PROTO SOCIOLOGY VOL. 8 9, 1996 RATIONALITY II & III

PROTO SOCIOLOGY An International Journal of Interdisciplinary Research VOL. 8/9, 1996 RATIONALITY II & III Content INTERPRETATION, INTENTIONS AND PROPOSITIONAL ATTITUDES David K. Henderson Epistemic Rationality, Epistemic Motivation, and Interpretive Charity

4

Roger F. Gibson Stich on Intentionality and Rationality

31

Alfred Mele Rational Intentions and the Toxin Puzzle

41

John Heil The Propositional Attitudes

56

Volkmar Taube Exemplifikatorische Darstellung: Zu den Grundlagen einer kognitiven Ästhetik

72

NATURALIZED EPISTEMOLOGY, RATIONALITY AND NORMATIVITY Paul K. Moser, David Yandell Against Naturalizing Rationality

86

Harvey Siegel Naturalism, Instrumental Rationality and the Normativity of Epistemology

103

Ralf Naumann Internal Realism, Rationality and Dynamic Semantics

118

Axel Wüstehube Noch einmal: Rationalität und Normativität

158

RATIONAL EXPLANATION, REASONING AND JUSTIFICATION Philip Pettit Three Aspects of Rational Explanation

181

Keith Lehrer Rationality and Trustworthiness

195

Alexander Ulfig Stufen der Rechtfertigung

210

CONCEPTS OF PRACTICAL RATIONALITY Peter A. French Rationality and Ethics

226

Pierre Kerszberg Feeling and Coercion: Kant and the Deduction of Right

240

Raymound Boudon 255 Une éthique est-elle possible en l’absence de croyances dogmatiques? Raimo Tuomela Rational Cooperation and Collective Goals

280

Wolfgang Welsch Vernunft heute

315

REVIEWS Axel Wüstehube (Hrsg.), Pragmatische Rationalitätstheorien. Studies in Pragmatism, Idealism and Philosophy of Mind

357

(Andreas Vieth) Martina Herrmann, Identität und Moral. Zur Zuständigkeit von Personen für ihre Vergangenheit

352

(Michael Quante) Wulf Kellerwessel, Referenztheorien in der analytischen Philosophie (Achim Berndzen)

358

John McDowell, Mind and World (Wolf-Jürgen Cramm)

365

Peter Clark & Bob Hale (eds.), Reading Putnam; Christopher S. Hill (ed.), The Philosophy of Hilary Putnam (Michael Quante)

373

Wolfgang J. Mommsen, Bürgerliche Kultur und künstlerische Avantgarde 1870-1918. Kultur und Politik im Kaiserreich

379

(Peter Hoeres) Wolfgang Ludwig Schneider, Die Beobachtung von Kommunikation. Zur kommunikativen Konstruktion sozialen Handelns (Hubert Knoblauch)

385

Bernhard Waldenfels, Antwortregister (Toni Tholen)

390

STATE OF THE ART Marcus Birke Externalismus in der Philosophie des Geistes

398

SCIENCE AND HISTORY Joseph Agassi Die gegenwärtige Rolle des Technik- und Wissenschaftshistorikers

416

AUTHORS

435

IMPRESSUM

437

BOOKPUBLIKATIONS WITHIN THE PROJECT

438

4

INTERPRETATION, INTENTIONS AND PROPOSITIONAL ATTITUDES

David K. Henderson Epistemic Rationality, Epistemic Motivation, and Interpretive Charity

abstract On what has become the received view of the principle of charity, it is a fundamental methodological constraint on interpretation that we find peoples’ intentional states patterned in ways that are characterized by norms of rationality. This recommended use of normative principles of rationality to inform intentional description is epistemically unmotivated. To say that the received view lacks epistemic motivation is to say that to interpret as it recommends would be epistemically irresponsible ans, in important respects irrational. On the alternative that I recommend, descriptive psychological generalization are what properly inform interpretation. One can readily understand the epistemic motivations for so interpreting, for they are the familiar reasons for informing description with background descriptive information. No parallel motivations for the received view seems possible.

I. Overview In part as the result of Davidson’s influential writings, it is common to read that interpretative understanding is subject to a fundamental methodological constraint, the principle of charity in interpretation, according to which we must so interpret as to find people holding true and rational beliefs, so far as possible. Of course, we will find ourselves attributing isolated false beliefs and sporadic instances of irrationality. But, it is insisted, it is the indispensable mark of good interpretation that it keeps this to a very significant minimum. Accordingly we are supposedly a priori assured that people will turn out to be

5 correct in most of their beliefs about any subject (Davidson 1984b, p. 168) and that their beliefs will be predominantly rational (Davidson, 1984b, p. 159; 1980b, pp. 6-7; 1980a, pp. 236-7). Finally, it is insisted that this robust charitable constraint is a fundamental or “basic methodological constraint” on interpretation (Davidson 1984b, pp. 159, 169; 1980b, pp. 6-7). It does not exaggerate the influence of this Davidsonian view of the (charitable) constraints on interpretation to label it the received view. The central elements of the received view that will concern me here may be summarized in the claim that it is a fundamental methodological constraint on interpretation that we look for, and find peoples’ intentional states (and actions) patterned in ways that are characterized by norms of rationality-ways that are predominantly rational. In what follows I argue that the recommended use of normative principles of rationality to inform intentional description is epistemically unmotivated - no reason has been given for thinking that it furthers our epistemic endeavor. Insofar as epistemic rationality is a matter of employing methods or cognitive practices that are well-designed for pursuit of that classical epistemic value, systematic sets of true beliefs, to say that the received view lacks epistemic motivation is to say that to interpret as it recommends would be epistemically irresponsible and, in important respects, irrational. As an alternative, I advocate what I have called the principle of explicability, according to which we must so interpret as to find people holding explicable beliefs, so far as possible. On this alternative, principles of rationality, qua normative principles, play no proper role

in

informing

interpretation;1

rather,

descriptive

psychological

generalizations are what properly inform interpretation. One can readily understand the epistemic motivations for so interpreting, as they are the familiar reasons for informing description with background descriptive information. Before launching into the arguments of this paper, I want to quickly explain the notion of epistemic rationality that serves as its background. The crux of epistemic rationality is conscientious, responsible, pursuit of our epistemic ends. In particular, it is a matter of employing means (that is methods or cognitive processes) that are conducive to our central epistemic end of arriving at a true and systematic understanding of the world.2 Put simply, it is a matter of using truth-conducive cognitive processes to generate and maintain our set of

6 beliefs. This rudimentary understanding of epistemic responsibility, and thus rationality, can be elaborated into notions of subjective and objective epistemic rationality (Pollack 1987, Henderson 1995). We can say that someone is objectively epistemically rational in holding some belief to the extent that the cognitive processes through which it is generated or sustained are truthconducive. Of course, this is the basic notion of epistemic rationality that has come to be the focus in much naturalized epistemology. We can also say that someone is subjectively rational in holding some belief to the extent that their generating or sustaining cognitive processes are ones that seem truth-conducive, given what the agent believes and given that the agent conscientiously or reflectively seeks to employ truth-conducive processes. Subjective rationality is a matter of the agent doing a conscientious, careful, and reflective job, working with their norms and what they believe - seeking to approximate being objectively rational so far as they can. A subjectively rational person will concern themselves with the epistemic motivations for the articulable procedures that they employ. Since epistemic motivations will have to do with conduciveness to the realization of epistemic values, the subjectively rational person will concern themselves with the truth-conduciveness of their procedures. Thus, to employ a procedure that is not truth-conducive is to be objectively irrational. To employ a procedure without concern for its truthconduciveness is to be subjectively irrational. It is my contention that (even after searching) we have no reason to believe that the received view formulates an objectively rational procedure. Further, there are alternative procedures that we have reason to believe are objectively rational. Accordingly, to translate just as recommended in the received view would be at least subjectively irrational, and it is probably objectively irrational. II. The central problem: epistemic motivation To begin to appreciate what is problematic about the received view of interpretation and the principle of charity, note that, on that view, interpretive practice (and thus intentional description) is sui generus. In other contexts, descriptions are informed by general information regarding how the relevant

