Vol. II, May 1991

May 1991

Vol. II

CONTENTS

Loving the Other: An Inter-Subjective Alternative to Sartre's

Analysis, Steven Corinth ................................................................... 1

Nietzsche on Description & Interpretation, J. Cruz ........................... 10

Rights, Duties, and the Future, Timothy A. Duffy .............................. 20

Indeterminacy and the Data ofIntrospection, Paul A. Gregory ........ 34

The Pure Ego and Sartre's Transcendence orthe Ego,

James T.I-Iong .................................................................................. 45

Aquinas' Principle ofIndividuation, Patrick Hughes ......................... 54

The editors would like to express their deepest gratitude to the Denison University Research Foundation and to President Michele Myers for assistance from Presidential Discretionary funds. Without their generous financial support over the past two years, publicaLion of lhis journal would not have been possible.

We would also like to gratefully acknowledge Gail Weiss for acting as faculLy advisor for the previous edWon.

Loving the Other: An Inter-Subjective Alternative

to Sartre's Analysis

Steven Corinth

Denison University

My purpose in this essay is to outline a theory of the ontological basis oflove by postulating a structure ofinter-subjectivity which might be compatible with the ontology established by Jean-Paul Sartre in Being and Nothingness. It is futile to believe that inter-subjectivity-which Sanre rejects-could simply be appended to his analysis. The implications of any such possibility must be worked out elsewhere. Sanre's account oflove is inadequate, however, without this possibility. My discussion-which considers love to be a paradigm case of inter-subjectivity or being-with-足 is intended to show three things: first, why inter-subjectivity is necessary to the concept oflove; second, what an alternative to Sanre's analysis would look like; and third, why the theory carmot be immediately dismissed by Sanre's ontology. For the purposes of this essay, the explicit treatment of Sanre' s analysis of love must be all too brief.

According to Sartre, "love has for its ideal the appropriation of the Other qua Other (Le., as a subjectivity which is looking at an object)," and "this ideal can be projected only in terms of my encounter with the Olhcr足 as-subject, not with the Other-as-object" (BN: 488), This forrnulationofthe project "to love" is acceptable, for it in itself does not claim that love is nOl a project ofinter-subjectivity. But according to the ontological condition of for-others, to engage "this concrete Other as an absolute reality" means that the only possible relation between the lover and the beloved is the lover's being-as-object (BN: 476). In Sartre's analysis, the project has an internal contradiction: each lover wants the beloved to maintain herself as pure subjectivity in confronting the lover, but as soon as the beloved confronts the lover, she experiences the lover's being-as-subject and assumes her objcct足 state.

Because the only mode of relation between the lover and the beloved is the lover's being-as.:.object, the project to love becomes "the project of making oneself be loved" (EN: 488), Since the beloved's freedom is the foundation of the lover's alienated self, this leaves the lover

2

STEVEN CORINTH

suspended in radical contingency. The lover. therefore. desires the beloved's freedom "first and foremost" to choose the lover as the a priori objective limit to her transcendence (EN: 482). The lover's part in this relation is to fully assume his object state. The relation between them would then be "closed and secured" in the form of the For-itself-In-itself.

The beloved. however, "is a look," and as such cannot "employ [her] transcendence to fix an ultimate limit to [her] surpassings, nor can [she] employ [herl freedom to captivate itself' (EN: 484). As a result, there occurs "the lover's perpetual dissatisfaction" (BN: 491). Even in fully assuming his object-state. the lover still faces the reality of being surpassed for other objects in the world. A pledge of love by the beloved does not satisfy the lover since it is not a real engagement of the beloved's freedom.

What we need to understand from this situation is the futility, the actual absurdity, of "making a move" towards the Other. I cannot meet the Other as subject since this would make an object ofthe Other-and it is the Other qua freedom I want (Sartre has this part correct). And in assuming my object stale, I deny both the beloved's desire to have me as subjectivity and my own being-as-subject. This ontological conflict actually makes a project which would be comprehensive of the Other qua person-like-me a pure fiction of the imagination; for I only apprehend the Other in her distOlted character. That is, her reing is revealed through the filter of my self足 recognition. As a result, all projects towards the Other are fundamentally self-oriented projects. A project which is comprehensive of the Other-by "comprehensive" we mean a recognition of the Other which is not self足 oriented-is impossible. This is a distressing result of Sartre's ontology.

Sartre makes reference, quite casually, in his writings to people being in love and to friendships. I do not believe that he wants to destroy these relations for cynical reasons. His concern is freedom and the maintaining of this freedom on an absolute, concrete level. But his ontological system has left him no possibility ofthe being-with, and any sort of "secure" relation with the Other implies a bad faith move to psychologi足 cally supersede the Oliginal relation of contlict. As he so triumphantly declares, it is "useless for human-reality to seek to get out of this dilemma: onc must either transcend the Other or allow oneself to be transcended by him" (BN: 555).

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3

I think one must interpret this challenge as a statement that all comprehensive projects towards the Other implicate one in bad faith. If this is the case, then the construction of the For-itself-In-itself is the only possible recourse in attempting to sunnount the conflict or to escape one's gratuitousness because there is "nothing else to do." Thus, Sartre has implicitly infected his own system with an insidious disease which is constantly undercutting the positive effects of the system.

If, on the other hand, we want to consider love as a relation with the Other which is comprehensive of the Other and not merely a project of self, then to fix Sartre's analysis within the framework ofbeing-far-others cannot be fruitful. It is necessary therefore, to establish a concrete relation of being-with-others. Since being-far-others considers subject to object rela足 tions, the being-with will involve subject to subject relations, or inter足 subjectivity. The problems which plague the lovers in Sartre's analysis are derived from the condition of being-far-others. Iflove can be established on grounds different from the for-others. then the same set of problems cannot be necessarily involved.

In Sartre's analysis, the lover desires to appropriate the Othcr qua Other to make himself be loved. In other words, the lover wanL..:; the beloved's transcendence to be completely occupied in founding him. The alternative, inter-subjective account proposes that to the extent thHt the lover wants to appropriate the Other's freedom, he wants the Other as a subjectiv足 ity which is looking at an object which is not the lover because then the beloved's being is not modified by having to directly apprehend the lover.

For this to be possible, love must point away from the lovers to what is to be fulfilled if the Other loves me: the "making" oflove. A distinct thi rd element enters the relation: a common object of transcendence which founds the being-with. This third element is not itself contained in the lover's desire for the Other, or in the lover's desire to be loved.

The above requires a distinction between the thematic expression oflove-my love for the Other, and my desire to be loved-and the concrete experience of love-that which is love per sc and which can be considered as Ule criterion by which I know if there i s anything to support my thcmatized desire. If this distinction is not made, then love is either just desire or just psychology and the project is without direction. With these two meanings of the word "love," one does not have to constantly experience love in order t

4

STEVEN CORINTH

to be in love. It also makes sense to say that there is a difference between "loving this person" and "knowing the person you love." The "knowing" occurs in the strict relation of being-far-others; but since the relation is thematized by love, it directs the lovers to the experience oflove-the mode of "being-with."

In my account, the concrete experience of love comes through I instances ofinter-subjectivity. This does not imply that the inter-subjective experience needs to come prior to the original relation of conflict. Nor does it imply that the experience needs to be ofany certain duration (or that it will happen at all). But it is the inter-subjective experience which provides the objective validity for asserting love thematically. (For the sake of argument, assume that the For-itself-In-itselfwas possible to effect~ then, its construc足 tion would be the objective validity for thematic love in Sartre's analysis.)

The consequence of this thematic/concrete distinction is that love is very much a thematic expression. Projects thematized by love bring the lovers togetherin pursuing the fulfillment oftheir desire: to experience love inter足 subjectively in the mode ofbeing-with by undertaking a project together. In these instances they love the Other qua Other.

By inter-subjectivity we mean nothing more than the recognition by one subjectivity of another subjectivity. In as much as the for-itself is a transcending being, this transcendence cannot be directed toward the Other, for this will destroy the Other's being-as-subject. Transcendence, for both, must be directed towards some common third thing. This means that the recognition of the Other qua subject "is effected laterally by a non-thetic consciousness" while "a common action or the object of a common percep足 tion" is "explicitly posited" (BN: 535). Direct apprehension ofthe Other's freedom is achieved through the self-recognition ofmy object state. So we can understand that in the lateral apprehension of the Other's freedom I retain my own being-as-subject.

With inter-subjective love, we escape the acute fear which arises in Sartre's analysis because love completely relied on my being-for-the-Other.

The introduction ofthe third element (which founds the being-with) does not require the Other's transcendence to have an ultimate limit by being fixed exclusively on me. The instability caused by this impossibility does not occur. The Other does not so much choose me as she chooses "to do " with me. Though it is the case that the "to do with" often drops out of OUf

LOVING THE OTHER

5

speaking and explicit awareness, it is nonetheless necessary. There is an infinite number of ways that our transcendences can be employed in this relation to effect inter-subjectivity. The quality of the inter-subjective experience is the motivation for the two people to stay together under the thematic expression oflove. It is also the motivation for the splitting apart of the lovers-Le., if inter-subjectivity fails to be effected and they are left with an empty theme which does not fit their ontological relation ofconflict.

But this does not at all indicate that love is "destructed" in the sense of a structural failure-love either fails to be fulfilled. or it ends.

Importantly, love is not concretely established within the ontologi足 cal conflict, and. therefore, cannot meet its doom there. The for-others is endured under the thematic expression oflove by the lovers as people. Why, then, is this employment of a pledge not necessarily dissatisfying? For Sartre, the pledge was rejected because it was not a concrete engagement of the Other's freedom in the very "stuff' oflove-the ontological conflict. In my account, the pledge is not used to supersede a necessary conflict, so it does not have the same objectifying and deceptive connotations. Further足 more, a pledge here refers to what can be effected-so it is not, either, deceptive by being an empty concept (though it will be dissatisfying if it turns out to be empirically empty).

Thus far we have not said exactly what inter-subjectivity is orhow it might be compatible with Sartre's ontology. Sartre admits that the inter足 subjective experience-the experience of a We-is real, but that it is a purely psychological phenomenon occurring in a single consciousness.

Such events do not "appear on the foundation of a concrete ontological relation with others"-they are "a question only of a way of feeling myself in the midst of others" (BN: 550). Thus it is a simple psychological trick in which I reject my own personal ends. It is only a "material channeling of my transcendence" (BN: 550). Some might be inclined to accept that we at least have, as humans in love, a psychological salve to soften the ontological conflict. It can be seen, however, that such a psychological answer would most likely be interpreted metaphysically. Few people would be satisfied with actually meaning that there is nothing real between them when they say "itjust feels right." The psychological answer must be taken at its strength-it gives no ontological motive for love, and does not diminish Sartre's account in any way. If inter-subjectivity is to be of any merit, it must be an ontological structure.

6

STEVEN CORINTH

Sartre has three key objections to the concrete reality of inter­ subjectivity which I intend to accept as conditions for inter-subjectivity.

First, he claims that it is strictly dependent "on the various forms of the for­ others," making it "only an empirical enrichment of certain of these forms" (BN: 553). In accepting this objection, we must admit a sort of paradox in the nature of the being-with. Being-with is nothing more than me, in my subject state, being for the Other who is also being forme in her subject state.

The "distance" ofthe for-others relation allows me to retain comprehension ofmy self-ness and the self-ness ofthe Other. The second objection follows from the first; Sartre claims that the "subjectivities remain out of reach and radically separated" (BN: 550). We want the subjectivities to remain separated, for if they were not, we would have only subjectivity and not inter-subjectivity. Furthermore, it seems to me that the split is radical only in the for-others; in that relation, the subjects suffer their alienated selves constituted by the Other's freedom. But in the being-with, the subjects are in relation "as themselves" and do not experience their alienated freedom.

The third objection is that the being-with is dependent upon "particular organizations in the midst of the world" for its super-structure and is therefore capricious and unstable (BN: 550). We have already accommo­ dated this objection by positing the common object of transcendence; also, because of this third element, the inter-subjective experience will be "capricious and unstable," but this is no more remarkable than the meta­ stable of the for-itself.

Keeping these conditions in mind, we need to attempt a character­ ization of the concrete relation of being-with, or inter-subjectivity. To do this we will consider a comprehensive look, as it is distinguished from the Sartrean look, which is the apprehending of the Other-as-subject through one's object state. The nature of the comprehensive look is such that its direct focus is a common third element while its lateral, non-thetic aware­ ness is the Other's subjectivity. It should also be noted that the look need not be understood only as a look with the eyes; it is the concrete experience in which my being, and the being of the Other, are revealed.

For example, The Other may look at me laterally-she is expecting proof ofm y subjectivity by my looking back laterally. The explicit object of her apprehenSion is some common "event." The Other looks with confidence to me. I may have a direct apprehension of the Other's

LOVING THE OTHER

7

subjectivity through my being-as-object. But the look persists, and inas­ much as I am aware of the third element, I cannot then realize myself as object for I feel the Other's transcendence "flowing off' in the direction of that something else. I still must choose my attitude in relation to my being­ as-subject-for-the-Other. IfI reject the common object of transcendence, I fix my transcendence directly on the Other, who will then have a direct apprehension of my subject-state through her being-as-object. Or, I can assume my object state by looking away, bringing the Other's look to fall directly upon me; this will destroy the structure since the Other needs my look for proof ofmy subjectivity: she does not want me as an object, or as a subject with a different project.

The experience is most fleeting when it occurs spontaneously without the intentional explicit positing of a third element. Since the third element is not explicitly known or recognized, the structure collapses. There existed only a trace of a common element, but no actual material condition to sustain the structure. Thus we had to fall back on the material conditions that did exist-Le., ourselves simply as for-the-Other. Nonetheless, this is not simply psychological intentionality, for as long as the minimum neces­ sary material conditions exist-Le., the Other, a trace of some third element, and myself-the structure can have fleeting life. This indicates that the common object of transcendence must be established concretely, and iliat if this is not done, only then is the structure psychological-then the subjects are not engaging each other as subjectivities, but assuming the Other's perspective of the situation.

In this structure lies the motivation for experiencing love inter­ subjectively. With the "looking away" the beloved and I become transpar­ ent, to be revealed to each other purely in our mutual project. The freedom ofthe Otheris not apprehended as opaque over and against my object-state.

Nor is my freedom apprehended opaquely by an objectification ofthe Other.

We are not pitted against each other; we are fmally in the mode of being­ with. In this relation, there is a conspicuous lack of conflict; the metastable applies to the structure as a whole, but does not occur within it.

If we accept this mode of relation, we still need to show why inter­ subjectivity cannot occur on the ground of individual psychology. Sartre. cannot admit that the ontological condition does not have the power to shatter psychological fabrications; ifhe did, he would not discuss the lovers'

8

STEVEN CORINTH

"perpetual dissatisfaction:" in essence, his ontology would become purely academic. Therefore, if the supposed psychological condition (inter足 subjectivity) exceeds the ontological condition (conflict), then the psycho足 logical situation must still apply in some way to the ontological condition of the being-for-others. The only way available to Sartre for making the application is bad faith.

