm, we no longer need to refer explicitly to it, even though it still is governing our behavior. These are examples of procedural knowledge, a knowledge of how to performs various actions. How do these kinds of action-guiding norms guide our behavior? Pollock elaborates: The sense in which the norms guide our behavior in doing X is that the norms describe the way in which, once we have learned how to do X, our behavior is automatically channeled in undertaking to do X. The norms are not, however, just descriptions of what we do. Rather, they are descriptions of what we try to do.9

We may not follow them perfectly, though. The point of normative language used in describing such internalized norms is “to contrast what the norms tell us to do with what we do.”10 In parallel fashion, e-norms “describe an internalized pattern of behavior that we automatically follow in reasoning, in the same way we automatically follow a pattern in bicycle riding.”11 Pollock’s particular understanding of what it means to be an internalist in epistemology involves, fundamentally, the internalization of epistemic behavior, so that they become “second nature.” Moreover, internalism means that “only internal states of the cognizer can be relevant in determining which of the cognizer’s beliefs are justified.”12 He has significant room for internalist tenets such as epistemology being primarily a first-person enterprise. Also, procedural epistemology is a first-person concept, in that “it pertains to the directing of one’s own cognition.”13 There is, therefore, an irreducible, first-person perspective in his epistemology. Moreover, Pollock explains, “Internalist theories make justifiedness a function exclusively of the believers’ internal states, where internal states are those that are ‘directly accessible’ to the believer.”14 Alternatively, he describes internal states as being directly accessible to “the mechanisms in our central nervous system that direct our reasoning.”15 This direct access to nondoxastic, internalist states, can justify our beliefs. Given the way e-norms actually operate in guiding our

 9

  Ibid., p. 130.   Ibid., p. 131. 11  Ibid. 12   Pollock, “Procedural Epistemology,” p. 394. 13   Ibid., p. 386 (emphasis mine). 14  Pollock, Contemporary Theories of Knowledge, p. 134. 15   Ibid. Being directly accessible to our “automatic processing systems” means we first do not have to have beliefs or make judgments about them (p. 133). 10

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

140

epistemic behavior, all that is required, he maintains, is that the “input” states (the nondoxastic, internalist states) be directly accessible.16 Thus Pollock justifies his own theory of direct realism, according to which we have epistemic access to the real, external world through this access to internal states, which in turn can justify beliefs. Pollock has developed a sophisticated theory that tries to appropriate internalist insights, including that the foundation of our beliefs consists “of mental states, like the experiencing of percepts, the having of recollections, the occurrent thinking of a thought, the having of a desire, etc.”17 Again, “the whole point of direct realism is that justified belief is anchored in certain kinds of mental states like percepts, and not in certain privileged kinds of beliefs.”18 If he can secure such an epistemic connection with an external reality such that we can have knowledge of it, he will have succeeded in meeting the challenges we have surfaced for other naturalistic views in previous chapters. But Pollock also introduces his view of concepts. He first raises this notion in the context of addressing epistemological relativism, which he takes to be a problem of how we can criticize someone else’s e-norms simply because they may disagree with ours. But, of course, that person could in turn criticize our norms from the standpoint of his or her own e-norms. In addressing this issue, Pollock develops his view of how we individuate concepts, but he does this before explaining what concepts are. Pollock informs us: In epistemology, the essential role of concepts is their role in reasoning. They are the categories in terms of which we think of the world, and we think of the world by reasoning about it. This suggests that concepts are individuated by their role in reasoning. What makes a concept the concept that it is is it enters into various kinds of reasons, both conclusive and prima facie.19

This leads him to conclude that “the essence of a concept is to have the conceptual role that it does.”20 How does this insight help him defeat epistemological relativism? Pollock takes that view to be the conjunction of two premises: (1) “different people could have different epistemic norms that conflict in the sense that they lead to different assessments of the justifiedness of the same belief being held on the same basis”; and (2) there is no way to adjudicate between these rival norms.21 However, since concepts are individuated by their conceptual roles, peoples’ e-norms cannot differ in such a way that makes them conflict with each other. Why? The e-norms someone uses in reasoning determine the concepts he (or she) is using “because 16

  Ibid., p. 137.   Pollock, “Procedural Epistemology,” p. 393. 18   Ibid., p. 394. 19  Pollock, Contemporary Theories of Knowledge, p. 147. 20  Ibid. 21   Ibid., p. 148. 17

Other Proposals

141

they describe the conceptual roles of his [or her] concepts.”22 If two people reason with different e-norms, they just are employing different concepts. You cannot use different e-norms with the same concepts, so epistemological relativism is “logically false.”23 Now we may see the beginnings of a full set of epistemological concepts employed by Pollock, which he unpacks in the context of understanding humans as cognitive machines. Here he focuses his attention on Oscar, which he describes in ways such that “he” can “reason,” “realize goals,” “have experiences,” “think,” and more, by the use of other mentalistic types of terms. For example, Pollock tells us that this involves a “system of mental representation – what we may call a ‘language of thought.’”24 But what are mental representations? For him, they are “ways of thinking of objects,”25 and further, they are “just singular terms in the language of thought.”26 An example of a mental representation is a percept, such as a visual experience of a table, and it is a constituent of thought. Furthermore, “for Oscar to have a thought is for him to ‘entertain’ a sentence in his language of thought and treat it in a certain way.”27 So, thought seems to be a behavioral matter, which involves the manipulation of sentences. The language of thought, then, mediates Oscar’s behavioral responses to his environment.28 Pollock claims that an important part of the connection between sensory input and behavioral output is supplied by thought. Here we begin to see some important, explicit statements of his view of the nature of thought and its relation to e-norms: The thought processes constitute reasoning and are governed by rules for reasoning – both pure reasoning and practical reasoning. The rules for pure reasoning constitute epistemic norms. In effect, epistemic norms comprise a “program” for the manipulation of sentences in the language of thought in response to sensory input.29

So e-norms are a program that is written in language, and it governs the manipulation of sentences in the language of thought. Thus, correct reasoning “consists of manipulating sentences in the language of thought in conformance with our epistemic norms.”30 Oscar gets the correct e-norms by “supplying conceptual roles for the primitive terms in his language of thought.”31 22

  Ibid (bracketed insert mine).  Ibid. 24   Ibid., p. 150. 25   Ibid., p. 156. 26   Ibid., p. 158. 27   Ibid., p. 150. 28   Ibid., p. 161. 29  Ibid. 30   Ibid., p. 163. 31  Ibid. 23

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

142

Now we are in a position to see more fully his view of concepts. He explains the nature of a concept in terms of “the conceptual role of a term in the language of thought that expresses that concept.”32 But he hastens to mention that concepts are Platonic entities, while “terms in the language of thought are ‘mental items.’”33 Surely he is not admitting abstract entities into his ontology. Concepts, he explains, are constituents of propositions, and propositions are what we think when we have thoughts … General terms in the language of thought express concepts. This suggests that in constructing a semantics for the language of thought we begin with concepts and then attach them to terms from the language of thought. But I think this is misleading. What is basic is the language of thought itself, and talk of concepts and propositions is to be explained in terms of it rather than the other way around.34

So it seems that concepts, as “Platonic” entities, are general terms in the language of thought, as opposed to (perhaps) singular terms, which are used for mental representations. Therefore, what seems basic for his epistemology is the language of thought. E-norms, concepts, propositions, thoughts, and beliefs are characterized in terms of the language of thought. Pollock makes this point abundantly clear: My conclusion is that an ontology of propositions and concepts is forced upon us by our epistemic norms, or equivalently, by the semantics of our language of thought. That semantics is constituted by our epistemic norms. Concepts are, in effect, created to be the contents of general terms in the language of thought. The general terms are basic, and concepts are to be understood in terms of them rather than the other way around.35

Thus concepts, propositions, thoughts, beliefs, and even e-norms themselves are linguistic matters. And so truth, or better, the concept of truth, is a concept like any other one, in that it too is a linguistic matter.36 Now, at this point, we may be tempted to think of Oscar and other cognizers as linguistic manipulators. Yet we must not lose sight of the fact that Pollock has claimed to be a direct realist, and furthermore an internalist of a nondoxastic sort. So, how does a cognizer have experience and knowledge of reality? We have seen how Pollock believes that we can and do have mental states that justify our beliefs. If we are cognitive machines, how do we “have experiences”? 32

 Ibid.  Ibid. 34   Ibid., pp. 163–4. 35   Ibid., p. 165. 36  Ibid. 33

Other Proposals

143

In Oscar I, Pollock incorporates sensors (for example, pain sensors) that are much like our own sense organs. The stimulation of Oscar I’s sensors causes him to have certain beliefs. So Oscar I seemingly can respond to environmental inputs, but he cannot “predict” when such stimulation might occur and thereby avoid those situations. So, in Oscar II, Pollock proposes that we build into Oscar a means whereby he can directly know when his pain sensors are activated. That is, Oscar needs a “‘pain-sensor sensor’ that detects when the pain-sensors are activated.”37 In Oscar III, Pollock further develops this “artilect” to be one that “must be able to sense the operation of his own sensors. Only in that way can he treat the input from these sensors as defeasible and form generalizations about their reliability.”38 Why is that important? Pollock explains that, despite having a painsensor sensor, Oscar still lacks any ability to know whether it was triggered by something dangerous, or was just a mirror-image of something dangerous (and hence is benign). By having an additional, higher-order sensor, Pollock claims Oscar III acquires an additional degree of self-awareness. Inputs from the external world impinge on Oscar’s (and our) sensors, and for Pollock that just is the “having” of an experience. Those inputs cause certain outputs, such as beliefs and other behaviors. By (1) being able to have such experiences along with (2) the ability for a cognizer’s automatic processing unit to have direct access to the experience, by (3) not having to form a belief as an intermediary between the processor and the experience, Pollock thinks a cognizer can have direct experience of the real, external world. We then may form justified beliefs about the world on the basis of the experience. Pollock and the Issue of Epistemic Access From our examinations in previous chapters, we can summarily criticize Pollock’s views. For his positions bear remarkable similarities to these peoples’ views, without supplying other ontological resources to overcome their problems. Accordingly, Pollock’s positions will suffer from many of the same objections, such as: (1) the inability to know whether our experiences, thoughts, or beliefs are about real objects (or states of affairs) or not; and (2) the inability to form concepts in the first place. Also, Pollock’s ontology prohibits any state from having intrinsic intentionality. Therefore, we are left with only takings, with all the attendant problems of that view. Additionally, there will be the problem of how a physical, causal chain, or series, of states can produce inputs in a cognizer that somehow leaves the relevant objects (such as with sensory inputs) unmodified. That is, Pollock seems to think that the sensors in Oscar (and, thus, in other cognizers) will receive the input 37   Ibid., p. 151. This internal sensor could be understood to be of a higher order, for it detects the operation of the external sensors found in Oscar I. 38   Ibid., p. 154.

144

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

unmodified from the originating object, without somehow modifying that input. But that conclusion simply does not follow. As we see in paradigm cases of causal chains, those physical processes will inevitably modify their objects, including the sensor and its reception of the last state of the causal chain. As an example, consider how home audio component manufacturers attempt to design their highend, “audiophile” preamplifiers and amplifiers. Their goal, at least at the highest end of the consumer market, is to produce a component that will receive the input from the source (CD, mp3, etc.) without modifying it, and then not modify it on output. But, inevitably, the sound is modified, so the goal is to minimize alterations. But all manufacturers and sales personnel simply know that a perfectly identical reproduction is a myth, which is why we continue to have refinements in components. Pollock’s internalism seems vulnerable to Dretske’s objection, that internalism lands us in skepticism because the direct object of our awareness would be a sense datum. Despite his claims of direct access to the real world, Pollock’s internalism lacks any significantly different ontological resource to avoid this same kind of predicament. For him, apparently the direct object would end up being some state in the causal chain. If there is no room for direct, unmediated contact with the real world, then it seems we are left with just the linguistic outputs of his particular program and automatic processor. Thus, all that he has told us seems to be just the constructs of his particular programming. If so, why should we, his readers, believe his particular account of procedural knowledge, e-norms, and the like? And why should we care about his program’s outputs? They seem to be the results of his particular programming, and his particular automatic processor. Why, therefore, should they have a broad-based, normative appeal for many, if not all, of us? It is like Alvin Plantinga says: Pollock writes using concepts at home in the language of internalism, “but he also thinks of them as if they were more like directions embodied by a piece of machinery, or specifications of how an organism works when it is functioning properly.”39 What he has given us is internalist talk, but those terms have been divorced from the traditional mentalistic metaphysic in which internalism usually has been situated, and in which these notions found their meaning. Instead, Pollock’s view seems to be much better suited to an externalist model. Why? Because Pollock treats the “direct access” to one’s internal states by the mechanisms in one’s central processing system as a causal process, which is much more at home in an externalist approach to epistemology. Thus, Pollock’s so-called “internalism” cannot help us have knowledge of reality. We now will turn to consider one more naturalistic position, that of Kim, to see to what extent we may know reality on that basis.

39   Alvin Plantinga, Warrant: The Current Debate (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 181.

Other Proposals

145

Kim’s Physicalist Functionalism Jaegwon Kim’s physicalist functionalism comports with his commitment to the premise that the world consists entirely of physical stuff in various arrangements of complexity, without remainder. He affirms a strong view of causal closure: that is, all events are physical events that are produced by prior physical causes. This strong view of closure excludes the notion of psychophysical laws. Within a consistently physicalist world there are no immaterial entities, no epiphenomena, no entelechies, no souls, nor even dual properties. Accordingly, the mind–body problem must find its answers wholly within that closed, causal system, one that is consistent with our best understanding of physics. Ultimately phenomena at the macro-physical level can be reduced to the causal properties of the microstructure. Thus it is within this framework that Kim seeks to give a reductive physicalist account of the mental. Kim’s primary approach to the mind–body problem has been to functionalize the mental. However, he admits that qualia resist such functionalization because they can be characterized only by their intrinsic properties as opposed to the extrinsic properties needed for functionalization. Therefore, the heart of Kim’s project has been to demonstrate how intentional properties can be functionalized, specifically identifying second-order functional properties of intentional states with the causal powers of their first-order realizers. Like many of his peers, Kim has been driven to functionalism by the problems of multiple realization and epiphenomenalism. Ostensibly, functionalism can save genuine mental agency and overcome these two problems. Generically speaking, functionalism is the view that something is what it is in virtue of a role it plays in a system, and so there are a great many options for realizers; thus, chairs can be multiply realized as plastic, wood, or metal. However, while functionalism seems to work rather neatly when describing certain physical artifacts such as chairs, spoons, money, and the like, it bears further parsing to begin to comprehend how functionalism can apply to mental realities. On a functionalized view, a mental event occurs when causal inputs are linked to quasi-predictable outputs through their connection to a realizer. For instance, the sticking with a pin (input) results in a mental state, being in a pain (the realizer), which, in turn, generates the output of grimacing or saying “ouch.” This generic version of functionalism, however, allows anything, even genuinely immaterial mental entities, to be the realizer. Thus Kim is careful to close this gap by specifying that the realizers must be physical: [B]y physical realizationism I mean the claim that mental properties, if they are realized, must be physically realized—that is, no mental properties can have nonphysical realizations. The thesis therefore is equivalent to the conjunction of physicalism with the functionalist conception of mental properties.40   Jaegwon Kim, Mind in a Physical World (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998), p. 19.

40

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

146

Kim argues that it is a case of nomological necessity that the realizer be physical because only physical entities have causal powers. A physical realizer stands in a causal relation to its physical inputs and outputs. For instance, a hammer is a sort of physical functional realizer that, when propelled by outside force (input), serves to drive nails into a board (output). The causal powers of the hammer are nothing more than the physical causal properties of the hammer qua physical object. Although the physical properties of the hammer are multiply realizable (for instance, a steel hammer or a wooden mallet can function to crack a walnut), it is in virtue of its physical properties that a hammer can and does serve the role it does. The explanatory power of this approach is manifest in its ability to overcome the problem of multiple realization. That is, physicalist functionalism explains how it is that multiply realized mental tokens can be unified under a type: all the tokens have the same causal powers. The driving force behind Kim’s physicalist functionalism is to establish identities, rather than merely correlations, between the mental and the physical. It is generally acknowledged that, based on prephilosophical intuitions, the world presents itself to us in dualist categories, with the mental ascribed as nonphysical. It poses a conceptual problem, therefore, to conceive of the mental as something physical. Physicalist functionalism seeks to eliminate this apparent conceptual problem by identifying the mental and the physical: “M and P are co-instantiated because they are in fact one and the same property.”41 For Kim, “to reduce a property M to a domain of base properties, we must first ‘prime’ M for reduction by construing, or reconstruing, it relationally or extrinsically. This turns M into a relational/extrinsic property.”42 That is, the mental is defined in terms of the role it plays in a system, and not in terms of any intrinsic phenomenal properties. Furthermore, “we construe M as a second-order property defined by its causal role … So M is now the property of having a property with such-and-such causal potentials, and it turns out that property P is exactly the property that fits the causal specification. And this grounds the identification of M with P.”43

Kim stresses that the second-order property does not have some inherent causal power that is over and above that of its physical realizer. He calls this the law of causal inheritance: If a second-order property F is realized on a given occasion by a first-order property H (that is, if F is instantiated on a given occasion in virtue of the fact that one of its realizers, H, is instantiated on that occasion), then the causal powers of this particular instance of F are identical with (or are a subset of) the causal powers of H (or of this instance of H).44 41

  Ibid., p. 98 (emphasis added).  Ibid. 43  Ibid. 44   Ibid., p. 54. 42

Other Proposals

147

For instance, transparency can be multiply realized in clear plastic, water, alcohol, air, or glass. Let the second-order property F be transparency, and the first-order property H be instantiated in this case by a pane of glass. The causal powers of this particular instance of transparency are identical with this instance of the causal powers of the pane of glass. Transparency, then, is not something over and above the causal powers of its realizer. As Kim puts it, “there is nothing in the instantiation of F on this occasion over and above the instantiation of its realizer H. Given this, to think that this instance of F has causal powers in excess of those of H is tantamount to belief in magic”.45 By extension, we may see how Kim would treat intentional states. They would be the second-order property of (for example) having an experience of some state of affairs, which are realized by its first-order realizer, a given neural state. The Problem of Qualia So functionalization defines an entity in terms of its extrinsic relations and properties, the role it plays in a system. By contrast, qualia are not defined by extrinsic, relational properties, but rather are what they are in virtue of their intrinsic properties, viz., red just is red. Persuaded by the qualia inversion argument, in which one person sees red and another experiences blue, but both pick out the same colored object by calling it “red,” Kim argues that qualia necessarily are characterized by intrinsic properties and therefore cannot be functionalized. But where does this leave physicalism? Strict physicalism would demand that qualia somehow be reduced to, or identified with, the intrinsic properties of their subvenient bases. However, Kim has more recently conceded that qualia must not be physical because they cannot be functionalized or exercise causal power, the two hallmarks of physical entities. Nevertheless, for him this physicalism is “near enough.”46 This may seem to be quite an admission. For Kim, in this world, and not some theoretically possible one, there are both physical and nonphysical entities. Now, Kim does not embrace full-fledged emergentism. Yet he does concede that, “if emergentism is correct about anything, it is more likely to be correct about qualia than about anything else.”47 Nevertheless, Kim brackets the problem of qualia and instead pursues his project of reducing the mental to the physical by focusing on the functionalization of intentional states: “[I]t is possible to hold that phenomenal properties, or qualia, are irreducible, while holding intentional 45

  Ibid., pp. 54–5.   “Qualia, therefore, are the ‘mental residue’ that cannot be accommodated within the physical domain. This means that global physicalism is untenable. It is not the case that all phenomena of the world are physical phenomena; nor is it the case that physical facts imply all the facts” – Jaegwon Kim, Physicalism, or Something Near Enough (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005), p. 170. 47  Kim, Mind in a Physical World, p. 103. 46

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

148

properties, including propositional attitudes, to be reducible (say causal/ functionally or biologically).”48 Intentionality What, then, is intentionality for Kim? His initial descriptions of intentionality comport with classic mental categories, differentiating between referential intentionality, on the one hand, and content intentionality on the other. He acknowledges that referential intentionality is characterized by the ofness or aboutness of the mind towards its object, whereas content intentionality is concerned with the meaningful, propositional content of beliefs, desires, hopes, and intentions that is often expressed in a sentence by a that clause. For instance, one hopes that taxes will be lowered.49 For Kim, intentionality is not the exclusive mark of the mental. He observes that not all mental states are intentional states: “The sensation of pain does not seem to be ‘about,’ or refer to, anything, nor does it have a content in the way beliefs and intentions do.”50 He further notes that language also exhibits features of intentionality: “In particular, words and sentences can refer to things and have content and meaning.”51 Likewise, certain sophisticated machines seem to exhibit a purposeful directedness that is indicative of intentionality. Now, some have argued that we must make a distinction between intrinsic and derived intentionality. For example, Kim suggests that “it is not implausible to argue that the word ‘London’ refers to London only because language users use the word to refer to London.”52 In short, the intentionality of language is derivative from the more basic, intrinsic intentionality of the mental. However, Kim is unconvinced by this argument for derivative intentionality: To the extent that some physical systems can be said to refer to things, represent states of affairs, and have meanings, they should be considered as exhibiting mentality and be dealt with on that basis. No doubt … analogical or metaphorical uses of intentional idioms abound, but this fact should not blind us to the possibility that physical systems and their states may possess genuine intentionality and hence mentality. After all, some would argue, we, too, are complex physical systems, and the physical/biological states of our brains are capable of referring to things and states of affairs external to them and store their representations in memory.53

48

  Ibid., p. 17.   Jaegwon Kim, Philosophy of Mind (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996), p. 21. 50   Ibid., p. 22. 51  Ibid. 52  Ibid. 53   Ibid., pp. 22–3. 49

Other Proposals

149

In keeping with his functionalist reduction of the intentional (and, more broadly, the mental), Kim realizes he needs to address what it means to speak of the mental M as a second-order property, where P is a first-order, physical base property: There is no need here to think of M itself as a property in its own right—not even a disjunctive property with the Ps as disjuncts. By quantifying over properties, we cannot create new properties any more than by quantifying over individuals we can create new individuals.54

Moreover, it is less misleading to speak of second-order descriptions or designators of properties, or second-order concepts, than second-order properties. Secondorder designators come in handy when we are not able or willing to name the properties we have in mind by the use of canonical first-order designators: so we say “having some property or other, P, such that … P…,” instead of naming all the specific properties meeting the stated condition.55

Using second-order terminology is a convenient way of speaking to avoid listing all the multiply realizable occupiers that have the first-order properties. Therefore, the use of second-order property terminology is both useful and unavoidable. But second-order designators are merely a way of conceiving of the physical realizers, and thus carry no ontological status independent of their physical realizers. Kim suggests that “for a tidier ontological/conceptual landscape, we may want to, perhaps should, give up the talk of second-order properties altogether in favor of second-order designators of properties, or second-order concepts.”56 At the end of the day, these descriptions point to, or are identified with, the causal powers of the realizer that is instantiated in any particular instance. There remains an even more compelling reason why Kim would advocate we jettison talk of second-order properties in favor of second-order descriptions. He recognizes that multiple realizability of the first-order realizers creates a set of disjunctive causes: X was caused by either A or B or C. Such heterogeneity of causes is not useful for science because it does not lend itself to nomic prediction. To him, “these considerations strengthen the case made earlier for eschewing the talk of functional properties in favor of functional concepts and expressions.”57 So, Kim’s physicalist functionalism has affinities with views we already have examined, for instance, that of Papineau (ontological monism, yet conceptual dualism), as well as Tye (facts, and FACTS). Kim does not use the term “conceptual dualism,” but it seems that the essence of conceptual dualism is  Kim, Mind in a Physical World, p. 104.  Ibid. 56   Ibid., p. 106. 57   Ibid., p. 110. 54 55

150

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

implied in his clarification of mental terms, preferring “second-order designators” or “second-order concepts” as opposed to “second-order properties.” Since the goal of reduction in physicalist functionalization requires the mental term be primed, recast extrinsically and relationally as a nonrigid designator, it is fitting that the mental be recast as a conceptual reality. Ontological monism preserves the physical world while conceptual dualism allows us to describe, or conceive of, it in different ways. Assessment Kim should be applauded for his relentless consistency as a naturalist. He has provided a view that is both internally coherent and consistent with naturalism. However, we should notice a problem that seems to beset Kim’s views every bit as much as it does those of others we already have examined. That is, he consistently maintains there are indeed no intrinsic features of intentionality, for on naturalism there is no room for any essences. But this should remind us of the problems that presented themselves when we considered Dennett’s views. Yet, unlike Dennett, Kim can maintain that intentional states are real, though reducible to their physical realizers. In spite of this difference, for Dennett, just as for Kim, there are no intrinsically intentional states. It surely seems we are left without a way to preserve the ofness or aboutness of intentional states. Hence, just as we have seen before, there are no “natural signs”; there are, in effect, only “takings as.” In that case, Kim is left in the same situation as Dennett. Every claim he makes, including about the truth of his physicalist functionalism, and what we know to be the case in the real world on that basis, is just his interpreting something to be that way. But, like for others, there is no way available to make good on these claims, since there is not a way even to get started in knowing the real world. Other Externalist Considerations? As a last alternative to explore here, I will see if there might yet be some externalist options for naturalists that provide warrant for our claims to know reality. For one of the great prospects that externalism holds out is that we can know cognizerindependent truths about the real world, yet without having to introduce internalist metaphysical baggage, such as mental states with their intentionality, our firstperson access to which helps justify our beliefs. Perhaps some naturalistic version might yet succeed in giving us warranted true beliefs about reality. Now naturalists generally do not want to be internalists for the aforementioned reason. They also would not for the one we have seen from Dretske, that it smacks of being a sense-datum view with all its problems. The crucial point about externalism vis-à-vis internalism seems to be that we do not need any special

Other Proposals

151

epistemic access to the warrant-conferring properties (or the property of being warranted) for a belief to enjoy warrant.58 Now, we have seen that naturalists such as Dretske, Tye, and Papineau hold intentionality is a property, and they would not want to identify it with a relation. Nevertheless, intentionality ends up being like indication, registration, or representation, which is tied to causal covariation. Despite all his attention to intentionality, Searle too seems forced to go in this direction, for he affirms that, at the brute level, everything is physical, and there are no emergent, nonphysical properties. Armstrong as well seems required to move in this direction.59 But, as we have seen in previous chapters, these views face the problem of how we would know whether a given perceptual belief was caused by a real object or not. So, while these naturalists think intentionality is a property, nonetheless they all treat it in ways that result in our inability to know the difference between veridical and non-veridical cases.60 And, to reiterate an earlier point, it will not matter how complex is the arrangement of the neurons, for the same problem will reappear. Moreover, if someone maintains that we do not need any epistemic access to the warrant-conferring properties for a belief to have warrant, then that too seems to undercut externalism. As we saw in the chapter on Dennett, we need not just intentionality, but intrinsic intentionality, to know reality, such that an experience, thought, belief, etc., is intrinsically of or about its object (whether the object obtains or not). But since externalism does not allow warrant on the basis of access to what is before us in conscious awareness, then even if a mental state has intrinsic intentionality, it does no work for us as a natural sign, to help give warrant to our beliefs. Just as we saw with Dennett, we seem to be left only with takings or interpretations. Externalism thereby undercuts itself.61 The Next Step We have come to an impasse, it seems. We have surveyed a number of prominent naturalists’ views, to see if, on these bases, we could justify what I think is the primary perceived strength of philosophical naturalism, that we can know reality on that basis. But all views we have surveyed failed to meet this crucial test. So, in the next chapter, I will consider other, possible directions for naturalists to take.   This also is the view of Alvin Plantinga. See his Warrant, pp. 5–6.   I bracket Dennett from this discussion, due to his denial that intentionality really exists. 60   I also believe Alvin Plantinga’s views about externalism and intentionality will end up in the same predicament. See my “Plantinga’s Externalism, Intentionality, and Our Knowledge of Reality,” Philosophia Christi 9:2 (Fall 2007): 313–32. 61   I will return to natural signs and their role in helping us know when we match up with reality in Chapter 9. 58

59

This page has been left blank intentionally

Chapter 8

The Future Directions of Naturalism Introduction We now have reached an impasse. In the previous chapters, we have surveyed an extensive array of options as to how to conceive of philosophical naturalism, all of which we have found wanting in terms of their merits to give us knowledge of the real world. In sum, we may state a core issue as follows: on naturalism, at least as conceived thus far, there is a core ontological problem that directly impacts our abilities to know reality. That is, there is no way to preserve any intrinsic qualities of representation (intentionality, reference), and that means that there are no natural signs. Plainly, this is due, as Dennett and Quine realize, to the denial of essences. Instead, there are only conceptualizations, interpretations drawn from particular stances, but without a way to ground them directly in reality.1 In this chapter, first I will deepen these main problems. Indeed, I do not think we can know reality on the basis of philosophical naturalism as presently conceived. But naturalists can modify their conception of philosophical naturalism, in order to remedy its apparent deficiencies. So, second, I will explore what I think are the most promising options available to naturalists, to try to remedy these problems. After engaging those arguments, I will turn to face two more serious objections to my entire line of argument. More Requirements for Knowledge We may extend our findings by teasing out a few more ontological requirements for knowledge. If we are to know reality, it seems that it requires representing a subject (some object, some state of affairs) as it is. In a discussion on naturalism and knowledge, Dallas Willard discusses knowledge in dispositional and occurrent senses. In the former sense, knowledge involves “the capacity to represent a respective subject matter as it is, on an appropriate basis of thought and/or experience.”2 In the latter sense, knowledge is actually representing, at a given time, that subject matter as it is, on one or both of those bases.