7 sorts of events and processes do occur, how the relevant processes do tend to evolve or develop. Thus, for example, everyday and sophisticated treatments of physical processes are informed by general expectations regarding such factual matters as the lawlike relations between force and acceleration. “He didn’t just fall; he was pushed or bumped,” we might justifiably exclaim, provided we observe the one child’s sudden acceleration, even when we were shielded from viewing any physical contact between two children. Such a description is a particularly simple variant on our use of ‘f=ma’ to determine the force acting on an object by examining its acceleration.3 In contrast, on the received view, our intentional descriptions are informed by a different sort of “information” with no parallel in other descriptive contexts: by our understanding of how such psychological phenomena should proceed. Our intentional descriptions must allow us to find conformity with the (or our best) norms of rationality. Root forcefully expresses the received view regarding the special role of normative principles of rationality in interpretation: The norms or principles that guide interpretation are the norms of rationality. The thoughts that the interpreter attributes to the agent to explain her action must rationalize them. ... Minds are for the most part rational because we cannot but understand them as so (1986, p.277). McDowell (1985, p. 389), speaks of the “ideal status of the constitutive concept [of rationality]” for “the concepts of the propositional attitudes.” Interpretive understanding thus comes to seem fundamentally different from other descriptive endeavors. The point can be put in terms of the venerable debate between methodological naturalists and separatists. Methodological naturalists hold that the logic or fundamental epistemology of description and explanation in the human sciences is the same as that of the natural sciences. Methodological separatists hold that the fundamental epistemology of the human sciences is crucially different from that of other sciences. The received view is a separatist doctrine holding that interpretive understanding is constrained by normative principles, qua normative principles, in a way that has no parallel in descriptions within disciplines outside the human sciences. Borrowing Davidson’s terms, the received view holds that normative standards of

8 “coherence, rationality, and consistency” serve as a constraint on interpretation in a fashion that has “no echo in physical theory” (1980a, p. 231). What makes this variant of methodological separatism problematic (indeed what makes methodological separatism generally problematic) is the relative infirmity of its epistemological motivations. To appreciate what is at issue, let us look further at the epistemological motivations for the typical scientific use of general descriptive background knowledge to inform our descriptions. My claim is that no parallel motivation can be provided for the use of normative principles constraining or informing interpretation. Consider a case of theory-informed description which is discussed in Shapere (1982). Suppose that a physicist is looking over a record of events in a certain particle detector and responds with a remark, “There were five highenergy, solar-neutrino events during this last period.” What informs this description? What general and specific descriptive information supports or informs it? In the case Shapere describes, 400,000 liters of dry-cleaning fluid (perchloroethylene) had been placed in a container deep in the earth (about one mile down a mineshaft). After a period, helium is bubbled through the fluid so as to remove any argon that had appeared in the tank in the intervening time. The accumulated gas is placed in a second container which is itself surrounded by a particle detector capable of registering positron emissions from the gas. The number of positron emissions is a function of the number of atoms of radioactive argon in this second container. In effect, the physicist is describing the positron events registered in the particle detector as effects of, and thus records of, high-energy, solar-neutrino events in the larger tank. This description is crucially informed by a very significant conjury of general information. One needs to know that high-energy neutrinos would interact with the chlorine in the large tank to produce the radioactive isotope of argon, while lower-energy neutrinos would not. One needs to have information regarding any other kinds of interactions that would produce radioactive argon in the perchloroethylene. And one must have information regarding the likelihood of those interactions that do not involve solar neutrinos occurring in a tank situated so deep in the earth, given the nature of the surrounding rock. Does the mile of earth shield the large container adequately from events that might produce a spurious neutrino event? One needs information

9 regarding the ways in which one can remove and collect the argon produced in the large tank (their efficiency, for example). One needs information regarding the positron detecting device (its sensitivity, and how easily it is fooled). (Of course, each of these issues could be decomposed further.) Such general (and particular) descriptive information helps us pin down the description of events in the tank by informing us of what could produce what they produced (radioactive argon, and eventually blips in the particle detector), and what couldn’t, or what is very unlikely to have produced what they produced. Such information also allows us to judge how well we are sampling from various processes of interest. (What is the likelihood of an given neutrino interacting with the perchloroethylene? What is the likelihood of neutrino’s at a given energy producing argon when interacting? What is the proportion of argon we can expect to extract from the tank by bubbling helium through it? What is the sensitivity of the detector?) This general background information allows us to guard against certain errors. For example, we can guard against mistaking pseudo-neutrino-events for neutrino-events by attending to whether the mile of earth is sufficient to shield the large tank from certain interactions that might mimic neutrino events and thus render the description ill-supported. The crucial point is that by helping us determine what could have happened, what could not have happened, and what is relatively unlikely, general background descriptive information allows us to appreciate what we might be observing, what we couldn’t be observing, and the relative likelihood of observing certain alternatives. It allows us to settle upon a description when we can determine that alternative descriptions are significantly less likely to be true. It prevents us from settling on a description when alternative descriptions are equally likely to be true. Information about how things always happen, or tend to happen, is thus quite relevant to the epistemic status of descriptions of particular events. That is, from the epistemic point of view, from the point of view of the pursuit of a true system of beliefs, one is well-advised to employ what descriptive information one has in the development of further descriptive information. One is well-advised to do so, because such information allows us to determine that we are employing reliable (or truth-conducive) means of belief-fixation - and that is the central epistemic concern. Thus, informing observation or description by general theory is epistemically well-motivated. In

10 effect, by leading us to truth-conducive methods, the general procedure of informing descriptions with background theory is itself a truth-conducive method. But, what can be the epistemic motivation for using normative standards to inform interpretive descriptions. How things generally do occur is relevant to determining how things have occurred in particular cases. However, what could be the relevance of ought to is - of how things ought to occur to how they have occurred? From the point of view of the pursuit of true systems of belief, why should one seek to find some process developing in normatively appropriate ways? Why should one impose one’s best standards of rationality on one’s description of a given person or people? We have seen that it is truthconducive (and thus epistemically well-motivated) to employ general descriptive information in coming to a description of a given event, process, or state. Now, we must address the question of why we should think that it is truth-conducive to employ one’s normative standards of rationality in coming to a description of a given intentional-psychological event, process, or state. III. Replies in terms of “conceptual truths” Attempting to show epistemic motivation, the proponent of the received view might suggest that it is a matter of “stipulation,” or whatever gives rise to “conceptual truths,” that beliefs and desires are predominantly rational. Were it somehow conceptually guaranteed that beliefs are preponderantly rational, then a fundamental principle of charity would not lead you away from the truth about such beliefs. Informing our interpretative descriptions with normative standards would be truth-conducive. On the face of it, such a response is congenial to Davidson’s formulation of the principle of charity as a matter of “stipulating a structure” to be imposed in interpretation (1980b, p. 6), and with McDowell’s and Root’s developments on Davidson’s (1980a, pp. 236-7) talk of “constitutive criteria.” However, the response is itself in need of interpretation, for there are several ways of understanding “conceptual matters.” Talk of “concepts” and of what is “conceptual” is not just vague, it is ambiguous. If we are to determine what to make of this “its-a-conceptualmatter” response, we must consider the main alternative disambiguations.

11 Classically conceived, concepts were supposed to be rather like defining descriptions that were associated with terms - they were the Fregean meanings. However, as Quine (1953) and Putnam (1975a), among others, taught us, definition (and analyticity) is greatly overworked in traditional epistemology. Principles that once seemed almost definitional commonly come to function as revisable empirical propositions (as reflected in Putnam’s short history [1975a] of the Newtonian principle, ‘e=1/2mv2' ). Conceptual truths should not be understood as analytic truths. Still, much talk of concepts can be reconstrued in a less problematic fashion as having to do with the most central components of our theories. (Several of Davidson’s discussions are naturally taken as pointing in this direction.) Concepts then are understood in terms of those central components of theory that we most resist revising. On this view, concepts are still rather like descriptive formulations associated with a terms. They are those components of descriptive theory that we would resist revising, favoring instead to revise claims that would unsettle less of the relevant theory. Interestingly, this notion of concepts makes conceptual matters into matters of the structure of theory at a time. On this understanding of “concepts,” to say that it is a conceptual truth that beliefs must be predominantly rational is to say that it is central to our best present theories that beliefs are related in certain ways that we also take to be normatively appropriate, and that these expected elements of rationality are enough to lead us to expect predominant rationality. This may well be true. However, it should give no comfort to proponents of the received view. For, if the charitable use of certain normative standards is to be motivated as a “conceptual matter” along these lines, the principle of charity becomes a derivative principle, not a fundamental principle: one is advised to interpret charitably on the basis of those central portions of psychological and sociological theory that describe general tendencies to forms of cognitive processing that (incidentally) conform to our normative standards.4 Further, on this view, the best pattern to impute in interpretation is not really derivable from normative considerations, but is tailored more finely according to background theory (a point developed in section v. below). This is to make charity in interpretation a species of theory-informed description. It can then