Bad faith involves intentionality; I deny my situation to escape responsibility. For example, I can deny that I am my hand on the beloved's shoulder so that I do not have to bear the responsibility ofthe consequences it might entail. Or, having engaged the beloved in conversation, I can deny my transcendence-for cowardly or self-serving reasons-and take on the role ofthe lover to become a lover; hence I become a part ofthe deterministic world. I amjustified and do not need to take responsibility forhavingchosen this Other and this situation. This would amount to my rejecting my personal ends for the ends of this "We." Attitudes of bad faith are chosen because of something; they are chosen for a reason.

Bad faith, then, cannot apply to the inter-subjective experience, for both lovers freel y choose the action-they take responsibility for it. In this respect, the experience is not unlike acting independently, except that each chooses it in terms ofchoosing itwith the Other-the Other's free choosing is expected and apprehended laterally. Is it possible that one might freely choose it, but the Other might be "of a different mind"? If this is the case, inter-subjectivity fails to happen: one knows the difference, one knows when the Other's "heart is not in it" These are concrete events which are informative, they are not abstractions.

Still, might it be the case that the two are in mutual bad faith by both claiming their transcendence while denying they are their situation? But there is no reason for a denial to occur-there is no reason to deny ei ther their facti city or their transcendences. This objection-which I think Sartre would confidently employ-stems from an assumption which the lovers did not make. If the lovers believed themselves to be "one," then they could act in mutual self-deception by denying their factual separateness and claiming themselves as their possibilities which are expressed and discovered to be the same. This situation is a result of wanting security against the contin足 gencyofthe world-ofwantingto feel themselves to be fated and necessary.

But this is a psychological contingency which in no way is necessary to the

LOVING THE OTHER

9

experience of being-with, which presupposes the lovers' factual separate足 ness.

At this point we should see that if inter-subjectivity is not granted on the ground ofa concrete relation ofbeing-with, then any effort to love the Other is an attitude of bad faith in which I attempt to take the Other's perspective ofthe world and myself. It should be clear, however, that inter足 subjectivity does not involve the lovers' giving up their freedom. Actually. the being-with allows the for-itself to retain his being-as-freedom since he is not required to assume attitudes of bad faith in relating to the Other.

My account oflove is not intended to replace Sartre's analysis. but to add to it. Sartre's analysis is appropriate for many experiences, and can easily be seen as the period of "seduction," or of "trapping" the Other足 though in some muted form, and without the cynical connotation of the phrases just spoken. Furthermore, it should be apparent from this discussion thatthe being-with is not exclusive ofthe being-for. Without the possibility of inter-subjectivity, Sartre's analysis is unable to account for much that does occur in the world under the theme of being a comprehensive relation with the Other-and I do not find rampant bad faith a suitable answer.

Nonetheless, my account is not at all meant to exonerate or justify alllhosc who claim to be in love.

Work Cited

Sartre, Jean-Paul, Being and Nothingness. Translated by Hazel E. Barnes. New York: Washington Square Press, 1966.

Nietzsche on Description & Interpretation

J. Cruz

Williams College

The debate between the realist and the anti-realist is-in a sense足 the debate between the possibility of pure passive description versus the necessity ofinterpretation. The realist argues, broadly, that there is a single way the world truly is. Describing this world without the bias of interpre足 tation has been the project of the philosophical realist. The realist hopes to engage in what Nietzsche calls "that general renunciation of all interpreta足 tion (of forcing, adjusting, abbreviating, omitting, padding, inventing, falsifying, and whatever else is ofthe essence of interpreting)" (Genealogy afMorals, 587). On the other hand, the anti-realist argues that a reduction of the world into purely factual propositions is impossible; in other words, the anti-realist believes that every proposition about the world involves interpretation, so that a solely descriptive account of reality is impossible.

A potential consequence of the anti-realist position is that there is no single 'real' way the world is. By this view there is only the variety ofinterpretive perspectives.

My project is to outline a reading ofNi etzsche that allows us to place him within these two compcting account.;; ofreality. Nietzsche is commonly ignored or misrepresented in contemporary Analytic Philosophy, even though he is often credited (Taylor, 1987) with furnishing some of the most devastating critiques of Analytic Metaphysics and Epistemology. So, my goalis to furnish a miniature map that locates Nietzsche in relation to one of the questions engaged by analytic philosophy. I will attempt a textual analysis that argues-as many might suspect-that Nietzsche is properly an anti-realist because of his view on language and valuation.

Nietzsche and, lately, Foucault are taken as enemies of Analytic Epistemology because they argue that knowledge and the belief-making process is guided by wntingentcultural conditions. Since the conditions are contingent, there is no way to isolate solid criteria for justified-true-belief or whatever. I agree that this is the reason for Nietzsche's distaste for Epistemology, but, left unexamined, it potentially leads to what I take to be misunderstanding (or understatement) of Nietzsche's anti-realist position.

NIETZSCHE ON DESCRIPTION & INTERPRETATION

11

Alan White writes in Within Nietzsche's Labyrinth, "The problem [for Nietzsche] ... is not that there are no facts, but that there are too many facts.

There are too many in that not all can be registered, and not all can be interrelated" (48). White argues that human beings are too limited to absorb all possible propositions about the world. This limitation requires that some propositions be taken seriously at the expense of others, and this taking seriously of one proposition over another is an interpretive act, since one must interpret which are the serious facts versus the frivolous facts.

Moreover, the interpretive act is fueled and guided by relations of power in a culture.

My worry is that White's account-and accounts like it--of Nietzsche's view of fact and interpretation leaves Nietzsche open to attack from a savvy correspondence theorist (Cf). The traditional Cf argues that a sufficiently powerful "viewer" of the world would be able to collect all factual propositions and synthesize them into a single, truthful, perfectly corresponding account of reality. Because Nietzsche's position has to be reconstructed by stressing the limitation of humankind, the correspondence theory is left a viable option. Just because human beings now are unable to digest all the facts or see all the interrelations or transcend power relation足 ships, the Cf argument would go, nothing is said against the possibility of a God's eye viewpoint attainable, by, say, expert honest science as it progresses into the future. Recall the position ascribed to Charles S. Peirce: Peirce argued that there was a method-the method of science-that could overcome the limitations inherent in the ways people "fix their beliefs."

Where, then, does Nietzsche stand in relation to the objectivity of science?

(Nietzsche gives us a rough hint when he writes, " ... physics, too, is only an interpretation and exegesis of the world (to suit us, ifI may say so!) and not world explanation; [physics] ... strikes an age with fundamentally plebeian tastes as fascinating, persuasive, and convincing--after all, it follows instinctively the canon oftruth ofeternally popular sensualism" (BGE, 212) .)

If we are to take Nietzsche as a full-blown anti-realist, we must understand how he evades the optimistic realist's challenge, fueled by a position such as Peirce's. In other words, we must investigate whether Nietzsche believes that a God's eye view is presently unattainable or that a God'seyeviewisinprincipalincoherent. My view is the latter. I shall argue that, although White's reading has shown an important sense (pemaps the

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J. CRUZ

most important sense) in which Nietzsche is an anti-realist, a deeper anti足 realist tendency can be traced in Thus Spoke Zarathustra and Genealogy of Morals. I will also engage the traditional argument against relativism-as some might think that I am painting Nietzsche as a relativist-and show how Nietzsche evades the venerable Socratic charges against the relativist.

The cr argues that the Truth is correspondence between certain linguistic propositions and the way the world really is. In this way, the cr feels that a statement such as "there is a tree" is true if, in fact, a tree is in the area indicated by "there." Nietzsche's Zarathustra is no friend ofthe cr: the correspondence theorist's way of waiting for the truth of the world to come to light is to remain "mere spectators ... Like those who stand in the street and gape at the people who pass by" (237). Zarathustra charges that these 'scholars' are as blind to the (sun)light of truth as someone who never leaves "dusty rooms."

Zarathustra gives a more obvious critique of the cr in the Conva足 lescent. He awakens after confronting his most abysmal thought and marvels at the chattering of his animals: ... Are not words and sounds rainbows and illusive bridges between things which are eternally apart? ... For Me-how should there be any outside-myself? There is no outside.

But all sounds make us forget this; how lovely it is that we forget. Have not names and sounds been given to things that man might find things refreshing? Speaking is a beautiful folly: with that man dances over all things (Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 329).

The position Nietzsche is suggesting here argues that although words may bridge the gap between the self (a single limited human perspecti ve) and the world, there can never be a direct correspondence between propositions and observations made by the self and factual features about the world: 束how should there be any outside-myselfl" Zarathustra wonders. We can recon足 struct Nietzsche's argument this way: when anyone uses a word, he or she is creating a link between a sound and the world that in no way 'contains' the feature of the world picked out. How could a sound 'contain' anything but noise? So, if the sound's link to the world is an arbitrary link, there is no reason to suspect that the link specifies the essential, true, eternal nature

NIETZSCHE ON DESCRIPTION & INTERPRETATION

13

of the world. At best the sound allows speakers to "dance over all things."

This dancing is not necessarily either careful or precise.

In Nietzsche's view, it is impossible in principle that dancing over all things would allow someone to grasp all things unambiguously. Except for the difficult cases ofonomatopoeia, the relationship between sounds and the world is contingent. Moreover, the words themselves are not bridges of steel and concrete. They are not bridges of permanence, but rather bridges made of rainbows and illusions. There is flux in the relationship between words and the world and flux in the meanings of words. " ... The form is fluid," (the relationship between words and the world) "but the 'meaning' [of words considered in isolation from the world] even more so" (Genealogy a/Morals, 514). The argument against the cr has two branches. The first denies the possibility for a word to link-up with reality in any objectively convincing way, and the second denies that any word has a single transcen足 dent meaning. In this way the possibility of a God's eye point of view is negated: the complete set of propositions about the world that God would have can, at best, be made of concepts that have no fixed meaning; even if they did, they could not' contain' all of the features of what they are picking out in the world. Again, the reason the containment is impossible is that there is no way, when naming things in the world, to capture or contain the essential features of the thing in the world. " ... How should there be any outside myself. .. ," that is not accessed via" ... illusive bridges ...."

If it is the case that words are fluid over time, the cr might here attempt to "fix the meaning" of a word-atleasttemporarily-so that a word can pick out a distinct feature of the world. This would help the cr in her or his project in that it would allow a word with a fixed meaning to 'link to' a fixed reference in the world. Given a very powerful mechanism forlinking all these fixed references in the world, the cr might think that a God's eye perspective is yet possible.

Nietzsche's suggestion is that the gap between words and world is a chasm that cannot be crossed by permanent, solid bridges. In response, the cr attempts to make a word-bridge solid by stipulating the meaning of a word. This is " ... a metaphysician's ambition to a hopeless position ... " (BEG, ~7). Nietzsche evaluates the move to fix a reference as follows: "The lordly right of giving names extends so far that one should allow oneself to conceive the origin of language itself as an expression of power on the part

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1. CRUZ

of the rulers: they say 'this is this and this,' they seal every thing and event with a sound and, as it were, take possession of it" (OM, 463), The problem, in Nietzsche's view, is not that a cr cannot fix the reference of a word, but rather that the reference that is fixed is arbitrary. This is another way toward White '8 critique offacts, but it brings out more carefully the plight ofthe cr.

Where the cr attempts to fix the meaning of a word so that it picks out a single thing in the world, what actually happens is that the cr picked out a thing in the world and forced that as a meaning of a word. Ifthis is the case足 if giving names is a lordly right and an act of taking possession-what is taken is chosen arbitrarily by the cr. In practical terms, picking out something in the world and calling it, for example, a tree ends up not fixing any reference: what deteITIlines if the dirt in the five-meter circle around the roots is contained in the word 'tree'; or who decides ifleaves and branches are part of a tree--or if only the trunk (not counting the bark) is a tree?

The problem arises when the cr attempts to use this newly stipulated word to link to reality and to make the claim that it picks out exactly what is really there: ofcourse the word links to a reality, because that reality is just what was put into the word. But filling up a word (fixing a reference) with an arbitrarily chosen thing goes nowhere in showing that lhatmeaning is the single possi ble meaning. At best, fi xing a meaning places inside a word a reference that is relevant to some perspective. And, of course, there is no reason to suspect that this perspective, powerful in its abilily to temporarily fix the meanings of words, is able to access the Truth.

While the cr thinks that he or she has pursued reality outside the cave, something else has happened in Nietzsche's view . ... purposes and utilities [of words for describing the world] are only signs that a will to power has become master ofsomething less powerful and imposed upon it the character of a function; and the entire history of a "thing," and organ, a custom can in this way be a continuous sign足 chain of ever new interpretations and adaptations whose causes do not even have to be related to one another but, on the contrary, in some cases succeed and alternate with one another in a purely chance fashion (OM, 513).

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15

Nietzsche elaborates on the position I am ascribing to him by arguing that the meaning of any "thing" or "organ" (or word) is constantly contingent-that the appropriation of language by the cr for a certain purpose is no more legitimate than the appropriation by anyone else to fix the reference in a different way (make the word 'tree', forinstance, describe the juxtaposition ofleaves, branches, trunk, roots and a one-foot deep space of air around the trunk). How the reference is fixed can "succeed ... in a purely chance fashion." Nietzsche's view denies the possibility of some way to describe the world that is essentially more right than any other.

Nietzsche argues that even an exact science of giving more complex and complete meanings will fail to get closer to an objective meaning.

The "evolution" ofa thing, a custom, an organ is ... by no means itsprogressus towards a goal ...-but a succes足 sion of more or less profound, more or less mutually independent processes of subduing, plus the resistances they encounter, the attempts at transfonnation for the purpose of defense and reaction, and the results of success足 ful counteractions (OM, 514), So, subduing a word by fixing its reference docs not further the pursuitoftruth as correspondence. All it does is su bd ue words in an arbi trary way. This is why White argues that "Even to register a fact then, is to interpret, in that the registering invol ves the singling out ofthat specific fact" (WNL, 48). But this is not solely, as White argues, because there is a necessary exclusion of other facts. Nietzsche's critique of realism is more serious: even if there was a mechanism-say, science-that could catalog every fact, itis not clear, by Nietzsche's view, what should count as a 'fact'.

When any proposition is made about the world and held up as an example of a' fact' , the words that comprise that proposition are either in flux or have a fixed reference. Ifthey are in flux, then there is no way they can pick out one truthful state of affairs in the world. !fthe meaning of the words is fixed in the way the cr attempts to fix a reference, all that is fixed is one subjective perspective of the world, and thus the proposition does not describe the single truthful state of affairs.

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Traditionally, the cr has held up the curious coincidence between the perception and philosophical descriptions made by many cultures.

Surely, argues the realist, if dividing up the world is a purely arbitrary practice, there would be much more diversity in the ways the world is divided up. But the absence of this diversity indicates to the realist that world/word making is not arbitrary. Nietzsche challenges this inference: The strange family resemblance of all Indian, Greek, and Gennan philosophizing is explained easily enough. Where there is affinity oflanguages, it cannot fail, owing to the common philosophy of grammar-I mean, owing to the unconscious domination and guidance by similar grammatical functions-that everything is pre足 pared at the outset for a similar development and sequence of philosophical systems; just as the way seems barred against certain other possibilities of world-interpretation

(BOE, ~20).

Nietzsche recommends that one ought not to conclude from cultural coin足 cidences of' facts' that everyone is latching on to some essential, true feature ofLhe world. One ought to conclude from this coincidence only thatthe ways ofdividing up world, as they rely on a 'philosophy of grammar', come from very similnr philosophies of grammar and thus look very similar.