1   Ironically, this is the same situation in which the postmoderns claim we find ourselves. 2   Dallas Willard, “Knowledge and Naturalism,” in Naturalism: A Critical Analysis, ed. J.P. Moreland and William Lane Craig (New York: Routledge, 1999), p. 34.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

154

This description of knowledge involves a commonsense understanding of truth, but that does not mean it is unsophisticated or unwarranted. Perhaps we can begin to unpack that claim by asking how we initially come to know what truth is. It seems we learn that from specific, concrete cases in which we verify something within our physical environment. I think there is much to be gained by simply trying to carefully describe cases in which we learn what truth is. For instance, Willard describes how this process unfolds in some detail in a very young child: An infant in its second year of life or earlier develops the ability to look for something and to recognize it … when it is found. The child at that point is capable of sustaining a specific thought or representation of something and sorting objects that come before it with respect to whether they are or are not what they are seeking. Close to the same time the “uh oh!” phenomena emerges. The child observes things as not being how they “should” be or are expected to be and verbally expresses the felt incongruity or lack of “fit.” Closely linked with these developments is the ability to think of something as being such and such, and the associated capacity to find something to be (or not to be) as it is thought to be. This is verification as a human reality. It is a primary form of knowing in the occurrent sense. Soon the child learns the utility of lying, or representing things as it knows they are not. At that point it is in a position to become truthful or honest, to routinely represent things as it knows them to be. Interestingly, children never have to be taught to lie. At an early age they figure it out quite on their own from their understanding of how thoughts and words do and do not match up with what they are about. This “matching up” – primarily of thought, and well before language is at the child’s disposal – stands clearly before the child and is an essential condition of then learning the use of the words “true” and “false.” 3

So, our representing something to be as it is just is truth. Put differently, truth is this “matching up.” This is a straightforward, commonsensical description and understanding of what truth is, and it seems clear in the abundance of cases where we can compare beliefs or propositions to what they are of. Moreover, in the next chapter, I will give a series of cases, to help show how we can and actually do have knowledge of reality. Furthermore, how we live our daily lives depends upon this account of truth, which speaks strongly for its accuracy. Consider some basic human competencies. For me to function at my place of work, I need to be able to recognize the truth values of thoughts and statements. If my boss asks me to send out a mass e-mailing to our database of students, minimally I need to be able to recognize, for instance, that it is true that we do have such a database with students’ e-mail addresses. To be able to tell him that I have finished the task, I have to be able to recognize that the e-mails were sent out, and not merely transferred to the “outbox,” which can 3

 Ibid.

The Future Directions of Naturalism

155

happen sometimes if an e-mail address is incorrectly entered (for instance, without the required “@” symbol). To verify that I did what I said, he needs to be able to see that the particular message shows up in my program’s “sent” box. Also, when I receive the computerized tallies of my students’ class evaluations, I need to be able to see that this report is of my class, and not someone else’s, lest I not know that this is indeed a report of how my students responded to the questions. Or, when my wife tells me that a fuse was blown in our old-style electrical at panel at home, I can go and check the panel for a blown fuse, find one that is indeed blown, and then replace that one, and not another. In so doing, I find out that what she said is true. What happens in cases of more theoretical knowledge? Here, too, Willard can help us: “[W]hat we find truth (or falsity) to be in the abundant cases where we can compare beliefs or statements (or, more properly, the propositions they involve) to what they are about is exactly what truth is in the cases where we do not or cannot directly compare thought with its subject matter.”4 What do we then do in cases where we know, and yet we cannot directly verify our representations of some subject matter to be as it is? What do we do in cases where we have not experienced, or maybe even cannot directly experience, the subject matter? Willard asks us to consider how we would verify if in Paradise Lost Milton intended to glorify rebellion.5 It does not seem that we can directly experience this. And, as Willard concedes, there is relatively little that we can directly verify, but “this little is, of course, profoundly important, both in allowing us to understand what truth is … and in providing true premises from which we may proceed to other known truths by following out logical relations.”6 In that process, we may know the truth of further “derived propositions,” which “allows us to know that the corresponding state of affairs obtains and that its constituents exist.”7 Importantly, as Willard concludes, the inability to directly verify our presentations of some subject “is due to the nature of the particular subject matter in relation to our cognitive faculties, not to the nature of representations, truth and reality as such.”8 In both kinds of cases, whether or not we can directly compare our thoughts with their subject matter, truth and the objects of our mental representations are not produced or modified by our cognitions. Of course, several theorists have denied truth as matching up, but I do not think that should count against this description of the nature of truth. Why would truth seem to be mysterious or something other than “matching up”? I think truth will seem so to those (1) who have already adopted a view as to what truth cannot be, or (2) “who have adopted a theory of mind (or language) and world that makes 4

  Ibid., p. 35 (emphasis in original).  Ibid. 6   Ibid., p. 42. 7  Ibid. 8   Ibid., p. 35. 5

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

156

it either impossible or inaccessible.”9 For instance, if someone has adopted the principle that our contact with our objects is one of making, not matching, then of course that person will deny truth as matching up. But I think if we do pay attention to what is represented in our thoughts or experiences, we can become aware that truth is as it has been described here. And when I describe some cases of knowledge in Chapter 9, they will help support this view of truth. Now, if truth is this “matching up” with reality, then, as Willard argues, “truth and falsity are objective properties of representations” in propositions, in that truth and falsity do not depend for what they are upon anyone’s thoughts or feelings about them.10 Furthermore, truth is not created by verification that an object is as it is thought to be. If it could be so created, then, as Willard rightly observes, “we could prevent a belief from being true by refusing to verify it.”11 So, a thought or statement is true if it represents its subject matter (what it is about) as it is, or “held to be.”12 Without truth, we will not account for representing something as it is. Now we may see some further implications of Willard’s description of knowledge. Knowing also necessarily will involve logical relations, for to know, one must carefully explore “the logical interrelationships involved with and in the respective representations.”13 That is, as an active agent, one must carefully examine the logical relationships between experiences and relevant propositions. We may compare, for instance, two propositions and see that they are related as contradictions. Or, we may compare the dog represented in experience with the proposition that the dog is in the house, to see whether what is represented in experience provides evidential support for that proposition. Furthermore, noetic unity seems necessary for acts of knowing. To know, a person must have in him or herself “a certain unity of consciousness,” which comes from having a broad familiarity with the subject matter under consideration.14 This familiarity may come about from experimentation, observation, thought, and so forth, all in ways appropriate to the subject matter at hand. We experience the dog, and even as a dog, the latter of which requires having developed a concept of a dog. Forming that concept requires noticings and “comparings.” To know the dog is in the house requires much more, however. Even in a simple case of verification like this, a considerable “background” already is in place. Here, we must have experience of the house, and know that it is this house in question, and not another, which would involve being able to notice other houses, seeing them as houses, and then being able to distinguish this house from others. We also must have an understanding of what it means for the dog to be in the house. Here we can begin  9

 Ibid.  Ibid. 11  Ibid. 12  Ibid. 13   Ibid., p. 32. 14  Ibid. 10

The Future Directions of Naturalism

157

to see that the normative aspect of knowledge, what Willard refers to as the aspect of representing on an appropriate basis of thought and/or experience, involves a complex unity in the knowing person, who actively compares what can be brought before consciousness and can see that the representations do (or do not) match up with its subject as it is. Not only do cases of knowing take place within a broad, unified field of consciousness in the knower, they also take place in one who remains the same in his or her personal identity throughout that process. And such processes may be extended over considerable periods of time. Without an underlying unity and fundamental sameness of the knower, following through on a process of knowing could not occur. Can a strict physicalist form of naturalism accommodate these necessary conditions for cases of knowing? If the only real properties are physical, there are no intrinsic representations. Since there are only takings on such a view, truth disappears, since we can only represent something as we take, or interpret, it to be. And, all the other problems of that view will follow. From there, a cascading effect takes place. Knowing likewise disappears, since it requires truth. The same result awaits logical relations, for they are relations regarding the truth (or falsity) of propositions. And noetic unity also seems to vanish, since it too involves logical relations and the knowing person’s ability to be aware of and see that they do or do not obtain. Therefore, naturalism, conceived of as strict physicalism, in which all that exists is (or can be reduced to) physical stuff, cannot meet these requirements for factual knowledge. Thus, on that basis, we simply cannot know reality as it is. To be rational, therefore, we must see whether there are alternatives available to naturalists, to see how they can go forward and yet sustain naturalism as a cogent, rational paradigm. That is, can we find a way to account for intrinsic intentionality in a way that might still be amenable to naturalism? I believe there are a couple possible ways to go forward at this point. Embracing Mental Properties as Intrinsically Representational? If a core problem with naturalism stems from the denial, or lack of place for, any intrinsic representations, then could a naturalist possibly allow for an introduction of such qualities into his or her ontology? This might be unpalatable, especially to those who have been strict physicalists, but it might be acceptable on the following terms. That is, suppose there would be genuinely emergent mental states that are intrinsically of or about their objects. That might solve the objection I have been pressing, but would it do so at too high an ontological price for naturalists to be willing to pay? I do not think the answer must be no, for two reasons. First, a naturalist could conceivably maintain that such irreducible states emerge, yet they are dependent

158

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

for their existence upon the physical.15 Granted, this move admits an additional kind of entity into one’s ontology, which will not be desirable (to say the least) for naturalists. But, second, naturalism needs other resources, or moves to make, that can enable it to be a rational position in terms of our knowledge of reality. Is there a way to conceive of mental properties that is amenable to naturalism, and yet preserves their intrinsic, intentional (representational) qualities? There have been at least four major types of treatments of properties in the history of philosophy, including realism (properties as abstract universals); immanent universals (Armstrong); moderate nominalism and trope theory; and extreme nominalism. Of course, admitting abstract universals into one’s ontology would be prohibitive for a naturalist; which then, if any, of the remaining options might allow for a way to preserve intrinsic representations? Immanent Universals Perhaps a straightforward way to resolve the issue about having intrinsically representational qualities is to admit that there are universals. David Armstrong proposed such a view, yet one that limits universals to a reductive physicalist framework. For him, universals never are uninstantiated, and they may have many locations. They are always spatially and temporally located, and they are fully present in the particulars that have them. Clearly, Armstrong’s universals are not abstract. Moreover, he rejects internal relations since they could not be spatially located. Furthermore, for him, while universality and particularity are inseparable, they cannot be reduced to each other. A thick particular is a state of affairs that “enfolds” its properties; that is, those properties are spatially located where the thick particular is. A thin particular is the particular considered abstractly, apart from its properties. A thin particular individuates the thick particular so that it is not a mere bundle of properties. By developing a theory in which properties have a “nature,” perhaps his view could preserve intrinsic qualities of representations. Yet since he explicitly accounts for properties within a reductive materialist ontology, his view as stated would seem to lack any way to preserve such features. So, are there ways to extend Armstrong’s view? Interestingly, Timothy O’Connor suggests that Armstrong’s immanent universals account of properties is a satisfactory option to explain genuinely emergent mental states.16 O’Connor claims to take seriously the phenomena of intentionality of our mental states, as well as our ability to reflect upon them.

15   This move was suggested to me by J.P. Moreland as a critique of my earlier argument against our having knowledge on naturalism of any kind. 16   Timothy O’Connor and Jonathan D. Jacobs, “Emergent Individuals,” The Philosophical Quarterly 53:213 (October 2003): 546–9, 553.

The Future Directions of Naturalism

159

However, O’Connor attempts to extend Armstrong’s view to allow for internal relations. On O’Connor’s view, an intentional property of a thought is internally related to that thought; both the intentional property and the thought are what they are in light of their relation to each other. If they were externally related, we could “separate” the intentional property from that thought, and they each would still be what they are individually. But that is not the case; a given thought (say, of what time it is right now as I write this material) would not be what it is without that particular intentional property it has (its being of the present time). That being the case, O’Connor has introduced a modification in Armstrong’s view that does not seem compatible with naturalism, at least construed along Armstrong’s lines. For now O’Connor has introduced internal relations, which Armstrong flatly rejected, due to their failure to be spatially located. These objections notwithstanding, suppose we still could find a way to incorporate an irreducibly emergent mental state, with its intrinsic representational/ intentional quality, within Armstrong’s theory (or something like it). Could we not therefore solve many, if not all, of the problems I have raised against our ability to know reality on the ontology of naturalism? We might be exercising a thought experiment that might not seem conceivable to some. But even for sake of argument, I do not think even this move will help, for at least two reasons. First, this view treats intentionality as a causal relation, which has been caused by a physical series of inputs. In effect, intentionality, though mental and intrinsic, still would be like an arrow that simply points to its object, which, we would be told, had caused that state in the cognizer. But while treating intentionality as a causal relation might seem to secure the connection between the mental state and its intrinsic ofness with the originating object, that connection would be a matter of pure luck. Thought experiments, including inverted qualia or Chinese Room scenarios, show that any such connections between the physical and mental are at best contingent. It could just happen to be the case that a thought or experience would be of some object, but that need not be the case at all. That state may have nothing to do with an object in reality, just as we have seen before. Second, I do not think that we will be able to form concepts with just this adjustment. On the views of Dretske, Tye, and Lycan, we found that the key issue was that we do not have nonconceptual access to our experiences. But if so, we cannot correct concepts, as we saw in the therapy example. Moreover, we cannot form concepts, which we found in the example of my daughter’s forming the concept of an apple. Moreover, while we would have introduced one kind of thing that would be irreducibly mental and intrinsically intentional, presumably the rest of the person would be physical, such that any comparisons would be accomplished somehow by the brain’s activity upon those mental states. This raises two concerns. One, this situation would be interesting (to say the least) to explain on an otherwise physicalist account, for somehow, the physical needs to interact with something nonphysical, to produce other physical states. But this scenario raises the interaction objection that physicalists use against dualists, only now the tables have been

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

160

turned. Two, while I limited the introduction of a mental state to just one in which, say, an experience is of an object, surely we would be hard pressed to maintain this limitation. For our daily lives seem marked by all manner of intentional features, whether they be in experiences, thoughts, beliefs, desires, comparings, noticings, purposings, concepts, and others. So it seems that we would be required to introduce a whole host of real mental entities with their intentionality into the ontology, a move that will hardly be palatable to naturalists. Further, there is nothing else in the cognizer that can utilize this mental input without falling into the same pitfalls we have already seen. Something needs to take that mental state, compare it with past such states, then notice whether they match up or not, and then produce a concept. Now, these processes also involve the use of intentionality, but how can we account for that, if these processes are just mechanistic? If so, how can some mechanical brain process compare a mental state with another? And, what would it even be to notice? Thus, without the other features needed to form concepts, we will not be able to do that. But then we will not have factual knowledge, regardless of having intrinsically intentional mental states that depend upon the physical for their existence. So despite the initial attractiveness of modifying Armstrong’s views, there are insurmountable difficulties with it. Moderate Nominalism and Trope Theory On Keith Campbell’s early theory, a trope is an abstract particular, which is a member of a set whose members stand in a relation of exact similarity.17 Furthermore, a trope is a simple, independent entity, without any further parts or properties, and a trope is a part of a whole in which it is found with other compresent tropes.18 As a particular, a trope is completely exhausted in its one embodiment (such as the redness, red1, in my USC hat, or its specific, numerically singular shape).19 Now, a trope has a specific nature, such as an individual human trope that is essential to each human. However, this property would not be a universal; while essential, nonetheless it would be particular to the human that has it. Each human has his or her own particular humanness, and the humanness we each possess stands in a resemblance of exact similarity to each other.

  Keith Campbell, “The Metaphysic of Abstract Particulars,” in Properties, ed. D.H. Mellor and Alex Oliver (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 135; reprinted from Midwest Studies in Philosophy VI: The Foundations of Analytic Philosophy, ed. P. French, et al. (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1981), pp. 477–88. 18   Ibid., pp. 128, 132. 19   See also J.P. Moreland, Universals, in Central Problems in Philosophy series, ed. John Shand (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2001), p. 53. 17

The Future Directions of Naturalism

161

For the early Campbell, wherever a trope is located, it must be in a formed volume.20 But, Campbell also held that a trope is simple; how then did he account for apparently two properties of a trope, its qualitative nature and its location? Consider his view of a trope as abstract. He did not mean it is abstract ontologically, for tropes are spatially located. Instead, he interprets “abstract” epistemically, such that “an item is abstract if it is got before the mind by an act of abstraction, that is, by concentrating attention on some, but not all, of what is presented.”21 For the later Campbell, a trope is a simple entity and abstract.22 Yet now he has shifted from location to particularity in individuating a trope. Now a trope is a particularized nature that, as a brute fact, sustains two roles: (1) it stands in a relation of exact similarity of nature to others in its similarity set; and (2) it is particular and individuated from all others in that set.23 Yet he still seems to affirm that the distinction between the nature and particularity of a trope is a distinction of reason, and not one of ontology. There is good reason to continue to make their difference epistemic, for if he were to affirm an ontological distinction, he would in effect change a trope into a complex entity.24 Can Campbell’s earlier or later view of tropes provide a way to secure intrinsic intentionality, to help us know reality? There are several problems that face his two versions, but I will focus on just one that is most relevant. We will examine implications of the epistemic distinction between the location and nature of a trope (the early view), or particularity and nature (the later view). Then we will apply our findings to the issue of how his view(s) may be able to help us know reality. Against his earlier view, various puzzles present themselves, which Campbell has admitted are decisive.25 Here is the first puzzle from J.P. Moreland: Consider a concrete particular, say, an apple. The taste trope and the colour trope of the apple, indeed all the apple’s tropes, are at the same place since the apple is merely a bundle of compresent tropes. Now the nature of the taste trope differs from its location/formed volume by a distinction of reason only. Likewise, with the colour trope and all the others. But, then, the taste of the apple is identical to its place as are all the other tropes in the bundle. Now by the transitivity of identity, all the tropes of the apple are identical to each other and, indeed, the apple is reduced to a bare location. Concrete and abstract particulars turn out to be bare simples and this is incoherent.26

20

  Campbell, “The Metaphysic of Abstract Particulars,” pp. 135–6.   Ibid., p. 126; see also Moreland, Universals, p. 53. 22   Keith Campbell, Abstract Particulars (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990), p. 69. 23   Ibid., pp. 68–71; see also Moreland, Universals, p. 60. 24  Campbell, Abstract Particulars, pp. 56–8, 89–90; see also Moreland, Universals, p. 60. 25  Moreland, Universals, p. 58; see also Campbell, Abstract Particulars, pp. 65–6. 26  Moreland, Universals, p. 58. 21

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

162

This result happens because of the nominalist position that tropes are simples. The location of the trope cannot be assigned to some other constituent than that of the trope’s nature, lest the trope become a complex entity, like a universal on a realist view. As Moreland argues, “the trope view must assay a basic trope as a simple in order to avoid assigning the individuating and qualitative roles to non-identical constituents in the quality-instance, for this is what realists do (e.g. red1 has an individuator, say, a bare particular expressed by 1, the universal redness, and a tie of predication).”27 Since the location and nature of a trope differ by a distinction of reason only, it seems that either the trope’s location will reduce to its nature, or vice versa. Thus, either the trope nominalist must (a) remove the individuator (the 1) and, consequently, make the identity of the trope’s location and nature reflect just its nature. But that move requires that the tropes really are abstract universals. Or, (b), the trope theorist could make the identity reflect the trope’s location, but then properties would be bare particulars, which is incoherent.28 Can Campbell’s later view escape these problems? No: there, too, he distinguishes between a trope’s particularity and its nature by a mere epistemic distinction. So, in either view, a trope’s nature can be reduced away to either location or particularity. Applying that to intentional states, their natures (their intrinsic ofness or aboutness) likewise can be reduced to location or particularity. But that result undermines the very feature we are seeking to preserve. These difficulties lead us to explore a final alternative, “extreme nominalism,” to see to what extent it might be able to aid naturalists in our task. Extreme Nominalism According to Moreland, extreme nominalists deny the very existence of properties.29 That is, they deny that “attributes form an additional category of being distinct from the things that have them (unless, of course, a new category other than that of property is introduced, to which properties are reduced, e.g. predicates, classes, concepts, etc.).”30 Hence, these views are reductive in nature. Moreland cites Quine’s views as an example.31 Now, we have seen that Dennett and Quine would deny that there are mental entities. Still, there is usefulness in using the terms of folk psychology. Yet the physical is real. Dennett denies there is any real, intrinsic intentionality; if we speak in such terms, at best our intentionality is derived from that of natural selection. But even that claim involves an attribution made from the intentional stance, and it does not commit us to the existence of any such properties. 27

  Ibid., p. 59.   Ibid., pp. 59, 64. 29  Moreland, Universals, p. 23. 30   Ibid., p. 3. 31  Ibid. 28

The Future Directions of Naturalism

163

Likewise, for the extreme nominalist, there simply are no intrinsic intentional/ representational qualities. Unfortunately, that result lands us in the same situation we already have examined again and again, whether intentionality be deemed real but is reducible to brain states, or if it is simply an attribution we make, but not real. On an extreme nominalist view, there simply will not be any natural signs, and so any claims about the representational, intentional qualities of our thoughts, beliefs, or experiences would have to be takings. Thus, we end up in the same predicament as Dennett’s views: we cannot have factual knowledge of reality. If these options fail to provide a way to secure intrinsic representation/ intentionality, then we seem to have come to the end of our options within a naturalistic framework, to have knowledge of the real world as it is in itself. If that is the case, then perhaps we should ask: Is there yet some way available to have knowledge of the real world, but not as it is in itself? Embracing the Inescapability of Interpretation? There is a second direction naturalists could take, and I believe that it is the only option left at this point in the argument. That is, there seems to be no ontological resource available to philosophical naturalism to preserve an intrinsic representational (or intentional) quality of our mental states (however those are understood ontologically). If correct, then we should embrace Dennett’s views; there just is no such thing that exists. But while he hints that even our thoughts (including his own) are brain-writings and thus need interpretation like anything else, he does not carry out the implications for his own views about the objectivity of the real world, or the truth of naturalism. That is what I am suggesting naturalists do – realize that naturalism itself, and all their many claims, are takings as, that is, interpretations and conceptualizations, made from their particular standpoints, without the ability to access the real world as it is in itself and compare their conceptualizations/interpretations with it. That is, let us take the implications of natural selection consistently, like Dennett, only draw them out to their more complete conclusions, where Dennett himself does not go. What would such a move even look like? And, would it be desirable and workable? There are those who have gone ahead of us in this direction, although they may not be naturalists themselves. But, first, they have taken even more seriously than Dennett that all our theories are interpretations, and all our contact with reality is a matter of interpretation. Yet, second, they have found ways to argue forcefully that we still can compare one theory with a rival, to see which is most rational. Third, they still argue powerfully that we can adjudicate between rival theories and paradigms in science, even though we always work from a standpoint that cannot directly access reality itself. Fourth, they still can embrace physicalism. Now, if defensible, this set of views might be a powerfully attractive move for naturalists to make, for it could yet preserve the force of most of their

164

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

claims. The main one they would have to give up would be that on the basis of naturalism, we know the truth about reality, as it is in itself. Whose views, though, should we examine, to find such a paradigm? One possibility is Nancey Murphy, who embraces all four of the above-mentioned positions. The principle drawback with even suggesting her views is that some will be put off by her writing as a Christian. But I shall argue that that need not stop them from considering her views as an illustration of one who has made those four key moves above. In what follows, I will try to summarize her main ideas under three headings, and I will show how they are available for naturalists to embrace, before assessing to what extent these moves would be successful in reaching naturalists’ objectives. Murphy’s Epistemological Holism In general, Murphy advocates a break from modernism, with what she perceives as its reductive approaches. She rejects modern foundationalism due to an emphasis placed upon individual propositions instead of the whole in which they are found. In her view, foundationalism is an attempt to provide “certain and universal knowledge” by appealing to universally accessible, basic truths.32 Whether foundationalism has been cashed out in terms of empiricist criteria of universal experience or rationalist appeals to “clear and distinct” ideas, foundationalism is irremediably flawed. The former suffers from the recognition that scientific facts, which draw heavily from observations, are theory laden, and thus not universal and available to all.33 The latter fails to provide a certain foundation, as “what is indubitable in one intellectual context is all too questionable in another.”34 But due to differing presuppositions, what seems basic to one person might not to another. As a second, in-principle criticism of foundationalism, she suggests that the foundations end up “hanging from the balcony,” since they are partly supported “from above,” by theoretical, nonfoundational beliefs.35 We never have raw, theory-neutral observations. Even in rationalist foundations, there are always presupposition-laden intuitions in the philosophical arguments. If foundationalism’s picture of linear reasoning moves only from bottom to top,36

32   Nancey Murphy, Anglo-American Postmodernity (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), p. 26. See also her Beyond Liberalism & Fundamentalism: How Modern and Postmodern Philosophy Set the Theological Agenda, Rockwell Lecture Series, ed. Werner H. Kelber (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996), pp. 12–13. And, see her Theology in the Age of Scientific Reasoning, Cornell Studies in the Philosophy of Religion series, ed. William P. Alston (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990), p. 15. 33  Murphy, Beyond, p. 91. 34  Ibid. 35   Ibid., p. 92. 36   Ibid., p. 94.