12 be epistemologically motivated along the lines sketched above for justifying theory-informed description. However, providing such an epistemological motivation comes at the expense of abandoning central planks of the received view: charitable interpretation is no longer understood as a fundamental methodological matter, nor is it understood as a matter of imposing a pattern derived from normative standards. Over the course of the last twenty years, a very different view of concepts has developed in association with discussions of reference and meaning by Kripke (1972), Putnam (1975b; 1989 ), and Burge (1979), among others. On this view, one is said to “have,” or to “have acquired,” a certain concept (say the concept of an elm) if one has come to be incorporated within a linguistic community to the point that, by a kind of reference borrowing, one can refer to the relevant class or individual (say the class of elm trees) when using the appropriate term (‘elm’, if the relevant community speaks English, ‘ulme’, if it speaks German, and so on). It is typically added that being incorporated within the linguistic community requires learning relatively little descriptive knowledge regarding the relevant class - certainly it does not require descriptions adequate to even roughly identifying members of that class. Just as meanings “are not in the head” on this view, so concepts are apparently not in the head. It is not easy to know what would count as a “conceptual matter” or a “conceptual truth” on this view. One thing does seem clear, if there are to be interesting conceptual truths, these cannot be propositions that one learns when acquiring a concept. For, on this view, one can acquire a concept while acquiring only very sparse descriptive information (and the information can vary radically across people sharing a given concept). For example, I might know only that poplars are trees that produce a wood sometimes sold in my local lumber yard. This hardly seems the basis for a useful notion of conceptual truths. One possibility, although not one salvaging or according at all well with much talk of “conceptual truths,” is to embrace the ontological flavor of much work on the causal theory of reference, with its talk of reference to natural kinds. We might then think of concepts as something that is individuated extensionally (Putnam 1989). and it would then seem natural to think of

13 “conceptual truths” as truths about the natures of the kinds that are the referents of the natural kind terms. I really do not think that this is a helpful account of “concepts” or “conceptual truths.”5 However, I need not pursue my reservations here. Rather, I note that such an approach makes conceptual truths (on the model of Kripke’s necessary truths) matters that we discover at the conclusion of successful scientific investigation, not what we can be guaranteed of a priori. As a result, our best present information about such conceptual truths comes by way of our best present theories. Accordingly, if we are seeking to have our descriptions be informed by conceptual truths, our best bet is to let them be informed by our best evolving theories. Accordingly, we at most suspect that it is a conceptual truth that beliefs are predominantly rational; and we are only entitled to this much if, according to our best present theory, beliefs are so rational. We are thus led to an epistemic motivation for thinking in terms of theory-laden description, not of normatively laden description. It is worth recognizing one final way of understanding talk of conceptual truths, one that does not turn on any implicit or explicit notion of concepts, but rather takes it cue from the idea that charity is a “methodological” matter of “stipulating” a structure to be imposed in interpretation. Talk of conceptual truths might be taken as a way of pointing to a particular understanding of the principle of charity as a brute methodological given: the imposition of normative patterns might be understood as a matter of practice (and not of theoretical claim) that is supposedly an analogue in the realm of practice to the classical notion of analytic truths. Rather than insisting that “this is just how we define the term,” talk of conceptual truth would be a way of saying that “this is just how we do it.” So understood, in talking of conceptual truths, proponents of the received view would be flatly asserting the received view, treating it as a matter of practice and not of theory, and insisting that what practice joins together, let no theory pull apart. There are two problems with this response to the challenge of providing epistemic motivations. First, this response amounts to a refusing to address the question of the epistemic motivations of the received view. It insists that imposing normative patterns is just what we do in interpreting, and does nothing to explain why it would be an epistemically good thing to do.6 But, as a general rule, as

14 responsible agents, we cannot simply engage in cognitive practices without attention to their truth-conducivity. There may be limits to the scope of the reflectiveness to be demanded here. For example, there seem to be limits to how far we can inquire into the epistemic virtuousness of particular rudimentary perceptual practices (Henderson 1994). But surely a general and articulable practice such as that of intentional interpretation is a suitable focus, warranting epistemic attention. Second, as explained below, and as developed elsewhere (Henderson 1987, 1993), there are reasons to believe that a fundamental principle of charity does not provide the best descriptive understanding of “what we do” in sophisticated interpretive practice. I think we should conclude that talk of “conceptual truths” regarding the rationality of beliefs cannot provide epistemic motivation for informing interpretation by normative standards. We will need to look elsewhere. What then can be done here that is parallel to what can be done to motivate theoryinformed descriptions? IV. The “believing is a normative stance” response In this section I continue to search through ways one might seek to motivate the received view without appealing to significant empirical theory. (There is a deep incompatibility in any attempt to provide a theory-based motivation for a basic methodological constraint to impute a pattern stipulated by normative considerations. In section v., I develop the case against such a vindication for the received view.) The most promising theory-independent line remaining open to proponents of the received view seems to begin with the recognition that having beliefs is, at least in paradigmatic cases, a project that is disciplined by norms - all believers have and seek to conform to some set of epistemic norms.7 All believers seek to be rational. This much can be granted, when the “observation” is unpacked as follows. All believers draw some distinction between what is the case and what only seems to be the case, recognizing that some beliefs formulate what is the case, and some formulate only what seems to be the case, and are thus false. Here we have the common basis for the concern for true beliefs. Having such a concern, all believers inherit and adopt

15 standards for stasis and change in belief - standards that are supposed to further the goal of holding systematic sets of true beliefs.8 These standards are their epistemic norms - for they are those norms directing the pursuit of epistemic ends. The claim that believers strive for epistemic rationality is the claim that believers have such norms. However, I question whether these observations provide an epistemic motivation for the received view. If, from the observation that all believers seek to be rational, we could conclude that believers are preponderantly rational, we would then be entitled to conclude that interpreting so as to find rationality is itself truth-conducive, and thus epistemically well-motivated.9 The difficulty of fleshing out the suggested motivation for the received view becomes clearer when we reflect on the distinction between objective and subjective rationality. Someone is subjectively rational if they consistently and conscientiously follow their own norms in revising and adding to their stock of beliefs. On the other hand, someone is objectively rational if they do a good job, given what are correct norms of rationality, and given their stock of beliefs as raw materials from which to begin inquiry. Epistemic norms are correct insofar as the cognitive processes they recommended are well-designed for our achievement of our epistemic goals (Kitcher 1993, Henderson 1994, 1995). Since our central epistemic goal is that of arriving at a true and systematic understanding of the world, epistemic norms are correct insofar as the processes that they mandate are truth-conducive for creatures like us in the world in which we find ourselves. Our best bet for what, in particular, makes for objective rationality is provided by our best epistemic norms. So, we really have three notions to consider here: subjective rationality, rationality by our present best norms, and objective rationality. The suggestion that all believers have norms of rationality which they seek to follow provides some support for the suggestion that people will be predominantly subjectively rational. However, to appreciate the limited nature of this support, distinguish two ways of understanding peoples’ standards. The normative principles that people sincerely espouse, or better, those principles that they would seek to follow in their most conscientious and reflective moments, constitute what we may call their “reflective norms.” Reflective norms may be differ significantly from what serves as the real cognitive

16 tendencies accounting for most of their beliefs, which may be termed their “psychological norms.” First, suppose that what counts as a person’s norms (for purposes of determining subjective rationality) are their reflective norms. This will be a matter of more or less articulate epistemological rules that they seek (or would seek) to implement. However, people may systematically fail to measure up to their own norms for several reasons. The norms may require a vigilance in application that is difficult to sustain in common contexts. For example, there is a good deal of evidence that people tend to readily generalize from salient cases without attention to just how representative the cases are. A person might “know better,” and actively seek to do better when on their best behavior, and yet generally not do better in the everyday contexts where most of their beliefs are generated. Perhaps the person could do somewhat better could apply their norm much more consistently - but simply do not put out anything like the sustained effort that is needed. People also may fail to measure up to their norms because those norms are simply intractable for human beings. For example, if one reflectively adopts a coherentist epistemology of the sort advocated by BonJour, then one will probably never really begin to measure up to one’s norms, as BonJour admits (1985, pp. 102, 151-3; Henderson 1994). Or, as Cherniak (1986) has argued, if one takes certain ideals of logic as your epistemic models, then a general application of one’s norms will be intractable for any physically realizable reasoner. Whether the general pursuit of rationality leads to a preponderance of subjective rationality will be a matter of whether the individual holds norms that are appropriate to human cognizers and on the extent to which the individual (can and does) implement them conscientiously in everyday as well as special contexts. Thus, even too expect general subjective rationality judged in terms of reflective norms, we need more than the recognition that people have and seek to apply epistemic norms; we need to have empirical information regarding these additional matters. Alternatively, we might take a person’s norms to be a matter of the person’s psychological norms. On this understanding, predominant subjective rationality seems assured, as the norms themselves are understood in terms of tendencies to those common practices.