Nictzsche's view has serious consequence for science, the tradi足 tional tool of the correspondence theorist. Of science, Nietzsche writes, "StricUy speaking, there is no such thing as science 'without any presuppo足 sitions' ... a philosophy, a 'faith,' must always be there first of all, so that science can acquire from it a direction, a meaning, a limit, a method, a right to cxist" (OM, 587-88), From the correspondence theorist's standpoint this view of science would be startling. Science is supposed to be the tool by which all references can be fixed and the truth of the world can be told. But in light of Nietzsche'S critique or the CTposition. his view on science is not surprising at all. Science is engaged in the pursuit of a certain kind of thing that it believes-because of the will of some lord of names-to be facts.

Even if science could collect all ofthese 'facts', what counted as a fact would itself be arbitrary. Ofcourse, the plight of the scientist is deepened to a third degree when we attempt to make sense of the significance of those things

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that are called facts. This is White's critique, what I am calling the third critique, of the pursuit of truth: " ... as soon as this truth or fact--or any other-is selectively registered, the problem of interpretation arises once again: what is the significance ofthe fact?" (49). The situation for the realist in Nietzsche'S view is precarious. Truth as correspondence loses its coherence as Nietzsche points out that the bridge between projX)sitions about the world and the world itself are always illusory and tenuous.

A brief recap of Nietzsche's critique ofcorrespondence theory: A) Our only means of describing the world, our only access to the world are subjective states and the words used to describe subjective states. Word足 bridges are illusory. B) No description can have a non-arbitrary fixed足 reference. C) Even if the problems of A and B could be solved, the facts acquired about the world would need to be placed into some system of significance which, by definition, would be subjective (Le. significance to whom?).

If this is Nietzsche's view, one might be tempted to label him a relativist. But if Nietzsche is a relativist, he could fall prey to the venerable critique against relativism that Socrates used againstProtagoras. Forthe rest ofthis paper! will give the framework forperspectivism that Nietzsche more rightly fits into. In the process I will show how perspcctivism evades the critique of Protagorean relativism.

Relativism is the position that every proposition about the world is as correct as any other proposition. According to the relativist, 'truth' depends on your point ofview. When Protagoras articulated a view like this Socrates charged him with an incoherence that is now famous: "How could you, Protagoras, argue that relativism is true ifrelativism argues that nothing is true?"

Relativism seems to be sclf-refuting because if relativism was right, there would be no reason to believe that relativism was right-truth depends on your point of view. Whether or not this critique of Protagoras is devastating is not clear (I think it is not), but the dangeris that Nietzsche may be charged with the same incoherence. Is Nietzsche's perspcctivism just a perspective, no more right than any other-say, the correspondence theorist's-perspective?

Although strict relativism is consistent with Nietzsche's point of view, it leaves no room for objectivity through diversity. This feature of

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objectivity through diversity of perspectives is the way Nietzsche answers Protagorean incoherence. The relativist seems to throw his or her hands up in the air and proclaim that 'everything is right.' Nietzsche needs to do no such thing, as his view allows for valuations to arise from engaging many perspectives. In an often cited passage from Genealogy, Nietzsche writes, ... let us be on guard against the dangerous old conceptual fiction that posited a 'pure, will-less, painless, timeless knowing subject'; let us guard against the snares of such contradictory concepts as 'pure reason,' 'absolute spiritu足 ality,' 'knowledge in itself'; these always demand that we should think of an eye that is completely unthinkable, an eye turned in no particular direction, in which the active and interpreting forces, through which alone seeing becomes seeing something, are supposed to be lacking; these always demand of the eye an absurdity and a nonsense. There is only a perspective seeing. only a perspective 'knowing'; and the more affects we allow to speak about one thing, the more eyes, different eyes, we can use to observe one thing, the more complete will our 'concept' of this thing, our 'objectivity,' be (GM, 555).

The first halfof the quote is the critique of realism that developed in the first halfofthe paper. Alone. it makes Nietzsche sound relativist and thus subject to Socrates' s challenge. The second half ofthe quote illuminates Nietzsche's view by explaining the role of a variety of perspectives. Not every perspective is as right as any other, and the only way to make value judgements between perspectives is to be aware of the diversity of per spec足 tives. Our concepts of a thing is made rich by noting as many ofthe possible perspectives one can. Only in light of this richness is valuation (viz. objectivity) in knowledge possible: 'objectivity' ... understood not as 'contemplation without interest' (which is nonsensical absurdity), but as the ability to contro[one'sPro and Con and to dispose ofthem. so that one knows how to employ a variety of perspectives and affective interpretations in the service of knowledge (GM,555).

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So, even though Nietzsche is no realist, he is not a relativist either. This is a way in Nietzsche's view to evade the charge of 'everything is correct.'

Valuation is possible, given a diversity of perspectives on the world-that is, given a diversity in what is considered important and what is considered a 'fact.' The framework for perspectivism is one where many views on the world are weighed in light of the kind oflife a person wishes to lead and the kind ofworld a person wishes to live in. This perspectivism has a strong anti­ realist tendency, but does not leave the anti-realist helpless.

Works Cited Nietzsche. Friedrich, "Beyond Good and Evil," in Portable Nietzsche.

Translated by Walter Kaufmann. New York: Penguin U.S.A., 1977. _ _ _ _ , "Genealogy of Morals," in Basic Writings of Nietzsche.

Translated and Edited by Walter Kaufmann. New York:

Random House. 1977.

_ _ _ _ , "Thus Spoke Zarallmstnl," In Portable Nietzsche. Trans­ lated by Walter Kaufmann. New York: Penguin U.S.A., 1977.

Taylor, Charles, "Overcoming Epistemology," in After PhilQSQQh~. Ed.

by Baynes, et. al. MIT: 1987.

White, Alan, Within Nietzsche's Labyrinth. New York, New York: Routledge. Chapman & Hall Inc .• 1990.

Rights, Duties, and the Future

Timothy A. Duffy

University of Colorado, Colorado Springs

Our age is unique in that we currently possess the technological ability to alter drastically the lives of succeeding generations to an extent never before possible. Within minutes we could effectively destroy allUfe on our planet. While our actions, hopefully, will not be so drastic, there is precious little life on earth not being affected, for better or for worse, by the environmental and social practices of our time. Yet to bemoan this state of affairs is pointless; all history is an account of actions, changes, and effects, and if this be the path to humanity's destruction, it must also be the path to humanity's survival. What we can rightfully deplore, however, is the lack of anticipation and forethought in our conceptions ofproper action. I am not speaking of the all too common blatant disregard for future conditions in favor of immediate self-interests, but of the lack of a consistent philosophi足 cal articulation of any moral obligation we have to humanity as a whole: past, present, and future, even among those highly concerned with social improvement, environmental protection, and the like. To be sure, all conscientious moral theories implicitly provide for a "better" future through theirprescriptions, but ifwe expect our collective actions, cultural practices, and philosophical thought to be moral, in the sense that they serve, in Washington's words, as "a meliorating influence on all mankind," not just for a few days, a few years, or even a few centuries, but absolutely, we must have a clear understanding of the rights and duties concerning the future inhabitants of our planet (qtd. in Tuchman 299).

Philosophically speaking, the issue of rights is extremely complex and controversial. In light of the plethora of uses and misuses of the word "right," both past and present, we must first establish a clear, basic definition of the concepts involved. Basically, a right is most easily understood as a claim. However, as Joel Feinberg points out, this definition is somewhat circular, since a claim is usually defined as something like a right (qtd. in Beauchamp 197). But the idea of a claim is somewhat more useful in that it implies both an activity and a recipient. In other words, a claim is necessarily an action performed by an individual, or group of individuals, with respect to another individual, or group of individuals. Even claims

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upon material objects entail certain relationships with others by restricting or mandating the actions of others with regard to the objects. This act of claiming is essentially a pronouncement of what is "correct" in the relation足 ship between the maker(s) and receiver(s) of the claim. Now, there are, of course, many senses ofthe word "correct," and this is one way to distinguish among certain types of rights. For instance, the possessor of a legal right may properly claim to judge (or have judged for him) a certain action as legal; the possessor of a moral right has the ability to pronounce (or to have pronounced for him) the morality ofthe relevant activity or state of affairs.

In short, a right is a statement of what is. right, or correct, or proper with regard to relationships and associations within a given community: legal, moral, etc. 1 Under our current defInition of a right, the source for authority for any such claim, or right, is necessarily found within the elements of the relationship involved in the activity of claiming. What this means is that the authority for a right originates in the individual or group upon which the claim is made. And, as before, rights may be further defined and classifIed according to the association which makes them possible. For example, a legal right of a citizen of the United States is based upon the internal rules

I believe that this definition offers a good clue to the philosophical distrust and/or distaste for the concept of rights. A right is often seen as some sort of semi-mystical possession which governs human interaction, and failing to find a proper basis for such governance, philosophers reject the notion of rights, or at least claim that rights are secondary to some other necessary basis for decisions, such as a theory of ethics or justice in general (see Margaret Macdonald, qtd. in Beauchamp 208-210; and Ruth Macklin, qtd. in Beauchamp 214-215). And it is the case that a strong argument can be made that in our present definition of a right assessments of their ultimate value cannot be made any more than "good" or "right" can be defined anywhere without the help of a more fundamental outlook. However, to realize these limitations is not to render the concept or consideration of rights pointless. What an analysis of rights doos allow is a more practical and immediate judgment of the consequences of more general ethical theories. An articulation of rights, within any conLcxt, forces consistent interpretation and formalizes conclusions, which arc two areas of concern which general theory all too often leaves open to dispute. Particularly for our purposes, an articulation of the nature of the rights of future individuals will not so much proscribe specific action as force consideration of future beings regardless of the ultimate standard of "good" employed in any given ethical analysis.

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of political association present, and the assertion of such a right takes the fonn of a claim upon the United States government for the protection, rectification, or retribution made necessary by a confirmation ofthe right of the claimant. (Similarly. the government may make a claim upon the individual, a right to tax, for instance, to the extent which the formal associ ation between the individual and the government allows.) Other legal rights, likewise, fmd their origin and authority in the applicable political association. Rights involving any sort ofcontract necessarily arise from the association defined by the contract, and those parties involved are hence the makers and receivers of claims regarding that contract. Certain rights may be conferred, even without the consent ofthe recipient, if a given association provides for such actions (e.g., children, citizens in a totalitarian state, etc.), and again claims are made upon the issuing authority. Equal rights would be those conferred or agreed to on the basis of some type of equality: as humans, as citizens, as adults, etc. Thus far we have a fairly consistent notion that a right is the statement of a valid claim, in relation to a given association, and that it is from this association that the right derives its existence and meaning. This may not be as lofty and noble conception of rights as some people are used to, in that it portrays all rights as contingent and mutable, but it does not necessarily degrade the rights we possess as individuals who have entered into, or at least accepted, different associa­ tions. On the contmry, it makes the rights we do possess, as citizens of the United States, for example. all the more valuable in that they represent a highly evolved and civilized form of association, not merely the long­ awaited articulation ofsome supposed standard which humans have always been endowed with. 2 Here the important question arises: do humans possess any natural rights which exist prior to any social or political associations? If this were the case, a claim concurrent with such a right would have to be made in relation to nature in general. 3 Considering the precariousness which dominates the association between m ankind and nature, the only valid claim Many will no doubt see a danger in defining rights as so contingent and mutable. I admit to this danger, but maintain that it is inescapable, and that only by acceptance of it may we fully guard against it (see Richard Rorty's essay The Contingency of a Liberal Community" in Contingency, Irony, and Sglidarity).

3 By "nature" I mean that physical set of conditions which exists for all humans, regardless of social or cultural associations.

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which one could make, or right which one could possess, would be the right to survive to the best of one's abilities; nature guarantees nothing but a chance, and in some cases a slim chance at that. Yet this simple right to a chance for survival may be more significant than it seems at first glance. For if a human, through his or her action, deprives another human ofthat chance for survival which that individual would have had if notfor his or her actions, has not that which all humans-as creatures of nature-possess been altered, has not a right possibly been violated? If a human perishes through the actions of a hungry tiger, the violence of a lightening bolt, or the force ofan earthquake, nothing unnatural has occurred, and hence no natural right could have been violated or moral rule transgressed (assuming, of course, that no other human was responsible for the victim's presence in such dangerous circumstances). But in as much as human action changes the conditions ofan individual's relation to his or hernatural circumstances and lessens the chance for survival which would have otherwise been present, a right may be said to have been violated. Iffhis analysis is correct, it would mean that there is one right which may be regarded as absolute, which applies to all humans by virtue of their being creatures of nature (or, if you prefer, by necessarily existing within a certain range of physical conditions and conforming to certain physical restrictions and standards): each human has a right to survive to the best of his orher abilities. Of course, under the det1nition and theory that the maintenance of a right, yours or another's, is what is. right, if every human possesses this right absolutely, it is restrictive in the sense that no person may rightfully deprive another ofthis right, even in the assertion of his or her own right.

How, then, does this view of rights concern future individuals?

Clearly, in as much as most rights are contingent upon associations and/or agreements made, individuals who do not yet exist cannot be said to possess any such rights. True, some current political associations, for instancc, will grant certain rights concurrcnt with the existence of a new individual life, and it certainly seems proper and moral for us to guarantee that those rights which we currently value should be available to new individuals, but they certainly cannot possess them prior to existence.4 However, in as much as any absolute right exists rorall humans regardless of any associations, a case 4 This is true not so much because claims could not be made, although that would be somewhat problematic, but because no association has been fanned.

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TIMOTHY A. DUFFY

can be made that the right of survival to the best ofone's abilities exists ~ forallindividuals who will come into being,5 In other words, the individuals ofthe future may be said to atemporallypossess arightofsurvival to the best their abilities, free from any hindrance by other individuals, prior to the fact of their existence,6 Hence. the right to survival to the best of one's abilities is not merely absolute in the sense that every human has, does, and will automatically possess it, but that all humans who do and will exist possess that right at any given time,' !fthe rightto survival to the best ofone 's abilities exists, what duties or obligations does it entail, if any? First, we should consider the notion of correlative rights and duties in general. Tom Beauchamp summarizes this thesis as follows, "One person's right entails someone else's obligation to refrain from interfering or to provide some benefit, and all obligations similarly entail rights" (202). The standard criticism of this view is that not all rights entail duties and/or that not all duties entail rights. Beauchamp asks, "Such goods as adequate housing, clothing, food, health care, educa足 tion, and a clean environment populate the United Nations list of 'human rights,' yet does anyone have a corresponding duty" (205)? I would assert that under a definition of rights as valid claims upon associations that an individual deprived of onc or more of these goods could make a valid claim Of course, when we enter the world our right 10 survival to the best of our abilities on our own is not much of a right, but we shall discuss the extent to which other humans are obligated to help us assert our right when we exam足 ine correlative duties to this right.