The Future Directions of Naturalism

165

then these counter-examples show that this picture is an oversimplification of how justification actually proceeds.37 Instead, Murphy embraces a holist view of epistemic justification. She draws upon Quine’s “image of knowledge as a web or net,” such that “there is no distinction between basic (foundational) beliefs and nonbasic beliefs.”38 Not only do the beliefs in the web reinforce each other in a variety of kinds of connections among themselves as well as to the whole, they also work in a top-down manner. For example, in philosophy of science, there are no data that are simply given; rather, all “facts” are made “by means of their interpretation” in light of other theoretical assumptions.39 Murphy clearly thinks there is a real world that exists independently of our theories. Theories do not “create what is seen, only that theoretical knowledge allows the observer to organize the raw data of sensation into intelligible patterns,”40 for “theories provide patterns within which data appear intelligible.”41 How then do theories get started? For her, “a theory is not pieced together from observed phenomena; it is rather what makes it possible to observe phenomena as being of a certain sort and as related to other phenomena.”42 Yet, for her, Quine provides too circumspect a view of what counts as knowledge to allow for how we can justify claims of other disciplines in which she is interested, such as ethics. And there could be competing webs of beliefs, which raises the specter of relativism. In philosophy of science, this challenge was presented by Kuhn and taken up by Imre Lakatos, whose views allow Murphy to develop her philosophy of science.43 Lakatos provides a way to judge rationally between competing scientific research programs, even though the standards of rationality are internal to that program.44 Nonetheless, she argues this does not entail relativism, for competing programs can be compared on the basis of their abilities to change over time in response to problematic, or anomalous, empirical discoveries. There is a hard core of any research program, with auxiliary hypotheses that surround and protect it. These auxiliary theses can be altered when falsifying data are found, but they work together over time, even as they are modified, to protect the core. Anomalies can be made consistent with the research program by theoretical adjustments. If these are made by ad hoc maneuvers (“linguistic tricks”), then over time the program has become degenerative.45 But if these are made such that new versions of the program account for anomalies and are supported by  Murphy, Anglo-American, p. 26.   Ibid., p. 27. 39  Ibid. 40  Murphy, Theology, p. 164. 41  Ibid. 42  Ibid. 43   This is the burden of Theology, as well as the focus of chapter 9 of Anglo-American. 44  Murphy, Beyond, p. 101. 45   Ibid., p. 102. 37 38

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

166

novel, unexpected facts, then the program is progressive.46 Progressive programs also have a positive heuristic, that is, a plan for its development.47 Importantly, it is the acceptability of the whole program that matters. But to flesh out her epistemological holism as a broader theory of rationality, she appeals to Alasdair MacIntyre’s holist views, which allow her a means by which we can rationally adjudicate between rival paradigms, or “traditions,” though the standards for rationality are internal to those paradigms. MacIntyre thinks the Enlightenment failed to achieve universal, objective moral principles, and this can be seen most clearly how a rival position (say, Hume’s ethics versus Kant’s) cannot provide independent criteria for adjudicating between it and its rivals. As MacIntyre will assert later, “there is no set of independent standards of rational justification by appeal to which the issues between contending traditions can be decided.”48 In his opinion, this conclusion provides compelling evidence that rationality is not some freestanding, ahistorical phenomenon. Instead, rationality is found within what he calls socially embodied traditions, which may provide the context of a community that is united through time by a core of shared beliefs and a commitment to them. But traditions encompass more than just a particular, historically situated community. As an initial pass, a tradition is “an historically extended, socially embodied argument, and an argument precisely in part about the goods which constitute that tradition.”49 Later, MacIntyre will refine his understanding of a tradition to include the concept of its historical (or, narrative) extension, or its growth through time as it defeats problems raised against it.50 Traditions are made up of communities whose members are united by a core of shared beliefs and a commitment to them. Those that survive transcend the intellectual limits of their predecessors by growth and progress in rationality through facing their conflicts. Their own particular language, institutions, standards of rationality, and practices distinguish them, although “practices” can cross different traditions.51 Additionally, traditions are extensions of MacIntyre’s concept of narratives. To be a tradition, a community has to have “its own continuity  Murphy, Theology, pp. 59, 61.   Ibid., p. 60. 48   Alasdair MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality? (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988), p. 351. 49   Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue, 2nd edn (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984), p. 222. 50   Brad J. Kallenberg, “The Master Argument of MacIntyre’s After Virtue,” in Virtues and Practices in the Christian Tradition, ed. Nancey Murphy, Brad J. Kallenberg, and Mark Thiessen Nation (Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1997), p. 25. See also MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, p. 12. 51   R. Jay Wallace, “Review Essay on After Virtue and Whose Justice? Which Rationality?,” History and Theory: Studies in the Philosophy of History 28 (October 1989): 347. 46 47

The Future Directions of Naturalism

167

– despite loss and gain of members – because the community itself is a character of sorts in a narrative that is longer than the span of a single human life.”52 Traditions and narratives are closely related to his views about language, with which Murphy will find much agreement. In general, MacIntyre agrees with Wittgenstein about the private language argument; the concept of a solitary, isolated language speaker is “essentially problematic.”53 From our experience with actual cases, the use of language according to its rules involves what Wittgenstein claimed, namely, the context of a form of life with fellow users of a shared language. Though language-games are particular and have their own inner logic, MacIntyre does not argue for complete incommensurability between the languages of different communities and traditions. For one, there exist mind-independent realities that we may know, such as the laws of logic, certain chemical elements, geological strata, and even colors. But, for another, he concedes “what would be conceded … by anyone: that there will always be something in common between any two languages or any two sets of thoughts.”54 But that does not mean translatability between languages entails commensurability of standards for rational evaluation. Quite the contrary: each tradition, with its own language, has its own standards for rationality. Furthermore, for MacIntyre, the mind is informed by images and concepts, and both may be either adequate or inadequate for the mind’s purposes. Images may be adequate or inadequate as “re-presentations of particular objects or sorts of objects,” and concepts may or may not be adequate “re-presentations of the forms in terms of which objects are grasped and classified.”55 It seems clear now that MacIntyre believes that we do experience mind-independent realities, but the way we classify, group, and organize them is by our concepts. But though we may know some mind-independent realities, MacIntyre denies that true propositions correspond with reality. As he says, “facts, like telescopes and wigs for gentlemen, were a seventeenth-century invention.”56 Moreover, to “conceive of a realm of facts independent of judgment or of any other form of linguistic expression” is highly misleading.57 On the view he is criticizing, facts would be objects of thought. But for him, like any other object of thought, they too are classified and grouped according to the concepts of a given people. Hence, both judgments and “facts” are social constructs that involve a particular language. For

  Kallenberg, “The Master Argument of MacIntyre’s After Virtue,” p. 25.   Alasdair MacIntyre, “Colors, Cultures, and Practices,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy XVII: The Wittgenstein Legacy, ed. Peter A. French, Theodore E. Uehling, Jr., and Howard Wettstein (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992), pp. 12–13. 54  MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, p. 371. 55   Ibid., p. 357. 56  Ibid. 57   Ibid., pp. 357–8. 52 53

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

168

there can be no such thing as language in general, but only the specific languageas-written-and-spoken in a certain historical time and place.58 So, there is no rationality apart from a tradition. To be outside a tradition is to be a stranger to rational inquiry, for such a person would seem to be a private language user, by definition one who would be set apart from a form of life. Accordingly, there is no neutral starting point for choosing a tradition, nor are there tradition-independent standards of rational justification to which we can appeal to settle issues between contending traditions.59 Still, he will contend that we may rationally conclude that one tradition is rationally superior to another. While rival traditions have rival conceptions of rationality and progress in understanding, he argues that this does not entail relativism. Furthermore, he thinks this thesis may be advanced consistently from within a tradition since it involves a substantive, nonrelativizable notion of truth.60 The key move MacIntyre makes to justify this contention is to show that language learning is necessary to understand the rational resources available in other traditions. Since thought, belief, and other claims are tied to a particular form of life with its language, language learning is essential to be able to understand another tradition’s rational resources.61 Like an anthropologist, language learning must be done by immersing oneself into a culture to learn its social practices, both verbal and nonverbal. Since there are no neutral idioms between linguistic communities, one needs to “learn the idiom of each from within as a new first language, much in the way an anthropologist constitutes him or herself a linguistic and cultural beginner in some alien culture.”62 Alternatively, the language learner needs to become like a child again and learn the corresponding parts of the culture and the language as a second first language.63 Such learners “are able to conjecture in it, judge in it, imagine in it and argue in it, just as those whose first language it is.”64 At first, the learner attempts to translate the alien culture’s terms and expressions into his or her own first language, a process that inevitably will produce mistranslation and misrepresentation.65 However, one can learn the new language such that one can use it like a native speaker and writer. 58

  Ibid., p. 373.   Ibid., p. 351. 60   Alasdair MacIntyre, “Précis of Whose Justice? Which Rationality?,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 51 (March 1991): 152. 61   At least in a basic way, he is right: for instance, I cannot understand the arguments made by Miguel de Unamuno in the original Spanish if I cannot read and understand Spanish. But, of course, MacIntyre’s claim is much deeper than this. 62   Alasdair MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990), p. 43. 63  MacIntyre, Whose Justice? Which Rationality?, p. 374. 64   Alasdair MacIntyre, “Reply to Roque,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 51 (September 1991): 619. 65  MacIntyre, Three Rival Versions, p. 43. 59

The Future Directions of Naturalism

169

The ability to learn another language as an “insider” becomes critical in his account when a community enters a stage in development in which the authorities and authoritative texts are called into question. If that community within a tradition cannot resolve these questions on its own resources, then it will need to look outside of its resources to those of another community in its particular tradition. There is another way we can discover that a community’s conceptual resources are inadequate. There are some practices, such as painting, that from within “shared standards are discovered which enable transcultural judgments of sameness and difference to be made.”66 Indeed, “Identity of standards rooted in large similarities of practice provides on occasion common ground for those otherwise at home in very different cultures and societies.”67 So practices such as painting, which can disclose the realities of color, can help show whether the conceptual scheme that informs a community’s color judgments is adequate or inadequate to those realities.68 MacIntyre’s primary exemplar of such language learning is Aquinas, who by learning both the languages of the Augustinian and Aristotelian traditions was able to synthesize them into one superior tradition. Thus Aquinas did not need first to translate one rival’s conceptions into the other in order to understand them. Aquinas integrated Augustinian theology and Aristotelian philosophy such that the defects and limitations of Augustinian theology, from an Augustinian understanding, could be adequately characterized and then overcome through the resources of Aristotelian philosophy. Similarly, resources within Augustinian theology could overcome the defects and limitations of Aristotelian philosophy, from its own perspective. Now, Murphy uses MacIntyre’s views to develop her position of the most rational tradition (or, most progressive research program) so far, which is her nonreductive physicalism.69 But her views are tightly integrated, and so before we survey her ontological views we will observe some highlights of her philosophy of language.70 66

  MacIntyre, “Colors, Culture, and Practices,” p. 20.  Ibid. 68   Ibid., p. 22. 69   Also, in Nancey Murphy and George F.R. Ellis, On the Moral Nature of the Universe: Theology, Cosmology, and Ethics (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1996), they argue that “objective, cross-cultural criteria exist for rational justification of scientific research programs” (p. 5). 70   See also her treatments in Bodies and Souls, or Spirited Bodies? (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006), where she discusses language as a distinctive human character (pp. 121–3), and language and self-transcendence (pp. 96–8). She also discusses Wittgenstein in a general sort of way (pp. 75, 113–14, and 145). In Did My Neurons Make Me Do It? Philosophical and Neurobiological Perspectives on Moral Responsibility and Free Will, with Warren Brown (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), she discusses language and embodiment (pp. 22, 177–81, 187, and 189); reference of language (pp. 148–50; 67

170

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Murphy’s Philosophy of Language: Austin and Wittgenstein For her, modern views of language, which are representational or expressivist, also are reductionistic because, first, they focus on “atomic” propositions apart from their narrative context. Second, they focus on the individual and what he or she intended by a certain expression, rather than the “move” that person made in the context of a social setting. But Murphy thinks these views of language are seriously flawed. First, modern, expressivist language is used to describe an inner state of the speaker, but it still requires too sharp a separation between the cognitive and expressive functions of language. Second, moderns also tend to understand language as being used primarily to represent facts in the world. But such uses, she claims, cannot secure the connection between these propositions and a reality beyond our experience. More generally, Murphy contends that empiricist-based, experiential foundationalism, or rationalist-driven, propositional foundationalism trade respectively upon these same modern views of language use. But we use language in far broader ways. Following the insights of the later Wittgenstein and J.L. Austin, Murphy does not “deny that language is (sometimes) used to refer to or describe things or states of affairs,” but, “reference enters only as a function of use.”71 Like MacIntyre, for her, sentences have their meaning in their narrative context, which, following Wittgenstein, are language-games, which are “bound up with forms of life.”72 But she also draws upon Austin, for she views his distinctions between locutionary, illocutionary, and perlocutionary acts as mainly a matter of a hierarchy among such levels of discourse, in which one level may “supervene” upon another in appropriate circumstances, which will involve Wittgenstein’s appeal to context. Murphy explains that to utter sounds (such as the word “out”) is a locutionary act. The social context, and the intention related to that context in which the sounds are uttered, constitute the locution as an illocutionary act.73 To illustrate, Murphy gives a baseball game example: “Thus, saying ‘Out’ under proper circumstances may constitute an umpire’s call in a baseball game. Illocutionary acts may also have perlocutionary force. For example, this call may be the third out in the ninth inning and thus results in the game ending.”74 In Murphy’s view, “the predicate ‘is a call in the game’ supervenes on the predicate ‘is the utterance of the word “out.”’”75 That is, “the property of being 176–7); concepts as embodied metaphors (pp. 178–80); meaning as inner mental act (pp. 150, 175, 294–5); and Wittgenstein (generally, pp. 28–9, 151, 181–90; and specifically, on “forms of life” (pp. 165, 187), and “language games” (pp. 165, 181–5, 188, 190). 71  Murphy, Anglo-American, p. 24. 72  Ibid. 73   Though she speaks of supervenience, she does not have a reductive sense in mind. 74  Murphy, Anglo-American, p. 24. 75  Ibid.

The Future Directions of Naturalism

171

the call that ended the game supervenes on the illocutionary act.”76 In Austin’s work, Murphy sees that speech acts need their context (or, in Wittgenstein’s terms, a language-game in a form of life) in which to have meaning, and higher-level speech acts exert top–down influence upon lower-level ones; thus, she thinks this philosophy of language is nonreductive. Though an author or speaker’s intentions matter to Murphy, she agrees with MacIntyre that meanings are not a matter of just the speaker’s intentions, for “there is no hidden mental component-the intention or the meaning-to be sought beyond the (written) speech act itself.”77 Rather, meaning is primarily a matter of use in a linguistically shaped form of life, the whole in which words have their meaning.78 Murphy develops her views about intentions in light of Austin’s speech act theory. In a discussion of the interpretation of a text, she explains that “one condition for a happy speech act is uptake, which involves understanding what the author intended to do by means of the passage in question.”79 How is this done? Murphy is clear: “The recognition of authorial intent does not require imagination or empathy so much as knowledge of the linguistic and social conventions of the author’s time.”80 Moreover, language and life (i.e., behavior) are inextricable, such that language is not about the world, as it would be if it were a reflection or representation of reality.81 Rather, language is in the world: The emphasis on social embodiment and application of texts is another consequence of the Anglo-American postmodern recognition that language and knowledge are not over and against the world, and therefore needing to be compared or related to it, but rather that language and knowledge are part of the social world.82

It is not the case for her that we can compare language with the real world in itself, to see if they match up: “there is no objective, independent reality against which the original text can be compared.”83 Murphy is clear; we do not have direct access “into the nature of reality, putting us in a position to compare reality itself with our favored way of conceiving and talking about it.”84

76

 Ibid.  Murphy, Beyond, p. 124. 78   Such uses are a matter of publicly observable behaviors, both verbal and nonverbal. 79  Murphy, Beyond, p. 124. 80  Ibid. 81   Ibid., p. 127. 82   Ibid., p. 105. 83  Murphy, Anglo-American, p. 140. 84   Ibid., p. 127. 77

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

172

Murphy’s Ontology: Nonreductive Physicalism Murphy favors nonreductive physicalism, and she is very critical of reductive kinds.85 She sees them in light of modernity’s metaphysical reductionism. Causation is bottom–up in such views, in which the behavior of the lowest-level parts of a system (i.e., the subatomic ones) is determinative of all other levels of behavior.86 Murphy rejects this view for a variety of developments. First, she argues that there is the emergence of properties or processes that are describable only by concepts pertinent to a higher level of analysis than physics.87 There simply are some features of life that cannot be described in the language of physics or other natural sciences. As an example, she asks why there are apparently finetuned cosmological constants that are necessary for life, as opposed to all other possibilities.88 Furthermore, she inquires, “Why are there any laws at all? What is their ontological status? What gives them their force?”89 Science simply cannot answer these questions, but she thinks they are the province of theology, or other religious or metaphysical views. A second reason for rejecting causal reductionism is “decoupling,” understood in a broad sense beyond its technical meaning in physics. By this term she means to describe “the relative autonomy of levels in the hierarchy of the sciences.”90 She further claims that “emergent laws (laws relating variables at the higher level) are coming to be seen as significant in their own right and not merely as special cases of lower-level laws.”91 If correct, then causal reductionism should be rejected; instead, we should realize the places for both bottom–up and top–down, causation, as well as whole–part constraint.   See also Did My Neurons Make Me Do It?, where she provides five distinctions (methodological, epistemological, causal, ontological, and atomist) concerning the “many faces of reductionism,” pp. 47–8. 86   Nancey Murphy, “Nonreductive Physicalism: Philosophical Issues,” in Whatever Happened to the Soul?, ed. Warren S. Brown, Nancey Murphy, and H. Newton Malony (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1998), p. 129. 87   See pp. 78–84 in Did My Neurons Make Me Do It?, where she has a section on “emergence.” 88  Murphy, Anglo-American, p. 176. 89  Ibid. 90   Ibid., p. 20. See also Did My Neurons Make Me Do It?, pp. 56, 72. As an example, she discusses the behavior of a gas in a container, in which “some average properties of the gas particles (the micro-level) matter for purposes of description at the macro-level,” such as the proportion of the average kinetic energy of the molecules to the absolute temperature of the gas (Beyond, p. 140). But she also notes that the exact path of the individual molecules does not matter, for there could be many such paths that would yield equivalent macro-level results. 91  Murphy, Anglo-American, p. 21. 85

The Future Directions of Naturalism

173

Laws at higher levels restrain lower-level processes, and higher-level states are multiply realizable. That is, an act can be described at the biological level yet redescribed at other, higher levels (such as psychological, moral, or sociological). For instance, a person may kill an animal, which is a biological fact. Psychologically, the event becomes an action, since at that level we consider intentions, which involve the circumstances under which the event took place at that level (e.g., putting the animal out of its misery). Socially, a different description could arise, such as if an action is socially acceptable in that culture, which involves a different set of circumstances. Then, there could be legal and economic descriptions. In each level, different circumstances and different languages are involved; thus we have different descriptions. Since circumstances play a significant role in each level, certain lower-level properties can constitute a kind of higher-level property under proper circumstances.92 Let us explore a few additional examples about the emergence of new causal capacities and the multiple realizability of higher-order properties.93 First, goodness may be lived out in many different patterns of life, and not just as one person (say, St. Francis) did. Second, Murphy can arrange to use a light in her window as a signal, to let her friend know whether she is at home or not. If the light is on, it means she is home; if it is not, then it means she is not at home. Murphy claims that there is but one state of affairs, but two levels of description. As she explains, “Turning the light on constitutes my sending the ‘at home’ message under the circumstances of our having made the appropriate arrangement.”94 But, the same “at home” message could have been realized in a different way, such as if she and her friend had agreed to use a different signal (perhaps the shade being up) to give the same message. Third, Murphy considers how non-neural circumstances are “widely recognized” to make a difference in the multiple realization of higher-order properties in the role of “mental set” in perception. She considers a specific case in which subjects receive a small electric shock on the back. Depending on their mental set, they will experience the sensation either as a burn or as ice. So at the subvenient level there is a series of physical events including the application of the shock, the transmission of a nerve impulse to the brain, and the set of brain events that realize the sensation of either hot or cold. The mental set will, of course, be realized neurologically, but it is multiply realizable: it could be the realization of a variety of perceptions of the environment (ice-cube tray on the counter, burn ointment), or the result of statements by the experimenters,

92

  Ibid., p. 199.   These examples are discussed in her “Nonreductive Physicalism: Philosophical Issues,” pp. 135–7. 94   Ibid., p. 135. 93

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

174

or any one of an unbounded set of other devices resulting in what we can only meaningfully describe at the mental level as the expectation of heat or of cold.95

In these cases, Murphy intends to show that the higher-level descriptions supervene upon lower-level ones, and that circumstances (or, context) play a central part in what constitutes the higher-order ones. On her view, the higher-order properties are not identical to the lower-order ones, thereby arguing against causal reductionism. However, while there may be different circumstances at different, higher levels of description, nonetheless there is one state of affairs, which is physical. Put differently, Murphy opposes causal reductionism but favors ontological reductionism. For example, humans are physical things, but they may be described physiologically, psychologically, ethically, sociologically, and other ways. Indeed, we “only make causal sense of a series of human actions by attending to the mentallevel description, which includes reasons, judgments[, free will], and so on.”96 Descriptions of the mental are not reducible to those of the physical.97 Hence, she embraces nonreductive physicalism. Likewise, the “creation” (her term) is physical, but it can be described in ways that cannot be reduced to the physical level of discourse. Like naturalists, Murphy has no place for a soul, but since she writes as a Christian she seems to feel the need to refute that view for the sake of her audience. For her, the soul is not a substance; rather, it is a “functional capacity of a complex physical organism,” and not a separate immaterial essence.98 If there is no neocortex, then there is no capacity for thought, and there would not be persons.99 Higher-level properties constrain lower-level ones in physical substances in a physical world. For Murphy, wholes are genuinely significant, which counts against reductive physicalism.100 Wholes and parts mutually condition each other, for causation is both top–down and bottom–up. Murphy explains this concept in regards to how the mental and physical interact in human beings: The nonreductive physicalist view … attributes mental and spiritual properties to the entire person, understood as a complex physical and social organism. Since mental states or attributes are states of the whole person, no special causal problems arise. This view of mental states arising from the functioning of the nervous system is consistent with what we know from science about the interactions between brain states and mental states: measurable effects on the  95

  Ibid., p. 137.   Ibid., p. 139.  97  Murphy, “Human Nature: Historical, Scientific, and Religious Issues,” in Whatever Happened to the Soul?, p. 10.  98   Preface to Murphy, Whatever Happened to the Soul?, pp. xiii. See also her Did My Neurons Make Me Do It?, chapter 1 (“Avoiding Cartesian Materialism”).  99  Murphy, Beyond, p. 93. 100   Ibid., p. 137.  96

The Future Directions of Naturalism

175

central nervous system have psychological consequences; many psychological or mental states have physiological consequences.101

Murphy advocates nonreductive physicalism as the hard core of a Lakatosian research program, for she sees it as the most progressive scientific research program available.102 Like naturalists, she rejects dualism, and I believe she sees it as a degenerative research program. Murphy thinks “science has provided a massive amount of evidence suggesting that we need not postulate the existence of an entity such as a soul or mind in order to explain life and consciousness.”103 She also seems to think dualism is “degenerative” because dualists have been unable to cogently solve how an immaterial substance can interact with a physical body.104 Adapting Murphy’s Views Clearly, there are aspects of her views that will be unacceptable to naturalists. Indeed, naturalists would not want to have to admit God and God-talk (theological discourse) into their philosophy. Still, despite her tightly integrated views, I think that a naturalist who is interested in adapting her views to the aid of naturalism can drop God quite successfully. Why? For her tradition and community, theological language is appropriate. But such claims are made from her community’s standpoint, and if others are not part of it, why should they engage in theological discourse? Hence there is no inherent need for naturalists to embrace her theological views and talk theologically. That form of discourse would not be part of their community. Nor must naturalists embrace her willingness to engage in soul-talk, or talk of mental entities. Instead, naturalists may simply reject such discourse as not part of their language-games, all the while embracing other core aspects of her epistemic, linguistic, and metaphysical views. More positively, though Murphy embraces a nonreductive type of physicalism, hers is still an ontological reductionism, which keeps her in the mainstream of naturalists’ ontology. When she speaks against causal reductionism, therefore, she cannot mean to introduce literal mental and other kinds of properties as part of her ontology. That is why I think naturalists could very well interpret her philosophy as maintaining, in Papineau’s categories, an ontological monism, but a conceptual

101

  Ibid., p. 150.   Also, in Did My Neurons Make Me Do It?, she discusses nonreductive physicalism in the following places: pp. 1–2, 7–9, and 233–6. 103  Murphy, “Human Nature: Historical, Scientific, and Religious Issues,” p. 18. Also, “philosophers have argued cogently that the belief in a substantial mind or soul is the result of confusion arising from how we talk. We have been misled by the fact that ‘mind’ and ‘soul’ are nouns into thinking that there must be an object to which these terms correspond” (p. 18). 104   Ibid., pp. 7–9. 102

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

176

pluralism (and not just dualism). That interpretation of her main ontological views fits nicely within the naturalism of many philosophers we have studied. Furthermore, Murphy affirms a role for experience, yet while also understanding that all our experiences, theories, beliefs, and more are theory-laden, or interpretations. This position places her squarely within the conclusion I have drawn from naturalism. But, rather than seeing this as a problem, as I have argued is the case for naturalism, she embraces it and then works out her epistemology of the real world. For her, though our contact with reality is never immediate, we still can know the real world, and she has gone to considerable lengths to argue that that is possible. Furthermore, by drawing upon MacIntyre and Lakatos, she tries to show how we can compare one theory with a rival, to see which is most rational, even though we always work from a standpoint that cannot directly access reality itself, and the standards for rationality are internal to a “tradition.” If so, science may continue to enjoy significant prestige under her views. Scientists would continue to investigate a physical universe, and they may continue to use the language of chemistry and physics, which has been used by them to help offer pervasive and persuasive explanations of reality. I recommend, therefore, that naturalists embrace her kinds of views, albeit with certain modifications, such that naturalism would be seen as a tradition in MacIntyre’s sense. Naturalists still could make rational arguments that they have the most rationally superior tradition available, one that should be accepted as “true,” even though we would now understand truth and knowledge in light of the tradition of naturalism and the standards of rationality internal to it. But, as we have seen in MacIntyre, that does not entail relativism. The price to be paid on this move is that naturalism would be incapable of giving us access to the real world directly, for all such access is mediated by the language and concepts of naturalism. That access would require interpretation, drawn from the standpoint of naturalism. But, that would not be a problem, once we realize that we cannot know the real world directly on these views. But now, let us see whether her proposal will withstand scrutiny, and thus we will see whether naturalism (and knowledge, given naturalism) can thrive as a MacIntyrean tradition. Assessing Naturalism as Her Kind of Tradition There are two main lines of criticism that I will consider at this stage in our study.105 First, Murphy perpetuates two central, problematic positions that we have seen beset other naturalistic options. They are (1) the affirmation that all contact   In regards to my assessment of MacIntyre’s views, see also my Virtue Ethics and Moral Knowledge: Philosophy of Language after MacIntyre and Hauerwas (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003), as well as chapters 8 and 10 in my as-yet-unpublished manuscript “In Search of Moral Knowledge: Rethinking Ethics and the Fact–Value Dichotomy.” There I respond to his criticism and I explore my reinterpretation of MacIntyre’s views. 105

The Future Directions of Naturalism

177

with reality is a conceptualization, or interpretation; hence, everything is a taking, since nothing is given, and (2) all that exists (at least in “creation”) is physical. Thus, there are no intrinsically intentional/representational qualities available, and so everything is interpretation. In a view in which those two positions are both affirmed, there simply is no room for any access to reality itself. But then, the problems we have rehearsed return again, including that all we have to work with are our conceptualizations, even when we think we are making contact with reality. If so, how can we ever get started in forming concepts in the first place? That conclusion has special significance here, for Murphy has appealed to MacIntyre’s views as a way to rationally adjudicate between rival traditions, or standpoints. That move involves learning the language of another, alien tradition as a second, first language, like an insider. But, how is that even possible if we cannot even get started in forming concepts? There is another way to illustrate the problems that arise from there being no uninterpreted access to reality. I will confine myself to one example, that of knowledge of inanimate objects.106 Consider an ocean shell, the “Pink Murex” from West Mexico.107 When we observe it, unless our faculty of eyesight is not functioning properly, surely we see the shell. What are some of its features? It is over 3” long, with several off-white pointed tips, or “mini-cones,” that extend from its overall gentle shape. If you hold it in the palm of your hand, you will feel those rounded points, which prevent the entire surface of the shell from resting in your palm. Its underside has an opening that is “pinkish” in color, with an opening that winds inward in a spiral-like shape. There also is an edge, albeit not one sharp to the touch, which lies on the outer opening of the shell, before the rest of the shell winds inward. If you put your ear close to that opening, you can hear different sounds, which some say sounds like the waves in the surf. Now, on the view we are considering, there is no experience by direct acquaintance. I think no one would doubt, though, that we are experiencing a shell, even a pink murex. But, so they would say, to experience it really amounts to experiencing it as a shell – that is, under a conceptual scheme by which we interpret it as a shell. If so, then it seems that, when I experience the shell, I experience something, and it is by that thing’s falling under a concept (such that it is classified, or grouped) that I see it as a shell. I do not see the shell directly, but surely there must be something there that I am experiencing that I can interpret as a shell; otherwise, there would be nothing there (that we can know, at least) to be conceptualized. Of course, these same results happen if we focus on the shell’s particular qualities. Suppose we focus on the pink color of the shell’s underside. If we   But, in chapter 10 of In Search of Moral Knowledge, I take up more cases of knowledge: of animate things in the natural world, artifacts, people other than us, and then, us. 107   Scientifically, it is known as Murex erythrostomus. To see a sample, go to http:// www.seashells.com/large/pinkmurex.htm (accessed March 15, 2011). 106

