Vol. XVIII, Sept. 2007

mee eeppiisstteem International Journal A Journal ofAn Undergraduate Philosophy Of Undergraduate Philosophy

ep•i•ste•me \ep' i ste' mé\ n. [Gk. epistém(é)]: knowledge; specif., intellectually certain knowledge knowledge; specif., ep•i•ste•me \ep' i ste' mé\ n.

[Gk. epistém(é)]: intellectually certain knowledge

Volume XV • September 2004

Volume XVIII • September 2007 Denison University, Granville, Ohio Denison University, Granville, Ohio

Episteme Volume XVIII• September 2007 Episteme is published under the auspices of the Denison University Department of Philosophy in Granville, Ohio.

ISSN 1542-7072 CopyrightŠ 2007 For copy permission, please write the Editors at the address on the next page.

Editor-in-Chief Will Fortin Assistant Editors Jacob Neiheisel Megan Henricks Public Relations Chair Stephanie Rozman Editorial Board Sam Benham Anna Tawse Timothy Scott Johnson Chris Barber Andrew Kirwan Alex Rosenberg Nathan Dailey Amy Norskog Sarah Kalinowski Faculty Advisor Alexandra Bradner

Episteme is published annually by a staff of undergraduate students at Denison University.

Please send all inquiries and submissions to: The Editors, Episteme, Department of Philosophy, Blair Knapp Hall, Denison University, Granville, Ohio 43023. episteme@denison.edu

Statement of Purpose Episteme aims to recognize and encourage excellence in undergraduate philosophy by providing examples of some of the best work currently being done in undergraduate philosophy programs around the world by offering undergraduates their first opportunity to publish philosophical work.

It is our hope that the journal will help stim ulate philosophical dialogue and inquiry among students and faculty at colleges and universities.

Episteme will consider papers written by undergraduate students in any area of philosophy; throughout our history we have published papers on a wide array of thinkers and topics, ranging from Ancient to Contemporary and philosophical traditions including Analytic, Continental, and Eastern. All papers undergo a process of blind review by the editorial staff and are evaluated according to the following criteria: quality of research, depth of philosophical inquiry, creativity, original insight, and clarity. Final selections are made by vote of the editors and the editorial board.

Please see the Call for Papers on the back cover for information on submitting to our next volume.

Episteme An International Journal of Undergraduate Philosophy Volume XVIII

CONTENTS

September 2007

Statement of Purpose and Editorial Staff

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Table of Contents

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On the Validity of Spinoza’s Proof for Monism: A Question of Equivocation Jennifer Lynn Daigle, Providence College

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The Extended Room or What Otto Didn’t Know Ryan Victor, University of Pennsylvania

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Hume: Causality & Subjectivity David Mossburger, Grand Valley State University

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Metaphors of Objectivity Adam Westra, University of British Columbia

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Call For Papers, Vol. XIX (2008)

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The editors express sincere appreciation to the Provost’s Office, the Denison Honors Program, Jessica Rees, and Faculty Advisor Alexandra Bradner for their assistance in making the publication of this journal possible.

We extend special gratitude to the other Philosophy Department Faculty: Mark Moller, Barbara Fultner, Tony Lisska, Jonathan Maskit, Ronald E. Santoni, and Steven Vogel for their support.

On the Validity of Spinoza’s Argument for Monism: A Question of Equivocation Jennifer Lynn Daigle INTRODUCTION

S

pinoza’s case for ontological monism is indeed an interesting one. Beginning with the Cartesian metaphysical principles of substance and attribute, Spinoza believes himself to have demonstrated the underlying substantial uniformity of all beings, as he writes, “Except for God, no substance can be or be conceived.”1 However, the validity of his argument for monism is questionable, for when one considers carefully the meaning which Spinoza attaches to certain concepts, it becomes quite apparent that he fails to use such meaning consistently. More specifically, in the first part of his proof for monism, wherein he argues against the possibility of two infinite substances of distinct attributes, Spinoza equivocates on the term ‘finite’, which thus undermines the validity of his entire demonstration.

The following is divided into five sections. In the first section, a very basic explication of substance and attribute within the Spinozistic metaphysics will be provided. Following that consideration, in the second section, Spinoza’s argument for ontological monism will be clearly outlined and briefly explained.

The third section will focus exclusively on Spinoza’s two fold Jennifer Daigle was born in Albany, NY and resides in East Greenbush, NY. Jen is currently a senior at Providence College in Providence, RI where she is studying philosophy and psychology. She has broad interests in the history of philosophy, which include such topics as the relationship between faith and reason, the ethic of decreation in Simone Weil, the human person as symbolic being, and R. G. Collingwood’s philosophical scale of forms. After graduation, Jen hopes to continue her studies in philosophy at the graduate level.

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understanding of the term ‘finite’. Considered in this section is an altogether crucial distinction that Spinoza himself makes, namely that between infinitude in kind and absolute infinitude.

In the fourth section, Spinoza’s proof for monism will be reconsidered, and it will be here shown how such an argument does not necessitate the conclusion of ontological monism. Lastly, the closing section will propose a possible solution, that is, a way in which the proof may be rendered valid.

I. SUBSTANCE AND ATTRIBUTE WITHIN A SPINOZISTIC METAPHYSICS Spinoza provides the following definition of substance: “By substance I understand what is in itself and is conceived through itself, that is, that whose concept does not require the concept of another thing, from which it must be formed.”2 From this definition, two points are particularly relevant. First, one should note that, though Spinoza’s definition of substance as something conceived through itself may seem strange, such a definition makes sense in light of the fact that, for Spinoza, the order of ideas perfectly corresponds to the order of things.3 In effect, something whose concept requires that of another is not only conceptually dependent, but is likewise ontologically dependent. That is to say that, when one is required to think of y so as to form an ‘adequate idea’4 of x, then x is dependent upon y, in the same way that an effect is dependent upon its cause. Second, I think it important to point out that, like Descartes, Spinoza identifies substance as self-subsistent being.5 Put another way, the essence of substance contains existence, and, accordingly, substance taken alone provides a thorough account of its own actuality.

To clarify Spinoza’s definition of substance, let’s consider the example of concavity. In order to form a complete idea of concavity, that is, in order to explain the actual existence of concavity, reference must be made to that being in which concavity inheres, as concavity is never found apart from factually existent beings. Nevertheless, after taking into account that being in which concavity is present (e.g., a nose), one’s explanation of concavity is still not exhaustive, as one must next consider the

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existence of that nose possessing concavity as its accident. As it is not within the essence of a nose to exist, then one must ascribe a cause to the actual existence of such. Ultimately, during the course of this account, one will arrive at a being whose existence is its essence and which can thus explain the existence of all other beings. It is this being, then, that is the only true substance, for it is only this being that contains within itself a complete explanation of its own nature and existence.6 For Spinoza, while a substance is an independent existent, an attribute is that which the mind knows or apprehends of substance. In Spinoza’s words, an attribute is “what the intellect perceives of substance, as constituting its essence.”7 As Spinoza will argue, though there is only one substance, it has an infinity of attributes through which it may be considered.8 Here, it is important to observe that the term ‘attribute’ in no way designates a purely arbitrary perspective that one assumes when examining substance.9 Indeed, if the order of ideas really does correspond to that of reality, then it is impossible to think of attributes as subjective interpretations of substance; instead, each attribute reflects in its own way one real aspect of substance, and, what’s more, each attribute provides a complete account of substance under that aspect.10 II. SPINOZA’S ARGUMENT FOR ONTOLOGICAL MONISM In the first half of his argument for monism, Spinoza presents us with a destructive dilemma.11 Beginning with the supposition that, if there are two or more substances, then such substances would either have to have the same attribute or a different attribute, Spinoza subsequently rules out the possibility of each consequent and ultimately concludes that there is only one substance.

Essentially, Spinoza’s argument runs as follows:12 P1: If there are two or more substances, then they either have the same attribute or a different attribute.

P2: Such substances cannot have the same attribute, for if that were the case, then there

Validity of Spinoza’s Monism

P3:

P4:

C:

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would be no way to discern one substance from another.13 Neither can substances have distinct attributes. This is so because: (P3a) Substance must be infinite, for if substance were finite, then such would require the existence of another substance of the same attribute. However, this is impossible, as has been shown in P2.14 (P3b) To have two infinite substances is absurd, as it would mean that each substance contained an attribute that the other lacked. However, by definition, infinite substances must contain all perfections.

Consequently, to say that two substances possess distinct attributes is to simultaneously assert that such substances are finite, which is clearly a contradiction.15 Substance cannot be produced by another substance and must therefore exist eternally, for if such were not the case, then a substance would be dependent upon another substance of the same attribute, which is impossible (P2), and an adequate concept of it would require that one consider its cause, which, ex hypothesi, a substance cannot have.16 Accordingly, since there can be only one substance containing an infinity of attributes, and since God is defined as that being which possesses all positive perfections, God is the only substance.17

Now that the proof for monism has been generally out-

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lined, Spinoza’s justification for the third proposition listed above will be considered in greater detail, as it is within this subargument that Spinoza gets particularly careless with his terms.

However, before examining Spinoza’s defense of the third premise, it is crucial to first reflect upon what Spinoza means when qualifying something as finite.

III. SPINOZA’S TWO-FOLD UNDERSTANDING OF THE TERM ‘FINITE’ In Book I of his Ethics, Spinoza indicates two distinct understandings of the term ‘finite’: (1) finite within one’s attribute and (2) finite across all attributes. Of course, inferable from these definitions are two corresponding notions of the term ‘infinite’: (1) infinite within one’s attribute and (2) infinite across all attributes. In regard to finitude within one’s attribute, Spinoza states, “That thing is said to be finite in its own kind that can be limited by another of the same nature.”18 So, for instance, a body can be called finite or limited if it is possible to “conceive another that is greater.” However, a body cannot be limited by thought nor thought by a body, as thought and body consist of altogether separate attributes.19 Accordingly, Spinoza’s distinction between the terms ‘finite’ and ‘infinite’ with respect to one’s attribute can be summed up in the following. Whereas ‘finite’ in this sense denotes that which is less great (i.e., that which requires another being of the same attribute to serve as its cause and explanation), ‘infinite’ refers to that which is most great (i.e., that which is both the cause of and explanation for all finite beings within its class).

To come to an understanding of the second definition of finite, namely that which is limited across all attributes, it is important to consider Spinoza’s definition of God, which is as follows:

By God I understand a being absolutely infinite, that is, a substance consisting of an infinity of attributes, of which each one expresses an eternal and infinite essence….. I say absolutely infinite, not infinite in its own kind; for if something is only infinite in its own kind, we can deny infinite

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attributes of it (i.e., we can conceive infinite attributes which do not pertain to its nature); but if something is absolutely infinite, whatever expresses essence and involves no negation pertains to its essence.20 In this description of God, Spinoza explicitly states that he is not referring to a being infinite within a particular kind, but instead a being infinite across all attributes insofar as it is possessive of each. Given this view, an absolutely finite being, in contradistinction to an absolutely infinite being, is that which lacks at least one positive perfection. Simply put, a being is absolutely finite if it does not possess all attributes or positive perfections.