17 However, this flaccid notion of subjective rationality has little relevance for our concerns here. Admittedly, we have here found a notion of rationality that is so deflated that (relying on no descriptive theory) we can know that people are predominantly so rational, given that they have norms of rationality. Accordingly, it would be truth-conducive to so interpret as to find people subjectively rational in this deflated sense - and thus we have epistemic motivation for so doing. However, friends of the received view will not take comfort in this, and should not, for this is not the sense in which they recommend that we find people rational. Crucially, the idea of “psychological norms” seems not to be a normative notion at all, and it is central to the received view that we are to impose normative standards in interpretation. Further, regardless of which notion of “norm” is employed, we can safely say that the received view employs some notions of rationality other than subjective rationality. Its proponents write of rationality (simpliciter), of rationality as common coin, of “the norms of rationality” guiding interpretation, and thus as something that we bring to the interpretation of others; thus they write of a single notion of rationality (not an indexed one) applying to us and to those who we interpret. We are enjoined to find either rationality-by-our-lights or objective rationality. However, since our standards are our best present understanding of what makes for objective rationality, it is difficult to discern just which of these remaining alternatives is central to the received view. Perhaps it is somewhat equivocal regarding these distinct recommendations: (1) we are to seek to find people conforming to our standards, in which case we would coincidentally view them as objectively rational (as best we can determine); or instead (2) we are to seek to find them objectively rational, in which case we are imposing our best norms on our interpretation because those norms are our best understanding of what that would make for objective rationality. We can consider each alternative in turn. Neither is satisfactorily motivated. For each alternative, Davidson has articulated the beginnings of an epistemic motivation. Developing on Quine’s work, he has emphasized the respects in which interpretation is holistic: it involves concurrently sorting out how to treat significant sets of sentences, their systematic components, the beliefs expressed, the desires expressed, and actions to which the beliefs and

18 desires give rise (Davidson 1980b, 1984a, and 1984b , for particularly striking presentations). To manage this, we must look for certain patterns in the relations between items of these sort. Finding these patterns instantiated is key to knowing that we have “gotten these things right,” and thus it constrains interpretation. The bottom line, then, is that we must impose some pattern on the beliefs, desires, and actions of our subjects as we interpret them. This gets us half of an account of the epistemic motivation for the received view. The crucial remainder of the story would explain why the pattern we impose should be that which the received view envisions. Now consider the suggestion that it is a fundamental element of our interpretive methodology to impose our standards on those we interpret. Suppose that the reason for doing so has little to do with those standards providing our best understanding of objective rationality, but instead has to do with those standards being ours. What is then necessary for motivating such a procedure is an explanation of why the pattern to be imposed in interpretation should be that stipulated by our best standards of rationality, qua our standards. To provide the needed epistemic motivation, proponents of the received view must provide reasons to believe that such a procedure is truthconducive. So far as I can see, there is no explanation to be given. The problem can be decomposed. To be sure, we have an epistemological need - to find some characteristic pattern in interpretation. But, to get to the conclusion that the friends of the received view need, they must make two further, problematic, claims: first, they must insist that the structure to be imputed in intentional interpretation “must derive ... from normative considerations” (Davidson, 1980b, p. 6); second they must insist that the normative considerations involved must be ours. Both claims are unmotivated. Consider the generic claim that the pattern to be imposed must derive from normative considerations. As should be clear from section II, this claim gives rise to the central puzzle of this paper. Now, one might attempt to found its epistemic motivation on the claim that the notion of rationality and the notion of believing are intimately related insofar as believing and acting are always informed by norms. But, as we saw in the preceding section, this is not enough to lead us to expect even subjective rationality - much less rationality by our standards or by the correct standards. In sum, then, there is yet no explanation

19 for why we might expect that imposing any one set of normative standards would be truth-conducive.10 For now, I simply want to note that this generic claim remains problematic, and that the present line of thought does not help to make it less so. I will refocus on this central generic claim in the next section. Before doing so, however, I want to consider a few points having to do with the more specific claims regarding the standards to be imposed. When we turn to the claim that the pattern to be imposed in interpretation is not just to be derived from some “normative considerations” or other, but must also be derived from our best standards - qua our standards, rather than qua our best bet regarding the correct standards - we find further reasons to despair of epistemic motivations. Why should we seek to find others reasoning according to our best epistemic norms? Why not some other set of norms? Why should the recognition that all believers have some epistemic norms that they seek to follow lead us to impose our norms in our interpretation of them? The proposed policy seems particularly unlikely to be truth-conducive when we recognize that epistemic norms have shown significant variation even within the western scientific tradition. The friend of the received view seems to have two lines of response available. One possible response is to say that we should use our best epistemic norms because they are the only norms we know. This would make some epistemic sense, for we can only work from what we know. But, the claim that our best epistemic standards are “the only norms we know,” or the only norms that we readily have access to, is false. The history of science reveals significant changes in epistemic norms. Scientific knowledge is no longer understood and lauded as deductively derivable consequences of putatively certain first principles, although this was central to the norms reflectively espoused by at least one great philosopher-scientist. We know of this norm even though it is not ours. Further, we can understand such alternative standards well enough to impose them in interpretation - should we want to.11

Indeed, historical and

anthropological study has led us to find norms significantly at odds with our best epistemological norms.12 So, we now have on hand a rich supply of pattern-stipulating normative considerations. Wouldn’t imposing a pattern stipulated by norms characteristic of analogous historical, technological, and cultural contexts be more truth-conducive?

20 It is worth emphasizing that, bracketing the objections just given, this “the only norms we know” response would still only have a force when supposing that interpretation involves the imposition of norms. In that that supposition remains unmotivated, the “only norms we know” observation would, at best, only show that imposing our norms provides the sole readily employable implementation of an, as yet, unmotivated general strategy. The second possible response open to proponents of the received view would be to insist that we should impose our best normative standards - qua our standards - because we can know a priori that others’ standards will be in significant agreement. Unfortunately, this seems to suppose just the interpretive policy whose epistemic motivation is at stake.13 Their reason for supposing that others’ standards and practices accord with our own is presumably grounded on the principle of charity - understood in terms of the received view. Lastly, we should consider the suggestion that interpretive methodology requires us to find others objectively rational (so far as we can judge, of course). This suggestion is reflected in Davidson’s remark that we get clearer on the proper constraints on interpretation as we refine and improve our epistemic standards (1980b, p. 7). Again, half of the epistemic motivation for this methodology derives from the need to impose a pattern in interpretation. But, why should the pattern be that stipulated by correct norms of rationality (which we then approximate, as best we can, by using our best norms of rationality)? I believe this policy is attractive for many because they see it as the most “natural” implementation of the insistence that the constraints on interpretation must derive from “normative considerations.” In effect, we have noted that the imposition of some particular set of norms held by some people (other than our subjects, who’s standards we do not yet know) seems arbitrary.14 The present suggestion might claim the virtue of minimizing arbitrariness. Imposing (so far as we can) those norms that all the particular peoples’ norms seek to approximate and model, seems to provide a relatively nonarbitrary way of imposing fundamental normatively informed patterns. Unfortunately, this amounts to a reasonable suggestion regarding how we might implement the as yet unmotivated general policy of imposing a pattern stipulated by normative considerations. Further, we must be careful of granting