6 As to the metaphysics of possession without being, I would offer that perhaps as an absolute right applies to all humans, it also applies 10 humanity as a whole. And if humanity has a right to survive to the best of its abilities, this right is effectively represented by a conception of the rights of not yet existent humans. , As to the possession of this universal right by individuals who have died, they have presumably exercised their right to survive to the best of their abilities and failed at some point, thus sacrificing any possible future assertion of that right. This is not to say that their rights may not have been violated during their lives to such an extent that they did die, or that some sort of compensation to humanity should not be extracted fTOm the violators of their rights, but it is to say that any further protection of their right is futile. As Ernest Partridge points out, "The distinction [of rights between the unborn and the dead] follows from the fact that we (or perhaps others) can affect the conditions of life of the unborn, but we cannot alter the completed lives of the dead" (249).

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25

upon the United Nations and rightfully demand that the situation be rectified to the extent which the association makes such rectification possible. The organizations and agencies of the United Nations no doubt think that they are, to the best of their ability given the limited authority vested in their association with citizens of member nations, working to establish and protect these rights as is their duty. Certainly in a situation where the maintenance of these rights is rendered impossible, members ofthe United Nations consistently appeal to the association as a whole to fulfill a duty to come to their aid. The problem here is that some rights can only be stated as futile claims owing to the lack of authority present in the association responsible for the creation of these rights. This does not mean no duty exists, but that the right itself is insubstantial since a right, as a claim, divorced from effective duty, is essentially empty rhetoric. g Likewise, Joel Feinberg argues that there exist duties which do not correlate with rights. He says, "Duties of charity, for example. require us to contribute to one or another of a large group ofeligible recipients, no one of whom can claim our contribution from us as his due" (qtd. in Beauchamp 204). But what is the origin of these "duties of charity?" Under Feinberg's analysis a "charity judge" could presumably be appointed to go to individuals, in the name of all in need of charity, and reprimand them for not giving to someQne. This idea is absurd: for there simply exists no such duty beyond promises made by individuals explicitly orirnplicitly, by membership in an association. For example, as a Catholic a given person, in the affirmation of his or her religious beliefs, may have acquired a duty to be charitable, and the Catholic Church would then certainly have a right to demand that person fulfill his or her duty and be charitable toward someone in need. In essence, the confusion here is caused by the broad sense ofthe word "duty." Duties exist, as rights do, as the result ofassociations and the ensuing repayment of debts or fulfillment of promises, but we often inappropriately (at least from a strictly philosophical perspective) see the duty as toward the object of the promise, for instance, as opposed to the individual or group to which the promise was made.9

I would, however, agree that these rights are "claimable" only in so far as individuals are involved, through the aegis of their own government, with the U.N., not as humans in general.

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How does the correlativity thesis then apply to the aforementioned absolute right of survival to the best of one's abilities? An absolute right would have to be correlated to an absolute duty, or a duty which is binding universally, upon all aspects of the association between humanity and nature. In a sense, nature fulfills its duty by being consistent, in that certain actions will, according to the so-called Laws of Nature, always produce certain results. But humans also JX)ssess a duty to 1) survive to the best of their abilities and 2) ensure that others are able to survive to the best oftheir abilities. In other words. human beings have an absolute obligation to adopt practices (environmental, cultural, social, philosophical, etc.) which allow all existing, and future existent. human beings to survive to the greatest extent which they are capable ofsurviving. This would necessarily entail the creation and maintenance of the most effective institutions, mechanisms, and associations JX)ssible to maximize the survival possibilities of all humanity. This rather encompassing duty goes beyond a simple principle of non-interference in an individual's "natural" ability to survive because the abilities of the individual in question are, under humanity's absolute duty, to be given every JX)ssib1e chance of manifestation in so far as another individual's possibilities are not mitigated. And to the extenl which nature-as it exists within each human-can act to fulfill this obligation, it is morally bound to do so. Summarily, human beings are absolutely obligated La maximize the survival possibilities contained within other humans, and all future humans, to the extent which the knowledge and ability of those thus obligated permits. Thus a human being, as an absolute possessor of the right to survive to the best of his or her abilities, is also, by the nature ofhis or her humanity and material existence, the embodiment of the absolute duty to protect and promote this same right in the rest of nature as it exists in other present and future human beings.

9 A further distincLion is oftcn made in this regard, as Mill and Kant have done, in discussions of perfect and imperfect duties. In Mill's case this seems to be just a distinction between what is basically an articulated, legal right (a perfeet duty) and more implicit types of rights resulting from some sort of moral association (imperfeet duties) (see Utilitarianism 48-49). In Kant's case, this distinction secms to reflect a difference between absolute and contingent standards which could be translated as absolute and contingent rights (see Foundations of the Metaphysics of Moral~ 5,39-42). In both cases, the argument for strict correlativity can still be made.

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27

This admittedly somewhat polemical conclusion may be valid ifwe accept the given definition of a right, a claim, and a duty. But what are the consequences of such a view from an ethical perspective? In order to best answer this question, I shall attempt an analysis ofsome other philosophical positions and evaluate their stance on the problem of rights and obligations concerning the future, and thus demonstrate the implications and meanings of the view set forth above.

Many philosophers have recently maintained that the idea of rights being possessed by the future is not a sound basis for ethical decisions.

Richard T. DeGeorge offers three compelling reasons against the idea of "future rights." First, he states, "Future generations by definition do not exist now. They cannot now, therefore, be the present bearer or subject of anything, including rights" (95). On one level, of course, this makes perfect sense, in as much as rights are considered a "possession" equivalent to a material object. But there are numerous cases one can think of that lead to a different conclusion. If a baby is born, and there is no clean air for that child to breathe, and he or she dies after a few months, certainly, if there is anything like a right to a chance for survival free from the debilitating effects of another human's actions, it has been violated. Now, the violation, or action which caused an improper situation, could have happened at any time before the birth of the child, but may not have become physically evident until the child was born. We may say, then, that DeGeorge's viewpoint confuses violation of a right with evidence of that violation. Practically, there is little difference, but without a philosophical position which accepts violation as possible before it is evidenced, the prevention of violations would be rendered exceedingly difficult. Under our previous analysis, humanity, as a species, would also possess the right to survive to the best of its abilities, and if future children cannot survive that right has certainly been violated. Whether or not the "possession" ofthe right is actually had by the child before it exist.;; or by humanity as a whole actually, again, makes little difference. For the child of the future effectively serves as the instantiation ofany rights ofhumanity, and thinking in tenns ofthe child possessing rights is the most practical way to ensure nothing is violated.

Secondly, DeGeorge states that "Such future generations could at least in theory be prevented from coming into existence. If they were never produced it would be odd to say that their rights had been violated. For since

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they do not now exist they can have no right to exist or be produced. Now, they have no present rights at all" (96). Again, if we consider a right of humanity to survive-and thus also a duty to allow, even promote its survival, in the sense of making such survival more likely-we see that preventing future generations from coming into existence m.&l violates this right of humanity as a whole, and thus the right of every individual which would have existed. Now, ofcourse the objection and/or concern here is the question of possible humans verses actual future humans. BryonG. Norton recognizes this problem when he states, "There is a distinction between possible or potential individuals and future individuals .... Future people, ... are people who will, in fact exist at some subsequenttime. Itmightbe argued that even possible people have rights, for instance, a right to life... . Hence every avoidable failure of conception would involve the violation of a right to exist" (321). The solution to this problem ofdistinction between possible and actual future individuals may be clarified by a restatement ofmy original position. All human beings who will come into existence possess an absolute right to survive to the best oftheir abilities. Likewise, humans have an absolute duty to maximize survival possibilities of every human who comes into existence. Ofcourse, we seemingly have no way ofdistinguish足 ing between possible individuals and actual individuals until they are, in fact, actualized. But, let us consider how they are actualized. For it is through the actions of existing humans that a possible being is made an actual being. Thus, while we do not know ~ will exist 100 years from now, we do have control over, and a duty toward, those beings. And, if we are to maximize the survival potentials of those beings, as well as humanity as a whole, a large measure of this may be accomplished simply by manipulation oftheirnumber. Basically, what I am arguing here is that our correlative duty to the absolute right of all individuals to survive to the best of their abilities entails responsible procreation, simply because this is an extremely important way in which we presently affect, through our actions, the lives of those future individuals who will exist. This is not the "easy way out" in that, as James L. Hudson says, " ... we can always avoid violating the rights of future people by preventing their coming into existence" (101).

Nor does it represent, as Hudson later states. " ... a sort of !!!Q!1ll coereion which is equally illegitimate" since it violates a right to "blameless procre足 ation" (102). Rather, it represents a proper acknowledgment of the right of

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29

all future humans and our duty towards them. To be sure, there was a time when it was a duty to procreate as much as possible in order to ensure the sUIvival of the race and maximize survival possibilities for the future, but, at present, achieving this same goal defmitely requires different actions.

Derek Parfit raises a similar sort ofobjection in his construction of what has come to be known as "Parfit' s Paradox." Essentially, he claims that a policy of high consumption of environmental resources, which is clearly not acceptable to us, will produce different future individuals than a more restrained policy would, for a variety of reasons. But those individuals produced under a period of high consumption would not exist but for the depletion of resources, and it would be more against their interests not to exist than to be deprived ofany given resource (qtd. in Norton 322-3). What Parfit's supposed paradox actually does is provide us with a good reason not to blame the past for our difficulties, but this does not abrogate any responsibility we have to the future. Again, it is up to presently existing individuals to maximize the survival possibilities of future humans, whom足 ever they may actually be. It is also up to present individuals to create future humans in a way which does not undermine, in fact which enhances, Lhose same survival possibilities. Thus, high consumption would entail a respon足 sibility to low procreation, which may be necessary owing to already committed acts of high consumption. But, such a continued policy obvi足 ously jeopardizes Lhe survival of humanity as a whole thus violating everyone's rights.

Another aspect of Parfit's argument will be dealt with in consider足 ing the final point of DeGeorge. His third objection is that "Speaking of the rights of future generations as if Lheir rights were present rights ... leads to impossible demands on us" (97). Essentially, he states that iffuture person..<; possess rights, and there are an infinite number of future persons, anything which alters our environment (the use of a non-renewable resource, [or example) is a violation of some future individual's right. As Norton also points out, "All Lhis is somewhat bewildering and has, not surprisingly, the effect of paralyzing rather than guiding decision making" (333). While at first glance this paradox may also seem true, it actually confuses the essential factor of human survival with the non-essential aspects of our culture and society. For instance, humans lived for thousands of years without using uranium as a power source. We know Lhat it would be

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TIMOTHY A. DUFFY

perfectly possible for the full exercise ofhuman potential wi thout its use. If we, therefore, deplete the supply of uranium, we are not necessarily violating any right held by future individuals, cxCcpt in so far as we bring them into a world which. Wcause of over,population. destruction of other environmental resources. Of just plain stUpidity. we make the usc of such a non-renewable resource nec~ssaty for their survival. In other words, if we construct a society which depends on crude oil for its functioning, and make no provisions for the inevitable depletion of that resource, and thus leave individuals 200 years from now faced with the well-nigh impossible task of a total, sudden restructuring ofsociety once the oil runs out, we have violated their rights by failing to maximize their survival potential to the extent which we could have done so without adversely affecting our own survival.

Certainly, this is an awesome duty to live up to, made no less difficult by the actions ofour predecessors, but it certainly does not paralyze us to the point of inaction.

There are, however, some philosophers who have suggested ways in which "rights of the future" may be made more plausible. Bryon Norton suggests that it is the individualistic nature of basic rights theory which causes most of the problems which arise in any discussion of rights of future beings. He says, for instance, "Indeed Rousseau's ethical categories. where the General Will (the interests of an organic community not reducible to individual interests) is sharply distinguished from the will-of-all (the aggre足 gated interests ofindividuals), may be revived as an important possibility in modem ethics" (337). This approach, also, would have some problematic aspects. Namely, that the classical liberal tradition responsible for so much of basic concept of rights in general lacks a vocabulary of discussion removed from the cases of individual interactions and individualistic assertions of rights. But Norton definitely has a point. For instance, in my arguments above, I often mentioned a right of humanity to survive as a species to the best of its abilities that somehow went along with an individual's right to survive to the bcstofhis or her abilities-in as much as the species and the individual are both objects of the ubiquitous set of conditions and circumstances we call nature. Perhaps what is needed is an articulation ofa "species right" somewhat along the lines ofMarx's "species being." But I believe my position stands well enough without such an articulation in as much as my considerations of future rights are based only

RIGHTS, DUTIES, AND THE FUTURE

31

upon what I have taken to be an absolute right-<>ne which categorically applies to all instances ofhumanity, and which thus may be said to apply to humanity as a whole.

Rolf Satorius also maintains the existence of the rights of future individuals. He states quite simply that"~ generations ofcourse do not existllQ.S£,; they have no interests now, vital or otherwise, and they can make no claims upon us. But the nature of the vital interests they will have is a valid basis for claims upon us as to how we oUght to behave" (197). And he even goes so far as to say, " If ~ have a right that government protect Ql!! right through an effective exercise of the guardianship with which it is entrusted, ~ have a similar right. My suggestion is that judicial recogni­ tion of that right may be required to full secure it" (201). I believe his statements to be plausible in that he implies that a denial of future rights would probably entail a denial of rights absolutely, since there would be no denying the fact that it makes no sense to claim for ourselves what we will not grant to others who will be in the same situation. His suggestion oflega! representation does, however, bring up an interesting problem. Any consideration of rights of the future entails some sort of knowledge about future conditions and the future consequences of present actions. Our knowledge in this area is obviously limited and conditional, so how can we insure an effective basis lor decisions? Just as our duty to the future entails responsible procreation, I maintain that it also entails responsible investiga­ tion. By that I mean we must, to the full extent ofour abilities, seek to know the possible and probable consequences of our actions. Ignorance of the scope to which a right is being infringed upon does not mean it has not been violated. Although responsibility may certainly be mitigated in this way. it may only be lessened to the point to which possible investigation was done concerning the effects of present actions. Basically, we have a duty to know as much as we can so as to maximize both present and future survival possibilities. But, the ultimate 1ack of certainty in dealing with the future can not be conscientiously turned into a denial ofcither rights or responsibilities; it can only be turned into reasonable caution.

Before concluding, I would add a word about the quality of that survival which results from the exercise of a human's right to survive to the best of his or her abilities. There are, of course, many forms of "survival" which no one would wish upon the future. But a guarantee of a chance for

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TIMOTHY A. DUFFY

survival is not enough to fulfill our duty toward the future, for it must be a survival free from any sort of deprivation (environmentally, culturally, socially) caused by current action or practice. For to the extent which we deprive future individuals of choice, possibilities, and freedom of action, we shall deprive them of that which is the unconditional due to all humans-a fighting chance. Of course, some impositions are inescapable because ofthe simple fact that our existence always takes place within a given context, but contextual restraints are not the same as negligent deprivations. For humans are also bound to their own struggle for survival, but within our own struggling, we are not simply struggling for ourselves, but for the future as well.

We have seen how the adoption of a certain conception of rights as claims leads to both an accountofthe contingency of most of what we speak of as "rights," and to the fundamental nature of a right to survive to the best of our abilities--as individuals and as a species. We have seen how this absolute right entails an absolute obligation, not only to other recognizable beings, but to all beings who do or will exist, since they will unconditionally possess the same right. And we have seen how this position answers some of the problems inherent in a philosophical clarification in an area of increasing concern in our lifetimes. Indeed, there are no doubt other conceptions of responsibility to the future which could serve in this capacity (theological duties, for instance), but these arguments tend to be weak in the sense that we have trouble even applying their consequences to the present, let alone the future. My point is this: in our lives we presently invoke the notion ofrights a great deal, reflecting the fact that our mind-set is somewhat comfortable with their use. This is not to say rights theories are free from problems and contradictions by any means; it is merely to say that a rights足 based account ofresponsibility toward the future may be whatis needed to actualize and vivify our increasingly necessary concern with the ethical repercussions of our actions, not just within a currently existing moral community, but within the spectrum of human existence as a whole.