An important question to address is how these two differing sets of finite and infinite beings relate to one another. That is to say, to what extent does a particular being’s membership in one group necessitate its exclusion or inclusion in another group? Consider, for instance, a being that is finite in relation to other beings possessing a common attribute. As such, this being will necessarily fall into the absolutely finite class, as it cannot possibly possess all positive perfections if it is in fact lesser than another being within its own class. Conversely, a being that is infinite in terms of its own kind does not of necessity fall into either the absolutely finite or absolutely infinite set. This is so because, though this being is infinite within its own attribute, it is still possible for it to lack all attributes across all sets of beings.

Similarly, a being that is absolutely finite may nevertheless be infinite with respect to its own attribute; indeed, if one knows only that a being is finite across all attributes, one cannot thereby determine whether such a being is infinite or finite within its own attribute. On the other hand, though it is not possible to determine the appropriate class for an absolutely finite being, it is immediately possible to designate the group wherein an absolutely infinite being belongs. As an absolutely infinite being contains all positive attributes, it is impossible that there should exist any being within a particular class more perfect or greater than such. In effect, if there were to exist an absolutely infinite being,

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such would likewise be infinite with respect to each of its individual attributes.

IV. AN EQUIVOCATION IN SPINOZA’S PROOF OF MONISM With the above definitions in mind, this section will now examine Spinoza’s argument for monism, and, more specifically, that part of such containing his defense of the third premise (i.e., that premise which asserts the impossibility of two substances possessing different attributes). In justifying this claim, Spinoza begins by arguing that, “Of its nature… [substance] will exist either as finite or as infinite.”21 From this, Spinoza next rules out the possibility of substance existing as finite: “But not as finite. For then (by D2) it would have to be limited by something else of the same nature, which would also have to exist necessarily (by P7), and so there would be two substances of the same attribute, which is absurd (by P5).” In effect, if substance is not finite, then, as Spinoza affirms, “it exists as infinite.”22 It should be here noted that, in establishing the infinite nature of substance, Spinoza relies upon the first definition of finite discussed above, which maintains that a substance is finite when it is limitable by another substance of the same attribute. It goes without question that Spinoza has indeed successfully demonstrated that substance is infinite within its own attribute, since the possibility of another substance having the same attribute has already been ruled out.23 Next, from the non-basic premise that substance must be infinite, Spinoza is led to address the further question as to whether there can be two or more infinite substances of distinct attributes. To this, he responds in the negative: Since God is an absolutely infinite being, of whom no attribute which expresses an essence of substance can be denied (by D6)…if there were any substance except God, it would have to be explained through some attribute of God, and so two substances of the same attribute would exist, which (by P5) is absurd.24

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In denying the possibility of two infinite substances with distinct attributes, Spinoza therefore concludes that substance is one and that it is identical with Deus sive Natura.

Of principal importance to the present inquiry is a consideration of the legitimacy of Spinoza’s appeal to the concept of God. Given what he has established regarding the nature of substance, Spinoza has no reason here to identify God with substance, since he has demonstrated only that substance is infinite within its own attribute and not that it, like God, is infinite across attributes. Indeed, if Spinoza had established the absolute infinity of substance, then certainly it is not possible that there be more than one substance. This is so because, if there were two absolutely infinite and distinct substances, then each would have to have an attribute that the other did not possess. However, such a supposition is impossible, as, by definition, an absolutely infinite substance contains all attributes. Nevertheless, this is not what Spinoza has hitherto demonstrated. In effect, Spinoza has here too hastily equated substance with God, as he has yet to determine that substance, like God, is absolutely infinite and not just infinite in relation to other beings of a particular attribute.

CONCLUSION In thinking of possible ways to salvage Spinoza’s proof for monism, the following question must be addressed: Is there ever an instance wherein infinitude within one’s kind likewise necessitates infinitude across all attributes? It would seem that there is indeed one such instance, that being when the attribute is identified with Being itself. Undoubtedly, it is only in this special case that it can be so claimed that a thing’s status as infinite within its attribute requires that it likewise have the quality of infinitude across all attributes. If it is possible to conceive the totality of what is under the all-inclusive attribute of existence, and if a thing’s reality is in some way a function of its attributes, then surely that which is the highest manifestation of Being is, at the same time, that which is possessive of all positive attributes.

Now, it can certainly be argued that this is precisely what

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Spinoza has in mind when equating infinitude within one’s kind and infinitude across all attributes. In fact, Spinoza himself does claim that existence pertains to the nature of substance25 and that the reality of a thing is the direct product of the number of attributes contained by that thing.26 Even still, though the idea of exemplary causality is incorporated within the Spinozistic metaphysics, the validity of Spinoza’s argument for ontological monism is put in to question due to his failure to make explicit his reasons for identifying infinitude within one’s attribute and infinitude across all attributes.

Notes 1. Benedict de Spinoza, Ethics, edited and translated by Edwin Curely (London: Penguin Books, 1996), I P14.

2. Ibid., D1.

3. “The order and connection of ideas is the same as the order and connection of things” (Ibid., II P7).

4. Technically speaking, an ‘adequate idea’ for Spinoza is “an idea which, insofar as it is considered in itself, without relation to an object, has all the properties, or intrinsic denominations of a true idea” (Ibid., D4).

5. Substance for Descartes is something that exists through itself and no other, and therefore, only God can be considered a substance per se. In a derivative sense, however, Descartes does maintain that such created beings as mind and body can be regarded as substances insofar as their existence requires only the concurrence of God. In other words, for Descartes, God, who is infinite substance, creates and sustains the existences of certain finite substances (i.e., minds as thinking substances and body as an extended substance). See René Descartes, Meditations on First Philosophy, translated by John Cottingham (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005). Here it should be so noted that Descartes’ substance dualism is something Spinoza will certainly reject; substance is God and God is Being, but God is not this or that individual being.

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Further, for Spinoza, to even speak of created or finite substances is a contradiction in terms, as substance is, by definition, independent.

6. See Ethics I P8. For Spinoza, substance as self-subsistent being is not separate from the created order; it actually is the created order. To be more clear, according to Spinoza, each individual being is a single mode of one underlying substance, whereas the totality of all existing beings, whether actual or possible, comprises this substance. Consequently, for Spinoza, though God is not this or that factically existing being, there is an identity between Deus sive Natura (i.e., God or Nature) and Being (i.e., the totality of actual and possible beings).

7. See Ibid., D4. More specifically, Spinoza provides the following definition of essence: “I say that to the essence of any thing belongs that which, being given, the thing is necessarily posited and which, being taken away, the thing is necessarily taken away; or that without which the thing can neither be nor be conceived, and which can neither be nor be conceived without the thing” (Ibid., II D2).

8. Note that, though Spinoza argues that substance has an infinity of attributes, he only gives two examples of such, namely thought and extension, as he claims that these are the only two attributes of substance accessible to the human knower. For Spinoza’s discussion of these two attributes, see Ibid., II. 9. Seemingly contrary to the above, which asserts that attributes are not merely chance aspects of a single reality, is what Spinoza appears to suggest in his Correspondence: “You desire, though there is no need, that I should illustrate by an example, how one and the same thing can be stamped with two names. In order not to seem miserly, I will give you two. First, I say that by Israel is meant the third patriarch; I mean the same by Jacob, the name Jacob having been given, because the patriarch in question had caught hold of the heel of his brother. Secondly, by a colourless surface I mean a surface, which reflects all rays of light without altering them. I mean the same by a white surface, with this difference, that a surface is called white in reference to a man looking at it.” See Benedict de Spinoza, The Correspondence of Spinoza, edited and translated by Abraham Wolf (London: Frank Cass, 1966), IX. 10. For an insightful discussion as to how thought and extension, though clearly distinct in essence, can each provide a complete account of one underlying reality, see Thomas Carson Mark, “The Spinozistic Attributes” Philosophia 7 (1977): 55-82. In this article, Mark draws an interesting parallel between the attributes of thought and extension and Cartesian and Euclidean presentations of plane geometry.

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11. A destructive dilemma is a formal logical argument which assumes the following form: p à q / r à s / ~q v ~s // ~ p v ~ r. Observe that, in the first half of Spinoza’s proof, only one antecedent is put forth. In effect, this half of the argument can be simplified as follows: p à q v s / ~q / ~s // ~p.

12. Please note that the proposition numbers used in the above argument outline are not the same as those found within Spinoza’s Ethics.

For the number designations used by Spinoza, refer to the footnote corresponding to each of the above cited premises.

13. This is somewhat of an over-simplification, as two substances of the same attribute can still have different modes. However, Spinoza provides the following reasoning as to why substances with distinct modes would nonetheless be indistinguishable: “…since a substance is prior in nature to its affections (by P1), if the affections are put to one side and [the substance] is considered in itself, that is (by D3 and A6), considered truly, one cannot be conceived to be distinguished from another” (Ibid., P5). See Ethics I P5.

14. Ibid., P8.

15. Ibid., P14.

16. See Ibid., P6. In support of this premise, Spinoza argues first that “Two substances having different attributes have nothing in common with one another” (Ibid., P2), and second that “If things have nothing in common with one another, one of them cannot be the cause of the other” (Ibid., P3).

17. Ibid., P14.

18. Ibid., D2.

19. Ibid.

20. Ibid., D6.

21. Ibid., P8.

22. Ibid.

23. See P2 above or Ibid., P5.

24. Ibid., P14.

25. Ibid., P7.

26. “The more reality or being each thing has, the more attributes belong to it” (Ibid., P9).

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Works Cited Descartes, René. Meditations on First Philosophy. Trans. by John Cottingham. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005.

Mark, Thomas Carson. “The Spinozistic Attributes.” Philosophia 7 (1977): 55-82.

Spinoza, Benedict de. Ethics. Edited and Trans. by Edwin Curely. London: Penguin Books, 1996.

-- The Correspondence of Spinoza. Edited and Trans. by Abraham Wolf.

London: Frank Cass, 1966.

The Extended Room

or What Otto Didn’t Know

Ryan Victor 1. INTRODUCTION

T

he Chinese room example is one of the most famous and important counterarguments to the ‘strong AI’ thesis, based on Turing’s work, that any computer capable of human-like dialogue understands English and has thoughts much like our own. The systems reply has been levelled against the Chinese room example as a way of defending this claim. I propose that the systems reply fails because the heart of its objection is based on a non-standard definition of “understanding”, and does not consider the concept of consciousness. Furthermore, I will argue against the Extended Mind thesis, as advocated by Clark and Chalmers, in which a redefinition of the boundaries of the mind is proposed. I will claim that the extended mind thesis is very much like the systems reply. It fails because it creates entirely new, non-standard concepts of “mind” and “belief” that are used equivocally with the standard definitions, does not factor in consciousness, and the criteria proposed for being part of the mind are no less arbitrary than those that they are intended to replace.

Ryan Victor, originally from London, is an undergraduate Philosophy major at the University of Pennsylvania. His interests within Philosophy include Philosophy of Mind, Philosophy of Science and Philosophy of Law. Ryan stresses interdisciplinary study and has written in areas such as Psychology and Evolutionary Biology. He will soon be publishing in the field of Ethnomusicology, focusing on the historical trajectory of Jamaican music and culture, and its interaction with that of Britain during the latter half of the 20th century. Ryan is also an avid composer of electronic music. After graduating from Penn, Ryan plans to attain a degree in Law and pursue his lifelong ambition of working to improve social justice, equality, and international human rights.