178

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

cannot experience that quality by direct acquaintance, but only under an aspect, then something odd takes place again on the level of specific qualities: that quality seems to elude my epistemic abilities to know it; we only know something that is conceived as being pink. It seems we could never get started in knowing anything, for this problem can be repeated ad infinitum, which sets us off on an infinite regress. This appropriate argument may be natural to raise now, but my concern at present is not that one. Instead, it is this: To experience something as falling under a concept (e.g., being colored), I still have to experience something, it seems. If it is objected that I do not have to experience anything, then it does seem that a real world vanishes. But that is an extreme, unlikely objection, I think. And if I do experience something, what is it about that “thing” that makes it appropriate for it to fall under a certain concept, versus another? Furthermore, what makes it appropriate to use a color term in reference to it, as opposed to some other kind of term? So, now let me consider a second line of criticism against Murphy, which is addressed against her use of MacIntyre’s claim that we can rationally adjudicate between two rival traditions, with rival standards of rationality, to see which is rationally superior, though that is never done apart from the standpoint of a tradition. For MacIntyre, the way to “see” the superiority of an alien tradition over one’s first tradition is by learning the language of that new tradition by “going native.” The person can learn to conceptualize the real world from under a different aspect, such that the person can know that the new tradition solves problems in ways that demonstrate its rational superiority over the first tradition. That is, the alien tradition offers its rational resources to conceptualize and resolve the problems the first tradition encountered from its own standpoint. We should note that there is an intuitive, important plausibility to MacIntyre’s basic claim. If there is a real world, with real people and other real features, yet we see (interpret) the world differently, then in order to really understand them, we must do so from their own standpoint. So, we read primary texts, consult with members of that way of life, and learn their language and culture fluently by living among them. All these points seem to be well taken. But, on MacIntyre’s account, and thus Murphy’s, whenever such language learning takes place, it seems it would involve necessarily a self that has been shaped (classified, grouped) by, or in reference to, its primary way of life. If all experience is interpreted, then even our experience of ourselves, as well as of the language, culture, and rational resources of that second way of life (even from within it) would be interpreted. It seems, therefore, that we would interpret this alien way of life according to our primary way of life, which could well involve translation (and mistranslation, for that matter). It seems MacIntyre is banking on our ability to undergo gestalt switches. We can undergo major conceptual transformations, even switching our allegiances from one way of life to another. As an illustration, consider the biblical story of the apostle Paul, who, before being appeared to by the risen Christ, was a vehement persecutor of the church, known then as Saul. But after his experiencing Jesus, he

The Future Directions of Naturalism

179

underwent a radical conceptual shift. Or, MacIntyre’s own transformations might be examples. Perhaps we get to a point in our learning a second way of life’s language, culture, conceptual resources, etc., that we experience a transformation which may surprise us like a gift. We simply discover that we now see life under a different aspect. But if our experiences are always conceptualized, there is no non-aspectual, uninterpreted experience, and for MacIntyre and Murphy these experiences are tied to ways of life with their languages and conceptual schemes. Accordingly, when we are learning a second culture, even as a native among them, we cannot shed our first community’s way of seeing, lest we suddenly not have an aspect from which to have experiences. It seems then that we see the second tradition from the standpoint of the first. But that result would leave us in a position such that we do not have access directly to the resources, people, mores, etc., of the second culture. Instead, we would be seeing “something,” but always under the aspect of the first culture. Hence, there is nothing for us to know directly, for the second culture’s features always remain beyond our epistemic abilities. We only access them from the way “they” have been classified according to our first way of life’s conceptualization of reality. So, we are unable to migrate from one way of life to another, if we do not have experience, or knowledge, by direct acquaintance. We just do not have the ability to access the second way of life’s resources, etc., except from under the aspect of the first. But that result seems very wrong in reality; surely we can and do change from one way of life to another; after all, people like MacIntyre have done, and do, this. But how is that possible? Perhaps we just suddenly find ourselves seeing the world under the second community’s aspect, just as we formerly saw it under the aspect of the first. But now, the problem would repeat itself in the reverse direction. Now we cannot access the first community’s resources, except as “they” are seen from under the aspect of the second community. Just as we have seen above, the result would be that there is nothing there for me to know directly, for now the first culture’s features always remain beyond my ability to experience and know. What then remains for us to compare, to see the rational resources of one as superior to another? We simply do not have that option available to us. Notice that this problem occurs even when learning a second way of life’s language as an insider. Hence, an apparent strength of Murphy’s views – that is, her use of MacIntyre to show how we can see which tradition is rationally superior, though the standards of rationality are internal to traditions – simply will not work. If everything is a taking, as it must be for Murphy, then her views also fail to give us knowledge of reality, and they offer no benefit to naturalists in solving this core problem after all.

180

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Two More Objections I see two last, possible objections that might be forthcoming at this stage of this book’s argument. First, couldn’t a naturalist attempt to rebut my entire case by simply affirming that there is a real world that we see directly by way of, or with, our concepts? In a discussion of John McDowell’s views, as well as his own, Hilary Putnam makes a claim like this, when he discusses how our conceptualizations serve as “forms … of openness to the world.”108 In a discussion of his current views, Putnam realizes that he erred when he characterized “internal realism” as the view that our experiences (sense data) and conceptual schemes are “between” us and the real world.109 Instead, our experiences and concepts enable us to be “open to the world, as interacting with the world in ways that permit aspects of it to reveal themselves to us.”110 More explicitly, Putnam has said that “concepts ENABLE us to see aspects of reality directly.”111 Furthermore, Putnam has repudiated as a mistake how he formerly characterized our constructive efforts. Before, he wrote of our “making” reality, but he realizes that was a mistake.112 While there is plenty of room for a constructive contribution we provide in our knowledge, it is limited to making concepts, language games, conceptual schemes, and uses of words.113 Now, it is true that we do in fact see by way of our concepts. That is, we do interpret and see things as falling under concepts. Being able to experience something that is real as falling under a concept is very important, which helps extend our knowledge of reality. In scientific experiments, data is collected, which in practice often is done in light of the implications of a particular theory. The theory guides our experiments, helps us make sense of and classify our observations, and helps us predict certain phenomena. Moreover, various ethical claims made in the public square today are done under the conceptual framework influenced by relativism, that there really are no objective, universal moral truths that are true for all people. To think that there are universal truths may be interpreted as being fascist: one is attempting to impose one’s personal moral convictions on others. But the fact that we do interpret our experiences and see things as falling under concepts does not undermine the need for, and reality of, our being able to experience things directly. So, that we interpret the world under the aspect of different frameworks is very important. Putnam is right: we do see real objects in the real world as falling under 108   Hilary Putnam, “From Quantum Mechanics to Ethics and Back Again,” presentation at “Putnam at 80” conference, University College Dublin, Ireland, March 14, 2007, p. 14 (emphasis in original). 109  Ibid. 110  Ibid. 111   Hilary Putnam, e-mail correspondence, August 6, 2007. 112   Putnam, “From Quantum Mechanics to Ethics and Back Again,” pp. 14, 16. 113   Ibid., p. 18.

The Future Directions of Naturalism

181

certain concepts, and in that way we can see them more as they are. There is much truth to the point that we do understand, classify, and organize life, the world, etc., from the standpoint of some framework. In Putnam’s case, however, he still writes as a naturalistic philosopher.114 Even so, for him, there are other “forms” of reality (such as moral, or religious). Furthermore, many properties of the world cannot be reduced to physical properties, yet the world’s matter is physical.115 Accordingly, his view still needs a resource that would exist within the ontological boundaries of naturalism, which will allow us to have intrinsic representations/intentionality. But that is precisely what we have seen is lacking in naturalism, and thus his view will not be able to overcome the problems that arise from that condition. Moreover, though Putnam writes about our having direct access to the real world, he still maintains his thesis of conceptual relativity. That is, there are various ways to describe the real world, yet these may be “equivalent” in that they are “mutually relatively interpretable.”116 But, as he wrote before, and does not seem to have rejected now, Putnam argues that What is wrong with the notion of objects existing “independently” of conceptual schemes is that there are no standards for the use of even the logical notions apart from conceptual choices … The alternative to this idea is not the view that it’s all just language. We can and should insist that some facts are there to be discovered and not legislated by us. But this is something to be said when one has adopted a way of speaking, a language, a “conceptual scheme.” To talk of “facts” without specifying the language to be used is to talk of nothing; the word “fact” no more has its use fixed by the world itself than does the word “exist” or the word “object.”117

But that is where another problem lies. Putnam has given us many different claims about reality: there is a real world apart from our conceptual choices; we have the ability to see reality directly; and much more. Yet, by his criterion, those claims are ones he has made from the standpoint of his way of speaking. So these “facts” about the world are not fixed by the real world, but only by how they are used within his conceptual scheme. Putnam cannot make good on his claims as being something more than the result of his way of speaking.

114

  This may be disputed in Putnam’s case, but he still describes himself as a naturalistic philosopher. See the introduction to his Jewish Philosophy as a Guide to Life: Rosenzweig, Buber, Levinas, Wittgenstein (Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press, 2008). 115   Hilary Putnam, e-mail correspondence, August 2, 2007. 116   Putnam, “From Quantum Mechanics to Ethics and Back Again,” p. 19. 117   Hilary Putnam, Representation and Reality, Representation and Mind series, ed. Hilary Putnam and Ned Block (Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1992), p. 114 (emphasis in original).

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

182

Now it seems we have exhausted rebuttals. As a second rejoinder, therefore, naturalists might simply agree that we are at an impasse in terms of how to make good on our knowledge claims. Moreover, this is not a new phenomenon; after all, we have been struggling with that at least since Hume and Kant. Yet, so the argument (assertion?) might go, we still have good, independent evidence of the truth of naturalism, perhaps from scientific progress. Thus, we just live with this tension between what we know from science, and our problems with making good on our epistemology. After all, science gives us knowledge of the facts of the world, but philosophy ends up being a “softer” discipline. This rejoinder will not do. We have failed to see any naturalistic basis on which we may have knowledge of the real world, and so it will not work to appeal to what science has shown us. Indeed, if my argument thus far has been correct, then this kind of reply is just a dogmatic assertion, one made on the basis of blind faith. For we have not found a way that we can have knowledge of reality based on naturalism, no matter how it may be construed. Therefore, such replies are dogmatic and not well supported.118 After Naturalism, What? Thus, I have argued that there is a complete failure on philosophical naturalism to give us knowledge of reality. But we do have clear cases of such knowledge in science and other disciplines. How, then, is that not only possible, but actual? Moreover, it is not enough for us to hold onto naturalism as the truth about the nature of reality, despite our inability to have knowledge of reality on its basis. It seems, therefore, that there must be another philosophical explanation, other than naturalism, for how we can have such knowledge. In the next chapter, I will develop a positive case for how we can, and do, have such knowledge.

118

  Moreover, to continue to conduct science on the basis of philosophical naturalism will undermine scientific inquiry itself. It would be pointless to do science anymore on that basis, for it would be hopeless to give us knowledge of the real world. But in Chapter 10 I will address implications of methodological naturalism for my arguments, and vice versa.

Chapter 9

A Positive Case for Our Knowledge of Reality Thus far, I largely have developed a critique of philosophical naturalism, that on it we cannot know of reality. For a naturalist to continue to maintain that we still do know reality on the basis of naturalism’s ontology, a constructivism of sorts would be required. But my critique of naturalism does not entail that we can and often indeed know reality. What can we find in that regard? Or are we hopelessly lost in skeptical wranglings, or perhaps in constructivist thought? I am persuaded that we can know reality veridically, albeit not exhaustively, and we can be mistaken (at least in principle). I will first describe examples of what I think are clear cases of knowledge, to show that we can and often do know reality. Then, I will explore a second set of cases, to see how we can do just that. Along the way, I will try to generalize and extend my argument from clear, mundane cases to those of more theoretical knowledge. A Few Preliminary Cases of Knowledge All I will show here is that there are many things we do know. If true, then in our theorizing we need to account for those cases. I do not aim for 100 per cent certainty of knowledge in these cases; after all, there are many cases where we clearly do seem to know. I am not so concerned with skepticism to think that I must refute a skeptic. Though there are many different views of the nature of scientific knowledge, there still seem to be clear cases that count as examples of scientific knowledge. For one, we know that if a uranium nucleus is bombarded with neutrons, the nucleus will split and release a great amount of energy. We also know that two hydrogen atoms bond with a single oxygen atom in the chemical structure of water. We also know that the chemical structure of carbon dioxide is CO2, whereas carbon monoxide is CO. We also know that breathing in too much of the latter can kill you. Medically, we know that selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) work on a neuro-chemical basis for depression.1 We also know that other medical 1  See Carol Turkington and Eliot F. Kaplan, “Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors (SSRIs),” WebMD Medical Reference from “Making the Antidepressant Decision,” at http://my.webmd.com/content/article/87/99352.htm, accessed June 23, 2008.

184

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

treatments, such as chemotherapy drugs, destroy cancerous cells. And we know that in most cases antihistamines such as Claritin tend to not make people drowsy, unlike some other kinds. We also have mathematical knowledge. We know that 2 + 2 = 4, that 2/3 = .667, rounded to three decimal places, and so on. We have historical knowledge; we know that the jury in the O.J. Simpson murder trial reached a not guilty verdict, which was announced on October 3, 1995. Furthermore, we know that Nazi Germany invaded Poland on September 1, 1939. We also have knowledge of truths about ourselves and our families. I know that my maternal grandparents emigrated separately from Sweden in the 1800s. I married my wife, Debbie, on October 27, 1984, and our daughter was born on December 18, 2001. I know that I have a California driver’s license, and that I am a citizen of the United States. I also know many things about myself and my wife, including our character traits. My wife was born in Maryland and grew up there and in Virginia, whereas I grew up in California. Clearly, there are many things we know to be the case, and many more beyond what I have mentioned. Of course, I am well aware that knowledge of self-evident truths has been denied by some, such as MacIntyre, and others have claimed that all knowledge is theory-dependent, or narrative-dependent, and the like. My point here is simply that we do know many things about the real world. But how then do we account for that fact? And can we make a case how we can, and often do, know the real world? I believe we can. If so, what is required ontologically for such knowledge? How Do We Know Reality? Some Case Studies Even in circumstances when someone claims to have knowledge, yet also holds that knowledge is theory-dependent, narrative-dependent, etc., I think we need to ask such people to describe carefully just what is going on in a person when he or she has knowledge. What I think we will find from people who hold such views is often a dearth of such descriptions, and instead a persistent use of an a priori assumption that, for example, the cognizer simply cannot match up with reality. In that spirit, I will try to sketch several cases, often quite mundane, to try to describe what is going on in the person who knows, in order to help us see how we can, and do, have access to know reality. I already have offered one such case in Chapter 2: how my daughter learned to identify apples through many noticings, forming a concept, and so on. The prescription refill example:  I use my telephone to call in refills for prescriptions. I bring the vial with me to the phone while I call, and I am prompted by the system to enter certain information, starting with my phone number. I have to look at the phone’s keypad, notice which keys are for which numbers, and then press the correct numbers in sequence. How do I (or anyone else) do that? I think

A Positive Case for Our Knowledge of Reality

185

of a number, then I see which key is for that number, and then I direct my finger to that key and press it. After doing that for all the digits, I hear the number replayed back to me, and again I have to verify that I entered the number correctly. How do I do that? I listen to the digits, and then I compare the numbers spoken back to me in a sequence with those of my phone number. I have to be able to hear the numbers for what they are, compare them with what I know to be my number, and see that they match up. The same follows when I enter the prescription number, which in turn is repeated back to me. Again, I have to be able to see the number, this time on the vial, as it really is, then see which keys are for which numbers, and then direct my finger to press the right keys. If I make a mistake, I can know that because I can see that I pressed the wrong one. I must be able to see the numbers for what they are on the vial, do the same with the keypad, and then match up the audio feedback with the number as I read it on the vial. In all cases, I have to be able to see the numbers for what they are, in order to match them up.2 The example of reading a text aloud:  Suppose you are reading a portion of Saul Kripke’s Naming and Necessity aloud in a class. You read from page 48, as your students follow along in their copies of the book: “Let’s call something a nonrigid designator if in every possible world it designates the same object.”3 Suppose you read the sentence just like that. Now, you may notice that some people look up at you with a puzzled look on their faces. You might start to wonder why. Then, maybe someone pulls you aside and, to your surprise, tells you read it wrong, that you substituted “nonrigid” for “rigid.” How would people present know whether what you read was right or not? Somehow they have to hear the sounds you uttered for what they are, see what the word on the page actually is, compare the two, and then express their thoughts properly in language (such as, “you misspoke,” not “great job!”). I did this kind of exercise intentionally in a class one day, to see how attentively my students were following my reading, and to force them to pay attention to what was represented in their experiences – what they heard, what they read, their comparison of the two, and their judgment. How could we ever correct anyone if we do not have access to these things as they really are, and that we can each see what is indeed the case? A fishing case study:  Consider an extended, more detailed case study in which much attention to what is represented in experience is required. Suppose there is a community in Carlsbad, California, whose members practice surf fishing.4 Over 2

  In terms of what is involved, this example also is much like how we use credit and debit cards to make transactions. 3   See Saul A. Kripke, Naming and Necessity (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980), p. 48. 4   I speak from within as one such expert, who has participated for decades, and who was trained by other experts, such as my father and uncle.

186

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

the years they have adapted to new technologies, including refinements in the spinning and open-faced, bait casting reels, as well as stronger, yet lighter, fishing line and poles, and so on. With casting with an open-faced reel, the fisherman must carefully watch the progress of both the line and sinker through the air. Immediately upon hitting the water’s surface, the person must press the thumb against the reel’s spool to stop both the line and the spinning of the spool. Otherwise, the spool will continue to turn rapidly, and the line on the reel will peel off and tangle into what is called a “bird’s nest,” since the motion of the sinker has been drastically slowed by the surf. When experts with the open-faced reel switch from the older plastic spool to the new metallic one, they must learn how to cast with the reel afresh. For with the older plastic spooled-reels, they did not have to keep quite as close a monitor with their thumbs on the outbound line as they do with the somewhat heavier metallic spool. Now, they must ever so slightly brake the line all the time during the cast, and not just when the sinker hits the water, lest they repeatedly have bird’s nests. There are many other kinds of skills needed to engage in this practice successfully, such as the need to distinguish between the bites of a corbina and a croaker, and even within those, the differences between a young, small fish’s bite and a large, adult one’s strike. Regardless of the specific skill, to acquire and use it the individual fisherman must pay attention to what is represented in experiences, and the havings of those particular representations are unavailable to anyone else. An onlooker, or even a trainer, can judge by a bird’s nest that I failed to stop the spool from spinning, but only I can be aware that a certain pressure of the thumb, combined with a certain felt-level of effort of my cast, produced a longer cast than one where I pressed slightly more firmly on the metallic spool. In night fishing, this first-person access and attention to what is represented in one’s own experience becomes more important, because the person must judge by experience (and not by sight) that when he or she casts with a certain degree of strength, and releases the line at a certain angle, and after a certain amount of time, the person must then stop the reel’s spinning. Consider also how an expert trains a new fisherman in when to “set the hook.” The experienced fisherman can describe in words when to pull back on the rod quickly when the rod’s tip moves in such-and-such a manner. Or, the expert fisherman can model that behavior when his or her pole moves in such ways. The novice needs to observe, ask questions and try to imitate that behavior, but ultimately, what both fishermen require is an access to, and keen awareness of, the felt-quality of both the bite and the resultant tug on the line. What each fisherman (expert or beginner) needs is not just a know-how of fishing, which could be described in third-person terms. Becoming a good fisherman requires more than just reading about fishing, or moving one’s body parts in certain ways. It requires one’s own experience, which cannot be gained by the corrections of a trainer. The individual person must pay attention to what is represented in his or her experiences and learn to distinguish between slight variations in similar kinds of experiences.

A Positive Case for Our Knowledge of Reality

187

The importance of this example is that the excellent fisherman somehow needs to see that this particular case (a certain bite) is an example of a certain kind of bite (for example, that of an adult halibut). Then, that bite requires such-andsuch action, as opposed to the action required with a bite that is very similar, yet different. Once again, access to the actual state of affairs, experiencing them for what they are, comparing them with our concepts, and seeing if they match up or not, is crucial. The Theoretical Explanation What should we make of these case studies? In each case, we have to be able to see a thing for what it is. From many noticings, we develop a concept of what that thing is. We also must see that a particular object of our experience is another instance of that kind of thing (perhaps a Golden Delicious apple). We learn to associate a term with our experience of the object by hearing the term for what it is and seeing the object for what it is. Later, we can compare a term with an object that is represented in experience and see that, yes, the object is indeed that kind of thing, or no, that it is not. That is, we can see that an object of our experience fulfills the concept, and then we can see that the thing in question is indeed such-and-such. Therefore, at this point in the argument, the question is not if we can match up with the real world; our “preliminary” set of cases has shown that we do. To help explain how we do that, I will examine the early work of Edmund Husserl, a core of whose work is to try to answer how a mental act can reach beyond itself and be “together” (or, enter into a relation) with its intended object. I distinguish his “early” and “later” works (the latter of which was published after 1901). In the later ones, Husserl seems overly confident, even arrogant, to achieve an exact, rigorous science of knowledge across all disciplines, based on his phenomenology. He claims that a rigorous body of knowledge entails that it is crystal clear, that all presuppositions are precisely analyzed, and that it has no theoretical doubt. But these are claims that evince the modern era’s hubris, and surely he is mistaken in these.5 He begins with the metaphysical principle of determinacy, that every existent is a determinate whole. It has specifiable parts and properties, even though we may not be able to know all of them as such.6 This principle encompasses physical objects and acts of consciousness, for they too are existents. Thus, mental acts are wholes with their parts and properties, just as intended objects have theirs.   Against this later attitude and claim, see Dallas Willard’s Logic and the Objectivity of Knowledge (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 1984), 259. Or see my “Finitude, Fallenness, and Immediacy: Husserlian Replies to Westphal and JKA Smith,” Philosophia Christi 13:1 (2011): 105-26. 6   This will become evident with his treatment of physical objects in particular. 5

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

188

As we have seen, mental acts essentially are intentional, but of course that property of a given mental act does not guarantee that its intended object obtains in reality.7 Now Husserl stresses the distinction between that which is intended and the phenomenological content which is immanent as a property of an experience.8 This is important because mere intentional direction of a mental act is indifferent to the ontological status of the intended object. If we have an experience of Pegasus, all that entails is that we are having “a certain presentational experience, which may be dismembered as one chooses” without turning up Pegasus.9 So, that experience of Pegasus is a whole with its parts, but Pegasus itself is not a part thereof. If it were, then a winged horse would be a part of that experience itself. Ontological Transcendence and Immanence Here we may see an important distinction Husserl makes between transcendence and immanence in an ontological sense. Consider a cat and a thought about it. Transcendence in this sense means that the intended object (the cat) with its parts and properties is not a part of the thought about that cat. On the other hand, immanence ontologically focuses upon the parts and properties of (or, present in) that thought. Applying that distinction, Husserl draws an important conclusion, that the objects are also unable to create differences among presentations, and especially not the differences so familiar to us from the proper content of each presentation in respect of what it presents … That a representation refers to a certain object in a certain manner, is not due to its acting on some external, independent object, “directing” itself to it in some literal sense, or doing something to it or with it, as a hand writes with a pen. It is due to nothing that stays outside of the presentation, but to its own inner peculiarity alone … a given presentation presents this object in this manner in view of its peculiarly differentiated presentational characteristics.10

Therefore, the mental act’s own intrinsic parts and properties alone determine what its object is and how that object is presented for the act. For instance, suppose I pay attention to my thought about what I ate for breakfast. To be that thought, it does not seem it could be about anything else.  7

  As a brief reminder, we can think about non-existent things, such as Pegasus, or the present-day king of France. We also can hallucinate. Or, we can think about possible states of affairs that may or may not obtain in reality (where I left my glasses).  8   See Edmund Husserl, Logical Investigations, Vol. II, trans. J.N. Findlay (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1970), pp. 576–80. (Note: for either volume I or II, I will refer hereafter simply to LI and the page numbers.)  9  Willard, Logic, p. 220. 10  Husserl, Logical Investigations II, p. 603.