21 to much at this point. While there may be a respect in which the advice to attribute the correct standards to others may seem relatively nonarbitrary relative to the advice to attribute just some folks’ standards (say ours) to others - the sense in which such a policy would be nonarbitrary has little to do with epistemic motivations.15 Our concern here should be with epistemic motivations and whether the policy under consideration is nonarbitrary from an epistemic point of view. To be epistemically nonarbitrary the policy must be, or must be believed to be, truth-conducive. A procedure is objectively nonarbitrary to the extent that it is more truth-conducive than rival procedures; and it is subjectively nonarbitrary to the extent that we have (on balance) reason to believe that it is so truth-conducive. The procedure of attributing conformity with the correct standards (so far as we know them) seems not to be nonarbitrary in either respect. Even while staying within the limits of imposing normatively derived patterns, we readily recognize alternatives that seem more truth-conducive. For example, we could impose a pattern stipulated by normative considerations that are characteristic of cultures that are similar to our subjects’ in historical, technological, and cultural respects. The discussion in this section has focused on variants of the general procedure of imposing a pattern derived from normative considerations. I have argued that the epistemic motivations for imposing either subjective rationality, rationality-by-our-best-standards, or rationality-by-the-correctstandards are each epistemically infirm. At least this is so, provided that those motivations would need to be independent of empirical theory of any significant sort, and would depend only on the simple “observation” that believing is a normative endeavor. (The significance of this proviso becomes clear in the following section.) The problems discussed here are two-fold: the rudimentary observation that believing is a normatively disciplined endeavor, and the recognition that interpretation is holistically constrained by the need to impute a patterned set of states, simply do not jointly yield reasons to think that any one of these particular variants are truth-conducive; and the general procedure that they instance remains problematic in its motivations. None of the particular policies seem to make such epistemic sense on their own that they can serve to motivate in turn the generic policy. If anything, the generic

22 policy would need to support them, as is entertained when it is suggested that a particular procedure is the only epistemically feasible implementation, or the least arbitrary implementation, of the generic policy. But, little has been found to provide epistemic motivation for the generic procedure itself. V. Why the generic received-view policy cannot be motivated It is now time to give a more sustained criticism of the generic procedure of imposing normatively derived patterns. To this point, I have argued (in section iii.) that the policy is not to be motivated by a “conceptual truth.” Further, I have argued (in section iv.) that no particular implementation of the generic procedure is epistemically motivated in its own right. Now, I want to go somewhat farther, and distill out of the above discussion a two-fold criticism of the generic procedure. First, we should recognize that there is an alternative to the general procedure that is both more truth-conducive and also more in keeping with actual interpretive practice. This alone should be decisive. Second, I want to develop and support an aspect of the discussion in the previous section: the suggestion that the generic policy would need to be motivated without the help of significant theory, if it is to be motivated at all. It is important to note that there are alternatives to the reliance on “normative considerations.” In particular, we might have expectations from descriptive psychology - expectations regarding forms of cognitive dynamics characteristic of humans. Some of these forms of cognition may happen to be more or less in accord with our epistemic standards, others may happen to be more or less out of step with those standards. This set of psychological expectations characterizes a pattern that we could look to find in interpretation. Indeed, it is the pattern that I believe we ought to impose in interpretation. Doing so would make interpretation a matter of revisable theory-laden description. As noted above, there is a familiar epistemic motivation for informing descriptions with background theoretical knowledge - there is reason to believe that such a policy is truth-conducive.16 So, my suggestion hooks up with the half-motivation provided by friends of the received view; it allows us to meet the epistemic need for imposing a pattern, and allows us to do so in an epistemically motivated manner. In contrast, the

23 general strategy of imposing a pattern that is derived from normative considerations seems to suffer from an infirmity of epistemic motivation. To insist on imposing a pattern derived from normative considerations when there is an epistemically motivated alternative on hand, would further deepen the epistemic irresponsibility of interpreting as the received view demands. This alternative to the received view does not entail a radically noncharitable interpretive procedure. Rather, it leads us to more or less charitable interpretation, depending on the substantive claims made in our best psychological theory. Thus, in conjunction with extant theory, it can provide an epistemologically superior understanding of charity in interpretation. Although Quine’s seminal discussions of the principle of charity are commonly cited by proponents of the received view, Quine actually advances something very close to this alternative understanding. Quine has repeatedly insisted that charity in translation is itself informed by, even derivative on, psychology (Quine 1970, 1986 for example; see also, Henderson 1988). He remarks: “The translator will depend early and late on psychological conjectures as to what the native is likely to believe” (Quine 1987, p. 7). Thinking along these lines, I have argued that, while the principle of charity has its place as a general rule of thumb that is particularly important in the early stages of interpretation; so understood, it is itself derivative from empirical psychology and a deeper principle that represents the fundamental constraint on interpretation (Henderson 1987; 1993, chpt. 3). The deeper principle is called the principle of explicability; it holds that we are so to interpret as to find people explicable in beliefs, desires, and actions. Because our psychological and social scientific theories do lead us to expect much cognitive processing that we would recognize as normatively appropriate, we can subsume what is right in the principle of charity under the principle of explicability. Further, this principle allows us to account for the commonly recognized refinements in the principle of charity. For example, it is commonly recognized that attributions of different sorts of errors vary in just how seriously they undermine interpretive understanding. Commonly, the explicability of the various types of error seems to determine the weighting, and thinking in terms of deriving the principle of charity and tailoring it to the principle of explicability allows us to understand why this should be so. Thus,

24 the principle of explicability allows us to accommodate the virtues of a sophisticated principle of charity by deriving that principle as a rule of thumb, and it does so without giving rise to the special epistemic mystery or lack of motivation that arises on the received view. I have so far focused on ways of epistemically motivating the imposition of normative standards without appealing to significant theory, and have given substantial reason for doubting that this can be done. But, it is important to see just what hangs on this. Proponents of the received view must provide a motivation without appealing to theory. According to the received view, the central constraint on interpretation is that we must impose a pattern derived from normative principles of rationality rather than from descriptive theory. Maintaining this tenant requires us to see the general policy of a charitable constraint on interpretation as methodologically basic in the sense that it is not in turn to be motivated by appealing to background theoretical expectations. For as soon as we recognize that the choice of the pattern to be found is informed by descriptive theory, normatively derived patterns seem at best approximations to what we should seek to find. After all, both folk theory and more sophisticated theory regarding the processes to which humans are inclined leads us to expect systematic deviations from what would be rational. That is, we expect certain forms of systematic irrationality. Noting our systematic foibles as well as our better tendencies, psychological theory leads us to expect a mixture of epistemic rationality and irrationality. Accordingly, were our choice of pattern to inform interpretation itself informed by descriptive theory regarding cognitive tendencies, were we to look for what is likely rather than what is unlikely to be observed, we would not look to impose a normatively characterized pattern in interpretation. We might look to find what amounts to significant and even preponderant rationality under interpretation, but this would be a by-product of our looking to find a descriptively-derived pattern; the pattern we employ would not be derived from normative consideration, and would differ from the pattern that would be derived from normative considerations. This transforms what we are doing into something quite foreign to the received view, and the pattern we employ is only approximated by that stipulated by normative considerations.

25 Having seen this, we can also see why any attempt to provide a theoreticaldescriptive epistemic motivation for the received view will be self-defeating. After all, as we have just noted, to impose a normatively derived pattern is to insist on finding our subjects evincing a pattern that we really do not expect. We expect a pattern that approximates rationality in certain respects, and systematically deviates from it in certain other respects; for such is the pattern of human tendencies. For reasons that should be clear from my discussion of the motivation for theory-ladening of description, it is most truth-conducive is to impose such a pattern in interpretation. Now, suppose that we to have theory-informed reasons for thinking that it is somewhat truth-conducive to impose a pattern that is characterized by normative principles. We have such reasons only if our theories lead us to expect a preponderance of rationality arising from the mix of human tendencies to rationality and irrationality. On the present supposition, we have what seems to be the basis for an epistemic motivation for the received view. However, this would prove a false hope. The envisioned epistemic motivation turns on our background theory telling us that human cognitive tendencies approximate our normative principles. However, the same theory would also gives us reasons for employing another, more truth-conducive procedure - namely that of seeking to find the pattern characterized by our descriptive theory. Foregoing this more truth-conducive procedure in favor of applying the normatively informed procedure is epistemically irresponsible. Once we have understood these arguments regarding why the proponent of the received view should not look for a theory informed vindication for the truth-conduciveness of imposing a normatively derived pattern in interpretation, and once we have recognized that there is an epistemically motivated alternative to the received view, we can also appreciate that the task of providing epistemic motivation for received-view interpretation is actually more difficult than has been supposed in much of my earlier discussion. Through much of the foregoing, I have supposed that it would be sufficient to provide reasons for believing that that policy was truth-conducive, considered by itself. It has proven difficult enough to provide such a motivation that does not appeal to significant theory. And we also find that allowing appeal to significant theory would not help. Rather, it would make matters worse, as any