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2. THE CHINESE ROOM AND THE SYSTEMS REPLY Proponents of ‘strong AI’ make the claim, based on Turing’s groundbreaking arguments in Computing Machinery and Intelligence,1 that any computer capable of fooling a human into thinking that they are conversing with another human in a written (or on screen) dialogue would have thoughts and understanding in the same way as we do. Thus, any understanding of the nature of the computer program that achieves this gives us understanding of the workings of the human mind. Furthermore, the argument has been made (e.g. by Block2) that the necessary requirement for thought, which both we, as humans, and the computer that can pass the Turing test share, is the ability of formal symbol manipulation. In Mind, Brains and Programs, Searle3 creates a thought experiment in an attempt to show (contra Shanck and Abelson4) that formal symbol manipulation is not a sufficient condition for thought, and thus passing the Turing test is not a guarantee of a computer’s understanding of language.

The thought experiment is very simple. Searle is in a room and is passed cards with Chinese characters on them. He has a look up table in a giant book, which tells him what to write as a response to any given set of characters. He passes his answer back, and the person on the other side, who only sees the replies written on cards, believes he is having a legitimate conversation with whomever is inside the room. Since Searle does not speak Chinese, it is absurd to claim that, armed with his rulebook, he suddenly understands the contents of the discussion he is a part of. This is evidenced by the fact that, were the interlocutor to pass through a message telling Searle that the room is on fire, although he might pass a card back which says “thanks very much, I’ll leave,” Searle would not actually do so – how could he?

This experiment, then, can be thought of as analogous to a computer, programmed with a look up table of English sentences and rules for applying them. In both cases, there is indeed formal symbol manipulation, and in both cases it is certainly possible that a human may well be fooled into believing that they are part

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of an interesting conversation with a conspecific, but the fact remains that, in both cases, there is no understanding. Searle himself is acting in exactly the same way as the CPU – simply following instructions blindly. We may think of another analogy. If a heatseeking missile is programmed to lock on to a plane, a naïve observer might describe the missile’s behaviour as though it “wants” to hit the target, but this talk of the missile as an intentional system is incorrect – the missile only has derived intentionality. In the same way, one might say that Searle in the Chinese room only has derived understanding, since the only thing that actually adds to the understanding of Chinese in the room is the rulebook, which was written by someone who actually does speak the language.

The systems reply is an objection to Searle’s thought experiment in which the term ‘understanding’ is applied not to just Searle, but to the system of the room, the book, and Searle as a whole. The counterargument simply states that it is not the case that Searle understands Chinese, but that the system as a whole does. As Block puts it, “If the whole system understands Chinese, that should not lead us to expect the CPU to understand Chinese.” Searle’s response is a good one. Imagine that Searle simply internalises the rule- book by memorising the entire thing. Remove the room. Let the entire process be in Searle’s head. Searle still does not understand Chinese.

The major error in the systems reply is that the word ‘understanding’ is being used to mean something completely different to how we normally define it, and its redefinition is not made explicit at the outset. Rather, the standard definition along with the extended definition are used interchangeably. There are many systems composed of multiple parts that function as a whole in modern society. For example, the postal system is made up of numerous complex pieces. Whereas we might say that the postman understood where to deliver a letter, would we say, “the Postal System understood that my letter needed to get to Kentucky in two days”? Absolutely not – we do no speak of systems in this way. Understanding is limited, in everyday usage, to, at the largest, the consciousness of an individual organism.

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Understanding, were it to occur in machines, would have to occur at the level of the machine’s motherboard, including its memory and CPU. To claim that a word like “under standing” can be extended to objects that are connected in such a cursory manner is contrary to both intuition and common usage.

It might be countered that we do speak in this way occasionally, for example, “the FBI knew the man way headed to Venezuela” or “NASA announced that the launch will be postponed.” Although we do accept these kinds of sentences, they are a matter of common parlance and not a matter of conceptualising the system as a whole. We could easily pinpoint the individual agents within the FBI who knew the fugitive’s whereabouts, and similarly a NASA statement is written by individual people who have an understanding of the NASA mission as a whole. These individuals would still have the same understanding absent the agencies for which they work, whereas the room, book and Searle system requires both the rulebook and Searle together, and even then they add up to create nothing more than an illusion of understanding.

A second criticism is that the systems reply takes no account of consciousness. Searle and the rulebook cannot be thought of in terms of a system because the rulebook is not conscious, not does it play an active or direct role in Searle’s consciousness. Thus, they cannot be thought of as a single system.

The rulebook is acting as a store of information with which Searle can interact in order to produce the correct responses, but there is an extra layer of translation and manipulation that only Searle, and not the rulebook alone, can accomplish.

3. THE EXTENDED MIND Clark and Chalmers’ thesis of “the Extended Mind”5 involves the question of exactly where the mind ends, and where to draw the boundaries. This question is addressed by recourse to a couple of examples. The first involves a Tetris-like set of scenarios. Let us imagine a situation where, in order to ascertain whether a certain shape block will fit within a group of differ-

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ently shaped blocks (I assume we’ve all played Tetris), we can either mentally imagine it, or use a button (which can do it faster) to rotate it. Clearly, we imagine the first case as a mental rotation, and in the second the rotation is clearly external. Now, imagine a case in which the ability to perform the fast rotation is implanted into our visual system, or, if that is too far a stretch, that the rotation can be activated on screen by thinking about it.

(This is technology currently under development to assist the disabled.6) This seems to be a bit of both. To try and solve the problem, Clark & Chalmers propose the ‘parity principle’, which states that, “If, as we confront some task, a part of the world functions as a process which, were it to go on in the head, we would have no hesitation in accepting as part of the cognitive process, then that part of the world is (for that time) part of the cognitive process.”7 The second example involves a man, Otto, who has memory loss, and thus must write everything in a notebook in order to be able to function normally. Thus, in a case where he is asked what he believes about a certain topic (e.g. where is MoMA) he must consult his book before being able to answer the question.

Clark et al claim that this means the notebook is as much a store of his beliefs as the internal part of the brain in which that information might otherwise be stored (the hippocampus?). Thus, we should treat Otto storing his belief about MoMA in his book and me storing my belief in my brain as exactly the same. The conclusion of these two examples, then, is that any physical system that is recruited as part of a cognitive process is, by virtue of its participation in that process, part of the mind itself. Furthermore, an agent’s beliefs, beings as they are part of cognitive processes, can be stored in any physical location, outside or inside the brain.

The criteria supplied for judging whether or not something like a notebook would be a candidate for a part of Otto’s mind are that it is consulted often, the contents are always or for the most part instantly affirmed, and the resource is easily consulted.

In support of this argument, an analogy can be drawn between adding extra memory to a computer and the notebook example. An external hard drive should not be viewed as any more

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or less part of the computer than an internal one, so why should we favour our own internal grey matter over an external memory storage device such as a notebook? A bias towards seeing anything external as automatically not part of the mind is not an a priori reason to discount the view. Further, one might suggest that an actual part of the brain could be transplanted outside the body, kept in a vat, and connected via radio contact with the brain. In this case, the external item is performing cognitive operations, and so what, apart from the fact that it is outside the actual skull, separates this from being part of the mind? In this case, the answer is nothing.

4. OBJECTIONS AND COUNTEREXAMPLES TO THE EXTENDED MIND To try to drive a wedge between the two examples above, let us consider a further example – a watch. During the day, I may consult my watch multiple times per hour, I will instantly affirm that the time represented on it is correct, and it is incredibly easy to consult – a turn of the wrist is all that is required.

Thus, a watch satisfies all three of Clark and Chalmers’ criteria.

Would we consider the watch to be part of my mind? If an adherent to the externalist view would still claim that it is, then let us push the example further. Imagine a time before wristwatches. People in earlier times consulted the sun in order to figure out the time of day. They could do this multiple times per day, there would be no reason to doubt the position of the sun, and what is easier to do than to simply look up. Thus, consulting the sun for the time seems to satisfy the exact same criteria as using a wristwatch. By the same logic, then, it seems that the sun, too, is part of our mind. Even a dogmatic believer in externalism might want to reconsider this assertion. It seems as though the criteria can easily lead us too far astray.

Clark et al’s assertion is that our intuitions are deceiving us into using an arbitrary boundary, the skull, in order to define where the mind ends. It is perfectly reasonable to insist that this distinction is not as easy as it seems to be, and questions of exactly where we draw the line are valid. However, in place of this

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distinction, they substitute another equally arbitrary criterion – a high degree of reliance, or “strong coupling”. The same question of where we draw the line is equally, if not even more, relevant in this case. After all, what constitutes as exactly enough reliance – consulting the notebook once an hour, once a day, once a week?

A further and deeper point is that our intuition seems to strongly disallow the notebook, but allow the external brain segment. Why? I propose a different concept of “strong coupling”.

Rather than meaning degree of reliance, I would use “strong coupling” to describe the degree to which the actual cognitive process is ingrained and connected to the external device. The reason why the notebook seems so implausible is twofold – firstly, it requires the beliefs to be translated into natural language, and then into symbols by the person before being recorded, and then the inverse when the information is accessed. This need for translation has a decoupling effect – the integration into the cognitive process seems less and less direct as we add further stages of translation and manipulation. Secondly, a notebook is something that anyone can have access to – this is something we would not claim for the information stored in our hippocampus. Something that were connected in a more direct way seems more plausible as a candidate for a part of the mind.

The watch and the sun example seem implausible because they are being considered as part of the cognitive process in the same way as the cerebral cortex may be considered part of the cognitive process, but these are two very different things. Checking one’s watch, or the angle subtended by the sun involves consulting aspects of the external world in order to aid in belief and desire formation. For example, knowing that the sun is directly overhead can cause the beliefs that it is around noon, and thus the desire to begin making lunch. However, the actual cognitive processing itself consists in the interpretation of the sun’s angle as a functional isomorphism for a particular hour. Like the Chinese room rulebook, the sun itself is not actually performing that interpretive task, and thus it is not part of the mind. The distinction here is between the attributes of the physical world that, as

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humans, we are capable of interpreting as representing important information needed to form beliefs and desires, and the actual substantive matter that provides us with the ability to create and manipulate these beliefs and desires in order to produce action.

To try to provide a counterexample that more closely parallels the general logic of the extended mind argument, let us imagine exactly the inverse scenario. I wish to try and define exactly what is means to be ‘part of a computer’. Normally, we would say that the computer ends where the boundaries of the machine are, yet this may simply be a bias we have. Surely, if I were experiencing a difficulty with a program in that it took up too much space on the hard drive, I could conceivably print out the information, and then, when necessary, input the code back into the machine when the program required it. This would mean that the computer’s memory is not only located inside the machine, but also on the page. Why should we say, then, that the paper is not part of the computer? After all, it requires the information on the page every single time it runs a specific program.

We should not bias this kind of storage space simply because it is external, should we? Now, what if I simply memorised the code?

Then, wouldn’t I be part of the computer too? Again, our intuitions scream no, and for good reason. Neither the actual piece of paper nor my mind are coupled, or connected, in the same way as the actual circuits in the computer are. There is an extra decoupling stage, the printout, or the memorisation of the code, which should automatically disqualify those things from being part of the computer. In the same way, this kind of decoupling should automatically disqualify a notebook as a candidate for part of a mind.