A Positive Case for Our Knowledge of Reality

189

Of course, I could think instead about when the installation of my car’s new tire will be finished, or any number of other states of affairs, including possible ones. But those would be different thoughts, for they would have different intentional contents. Indeed, thoughts (and other mental states) seem to have intrinsic qualities, such that they are essential to what they are. That is, they seem to have their intentionality intrinsically, which we also have seen before. However, “the intentional essence does not exhaust the [mental] act phenomenologically.”11 What, then, are other parts and properties of mental acts that have a bearing upon our verifying whether our thought (or other mental act) is together with its intended object? According to Husserl, mental acts have matter, quality, and sensa.12 By matter, he means the directedness of a given act upon a specific object.13 That is, while we can speak of distinctions among acts in general as between “presentative, judgemental, emotional, desiderative, etc.” (that is, their quality – the propositional attitude toward the object), we also can identify specifications among acts that present this particular thing, or judge that specific action, etc.14 Dallas Willard clarifies that “matter, then, is that aspect of the act’s content which determines the object and the way it is intended.”15 Third, sensa are the act’s representing content. These are the same general types as sense-perceptible qualities, such as colors, flavors, smells, sounds, and more, even though Husserl did not limit what exists to what is sense perceptible. An act may remain the same in intentional content (for example, it is of the coffee cup), yet the vivacity of its sensuous contents may increase or diminish: an object that now “appears with greater clearness and definiteness” also can become “lost in a mist,” and even become “paler in colour etc.”16 Husserl uses this account to draw two ideal types of limiting cases.17 One extreme is the purely signitive act, in which the more or less vivid sensum might be utterly different from the intended object. The other extreme is the purely intuitive act, in which every property of the intended object matches a sensum that instances that same property. Importantly, Husserl thought that the latter kind of act is impossible with physical objects.18 We now can sketch Husserl’s general ontological schema of mental acts and how they can be together with their intended objects, if they obtain. Mental acts are wholes with parts and properties, as are their intended objects (if they obtain in reality). Determinate wholes can enter into relations, and second, from the general theory of relations, whatever relations obtain depend upon the properties 11

  Ibid., p. 591.   Ibid., p. 740. 13   Ibid., p. 737. 14   Ibid., p. 586. 15  Willard, Logic, p. 223. 16  Husserl, Logical Investigations, p. 591. 17   Ibid., p. 739. 18   Ibid., p. 866. 12

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

190

of the relata. Since a thought and its intended object have their respective parts and properties, ontologically the object is indifferent to the thought and thus exists “in itself.”19 For a relation to obtain between the mental act with its intended object, the act’s intentional property with its nature is “together with” the object’s intensional properties due to their natures, or, alternatively, their “natural affinity” for each other. That is, it is the nature of my experience of my wife to be together with my wife, due to the properties of each. Or, the nature of my thought of my cat is to be of my cat, and it is together with it due to the intrinsic properties of each. This is how a mental act can “get outside itself” ontologically. Fulfillment, and Epistemological Transcendence and Immanence So much for the ontological explanation of how a mental act can be together with its intended object, if that object obtains in reality. But, how can we know whether a given mental act of ours enters into a relation with its intended object? This brings us to a discussion of Husserl’s notion of fulfillment, or verification. Through a series of increasingly closer examinations, an object that is thought of or referred to is found to be as it was thought to be. In the ideal case, the object’s properties are found to match completely those in thought. This is epistemological immanence; in contrast, epistemological transcendence is when the intended object is not fully given. Earlier, I gave an example of walking in a shopping mall and seeing someone at a distance who looks like she might be my wife. As I came closer to her, I made more observations, and I finally could clearly see it was her. I had a series of experiences, and each one could help fulfill the subsequent one. I could see that a relationship obtained between each experience in the sequence such that each one helped me come closer epistemically to the same person. Eventually, I could see that a relationship of fulfillment obtained between my thought of my wife and her as she was presented in my experience. How could this be? First, Husserl maintains that a relationship of fulfillment obtains between concrete experiences. For this to take place, the fulfilling experience must be an experience of the same thing, and even known to be that.20 Second, the process of fulfillment involves in an intuitive presentation a varying amount of intuitive fulness … This talk of varying amount points … to possible gradients of fulfilment: proceeding along these, we come to know the object better and better, by way of a presentative content that resembles it ever more and more closely, and grasps it more and more vividly and fully.21

  On their differences, see for instance Husserl, Logical Investigations, p. 567.   Ibid., p. 696. 21   Ibid., p. 745. 19 20

A Positive Case for Our Knowledge of Reality

191

Husserl offers the following example of an intuitive fulfillment-series: “the transition from a rough drawing to a more exact pencil-sketch, then from the latter to the completed picture, and from this to the living finish of the painting, all of which present the same, visibly the same, object.”22 In order for one act to fulfill another, “the fulfilling act has a superiority which the mere intention lacks: it imparts to the synthesis the fulness of ‘self,’ at least leads more directly to the thing itself.”23 According to Willard’s interpretation, Husserl understands this process of verification, and fulfillment itself, “under the term ‘intuition,’ and which makes the object intended to be ‘itself’ present.”24 In the ideal case, the object is fully and directly present before us in conscious awareness, and we find that every property of the object present in experience matches the corresponding properties of the object as it was thought to be. That is the limit of “intuitiveness.” Crucially, however, we must make two qualifications. First, fullness comes about “as the properties of the object intended, whatever they may be, come into intuitive view in the manner appropriate to properties of the type in question.”25 Second, fulfillment admits of degrees, and again this likely will tie closely to the kinds of objects and their respective properties under consideration. Husserl considered mainly three kind of intentional objects: physical objects in the world; mental acts themselves; and universals. For physical objects, Husserl did not think we could achieve such fullness. Due to the kind of thing these objects are, they do not admit of being fully present in intuition at a single time. Moreover, sense perception is not infallible. So, such knowledge of material objects is not infallible or certain.26 But for mental acts and universals (for example, the property of intentionality itself; the fulfillment and truth relations themselves; a concept that many people may have in mind at any given time), in principle they can be presented in syntheses of fulfillment. As Husserl says, “only the perception of one’s actual experiences is indubitable and evident.”27 Still, Husserl immediately adds that “not every such percept is evident,” which he illustrates with the percept of a toothache.28 A real experience is perceived, but we can be quite mistaken as to how the pain appears to us (say, as the boring of a sound tooth). So even though for him it is possible

22

  Ibid., p. 721.   Ibid., p. 720. 24  Willard, Logic, p. 231. 25   Ibid., p. 229. 26   Also, Husserl does not contend that in fulfillment we will have exhaustive, pristine, and blind-to-nothing knowledge. We can be directly acquainted with an object as it is intended, but that does not mean we will know everything about it (or someone). It seems utterly fallacious to level that charge at his earlier views. 27  Husserl, Logical Investigations, p. 866. 28  Ibid. 23

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

192

for mental acts and universals to be fully present before us, that may not happen in actual experience, for they too can be represented inadequately. But for all this talk of intuition of universals and essences (the categorial intuition), and how an intended object can be directly present before us in conscious awareness in a relationship of fulfillment, could it not be the case after all that the mind has produced that objectivity? I do not think so. Minds can produce mental acts, and we can compare experiences of the intended object with each other, to see whether a relationship of fulfillment obtains between them. But in a new whole, consisting of the fulfillment relationship between the intended object and the fulfilling act, the object’s character as a part of that whole is not that of something “added to that thing by an act perceiving it as a part of the whole.”29 Thus, the mental act directed upon some object does not do something to that object.30 Still, how can a distinction within experience guarantee a transcendent reach beyond experience? Having a thought with its fulfilling intuition is a mental act; so, its mere existence does not guarantee a reach beyond the “circle of ideas.” Here we come to perhaps one of Husserl’s most significant distinctions. Generally speaking, there is not a necessary connection between mental acts of an object and the object itself. A mental act’s mere intentionality will not suffice for this, for we can think about many things without their having to obtain. Conversely, the existence of an object does not entail that there would be any thoughts or experiences of it. Their connection, therefore, is not an existential one. Instead, if an act is of the appropriate kind, then the objectivity of the object is knowable. For instance, to examine an argument’s validity we would not smell it, nor would we tune a violin by tasting the strings. Rather, there are constraints of an essential kind that determine which acts and objects can come together in a relationship of fulfillment, and wholes can enter into that relationship due to the kinds of properties they have. Thus, the connection between a mental act and its object is one of essences, not existence. So, when an object is fully present, “the object is not merely meant, but in the strictest sense given, and given as it is meant, and made one with our meaning-reference.”31 By this Husserl means that the specific act, with its matter and quality, and its intended object enter into a necessary relationship. That is, “given this specifically qualified experience indwelt by a certain meaning, the corresponding object must exist, and must be as it is thought to be.”32 Moreover, when an act transcendentally “reaches” beyond itself to its object (it enters into the transcending relationship), it has two features that might seem at first glance to be paradoxical. That is, the object is immanent in the sense of being in the whole formed by that relationship between act and object. But the object still retains its  Willard, Logic, p. 236.   See also Husserl, Logical Investigations, p. 788. 31   Ibid., p. 765. 32  Willard, Logic, p. 242. 29 30

A Positive Case for Our Knowledge of Reality

193

own essential qualities apart from that whole; thus it is transcendent to that whole. So Husserl’s clarity in defining the properties of mental acts in distinction from those of their intended objects shows that they are externally related to each other; each one is what it is apart from any whole of act-plus-object. The Necessary Ontology for Knowledge of Reality So far, then, I have defended that we can and often do have knowledge of the real world, which we can know as such, though I have not defended our knowing it infallibly. I also have developed how this is done. Now, I will extend these findings: what more might we learn about what is required ontologically for knowledge of the real world? If we are limited just to the ontology of naturalism, then mental states have to be denied or reduced. But, qua physical, they lack any intrinsic ofness. Further, in addressing the issues associated with causal chains, we cannot traverse them, to know whether the objects of our mental states are veridical or not. But, if instead mental states are irreducibly mental, then in principle those states are not subject to the physical limitations of causal chains. Thus, traversing, or transcending, those chains is possible. Moreover, intentionality is necessary, but not sufficient, for matching up with reality. There needs to be a nonconceptual, direct kind of access to reality, lest all our experiencings be conceptualizations. Otherwise, we would not be able to get started in forming concepts, nor know whether our concepts match up with reality or not. Now, I introduced Husserl to explain how a mental state can be together with some object (actual or not), and this involves in part the intrinsic ofness of our mental states. As we have seen, if there is no intrinsic intentionality or representation, then all our experiences, thoughts, beliefs, and so on become takings as, and knowledge of reality itself becomes impossible. As Dennett observes, this is due to a denial of essences. Preserving the intrinsically intentional qualities of our mental states requires, therefore, that intentional states have natures, which is why they have a natural affinity for the intensional properties (which also are intrinsic, with their own natures) of their objects (actual or not). The intentional property of a thought of an orange has a natural affinity for the intensional properties of an orange. From Husserl, how we know whether we match up with reality requires the ability to pay close attention to our mental life, to see that what is represented in experience matches up with our concepts of such a thing. This is a decidedly internalist criteria for matching up, and for the normative condition for knowledge. If this ability to introspect and pay attention to our experiences were always conceptual, we would be unable to form concepts in the first place, much less match up with objects in the real world. This implies rather strongly that there is a self performing as an agent in the acts of paying close attention to what is represented in experience. But knowledge

194

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

of reality involves much more: following through on a series of noticings, comparings, forming concepts; seeing whether what is represented in experience matches up with one’s concepts; adjusting or correcting concepts, and more. There is, that is, an active agent that owns and possesses these states, and does these activities. As I have argued so far, a mere physical system will not be able to meet all these requirements for knowledge of reality; therefore, the self must be something more (or other) than physical. And it seems the self must somehow literally retain its personal identity through change, such that it is the same person who owns these thoughts and experiences, grows in understanding and learning, and more. As an agent, the knower also requires the ability to see logical relations, hold them before one’s consciousness, and examine how propositions, what is represented in experience, and more are interrelated. And the knower must have a deep, noetic unity to do all these acts. But all these fail on a naturalistic ontology. Obviously, therefore, these necessary conditions for knowledge of reality, along with the fact that we do have clear cases of knowledge of reality, lead to an inevitable conclusion: philosophical, or metaphysical, naturalism cannot be true. Instead, a radically different ontology must be true, namely, a robust form of dualism (indeed, substance dualism) and not merely property dualism with mental states with intrinsic intentionality, for reasons we already have seen. Objections But, surely, naturalists will raise more objections against these conclusions. So, we will consider a couple shortly. But, I must remind us that we cannot have knowledge of reality on the basis of naturalism’s ontology. The burden of proof, therefore, has been shifted onto the naturalist to give an account of how we can have such knowledge, even to make cogent objections, for it seems likely that those objections will presuppose that very ability to have knowledge of reality. That said, I think we should face what I take to be a prominent (if not the most prominent) objection sure to be raised by naturalists against dualism, the interaction objection. It seems to me that this is a threshold issue we must address, for even though knowledge of reality seems to be secured only on a strongly dualistic view, nonetheless that view may be hard to accept at least for the reason frequently given, that it seems inconceivable to naturalists that an immaterial entity could causally interact with a physical one. I think the common version of this objection is raised against Cartesian substance dualism, which is not one I would endorse either. In the Cartesian version, there is a lack of a deep unity between the body and the soul, and that only serves to deepen this criticism. But not all versions of substance dualism follow that same pattern; for example, in the Thomistic variety, there is a deep unity between the body and the soul. Be that as it may, let us see what insights, if any, we may be able to develop from this book’s focus.

A Positive Case for Our Knowledge of Reality

195

First, we should situate this objection. It is offered from a naturalistic standpoint, assuming that that view is a rational one. But we have seen that is not so, for we cannot know reality, given naturalism. We could not even know that interaction is indeed a real problem. So much, then, for negative arguments against a naturalistically motivated interaction objection. But can we say anything more positively for interaction? I will not develop a full-blown account of such interaction here, and examine how that might be defended. Instead, I will call our attention to what we may become aware of by paying attention to our own experiences, much as I have done in the cases in this chapter. That is, I call us to perform, perhaps on many occasions, a phenomenological experiment. I think that, if we pay close attention to what is given in conscious awareness, without letting physicalist theories simply overrule a priori even the possibility of interaction, we can directly experience the fact that we each can, for example, will to lift our own arms, and then experience that we can actually do just that, unless certain other necessary conditions are not met (such as if my muscles were torn, or if my arms were tied down with chains). Of course, this reply will not satisfy methodological naturalists, who will want to confine knowledge to a procedure employed with such success in the natural sciences, the scientific method, with its use of an empirical method. How can we possibly develop a better procedure for having knowledge, especially of immaterial entities? For now, I will set this objection aside for special consideration in the next chapter. Perhaps another objection would be forthcoming from Dretske that my internalist-driven solution is, just as he warned, subject to skeptical objections. As we have seen before, his concern with internalism is that it presupposes a sense-datum view, and that lands us in skepticism about knowledge of the real world. But internalism need not be wed to a sense-datum view of sensations; that assumption by Dretske or Papineau is the result of their materialist commitments. But if an experience is not some object that is acceptable only in a materialist ontology, but instead is irreducibly mental, we are not saddled with its being the direct object of our awareness when we see, for instance, the apple.33 The apple is directly present before us in experience, and my experience (or thoughts, etc.) of it does nothing to change it. Moreover, I am not somehow unable to verify whether the object as presented (given) in experience is veridical or not; I can check up on what is given in experience, in just the sorts of ways Willard and Husserl have described. That is due, in no small measure, to the ontology of (1) the mental state with its intentionality, (2) the knower, and (3) the intensional properties of the object (whether real, or were it to obtain).

33   Nor, for that matter, if we pay attention to our experiences themselves as the direct objects of our awareness. On my ontology, there is no need for our access to our experiences themselves to be conceptual.

196

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Toward the Future What then are the implications of my findings? I already have mentioned some, but a great many more could present themselves upon reflection. So in the final chapter I will survey and offer several considerations of how I think we should change in thought and action, in light of this study’s findings.

Chapter 10

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method, and Other Implications We have witnessed the collapse of the rationality of philosophical naturalism, for we simply cannot know reality on the basis of that ontology. Thus, we should abandon that view. Yet some may reply that the scientific method, using methodological naturalism, still gives us knowledge of the real world. Indeed, perhaps our inability to rationally justify the metaphysics and epistemology of naturalism simply points out the flaws and limitations of it as a philosophy, or of philosophy itself. Indeed, we have enjoyed much, much success in gaining knowledge of the real world by science, and even if we cannot rationally justify the philosophy of naturalism, perhaps that does not mean we should jettison the enormously successful scientific method and methodological naturalism. Or so the reply may go. So, we should deal with this objection to my conclusions, this time more from the domain of science, and its intersection with philosophy. I will address this issue, and I will take up the question of just what our findings thus far might hold for methodological naturalism. Then I will see what are the prospects for knowledge in two subjects that have been relegated to the realm of private, personal opinion and preference, namely, ethics and religion. Last, I will explore implications our overall study might have for a variety of other subjects, such as education, public policy making and public discourse, and more. The Challenge of Methodological Naturalism When conducting science on the basis of methodological naturalism, we should confine our explanations of physical events to the realm of nature, without appeal to any nonnatural agent or, for that matter, to any nonnatural kinds of entities. As the naturalist philosopher Wilfrid Sellars asserted in regards to “describing and explaining the world, science is the measure of all things, of what is that it is, and of what is not that it is not.”1 Following this reasoning, scientism is the view that should be adopted about the nature and limits of knowledge. In its strong form, scientism restricts all knowledge to what science can tell us, whereas in a weaker

1   Wilfrid Sellars, Science, Perception, and Reality (Atascadero, CA: Ridgeview Publishing Company, 1963, 1991), p. 173.

198

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

form it still claims vast superiority for scientific forms of knowledge over other possible, yet inferior, forms of knowledge, such as in ethics. Now, some may argue that the justification of methodological naturalism does not stem from the metaphysical views one holds, but rather that it is necessary to investigate the world scientifically. So this argument assumes that methodological naturalism is metaphysically neutral. But, as Robert Larmer argues, this seems false: If, for example, I believe that there exist, or may possibly exist, mental states that play a causal role in determining bodily behavior, it makes no sense to adopt methodological behaviorism, since its adoption guarantees the development of psychological theories in which mental states either do not exist or play no causal role in bodily behavior. Only if I am already convinced that mental states do not exist or play no causal role does it make any kind of sense to insist on methodological behaviorism as a prerequisite of developing psychological theories.2

In other words, the adoption of methodological naturalism on this basis begs the question against such nonnatural entities. As we already have seen, our having knowledge requires different ontological resources than philosophical naturalism can provide. If my previous arguments are correct, mental entities are necessary for knowledge of reality, and so to rule them out by methodological naturalism is sure to give us an inaccurate view of reality. Moreover, to even make observations of the world requires the very kinds of entities that methodological naturalism refuses to countenance. To even begin to conduct science in a methodologically naturalistic manner requires borrowing from a dualist ontology. This conclusion seems to hold equally well, whether one defends naturalism in philosophy of science from either a realist or anti-realist view. For instance, if one is a scientific realist, then we think our scientific theories give us knowledge of the real world, as it truly is, more or less. But, as I have argued, this will be impossible on the ontology of naturalism. What if one adopts a form of anti-realism, by which I simply mean here that our theories do not give us the literal truth of the real world? Nonetheless, scientific anti-realist theorists still seem to think there is a real world we are investigating. Yet even that knowledge, and all knowledge whatsoever about reality, will be impossible, given ontological naturalism. Now, some may attempt to justify philosophical naturalism on the basis of the success of methodological naturalism. In her more popular essay, “Methodological Naturalism and Philosophical Naturalism: Clarifying the Connection,” philosopher Barbara Forrest makes this very suggestion. She claims that philosophical

2   Robert A. Larmer, “Is Methodological Naturalism Question-Begging?,” Philosophia Christi 5:1 (2003): 124.

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

199

naturalism is “the only reasonable metaphysical conclusion” given four points for which she argues: (1) the demonstrated success of methodological naturalism, combined with (2) the massive amount of knowledge gained by it, (3) the lack of a method or epistemology for knowing the supernatural, and (4) the subsequent lack of evidence for the supernatural.3

Moreover, for her, scientific investigation requires an empiricist epistemology, and since there is “no procedure for determining the legitimacy of intuition and revelation as ways of knowing, and no procedure for either confirming or disconfirming the supernatural content of intuitions or revelations,” they cannot be admitted into science.4 We should grant that Forrest, among others, is right if we interpret her to mean that we have gained enormous amounts of knowledge via science by using an empirical method, which reliably has given us knowledge of reality. We have understood many, many facets of the natural world, which have led to an incredible number of technological, medical, and other developments. There is nothing wrong per se with an empirical method. But Forrest defends an empiricist methodology, one that restricts all knowledge to what can be accessed by the five senses. Hence, by her definition, methodological naturalism brackets out anything else other than material reality. One problem with her argument is that, even if we have had an enormous number of successes with the use of methodological naturalism, her claim, that metaphysical naturalism is the only viable conclusion to be drawn, does not follow. For, as we have seen, our knowledge of the real world cannot be supported by the ontology of naturalism. Moreover, as a philosophy, empiricism is far from self-evidently true, as a number of thinkers have argued. Empiricism needs philosophical justification, as does the claim that the senses themselves give us knowledge of the real world (especially if one is an ontological naturalist). Science presupposes (but by itself cannot justify) the reliability of the senses to give us such knowledge. It needs philosophy to provide that justification. So it will not do to appeal just to the “demonstrated success” and “massive amount of knowledge” gained by using the scientific method, with its naturalistic methodology. Moreover, it seems that Forrest’s argument runs something like the following: Let P stand for the thesis of methodological naturalism, and let Q stand for the thesis of ontological naturalism. By modus ponens,

3   Barbara Forrest, “Methodological Naturalism and Philosophical Naturalism: Clarifying the Connection,” Philo 3:2 (Fall–Winter 2000), accessed from http://www. infidels.org/library/modern/barbara_forrest/naturalism.html, Nov 11, 2011, p. 1. 4   Ibid., p. 4 (emphasis in original).

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

200 If P, then Q P Q

However, we have seen arguments throughout this book that ontological naturalism cannot be valid. Therefore, if we have strong reasons to deny ontological naturalism, then we may shift to modus tolens, to show that we likewise have reasons to reject methodological naturalism: If P, then Q ~Q ~P

That methodological naturalism should be rejected as an overarching methodology does not mean that it is without benefits. As Larmer points out, in rejecting it, scientists still are not prohibited from “searching for natural causes of physical phenomena.”5 Furthermore, suppose, for sake of argument, we have reasons to believe there is a god who is involved in the universe. Even so, proponents of methodological naturalism can remind us to be cautious about making appeals to that god’s direct causation. As even the Christian theist J.P. Moreland cautions, invocations of the Christian God’s primary causal activity “should be done only where there are good theological, philosophical and scientific reasons for doing so.”6 But, even more importantly, to the extent that science is tied to the ontological positions of naturalism, science will be an utter failure as a research program, for no knowledge will be possible. Scientific research would be utterly fruitless, with no actual research work being done, or progress in understanding the world scientifically. If so, then why should scientists take themselves and their claims so seriously? Moreover, why should anyone else take the claims of scientists seriously? Still, we do have knowledge gained through science. But this means that there is more to reality (and us, in particular) than that for which ontological or methodological naturalism can account. Having knowledge of reality requires the very kinds of entities that philosophical naturalism cannot admit into its ontology. Thus, it is utterly fruitless to tie science, or any other discipline or practice, to ontological naturalism. Now let us probe further, to see what other implications might arise from our study.

5

  Larmer, “Is Methodological Naturalism Question-Begging?,” p. 130.   J.P. Moreland, in Moreland and William Lane Craig, Philosophical Foundations for a Christian Worldview (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2003), p. 362. 6

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

201

Seeking the Best Explanation for Correlation and Interaction In Chapter 9, I situated the interaction objection raised by naturalists, to rebut it. I did, however, go on to suggest a positive method by which we can know that the immaterial and the physical can (and do) interact – by conducting a phenomenological experiment. Yet I deferred further discussion until now. So let us probe this topic further, to see what else we may learn. I have made the claim that I think should be pretty evident, and not denied by naturalists, that we can, and even do, acquire knowledge of the real world by empirical means. But I also have argued that this is not defensible on the basis of the ontology of naturalism. Instead, there must be nonphysical aspects of reality that make possible (and even actual) abilities such as directly experiencing some aspect of reality; noticing what is given in experience; comparing that with other such experiences; forming and even correcting concepts; seeing whether concepts match up with an object given in experience; seeing whether logical relations obtain, etc. However, as I have argued, the mental is multiply realizable. No single brain state must be correlated with a particular mental state. Now, that is suggestive, for in the process of experiencing and knowing reality there often is much that is material that is involved. When we observe an actual apple, we are experiencing something that has physical properties. Moreover, there is a causal chain of such states that bounce off the apple and impinge upon our retinas, which in turn cause various effects in nerve cells and the brain. Or, when we touch an apple, nerves in our fingers, hands, arms, and more are involved. We also can direct our eyes in different directions, or physically place ourselves in different positions, to make further observations. This simplified discussion of just a few of the physical components involved in veridical acts of experiencing, and then knowing objects in the real world on that basis, serves to illustrate something very important: that there must be a remarkable correlation and interaction between the physical and nonphysical aspects involved in these cases. Now, those correlations are remarkable, for at least three reasons. First, due to its multiple realizability, the mental seems utterly contingent upon the physical. Second, that there are such correlations would be remarkable if naturalistic evolution were able to account for them. But, third, we would not expect an explanation if strict physicalism’s ontology were true, at least since there would be no irreducible mental entities. Yet we are able to function with extraordinarily high degrees of reliability in knowing the real world by experience. That means that there are regular, lawlike correlations between the mental and the physical, at least involved in acts of knowing by humans. And this finding seems to be inexplicable on the basis of naturalism. Indeed, our lives depend upon these correlations, abilities, and features. For instance, the capacities we have for experiencing and knowing an empirical reality also serve us in interpersonal relationships. There too I make observations by experience, such as observing my wife’s facial expressions when she tells me

202

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

about something that took place during her day (for example, her having to take out the trash from all the rooms in the house on a day in which she had a lot of other tasks to do). I can observe that expression for what it is, compare it with my concepts, and I can justifiably believe that she is angry about something, perhaps all of which can take place in a split second. I can listen to her words, hear them for what they are, and identify them as such. I then can check out my interpretations, asking her if she is angry at me, even if she did not explicitly state that. When I was dating her, I was able to observe her behavior and get to know her, which involved my coming to form many justified true beliefs about her character, such that, when I said “I do” at our wedding, I was trusting her, based upon my knowledge of her. So my personal knowledge of her was closely intertwined with my factual knowledge of her. All these examples involve not just physical aspects, but also nonphysical, and they are highly, highly correlated. These abilities are presupposed not just in science and interpersonal relationships, but also in forming societies, cultures, and other groups. Likewise, transacting business depends upon our abilities to have knowledge of reality. So do our abilities to form and operate governments, develop and practice law, provide economic aid and relief to needy people, help protect the environment, and more. Of course, these lawlike correlations can be disrupted, perhaps due to brain malfunctions, hallucinations, disease, deformity, serious mental illnesses, chemical imbalances, or effects of certain drugs. Still, in the vast majority of cases, there is an incredibly high degree of correlation and interaction. How, then, do we best account for and explain these phenomena? Do the dualistic requirements for knowledge, and the lawlike correlations between the mental and the physical, commit, us, for example, to just the existence of something like Plato’s forms? Or, do they also suggest the existence of a divine being as a better explanation? Several scholars have resisted the notion of the existence of abstract entities, such as universal moral truths, simply due to their implication that there likely exists a divine being. What should we think of that issue at this stage in our study, in light of these correlations? While it seems possible that one could affirm just the existence of a Platonic kind of realm of forms, and still be compatible with the dualism required for knowledge, nonetheless there may be more implications that warrant a further conclusion. Since mental states are contingently related to physical states, it seems amazing that we can (and most often do) match up with reality. Of course, I have been arguing that this matching up involves mental acts, in which even physical objects can be given in experience. The mental can convey (give in experience) and enable us to match up with the physical. Moreover, I have argued that this matching up involves universals that can be present in their instances, such as an experience with its intentional property of being of an apple. Now, that matching up is a remarkable occurrence, for it requires an incredible set of abilities, such that a particular intentional property has as its nature the property of being intrinsically of a particular thing (whether or not that thing exists). Furthermore, it enables us to match up with the intensional property of

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

203

the object (if it obtains), due to that property’s nature. There are more remarkable abilities, such as the ones to inspect our mental acts and compare them with objects given in experience, or with each other, and furthermore to see whether any logical relations hold between them. These abilities of agents might seem incredible enough, but we also have the ability to have present in many minds at the same time the same concept, thereby making intersubjective communication possible. All these abilities would be wildly implausible if they arose simply due to random occurrences. But, some may say, that is how evolution simply must have worked, for this is how things turned out. But this answer will not work, for as we saw in the chapter on Dennett and elsewhere, we cannot have knowledge of reality on the basis of the ontology of naturalistic evolution. These many ontological requirements and abilities are appropriate for us due to the kind of thing we are. We expect humans to have them, but not chipmunks, seahorses, and other living things. But we also must have a deep noetic unity, the ability to see logical relations, as well as have an immaterial essence, as I argued earlier. These factors, along with these other ontological requirements and abilities to have knowledge, strongly suggest that there is much information present in them. There is an incredibly vast array of complex, interrelated abilities that seem designed to function together, and these are involved just to experience an object, still more to experience it as something, and even more to form a justified true belief on that basis. These abilities are involved when we have experiences and thoughts of a vast range of things that obtain in the real world, but this range grows immeasurably, it seems, when we consider what we can think about what does not obtain in reality. Yet, in each case, those experiences, thoughts, and other mental states can be of or about those things. And we can conduct further investigations, to come closer epistemologically to an “object,” to see whether it obtains or not. So it seems that we have been made in such a way that includes an incredibly sophisticated set of abilities, and a vast number of instructions, just to know reality. Furthermore, we also can find information in mental acts, which seem to be wholes with parts. In support of Husserl’s views, Dallas Willard maintains that “in the appropriately qualified fulfillment the object is immanent in the whole of act-plus-object as its necessary part.”7 Not only is the object given in experience a necessary part of this whole, but so is the intentional property of the mental state. Consider the instancing of the proposition I love Debbie in my mind. This proposition is a whole with its meaning, and that meaning is more than just the aggregate of the parts. Moreover, my attitude of love is together with, and is about, the object of my love, Debbie, and not any other person or thing. There is information, it seems, and not mere order, in this mental act. And, just like in other examples of information, the whole is ontologically prior to its parts. 7   Dallas Willard, Logic and the Objectivity of Knowledge (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 1984), p. 243 (emphasis in original).