26 such motivation we provide would be trumped by the same information sponsoring an alternative, theory-laden, form of interpretation as yet more truth-conducive. However, once we have seen this, we cannot simply retreat to the (not all too promising) project of providing theory-minimal reasons for thinking that the imposition of normatively derived patterns are truthconducive. We cannot simply do so, because now we appreciate that there is an alternative procedure which we have theory-informed reason to believe to be not just truth-conducive, but also more truth-conducive than the received view procedure. To provide a proper epistemic motivation for imposing a normatively-derived pattern, we must now clear a new hurdle: we must show that this received-view procedure is at least as truth-conducive as its alternatives. We really have no clue how, or what kind of, a prioristic reasons can overcome the theory-informed reasons for employing the alternative to the received view. VI. Taking stock A procedure is subjectively unmotivated when it has not been provided an epistemic justification, and particularly so when we have searched for a motivation and have found none. A procedure is objectively unmotivated when there is no correct motivation to be given - when the procedure is a relatively bad one from the point of view of our pursuit of systematic true beliefs. When a procedure is subjectively unmotivated even after a good faith effort to find a motivation, there is some reason to believe it is objectively motivated. This presumption can be reinforced by more positive arguments against the relative truth-conducivity of a given procedure. In section (ii), I set out those elements of the received view that give rise to a special need for epistemic motivation: it is a separatist doctrine insisting that we should inform interpretation by drawing on normative principles - qua normative principles imposing them in interpretation, and that we should do this in preference to informing interpretation by drawing on descriptive theory. In foregoing a familiar procedure for which we have motivation, and insisting on imposing “information” of questionable relevance to what actually occurs, the received view is left begging for epistemic motivation. In sections (iii) and (iv), I consider

27 the two most promising lines of response to the demand for epistemic motivation. This search produces no accounts of the truth-conduciveness of interpreting as the received view recommends. I think that this result gives rise to a strong presumption against the received view characterizing an epistemically virtuous procedure. It then is at least subjectively unmotivated to so interpret - and it will remain so until some better motivation is found. To so interpret in the face of this lack of motivation is epistemically irresponsible or irrational. Further, in section (v), I present a more direct argument to show that so interpreting is objectively unmotivatable. The earlier search had focused on accounts of the truth-conduciveness in terms of “conceptual truths” and in terms of the theory-minimal observation that all believers seek to be epistemically rational. However, this search was constrained by the insistence that the demonstration of epistemic rationality not rely on significant theory. However, when we drop this constraint, and envision using theory to show that the imposition of normative principles is truth-conducive, we get the opposite result. We find that, even if the procedure of imposing normatively derived patterns can be found truth-conducive to some minimal extent, the same information that gives us this result will also show that the procedure is less truth-conducive than the alternative of theory-informed interpretation. From all this I conclude that it is very likely objectively unmotivated to interpret as the received view recommends In any case, to so interpret, we now must not only proceed in the face of our lack of motivating account, but must do so in the face of an argument showing that, even were that procedure truthconducive in some minimal respect, there is a more truth-conducive alternative to be had. We would then be all the more deeply subjectively irrational. It would be subjectively irresponsible and irrational to so interpret, and it may well be objectively irrational as well.

Notes: 1 Obviously I want to admit that the principles of epistemic rationality inform interpretation in whatever sense they inform our descriptive endeavors generally - they inform our practice. The issue here is whether they inform interpretation in some way that is parallel to the fashion in which background theoretical information informs description. 2 For one particularly careful attempt to unpack this central epistemic value, and to trace some of the relations between it and other values, see Kitcher (1993).

28 3 I do not mean to suggest that we need articulately employ such a principle in such cases. We might just see the accelerated child as having been subject to some sort of push. What I am supposing is that such perceptions are informed by being trained up in a theoretical view of the world. Here I think Churchland’s (1989a, 1989b) views on explanation contain important truths. 4 For an extended development of this understanding of the “conceptual truth” that beliefs are significantly rational, see Henderson (1993, chpt. 4). 5 I think that is particularly unhelpful in the present context, for it is clearly not what the proponents of the received view would have had in mind with their talk of “constitutive criteria.” 6 One might attempt to build from this an epistemological motivation. So far as I can see, what is suggested would involve thinking of established practice as truth-conducive. The central question is why think that it is so. One response would be to say that it embeds a set of “unthematized” principles that function in some respects like definatory claims. To the extent that I can make sense out of this, I see little reason to think that definition is a significant aspect of practice any more than of theory. Alternatively, one might see the practice as embedding “unthematized” principles that function analogously to central elements of theory. However, to the extent that such principles are subject to change as science develops, even as central elements of theory are, it seems best to view the impact of such principles as being analogous to the general descriptive elements central to theory - as perhaps being a part of a descriptive world view. Indeed, one recent connectionist treatment of theory (Churchland 1989x) moves us away from the traditional set-of-sentences view of theory towards a view of theory that would treat much unthematized information as integral to theory. My point is that by thinking in terms of principles of practice we seem to replay the range of positions just surveyed in terms of conceptual truths and descriptive theory. 7 For purposes of argument I am supposing that motivating the received view on the basis of this rudimentary “observation” draws on sufficiently little theory that it would not fall victim to the criticisms of theory-laden motivations of the received view offered in section v. 8 What such “adoption” of “standards” amounts to can be variously understood. This is reflected in the discussion below. 9 It is more accurate to say that the method would be prima facia epistemically motivated - provided there were not yet more truth-conducive methods - say ones attuned more finely to the respects in which subjects can be expected to be preponderantly rational. This point becomes important in section v. 10 Actually, there may be theory-based reasons for thinking that it is truth-conducive to so translate, at least to a non-negligible degree. However, as I explain below, there are also theory-based reasons for thinking that there are more truth-conducive practices readily available. 11 I am not advocating imposing Aristotle’s epistemic norms in interpreting others, the point is rather that there is no epistemic motivation for imposing any one set of epistemic norms (qua norms) in interpretation generally. 12 Of course, one might argue that there is a core of agreement between various norms of epistemic rationality. I am inclined to agree. But, saying that we must impose our norms is not to say that we must impose norms that we have found all to share (so far). I deny the first and embrace (with qualifications) the second principle. Further, I believe that what is a part of the core in question is an empirical issue (Lukes 1982, Henderson 1993, pp. 42-9). To employ it is to engage in descriptively informed interpretation. 13 Alternatively, if the basis for this supposition is empirical psychology, this suggests an empirical basis for the principle of charity that is inconsistent with the received view, and this would be more congenial to my approach in terms of the principle of explicability. 14 At least it seems arbitrary if the choice of the norms to be imposed is not informed by empirical information regarding cultural factors that would make the norms of one people likely similar to the norms of those we seek to understand. However, to use such information in choosing a set of norms

29 to be imposed is to transforms what is done into something much closer to what I would recommend. 15 This claim that the present procedure is relatively nonarbitrary is intended to echo Aristotle’s insistence that the earth must be at the center of the universe because all the earthly matter seeks to proceed directly to some point, and any point but the center of the universe would be arbitrary. This was a natural move, within the Aristotelian understanding of dynamics. Similarly, the present suggestion appropriately reduces the arbitrariness threatened within the view that the constraints on interpretation must come from imposing norms. However, just as Aristotle’s dynamics was wrong, so also is the suggestion that norms must provide the pattern to be imposed in interpretation. 16 Of course, there is the familiar worry that informing description with theory makes theory itself immune from real empirical challenge, to the detriment of our pursuit of truth. Some of these worries are usefully addressed in general terms in Kitcher (1993). For discussions of some of the particulars regarding the case of psychology, see Henderson (1993, chpts. 7).