5. ANALYSIS The reason Clark & Chalmers seem to be able to argue with some conviction and success is because the very term “mind” is being used in two distinct ways. They are guilty, then, of the fallacy of equivocation. The first kind of “mind” is the kind we all understand when we say the word – my mind is the seat of my

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consciousness, contained within my brain, or the parts of which work together to perform all of the necessary cognitive processing, of language, perception, memory, etc. that I require to function. The second term, “mind” is used to denote the total of my knowledge, experience and beliefs. This is not the same as the first kind, because much of my knowledge exists in other places; my experiences have been shared by others, and my beliefs, by virtue of being expressed in language, can exist separate from me (as represented on a page, for example). But to equate these two things – the actual hardware necessary to be able to have beliefs in the first place, and the beliefs themselves (articulated or otherwise), is to equate apples and oranges.

A further point is that the notion of ‘belief’ is also being confounded. In one sense, I would call my mind the store of my beliefs, but in a deep way, since it is the hardware that enables me to have beliefs in the first place and manipulate them in a holistic manner. An essay that expresses my opinion on some matter is also a store of my beliefs, but in a very different sense. In the case of the beliefs in my head, these may be very inarticulate and vague – many people have beliefs that are logically inconsistent. But when we actually have to pronounce on a topic, we formulate our beliefs into natural language, and these become codified into assertions. In many cases, the pressure of having to pronounce a particular belief may cause us to say something we later regret.8 Thus, the beliefs on the page and the beliefs in the head are not one and the same. Secondly, we often speak of degrees of belief, a concept for which we seem to have an intuitive grasp when talking about beliefs in our head, but for which there is no easy expression in natural language. The example of the location of a museum blurs these distinctions because it is too simplistic – many beliefs are far more complex. A further point is that expressing beliefs In a notebook prevents them from interacting in the holistic way that beliefs in the brain do? How can they when they are fixed representations on a page. Thus, it is not as easy to claim that the notebook is as legitimate a store of beliefs as the mind.

The final point is, like the systems reply, the extended

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mind fails to take account of consciousness as a legitimate criterion for judging whether something is part of the mind. A common definition of the mind is the ‘seat of consciousness’. Thus, anything that can be legitimately considered part of the mind must either contribute to, or be necessary for, this consciousness.

That is why we can accept that the brain segment in the vat is still part of the mind, despite being external to the skull, whereas the notebook is not, because the notebook contains no elements that we would call conscious, or in any way can contribute to any part of the intrinsic consciousness of Otto, or anyone else.

6. CONCLUSION AND FINAL THOUGHTS After outlining the Chinese room, the systems reply and the extended mind, parallels were drawn between the systems reply and the extended mind thesis in order to articulate the drawbacks of the extended mind approach. These included, in particular, the failure to adequately factor in consciousness, and the fallacy of equivocation in relation to the definition of “understanding” and “mind”. With the use of counterexamples, the inadequacies of the ‘strong coupling’ criteria were presented, concluding with the judgement that they are as arbitrary, if not more so, then the criteria they are intended to replace. Finally, alternate criteria, such as a version of ‘strong coupling’ based on the connection and integration into the cognitive process were proposed.

In general, the extended mind may first appear as a radical and exciting new argument for externalism. Its re-evaluation of boundaries opens up questions of the social nature not only of meaning but, more fundamentally, of the mind itself. Despite its promise, however, the thesis leaves even the most uncritically accepting with a somewhat sour taste in their mouths. After all, where does extending our minds to a notebook or the Internet really get us? What new insights does accepting this paradigm enable us to discover? Putting our Popperian hats on for a minute, it seems like this kind of a hermeneutic, below the surface, is devoid of real content. Almost anything, if interpreted in the right way, can be considered part of the mind. As good scientists,

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we should always be rigorously testing our hypothesis, yet, like the monumental failures of Freudian psychoanalysis or Marxist historiography, the extended mind can be applied to almost anything and, more problematically, admits of no refutation.

POSTSCRIPT—THE MEANING OF MEANING, AND AN ARGUMENT AGAINST EXTERNALISM This discussion of the extended mind highlights an important confusion that plagues the externalist program, stemming from the definition of “meaning”. Meaning is something that cannot exist, like an abstract Platonic form, outside the mind. To assert this is to commit a gross error. Every human mind is an isolated universe, in a sense. The meanings that I attach to words are my own and only my own, and they constitute what linguists call my "idiolect"9 (the dialect that only I speak in quite the way I do). Everybody has their own idiolect that we build by trial and error from interactions with other humans using the powerful linguistic inference tools with which we already come equipped.10 What makes communication possible is not that meaning is outside the head, but that the social nature of linguistic acquisition, together with shared common experiences (and the assumption of an intersubjective world) guarantee much overlap in the idiolects of different people who belong to what we call the same "speech community."

Notes 1. Turing, Alan M. Computing Machinery and Intelligence. Mind Vol. LIX. No. 236 (1950): pp. 433-460.

2. Block, Ned. “The mind as the software of the brain.” In E. E. Smith & D. N. Osherson (Eds.), Thinking: An invitation to the cognitive science Cambridge, MA: MIT Press (1995): pp. 377–425.

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3. Searle, John R. “Minds, Brain and Programs.” The Behavioural and Brain Sciences III, 3. Cambridge University Press (1980): pp. 417-424.

4. Schank, R. C. and R.P Abelson. Scripts, plans, goals, and understanding: An inquiry into human knowledge structures. Erlbaum (1977).

5. Clark, Andy and David Chalmers. The Extended Mind. Analysis 58.1 (1998): pp. 7-19.

6. Kennedy, P.R., R.A.E. Bakay, M.M Moore, K. Adams and J. Goldwaithe. Direct control of a computer from the human central nervous system.

Rehabilitation Engineering Vol. 8 No. 2 (2000): pp.198-202.

7. Clark, A. “Memento's revenge: The extended mind extended.” The extended mind. Aldershot: Ashgate (2006): p. 3-4.

8. Dennett, Daniel. “True Believers: The Intentional Strategy and Why It Works.” Mind and Cognition: An Anthology. W. Lycan (ed.) Malden, MA: Blackwell (1990): pp. 75-87.

9. E.g. see: Fries, Charles C. and Kenneth L. Pike. Coexistent Phonemic Systems. Language Vol. 25, No. 1 (1949): pp. 29-50.

10. E.g. see: Dominey, Peter F. Conceptual grounding in simulation studies of language acquisition. Evolution of communication Vol. 4, No. 1 (2000): pp. 57-85.

Works Cited Block, Ned. “The mind as the software of the brain.” In E. E. Smith & D. N. Osherson (Eds.), Thinking: An invitation to the cognitive science Cambridge, MA: MIT Press (1995).

Clark, Andy and David Chalmers. The Extended Mind. Analysis 58.1 (1998).

Clark, Andy. “Memento's revenge: The extended mind extended.” The extended mind. Aldershot: Ashgate (2006).

Dennett, Daniel. “True Believers: The Intentional Strategy and Why It Works.” Mind and Cognition: An Anthology. W. Lycan (ed.) Malden, MA: Blackwell (1990).

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Dominey, Peter F. Conceptual grounding in simulation studies of language acquisition. Evolution of communication Vol. 4, No. 1 (2000).

Fries, Charles C. and Kenneth L. Pike. Coexistent Phonemic Systems. Language Vol. 25, No. 1 (1949).

Kennedy, P.R., R.A.E. Bakay, M.M Moore, K. Adams and J. Goldwaithe.

Direct control of a computer from the human central nervous system. Rehabilitation Engineering Vol. 8 No. 2 (2000).

Searle, John R. “Minds, Brain and Programs.� The Behavioural and Brain Sciences III, 3. Cambridge University Press (1980).

Schank, R. C. and R.P Abelson. Scripts, plans, goals, and understanding: An inquiry into human knowledge structures. Erlbaum (1977).

Turing, Alan M. Computing Machinery and Intelligence. Mind Vol. LIX. No. 236 (1950).

Hume: Causality & Subjectivity

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David Mossburger

avid Hume challenged rationalist epistemological theory, specifically the predominance of the “Principle of Sufficient Reason,” by asserting that it is impossible to truly know the causal connection between two events. In doing so he posited the empiricist position that it is only through experience, not reason, that one can obtain knowledge of the world. However, it remains a debate even today whether Hume was questioning whether or not an event causes another, or if it merely follows it in regular succession, regardless of the event’s intelligibility to human consciousness.

It is this difference in interpretation, between what has been labeled both positivism and skeptical realism that has emerged as a serious debate regarding Humean thought in the past twenty years.

The positivist approach is rooted in Hume’s skepticism.

It states that there is very little that we can understand regarding causality, outside of falling into regular patterns. Recently the skeptical realists have rejected this idea, known as the “regularity theory,” replacing it with a notion of dependence between events that goes beyond regular succession. However, a closer reading of Hume’s An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding1 reveals the importance of subjective interpretation in his epistemology, an idea that fits in better with a third approach, that of antirealism as it is coined by Simon Blackburn. I will review and criDavid Mossburger is a recent graduate in International Relations from Grand Valley State University. His philosophical interests lie primarily in the role of the individual vis-à-vis society, arguing frequently for the autonomy of individual identity as it encounters the "other." He has written extensively on this theme as it relates to the works of Hegel, Nietzsche, and existentialism, and as well as dabbles here and there in Eastern thought, usually Daoism. This is his first published philosophical work.

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tique the main two approaches in the Enquiry, argue that Hume’s empiricism is metaphysically subjective and how that fits with anti-realism, and finally, discuss the ramifications of such on epistemology.

Before embarking on a critical assessment of the two primary schools of thought on the issue, it behooves us to first closely examine what Hume said, and proceed from there. To do so I will be focusing exclusively on the Enquiry, as Hume himself declared it to be an improvement over his Treatise.2 In section 7, “The Idea of Necessary Connexion,” Hume dismisses the rationalist principle of sufficient reason: “All events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows another; but we never can observe any tye between them. They seem conjoined, but never connected.

And as we can have no idea of any thing, which never appeared to our outward sense or inward sentiment. The necessary connexion seems to be, that we have no idea of connexion or power at all. And that these words are absolutely without meaning, when employed either in philosophical reasonings, or common life… it is impossible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture, without experience, what event will result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object, which is immediately present to the memory and senses.”3 Hume goes on to argue that the connection between cause and effect is but a feeling in the mind based on the custom or habit of observing similar events occurring in the same way over and over that gives us the idea of necessary connection.

That is, the idea of causality is simply that, an idea, formed in the mind from the data of past experience, and not inherent in the event itself. There are two important ramifications here. The first of course is that every event does not have a cause that can be deduced a priori, consistent with Hume’s overall attack on rationalism. The second, and perhaps more interesting, is the as-

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sertion that it is only after an idea of connection has been formed in the mind after the repeated witnessing of the same impression do we possess the idea of causality. This is derived in part from Hume’s copy principle: “Every idea is copied from some preceding impression or sentiment; and where we cannot find any impression, we may be certain there is no idea.”4 Let me return to this idea of causality shortly.

Hume concludes the chapter5 with his famous two definitions of causality. Hume admits that they are inconvenient in that the only definitions of cause that can be formed are from something foreign to it, yet he claims a more perfect definition cannot be attained. They are: 1) “An object, followed by another, and where all objects, similar to the first, are followed by objects similar to the second. Or in other words, where, if the first object had not been, the second never had existed.