204

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

At this stage, perhaps we could just invoke this correlation as being a brute fact, without further explanation. A brute fact is something that does not in fact have an explanation, but also is the kind of thing we could and should expect to have one. To appeal to a brute fact here would seem to be motivated by wanting to stop any further search for a nonnatural agent that could have designed us. Yet we also should recall that, even at this stage, reality consists of more than just matter; there also must be natures and other immaterial aspects to what is real, including ourselves, since we do have knowledge of reality. In that light, when do we reach the ending point in a search for an explanation? It seems it is when we reach an order of being that has explanatory power, but is different from all other things for which we naturally expect an explanation (that is, we cannot go further). Just as this text is filled with information, with the concepts and intended meaning of its author(s), so the presence of information in us and our abilities speak strongly of an “author,” or designer. It seems very reasonable, therefore, to draw the inference that this presence of information, and not mere order, and the extensive, lawlike correlation of the mental and physical (even though the former is contingently related to the latter) strongly imply a designer, one who has designed us in such a way that we can know reality. It also seems that this designer has made us in such ways that go far beyond our mere needs to survive, but also thrive. That is, in the numerous abilities we have to know reality (conduct science; form relationships, including deep and meaningful ones; form cultures; establish governments; operate businesses; etc.), we have been designed in a way that would be “overkill” if our primary need was to survive. But, what kind of designer might this be? Perhaps at this stage in my argument a naturalist could embrace a kind of preternaturalism, namely, deism, in which there is a deity who designed us, but that being has left the cosmos and us to run on our own. That is possible, but it may not be the best position in terms of explanation. If a deity has designed us to know truth, then there are some important implications. For truth ranges over matters as mundane as knowing that the phone is ringing now, to matters of immense moral importance, as well as our abilities to relate deeply, even intimately, with one another. These factors imply that this deity cares about us, which gives at least some indication that “it” would not leave us to our own devices, perhaps even caring to reveal truths to us about ourselves and how we could relate to “it.” If we were to find more evidence that such a deity exists and indeed cares for us, then we would have further evidence that indeed we have been designed. Can We Have Religious Knowledge? At this point, I should reiterate that my basic account of how we can know reality seems extendable across the various domains of knowledge, and if there is religious (and moral) knowledge to be had, it would apply there too. So, to continue this search for religious knowledge, and then shortly for moral knowledge, here I will

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

205

introduce the kalam cosmological argument for God’s existence, which William Lane Craig has defended in numerous publications.8 From it, we may learn more if there is a creator of all that has come into being, as well as some qualities of that being. Moreover, this argument has been resisted vigorously by naturalists, so we will want to address that fact as well. We may state the kalam as follows: 1. Everything that begins to exist has a cause. 2. The universe began to exist. 3. Therefore, the universe was caused. The first premise is largely uncontroversial and seems to be a metaphysical first principle: something that comes into being does not come from nothing. In defense of the second premise, there are a few preliminary background issues we need to consider. The first is the nature of a set, and the second is the distinction between two kinds of infinity. Concerning the former, a set is defined by its membership. If two sets have the same members, they are identical. Furthermore, sets cannot grow or change over time; if they do, they have become new sets. Concerning the nature of infinity, we should distinguish between actual infinites and potential infinites. As examples of actual infinites, there are the sets of natural numbers (1, 2, 3, etc.), and its proper subset, the set of even numbers (2, 4, 6, etc.). In an actually infinite set, there is not a finite number of members; there is truly an infinite number of members of the set. If you “add” members for a denumerable set, you have not changed how many members are in the set; it still is actually infinite in size. Any proper subset has same number of members as the main set, and it is denumerable; it can be put in 1:1 correspondence with members of the main set. However, with potential infinites, they can increase and change by adding new members over time, yet they always will be finite in size. These have a definite, finite number of members that can be counted (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, etc.). Furthermore, the number of members in the whole set is always greater than that of any of its subsets. For example, the number of volumes in the University of California system of libraries is a subset of all books in all the world’s libraries. Now let us consider an initial philosophical argument in favor of the beginning of the universe: Actual infinites do not obtain (are not instantiated) in the real world. Consider the following puzzle, that if actual infinites obtain in the real world, then a library can exist with an actual infinite number of books, and yet it also has an actual infinite number of black and red books. But it does not make   For instance, see his The Kalam Cosmological Argument (London: The Macmillan Press, 1979; reprinted Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2000); or The Cosmological Argument from Plato to Leibniz (London: The Macmillan Press, 1980, reprinted Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2001). 8

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

206

sense to say there are as many black ones as red and black ones together. Consider a second puzzle. If we withdraw all the black books, there still is no change in the total number of books in the library; but this seems false. Furthermore, what would it even mean to add to an actual infinite? Now, applying these findings to the age of the universe, it does not seem that the universe can be actually infinitely old. Instead, it seems it must be finite, and thus it had a beginning. There is a second philosophical argument for the beginning of the universe. Suppose we grant for sake of argument that an actual infinite could be instantiated in the space–time universe. Even so, we could not traverse it by successive addition. At any point in time, we would be at a specific, finite point, and so in reality this series is a potential infinite. Now, the series of past events is a temporal series, and it has been formed by successively adding each new event. But in that case, the past cannot be actually infinitely old. Thus, the past is finite and had a beginning. Furthermore, if the universally were actually infinitely old, then there would be no way we could reach the present moment. To do that would require successive addition from a “beginning” to get to the present, but without that starting point, we could never arrive at the present moment.9 A third, scientific reason for premise two is provided by big bang cosmology, which implies that there was a beginning to the universe a finite time ago. As a fourth reason, the second law of thermodynamics suggests that the universe had a beginning. According to that law, the amount of energy available to do work is decreasing and is becoming uniformly distributed, such that the universe is moving toward a state of maximum disorder and minimum energy. Applied to the universe as a whole, this means that the universe is wearing down irreversibly. If it had undergone an infinite series of past events, surely such a maximum state would have been reached by now. Since the maximum point has not been reached, the universe has not existed forever. It seems, then, that the second premise, that the universe began to exist, enjoys significant support from at least four different reasons, two philosophical and two scientific. In the kalam, the conclusion logically follows from premises one and two. Thus, the beginning of the universe was caused. Yet surely it will be objected that I simply have overlooked the many objections raised against the kalam, most often by naturalists who want vigorously to resist its conclusion. In this chapter, I do not have space to address them all.10 The oscillating or chaotic inflationary universe theories have been proposed, but both of these presuppose a finite past and thus a beginning. The vacuum fluctuation universe suggests there was an eternal vacuum out of which the universe was born. But if there was an eternal vacuum, then why do we not observe an infinitely old universe? Even with the quantum gravity universe, there still would be an absolute beginning of the universe.  9

  My thanks to Barney Simonsen for his helpful comments on this section.   But let me highlight Craig’s works as a major source for addressing such rebuttals.

10

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

207

Moreover, regardless of the line of argument offered by naturalists, we already have seen that philosophical naturalism ought to be rejected, since we can never know reality on that basis. Therefore, to the extent that any of these counterarguments to the kalam depends upon philosophical naturalism, they ought to be rejected. Furthermore, it is pointless to argue for a philosophically naturalistic account of the origin of the universe since we have seen that any such argument will not give us knowledge. Still, some will object to this line of reasoning by asserting that we do not need an explanation of the beginning of the universe by positing God. We may simply accept the starting point of the universe as just a brute fact. Now, the kalam proponent accepts that a brute fact is the kind of thing we could and should expect to have an explanation, but rejects the view that a brute fact is something that does not have an explanation because of the former reason. That is, the universe is the kind of thing that could and should have an explanation. It is of an order of being (qua physical states of affairs) of which we usually do require an explanation. So it is not reasonable to consider the beginning of the universe to be a brute fact. When should we reach the logical terminus for an explanation? When, and why, should we stop the chain? It seems that, in the case of the beginning of the universe, we should stop the chain when we reach an order of being that has explanatory power yet is different from all other things for which we naturally expect an explanation (that is, we cannot go further). The beginning of the universe is an event, and events have causes, so it is natural to expect that the beginning of the space–time universe had a cause. Other than its being first in a temporal series, the beginning of the universe is an event, and so it is the kind of thing for which we expect an explanation. This is our experience with events. With physical states, each one P has, as a necessary condition, a prior state P*, which was fully existent prior to P, and P* gave rise to P. But the chain of physical events cannot be infinitely long. There must be a self-existent cause or state of being as the “first term,” the beginning of the chain. If that were not the case, then no physical state could ever be realized, since it would require completion of an actual infinite series of events. But there cannot be an actual infinite series of prior events, or else we would never reach any point in time. Therefore, there is at least one self-existent and, thus, nonphysical state of being. So what kind of cause is the best explanation for the beginning of the universe? The cause of the beginning of the universe could not be physically determined by other physical states, which would be sufficient to determine another state, for there were no such states before the first event. If there was no space, time, or change to cause the beginning of the space–time universe, then the cause must have been a free, spontaneous act of a person or agent. Furthermore, the concept of agent causation should not seem unintelligible, for we experience agent causation all the time, for instance when we choose to raise our arms and do so or when we choose to tell a lie to someone, etc.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

208

At the least, therefore, the kalam is very suggestive and enjoys good support. What, then, can we learn from it? First, the universe itself does not exist as a brute fact, without need of further explanation. Second, the cause of the universe is a personal agent/being and one of immense power, to be able to create the space–time universe. Third, this cause exists outside of space and time and hence exists timelessly. So it did not come into existence, and it also does not seem able to cease to exist. Fourth, this being is immaterial, for a material being would be finite and subject to the same issues we explored above. Fifth, the kalam also strongly suggests that this creator is singular. That is, the kalam undercuts appeals to a series of temporal, finite (and thus dependent) agents, and it also sets aside by argument impersonal forms of divinity, since the cause of the universe is a personal agent. These findings invite further inspection of the world, for physical and nonphysical evidence for further evidence of this “creator.” That is, the kalam gives us a presumption of design, an implication we already have seen much evidence for from our survey of the ontology needed for us to have knowledge. By extension, this creator, which we call God, surely seems to be the best explanation for the efficient cause of immaterial substances and essences. Can We Have Moral Knowledge? Now let us probe to see what more we might learn about this creator from morality. Various naturalists have attempted to explain what morals are on the basis of their ontology. For instance, James Rachels contends that the bare difference between killing and letting die is a matter of movement of body parts. He also offers an account of biographical life as that which makes life meaningful.11 Other naturalistic views of the nature of morality have appealed to reductions, such as what science can operationalize and study (for instance, whatever most people prefer is right). Alternatively, Michael Ruse attempts to account for morality as a biological adaptation, the objectivity of which is an illusion that has been foisted upon us by our genes.12 We should not be surprised now that the same fate that befalls naturalistic science also awaits naturalistic accounts of morality. All these naturalistic accounts attempt to tell us how things are, that their proponents know what the nature of morality is. But, as we have seen, this cannot be the case. But just because naturalism fails in terms of giving us knowledge, is there any positive reason why we should think that we actually can have moral knowledge?   James Rachels, The End of Life (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), pp. 111–14 on the “bare difference argument,” and, for example, pp. 24–7 on biographical life. 12   Michael Ruse, “Evolution and Ethics: The Sociobiological Approach,” in Ethical Theory: Classic and Contemporary Readings, ed. Louis Pojman, 4th edn (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2002), pp. 659, 661. 11

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

209

Or would that be an anachronistic claim, one that is a thinly veiled attempt to oppress people? In what follows, I have space to just begin to sketch an argument, in hopes of pointing toward a possible direction in which further argumentation can proceed.13 There are certain moral principles that seem to be extremely hard, maybe nigh impossible, to deny and still be rational (or good). I am thinking of ones like murder, rape, and the torturing of infants for fun are wrong. These seem to be principles in which we have moral knowledge; indeed, these principles seem so fundamental and widespread that they seem to be self-evident, universal, and even metaphysically objective. Now, this raises the question: How do we best explain what they are ontologically? Of course, several answers have been suggested, and not all would grant that they can be universal or objective, or even self-evident, but I do not think all answers are equally defensible. Let us consider several such options. For Plato and Aristotle, virtues are universals metaphysically, and as such they are real and objective, in the metaphysical sense. Of course, this view is quite comparable to the one I just suggested. Such a view tended to dominate western thought until the modern era. However, Hobbes shifted and adopted a materialistic metaphysic, so moral properties such as goodness and badness are, respectively, motions toward or away from something. He also embraced a more rationalist and empiricist epistemology. There are several problems with his ethical views. First, a rapist moves toward his victim, as does a murderer. If so, on his view, why would these actions be wrong? Second, motions can be exhausted descriptively, but morality is prescriptive. Third, and perhaps most important for our study, there cannot be any intrinsic representations on his view, just like with others we have studied earlier, for there are no natures. Nor is there much, if any, place for intentionality, along with other immaterial requirements for us to have knowledge. On Hume’s empiricist view, we cannot know morals if they are universals. We could not sense those, so they could not be objects of knowledge. So, Hume’s empiricism helped lead him to hold that ethics are a matter of the sentiments rather than reason. The claim that murder is wrong really ends up being just an expression of one’s feelings about murder. But, of course, that view fails to account for the normative aspect of morality, for it treats morals just as descriptive phenomena. And, if our feelings change, so can the morality of murder. But that result is diametrically opposed to our deeply held convictions about the inherent wrongness of murder. Per Hume, we experience a flux of discrete sense impressions that by custom the mind then projects as various objects. Apparently, then, by custom, the mind projects people who have been murdered, or raped. Or, perhaps it projects acts of murder or rape. But how do we know that these are actual cases of murder or rape? No one can see the mind on his view, so it too would seem to be a projection, but 13   However, I do unpack such an argument at length in my In Search of Moral Knowledge: Rethinking Ethics and the Fact–Value Dichotomy.

210

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

of what? That, of course, immediately raises the problem that we seem to be off on an infinite regress, leaving us without being able to arrive finally at anything that is itself unprojected, and is doing the projecting. We are left being unable to truly know on his view. Hume seems unable to account for the facts that murder, rape, and the torturing of infants for fun are wrong. What, then, of Kant’s proposal? In accepting empiricism, but also by trying to save a place for reason, Kant posits that there are two realms, the phenomenal world of experience, and the noumenal realm of things as they are in themselves. Morals are the one area in which we have direct access to the noumena, he thought, due to their nature as categorical imperatives. We are to will that our maxims would be universalized. This was in part his answer to Hume’s challenge to ethics. But his conclusion is due to how he conceives of morality, whereas Hume works from his presuppositions. And Kant never directly refutes Hume. Indeed, if we really try to push empiricism consistently, then why should we hold that morality is about categorical commands? Why would Kant be right and Hume wrong? To help make sense of the two realms in his epistemology, Kant posited that the one transcendent mind does the same constructive work in each of us as we experience the phenomenal world. But we cannot empirically sense this transcendent self, so how can we know that it exists and does its particular work? It seems to be a postulate for his system to work. Furthermore, how does he know that there is a realm of things in themselves? Suppose we are thinking about a blue pen. On his view, we cannot have epistemic access to the pen itself. It seems, then, that we can access only our experience (E) of it. But, of course, the same move can be applied to that experience as the object of knowledge. That is, I cannot know E as it is in itself. Therefore, I only know how E appears to me (E1). But I cannot know E1 as it truly is, either; I can know it only as it appears to me (E2). Of course, the same dilemma applies to E2, E3, and so on, back to infinity, such that on his view it seems we cannot get started, to know anything. That disappointing result of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason stems from his attempt to refute Hume, yet while accepting empiricism and thereby begging a significant question. What about the utilitarian solutions? There are well-known problems with utilitarian thought as the whole basis for morality, such as the problem that a murder (or rape, or case of torturing an infant for fun) could be moral if it maximizes the net overall good for a given people. Also, there are no intrinsically right or wrong actions on utilitarianism, so an actual murder would not be, in and of itself, wrong. But that possibility undermines our firm convictions about their inherent wrongness. Moreover, slavery, something we now see as intrinsically wrong, could have turned out to be right. As another option, moral relativism denies that there are universal, objective moral truths, with all morals instead being the result of their being accepted as right either by an individual (subjectivism) or a group, community, or culture (conventionalism). Yet there are very well-known issues with relativism that count

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

211

against it decisively. Here are but a few. First, morality is about the proper way(s) to resolve interpersonal conflicts. But if subjectivism is right, there would not be any such way to resolve those conflicts, for whatever each person decides is right just is right for that person. Accordingly, there is no way to resolve properly the conflict between a murderer, and the demands for justice by the relatives (and society) of the one who was murdered. Morality itself seems to dissolve. Second, murder itself could be right, if someone decided it was right; but, obviously, that conclusion is wrong. Third, if subjectivism were right, then moral heroes like Martin Luther King, Jr. or Gandhi would be as moral as Hitler or Stalin. But clearly something has gone wrong on a view that yields such a conclusion. Fourth, the Nazis would have been moral for killing the Jews, since they believed that was right for them. And so on… relativism undermines any basis for knowledge of clear cases of moral rightness or wrongness, and it eviscerates murder, rape, or torturing babies for fun of their wrongness. I do not think that postmodern varieties of moral treatments will fare well either, for reasons we have seen already. The core element of postmodern philosophy is that everything is interpretation, all the way down. There is no access directly, immediately, to reality; all access is mediated. But as I have argued before, such views leave us without any way to account for knowledge that we do indeed have, for there is no way to get started to know reality. But since we do know reality, such knowledge has to be a construction, however it is made. Yet these core morals do not seem to be our constructions; instead, they seem to be objectively true. What, then, should we conclude is the best explanation of what these core moral principles (murder, rape, and torturing babies for fun are wrong) are, ontologically? Despite some protests, such as the fact that I have had people claim that in other tribal cultures (such as the Sawi people, as described by Don Richardson14) they might not hold such truths, still these truths seem self-evident to most, if not all, of us.15 Others can claim that they do not think they necessarily are wrong. Yet I think when they do make such assertions, they may well be putting on a mask, to play a role, just to see what others will say; but, when challenged, they will quickly abandon such a position. For example, what if we threatened to murder them, or one of their loved ones? Would they just say, “Well, that is okay for you, if you accept it as true”? I highly doubt it. Indeed, these moral principles have such an extremely high degree of justification that the burden of proof is on the one who denies that they are true. 14   See his Peace Child (Ventura, CA: Regal Books, 1975). The Sawi would invite neighboring tribes to have a big meal together. Once their guests were tired after eating, the Sawi would slaughter and then eat them. 15   However, Alasdair MacIntyre claims that there are no self-evident truths. See his After Virtue, 2nd edn (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984), p. 69. But in my In Search of Moral Knowledge, I argue that this claim cannot possibly give us knowledge of reality, since he maintains the view that to even have an experience of the world requires interpretation, a view that we already have considered and rejected.

212

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Still, can we get more mileage out of these moral truths? Let us consider the phenomenology behind our learning what, for example, murder, or rape, is. At a very young age, my daughter already was exposed to death through animated movies (for instance, the death of Simba’s father in The Lion King). How did she (or how would anyone) acquire the concept of murder? I think it will proceed similarly to the examples I described before, through many noticings and then forming the concept. We become aware of examples of killing, and we learn to distinguish a species of it, murder, by our paying attention to what is present in our experiences (maybe through face-to-face examples, pictures, real-life stories, animated movies or television shows, news reports, etc.), and then forming the concept. I think that once we form the concept of murder, we should immediately see that such an act is wrong, period. We each can (and should) see that it is a heinous act, a violation of the most repugnant sort, which simply is wrong. If someone seems to understand the concept, but does not see that it is wrong, we wonder what is defective with him or her. Indeed, we may well think that the person does not truly understand the concept (for example, maybe the person needs to distinguish between killing and murder). We may try to help that person be sure he or she gets the concept by repeating the process involved in acquiring concepts and making more careful distinctions. Furthermore, when a person (or loved one) is confronted with being murdered or raped, no one wants to relativize such moral truths, such that it would be okay for that person to be murdered or raped. If someone claimed that, we would think that person is mentally ill. While some cultures may approve of some forms of killing (for example, the cannibalism of the Sawi), that does not mean that they would approve of murder. I think the best way to explain the Sawi case is that they do not see that form of killing as an act of murder. But from that, it does not follow that they do not affirm that murder is wrong. All we need is a different case to surface that could show us (as outsiders) that they do indeed affirm it. By this point, some may be waiting to object that, while these morals may seem so clear cut to me, they do not to them. What may motivate such objections? In the case of murder, as I have suggested above, I think it often stems from confusion between murder, the intentional taking of innocent human life, which I think is absolutely wrong, and other species of killing, which may or may not be permissible. I see killing of humans as prima facie wrong, but not as necessarily wrong in all its species. For instance, there can be killing in self-defense, which we rightly allow when someone is attacked and one’s life is in mortal danger. I do not find people objecting to the moral wrongness of rape in western societies, but in other societies it is conceivable, no matter how unlikely, that some peoples may not see it as wrong. Alternatively, and more plausibly, they may hold that rape is wrong, but they do not see their practices as examples of rape. In the latter kind of situation, we would approach it as we did with the Sawi, to find a case that shows that they actually do hold the moral principle that rape is wrong, but just do not see a given case as an example of rape. However, in the former kind

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

213

of hypothetical situation, in which some people group does not see rape as wrong, I wonder what would be the facts of the matter. For instance, suppose the men of a tribe both see some practice as rape and approve of it. Or, perhaps they may see a practice like female circumcision as permissible. Nevertheless, it remains to be asked whether the girls and women see it as wrong or not, despite any willingness they may have to submit to the procedure. Moreover, it remains to be seen how a tribe would react if the members of another tribe raped one of their women. I strongly suspect that they clearly would see it as wrong and perhaps even go to war over it. I have yet to meet anyone who would deny that torturing infants for fun is wrong. If someone did, we would never let that person near our own children, or near infants, such as in a hospital or childcare facility. Indeed, we would rightly send someone who did any such act to prison. So it does seem that we do have knowledge of at least these few moral truths. Now, I am well aware, of course, that some have claimed that all knowledge is theory-dependent, or narrative-dependent, and the like. My point here simply is that we do know things about how moral reality actually is. I am not denying that interpretation, enculturation, etc., have important roles to play in how we see things, but I am trying to show that there is more to what we know than just our interpretations. Otherwise, what are we interpreting? From just these examples of what I think are clear truths, we do seem to know some truths about the way moral reality truly is. What, then, is the best explanation for the ontological status of these morals? I have surveyed briefly major answers, for instance, that they are just emotive utterances or commands, or the ways of talking of different communities. Others have argued that they are physical kinds of things, like behaving in certain ways, or just the firing of c-fibers in the brain, etc. Alternatively, they are what certain groups, cultures, or communities like or dislike. Against these, I have been arguing that universally valid moral truths do exist objectively. However, surely that does not mean that all morals that in fact are (or have been) held by people are universals. We should acknowledge that there are morals that are constructs of individuals and/or societies. There can be a certain relativity in secondary principles (that is, how people decide to live out core moral truths). Moreover, some morals may vary over valid differences of opinion. Respect for persons is important, and I would argue it is even a core moral truth, but how different people work out and apply that principle may vary widely. In restaurants, Americans generally consider it rude if someone cuts in front of another person waiting in line to order food, but in Germany people do not “queue” up. So an American who enters a restaurant in Germany to order food may feel that others are being rude by not behaving as he or she expects, due to that person’s American cultural background. Yet other examples of rude behavior surely exist in German culture, which may not be the same in others. Now let us see what conclusions we may draw from our findings. These three morals seem to be clear cases of universally valid moral truths. These particular

214

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

moral properties seem to be nonnaturalistic. That is, such moral properties are essentially moral in nature. They cannot be explained away or reduced to something else like physical states, or inputs or outputs. Instead, ontologically, they seem best explained as metaphysically abstract universals. They exist and are objectively real, and they are a “one” and “many.” That murder is wrong is true universally, and it holds true for all cases of murder. The existence and validity of these universals does not seem to depend upon how we think, feel, or talk about them. That is, they are what they are in a mind- or language-independent way. Furthermore, we can see that our thinking about them does nothing to them. They are part of all that exists, yet they are nonphysical kinds of things. Does that mean that the best explanation for what they are is Plato’s account? While his view has affinities with these findings, I do not think it is the best explanation. Plato’s view of morals as brute, abstract entities also deserves criticism. For instance, why would moral truths as abstract forms have anything to do with us? And why should any of us be moral on this view? When we experience moral failing, we often feel guilt or shame. But it does not make sense to feel that way in light of some abstract, universal moral principle. Instead, we have those feelings in the presence of a person. Our experiences of guilt do not make sense if morals are just abstract principles that do not have some connection to us. Now, theists have taken these ideas and argued that the best explanation for these morals is that they are grounded in God. For instance, J.P. Moreland seems right when he argues that “if the depth and presence of guilt feelings is to be rational, there must be a Person toward whom one feels moral shame.”16 He also observes that making sense of retributive justice seems to require that a person has been violated, and not just some abstract moral principle.17 When we think we need to balance good and evil in the universe by paying back the universe for the evil committed, there must be some being we have in mind (even if unconsciously) who should be repaid. Now, that conclusion makes sense on a theistic account, for God’s justice would require such vindication. But it does not make much sense to need to repay an abstract principle of justice. But why do these particular morals exist? Are there more such universal moral properties that we may know? These particular moral truths lend themselves to an inference: that is, the best explanation would seem to be that these universal morals (and any other such ones that may exist) are not abstract, Platonic forms, but rather are grounded in God. For this God has made in us ways that we can deeply relate and experience love, companionship, intimacy, and more in relationships, as well as know truth in other areas. It seems, therefore, that our creator has made us in ways that we can thrive. Similarly, consider some core moral virtues, such as being loving or just. Quite arguably, the best explanation for what kind of thing they are is that they too are 16   J.P. Moreland, Scaling the Secular City (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1987), p. 123. 17   Ibid., p. 124.

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

215

universals – immaterial and objective. Moreover, they seem to be best explained as habituated dispositions that may be cultivated in our souls, such that we may realize them as properties present in us. But vices also may be cultivated and become qualities of our souls, yet they are ones that are inappropriate for us, just as virtues are appropriate for us. Why? Again, the most cohesive answer that has been developed, I think, is Aristotle’s or Aquinas’s, that these respective properties are (in)appropriate for us due to our nature, or essence – in short, how we have been made by our creator. These findings, and others we already have surfaced, imply that this creator cares for us, and wants us to know what is true and even what is good. Yet we know all too well that there is much deception in the world, even in our own hearts, if we are honest with ourselves. Too many want to use people merely for their ends, rather than treating them as valuable in themselves; or, they want to abuse and mistreat many; or, they want to dominate and control others. There are myriad forms of evil that take place on our planet. But since we can infer justifiably that this creator is personal, loving, caring, and desirous of our knowing truth, we then can search for further evidences, to see whether this creator has given us revelation as more specific guidance, to meet our true needs. Of course, this is what the great monotheistic religions claim. But, which one? I do not have space to try to develop a comprehensive answer to that question, but I think our lines of inquiry do suggest a particular answer. In many ways, we have been touching on qualities that suggest this God has made us in God’s own likeness, or image. This would explain why we can know truth (though not perfectly or exhaustively – only God could); why we want and can experience deep loving relationships, and we see that they are good; why we can have deep noetic unity, see logical relations, match up with reality, and more; and why certain morals (principles and virtues) are appropriate for us, and others are not, due to our nature. Further Religious Implications So let me point us in a particular direction, with three suggestions for further inquiry. First, we should test these monotheistic religions for their historical accuracy. If there is a religion that claims to be testable historically, and even bases its validity on the truth of historical events, then I suggest that we start by examining that religion. Such an investigation will help either to disconfirm that religion, in which case we may dismiss it outright, or it will help show its uniqueness as giving us truth. Second, we should see whether any one makes particular claims that would indicate that this creator God does indeed care for us to know the truth, and indeed cares for us. That would fit with our expectations we have developed thus far. Third, we should consider the coherence of their moral claims, for they may not be equally well supported.