REFERENCES BonJour, L (1985): The Structure of Empirical Knowledge. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Burge, T (1979): “Individualism and the Mental.” Midwest Studies in Philosophy 4: 73-121. Churchland, P. (1989a): “On the Nature of Theories: A Neurocomputational Perspective.” In P. Churchland, A Neurocomputational Perspective. Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press. ____. (1989b): “On the Nature of Explanation: A PDP Approach.” In P. Churchland, A Neurocomputational Perspective. Cambridge, MA: M.I.T. Press. Cherniak, C. (1986): Minimal Rationality. Cambridge: M.I.T. Press. Davidson, D. (1980a) “Psychology as Philosophy.” In Davidson, Essays on Actions and Events. Oxford: Clarandon Press, 229-44. ____. (1980b): .”Towards a Unified Theory of Meaning and Action.” Grazer Philosophische Studien 11: 1-12. ____. (1984a): “Belief and the Basis of Meaning.” In Davidson, Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation. Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 141-54. ____. (1984b): “Thought and Talk.” In Davidson, Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation. Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 155-70. Henderson, D. (1987): “The Principle of Charity and the Problem of Irrationality.” Synthese 73: 22552. Henderson, (1988): “The Importance of Explanation in Quine’s Principle of Charity.” Philosophy of the Social Sciences 18: 355-69. ____.(1993): Interpretation and Explanation in the Human Sciences. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. ____. (1994b): “Epistemic Competence and Contextualist Epistemology: Why Contextualism is Not Just the Poor Person’s Coherentism,” Journal of Philosophy . ____. (1995): “Epistemic Competence,” forthcoming in Philosophical Papers. Kitcher, P. (1993): The Advancement of Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kripke, S. (1972): Naming and Necessity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lukes, S. (1982), “Relativism in its Place.” In M. Hollis and S. Lukes, eds., Rationality and Relativism. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, pp. 261-305. McDowell, J. (1985): “Functionalism and Anomalous Monism.” In E. LaPore and B. McLaughlin, eds. Actions and Events: Perspectives on the Philosophy of Donald Davidson. Worchester: Blackwell, pp. 389-98. Pollock, J. (1987): “Epistemic Norms,” Synthese 71: 61-95. Putnam, H. (1975a), “The Analytic and the Synthetic.” In Putnam, Mind, Language and Reality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

30 ____. (1975b): “The Meaning of Meaning.” In Putnam, Mind, Language and Reality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ____. (1989): Representation and Reality. Cambridge: MIT Press. Quine, W. (1953): “Two Dogmas of Empiricism.” In Quine, From a Logical Point of View. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. ____. (1970): “Philosophical Progress in Language Theory.” Metaphilosophy 1: 2-19. ____. (1986): Philosophy of Logic. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. ____. (1987): “The Indeterminacy of Translation Again.” Journal of Philosophy 84: 5-10. Root, M. (1986): “Davidson and Social Science.” In LaPore, ed. Truth and Interpretation: Perspectives on the Philosophy of Donald Davidson. Worchester: Blackwell, pp. 272-304. Shapere, D. (1982): “The Concept of Observation in Science and Philosophy.” Philosophy of Science 49: 485-525.

31 Roger F. Gibson Stich on Intentionality and Rationality

abstract In chapter 2 of The Fragmentation of Reason, Stephen Stich argues that certain passages of Quine’s Word and Object are the source of what he calls the conceptual argument. That argument claims there is a conceptual connection between intentionality and rationality: intentionality requires rationality. Stich rejects the idea that intentionality requires either perfect or fixed bridgehead rationality, but he concedes that it requires minimal rationality. After explaining Stich’s position and a criticism of it offered by John Biro and Kirk Ludwig, I sketch an alternative to the conceptual argument. This alternative claims that rationality requires psychological plausibility and/or smoothness of communication, not rationality. I. Introduction In chapter 2 of The Fragmentation of Reason, Stephen Stich construes certain passages of Quine’s Word and Object as establishing “that the intentional description of a person’s mental states requires some degree of rationality.”1 The question that interests Stich is “how much rationality is required for intentional description.”2 He surveys three potential answers: (1) perfect rationality is required, (2) fixed bridgehead rationality is required, and (3) minimal rationality is required. Stich rejects 1 and 2, but accepts 3. However, he goes on to argue that 3 is both “Pickwickean and profoundly uninteresting.”3 He concludes that “neither the conceptual argument [that intentional description presupposes rationality] nor the ‘limits’ it imposes need be taken seriously by either empirical psychologists or epistemic reformers.”4 In section II, I explain Stich’s textual generation of the conceptual argument. In section III, I explain his arguments against (1) perfect rationality and (2) fixed bridgehead rationality, and his argument for (3) minimal rationality. In section IV, I outline an alternative to the conceptual argument.

32 II. The Conceptual Argument The conceptual argument maintains that there is a conceptual connection between intentional description and rationality:

intentional description

presupposes rationality. If so, then there is an a priori limit as to how irrational a being can be and still be described as an intentional being. Stich maintains that the origin of the conceptual argument is to be found in Word and Object where Quine wrote: Wanton translation can make natives sound as queer as one pleases. Better translation imposes our logic upon them, and would beg the question of prelogicality if there were a question to beg.5 The maxim of translation underlying all this is that assertions startingly false on the face of them are likely to turn on hidden differences of language.6 The common sense behind the maxim is that one’s interlocutor’s silliness, beyond a certain point, is less likely than bad translation - or, in the domestic case, linguistic divergence.7 Adjusting for “Quine’s quaint behaviorist scruples,”8 which he does not share with Quine, Stich argues that Quine’s maxim of translation applies to translations of sincere assertions of single beliefs, sets of beliefs, and inferences. Now, violations of Quine’s maxim can occur. Thus, for example, it would be a violation of the maxim if various, sincere, native assertions were translated, respectively, as the belief that elephants lay eggs, as the set of beliefs that hens lay eggs and that hens do not lay eggs, and as the inference that if hens lay eggs, then elephants don’t; hens do; so, elephants do too - all of these sincere assertions being startingly false on the face of them. When such violations of the maxim occur, according to Stich, they “impugn our scheme of translation.”9 What is the force of Stich’s remark that violations of Quine’s maxim impugn our scheme of translation? According to what I’ll call the strong constural, Stich’s remark has the force of denying that any such translation has intentional content. On this construal, it is a conceptual truth that any putative translation which violates Quine’s maxim lacks intentional content. This is the way Stich construes the matter. According to what I’ll call the weak

33 construal, Stich’s remark has the force of allowing such a translation to retain its intentional content, but marking it as a prima facie bad translation. On this construal, it is not true (and, therefore, not a conceptual truth) that any translation which violates the maxim is devoid of intentional content. This is the way, I believe, Quine would construe the matter. However, this is not intended as a criticism of Stich, for his aim “is to draw from Quine’s words an argument that is both plausible and reasonably clear . . . happily leav[ing] to others”10 the question of whether his reconstruction is faithful to Quine’s intentions. III. Rationality Requirements Having argued à la Quine that intentional description presupposes rationality, Stich wants to know how much rationality is required for intentional description. One suggestion is that intentional description requires perfect rationality. So, any deviation from perfect rationality violates Quine’s maxim and strongly impugns (i.e., renders devoid of intentional content) the translation. Perfect Rationality. What is perfect rationality? As Stich points out, “in the literature in this area detailed accounts of rationality are conspicuously lacking.”11 However, Stich provides two (nearly) necessary conditions for perfect rationality: consistency and deductive closure. Deductive closure requires that a person believe all of the logical consequences of what he believes. Stich argues against the requirement of perfect rationality in the following manner: P1:

Intentional description requires rationality.

P2:

Intentional description requires perfect rationality.

P3:

Perfect rationality requires closure.

P4:

Closure is impossible.

ˆCl: ˆC2:

P5:

Perfect rationality is impossible. Intentional description is impossible. Intentional description is possible.

34 ˆC3:

Intentional description does not require perfect rationality.

Stich justifies the premises of the above argument as follows: P1 is justified by the conceptual argument; P2 is a hypothesis; P3 is definitional; P4 is justified by appeal to very plausible considerations advanced by Christopher Cherniak12; P5 is justified by the fact that intentional description is actual. None of these premises is, it seems to me, contentious. Thus, the conclusion, C3, stands: intentional description does not require perfect rationality. Fixed Bridgehead Rationality. Another, more promising, suggestion is that intentional description requires a fixed bridgehead of true and rational beliefs. Stich argues against the requirement of fixed bridgehead rationality in the following manner: P1:

Intentional description requires rationality.

P2:

Intentional description requires a fixed bridgehead of true and rational beliefs.

P3:

A fixed bridgehead of true and rational beliefs requires a fixed, finite set of specific inference principles and stimulus-belief links that are universal among mankind.

P4:

There is no fixed, finite set of specific inference principles and stimulus-belief links that are universal among mankind.

ˆCl: ˆC2:

P5: ˆC3:

There is no fixed bridgehead of truth and rational beliefs. Intentional description is impossible. Intentional description is possible. Intentional description does not require a fixed bridgehead of true and rational beliefs.