2) An object followed by another, and whose appearance always conveys the thought to that other.”6 There is some dispute as to what Hume meant with these definitions. Hume states in the Treatise that the two are a ‘philosophical’ definition and a ‘natural’ definition, in that order.7 Thomas Richards determined that the first really is a definition, while the second is a statement of the conditions under which one believes in causality.8 J.A. Robinson is in agreement with the first part, but holds that the second is better regarded as a condition in which belief in causality in fact occurs as opposed to a more normative condition.9 Edward Craig considers both views and correctly argues that both definitions are descriptions of the circumstances that lead one to believe in causality.10 Craig realized that in Humean thought a definition is not the strict meaning of a term in the modern sense, as is argued by logical positivists, but rather a process of reducing ideas to the initial impressions the ideas were copied from, more description than definition. In the case of defining causality, the two definitions reflect the two ways of experiencing causality, ideas copied from

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the impression of necessary connection. Craig, however, struggled with the extensional equivalence of the two definitions, namely, “if one can be true when the other is not, how can they be called ‘views of the same object’?”11 This is an issue other modern philosophers have grappled with in interpreting Hume’s thought.12 Craig, despite the realization of causality as experience prima facie, is unsure whether the definitions are to be considered epistemologically or ontologically, in the form of “what a cause is.”13 I think for our purposes though, the realization that neither is a definition in the technical sense, but could perhaps be better described as descriptions, will suffice for now.

Before we depart from Hume to focus on interpretation of his work, I would like to add one final note on Hume's idea of belief. Justin Broackes has argued that Hume actually presents three kinds of conceptions of belief.14 I will follow Broackes’ line of reasoning in lieu of Hume’s discussion of belief in section 5 of the Enquiry and conclude that belief is “a steady and vivid conception of an idea.”15 That is, it is a sentiment, dependent not on the will, more intense and steady than what the imagination alone is able to attain.16 This poses a philosophical problem for Hume, in that where do beliefs come from internally in his separation of perceptions? Belief for him is not an impression, nor is it an idea, as it goes beyond that in that it is a conception of an idea with a steady and vivid feeling attached, in other words, an idea that feels like an impression. Externally he says their source is custom or habit formed from the constant conjunction of two events in a consistent causal relationship. But custom does not carry with it necessarily steadiness and vivacity; instead it would be better characterized as an inference than a belief. So what then is the shift from merely viewing such a conjunction to belief in its necessary occurrence, if all perceptions of the mind are either ideas or impressions?17 Hume later argues that “this sentiment (of customary connection) is the original of that idea” (of causality), thereby stating that belief is an impression, which gives rise to our idea of causality vis-à-vis the copy principle.18 But this contradicts his earlier statement that belief is a conception, more intense and steady than fictions, each of which he al-

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ludes are the product of the association of ideas.19 I believe the second is erroneous, as the first fits much neater with a temporal rise in belief, and the situation of belief as a “matter of fact” that stretches beyond our memory and senses.20 There are now three concepts we are dealing with in interpreting Hume’s theory of causality: his idea of it, the two “descriptions” of it, and the nature of our belief in it. Our idea of causality stems from experiencing conjoined events, translated into two connected ideas through the copy principle. This is entirely accurate when viewing the mechanistic functioning of events. When I push the pedals of a bicycle a series of chains and gears rotate the rear wheel forward. However, Hume is not discussing the workings of a bike but rather human perception of the world, and our ability to organize and make sense of what we see. That is why Hume says that although we are not logically justified to believe in causality, without it we would go mad. Hume is more interested in explaining how we understand things to be, or believe things to be, as opposed to what reality is.

The aforementioned definitions highlight this distinction further. As was mentioned earlier they could be understood better as descriptions than definitions. Such an understanding resolves the difficulty in having two definitions of the same thing, especially if a no more perfect definition cannot be attained. So what exactly do these definitions describe? Immediately it becomes apparent that even though an observer is not mentioned, both seem to presuppose its existence. The first definition describes objects similar to one another, a distinction that requires an outside observer in order to undertake the comparison; otherwise you would merely have two different objects. It takes a third being, the subject, to experience the two objects and deem them to be similar or dissimilar. The second definition contains a thinker who associates one object with the thought of another.

So although both discuss causality in lieu of a subject, the first focuses on the impression of causality while the second focuses on its idea, which is of course entirely consistent with the mind being divided into two classes of perceptions. The definitions thus reflect the two ways our mind can perceive causality, as an

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impression or as an idea, as opposed to two ways causality occurs.

What is interesting in the definitions is the unrestrained individual ability to determine what constitutes similarity, and what can be associated with an idea. The source of each is the same, the experience we have interacting within the world.

Hume is correct in that knowledge cannot be deduced a priori through reason alone, but what must be acknowledged, however, is the uniqueness of every individual’s experience. At every moment our consciousness is bombarded not just with one experience, but many experiences simultaneously, as each of our senses detects multiple stimulations of various degrees. For example, as I type this I audibly detect not only the music I am playing, but the clacking of the keyboard reacting to my fingers, the sound of a TV playing in the background, the rumble of my stomach, and the whistling of the wind outside my window.

Each of these adds an element by overall experience, a cumulative activity that grows with each passing moment. As a result, my cumulative experience is uniquely my own, so much so that if another person were to engage in the exact same activity as I am, say watching a sunset, it would be comprehended in two entirely different ways, as each of us would be bringing a different memory of perception to the sunset experience. A religious person may think immediately of the awesome power of God, and connect the sunset with other religious experiences, while a scientist would connect it to other ideas associated with planetary rotation and a painter would begin mentally reconstructing the sunset in his mind so as to be able to reproduce it on canvas.

So whereas we are sharing in the common experience of the sunset, and can relate that experience to one another through the common vehicle of language, our experiences are uniquely our own, a fact that would become apparent to us through utilizing language in describing our unique interpretation of a common experience.

So too are our beliefs, which, as conceptions of ideas, are our ways of making sense of the world, as “matters of fact” beyond the present. Being derived from the relation of cause and

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effect, they are products of the two ways our mind perceives causality, and subjected to the same uniqueness of experience that constitutes each individual, in the way each sorts and orders acquired ideas. This explains how similarly constituted people in a similar situation can have radically different beliefs, their experience, unique to them, reveals stark differences in approach to a similar event. For example, a husband and wife could each witness a different shooting death, one a senseless crime and the other an act of self defense, and could come away from their respective experience with a different belief in guns, gun control, and public safety. It is the human interpretation of the act, not the act itself, associated with other ideas (of gruesomeness, justice, etc) with the steady and vivid feeling attached of revulsion, relief, etc that forms our beliefs of the way the world is. Again, I think it is important to consider that in a discussion on belief and knowledge of causality, we are considering a human element, not a mechanistic ordering of the universe more apt to be included in a defense of rationalism. Kant’s later explanation of the difference between noumena and phenomena makes this distinction clearer.

When I say “I” it must be acknowledged that it is a term of convenience. In actuality, the self is at best a belief, created from our experiences to give us a basis of understanding the world. Such a concept of self confirms our impression on uniqueness, in that my experience is mine alone, in its cumulative totality completely different from anyone else’s. Gilles Deleuze asserts the world as well is a term of convenience, a fiction of the imagination.21 Hume regarded the self to be not as a separate and distinct substance, ala Cartesianism, but rather a collection of impressions and their corresponding associated ideas, known as a “bundle theory” of self.22 I bring this up to anticipate any objection to the idea of subjectivity through Hume’s disjointed notion of identity. In fact, it is the lack of essence to the self and the world that leaves individual subjectivity as the only method of making sense of anything, as a world that supplies knowledge without encroaching on my idea of myself as Self. “The impressions of sensation only form the mind, giv-

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ing it merely an origin, whereas the impressions of reflection (the principles of association of ideas) constitute the subject in the mind, diversely qualifying the mind as subject.”23 Without individual interpretation it would be impossible for the mind to ever organize its impressions to form a system that we believe to be the self. In other words, even though the self does not exist as a separate and distinct substance, we believe in the idea of such, and such a belief is derived from the collection of impressions and ideas organized into a system I call “me.” For example, I believe I exist, and that I am an intelligent, open-minded, humanist. Whether or not this is true is irrelevant, what is relevant is that I believe it, and that this belief stems from the bundle of ideas I have about myself that I have chosen to represent me, regardless of how I actually react to the world.

So how does this fit within the prevailing theories of Hume’s philosophy? As I mentioned earlier, the primary approach to Hume until only recently was to consider him a positivist. This viewpoint held that there is very little we can ever understand regarding the causal connection between events, other then the observation that events have a regular pattern to them. This opinion, known as stated earlier as the “regularity theory” took its cue from the first definition of causality: ‘An object, followed by another, and where all objects, similar to the first, are followed by objects similar to the second;’ and Hume’s earlier dismissal of necessary connection: “When we look about is toward external objects, and consider the operation of causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or necessary connexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other.”24 Richards and Robinson were of the positivist view, evident by their reliance on strict truth in their view of the accuracy of the first definition of causality and agnosticism towards the second. Among more recent philosophers Barry Stroud stands out as one as well.25 This was the dominant view until recently,

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power, or ‘natural necessity’, or ‘Causation’,”26 regardless of our awareness of the “secret power”27 of connection. This view, coined “skeptical realism” by Wright,28 holds that there is “some thick notion of dependence between events that goes beyond regular succession…even if it will be one about whose nature and extent we are doomed to ignorance.”29 They take seriously the numerous passages that allude to the existence of such a power.30 Strawson argues that Hume’s skepticism would not allow him to make a dubious ontological statement like “all that causation actually is, in the objects, is regular succession” which for Strawson “is enough to refute the standard view” (positivism).31 He goes on to correctly point out the impossibility of obtaining a perfect definition of causality “because of our ignorance of its nature”, for if causation were just regular succession there would be no imperfection.32 Smith perhaps phrases it better: “He (Hume) is not committed to a denial of the possibility or even actuality of real connexion, but only to the contention that as such it is beyond our powers of comprehension.”33 Thus, the skeptical realists have refuted the positivist claim of regular succession. But is this itself an accurate interpretation of Humean thought? Blackburn argues it is not. According to him, skeptical realists would have to characterize Hume’s position on what he refers to as either the nexus or the strait jacket.34 The nexus is the idea that if αλφα were to occur, βετα would necessarily follow, in a dependent, causal relationship.

But if this were so, then it must be part of the natural order, immune from Hume’s critique of the uniformity of nature. Blackburn calls this desire a straitjacket on the possible course of nature, and a ‘time-proof connexion’, thereby rigidly governing how things could ever fall out.35 The demands of such limitations make it impossible to consider a realist approach in light of the importance of Hume’s skepticism.