216

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

First, the historical test: Do any of these religions offer a way to test their claims according to historical evidence? How might we proceed? In general, I do not think that all religious claims will be equally well justified. Many offer competing claims. Also, if one were to violate the laws of logic in its claims, then I would conclude that such a claim does not fit reality. Second, I think the same type of phenomenological methodology I developed earlier, which can enable us to know whether our concepts match up with reality, can be employed here as well. I will focus on one major line of argument, which, if cogent, could help us zero in immediately on one religion as most likely to be true. Now, Christianity offers such a test in its own Scriptures. As Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 15:3–8, if Jesus of Nazareth has not been raised bodily from the dead, as a matter of objective, testable, historical fact, then the claims of Christians are worthless and false. This claim allows us to investigate the historicity of an alleged miracle that, if historically true, would provide significant confirmation for the truth of Christianity. Conversely, its falsification would disprove Christianity. I suggest, therefore, that we should weigh the various evidences for and against the resurrection as a hypothesis, to see which view the evidence best supports. If the evidence overall strongly supports the conclusion that Jesus has not been raised bodily from the dead, then we may dismiss Christianity out of hand. If the evidence seems to support weakly the hypothesis that Jesus arose from the dead, then some people may see that hypothesis as justified enough to accept, but that degree of justification would hardly compel assent by many. However, if the balance of the evidence strongly supports the conclusion that Jesus arose bodily from the dead, then we have strong evidence that an essential claim of Christianity is true, which would help significantly to set it apart from any other religion as uniquely true. Of course, various arguments, pro and con, should be weighed. One way to go about this investigation is by building the strongest case we can against the resurrection hypothesis, by drawing upon the most widely accepted facts about Jesus’ death, even those granted by the resurrection hypothesis’ critics, and see what conclusion(s) we may draw from them. This is the approach of Gary Habermas and Mike Licona in The Case for the Resurrection of Jesus.18 They argue that there are five minimal facts granted by virtually all critics: (1) Jesus died by crucifixion; (2) Jesus’ disciples believed that he rose and appeared to them; (3) the church persecutor Saul (who became known as Paul) was suddenly changed; (4) the skeptic James, Jesus’ brother, was suddenly changed; and (5) the tomb was empty. Based on the dating of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians of approximately 55 A.D., and his use of an earlier creed therein (1 Cor. 15:3–5), Habermas and Licona argue that Paul most likely received that earlier creed from Peter and James when he was in Jerusalem in A.D. 35 (cf. Galatians 1:18). Since Jesus was crucified in approximately 30 A.D., they argue that a five-year time interval between those two dates is far too short a time span for a legend to have 18   Gary Habermas and Mike Licona, The Case for the Resurrection of Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Publications, 2004).

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

217

accrued. Instead, they argue that the best explanation for these five minimal facts is that Jesus actually arose from the dead. Now, based on the theory of knowledge of reality that I have developed, how can that view apply in cases of historical knowledge claims, such as in the case of the alleged resurrection of Jesus? I think the methodology to adopt to answer these and other factually related questions is the same as we have discussed before. For example, how we do check and see whether the checkbook is on the table? We look and see: we put ourselves in a condition and place to be able to examine the table and see its contents, and we compare what is given in those awarenesses with our concepts of the table and checkbook. To do that, I may need to take off my dark sunglasses, put on my glasses, turn on the light, come closer to the table, and so on. How would we verify that Jesus rose from the dead? We examine the evidences and see whether the actual states of affairs match up with our concepts. If Jesus rose, then we should find certain things to be the case. For example, we would need to compare the facts (including documentary evidences) with our concepts and see if they match up. Also, the resurrection should be the best explanation to fit the facts. Does this mean that theories have no influence on this process? Surely not; for instance, the Jesus Seminar’s naturalism undoubtedly has a crucial impact on their conclusions, as would the theories employed by others, including Christians. But, on my view, we can compare our theories with reality and see whether they match up. The same kind of thought would apply to verifying that 9/11’s events really occurred: we examine the evidence (pictures, testimonies, and more), compare them with our concepts, and see whether they match up, or not. This line of argument does suggest that we can investigate and know whether Jesus arose bodily from the dead. That alone is highly suggestive, for it suggests that we can have religious knowledge: a priori, such knowledge cannot be ruled out. If we investigate this claim, without letting our theoretical positions overrule the evidence a priori, then we can see whether there is more justification for that belief. In general, I am suggesting that we can have knowledge about whether Jesus arose bodily from the dead, or not. I think a similar process can be employed on other religious views that claim to be historically accurate. So it seems quite possible that we can have religious knowledge after all. I am not trying to endorse religious claims in general, for many are mutually contradictory, some violate the laws of logic, and others commit other kinds of fallacies. Instead, each one would need to be tested on a case-by-case basis. I am suggesting that a reasonable starting point is with the claims made by Christians and the Gospels’ writers of the historicity of the resurrection of Jesus, as an event that can be investigated, to see whether it occurred in time and space. Also, it bears repeating that such claims of the miraculous should not be dismissed a priori on the basis of naturalism, for such objections now can be set aside as not being able to give us knowledge. Second, the test that God cares for us to know reality as it truly is: Again, Christianity offers such a claim. According to its Scriptures, God desires truth

218

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

in our innermost being (Psalm 51:6), and he promises that he does not lie, and is even incapable of lying (Numbers 23:19). Jesus calls himself faithful and true (Revelation 3:14, 19:11), and he declares he is the way, truth, and life, who never would lead us astray (John 14:6). These factors matter, for while we may have innate abilities to know truth, nonetheless we are very capable of not discerning it accurately, even bending or spinning truth to be what we want it to be, which is why, I think, many immoral actions have been (and are) rationalized. We are more than just rational beings; each of us also has a will by which we can choose not to believe some truths, especially ones that could come close to our hearts, and few, if any, can come closer to making claims on our hearts than religious ones. Third, the moral test: Do the monotheistic religions offer a good answer to various moral challenges? Here I want to focus on the Euthyphro dilemma. Christianity surely has been a target of many objections inspired from it. Plato first raised this issue, and others, such as the atheist philosopher Michael Martin, have used it since then.19 As a reminder, the issue is this: Is something good because God commands it, or does God command it because it is good? This issue relates keenly to divine command theory, which, according to William Alston, can be stated as the thesis that “divine commands are constitutive of moral obligation.”20 If something is good or right because God commands it, then his commanding it makes it right. It would not be right in and of itself. Or, does God command it because it is good? If so, then God seems subject to some external moral standards he must consult before commanding anything. These moral standards would exist apart from God’s creative activity. Moreover, God’s commanding something seems redundant and unnecessary. If so, why would God bother to issue a commandment? Would we not already know it? Let us explore the first horn more closely. According to it, theoretically, God could command something that seems clearly wrong to us. Yet, because God commanded it, that would make it good. Or, God could command people to fly airplanes into the infidel’s buildings, and that command would make that act right. Call this view ethical voluntarism, or theistic subjectivism; something is right because God willed it to be so. The concern here is that the reason why something is morally right is arbitrary, depending on whatever God happens to will. By way of an initial reply, we may note first that Plato is not talking about the same God as the Christian one. He was living in the time of belief in the pantheon 19   See Michael Martin, “Atheism, Christian Theism, and Rape,” July 23, 1997, http:// www.infidels.org/library/modern/michael_martin/rape.html, accessed Oct. 12, 2011. See also his essay “A Response to Paul Copan’s Critique of Atheistic Objective Morality,” Philosophia Christi 2:1 (2000): 75–89. 20   See William P. Alston, “What Euthyphro Should Have Said,” in Philosophy of Religion: A Reader and Guide, gen. ed. William Lane Craig (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002), p. 284. Alston acknowledges that he is following and developing the work of Robert Adams.

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

219

of Greek gods, whom he did not want the rulers of the polis to study, for the gods were immoral. Plato did not seriously think these gods even existed, but even so they had very different character qualities than the Christian God. However, that reply does not alleviate the problem posed against the Christian God. More importantly, Christians maintain that God’s character and essence are good, and that provides our standard for what goodness is. Therefore, God cannot command just any action because God’s character sets the boundaries on what God can do. But just how successful is this reply? Alston argues that the first horn not only presents the challenge that God’s commands (and morality itself) are arbitrary, but the theist is left without any way to construe adequately the goodness of God. To see this, we should distinguish between metaphysical goodness and moral goodness. Alston reminds us that, while we may be able to construe God as metaphysically good (that is, in realizing the fullness of being), this horn prevents our construing God’s moral goodness as anything but God’s own obedience to his commands. But that result is not at all what Christian theists mean when they speak of God’s goodness. Rather, they have in mind God’s moral perfection, being understood, for instance, in terms of God’s being loving, merciful, and just.21 Alston considers a strategy for the divine command theorist that would limit the area constituted by divine commands to creatures alone, so that we still can maintain that God is essentially good. If that is possible, then “there will be nothing arbitrary about his commands; indeed it will be metaphysically necessary that he issue those commands for the best.”22 Alston’s move involves denying that moral obligation attaches to God. To help see this, he explores the meaning of the terms moral “obligation” and moral “oughtness.” For his purposes, he understands them as alternative formulations.23 He grants that, when we use “ought,” we do not merely express imperatives. He also grants for sake of argument that there are objective moral facts.24 Alston proceeds to investigate whether there are any such objective moral facts of the sort where God ought to do some action. What kind of facts are these? When we think of God as perfectly good in terms of his actions, Alston contends that we think it is supremely good that God acts as he does. What is at stake, he observes, is what is added by claiming that this is how God ought to act. As Alston points out, “If it adds nothing there can be no objection to speaking of how God ought to act.”25 However, in terms of analogies with ourselves, there is a clear difference between what is a good thing to do, and what we ought to do. For instance, Alston considers how it would be a good thing to learn Sanskrit, but he would not be under 21

    23   24   25   22

Ibid., p. 285. Ibid. Ibid., p. 284. Ibid., p. 287. Ibid.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

220

an obligation to do so. This suggests that one requirement for “ought” statements is that general, practical principles or rules apply and set forth the conditions in which an action is required, merely permitted, or altogether forbidden.26 These rules, he argues, are in force only with respect to agents with whom there is “a possibility of their playing a governing or regulative function,” and that possibility can occur only with agents who can violate them. Accordingly, social mechanisms can reinforce appropriate behavior as well as sanction inappropriate actions.27 Importantly, then, moral principles, as a kind of these practical principles, apply only to agents who can violate them. However, in the case of an agent who necessarily will act in accordance with them, it is hard to see how there is any sense in which we can say that that agent ought to do some action. That is, “there is no foothold for the ‘ought’; there is nothing to make the ought-principle true rather than, or in addition to, a factual statement that S will (necessarily) act in this way.”28 Now Alston applies these findings to the first horn of the Euthyphro dilemma. He maintains that the divine command theorist may maintain consistently that divine commands are constitutive of the facts of moral obligations. In addition, these facts do not apply to God, for the reasons seen above. Since God is essentially good, he necessarily will act in accordance those facts, and so his goodness does not consist of obedience to his own commands. Moreover, “God’s commands to us are an expression of his perfect goodness.”29 Accordingly, it seems Alston has rebutted successfully the first horn’s objections to divine command ethics. Let us now briefly address the second horn’s issues. They were, (1) God seems subject to some further standard – that is, to call God good seems to require some prior notion of goodness – and (2) God’s commanding something seems redundant since we would know it already. In regards to the first point, just because we may need various ways to know that God is good, that does not mean that goodness itself is not grounded in God. Regarding the second point, while it is true that we probably could figure out some things through our reason and intuition (for instance, intentionally flying airplanes into buildings, in order to terrorize and murder people, is wrong), it does seem we can suppress what we would otherwise know to be true. Or, our consciences can become seared, due to deliberate choices to pursue what is wrong. And the fact is that we sometimes disagree (for whatever reasons) with each other. I recall one editorial written in a major newspaper shortly after 9/11 by a professor of political science, I believe. In it, he argued that, despite these events, we still need to be tolerant of the moral beliefs of people of different religions, and his assumptions seemed to be that we have no clear-cut moral truths that we all know, 26

    28   29   27

Ibid. Ibid., pp. 287–8. Ibid., p. 288. Ibid., p. 290.

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

221

even as rescue workers were sorting through the ashes and rubble of the Twin Towers, to find dead bodies. Still, Michael Martin has raised more objections against theistic replies to the second horn of the Euthyphro dilemma. He objects to the position that morality is best explained by being grounded in God, arguing instead that the non-existence of God would not adversely affect the status of objective moral truths such as mercy, compassion, rape, and more. Let us consider Martin’s basic argument, as well as how he replies to arguments raised by Paul Copan in an exchange in Philosophia Christi. In his Internet essay “Atheism, Christian Theism, and Rape,” Martin attempts to restate the second horn’s objection as follows. I will quote him at length, to let the full rationale of his argument come through: Is God’s character the way it is because it is good or is God’s character good simply because it is God’s character? Is there an independent standard of good or does God’s character set the standard? If God’s character is the way it is because it is good, then there is an independent standard of goodness by which to evaluate God’s character. For example, suppose God condemns rape because of his just and merciful character. His character is just and merciful because mercy and justice are good. Since God is necessarily good, God is just and merciful. According to this independent standard of goodness, being merciful and just is precisely what a good character involves. In this case, even if God did not exist, one could say that a merciful and just character is good. Human beings could use this standard to evaluate peoples’ character and action based on this character. They could do this whether or not God exists. Suppose God’s character is good simply because it is God’s character. Then if God’s character were cruel and unjust, these attributes would be good. In such a case God might well condone rape since this would be in keeping with his character. But could not one reply that God could not be cruel and unjust since by necessity God must be good? It is true that by necessity God must be good. But unless we have some independent standard of goodness then whatever attributes God has would by definition be good: God’s character would define what good is. It would seem that, if God could not be cruel and unjust, then God’s character must necessarily exemplify some independent standard of goodness. Using this standard, one could say that cruelty and injustice are not good whether God exists or not.30

Martin argues that, on the second horn of the dilemma, appealing to God’s character simply postpones the problem. Even in that case, theists still face the problem that we do not need God’s existence to account for the truth of various moral properties, such as rape is wrong, or that mercy and justice are good. Moreover, the Christian theist still needs an independent standard of goodness by 30

  Martin, “Atheism, Christian Theism, and Rape.”

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

222

which we can assess and know the goodness of God’s moral attributes; otherwise, any attribute (even if it were cruelty) that God happens to have could end up being good simply because it is his attribute. In a reply to an essay by Paul Copan, Martin extends his overall case.31 I will consider what I think are two of his most pertinent arguments against Copan. First, Martin argues that, if theists attempt to block the Euthyphro dilemma by appealing to God’s essential goodness as the grounds for objective morality (the “Essential Moral Attribute Response,” or EMAR), it still does not follow that “nothing would be moral unless God exists.”32 Martin argues that the following argument is invalid: 7. Property P is part of the essential nature of X. ——————————————————————————— 8. If X did not exist, property P would not be a property of anything.33

Suppose P is benevolence, and X is a moral saint; it would be the case that benevolence is an essential trait of a moral saint. But if there were no saints, it would not follow, he argues, that benevolence would not be a property of anything. Just as we do not have to have moral saints to have benevolence, so we do not need God for there to be moral goodness, even if moral goodness is part of his essence. Second, Martin considers another reason for rejecting the necessity of theistic ethics. If morality were dependent upon God, then absurd consequences follow. Suppose morality were dependent upon God, but if God did not exist, then the “gratuitous torture of babies is morally wrong would be mistaken. But the conclusion of this inference is absurd.”34 As a second example, he cites the “Karamazov Problem”: “If there is no God, then anything is morally permitted – including the gratuitous torture of babies. However, this is equally absurd.”35 Positively, Martin maintains that atheists can be moral realists and affirm the reality of objective morals. Martin explains: Atheists and theists both agree that prima facie this is a moral universe with objective moral values. Atheists who are moral realists attempt to show how this appearance is not deceptive and that such a universe is possible without God. They do this by the postulation of moral facts constituted by natural facts.

  See Paul Copan, “Can Michael Martin Be a Moral Realist?,” Philosophia Christi 1:2 (1999): 45–72. For Martin’s reply, see “A Response to Paul Copan’s Critique.” See also Copan’s rejoinder, “Atheistic Goodness Revisited: A Personal Reply to Michael Martin,” Philosophia Christi 2:1 (2000): 91–104. 32   Martin, “A Response to Paul Copan’s Critique,” p. 83. 33   Ibid. 34   Ibid., p. 84. 35   Ibid., p. 85. 31

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

223

This postulation is not arbitrary but is justified by how well it explains the moral evidence.36

Moreover, “moral properties are constituted by natural properties in the same way that intelligence and artistic ability are. According to naturalism there are no ontological elements in the universe that exist over and above natural properties.”37 Copan takes Martin to be quite receptive to the possibility that moral properties are emergent properties that supervene upon matter in a suitable arrangement.38 How should we assess Martin’s arguments? Is he successful in his revised form of the Euthyphro dilemma? Let us divide his objections into two basic strategies. The first is that we still would need an independent standard of goodness to know that God’s moral attributes are good. The second is that we do not need God’s existence for the grounding of objective moral properties. I take his supplemental arguments in his rejoinder to Copan to reinforce this second type of strategy. Let us consider these strategies in turn. In response to Martin’s first argumentative strategy, Copan argues that, to avoid the charge of arbitrariness, Martin assumes that theists must bite the bullet and embrace an external, independent standard for morality, to which God, in his actions, ought to conform. But this is wrongheaded, Copan argues: “God does not, say, keep promises because he ought to (which would imply some external moral standard). Rather, the theist claims that God will keep promises,” since it is impossible for God not to act morally.39 In a move parallel to Alston’s, Copan argues that, due to God’s necessary goodness, he necessarily acts in accordance with his nature, and so “the standards by which he acts are descriptive of his own nature rather than somehow prescribed to him.”40 Alston concurs; as we saw earlier, Alston argues that moral principles, as practical, regulative principles, apply only to agents who can violate them. Thus, they do not apply to God, who necessarily will act in act in accordance with them. In that case, it is hard to see how there is any sense in which we can say that God ought to do some action A, for “there is no foothold for the ‘ought’; there is nothing to make the ought-principle true rather than, or in addition to, a factual statement that S will (necessarily) act in this way.”41 Therefore, following Alston and Copan, it is wrong to claim that God must obey some external standard of morality, for such “oughts” do not apply to him, due to his being essentially good. So, what should we think about Martin’s claim that we still would need an independent moral standard, to know whether God’s attributes are good? Copan argues that theism offers a superior account over naturalism as to how humans 36

    38   39   40   41   37

Ibid., p. 87. Ibid., pp. 88–9. Copan, “Can Michael Martin Be a Moral Realist?,” p. 54. Ibid., p. 64. Ibid., p. 65. Alston, “What Euthyphro Should Have Said,” p. 288.

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

224

“became endowed with intrinsic value and rights in the first place.”42 His appeal is to Christian theism’s view that humans are created in the image of God and that, as such, we have moral, spiritual, and rational capacities that resemble those of God. Copan then argues that, “between God and his image bearers, there exists the necessary relation to render an independent standard [of moral goodness] superfluous.”43 That is, we simply do not need an independent standard of goodness to know that God’s attributes are morally good. From this theistic account, even Martin’s presupposition that we can know objective moral truths trades upon his being created in the image of God. This argument helps us transition to consider the other argumentative strategy Martin utilizes, that we do not need God to ground moral properties. Martin argues that from EMAR it does not follow that morality would be impossible without God. By way of response, the theist need not claim that morality would be impossible without God. Martin is right: there are some moral truths we just know, and he has given several such examples. The more significant issue, however, involves finding the best explanation for what these moral properties are, metaphysically speaking. We have considered several options, such as that morals are what most people approve of; what furthers survival value; what an individual or community has decided is right for them; emotive utterances; the movement of body parts, etc. But Martin has claimed that these morals (at least the ones he has concerned himself with in these essays) are objective. Moreover, they are constituted by natural properties. Accordingly, he has restricted moral properties to the realm of the natural, so there is no room for them to be abstract universals. Thus, a Platonic-like view is off limits to him. But there is the same problem then that, based on naturalism, we could not know those moral truths. Now, by way of further response to one set of Martin’s arguments, we may agree with him that, if God did not exist, then basic moral truths, such as the gratuitous torture of babies is wrong, would still be wrong. Not just anything should be permitted. However, why should we think that? Again, this question drives us back to the metaphysical options available for what moral properties are, and one option that still would remain available on this thought experiment is a Platonic view of moral properties as abstract universals. But that move is off limits to Martin as a naturalist. In effect, that result leaves Martin without any basis for construing the nature of moral properties, but theists are not empty handed. They can claim that objective morals are universals, but they are grounded in who God is, which is an answer with far greater explanatory power than Plato’s view possesses. Therefore, it seems that we can rebut successfully Martin’s revised version of the Euthyphro dilemma. Moreover, it seems that at least Christianity has the resources to address successfully the challenges posed therein. But what about 42

  Copan, “Can Michael Martin Be a Moral Realist?,” p. 63.   Ibid.

43

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

225

Islam? I do not think Islam fares as well. Historically, the ethical view that has become dominant maintains that the sovereignty and will of Allah are supreme. But this means that Allah’s commands stem from his will, not his character. As such, it seems that Islam’s ethics are vulnerable to the first horn of the dilemma. Furthermore, it seems that virtues such as justice and even mercy are objective moral qualities. Now, the Christian God has these qualities as part of his very nature, so that he is essentially merciful and just, along with loving, etc. And the Christian conception of God, at least as portrayed in its Scriptures, is that God is perfect in his attributes. But it does not seem that Allah is perfectly, even necessarily, just and merciful.44 For these reasons, I suggest that Christianity should be investigated first as the monotheistic religion holding forth very promising answers to questions of where we may find religious and moral knowledge. I also think it offers the more promising ontological basis than available in Islam for the features of reality we have been investigating throughout this study. Obviously, I have not discussed Judaism in its main forms, yet at the least my suggested historical test would help us discern whether an essential, even unique, claim of Christianity is true, a claim that would help to set it apart from Islam and Judaism. Now, I have argued that the fact–value split we have inherited is fundamentally misguided and mistaken. We can have scientific, religious, and moral knowledge, but not on the basis of naturalism. Besides those implications, what are some other implications of the failure of naturalism for us and society? Other Implications I cannot develop the following points to their fullest; those would require volumes all their own. Instead, I simply want to point out some important implications and make some suggestions for how we can, and perhaps even need to, proceed from here. And there likely are many more such implications beyond what I address here. Bioethics Bioethical implications also abound from the failure of naturalism to give us knowledge. For instance, under naturalism’s sway people have tended to see human beings as basically physical organisms. Accordingly, we are just more highly evolved animals than other ones. On such a view, there is no objective purpose or meaning to life. But there can be what atheists like Kai Nielsen have claimed, that there can be purposes, or meaning in life.45 That is, we still can   For instance, will Allah require justice from everyone for their sins?   Kai Nielsen, “Ethics Without God,” in Does God Exist? The Great Debate, ed. J.P. Moreland and Kai Nielsen (Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1990), p. 104. 44 45

226

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

ascribe meaningfulness to our own biographical lives, to the pursuits we find of interest and value to us. Rachels argues that, if people lose what they think gives their lives meaning (biographical life), and they freely choose to commit suicide, or have assistance in committing suicide, then the action is permissible. But this line of argument depends upon having knowledge of a number of things: for example, that there is no objective meaning to life; that a particular biographical life makes a given person’s life worth living; that there is no morally significant difference between killing and letting die, and so forth, all on the basis of his naturalism. Furthermore, typically now embryos and fetuses are considered to be human, but not persons. On this more naturalistic line of thinking, a fetus is a complex of living cells that can develop new, emergent properties (such as consciousness, selfawareness, etc.) over time as those cells becomes more complex in development and arrangement. Personhood then would be a functional property of the organism as certain properties reach various degrees of development. However, the demise of knowledge on the basis of naturalism should call such positions into question. In general, major bioethical issues would need to be reconsidered along different lines, in particular with a focus on the self as an immaterial, yet embodied person, with an essential nature. As we have seen, we are not just physical things. And if the self is in essence a nonphysical kind of thing, then there is more to be considered in bioethical issues than just physical effects and physiological development of various capacities. So, for instance, there is more to be considered in genetic engineering and enhancement than merely manipulating matter according to our desires. Of course, this overall discussion raises the questions about the moral significance of the self as an immaterial agent, a question that cannot be decided completely in this book. But now that issue and other, related ones, particularly about the nature of personhood, and when a human is a subject of rights, come to the fore. At the least, these arguments suggest the plausibility that, if the self is essentially immaterial yet embodied, then persons can be fully present at the earliest stage of life, as well as at its very end, for there would not be any fundamental ontological change in the self’s essence (and unique identity) from the fertilization of the ovum to death. We would come with a complete set of capacities, since they would be rooted in our essence, which then can be realized to various degrees, or privated in a number of ways, during the person’s lifetime. Going further, if we have an essential nature, then, by definition, that would be essential to us throughout our entire existence, which strongly indicates that what we are essentially spans the time from conception to (and perhaps beyond) death. So those changes would not alter our essence itself. Thus, our discussions of the morality of both beginning- and end-of-life issues must seriously take this matter into consideration, and this should have, for instance, vast implications for the foundations of Peter Singer’s bioethical arguments for infanticide and more.46 We 46   As just samples of his many works, see his Practical Ethics, 2nd edn (London: Cambridge University Press, 1993); Unsanctifying Human Life, ed. Helga Kuhse (London:

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

227

are more than just biological beings. In passing, let me also observe that, despite his many arguments, since Singer’s bioethical arguments trade upon the cogency of philosophical naturalism, then they should be rejected as not being able to give us knowledge of truth. Science also would lose its privileged position as the driving force in deciding what should be done in biomedical research, and why. Scientists have been able to receive many grants (such as for research on embryonic stem cells) and favorable public policy decisions, due to the utility such benefits would bring. The focus of embryonic stem cell research has been on benefits to living persons, who suffer from various illnesses, such as Parkinson’s disease. Surely these are diseases that are very worthy of our research, to find cures. But since we have seen that naturalistic science cannot give us knowledge, scientists will need to repudiate naturalism, in order to have respect as a discipline that gives us knowledge. Even our very attitudes toward how we live our lives should be re-evaluated. If we are basically hunks of matter, even if with emergent properties, and there is no overarching, transcendent purpose to life (not to mention any god), then, on naturalism, it fits that we might as well eat, drink, and be merry. And so we see a widespread cultural mindset (at least in the United States) toward being materialistic, in acquiring as many goods, and in experiencing the goods in life, as much as possible. Others focus their energies on sculpting their bodies, and giving the best outward appearance they can, for the underlying, even if unconscious, assumption is that there is no overarching purpose to life, and we are our bodies. Education At least in the United States, public education has attempted to remain neutral in claims about religion, on the one hand affirming and even advocating tolerance. Here, “tolerance” typically means that various religious and ethical views should be tolerated and treated as worthy of respect, except those that espouse having knowledge, and not mere opinion, about reality. Following scientism, no one religion should be endorsed, since religions do not give us public knowledge, but just private beliefs. On the other hand, at least in the United States, government has tried not to affirm or endorse any one religion out of fear of crossing the line of the establishment clause in the American Constitution. Yet this does not mean that public education is metaphysically neutral. Naturalistic evolution is taught as the literal truth, and to attempt to teach alternative views (for example, intelligent design) in the name of science is to cross the line of demarcation, explained and justified by scientism, between science and religion. At this point in my argument, it should be obvious that education that is grounded in naturalism is doomed to failure. Education is at least about the impartation of knowledge, but no knowledge is possible on the basis on ontological naturalism, Blackwell Publishers, 2002); and Writings on an Ethical Life (New York: HarperCollins, 2000).

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

228

which is the philosophical presupposition behind naturalistic evolution. We therefore are doomed to failure in our attempts to educate students by accepting (implicitly or explicitly) the ontology of naturalism, and we must come to grips with this conclusion. Based on this book’s arguments, it is dogmatic and even fideistic to claim that we know naturalistic evolution is true, for it is impossible to have any knowledge on the basis of the ontology that drives Darwinian evolution. Accordingly, teaching Darwinian, naturalistic evolution as scientific fact (or, less strongly, even as good science) should be abandoned. Moreover, knowledge, whether in medicine, science, or any discipline whatsoever, becomes impossible, and we fool ourselves into thinking we are actually educating people if we cling to ontological naturalism. Education on that assumption becomes nothing more than indoctrinating students into the dogmatic, but unjustified, positions of naturalism. Even more strongly, even indoctrination cannot be taking place, for it still supposes that students can come to know some things, including the positions held within a naturalistic view of reality. There are other considerations of education, such as how we educate and to what end we should educate. And, who should be one’s teachers? Do they impart wisdom, and can they model such a life? If we take ontological naturalism seriously, there is no such thing as having wisdom, for to have wisdom requires knowledge. Moreover, it will be impossible to see that something is true, or to spot and know moral goodness or rightness. For instance, when naturalists become morally outraged over unjust, even evil, conditions and actions (for example, Singer’s works about alleviating suffering), this fact betrays that there must be more that exists than they can admit into their own ontology, thereby refuting their own stance. Knowing that evil exists, in order to use that as evidence in arguments against theists (in particular, Christians), also must be relegated to the impossible on the basis of naturalism. But they do know that evil exists, and so the having of that knowledge actually counts against their naturalism. We also should consider the kinds of persons we want and should cultivate through education. What kinds of virtues should they embody? In what ways should they live in order to flourish? We could consider these questions from the standpoint of why we should be moral, or why we should adopt the moral point of view, considerations that would take us into the topic of meaning and purpose for our lives, a subject well worth pursuing. But, for present purposes, I want us to focus on another angle to this same topic. Can we flourish if ontological naturalism were true? I think not; let me point toward just part of an explanation, something I develop more fully elsewhere.47 At the minimum, human flourishing involves meaningful relationships with other people, as well as ourselves. For me to have cultivated a relationship with my former neighbor, Debbie, in a way that grew in friendship, trust, and emotional   See chapter 13 in my as-yet-unpublished manuscript In Search of Moral Knowledge.