RIGHTS, DUTIES, AND THE FUTURE

33

Works Cited

Beauchamp, Tom L. Philosophical Ethics: An Introduction to Moral Philosophy. New York: McGraw-Hill, Inc., 1982.

DeGorge, Richard T. "The Environment, Rights, and Future Genera足 tions," in Ethics and Problems of the 21~ Century. ed. K.E. Goodpaster and K.M. Sayre. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1979.

Hudson, James L. "Rights and the Further Future," Philosophical Studies. 1986: 99-107.

Kant, Immanuel, Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals. Translated

by Lewis White Beck. New York: Macmillan, 1959.

Mill, John Stuart. Utilitarianism. Edited by George Sher. Indianapolis; Hackett, 1979.

Norton, Bryon G. "Environmental Ethics and the Rights of Future Generations," Environmental Ethics. Winter 1982: 319-338.

Partridge, Ernest, "Posthumous Interest<; and Posthumous Respect," Ethics. January 1981: 243-264.

Rorty, Richard, Contingency. Irony, and Solidarity. New York: Cam足 bridge University Press, 1989.

Sartorius, Rolf, "Governmental Regulation and Intergenerational Justice," in Rights and Regulation. ed. Tibor R. Machan and M. Bruce Johnson. San Francisco: Pacific Institute for Public Policy Research. 1983.

Tuchman, Barbra W. The First Salute. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1988.

Indeterminacy and the Data of Introspection

By Paul A. Gregory

Syracuse University

I

In his article "Indeterminacy. Empiricism, and the First Person",l John Searle attempts to show that W.V. Quine's indeterminacy thesis provides a reductio ad absurdum of linguistic behaviorism. Linguistic behaviorism understands linguistic acts in terms of stimulus situations which create dispositions to verbal behavior. The indeterminacy thesis, a result of this linguistic behaviorism, states that there is no fact of the m alter which determines the correct translation of any term of a language into another language. That is, there will be a number of coherent yet mutually incompatible translations of any language into another. Searle, believing that there is determinate meaning, maintains that Quine's argument. and therefore linguistic behaviorism, must be flawed. In order to make this point, Searle invokes the first person point of view. Such introspective evidence. he claims, demonstrates the obvious absurdity ofthe thesis and the resulting concept of inscrutable reference.

I will attempt to show that linguistic behaviorism can easily account for this introspective data without abandoning indeterminacy. I also hope to make evident the reasons why Searle's objection, as well as ones similar to it, are at first glance so intuitively compelling. Before considering Searle's position, however, let us briefly outline the indeterminacy thesis and its logical results.

II

In order to isolate and examinc meaning, Quine begins by describ足 ing a situation ofradical translation. In such a situation, though the linguistic utterances of one language differ greatly from those of the other, meaning is somehow preserved in translation. Examining the evidence by which a linguist arrives at a viable translation, then, will lead to an objective, lSearle, "Indetenninacy, Empiricism, and the First Person" (The Journal of Philosophy, March, 1987).

INDETERMINACY AND THE DATA OF INTROSPECfION 35 empirical rendering of meaning. Since "All the objective data he [the linguist] has to go on are the forces that he sees impinging on the native's surfaces and the observable behavior, vocal and otherwise, of the native,"2 Quine does not posit some intentional definition of linguistic meaning.

Instead, he takes a behavioristic point of view by concerning himself with "language as the complex of present dispositions to verbal behavior". 3 The actual internal processes by which such dispositions come about after a given stimuli are irrelevant for two reasons. First. they are unobserv able and therefore cannot be part ofan empirical project. Second, they will vary from person to person within a linguistic community, yet a uniformity of commu­ nication will reSUlt, indicating their future irrelevance to the project. 4 Thus, meaning in the intuitive sense is redefined as stimulus meaning: the class of all non-verbal stimulus situations in which a speaker would assent to a query about a term contrasted with those situations in which the speaker would dissent.

The example of radical translation that Quine uses is that of the imagined native term 'gavagai.' A linguist in a foreign land has just witnessed a rabbit scampering across the trail, and the native she was with has shouted "Gavagai!" while pointing towards the rabbit. Thus, the linguist may hypothesize that the one word sentence 'Gavagai!' translates into the English sentence "A rabbiU" (or, simply, "Rabbit!"). Then thelinguistmay question the native while presenLinghim with various stimulus situations, in order to zero in on the stimulus meaning. If the stimulus meaning of 'gavagai' is the same as the stimulus meaning of 'rabbit', then she may translate 'gavagai' as 'rabbit' in English.

Indeterminacy comes in when it is realized that there may be more than one translation of the native's sentence into English which fits with the totality of stimulus situations. Two examples which Quine uses are 'undetached rabbit part' and 'stage in the life ofa rabbit'. If' rabbit' hac;; the 2Quine, Word and Object. (Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1960), p.28.

3Ibid.â&#x20AC;˘ p.27.

40n page 8 of W & 0 Quine illustrates this point masterfully: "Differ­ ent persons growing up in the same language are like different bushes trimmed and trained to take the shape of identical elephants. The anatomical details of twigs and branches will fulfill the elephantine form differently from bush to bush, but the overall outward results are alike."

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same stimulus meaning as •gavagai', then so would these other two translations, because they have the same stimulus meaning as 'rabbit'.

Stimulus meaning being the only evidence admissible, there is no way to determine which translation is the correct one. Thus, the linguist (or a number oflinguist working separately) could arrive at a number of transla­ tions, all of which facilitate communication, but which are not compatible with one another.

To illustrate this point imagine two linguists, each independently working opposite sides of a village, yet unaware of each other. After each has painstakingly formulated a manual of translation they chance to meet.

One night about the campfire the two enterinto a conversation with the same native. After each of the native's utterances the two riffle through their respective manuals, arrive at English translations (separately), formulate (separate) responses in English, translate the responses back into the native's language, and finally each responds to the native. The three have an intelligent and entertaining (albeit arduous) conversation. Thus we see that both translations are coherent. Ifthe two should decide to compare notes afterwards, however, they will be surprised to find that while the one linguist believed they were having a conversation about the native's religious beliefs, the other believed they were having a conversation about particle physics. Even greater confusion would have ensued if the linguists had compared notes during the conversation or had jointly attempted to translate the native's utterances.

While this example may seem slightly exaggerated in order to demonstrate the mutual incompatibility ofthe two translation schemes, such an incompatibility will nonetheless exist. It must be stressed that I am working with what might be called a "strong" conception ofindeterminacy.

That is, I do not view indeterminacy as simply the possibility of a certain amount of"play" in translation. I expect that Searle would not object to that view. Instead, I understand indeterminacy as expressing the possibility of a number of different configurations of utterance/stimulus-situation corre­ spondences, while still accounting for all dispositions to verbal behavior (Le., preserving effective communication). Further, there is no fact (know­ able or otherwise) that will determine a "correct" cOnfiguration. 5 5There is, of course, a debate over the "extenl" or "range" of indetermi­ nacy. For further work in this area see Jonathan Bennett,Linguistic Behavior; or Mark Lance, "From a Normative Point of View."

INDETERMINACY AND THE DATA OF INTROSPEcrION 37 A second result ofthe behavioristic stance which Quine takes is the inscrutability of reference. Because there is no fact of the matter about whether the native's term 'gavagai' is correctly translatable as 'rabbit', 'rabbit stage' , or 'undetached rabbit part', there can be no fact of the matter about what, exactly, he is referring to. The only objective fact is the totality of stimulus situations in which he would assent to our linguist's query, "Gavagai?" But as the totality of stimulus situations for the three proffered translations are virtually identical (says Quine) there is no way of distin足 guishing which of the three the linguist shOuld choose for translation and in tum the object ofreference. Thus reference becomes inscrutable. This point will receive more attention as we begin to consider Searle's objections.

III The logical consequences ofindeterminacy pertain not only to cases of radical translation, but also to cases in which two people communicate in a common native language. Further, and most important to the bulk of Searle's argument, indeterminacy and inscrutability pertain to the specific case of my own speech as understood by myself. This is the point at which, Searle claims, the absurdity is most evident. Searle maintains that if the thesis shows that there is no difference (as to meaning or reference) to me between the terms 'rabbit', 'rabbit stage' ,and 'undetached rabbit part' when I use them myself, then it is obviously a false thesis. This is because, through introspection, the difference is evident to me, or so claims Searle.

Though he never gives a definite description of what, exactly. the difference is or how it may be discerned (I assume he would appeal to some as of yet undetermined intemalistic notion). he does give two interesting examples of how the supposed absurdity manifests itself. These examples, however, fail to refute Quine's thesis or linguistic behaviorism in general.

In fact, I would endeavor to show that in seeing these examples as creating absurdities, Searle misses the point of the indeterminacy thesis-the objec足 tions he raises from the first person point of view being possible only given the results of the thesis itself. While introspective evidence leads Searle to believe in determinate meaning, all he is really introspecting is his disposi足 tion to deal with indeterminacy in the most practical way; that is, taking the mother tongue at face value. Further, developing a contextual defmition of

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PAUL A. GREGORY

'meaning' will enable us to work our way about the issue without being caught in the same snare as Searle.

Searle's first example of absurdity will eventually lead us to his second example, and examination of the two will hopefully bring an understanding of the issue. He writes:

If the indetenninacy thesis were really true, we would not even be able to understand its formulation; for when we were told there was no "fact ofthe matter" about the correctness ofthe trans lation betwee n rabbit and rabbit stage, we would not have been able to hear any (objectively real) difference between the two English expressions to start with. (his italics)6 This objection of Searle's is, intuitively, a very compelling one; an objection which I initially held, as a matter of fact. There is, however, a problem here. The objection simply says that in order to understand the indeterminacy thesis, we must be able to do what it says we cannot do. Thus, since we understand the argument it must be false. When first presented wi th this objection it seems so simple and obvious that one cannot help but wanl to accepl it. The response to this objection, however, is that in making some sort of distinction between 'rabbit' and 'rabbit stage' we are not (as Searle believes) violating the terms of the thesis.

Searle seems to believe that the distinction we must make in order for the argument to work is one which supersedes the behaviorist view of meaning. thereby necessitating another (intemalist) view of meaning and vitiating Quine's argument. However, this is not what we need to do in order to grasp the thesis. Working from the behaviorist's view and thereby through the terms ofthe thesis, we admit the stimulus synonymy ofthe three terms 'rabbit', 'rabbit stage' ,and 'undetached rabbit part' . Then we note the following: the choice of which these terms to use in our translation scheme will affect and be affected by other judgements we must make in construct足 ing that scheme (e.g., analytical hypotheses relating to such things as identity, difference, pluralizations, etc.) with the result that we ultimately arrive at three coherent, yet mutually incompatible translation schemes. p.131.

INDETERMINACY AND THE DATA OF INTROSPECTION 39

Although we acknowledge that the use ofone term over another will. create a difference in our translation scheme, we do not thereby acknowl­ edge any fixed meaning or reference for these tenns. We merely acknowl­ edge that the terms differ relative to a background language and translation scheme. That is, relative to one scheme 'gavagai' will translate into the (background) English language as 'rabbit' and, e.g., •gavagug' will trans­ late as 'rabbit stage'. However, relative to another translation scheme 'gavagai' will translateinto a (different background) English as 'undetached rabbit part' and 'gavagug' will translate as 'rabbit'. Further, the supposed "fixed" difference we perceive when arbitrarily and uncritically utilizing the background language is itself subject to indetenninacy when translating from, e.g., English into English. The reference of the tenn 'rabbit' will be rabbit stage relative to one translation scheme/background language, undetached rabbit part relative to another, and rabbit relative to a third. Even ifwe try to clarifyorfix ourmeaning, these attempts at clarification will also be subject to relativity to the background language in which we are working.

Meaning and reference, then, are relative to the scheme of transla­ tion which we choose. This scheme of translation is, in turn, relative to some background language into which we are translating. Thus, it would seem thatin the case oftranslating from my native language into itse!fwe are faced with an infinite regress of sorts. That is, the reference of any term in a given English is relative to the background of a second English, and the reference of any term in that second English is relative to a third and so on. We must, then, accept an arbitrary point of which we can anchor meaning and reference. Searle, however, sees this solution as ineffective, claiming that it only reiterates the absurdity of relativity and indeterminacy: We cannot, on the one hand, insist on a rigorous behaviorism that implies that there is no fact of the matter and then, when we get into trouble, appeal to a naive notion of a mother tongue or home language with words having a face value in excess of their empirical behavioral content.

Ifwc are serious about our behaviorism, the mother tongue is the mother of indeterminacy, and the face value is counterfeitifit suggests that there are empirical differences when in fact there are none.? p.133.

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PAUL A. GREGORY

This quotation must be examined carefully, because it demonstrates a problem which runs throughout Searle's argument. Ifhe wishes to take the indeterminacy thesis on it's own terms (Le.: linguistic behaviorism) which he must do in order to show that it creates a reductio of itself, then he must let go of his belief (if only long enough to derive the reductio) that there is determinate meaning. One cannot help but recognize in reading his article, however. that he does not do this. In fact, it is this adherence to some (never足 stated) theory of determinate meaning which creates the apparent absurdi足 ties Searle sights in order to refute Quine's thesis. Searle criticizes the appeal to a background language with "words having a face value in excess of their empirical behavioral content." Yet no claim is made by the behaviorist that the arbitrary background language has any such "excessive" values. This is Searle's assumption. Next, he states that if we are to accept linguistic behaviorism, "the face value is counterfeit ifit suggests that there are empirical differences when in fact there are none." His use of the word "counterfeit" presupposes that there is some genuine article somewhere.

Might not Searle, or anyone who objects to the indeterminacy thesis in a similar manner, be confusing internalisticnotions offixedlanguage with the uncritical, unconscious acceptance ofthe language he learned as a child? Let us develop the concept of accepting an arbitrary background language before attempting an answer to this question.

IV The purpose oflanguage is, vaguely, to communicate. That is, to interact with our environment and each other effectively. Language is the necessary tool which allows two or more people to do such things as build a hut in which to live. protect their territory from invading forces. get the harvest in as efficiently as possible. accurately predict natural phenomena. and influence or subjugate others. With language we are able to consult one another ("What amount of water with this much mud makes the best brick?"); leave behind or pass on information ("I was told this amount of waterworks best."); organize a collective effort ("You two go to the right, he and I will go to the left."); and so on. We need (and have) a language system which works to accomplish these goals, as well as many others.

Thus, when I am in a situation in which my fellow hunter tells me to go spear

INDETERMINACY AND THE DATA OF INTROSPECTION 41

a couple ofrabbits for the upcoming midsummer feast, I do not resJXlnd, "Do you mean spear a rabbit, spear an undetached rabbit part, or spear a stage in the life ofthe rabbit?" I simply throw my weapon in the right direction, and return from the hunt with food for the feast.