Blackburn’s solution is to introduce a third interpretation,

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that Hume’s philosophy is a form of anti-realism, an underused concept that essentially means that there is no universal reality, only individual truths. Unlike the skeptical realists, who claim there is such reality, in the form of necessary connection that remains unknown to us (the skeptical side of the term), Blackburn maintains that not only can we not know causality, but the experience of such is individualized, which fits well with the argument of Hume’s epistemology being subjective. Blackburn defends this viewpoint by saying that: “upon experience of such a regular succession the mind changes… functionally: it becomes organized so that the impression of the antecedent event gives rise to the idea of a subsequent event. No new aspect of the world is revealed by this change: it is strictly non-representative, just like the onset of a passion, with which Hume frequently compares it. But once it takes place we think of the events as thickly connected; we become confident of the association, we talk of causation, and of course we act and plan in the light of that confidence.”36 Such a shift in the organization of ideas can only be done on an individual basis, as I have already argued that experience, the source of the mind’s ideas, is always individually unique. He goes on to apply this idea to the two definitions, arguing that the first describes the contribution of the world in so far as we can apprehend it (our impression of causality), and the second describes the functional difference in the mind that apprehends the regularity (our idea of causality), acknowledging that each represent different aspects of our awareness of causality and not to be viewed as strict definitions in the positivist sense.37 What are the implications of such a shift in opinion in regards to Hume’s epistemology? His skepticism of universal truths combined with an individualized theory of knowledge aims at the heart of rationalism, and only in this form can it ultimately be successful in addressing in a systematic way how one can know anything, as opposed to how everyone can know one

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thing. Of course, such freedom from limitation and openness to interpretation frightened some later philosophers, and prompted Kant’s defense of metaphysics and attempt at reconciling individual existence with universal truth. Hume’s philosophy stretches beyond Kant’s efforts, however, as it predates a postmodernism it may very well have found a home in. The similarities between the two in regards to their dismissal of metanarratives and openings for a pluralist theory of truth is a topic that is begging to be explored further, in another work. For our purposes it suffices to conclude by saying that Hume successfully introduced the subject into modern epistemology, an omission curious when asking “what do we know,” and did so systematically.

Notes 1. Beauchamp, Tom ed. David Hume: An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, (New York: Oxford Press, 1999), hereafter abbreviated as Enquiry in the text and E with the appropriate section and paragraph in notes.

2. “Henceforth, the author desires, that the following pieces may alone be regarded as containing his philosophical sentiments and principles.”

E, Advertisement 3. E7, 26-27 4. E7, 30 5. He ends the similar section in the Treatise with essentially the same two cryptic definitions, interesting not only in their placement within the discussion but also in their obscurity. Hume, David, A Treatise of Human Nature (1739), ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge, 2nd edn. rev. P. H. Nidditch (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), I, iii, 14 6. E7, 29 7. Treatise, I, iii, 14

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8. Richards, T. J., Hume’s Two Definitions of “Cause”, in Hume, ed. V.C. Chappell, (London: Macmillan, 1968), pgs. 148-161 9. Robinson, J. A., Hume’s Two Definitions of “Cause” Reconsidered, in Hume, ed. V.C. Chappell, (London: Macmillan, 1968), pgs. 162-168 10. Craig, Edward, The Idea of Necessary Connexion, from The Mind of God and the Works of Man, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987) in Reading Hume on Human Understanding, ed. Peter Millican, (New York: Oxford Press, 2002), pg. 224 11. Ibid, pg. 224 12. Don Garrett, for one, wrestles at length with the validity of different ways of approaching conflict between the two definitions. Garrett, Don, Cognition and Commitment in Hume’s Philosophy, (New York: Oxford Press, 1997), pgs. 96-117 13. Craig, pg. 227 14. Broackes, Justin, Hume, Belief, and Personal Identity, in Reading Hume on Human Understanding, ed. Peter Millican, (New York: Oxford Press, 2002), pg. 188 15. Ibid, pg. 188 16. E5, 11-13 17. E2, 3 18. E7, 30 19. E5, 13-14 20. “All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be founded on the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of that relation alone we can go beyond the evidence of our memory and senses.” E4, 4 21. Deleuze, Gilles, Empiricism and Subjectivity: An Essay on Hume’s Theory of Human Nature, (New York: Columbia Press, 1991), pg. 18 22. Treatise, I, iv, 6 23. Deleuze, pg. 97 24. E7, 6; see also E7, 26 quoted earlier in this paper.

25. “All that ever happens in the world independently of mind is that one thing succeeds another and resembles other instances that followed similar antecedents.” Stroud, Barry, The Quest for Reality, (New York: Oxford Press, 2000), pg. 11 26. Strawson, Galen, David Hume: Objects and Power, from The Secret Connexion, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989) in Reading Hume on Human Understanding, ed. Peter Millican, (New York: Oxford Press, 2002), pg.

231 27. Hume’s term for the unknown connection between events, E4, 16

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28. Wright, John, The Skeptical Realism of David Hume, (Manchester: Manchester Press, 1983) 29. Blackburn, Simon, Hume and Thick Connexions, from Essays in QuasiRealism, (New York: Oxford Press, 1993) in Reading Hume on Human Understanding, ed. Peter Millican, (New York: Oxford Press, 2002), pg.

260 30. such as: “the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe, that it will exist.

This connection, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this customary transition of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or impression, from which we form the idea of power or necessary connexion.� E7, 28; Quoted by Craig, pg. 220 31. Strawson, pg. 235-6 32. Ibid, pg. 254-5 33. Smith, N. Kemp, The Philosophy of David Hume, (London: Macmillan, 1941), pg. 398 34. Blackburn, pg. 266 35. Ibid, pg. 264 36. Ibid, pg. 269 37. Ibid, pg. 270

Works Cited Beauchamp, Tom ed. David Hume: An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, (New York: Oxford Press, 1999) Blackburn, Simon, Hume and Thick Connexions, from Essays in QuasiRealism, (New York: Oxford Press, 1993) in Reading Hume on Human Understanding, ed. Peter Millican, (New York: Oxford Press, 2002) Broackes, Justin, Hume, Belief, and Personal Identity, in Reading Hume on Human Understanding, ed. Peter Millican, (New York: Oxford Press, 2002)

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Craig, Edward, The Idea of Necessary Connexion, from The Mind of God and the Works of Man, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987) in Reading Hume on Human Understanding, ed. Peter Millican, (New York: Oxford Press, 2002) Deleuze, Gilles, Empiricism and Subjectivity: An Essay on Hume’s Theory of Human Nature, New York: Columbia Press, 1991) Garrett, Don, Cognition and Commitment in Hume’s Philosophy, (New York: Oxford Press, 1997) Hume, David, A Treatise of Human Nature (1739), ed. L. A. Selby-Bigge, 2nd edn. rev. P. H. Nidditch (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978) Richards. T. J., Hume’s Two Definitions of “Cause”, in Hume, ed. V.C. Chappell, (London: Macmillan, 1968) Robinson, J. A., Hume’s Two Definitions of “Cause” Reconsidered, in Hume, ed. V.C. Chappell, (London: Macmillan, 1968) Smith, N. Kemp, The Philosophy of David Hume, (London: Macmillan, 1941) Strawson, Galen, David Hume: Objects and Power, from The Secret Connexion, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989) in Reading Hume on Human Understanding, ed. Peter Millican, (New York: Oxford Press, 2002) Stroud, Barry, The Quest for Reality, (New York: Oxford Press, 2000) Wright, John, The Skeptical Realism of David Hume, (Manchester: Manchester Press, 1983)

Metaphors of Objectivity Adam Westra INTRODUCTION

H

istorical meta-epistemology, to use Ian Hacking's term, is a method for understanding epistemological concepts. It involves studying the evolution of such concepts as they change depending on who is using them and in what historical period. An important example of such a concept is objectivity: "Objectivity denotes a family of ideas, from matriarch to great-grandchild, from renegade uncle to stalwart but lonely aunt."1 That the collection of 'objectivities' should be expressed by a metaphor is particularly apt, as metaphor is an important means by which different conceptions of objectivity are expressed. Metaphors are especially prominent in the work of two major theorists of scientific objectivity, Sir Francis Bacon and Sir Karl Popper. An analysis of these metaphors sheds light on the theories' key elements, basic assumptions, and respective conceptual, cultural, and historical contexts. The results of this analysis point to a problematic relationship between Bacon and Popper's theories of objectivity and the metaphors used to express them.

In terms of procedure, I begin by clarifying what I understand by "metaphor." I then analyse Bacon and Popper's metaphors by paying close attention to their metaphorical language.

Finally, I expose the problems posed for these theories as a result of their use of metaphor, and sketch some of the ways in which metaphor can help yield a better understanding of epistemological concepts and of science.

Adam Westra graduates this May, after having completed the Honours Philosophy program at the University of British Columbia, in Vancouver. He is originally from Calgary, Alberta, and has also lived in France and the Netherlands. In the fall, he will begin a Master's program in philosophy at the UniversitĂŠ de MontrĂŠal, where he will study philosophical hermeneutics, ancient philosophy, and Kant.

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WHAT IS METAPHOR? There are many theories of metaphor. As a result, there are many different, sometimes conflicting, views of metaphor's nature and function. Choosing one particular theory would require extensive justification, which I am unable to provide here – that would be a paper in itself. Also, as Ortony has pointed out, one's view of metaphor often depends on one's view of objectivity, and vice versa – and I do not wish to pre-judge my topic.2 As a result of these considerations, I suggest the following broad, nontechnical – and, I hope, uncontroversial – formulation of metaphor: "the essence of metaphor is understanding […] one kind of thing in terms of another."3 Metaphor is expressed by metaphorical language; this broad conception includes simile and analogy. On this basis, I will identify and analyse the metaphors present in Bacon and Popper's theories; the analysis will reveal their nature and function in context, rather than in general.

BACON'S METAPHORS Sir Francis Bacon, "the father of modern science," as he is sometimes called, is one of the most important figures in the history and philosophy of science. There is no doubt that, for Bacon, modern science is meant to be objective.4 His intentions are clear: "I am building in the human understanding a true model of the world, not such as a man's own reason would have it be."5 Elsewhere, he states that scientific knowledge refers to the universe, not to man.6 Bacon relies heavily on metaphors to explain and defend his conception of scientific objectivity. In fact, almost every page of the New Organon contains metaphorical language, and extended metaphorical passages are common. These metaphors express Bacon's vision of objective knowledge, his method for obtaining such knowledge, and the legitimacy, justification, and value of his project.

What is objective knowledge, for Bacon? Objectivity is best understood in relation to its converse, subjectivity.7 Bacon expresses the nature of subjective and objective knowledge by

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means of the metaphor of light. Bacon devotes a great deal of effort to characterizing human subjectivity and explaining how it results in erroneous beliefs about the world. His treatment of the Four Idols is well known, and, although it is thoroughly metaphorical, I will not go into it here because it has already been studied extensively. The metaphor of light condenses the conclusions of the Four Idols treatment into a single image: "the human understanding is like a false mirror which, receiving rays irregularly, distorts and discolors the nature of things by mingling its own nature with it."8 The idea that the mind is a mirror which reflects the external world is one of the oldest and most deeplyrooted beliefs in Western philosophy. This metaphor clearly exposes one of Bacon's most basic assumptions about the nature of the mind. It can also be seen as a manifestation of a general operating assumption common to many philosophers of the seventeenth century, namely, that any account of knowledge must begin with an account of the mind.