47

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

229

intimacy required that I could know her (what she is like, what pleases her, what she believes, what she appreciates, or does not, etc.). I could infer different traits of her character from the way she would respond to situations, or my own actions and words, but I also could listen to and respect her own self-disclosures. Moreover, for our relationship to grow, I had to become “in tune with” and know my own feelings, wants, and desires, which was essential if she were to get to know the real me, just as she had to with herself, for me to get to know her. As a necessary ingredient for our relationship to develop, I needed to become aware of, reflect on, and know my own feelings and wants, so that I could be “fully present” with her, my communication with her being in synch with what I was experiencing of my own self. Our relationship continued to develop over time, as well as the depth of our communication. Now, she has been my wife for over twenty-seven years, and over that time our relationship has continued to deepen, particularly in the intimacy of our communication. Now, quite clearly, deep, meaningful relationships require that we are able to have knowledge about reality, including that we can form propositions that are true about people, including ourselves. I know my wife personally, which is grounded in my deep knowledge of facts about her. But since knowledge of reality (including ourselves, and others) becomes impossible on the ontology of naturalism, then deep, intimate relationships likewise become, at best, figments of our imagination. We lose the ability to form relationships in which we can be transparent with others, in which we can know and be known. That sad result leaves us in isolation, with longings that never can be met. Surely that condition undermines our well-being and flourishing. Let us consider another problem with naturalism and human flourishing. To try to live consistently as a naturalist seems to require that one would shut down parts of one’s self, and thereby never be able to be a whole person. Why? As we have seen, naturalism seems to lack a way to account successfully for the intentionality of any of the facets of our mental lives. Without them, there is nothing by which we can pay attention to what is going on in our thoughts, feelings, experiences, desires, etc., or in others with whom we are trying to relate. In my own case, I have had to face and grow through anxieties that I developed as a child, having been born into a family in which my mother probably had obsessive compulsive disorder. There was much anxiety “in the air,” and it became our roles as children to care for her and her anxieties. Evidently I have inherited a predisposition toward being OCD, although in a milder form, but I also “caught” patterns of behavior that cultivated and reinforced my own anxiety. To face these fears, and to grow through them, so they would not have such a strong grip on me as when I was younger, I have had to address them in counseling, along with the aid of some medication. Now, that process has required my being able to reflect on my feelings, including my fears and anxieties, as well as my attitudes and expectations. However, to even attempt that would be utterly misguided if ontological naturalism were true, for there is no way to have knowledge even of myself on that basis. Naturalism’s ontology would require living, as psychologists say, in denial

230

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

that those things are truly present. I would shut down any awareness of what is happening in me. But that is a recipe for disaster in life. It is a sure way to become a fragmented person, out of touch with one’s self (not to mention, in my case, to continue being quite anxious). If we cannot pay attention to and know our wants, thoughts, desires, feelings, etc., then how can we possibly enter into deeply meaningful and satisfying relationships with others? We also could not do that with the feelings, thoughts, behaviors, and more of others. Relationships fall apart, and so does flourishing (to say the least). Life would be utterly unlike what we can, and, for the most part, do experience, if naturalism were right ontologically. Cultures and groups of virtually any size also become impossible, since they too require interpersonal relationships. Today, we have a great call from communitarian ethicists (such as Alasdair MacIntyre) to recover the importance of living in community. Many of us realize that we have great needs for close friendships and cannot flourish as radically autonomous people. But living “in community” also becomes impossible if we cannot have interpersonal relationships. So education and the formation of relationships utterly fail on the basis of ontological naturalism. Flourishing becomes impossible, and any hope of forming communities and a common culture (or cultures) vanishes. On the other hand, we do learn many truths in education, and we can form relationships. So there must be more to us (and the rest of reality) than what can be countenanced by ontological naturalism. Public Policy and Public Discourse As we already have discussed, current debate over religious and ethical matters often is relegated to the realm of private opinion, and not something about which we can have knowledge. Hence religion should not enter into discussions of issues in the public square, since it cannot give us publically accessible facts. Of course, we do debate ethical issues in public forums, but scientific findings and claims often carry the greatest weight in those deliberations. But this mindset seems utterly misguided, for it has been fueled by the mistaken “fact–value split” that naturalistic science alone gives us knowledge of facts, and religion, by its very nature, and ethics cannot. Yet if it is possible that we can have religious knowledge, then its a priori exclusion from the public square is simply a power move, one that is based upon prejudice and irrational beliefs and falsehoods (namely, that naturalism gives us knowledge). Moreover, ethical reasoning (for instance, from philosophy or religion) should not be deemed a priori to be inferior kinds of rationale compared to those from naturalistic science. Naturalistic science is not the voice of truth in the public square. So secular policymaking that is based upon the fact–value split should be rejected. The door should be open to see whether there are better bases for knowledge and, thus, as the basis for public policy.

Methodological Naturalism and the Scientific Method

231

Furthermore, we are mistaken to assume we can live coherently and make court decisions, legislation, or economic or foreign policy, even unconsciously on the basis of naturalism’s truthfulness. All these require knowledge, in order to even know what needs to be addressed, much less how to address it. But even more, on the basis of naturalism, there is no real basis for a common good for people to aim toward in a society. Reality provides a basis for a common good, to meet real human needs, socially and individually. But without a way to know reality, we lose that basis, and we no longer have anything we can know, at which to aim, or by which we measure our progress. Even worse, there is no basis on naturalism for laws and principles that have upheld intrinsic human rights, for instance, as in the United States Declaration of Independence, according to which we are endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable rights. All these become fictions on the basis of naturalism, human constructs that the state has bestowed, and that the state can take away. There are no transcendent moral norms in a naturalistic world, and we are left with human constructs that will not provide a moral basis for stopping oppressive leaders intent on usurping power. Concluding Remarks These are just some of what I think would be many, many ramifications of the demise of the prestige and rationality of naturalism as a view that gives us knowledge of reality. It is time to apply ourselves afresh to rethinking through these and other aspects of academia, culture, public policy, research funding, science, and more, including ethics and religion. The collapse of naturalism as a view that gives us knowledge could cause a great vacuum, but we have seen already that there are strong dualistic requirements for knowledge of reality. Skepticism should not be a response to this study. Indeed, we can, and often do, have knowledge; we have an abundance of clear cases. And we have seen that one implication of that finding is that there is evidence of design in those very requirements for us to have knowledge, including in our being fundamentally immaterial selves, who are embodied. This finding alone should revive careful considerations of the nature of persons and the basis for their moral dignity. We have before us the dawn of a new day, a day of new beginnings, no longer having to be shackled to the chains of naturalism, a view that cannot give us knowledge. Instead, we can apply ourselves to careful, diligent reflection across the disciplines, including religious considerations such as the ones I have discussed in this chapter, to reassess the metaphysical, epistemological, moral, and religious underpinnings of life and society.

This page has been left blank intentionally

Bibliography General Sources Alston, William P. “What Euthyphro Should Have Said.” In Philosophy of Religion: A Reader and Guide. General editor William Lane Craig. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002: 283–98. Armstrong, D.M. Perception and the Physical World. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1961. Bonjour, Laurence. Epistemology. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2002. Campbell, Keith. Abstract Particulars. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1990. ________. “The Metaphysic of Abstract Particulars.” In Properties. Edited by D.H. Mellor and Alex Oliver. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997: 125–39. Churchland, Patricia Smith. “Epistemology in the Age of Neuroscience.” Journal of Philosophy, 84:10 (1987): 544–53. ________ Neurophilosophy. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1986. ________ and Paul M. Churchland. “Neural Worlds and Real Worlds.” Nature Reviews Neuroscience 3 (November 2002): 903–7. ________. “Stalking the Wild Epistemic Engine.” Nous 17:1 (March 1983): 5–18. Churchland, Paul M. A Neurocomputational Perspective. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1989. ________. “Activation Vectors versus Propositional Attitudes: How the Brain Represents Reality.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 52:2 (1992): 419–24. ________. “Inner and Outer Spaces: The New Epistemology.” In Epistemology Futures. Edited by Stephen Hetherington. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006: 48–70. ________. “Reduction, Qualia and the Direct Introspection of Brain States.” Journal of Philosophy 82:1 (1985): 8–28. ________. Scientific Realism and the Plasticity of the Mind. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1979. ________. “State–Space Semantics and Meaning Holism.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 53:3 (September 1993): 667–72. Copan, Paul. “Atheistic Goodness Revisited: A Personal Reply to Michael Martin.” Philosophia Christi 2:1 (2000): 91–104. ________. “Can Michael Martin Be a Moral Realist?” Philosophia Christi 1:2 (1999): 45–72.

234

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Craig, William Lane. The Cosmological Argument from Plato to Leibniz. London: The Macmillan Press, 1980. Reprinted Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2001. ________. The Kalam Cosmological Argument. London: The Macmillan Press, 1979. Reprinted Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock Publishers, 2000. Davidson, Donald. “Belief and the Basis of Meaning.” Synthese 27 (1974): 309– 23. Dennett, Daniel C. Brainchildren: Essays on Designing Minds. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998. ________. “Dennett, Daniel C.” In A Companion to the Philosophy of Mind: Blackwell Companions to Philosophy. Edited by Samuel Guttenplan. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1994: 236–43. ________. “Real Patterns.” The Journal of Philosophy 88:1 (Jan. 1991): 27–51. ________. The Intentional Stance. 3rd printing. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1990. Dretske, Fred. Naturalizing the Mind: The 1994 Jean Nicod Lectures. Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books, 1995. ________. “The Mind’s Awareness of Itself.” Philosophical Studies 95 (1999): 103–24. Findlay, J.N. Kant and the Transcendental Object. New York: Clarendon Press, 1981. Fodor, Jerry. The Language of Thought. Hassocks, Sussex: Harvester Press, 1975. Friedman, Michael. “Exorcising the Philosophical Tradition: Comments on John McDowell’s Mind and World.” Philosophical Review 105:4 (October 1996): 427–67. Fumerton, Richard. “The Internalism/Externalism Controversy.” Readings in Epistemology. Edited by Jack S. Crumley II. Mountain View, CA: Mayfield Publishing Company, 1999: 404–12. Habermas, Gary and Mike Licona. The Case for the Resurrection of Jesus. Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel Publications, 2004. Hasker, William. The Emergent Self. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2001. Hill, Christopher S. “Remarks on David Papineau’s Thinking about Consciousness.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research LXXI:1 (July 2005): 147–54. Husserl, Edmund. Logical Investigations, Vol. I & II. Translated by by J.N. Findlay. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul: 1970. Jackson, Frank. “Epiphenomenal Qualia.” Philosophical Quarterly 32 (1982): 127–36. ________. From Metaphysics to Ethics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Kallenberg, Brad J. Ethics as Grammar. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2002. ________. “The Master Argument of MacIntyre’s After Virtue.” In Virtues and Practices in the Christian Tradition. Edited by Nancey Murphy, Brad J. Kallenberg, and Mark Thiessen Nation. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1997: 7–29.

Bibliography

235

Kim, Jaegwon. Mind in a Physical World. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998. ________. Philosophy of Mind. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996. ________. Physicalism, or Something Near Enough. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2005. ________. “What is Naturalized Epistemology.” Reprinted in Naturalizing Epistemology. Edited by Hilary Kornblith, 2nd edn. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1994: 33–56. Kitcher, Philip. “The Naturalists Return.” The Philosophical Review 101:1 (January 1992): 53–114. Kripke, Saul A. Naming and Necessity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980. Larmer, Robert A. “Is Methodological Naturalism Question-Begging?” Philosophia Christi 5:1 (2003): 113–30. Lycan, William G. Consciousness. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1987. ________. Consciousness and Experience. Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books, 1996. MacIntyre, Alasdair. After Virtue. 2nd edn. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984. ________. “Colors, Cultures, and Practices.” Midwest Studies in Philosophy XVII: The Wittgenstein Legacy. Edited by Peter A. French, Theodore E. Uehling, Jr. and Howard Wettstein. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1992: 1–23. ________. “Précis of Whose Justice? Which Rationality?” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 51 (March 1991): 149–52. ________. “Reply to Roque.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 51 (September 1991): 619–20. ________. Three Rival Versions of Moral Enquiry. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1990. ________. Whose Justice? Which Rationality? Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988. Martin, Michael. “A Response to Paul Copan’s Critique of Atheistic Objective Morality.” Philosophia Christi 2:1 (2000): 75–89. McDowell, John. Mind and World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1994. Moreland, J.P. Scaling the Secular City. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1987. ________. Universals. In Central Problems in Philosophy series. Edited by John Shand. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2001. ________ and William Lane Craig. Philosophical Foundations for a Christian Worldview. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2003. Murphy, Nancey. Anglo-American Postmodernity. Boulder: Westview Press, 1997. ________. Beyond Liberalism & Fundamentalism: How Modern and Postmodern Philosophy Set the Theological Agenda. Rockwell Lecture Series. Edited by Werner H. Kelber. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International, 1996.

236

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

________. Bodies and Souls, or Spirited Bodies? New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006. ________. “Human Nature: Historical, Scientific, and Religious Issues.” In Whatever Happened to the Soul? Edited by Warren S. Brown, Nancey Murphy, and H. Newton Malony. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1998: 1–29. ________. “Nonreductive Physicalism: Philosophical Issues.” In Whatever Happened to the Soul? Edited by Warren S. Brown, Nancey Murphy, and H. Newton Malony. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1998: 127–48. ________. Theology in the Age of Scientific Reasoning. Cornell Studies in the Philosophy of Religion series. Edited by William P. Alston. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990. Murphy, Nancey and George F.R. Ellis. On the Moral Nature of the Universe: Theology, Cosmology, and Ethics. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1996. ________ and Warren Brown. Did My Neurons Make Me Do It? Philosophical and Neurobiological Perspectives on Moral Responsibility and Free Will. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. ________ and William R. Stoeger, editors. Evolution and Emergence: Systems, Organisms, Persons. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Nagel, Thomas. The Last Word. New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. Nielsen, Kai. “Ethics Without God.” In Does God Exist? The Great Debate. Edited by J.P. Moreland and Kai Nielsen. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1990: 97–110. O’Connor, Timothy and Jonathan D. Jacobs. “Emergent Individuals.” The Philosophical Quarterly 53:213 (October 2003): 540–55. Papineau, David. Philosophical Naturalism. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1993. ________. Thinking about Consciousness. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2002. Philipse, Herman. “The Absolute Network Theory of Language and Traditional Epistemology on the Philosophical Foundations of Paul Churchland’s Scientific Realism.” Inquiry 33 (1990): 127–78. Plantinga, Alvin. Warrant: The Current Debate. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. ________. Warrant and Proper Function. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. Pollock, John L. Contemporary Theories of Knowledge. Savage, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 1987. ________. “Procedural Epistemology – At the Interface of Philosophy and AI.” In The Blackwell Guide to Epistemology. Edited by John Greco and Ernest Sosa. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, Ltd., 1999: 383–414. Putnam, Hilary. “From Quantum Mechanics to Ethics and Back Again.” Presentation at “Putnam at 80” conference. University College Dublin, Ireland, March 14, 2007. ________. Jewish Philosophy as a Guide to Life: Rosenzweig, Buber, Levinas, Wittgenstein. Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press, 2008.

Bibliography

237

________. Realism with a Human Face. Edited by James Conant. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1990. ________. Representation and Reality. Representation and Mind series. Edited by Hilary Putnam and Ned Block. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1992. Quine, W.V.O. “On the Reasons for Indeterminacy of Translation.” Journal of Philosophy LXVII (1970): 178–83. ________. Word and Object. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1960. Rachels, James. The End of Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986. Richardson, Don. Peace Child. Ventura, CA: Regal Books, 1975. Ruse, Michael. “Evolution and Ethics: The Sociobiological Approach.” In Ethical Theory: Classical and Contemporary Readings. Edited by Louis Pojman, 4th edn. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2002: 647–62. Searle, John. Rediscovery of the Mind. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1992. ________. The Construction of Social Reality. New York: The Free Press, 1995. Sellars, Wilfrid. Science, Perception, and Reality. Atascadero, CA: Ridgeview Publishing Company, 1963, 1991. Singer, Peter. Practical Ethics. 2nd edn. London: Cambridge University Press, 1993. ________. Unsanctifying Human Life. Edited by Helga Kuhse. London: Blackwell Publishers, 2002. ________. Writings on an Ethical Life. New York: HarperCollins, 2000. Smith, R. Scott. “Plantinga’s Externalism, Intentionality, and Our Knowledge of Reality.” Philosophia Christi 9:2 (Fall 2007): 313–32. ________. Virtue Ethics and Moral Knowledge: Philosophy of Language after MacIntyre and Hauerwas. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003. ________. “Finitude, Fallenness, and Immediacy: Husserlian Replies to Westphal and JKA Smith.” Philosophia Christi 13:1 (2011): 105–26. ________. “In Search of Moral Knowledge: Rethinking Ethics and the Fact–Value Dichotomy.” Unpublished manuscript. Tye, Michael. Ten Problems of Consciousness: A Representational Theory of the Phenomenal Mind. Cambridge, MA: Bradford Books, 1995. Wallace, R. Jay. “Review Essay on After Virtue and Whose Justice? Which Rationality?” History and Theory: Studies in the Philosophy of History 28 (October 1989): 326–48. Welbourne, Michael. Knowledge. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2001. Wheeler III, Samuel C. “Indeterminacy of French Interpretation: Derrida and Davidson.” In Truth and Interpretation: Perspectives on the Philosophy of Donald Davidson. Edited by E. Lepore. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986: 477– 94. Willard, Dallas. “Knowledge and Naturalism.” In Naturalism: A Critical Analysis. Edited by J.P. Moreland and William Lane Craig. New York: Routledge, 1999: 24–48.

238

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

________. Logic and the Objectivity of Knowledge. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 1984; reprinted Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock Publishers, 2003. Wittgenstein, Ludwig. Philosophical Investigations. 3d edn. Edited by G.E. M. Anscombe and Rush Rhees. Translated by G.E.M. Anscombe. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1958. Internet Sources Dennett, Daniel. “The Evolution of ‘Why?’ Essay on Robert Brandom, Making It Explicit.” (July 31, 2006). http://ase.tufts.edu/cogstud/papers/Brandom.pdf Forrest, Barbara. “Methodological Naturalism and Philosophical Naturalism: Clarifying the Connection.” Philo 3:2 (Fall–Winter 2000). Accessed from http://www.infidels.org/library/modern/barbara_forrest/naturalism.html Kind, Amy. “The Intentional Stance.” Dictionary of Philosophy of Mind. http:// philosophy.uwaterloo.ca/MindDict/intentionalstance.html Lycan, William G. “Dennett, Daniel Clement.” In E. Craig. editor. Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy. London: Routledge, 1998. http://www.rep. routledge.com/article/DD082 Martin, Michael. “Atheism, Christian Theism, and Rape.” (July 23, 1997). http:// www.infidels.org/library/modern/michael_martin/rape.html Turkington, Carol and Eliot F. Kaplan. “Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors. SSRIs.” WebMD Medical Reference from “Making the Antidepressant Decision.” http://my.webmd.com/content/article/87/99352.htm

Index

Alston, William, 218–23 Aristotle, 169, 209, 215 Armstrong, D.M. argument from causation, 14, 17 argument from illusion, 10 argument from science, 14 causal chain, 12–17 perception, 10f reliabilism, 14, 18 See also causal chains; empiricism Austin, J.L., 170–71 Campbell, Keith moderate nominalism, tropes, 160–62 causal chains, 12, 14, 17–19, 41–2, 51–2, 87, 113, 116, 143–4, 188, 193–5, 201, 207 Churchland, Patricia, Paul cognitive world maps, 115 mapping analogy, 4, 110 network theory of meaning, 113, 121–2, 130, 132 neural network, 108, 119 neurocomputational theory of cognition, 4, 108, 111, 114, 125–8, 130, 132 semantic networks, 114–15 concepts acquisition and formation, 3, 18, 29, 43–50, 52–4, 77–8, 80, 83–8, 105, 143, 159, 193 and understanding, 44–6, 49, 61, 120, 156 case studies, 43–50 individuation of, 140 levels of (and descriptions), 3, 40, 50, 92, 170, 173–4 non-conceptual template, 3, 80, 86–7 phenomenal concepts, quotational model, 33, 74, 78–9, 81–4

reliability, indication, 18, 35, 43–4, 50–52, 87–8, 151 veridicality, 23, 43–4, 46, 49–50 See also interpretation; taken, myth of conceptual dualism explanatory gap, 33, 37–8, 94 facts vs. FACTS, 32–3 language, and levels of description: see concepts, levels of (and descriptions) conceptual scheme/framework, 3, 85, 108, 113–14, 116–17, 119, 126–9, 131–2, 169, 177, 179, 180–81 consciousness attention mechanisms, 35 internal scanner, 38, 40, 45 multiple drafts view, 100–101 subjectivity, 32, 34, 36, 37–8, 41 Copan, Paul, 218, 221–4 Craig, William Lane, 102, 153, 200, 205–6, 218 kalam argument, 205–8 Davidson, Donald, 68, 94, 96, 101–2 Dennett, Daniel intentional stance, 89–99, 101–5, 162 intentionality, original vs. derived: see intentionality multiple drafts view of consciousness: see consciousness, multiple drafts view natural selection, 97–8, 100, 102, 104, 162–3 realism, 89, 90, 93–7, 100–105 use of Quine: see Quine, W.V.O. Derrida, Jacques, 101–2, 105 direct realism, 2–4, 9–12, 18–19, 21, 28, 34, 40–42, 46, 54–5, 67–8, 83, 120, 137, 140, 142

240

Naturalism and Our Knowledge of Reality

Dretske, Fred, 2–3, 9, 15, 18–19, 21–32, 35–6, 39–50, 52, 71, 73, 75, 77–8, 83, 87, 89, 96–7, 101, 137, 144, 150–51, 159, 195 empiricism, 10–15, 164, 170, 190, 199, 209–10 externalism, 2, 4, 15, 21, 27–8, 40, 77, 107, 137, 144, 150–51 reliabilism, 3, 14–15, 18–19, 41, 71–2, 74, 77, 83, 89 See also internalism evolution and aetiology, 75 natural selection, 45, 51, 75, 83, 87, 129; see also Dennett, Daniel fact-value split, i, 1, 225, 230 Fodor, Jerry, 96–7 Forrest, Barbara, 198–9 foundationalism, foundations, 13, 72, 77, 81, 90, 97, 103, 109, 121, 140, 164–5, 170, 227 See also Murphy, Nancey fulfillment, 190–92, 203 given (versus taken; myth of), 44, 84–5, 100, 102, 105–6, 119, 121–3, 133, 137, 165, 177, 190, 192, 194–5, 201, 203, 217 See also interpretation Hume, David, 79, 166, 182, 209–10 Husserl, Edmund, 95, 129, 187–90, 192–5, 203 See also fulfillment; transcendence intensional properties, 190, 193, 195, 202 intentionality as an attribution, 90ff as aspectual. See Searle, John as indication, causal covariation, representation, 6, 29ff collective intentionality. See Searle, John derived, 97–8, 148 indifference to ontological status of intended objects, 188, 190

intrinsic (original), 24, 97–8, 104, 143, 148, 151, 157, 161–2, 193–4 reference, 23–4, 38, 62, 64, 118–19, 123, 153, 169, 170, 178, 192 subjective, 112 interaction, 60, 115, 129, 159, 174, 194–5, 201–2 internalism, 2, 4, 31, 40–41, 45, 47, 83, 84, 107, 137, 139, 144, 150, 195 interpretation, 46, 58–60, 65, 85–6, 93–110, 128–30, 151, 153, 163–5, 171, 176–7, 191, 202, 211, 213 See also given; myth of the taken introspection, 2, 21, 25, 30, 33, 35–40, 77, 111 Kallenberg, Brad, 58–9 Kant, Immanuel, 60, 64, 68, 129–31, 166, 182, 210 Kim, Jaegwon, 2, 4, 137, 145–50 Lakatos, Imre, 165, 175–6 language language of thought, 34, 37, 39–40, 141–2 See also Austin, J.L.; conceptual dualism; Murphy, Nancey; Wittgenstein, Ludwig Larmer, Robert, 198, 200 logical relations, 155–7, 194, 201, 203, 215 Lycan, William, 2, 18, 21, 34–54, 71–8, 83–7, 93, 137, 159 McDowell, John, 68, 180 MacIntyre, Alasdair, 65–7, 109, 166–71, 176–9, 184, 211, 230 Martin, Michael, 218, 221–4 Mary (example by Frank Jackson), 30–33, 36, 41, 53, 80, 104 mental states emergent, 147, 151, 157, 159, 172, 223, 226–7 multiple realizability, 149, 201 natural signs, 102, 150–51, 153, 163 PANIC theory, 31–4, 46 methodological naturalism, 1, 5, 182, 197–200 moral knowledge, 5, 204, 208–15, 225

Index Moreland, J.P., ix, 158, 161–2, 200, 214 Murphy, Nancey, 164–80 Nagel, Thomas, 30, 36, 41 naturalized epistemology, 2–3, 21, 68, 71 Nielsen, Kai, 225–6 noetic unity, 156–7, 194, 203, 215 O’Connor, Timothy, 158–9 Papineau, David, 3, 18–19, 21, 71–89, 101, 149, 151, 175, 195 particularism, 13, 15, 103 perception displaced, 25 hallucination and misrepresentation, 2, 16, 22, 23–4, 29, 31, 45–7, 49, 52, 79, 168, 202 seeing (direct seeing), seeing as, seeing that, 85 Philipse, Herman, 121–2, 129–31 physicalism eliminative materialism, 95, 108, 117, 125–7, 130 functionalism, 4, 116, 137, 145–50 nonreductive, 169, 172–5 token identity, 3, 21–54, 71–88, 96, 101 Plantinga, Alvin, 108, 144, 151 Plato, 142, 202, 209, 214, 218–9, 224 Pollock, John, 2, 4, 137–44 preternaturalism, 204

241

Putnam, Hilary, 19, 61–4, 67, 180–81 qualia, 2, 4, 21, 31–4, 39, 40, 53, 78, 83, 100–101, 111–13, 118, 122, 137, 145, 147, 159 Quine, W.V.O., 3, 89, 94–6, 101, 103, 153, 162, 165 Rachels, James, 208, 226 reference. See intentionality religious knowledge, possibility of, 204–8 representation. See intentionality Ruse, Michael, 208 Searle, John, 3, 19, 55–68, 97, 107, 151 skepticism, 27–8, 41, 45, 84, 123–4, 129, 133, 137, 144, 183, 195, 213 taken, myth of, 85, 100, 102–6, 143, 150–51, 157, 163, 177, 179, 193 transcendence epistemological, 190–93 ontological, 188–90 See also Husserl, Edmund Tye, Michael, 2, 3, 18–19, 28–55, 71, 73–8, 83–7, 101, 137, 149, 151, 159 Willard, Dallas, 102, 132, 153–7, 187, 189, 191, 195, 203 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 3, 35, 55, 58–9, 66–7, 167, 169, 170–71