Philosopbers, on the other band, baving the lUXUry of others who take care of such things as raising animals for slaughter, and keeping territory ever safe from military (as well as economic and ideological) invasion, have time to ponder the meaning of 'meaning'. The (sometimes dubious) reward for our efforts are debates such as the ones discussed here.

Ultimately, such philosophical inquiry is an attempt to increase our under足 standing oflanguage use (and perhaps our thought processes as well). As we find the urge or need to perform more and more subtle tasks with language we find it is, at times, inadequate. Thus the enterprise of questioning meaning. It is not when things run smoothly that we need ask questions about meaning, but only when a breakdown occurs (e.g., when one of us does not understand the use of a term, when a certain term needs clarification, or when we encounter others whose terms are not the same as ours). In fact, it may be that we would not even have a concept of meaning at all ifall communicatory exchanges occurred trouble-free. Forwhy should the question "What do you mean?" ever arise if everyone were always understood?

The point to keep in mind through all this is that when such breakdowns do occur and we do end up questioning meaning, the resolution does not corne when we find that some determinate chunk of meaning adheres to a certain utterance. Rather, the problem is resolved when adequate functioning resumes. That is, when we are able either to point to a stimulus situation or to map already understood terms on to the problem足 atical one in such a way that our utterances produce, if not desired effects, at least understandable ones. 8 In the case of radical translation we must start by establishing a set of stimulus meaningful translations. As the process To some these considerations and some of !hose that follow seem to suggest a functionalist, or even a mechanistic view of communication. This characterization would, however, be incorrect. My aim here is simply to examine the use of sentences such as 'What does this mean?' in order to show that an answer is possible even given indeterminacy. Whether or not a function~ alist view of communication necessarily underlies this exercise is irrelevant to the question at hand.

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PAUL A. GREGORY

progresses we explain some tems through the use of others, every term ultimately relating back through various routes to stimulus meanings. That there is more than one possible translation that will work does not reduce the effectiveness of anyone ofthem. Only ifwe attempt to mix translations will we experience problems, as did the two linguists mentioned above. A term which functions effectively relative to a certain background language and translation scheme will lose that effectiveness when indiscriminately trans足 planted to another background language and scheme. (We should even go so far as to say that it will take on a different effectiveness when so transplanted. ) When such a breakdown occurs in the use ofEnglish we again look to stimulus situations and remappings to resolve the crisis. We almost invariably translate every tem homophonic ally, except the problematic one. On to this we map other tems in order to make its use understood, effective. In other words, when we are asked, "What does 'X' mean?" or "What is the meaning of' X'?" what we are being asked is, "What other terms can be mapped onto 'X', substituted in this sentence for 'X'?" or "What other terms can be used to demonstrate proper usage of 'X'?" We arc not being asked, "What determinate thing, what chunk afmeaning corresponds to this term?"

I-Jere, then, we employ a contextual definition of 'meaning'. That is, to understand what we mean by 'meaning' we substitute other words for it, finding that we look for what I have often described as rcmappings or substitutions of other words. Again, we are disposed to employ the easiest and swiftest remapping available (i.e.: the homophonic translation). We end up, in effect, taking our mother tongue at "face value." That we do this does not indicate that there is some genuine (as opposed to "counterfeit") chunk of meaning which we assign to a word. It merely indicates that to effect a complete heterophonic translation of English into English in order to clarify the use of a term or two, while possible, is a tedious and impractical task. To do so when there has not even been a breakdown in communication is even more impractical. (perhaps the only practical reason for such a task would be to demonstrate the possibility to those who have not yet understood it.)

INDETERMINACY AND THE DATA OF INfROSPECfION 43

v That I have substituted •effectiveness' and similar terms for 'mean­ ing' at different points throughout the preceding paragraphs has surely not gone unnoticed. While such vague usage must eventually be explicated, it emphasizes the use of a contextual definition of meaning, and serves to demonstrate a relatively simple point. Remember Searle's objection that face-value acceptance of the mother tongue was "counterfeit," and ex­ ceeded "empirical behavioral content." As meaning lies in the use of language there can be no genuine or counterfeit meaning; there can only be effective orineffective use. Further, whether we choose to anchor meaning and reference by simply accepting the face value of our terms or by making aheterophonic translation every second Thursday, so long as use is effective and we can recognize it as such, no empirical behavioral content is exceeded.

Our effective usage is empirical evidence enough to justify either approach.

(The latter approach would most likely be considered a waste of time, however.)

That it would be an incredibly tedious task to effect a complete heterophonic translation of English into English is a compelling reason not to do so. Searle's introspective evidence merely stresses this point. He introspects his disposition to translate homophonically and resolve crises of understanding in the most efficient manner, as described above. That he is not disposed to choose heterophonic translation, or does not realize that he could so choose, in no way denies the possibility. Nonetheless, it is easy to see how such introspection would lead one to believe in determinate meaning. When one then considers the implications of the indeterminacy thesis. it appears as if it threatens to unhinge meaning and communication altogether. We perceive an absurdity-an absurdity to which we often have a violent reaction. How can we communicate ifthere is no meaning? But if we find that we have misinterpreted our introspective data we realize that there is no absurdity.

Thus, the absurdities Searle cites as creating a reductio argument against linguistic behaviorism and the indeterminacy thesis are no t absurdi­ ties at all. Using a contextual definition of 'meaning' has allowed us to speak of linguistic behavior without the fear of becoming lost in a morass of

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meaninglessness due to indetenninacy. Such an undesirable fate seems immanent only if we take the view (as Searle does) that language is only effective given detenninate meaning. Further, as our approach salvages meaningfulness itsimultaneousl y allows us to appreci ate that there is no fact ofthe matter as to correcttranslation and that reference is ultimately relative.

The first-person, introspective evidence Searle invokes (/ know whatI mean and what / am referring to) does not support the notion of detenninate internalistic meaning. This is notto say that Searle's assertion that he knows what he means is false. Of course he knows what he is saying. But Searle is wrong to confuse the effective use of language and the disposition to translate homophonically in order to facilitate such use with detenninate meaning. It is only in this confusion that the indetenninacy thesis appears absurd, for it is this very confusion, the myth of a thing called 'meaning', which indetenninacy seeks to unravel. The mother tongue is the mother of indetenninacy, but it is also the mother of another child: effective, meaningful language use.

Works Cited Searle, J. "Indeterminacy, Empiricism, and the First Person," The Journal of Philosophy. March, 1987.

Quine, W.V. Word and Object. Cambridge, Massachussetts: MIT Press, 1960.

The Pure Ego and Sartre' s Transcendence of the EgO

James T. Hong

The University of Minnesota

The title of this essay may be somewhat confusing. Sartre's Transcendence of the Ego is not only the title of one of his books, it is also avery terse description of the theory put forth in that book. The pure ego, as described by HusserI, is deemed by Sartre: the transcendental ego. So when Sartre speaks of the transcendental ego, he is actually referring to the pure ego: the designation I will use. Sartre's own theory describes a "transcendent ego."

In this essay I intend to briefly describe: 1) HusserI's conception of the pure ego, 2) Sartre's criticism ofthis theory, 3) his own theory of the ego, and 4) a criticism of this theory. Hopefully I may give a simplified qua clearer picture of Husserlian and (pre-CritiQ.Ue of Dialectical Reason) Sartrean Phenomenolo gy.

The Pure or Transcendental Ego Edmund HusserI's conception of the pure ego varies wilh each of his major works. Here I will concentrate on the ~.

To begin with, for Husserl and for Sartre, consciousness is always consciousness of something, this is intentionality in a nutshell. When one is thinking (or for that matter, acting, desiring, etc.), one is always thinking of something. I.e. something is intended. What is important here is the subject of the intentions. I am thinking of this, I am intending that. This I is exemplifying of the pure ego. When there is consciousness of anything, there is the subject of that consciousness, this subjectivity is the I. So far this I maybe deemed an empirical ego. That is, a "believing," psycho-physical subject within the natural, "existing" world may be the originator of intentions. But if the Husserlian epoche, or the placing aside of existential meanings and status' of the spatio-temporal world-"Brack足 eting"-is effected, what becomes of the ego? For one, the empirical ego, or worldly I, disappears. I, as the smeller of perfumes, or I, as the watcher of films, vanish. Only two correlates remain, the intentions of the essence

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JAMES T. HONG

(Eidos) of objects. and the pure ego as reference point or origin of these intentions. In this sense, the pure ego is a phenomenological residuum ofthe epocM (Hussed: §57, p. 173 and §80, p. 233).

In another vein, my experience at tl, t2, t3, ... , tn must all be my experiences. These experiences which succeed each other in time must all refer back to me and to each other as temporally succeeding experiences.

This "stream of experiences" is an unitary totality. The reference point of this unitary stream of experiences is the pure ego.

But these are not the only functions of the pure ego. In the act of intention, two factors are differentiated: the hyle and the noetic phase, or noesis. The hyIe, or material, are the "blank" objects or matter of sensory experiences. Once intention has pinpointed a certain object or essence, the hyIe is given "meaning," in the broadest sense ofthe term. Thatis, when one intends a transcendent object or essence, the hyle which reside in conscious­ ness are animated with significance or meaning by the noetic phase. This noetic phase is the act of bringing or giving hyIe the quality of intentionality (Hussed: §85, p. 249). The pure ego is that which effects this noetic phase.

IL "glances" toward a "potential field of perception" to individuate objects or variations of sensory data. In this way, objects are not seen as objects in themselves-but, in a loose sense, "potter's clay instead of the pot" (Sattre: trans. intro. p. 20). But this should not be confused with Berkelian idealism.

For in this conception, "the percipi does not contain the esse as a real [or existential] constituent" (Hussed: §98, p. 287).

Now we sec that the pure ego has a twofold function, that of providing a reference point to consciousness: "the pure ego as it lives, wakeful, in the passing thought is the center of reference" (Husselt §84, p.

243); and that ofbcing the origin of consciousness and intentionality, that of being the true I. Thus Husserl describes the pure ego as a "transcendence in immanence" (Husser1: §57, p. 173). For the Ego is always present to consciousness, yet it is not a graspable, or directly intuilable object, in the way that the empirical is.

Sartre's Critique of the Pure Ego Sartre wishes to keep phenomenology truly phenomenological. He feels that if the pure ego is indeed accepted, the study of objects per se will

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no longer be useful. Phenomenology would then be forced to investigate the constituting function of the pure ego. But let us look into his argument in greater detail.

For Sartre, consciousness cannot be unified or created by the pure ego. Consciousness, like the Spinozian substance, may only be differenti足 ated and limited by consciousness. The I that exemplifies consciousness as being mine, is the expression of the unity of consciousness, not the condition (Sartre: pp. 39-40). Consciousness unifies itself. By referring to itself or to retentions ofpast consciousnesses, consciousness unifies itself in time. And in intentions, consciousness is not only of the object, but also of itself as "pure inwardness." That is, consciousness does not constitu te itself as a transcendent object; it is aware of itself in a relation of pure intimacy, so to speak. With this characterization, there is no need of a unifying I. Consciousness is primordial.

But Sartre does not stop with the view of consciousness in general.

In unreflective or non-reflective consciousness, there is no I hovering behind the scenes. When one sees a tree or hears music, there is conscious足 ness of the tree, or consciousness of the music. These are the necessary correlates for Sartre, the intending consciousness and the object intended.

So in unreflective consciousness, there is no I (Sartre: p. 47).

But reflective consciousness poses another picture. When one reflects on a past consciousness, both the past object ofintention and an I, intending, appear. Yet this is reflection within a reflective memory. When one reflects, or attempts to place himself or herself in a past consciousness, that is, within a non-reflective memory, no I appears. For example, I may reflect on a past experience of listening to Rachmaninov, and intuit the music, which was the object intended; but I may also intuit myself as intending or listening to the music. But if I play the cassette of the Piano Concerto #2 and reflect on a past experience of listening, all that is intuited is the concerto, there is and was no I. But if the pure ego were granted, what do we make ofthe reflecting consciousness of reflective memory? There would be three I's: the I of the pure ego, the I of the reflecting consciousness, and the I of the reflected consciousness (Sartte: p. 52), Which would be the correct I, or how would these I's be consolidated into one complcte, unified 11 For Sartre, this problcm is insoluble.

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And furthennore, if the pure ego were granted, consciousness would be weighed down; "[the pure ego] would slide into consciousness like an opaque blade. The transcendental I is the death ofconsciousness" (Sartre: p.40). Consciousness would no longer be the absolute, the pure ego would.

Intentionality would then be tainted. Consciousness could no longer be of an object, but only to itor representative of it. The pure ego would be to the "concrete and psycho-physical me what a point is to three dimensions: it would be an infinitely contracted me" (Sartre: p.41).

Sartre concludes his critique with four points: 1) the I is a transcendent existent, like an object; 2) this I is not intuited in the same manner as an object, it is, in a sense, almost "inferred-intuited" from reflecting consciousness; 3) this I only appears on the occasion of the reflective act; and 4) this I falls like the empirical ego when the phenomeno足 logical epoche and reduction are effected (Sartre: pp. 52-53).

Sartre's Theory of the Ego Sartre's own theory of the ego follows the consequences of his conclusion above. Consciousness constitutes the ego, and grasps this creation as if it were in the world-though not like a normal, transcendent object of the world. In other words, the ego is not in consciousness at all, it is transcendent, as stated above.

The world provides the ground for the creation and subsistence of the ego. Objects in the world, when intended by consciousness, are seen as valuable, hannful, practical, etc. In tum, the self reacts to these constituted meanings, for they are not in the world, we give the world its meaningful gloss. The reactions may be of hatred, love, want, desire. etc. But these are emotive "states:" infinite states of one's being, which cannot be asserted with certitude. For example, during spontaneous experiences, such as repugnance, hatred is not causing this feeling of disgust. This spontaneous experience somehow "emanates" from hatred. And the latter thus appears through this "emanation" (Sartre: p. 68). But these emotive states, when totalized, exemplify the ego. Together with actions, the totality of states refer and constitute the ego. "The ego is to psychical objects [and actions] what the World is to things" (Sartre: p.75).

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This ego is not an x-pole like an Husserlian noematic nucleus. It is spontaneously "created" with each state and action that is constituted or acruated. That is, states do not build the ego, and the ego does not create states and actions. They come together, cotemporaneously.

In sum, Sanre's theory of the ego follows this strict temporal outline: consciousnesses are first [and thus primordial]; through these are constituted states; and then, through the latter, the ego is constituted (Sartre: p.

81).

Critique of Sartre ' s Theory of the Ego One problem that occurs with Sartre's conception of the ego is the unification of consciousness. Each spontaneous consciousness is--with regard for intentionality-only of the object. How does one consciousness connect orunify itself with others? Sartre claims that this effected "by a play of 'transversal' intentionalities which are concrete and real retentions ofpast consciousnesses" (Sartre: p. 39). Where are these "retentions?" How can a spontaneous consciousness of an object retain past consciousnesses?

Sartre must then be referring to the memory. So consciousness would not only be of an object, it would also need to be connected to the memory oflhe individual. Sartre's solution can only be his assertion that non-reflective consciousness not only has consciousness of an object. but also non足 positional consciousness of itself. But this characterization makes the intentional aspect of consciousness, a train going toward one place, while also retaining its origin. Yet for Sartre, there is no origin before conscious足 ness. So consciousness is a train travelling toward someplace while also knowing it is travelling? And again, how does one train connect itself with the whole line of fellow trains?