Bacon's conception of objective knowledge is expressed by the same light metaphor: "the knowledge of simple natures well examined and defined is as light."9 This light, however, is not scattered or distorted by the uneven mirror of the mind; rather, objective knowledge is a reflection of the "genuine rays of things."10 It is attained in the following manner: "I, on the contrary, dwelling purely and constantly among the facts of nature, withdraw my intellect from them no further than may suffice to let the images and rays of natural objects meet in a point, as they do in the sense of vision; whence it follows that the strength and excellency of wit has but little to do in the matter."11 Objective knowledge is genuine knowledge of the facts of nature, independent of subjective distortions.12 This metaphor is completely intelligible to readers today, as we are familiar with the phenomenon of the refraction of light and its role in vision. But it is precisely because this imagery is so commonplace to us that we risk missing the full significance of the metaphor in Bacon’s philosophy. For that, we must relate it to its historical context. What we discover is that such a metaphor simply would not have been possible before the seventeenth century. Bacon is referring to the

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spectacular contemporary discoveries in the field of optics regarding the composition and refraction of light, the properties of convex and concave lenses, the working of the eye, etc. by men like Kepler, Newton, and Descartes. The historical context, thus, allows us to appreciate the novelty of Bacon's metaphor. It also reveals its powerful rhetorical function: Bacon manages to associate his conception of objectivity with the revolutionary discoveries and progress made by the scientific greats of his century. Finally, we see that Bacon's argument is circular in that this metaphor for objectively true scientific knowledge relies on our prior acceptance of the objective truth of the scientific discoveries upon which it is based.

Bacon, like many other philosophers of the seventeenth century, believed that a proper method was the key to obtaining knowledge. As has already been stated, there was also a strong preoccupation with the mind during that period. In addition, Bacon attached a high value to instruments - products of, and means for producing, works. All of these motivations are combined in a metaphor: method is an instrument for the mind. This metaphor is so important that it is introduced in the second aphorism of the New Organon: "Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions."13 Bacon's method is a collection of instruments that caution the human understanding against the dangers of subjectivity, and guide it towards objective knowledge of nature by means of the true induction.

The instruments of the mind metaphor is justified by the power and utility of the instruments of the hand in Bacon's world. Of "printing, gunpowder, and the magnet," he claims that "no empire, no sect, no star seems to have exerted greater power and influence in human affairs than these mechanical arts."14 Thus "human knowledge and human power meet in one;" each justifies the other.15 Via the mariner's needle, Bacon metaphori-

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cally links global exploration with intellectual exploration. This instrument, a guide to the mariner, made possible the discovery of the New World. Likewise, Bacon's intellectual instrument, a guide to the mind, will open up vast new intellectual horizons.16 Thus, by means of metaphor, Bacon manages to associate his method with the most successful instruments of his day, and all of their impressive and valuable discoveries.

The metaphor also functions polemically: it is a devastating illustration of the obsolescence of Scholasticism and the ancient knowledge upon which it was based. Aristotle had simply never seen printing, gunpowder, or magnets; his intellectual horizon encompassed the Old World, but not beyond. This powerful rhetoric was made possible by the historical circumstances.

Bacon's metaphor reveals how closely objectivity in the seventeenth century was associated with technological developments.

Here we see the beginnings of the linkage of objective science with progress, an important idea in the history of objectivity. It is important to note that for Bacon, unlike for many later thinkers (e.g. Popper), objective science is linked not to an abstract conception of progress (e.g. Popper's formula for rational progression), but to concrete technological products – instruments that tangibly increase man's power over the natural world.

For Bacon, objective science's legitimacy, justification, and value are metaphorically expressed through the image of fruit.

Indeed, all three of these elements are brought together by the metaphor of fruit. This metaphor links Bacon's objective science to a religious context: "Wherefore, as in religion we are warned to show our faith by works, so in philosophy by the same rule the system should be judged of by its fruits, and be pronounced frivolous if it be barren; more especially if, in place of fruits of grape and olive, it bears thorns and briars of dispute and contention."17 The value of Bacon’s philosophy derives from its capacity to produce fruits: knowledge and technology that increase man's power over nature. These fruits also justify it, just as the faithful are justified on the Day of Judgment by their good works.

This metaphor, explicitly linked as it is to religion, can only be fully understood in its specifically Christian context.

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Fruit imagery is ubiquitous in the Bible; Bacon's Christian readers would likely have associated his metaphor with a passage like this one, from Jesus' Sermon on the Mount: "Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will know them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorns, or figs from thistles? In the same way, every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit."18 Fruits, according to this way of thinking, are objective evidence of legitimacy. Indeed, the need to distinguish false prophets from legitimate ones was especially acute in Bacon's time. The seventeenth century was characterized by religious turmoil, after new "prophets" like Luther and Calvin had proclaimed new religious truths, and accusations of heresy flew back and forth. Bacon's fruit metaphor would have resonated with readers who desperately sought objective proof of legitimacy and truth in an age when all was in doubt, in religion as in philosophy.

The image of fruit and the associated images of harvesting express Bacon's deeply religious view of the task of science: redemption. Fruits are cultivated and harvested by the farmer; Bacon patiently applies his method to produce works. "For though it is true that I am principally in pursuit of works […], yet I wait for harvest time, and do not attempt to mow the moss or to reap the green corn."19 Bacon, as the farmer, assumes the role of Adam, who was condemned to labour the earth in the sweat of his brow as a punishment for original sin.20 The religious hope is that such labour is redemptive, that "if we labour in thy works with the sweat of our brows, thou wilt make us partakers of thy vision and thy Sabbath."21 Objective knowledge (God's vision) and spiritual redemption (God's Sabbath) meet in one. Bacon firmly anchors his project's legitimacy, justification, and value in the religious context of his time.

POPPERS'S METAPHORS Sir Karl Popper was one of the most influential proponents of scientific objectivity of the twentieth century. His posi-

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tion is clear: "All work in science is work directed towards the growth of objective knowledge. We are workers who are adding to the growth of objective knowledge as masons work on a cathedral."22 As this quotation illustrates, Popper, like Bacon, was strongly committed to scientific objectivity, and employed metaphor to explain and defend his position.

Popper's account of objective knowledge rests on his ontology of the three worlds: the physical world, the mental world, and "the world of intelligibles, or of ideas in the objective sense; it is the world of possible objects of thought, the world of theories in themselves, and their logical relations; of arguments in themselves; and of problem situations in themselves."23 All objective knowledge belongs to and thereby constitutes "World 3."

In "Knowledge: Objective Versus Subjective," Popper takes a "biological approach" to World 3; that is, he explains it in biological terms. His first thesis regarding World 3 is that it is produced by humans: "World 3 is a natural product of the human animal, comparable to a spider's web."24 Popper's second thesis is that World 3 is autonomous.25 This is the crux of his argument: theories-in themselves and the other members of World 3 are emphatically not mental ideas in the subjective sense – if they were, they would not be objective. In order to explain these two theses, Popper invokes several more analogies: "nests built by wasps or ants; the burrows of badgers, dams constructed by beavers, or paths made by animals in forests."26 Popper's third thesis explicitly appeals to analogy: "there is a close analogy between the growth of objective knowledge and biological growth; that is, the evolution of plants and animals."27 How are we to understand this "biological approach?"

Bloor explains the strategy as follows: "the point of these analogies is that they allow a naturalistic conception of knowledge as being man-made, but they indicate that, once produced, it is independent of its maker."28 This is, indeed, Popper's main argumentative point, but I think that the analogies convey much more than this by means of their extended associations.

Nests, dams, burrows, and the like are all tangible physical objects. In the context of the analogy, this is so obvious as to

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go without saying, but, in fact, Popper wants very much for the attribute of tangibility to be associated with objective knowledge.29 Indeed, elsewhere Popper explains our interaction with objective knowledge in precisely such terms: "[the mind] can also 'see' or 'grasp' an arithmetical or geometrical object; a number, or a geometrical figure. But although, in this sense, 'see' or 'grasp' is used in a metaphorical way, it nevertheless denotes a real relationship between the mind and its intelligible object."30 This objectivity reinforces, and is reinforced by, other metaphors, like knowledge is a cathedral, that also make this association. Together, these metaphors ease tensions in Popper's ontology. For example, qua physical objects, books and libraries belong to the physical world; qua humanly-produced objective knowledge, they belong to World 3. The metaphorical association of World 3 with physical objects eases (or hides) such tensions, because within the context of the analogies, where everything is physical, there is no such contradiction.

These analogies associatively imbue scientific objectivity with several glowing attributes. Nests and spiders' webs and the like are complex, ordered, creative, and indispensable to survival. This can be read as an effective rhetorical device, and also as a testament to how highly Popper esteems objective science and its role in society.

The last feature to which I wish to draw attention is the wider context of the analogies. The objects Popper employs to express his vision of objectivity are significant for their intrinsic attributes, as we have seen, but it is essential to see that Popper explicitly characterizes them as objects of study, within the framework of biological science.31 The acquisition of objective knowledge is likened to animal and plant evolution – a reference to evolutionary theory in biology. Elsewhere, Popper compares scientific progress to DNA replication, thereby situating his theory in the framework of genetics. Now, if one were asked which field of science achieved the greatest and most influential breakthroughs of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, there is no doubt that biology, with its theories of evolution and genetics, would be one of the prime candidates. The choice of analogies

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from biology is far from accidental. Popper is associating his theory of scientific objectivity with arguably the most successful scientific field of his day. This is the same strategy that Bacon used in the case of optics; it is just as rhetorically effective, and just as circular.

I agree with Bloor that, for the most part, these biological analogies effectively communicate Popper's conception of objective knowledge.32 The problem, however, is that Popper also defends his view by analogy; he moves from the realm of biology to World 3 to make positive claims, but retreats back to the realm of biology to defend himself. For example, Popper addresses the objections to his ontology as follows: "The thesis of the existence of such a world of problem situations will strike many as extremely metaphysically dubious. But it can be defended by pointing out its biological analogue. For example, it has its full analogue in birds' nests."33 In like manner, he attempts to refute the subjectivist approach to knowledge with analogies: "This view is mistaken in many ways. A wasps' nest is a wasps' nest even after it has been deserted [‌] A bird's nest is a bird's nest even if it was never lived in."34 The fundamental problem with this argumentative strategy is that it misuses analogy: analogy can be used to explain a thesis, but not to justify it. At least, this is so in a case like Popper's, who clearly conceives his theory to be independent of the analogy (i.e., to be independently valid and apply beyond the realm of biology). The theory is the subjectmatter of the objections, not the analogy. Thus, if Popper's theory is to be independently valid and applicable, it must be defendable on its own terms, but, instead, Popper retreats to his bird's nest.35 Popper employs this same strategy elsewhere. In "Normal Science and Its Dangers," he addresses Kuhn's challenge to his account of scientific objectivity. He presents his version of Kuhn's view in the following terms: "This is a widely accepted and indeed a fashionable thesis: the thesis of relativism. And it is a logical thesis. ‌ I have dubbed this thesis The Myth of the Framework [‌] I regard it as a logical and philosophical mistake."36 This quotation illustrates the contradictory nature of Pop-

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per's argumentative strategy. On the one hand, the opposing thesis is characterized in logical terms. On the other hand, Popper's frames the debate in terms that are not logical at all, but metaphorical: the opposing thesis is not a logical argument, but rather a passing "fashion," en vogue this season, soon to be passÊ; moreover, the thesis does not even belong to the realm of logic and philosophy – it is a "myth," irrational and false. Thus Popper himself is guilty of making a "logical and philosophical mistake:" according to his formulation, the thesis of relativism is both logical and alogical.

Popper replies to this thesis by a series of metaphors and analogies, not by strictly logical argument. Indeed, he never really interprets the relativist thesis logically, so it is not surprising that he does not refute them in such terms. Rather, he interprets the thesis metaphorically, and responds in kind: I do admit that at any moment we are prisoners caught in the framework of our theories; our expectations; our past experiences; our language.

But we are prisoners in a Pickwickian sense: if we try, we can break out of our framework at any time. Admittedly, we shall find ourselves again in a framework, but it will be a better and roomier one; and we can at any moment break out of it again.37 Similarly, his reply to the relativist idea that "different frameworks are like mutually untranslatable languages" remains internal to the analogy. He points out that different languages, like English and Hopi, can in fact be translated.38 After several additional metaphors, Popper concludes his attack on the Myth of the Framework by restating his account of scientific objectivity: "'scientific knowledge' may be regarded as subjectless. It may be regarded as a system of theories on which we work as do masons on a cathedral."39 We are back where we started; Popper's explanation of objectivity and his defence of it are thoroughly metaphorical.

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THE DILEMMA The foregoing analysis of metaphor in Bacon and Popper's theories of objectivity reveals, in short, that metaphor explains and defends key concepts in a fashion that could not be done literally, and links each theory to the wider conceptual, cultural, and historical context upon which it depends. These theories are not independent of the metaphors used to explain and defend them. In reality, metaphor is significantly constitutive of them. Herein lies the problem. Metaphor, given its nature and function in Bacon and Popper's theories, does not match their own conceptions of what objectivity is supposed to be. Metaphor is not objective, but their theories of objectivity are significantly metaphorical. The result is a dilemma, of which both horns lead to the same problematic result. On the one hand, to the extent that we accept the metaphors, we must reject their accounts of objectivity. On the other hand, to the extent that we reject the metaphors, we must reject the accounts of objectivity to which they are integral.40 I will now outline the problem as it arises in connection with three central characteristics of objectivity for Bacon and Popper: the distinction between knower and known, the association of objectivity and rationality, and the rejection of frameworks.

Objectivity is founded on the distinction between the knower and the known. Subject and object are meant to be as distinct as possible. For Bacon, objective knowledge refers to the universe, not to man. For Popper, "knowledge in the objective sense is knowledge without a knower: it is knowledge without a knowing subject."41 In metaphor, however, the knower and the known are not separate. Rather, the essence of metaphor is to condense and unite the various elements under consideration into a single image, which cannot be teased apart. Metaphor makes the boundaries between categories fluid, not rigid. In addition, metaphor, in order to be understood, implicates a situated subject. It is a view from somewhere, a viewpoint of someone in particular.

Understanding Bacon's fruit metaphor, for example, depends on

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assuming the particular perspective of an educated, Christian person in the seventeenth century. So, to the extent that Bacon and Popper's theories are constituted by metaphor, they are not, by their own standards, objective. Thus, if we reject metaphor because it is not objective, we must then reject the theories on the same grounds. On the other hand, if we accept that Bacon and Popper's theories contribute to the growth of knowledge, then we must also accept that metaphor tells us something true about the world, and that therefore, contrary to these same theories, that there is such a thing as non-objective knowledge.

Objectivity, according to Bacon and Popper, is supposed to be associated with rationality (recall also that both philosophers accuse rival accounts of being illogical and irrational). For Popper, scientific progress is a rational process. Bacon claims that by means of his philosophy he has "established forever a true and lawful marriage between the empirical and rational faculty."42 This quotation illustrates the problem vividly. The very statement which asserts the rationality of objective science literally makes no sense. Faculties are not persons: it makes no sense to say that they can be married. How can a philosophy be a marriage at all? But the metaphor asserts just this, it asserts that Bacon's philosophy is something which it obviously is not. Indeed, "we can even say, in a general fashion, that the strategy of discourse by means of which the metaphoric utterance obtains its result is absurdity."43 Moreover, logical statements are, by the Law of the Excluded Middle, either true or false. Popper lays great emphasis on the falsifiability of scientific theories. But metaphors are not obviously falsifiable. Take Popper's claim that "we can break out of our prison at any moment." In virtue of what is it true or false? How could it be falsified? Either the above statements and all those like them are absurd, in which case the theoretical claims they make are also absurd, or they are not absurd and the account of objective truth is mistaken (or at least incomplete).

For Bacon and Popper, science yields objective knowledge of the universe as it is in itself, not relative to humans. With Popper this conception is especially important, as he must de-

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fend it against rival theories which stress the importance of frameworks in science and indeed all human knowledge acquisition. Through our analysis of metaphor, however, we have seen that frameworks are essential to these very theories of objectivity.

First of all, metaphor links these theories to the wider frameworks in which they have their being (e.g. for Bacon: religion, optics, technological inventions, global exploration). Moreover, just as Kuhn suggests that frameworks, or paradigms, can be thought of as metaphors blown large, I believe that metaphors are mini-frameworks. So when Popper, for example, likens World 3 to the productions of birds and other animals, he actually incorporates it into whole system of associations, like tangibility, utility, complexity, and so forth. The theories belong to large frameworks, and are themselves made up of miniframeworks. When it comes to defending his theory against "The Myth of the Framework," Popper resorts to a whole string of metaphors; while he insists that frameworks do not constrain us because we can escape from them, he is capable neither of escaping from them, nor of providing an answer which would be verifiable or falsifiable outside of these frameworks. Either we accept metaphor and its associated frameworks as integral to the theories of objectivity, in which case the theories refute themselves, or we reject these frameworks, leaving the theories broken and unable to defend themselves against opposing views.

CONCLUSION: UNDERSTANDING EPISTEMOLOGY AND SCIENCE THROUGH METAPHOR I would now like to briefly point to some of the implications of these findings on studying objectivity and other epistemological concepts, as well as science. The first point is a methodological one. Metaphor, with its significant and distinctive role in expressing and defending conceptions of objectivity, as well as its close, mutually illuminating ties with historical context, ought to be given close attention when seeking to understand the history of objectivity. Indeed, such analyses can be extended to other concepts when engaging in historical meta-epistemology.

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As has been shown, metaphor cannot be ignored, as it is partly constitutive of the theories under consideration, nor can it be "translated" into purely literal terms, and it certainly cannot be dismissed as mere ornamentation. Indeed, some suggest that an acknowledgement of metaphor's role in concept-formation could have far-reaching consequences for the methods of analytic philosophy in general.44 Attention to metaphor will help to better understand science. That two of the most important proponents of scientific objectivity, Bacon and Popper, should face a dilemma that undermines their views is significant. It suggests that their conceptions of objectivity, and the conceptions descended from them, face some real difficulties. I believe that the foregoing analysis provides further evidence to move us away from such views, and towards those that recognize that metaphor is pervasive in science and necessary for its development. Metaphor is instrumental in the formation of scientific concepts, as "almost everywhere one looks in science there are things being treated as something else."45 Metaphor and analogy also play an important role in scientific education. Finally, I believe that the findings of this analysis lend support to Kuhn's conception of the development of science through paradigms, and that a greater awareness of metaphor in science will deepen our understanding of the nature and function of these metaphor-like frameworks.

Notes 1. Hacking, pg. 55 2. Ortony, pg. 2 3. Lakoff and Johnson, pg. 5 4. Although I will be employing the terms "science," "objectivity," and "scientific objectivity" in discussing Bacon’s views, he himself did not

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employ these words in formulating his theory, as they had entirely different meanings in the seventeenth century.

5. Bacon, pg. 143.

6. Ibid., pg. 79.

7. Daston and Gallison, pg. 82.

8. Bacon, pg. 96.

9. Ibid., pg. 141.

10. Ibid., pg. 73.

11. Ibid., pg. 73.

12. This conception resembles Daston and Gallison’s account of mechanical objectivity. The desire to let nature speak for itself, as well as the distrust of the particular aptitudes of the knower (“strength and excellency of wit”) are emphasized in both conceptions. Interestingly, the imagery of mirrors and the convergence of light rays, metaphorical in Bacon, literally apply to the camera.

13. Bacon, pg. 90.

14. Ibid., pg. 146.

15. Ibid., pg. 146.

16. Ibid., pg. 73.

17. Ibid., pg. 113.

18. Matthew 7:15-17.

19. Bacon, pg. 81.

20. Genesis 3:19.

21. Bacon, pg. 85.

22. Popper, pg. 65.

23. Bloor, 1974, pg. 66.

24. Popper, pg. 63.

25. Ibid., pg. 64.

26. Ibid., pg. 64.

27. Ibid., pg. 64.

28. Bloor, 1974, pg. 68.

29. Ibid., pg. 68.

30. Ibid., pg. 68.

31. Popper, pg. 64.

32. Bloor, 1974, pg. 68.

33. Popper, pg. 68.

34. Ibid., pg. 67.

35. By contrast, Frege, with whom Popper associates his own theory, does provide such a defence. Frege rigorously explains and defends his theory of an objective "third realm" in logical and philosophical terms.

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36. Popper, pg. 56.

37. Ibid., pg. 56.

38. In fact, this misconstrues Kuhn’s analogy. According to Kuhn, proponents of different paradigms are like the speakers of different languages. He acknowledges that they are mutually translatable (within limits), and he does not deny that "there are many Hopis or Chinese who have learnt to master English very well" (Popper: 56). Indeed, it is precisely this process of learning to speak a new language like a native that is analogous to changing paradigms. The incommensurability thesis (which, I believe, is Popper’s real target here) does not assert the impossibility of translation, but rather points to the fact that a person cannot speak in more than one language at the same time. See Kuhn, The Essential Tension, 1997.

39. Popper, pg. 57.

40. I wish to emphasize that I do not consider these contradictions to be total or of a purely logical nature (hence, the term ‘dilemma’ should not be taken in the strictly formal sense that it has in logic); rather, I assert that the metaphors are problematic to the extent that, or insofar as their nature and function conflict with the theories of which they are a part.

41. Popper, pg. 60.

42. Bacon, pg. 81.

43. Ricoeur, pg. 50.

44. See Bloor’s "Dialectics of Metaphor," 1971, and Lakoff and Johnson’s Metaphors We Live By, 2003.

45. Bloor, 1971, pg. 431.

Works Cited Bacon, Francis. Selected Philosophical Works. Edited and introduced by Rose-Mary Sargent. Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company Inc., 1999.

Bloor, David. "Popper's Mystification of Objective Knowledge," Science Studies, Vol. 4, No. 1, Jan., 1974.

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Bloor, David. "The Dialectics of Metaphor," Inquiry, Vol. 14, 1971.

Daston, Lorraine and Peter Gallison. "The Image of Objectivity," Representations, Vol 40, 1992.

Hacking, Ian. "Historical Meta-Epistemology." In Wahrheit und Geschicte. Gรถtingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1999.

Kuhn, Thomas S. The Essential Tension: Selected Studies in Scientific Tradition and Change. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1977.

Lackoff, George and Mark Johnson. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University of Chicago Press Ltd., 2003.

Ortony, Andrew, ed. Metaphor and Thought. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993.

Popper, Karl. "Knowledge: Objective Versus Subjective." In Popper Selections, edited by David Miller. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985.

Ricoeur, Paul. Interpretation Theory. Fort Worth: Texas Christian University Press, 1973.

Episteme Announces the Scheduled Publication of Volume XIX • May 2008

CALL FOR PAPERS

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