In order to preserve the strength of intentionality's claim, con足 sciousness must only be totally of its object. Each spontaneous conscious足 ness, individually, is only of its particular object.

In another perspective, if Sartre means awareness instead of bare intentions, it does seem correct to claim that reflective awareness is aware

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ofsornethingwhich is notitself, while also being aware ofitself. This is what Descartes exhibits by the Cogito, the I think. But Same criticizes this point.

The I ofthe I think is presumptuous. It would be more precise to say, "there is thinking."

But then what would hold thinking into a conceivable concept?

That is, if the I were not part of the I think, what would be the object ofthe thinking? It would be caught in a circle within itself; subject would totally equal object. The thinking-I of the Cogito is the object or intention of the thought. And this in tenable, for the Cogito ofDescartes is one ofreflection.

We may again approach the problem of consciousness unification.

Would it be more correct to claim that consciousness is ofthe object, yet also non-positionally of its origin: the ego? This would fall into the same trap as Sartre. In non-reflective consciousness, it is granted that there is no awareness of an I. But this does not mean that there is no I. And in fact, in non-reflective consciousness there is no consciousness of itself either.

WhenSartreclaims, iUs "not 'J have consciousness ofthis chair,' but 'There is consciousness of this chair'" (Same: p. 53), he is still making the mistake that he is trying to correct. To claim that "there is consciousness of...." is just as presumptuous as claiming the I of the consciousness-if Sartre is correct on that matter. He is .still caught in the web of mistaking renective consciousness for non-reflective consciousness. Sartre would instead have to claim, "Chair," That is all. When I see the page of my book in non足 reflective consciousness, it is just"page" or"word." Thus, no consciousness appears in the non-reflective consciousness. And ifone argues further, there is no consciousness at all?

If we take Sartre's claim that the I only appears on the reflective level and not on the unreflective level of consciousness, we see that this assertion is only a cognitive distinction. Somehow, in non-reflective consciousness, the I just doesn't appear to our awareness. At the non足 reflective level, it does seem that, whatever we in fact are, we arc wholly part ofthe world. We "lose ourselves" in and to the world; but only cognitively. not literally, And if we assume that there is consciousness of something at the non-reflective level, what stops us from asserting an I? This I is the only possible entity that could unify many multifarious consciousnesses. For these spontaneities need a reference point, an anchor.

Objects provide an anchor of some sort, but only as destinations.

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Now, on another note, does the I actually weigh down conscious­ ness? In a sense, yes. Foritdoes provide an anchor or reference origin. But ifthere is no I, spontaneous consciousness would be chaotic spurts into the world that cling onto objects like mosquitoes onto skin.

And to the question of three I's, these may only be different expressions of the true I. The I of reflected, past consciousness is an abstraction or past I. For one, it defInitely is not me. It is only a me, a correlate of my past consciousness. And here, we may see the I as it was, or more precisely, what we think it was. I have no contact with this past I, it is just a picture of myself, a portrait. The I which is reflecting on a past consciousness is the true I. The I which reflects on myself now, is also the true I. Hence, the third I, the I of the transcendental ego, is not needed here, it is identical to the I of reflecting consciousness.

Here I am not claiming to define or describe the I in all of its facets.

This I is in one sense, a felt I, the I of introspection, and in another perspective, an irreducible element. On this second perspective ofthe Ego, I agree with Husserl, though not without reservation, when he claims the experiencing Ego is still nothing that might be taken for itself and made into an object of inquiry on its own account. Apart from its "ways of being related" or "ways of behaving," it is completely empty of essential components. it has not content that could be unravelled, it is in and for itself indescribable: pure Ego and nothing further (Husserl: §80, p. 233).

The lucidity of consciousness and intentionality may still be upheld ifthe pure ego, or at least some sort of transcendental I, is asserted. In fact, lucidity only makes sense when it is referred to the I. In contradistinction, Sartre would claim that lucidity is referred only to consciousness.

In this way, Sartre tries to make two l's. The unity of consciousness is an I, and the transcendent ego is another. We as humans become unified streams of experiences supporting a created object, which is a false image of ourselves. And these unifIed streams of consciousnesses cannot be an 1.

And I must be some sort of true unity. Spontaneous consciousnesses are just that: spontaneities, what would Sartre unify them into? A huge totalized

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consciousness? In Sartre' s theory my experiences wouldn't be mine, in fact, I wouldn't exist, there would just be experiences.

Sartre has repudiated the pure ego so he may assert the freedom of the individual. But the pure ego does not in any way hamper freedom. On the contrary, freedom presupposes it. For what is free? The self as subject is free to choose, not consciousness.

And this relation, of selfto consciousness, is then Sartre' s problem, or our problem in interpreting Sartre. Henri Ey has summed up this problem in ConsciousnesS. Either Sartre equates the self to consciousness (which he seems to do within Transcendence of the Ego), or he divides the self from consciousness so radically, that an insoluble fissure is created (Ey: p. 204).

Ey describes consciousness and the self as cotemporaneous and comple足 mentary. the self becomes transcendent and somewhat transcendental precisely through its becoming. Without going into the details of Ey's argument, we may just see that the self, while alive, is a becoming with a reference point. And this reference point, or pure ego, is not a mass that encumbers our actions, our thoughts, or our freedom. Consciousness is a state-not Sartrean-or sign of the seirs life and ability for Erlebnisse (experiences). It is the media through and in which conscious life takes place. It provides the middle ground between transcendent objects and our selves. And through our interactions and our Erlebnisse, consciousness and its correlates, memory and a self-view of the self, become. This preserves the dictum of freedom, "existence precedes essence." First We exist, as selves, with particular reference points, then we make ourselves. There is no "essence" to the pure ego, it does not define what we are, or more precisely, what we will be. It is an Archimedean point on which we will build. And how do we build onto this point? Via our abilities for Erlebnisse, via our consciousness.

But, alas, this is only an abstract and theoretical outline. The problem is to clearly and adequately describe the self's, the ego's, relation to consciousness.

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Works Cited By, Henri. Consciousness: A Phenomenological Study of Being CQn~ scious and Becoming Conscious. Translated by John H. Flodstrom. Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1978.

Husserl, Edmund, Ideas: A General Introduction to Pure PhenomenQI~ Qgy.. Translated by W. R. Boyce Gibson. New York: Humanities Press INC., 1969.

Sartre, Jean-Paul. The Transcendence of the Ego: An Existentialist Theory of Consciousness. Translated by Forrest Williams and Robert Kirkpatrick. New York: Hill and Wang, 1989.

Aquinas' Principle of Individuation

Patrick W. Hughes

Denison University

Saint Thomas Aquinas, the Thirteenth Century Catholic theologian and philosopher was one of the first Medieval philosophers to attempt to reconcile the newly re-introduced Aristotelian system with the Catholic religious thought ofthe day. Aquinas' numerous commentaries on Aristotle and his adoption of the Aristotelian thought form the basis for the whole of Aquinian metaphysics (as well as the basic Aristotileanism which pervades Aquinas' whole systematic philosophy), In this paper I will deal with a specific yet fundamental principle of Aquinianmetaphysics-the principle of individuation. On first reading of the Aquinian texts, the principle of individuation appears to be stated succinctly, yet further investigation into the concept of individuation reveals problems and ambiguities. As it is necessary for an understanding of the problem of individuation in the Aquinian system, I will start off with the basic ontology of Aquinas and then will proceed with one interpretation of the ambiguities which exist in the texts regarding the principle of individuation. I will then give a counter interpretation that Aquinas might level against my interpretation and the problems of my interpretation; finally, I will analyze any problems that arise from the Aquinian response.

1. Primary Substance in Aristotle and Aquinas The difficulty in dealing with systematic philosophy is that it is difficult to know where to begin, since each concept is built upon previous concepts and all of the concepts are fundamentally interrelated. Neverthe足 less, I shall start by explicating Aquinas' fundamental ontology. Aquinas, following Aristotle, points out that the world is made up of individual things-or what Aquinas calls "primary substances", Socrates, Rover, and the pine tree in my yard are all existing individual primary substances in the world. I can ascribe certain qualities to these individual substances-I can, for instance, say that Socrates is a philosopher, that Rover is fIisky, and that the pine tree has snow on it. These are characteristics which apply

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specifically to these individuals. Although these primary substances are complete individuals in themselves, they are not unique in themselves. for they also possess characteristic essential properties which can be categori足 cally ascribed to groups of primary substances. I can for example, say that Socrates is a man, as is Plato, or that Rover and Spot are both dogs. There is not just one pine tree in the world, but there are numerous trees-there are whole forests of individual pine trees. 11Us introduces the question of individuation: how can something be an individual thing yet also belong to a certain category or class of things? How can Socrates be Socrates the individual yet also belong to a more universal category of "Man"? The problem ofindividuation will become clearer when the ontological structure of the primary substance is explicated.

Aristotle and Aquinas' ontology try to explain how it is that there exist individual primary substances which exist both as individuals and as members of a larger non-individual or universal group. Their explanations or responses to this question characterize the basic ontological composition of the primary substance itself. What must be remembered when consider足 ing the ontology of Aquinas is that he continually stresses the unity of the primary substance. Individual things exist in the world, and the ontology which Aquinas proposes is ,ffi intellectual construct which explains the composing factors of the primary substance. Aquinas wlites that "[the intellect] is capable by nature of separating things which are united in reality" (Commentary on the Metaphysics, 491).

Primary substances, for Aquinas, can be intellectually grasped as consisting of three major components-substantial form, prime matter, accidental forms, which combined, have existence (sec figure 1). 111e substantial form of a primary substance is that which gives the primary substance its underlying stl1lcture. The form is the universal component of the primary substance and makes the primary substance what it is, as well as giving it its commonality with other things of its type. The substantial form of Socrates and the substantial fonn ofPlato are identical-both have the same substantial form "Man". Rover and Spot have the identical form of"Dog" which they share with each other and with all other dogs. The Conn ofthe primary substance ofa tree is obviously different from both "Dog" and "Man" and can be described as the form of "Tree". The substantial form is the generalized principle which makes a thing what it is and subsumes it

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under a universal category. The fonn, however, as will be seen, is not the complete essence of a primary substance.

The second component of the primary substance is that of which a thing is made-this is prime matter (materia prima). The primary substance is not just pure structure; it is a structure of something. Prime matter, then, is the element of a primary substance which becomes struc足 tured by a substantial fonn. An analogy which helps to explain the basic relation of matter and fonn in a primary substance is the analogy of the sculptor and modeling clay. The sculptor cannot sculpt anything without clay, just as the fonn needs to be the structure of some "stuff'. This analogy breaks down, however, in that the clay itself already has some type of structure even before the sculptor is able to sculpt it. Prime matter, in the Aquinian system is completely formless and is, in itself, non-existent. This wi1l be explained later on, as will Aquinas' position that matter is the principle of individuation.

Matter and fonn hold a special relationship in the Aquinian system in that they are the essential components of a primary substance. Aquinas believes that we can abstract from the primary substance the concepts of matter and fonn and come up with an intellectual construct of the essence ofwhat the primary substance is. Aquinas also calls this essence a secondary substance (see figure 2). The secondary substance, or essence of a thing, is not simply the substantial fonn, for as I explained, structure without something to structure is meaningless. A sculptor without clay (or iron or stone, etc.) is not a sculptor. The fonn indeed is that which gives structure and makes a thing belong to a certain universal category, but the essence of the primary substance, for Aquinas, involves a material component. This also will become clearer when I discuss the different ways in which matter can be considered.

That matter and fonn do not constitute the entirety of a primary substance is evident in that we ascribe characteristics to individual primary substances which are part.icular to the individual but not necessarily compo足 nents of every member of the universal category to which the individual belongs. These characteristics introduce the third component of a primary substance-accidental fonns. When, for example, I said that Socrates is a philosopher, that Rover is frisky, or that the pine tree has snow on it, I am saying nothing that applies universally or essentially to the class to which

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these individuals belong. The sentences. "Socrates is a Man" and "Socrates is a philosopher", do not predicate of Socrates in the same way. In the first case, the predicate is an essential or substantial characteristic which tells us the essential nature of what Socrates is. Socrates could remain Socrates if he stopped philosophizing, but he would not remain Socrates if he ceased being a man. Put simply, accidental forms are exactly these characteristics which tell us not what a thing is, but tell us specific characteristics of an individual. Aquinas writes. "substantial form differs from the accidental form in this, that the accidental form does not make a thing to be simply but to be such" (Summa Theologicae la. Q76 art. 4). Aquinas, following Aristotle, says that there are nine accidental forms which compose the primary substance; these are: quantity, quality, relation, place, time. position, habit, action and passion. As will be seen, only quantity plays a central role in the principle of individuation and for this reason it is unnecessary to consider the other eight accidental forms.

Lastly, the primary substance has existence. Whereas the substan足 tial form tells us what a thing is, the existence component tell us that a thing is. Existence is not a descriptive quality or property of a primary substance, but Aquinas wants us to realize that he is discussing things which do exist in reality. The distinction between essence and existence is treated at length

by Aquinas (as in On Being and Essence) but is not ofcrucial importance to this analysis.

II. Matter and Individuation Having considered the ontology of the individual primary sub足 stance, my attention will now shift to the principle ofindividuation. As I said before, individual primary substances exist in the world; it only remains to be discovered what makes the primary substances to be so individuated. In the Aquinian system, the substantial form is a universal property which applies categorically to different primary substances. Things of a class have identical universal forms. The question then arises as to how the universal substantial form becomes instantiated in primary substances yet remains universal. How can Socrates and Plato have the same universal form, "Man". without being the same man? What principle. then, makes all things that have identical substantial forms individuals? This is the problem of the principle of individuation.

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Aquinas' answer, put simply, is that "matter is the principle of individuation" (On Bein~ and Essence. 74). Aquinas believes that matter is the component of a primary substance which individualizes the universal substantial fonn. Aquinas does. however, believe that the "principle of individuation is not matter taken in just any way whatever, but only designated matter" COn Being and Essence, 75). It is obvious from this passage that Aquinas views the concept of matter in several distinct ways.

In fact. although he writes that we can identify "two kinds of matter" (Summa TheolQgicae 1a. Q85, art 1). we can in fact distinguish three ways in which Aquinas writes of matter-prime matter (materia prima), nondesignated matter (materia communis) and designated matter (materia signata). To understand exactly what Aquinas means by designated matter and how it acts as a principle of individuation, it is necessary also to understand what Aquinas means when he talks of matter in other ways.

In his commentary on Aquinas' On Being and Essence, Joseph Babik gives an excellent overview ofthe three ways in which matter can be viewed in the Aquinian system: The difference among the three is a difference of greater and lesser universality, or, to put this in another way, a difference oflesser and greater detail in intellectual grasp and expression. Thus. to speak of prime matter, or perhaps better of matter as prime, is to speak of what the matters of all individual composed substances have in common. To speak ofnon-designated matter, or of matter as non designated, is to speak of what the matters of all individuals of a same species have in common. Lastly, to speak of designated matter, or of matter as designated, is to speak of what is proper to and distinctive ofthe matter of some determinate, individual, composed substance.

Whether we speak of prime matter or of nondesignated matter, or of designated matter, we are talking about the same thing ..."(On Being and Essence, 78).

Prime matter. ormatter viewed as prime, as was stated before, is one ofthe components ofthe composed primary substance. Aquinas writes that prime matter "lacks all forms which give it defIniteness" and since it "does not exist alone in reality be itself' (Gilby, 135), it is merely an intellectual

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construct. Prime matter is a purely intellectual concept which does not and cannot, as being fonn-Iess, exist except in a primary substance as an intellectually constructed component. Aquinas speaks of prime matter in itself as non-existent and property-less to again stress the unicity of the primary substance. Just as the fonn needs something to structure, prime matter is inherently dependent on some fonnal aspect for existence. The primary substance is a complete whole and its ontological parts exist separately only as intellectual constructs. Aquinas writes that only "through the fonn, which is the actuality ofmatter, [does] matter become something actual" (On Being and Essence, 70).

Another way oflooking at matter for Aquinas is matter considered as common or nondesignated. Matter in this sense, like prime matter, is an intellectual construct, but whereas prime matter is matter considered as devoid of any fonn whatsoever, nondesignated matter is matter conceived as being structured by some fonn. Matter as nondesignated is the abstract material component which belongs to the secondary substance or the essence of a primary substance. Our concept of a secondary substance or essence is derived from the intellectual process of considering a variety of primary substances all of the same type. The concept of nondesignated matter arises out of a realization that prime matter and substantial form are always united to fonn the basis of a primary substance. To use Aquinas' example "it is nondesignated matter which is placed in the definition of man" ( On Being and Essence, 75). Individual men such as Socrates and Plato exist as individual primary substances and as such constitute a composite of prime matter, substantial fonn, and accidental fonns. The essence of both Socrates and Plato makes them men; they share the same common fonn ofHMan". The essence ofwhat a "Man" is, however, includes general, material characteristics-we know that men are not just fonns, but have actual bodies. Nondesignated matter is !he intellectual construct expressing the realization !hat men are not just formal entities but are necessarily composed of some specific matter. Aquinas makes this point when he writes that "This bone and this flesh are not placed in the definition ofman, but bone and flesh absolutely. These latter are man's nondesignated matter" (On Being and Essence. 75). Nondesignated matter, then, is an abstract intellectual realization that the definition ofwhat material!hings are necessarily entails a material component.

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The third way in which Aquinas speaks of matter is as designated matter. Whereas nondesignated matter is inherent in a general way in the essence of a subject, and prime matter is also a mental construct which does not exist in itself, designated matter is the matter that is existent in the world and is readily apparent to us. Aquinas writes that "the essence of man and the essence of [the individual] Socrates do not differ except as the nondesignated from the designated" (On Being and Essence, 81). The definition or essence ofall men refers to matter viewed as nondesignated, or to a material component of which individual men are individual instances.

Designated matter, though. is the specific matter ofthe individual. Follow足 ing Aquinas' example, the designated matter I have means that I am composed ofthis bone and this flesh, not as bone and flesh considered as a generalized concept which all men, as men, must have.

III. Designated Matter and Individuation Since the "principle of individuation is not matter taken in any way whatever, but only as designated matter" (On Being and Essence. 75), this paper's focus on the principle of individuation requires a more in-depth analysis of the nature of designated matter. Aquinas defines designated matter when he writes. "I call that matter designated which is considered under determined dimensions" (On Being and Essence, 75). Now dimen足 sion, for Aquinas, arises from (or can be considered as) one of the nine accidents-specifically the ilrst accidental form, quantity. Aquinas often refers to quantity using two different terms-numerical quantity, which seems to be a common usage indicating "how much" of something there is.

Secondly, Aquinas writes of quantity as "dimensive quantity" (Summa Theologicae 3a, Q77, 2). It is this latter type of quantity which interests us in this discussion of individuation. For, as Aquinas writes, "[b]ecause the category of dimensive quantity alone carries this separation of specifically similar units, dimension would appear to lie at the root of individual multiplication" (Gilby, 160). Thus designated matter can be defined further to be matter considered as being under determined dimension, where dimension is itselfof the accidental form ofquantity. Further support for this comes from Efrem Bettoni when he writes, "The Thomistic solution, which places the principle of individuation in materia signata quantitate [matter

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signified by quantity]. is well known" (Bettoni, 59). When Aquinas writes that designated matter is the principle of individuation, he means materia signata quantitate, or matter as signified by quantity.

The problem of Aquinas' view of designated matter or materia signata quantitate as the principle of individuation arises out of the way in which the accidental forms (of which quantity is the first) inhere in the primary substance. In On Being and Essence and in his Commentary on The Metaphysics of Aristotle, Aquinas seems to talk as if matter and form combined together compose, in themselves, a type of self-subsisting sub足 stance. Aquinas writes, "But that to which an accident comes is a being complete in itself and subsisting in its own existence" (On Being and Essenoo. 239), and Bobik comments that the accidents "depend on sub足 stances, as on a subject, for thei r beings" (On Being and Essence, 50). In the Commentary on the Metaphysics of Aristotle, Aquinas criticizes the pre足 Socratics for believing that accidents reside in anything other than this "subsisting substance". this union ofprime matter and substantial form. He writes, "And they (the pre-Socratics] called those things forms which we call accidents, for example, quantities and qualities, whose proper subject is not firstmalterbut the composite substance" (Commentary on the Metaphysics, 499). Quantity is an accidental form, which as an accident, must also depend on this "composite" of prime matter and substantial form. The onl y way !hat an accidental form can have existence is through a substance which is composed of form and matter.

On this account, then, the concept of designated matter already includes a material component and a formal component. Designated matter, as Aquinas says, is matter "considered under determined dimensions" (Qn Being and Essence, 75), or as was shown, as materia signata quantitate.

But quantity, ordimensive quantity, is an accident, and as such, necessarily depends on this unified and subsisting composite subject for its being.

Designated matter then, is an existing substance composed of substantial fonn, prime matter, and the accidental form ofquantity. Yetin the Aquinian ontology, this definition already specifies a primary substance. That is to say, if my account is correct, and form and matter together with the accident of quantity constitute the definition of designated matter, then designated matter cannot be a principle of individuation for a primary substance because it just is a primary substance. A primary substance, remember, is

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something composed of substantial form, prime matter, accidental forms and which is existent. But is not this precisely the definition of designated matter?

The problem. then, is how designated matter, which can already be considered a primary substance be the principle ofindividuation ofprimary substances. The fonn is the universal component of a primary substance­ both Plato and Socrates, as men, have identical fonns but are also individu­ als. Designated matter, considered on my account (see figure 3), cannot be the principle ofindividuation because designated matter contains in its very definition a formal aspect and can already be considered as being a primary substance. If we view designated matter as having the components of a primary substance-substantial form, prime matter and an accident (quan­ tity), then Aquinas is begging the question of individuation. Designated matter cannot be the principle of individuation of the primary substance because substantial form, prime matter and accidental forms are contained already in the definition of designated matter.

My argument as given can be most concisely summed up in nine points: 1. Primary substances are individuals, but also belong to universalized groups.

2. Primary substances have the components of subsLantial form, prime maLter, accidental form, and are existent.

3. Substantial form subsumes the primary substance under a universal category.

4. Designated matter is the principle that individu­ ates the primary substance.

5. Designated matLeris matter signified by dimensive quantity.

6. Dimensive quantity is an accidental form.

7. "But that to which an accident comes is a being complete in itself and subsisting in its own ex.istence"(On Being and Essence, 239}-orthe union between prime matter and substantial form is the subject in which the accidents inhere.

8. Designated matter or materia signata quanti­ tate, is already an existing composite substance composed of substantial form, prime matter and

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the accident of quantity.

9. This, however can be considered a primary substance and designated matter, having sub足 stantial fonn, prime matter and the accidental fonn of quantity in its definition begs the ques足 tion of individuation of the primary substance.

IV. Aquinian Response Because of the ambiguities that exist in many of the passages that deal with quantity, designated matter, and the principle of individuation, it is certainly possible that my interpretation is incorrect. How, then, might Aquinas respond to my argument and which specific point[s] might he attack? I will lay out a possible Aquinian response to my interpretation and then note any problems that arise from this Aquinian response.

Aquinas would most likely attack my argument at my eighth point; he would probably fmd fault with my definition of designated matter as necessarily entailing some type of formal aspect. In some passages, as I have shown, Aquinas seems to imply that matter designated by dimensive quantity necessarily entails some type of substantial form. Dimcnsive quantity, as an accidental form, could only be considered in relation to the composite of matter and form. In other passages, however, Aquinas seems to imply that quantity has as its subject not the union of substantial form and prime matter, but rather prime matter itself. Aquinas writes that "since the parts ofa substance are matter and form, certain accidents follow principally on form, certain others follow principally on matter" COn Being and Essence, 240). Earlier in my analysis, I claimed that Aquinas proposed the inherence of accidents in a wholly composed substance; the passage just quoted suggests more ofa distinction between particular accidents as having their subject in either one part of the composite substance or the other. In the Commentary on the Metaphysics of Aristotle, Aquinas makes this distinction clear when he writes that some accidents can be considered as "something flowing from itt:; matter, and th.en it is quantity; oras something flowing from its form, and thenitis quality" (Commentary on the Metaphys足 ~,346). I have not been able to find a text which gives a complete list of the exact subject ofthe other seven accidents-which accidents "flow" from

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matter and which from fonn, but from this passage it seems clear that quantity is to have as its subject not the union of both matter and fonn, but matter only.

Aquinas writes in The Summa Theologicae that "dimensive quan足 tity is the very first accident which affects a material thing" (Summa Theologica~ 3a, Q77, art 2) and then makes the even stronger claim that "quantity has its basis in matter, parts of a quantity are part of a thing's matter" (Summa Theologicae 3a, Q90, art 2), That Aquinas is drawing a fine line between the subject of the nine accidents is obvious; accidents do not have the composite as their su bject. but have one component or the other as their subjects. Aquinas, when he writes of accidents in this way, seems to undermine my proposition that designated matter necessarily has a formal component. By differentiating between accidents attaching to form and those properto matter, Aquinas drives a wedge between matter and fonn in my interpretation of designated matter.

On this reading, Aquinas would perhaps defme designated matter, or matter characterized by quantity, as prime matter with the accident of quantity attached to it, this being made possible only by the union of prime matter with substantial form. Put another way, the union ofform and prime matter is the necessary condition for quantity to be ascribed to matter, but the form is not included in the definition of materia signata quantitate.

Only in the union of form and matter can matter be said to be quantified, but quantity is not given attached to the form nor is form contained in the definition ofdesignated matter. Any accidental form arises out ofthe union ofprime matter and substantial form-for accidents "depend on substances. as on a subject, for their being" (On Being and Essence, 50)-but it is not the case that the individual accidents inhere in the composite as a whole, but rather, to either prime matter or substantial form, not matter and form.

Quantity is not given by the form nor does it inhere in the form, but rather, is made possible by the union of matter and form.

Designated malter, then, is prime matter with an accident of quantity, made possible by the fact that matter and form are so united.

Aquinas speaks this way when he writes that "from the fact that matter has corporeal existence through forms, it immediately follows that there are dimensions in matter" CPt< Anima, 115), and that "matter, so far as it is understood to have substantial existence as a perfection ... can, therefore, be

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regarded as the subject of accidents" (De Anima, 115). Substantial form need only be included in the defInition of designated matter insofar as the union with matter is the necessary condition of matter to be quantified.

Designated matter, in this Aquinian response, does not include a substantial form as a composing factor, but only as such that its (substantial fonn's) union with prime matter brings the possibility of prime matter as quantified (See figure 4).

In this possible Aquinian response to my position, designated matter as quantified matter can, it seems, be regarded as the principle of individuation. The definition of designated matter does not contain the fonn, and so this definition does not beg the question of individuation. So Aquinas can save the principle of individuation in this way, yet this new position has other serious consequences for Aquinas' system. On this account, quantity clearly plays the leading role in individuation. Matter with out quantity is not designated; matter as quantified, or under detennined dimensive quantity, is designated matter. Quantity then, is the prinCipal factor of individuation. Quantity, however, is an accident and this would seem to run counter to Aquinas' position that "It is obvious, then, that the principle of individuation is not a collection of accidents (as some said), but designated matter, as the Philosopher [Aristotle] has stated" (Commentary on the Metaphysics. 602). Designated matter, as was shown, however, has, as its main component dimensive quantity, which is accidental. Designated matter, or materia signata quantitate, is accidental in nature. This, then, makes the principle of individuation contingent on an accidental fonn足 individuation is accidental.

This characterization of designated matter as accidental and its inherent problem in the Aquinian system is the topic for a completely different paper; yet it still needs to be pointed out as a definite problem for Aquinas and was, in fact, a problem addressed by succeeding Medieval philosophers such as Duns Scotus. Duns Scotus saw a problem inherent in the Aquinian definition of designated matter as depending on an accidental fonn. Bettoni, in his book on Duns Scotus writes, "His [Scotus'] criticism is mainly based on the fact that quantity is an accident" (Bettoni, 60). Scotus, not contented with the accidental nature of designated matter in Aquinas' thought, responded by positing his famous prinCiple of individuation足 "Haecceity". Bettoni continues that in regards to the principle of individu足

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ation, "Duns Scotus has recourse to his theory of 'haecceity', or thisness" (Bettoni, 60). Briefly, Haecceity is a unique principle of the fonn which gives to each individual thing its individual perfection and is not dependent upon a material principle.

So on my interpretation of the often ambiguous texts, designated matter begs the question ofindividuation and the principle of individuation remains as yet to be discovered. The Aquinian response reclaims for designated matter its status as the principle of individuation, but at the same time it raises a new problem-specifically the problem that Duns Scotus confronted-that the prinCiple of individuation in Aquinas is acciden足 tal.

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Figure 1: Primary Substance

...

9 Accidental Forms

Substantial Form ~

Prime Matter

+

Existence

Figure 2: Mental Construct of Secondary Substance or

Essence

Substantial Form N ondesignated Matter Figure 3: My Interpretation of Designated Matter

Substantial Form

1--------------1 Quantity Prime Matter Figure 4: Aquinian Response: Definition of Designated Matter

r------------足 Substantial Form

________________________________ r I I

I I I

I I I JI

I

I I

Quantity

Prime Matter

~-------------r--------------------------------J ....._ _ _...,"-.... Designated Matter as Principle of 7""'""

Individuation

68

PATRICK W. HUGHES Works Cited

Aquinas, Saint Thomas, On Being and Essence. Translated and inter足 preted by Joseph Babik. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1965.

Aquinas, Saint Thomas, The Soul (De Anima). Translated by John Patrick Rowan. St. Louis: B. Herder Book Co., 1949.

Aquinas, Saint Thomas, The Summa Theologicae. Blackfriars, 1970.

Aquinas, Saint Thomas, Commentary on the Metaphysics of Aristotle.

Translated by John P. Rowan. Chicago: Henry Regnery Company, 1961.

Bettoni, Efrem, Duns Scotus: The Basic Principles of his Philosophy.

Translated by Bernadine Bonanesea. Washington: The Catholic Uoiversity of America Press, 1961.

Gilby, Thomas, Saint Thomas Aquinas: Philosophical Texts. Selected and translated by Thomas Gilby. London: Oxford University Press, 1967.