Stich justifies the premises of this argument as follows: P1 is justified by the conceptual argument; P2 is a hypothesis; P3 is definitional; P4 is justified by appeal to further considerations advanced by Cherniak13; P5 is justified by the fact that intentional description is actual. However, Stich’s justification of P4 is contentious. In a recent joint paper, John Biro and Kirk Ludwig question Stich’s purported justification of P4. Indeed, they not only argue that Stich’s case against the fixed bridgehead view fails, they also argue that Stich’s argument in favor of minimal rationality inadvertently establishes the fixed bridgehead view itself. After explaining

35 Stich’s use of one of Cherniak’s arguments in his attempt to justify P4, I will briefly examine these criticisms. Biro and Ludwig accurately explain Stich’s defense of P4 as follows: Stich’s argument against the fixed bridgehead view is based on a thought experiment borrowed from Christopher Cherniak. We are asked to imagine a ‘hypothetical people’ whose ‘feasibility ordering’ for inferences is inverted with respect to ours. The feasibility ordering of a person’s inferences is the ordering of the possible inferences he can make in terms of the difficulty he experiences in making them. If we grant the possibility of a people whose feasibility ordering is so inverted, that is, who find the inferences we find hard, easy, and the inferences we find easy, hard, then, Stich, argues, we must give up the fixed bridgehead view of rationality.14 In short, if we accept the Stich/Cherniak thought experiment, we must accept P4. However, Biro and Ludwig are unconvinced by the Stich/Cherniak thought experiment and, as a result, they deny that P4 has been justified. They maintain that Stich’s use of the thought experiment overlooks the fact that inference is not merely a logical concept, it is also an epistemic concept. And, while the Stich/Cherniak thought experiment may make sense for the logical concept of inference, it makes no sense for the epistemic concept. As a logical concept, rational inference can be associated with valid inference; as an epistemic concept, rational inference can be associated with justified inference. According to Biro and Ludwig, justified inference, unlike valid inference, involves “seeing that an inference is a reasonable or valid one, seeing that the conclusion follows form the premises.”15 But if this internalist conception of justified inference is taken to be the kind of inference required by the fixed bridgehead view, then the Stich/Cherniak thought experiment is no longer a threat to that view because it is incoherent; Biro and Ludwig explain: The difficulty lies in the supposition that our hypothetical people are unable to recognize as valid those inferences which are most transparent to us; these are the inferences which are conceptually simple, those into which more complex ones are decomposable. This requirement is in conflict with Stich’s assumption that they are in fact making rational inferences, that is, that the

36 transitions they make between beliefs are justified inferences in addition to being logically valid inferences. Since the hypothesis that their ability to recognize inferences as valid is inverted with respect [to] ours presupposes that they are making rational inferences, it follows that the thought experiment is incoherent.16 However, the weakness of this criticism of the Stich/Cherniak thought experiment resides in the fact that the criticism presupposes an internalist theory of justification, and internalism is, itself, a matter of great controversy. Minimal Rationality. As we have seen, Stich rejects both perfect rationality and fixed bridgehead rationality as answers to the question of how much rationality is required by intentional description.

However, he accepts

minimal rationality as a correct answer to that question. What is minimal rationality? On this view, there is no one inference nor any specific set of inferences that a person’s mental states must manifest in order to qualify for an intentional description. Rather, what is required is that the mental states manifest some reasonably substantial subset of the inferences that would be required of a perfectly rational cognitive agent.17 Stich’s argument for the conclusion that intentional description requires such minimal rationality is complex. He reasons that in giving an intentional description of another person’s thought, one usually asks oneself, “What would I think were I in the other person’s shoes?”. In order to answer that question, one must rely on similarities between the dynamics of one’s own mental states and those of the other person as guiding the construction of any intentional description of the other person’s mental states.

And, because one’s own

mental states manifest minimal rationality, any emerging intentional description will therefore characterize the other person as being minimally rational also - at least to the extent that one is successful in constructing an intentional description. Of course, there is no guarantee that the similarities that play a role in the construction of an intentional description of one person are the same similarities that play a role in the construction of an intentional description of some other person. In short, on the minimal rationality view, there is no bias in favor of fixed bridgehead rationality. (Biro and Ludwig argue, on the contrary, that Stich’s endorsement of minimal rationality commits him to fixed bridgehead rationality, but since their argument, again,

37 turns on the controversial notion of internalist justification, I am going to ignore it.) Even though Stich endorses minimal rationality as an answer to the question of how much rationality is required for intentional description, he complains that the argument supporting it is objectionable because the ‘limit’ it imposes on how bad reasoning can be, or how much it can improve, is both Pickwickean and profoundly uninteresting. It is an observer-relative, situation-sensitive constraint that marks no natural or theoretically significant boundary. Rather, it follows the contours of a commonsense concept. And the utility of that concept in day-to-day affairs is not at all dependent on the vague boundaries it generates in regions far from those in which the concept is usually invoked.18 Consequently, the argument that intentional description requires minimal rationality, the argument establishing “the limits on how badly people can reason, and on how much they can improve”19 is inconsequential: it holds no theoretical promise for empirical psychology. IV. An Alternative to the Conceptual Argument The conceptual argument maintains that intentional description requires some degree or other of rationality. Stich traces the source of the argument back to Quine’s maxim of translation: sincere assertions which are startingly false on the face of them are likely to turn on hidden differences in language. Translations that violate this maxim are irrational because they impugn our scheme of translation. In section II, I suggested two construals of the force of Stich’s remark that violations of Quine’s maxim impugn our scheme of translation. On the strong construal, the force of the remark is to deny that such translations have intentional content. On the weak construal, its force is to allow that such translations may have intentional content, but marks them as prima facie bad translations. As we have seen, Stich (somewhat reluctantly, perhaps) champions the strong construal, and, as I previously suggested, Quine can be read as someone who adopts the weak construal. In the remainder of this essay, I will develop the weak construal, show that it is consistent with Quine’s latest thoughts, and sketch its implications for Stich’s quest for an answer to how much rationality is required for intentional description.

38 Suppose we translate a native’s sincere assertion as the belief that elephants lay eggs (E, for short). Being startingly false on the face of it, this translation violates Quine’s maxim. In short, E is prima facie a bad translation, though it (contra Stich) may have intentional content. How are we to determine whether E is actually a bad translation? There are two key parameters involved in answering this question:

psychological

plausibility and smoothness of communication. Given these, we can respond to the question of whether E (and the like) is actually a bad translation as follows:

First, if the attribution of E to the native is found to be

psychologically plausible (all else being equal), E is not actually a bad translation. If the attribution of E is not found to be psychologically plausible, then we must take the second step of determining whether E contributes to the smoothness of our communication with the native. If it does, then E is not actually a bad translation; if it does not, then E is actually a bad translation. I believe this elaboration of what I have called the weak construal of the force of Stich’s remark that violations of Quine’s maxim impugn our scheme of translation is consistent with the position Quine outlines in the following remarks regarding a difference he has with Donald Davidson regarding the principle of charity: In Davidson’s actual methodology . . . there is one point on which I have misgivings: his maxim of maximizing truth on the part of the native informant’s utterance. I would maximize the psychological plausibility of my attributions of belief to the native rather than the truth of the beliefs attributed. In light of some of the natives’ outlandish rites and taboos, glaring falsity of some of their utterances is apt to be a psychologically more plausible interpretation than truth. In the absence of such exotic behavior, however, and apart from domains where the natives are presumably uninformed, and apart from illusions such as caused by the toy rabbit, the practical working assumption is indeed that they think as we do and hence that most of their utterances should be interpreted as true by our lights.20 Clearly, the notions of psychological plausibility and smoothness of communication need elaboration, but it is equally clear that they are not coextensive with rationality. Whatever the correct interpretation of Quine’s view may be, the weak construal (as sketched previously) undercuts the conceptual argument, the

39 argument that says intentional content requires rationality. It is closer to the mark to say that intentional content requires psychological plausibility and/or smoothness of communication. This way of looking at the matter goes beyond Stich’s “chauvinistic principle of humanity”21 which “asserts ... that in characterizing a cognitive state intentionally, we are saying it is similar to some actual or possible state of our own.”22 However, given the context dependency of these two parameters as well an our incomplete knowledge of psychology, one might still agree with the moral which Stich draws from the conceptual argument, suitably paraphrased: neither the psychological plausibility argument, nor the smoothness of communication argument, nor the ‘limits’ they impose need be taken seriously by either empirical psychologists or epistemic reformers. Notes 1 Stich, S. The Fragmentation of Reason, p. 39, M.I.T. Press, Cambridge, MA, 1990. 2 Ibid., p. 30. 3 Ibid., p. 51. 4 Ibid., p. 54. 5 Quine, W. V. Word and Object, p. 58, M.I.T. Press, Cambridge, MA, 1960. 6 Ibid., p. 59. 7 Ibid. 8 Stich The Fragmentation of Reason, p. 31. 9 Ibid., p. 35. 10 Ibid., p. 31. 11 Ibid., p. 29. 12 See Stich The Fragmentation of Reason, pp. 40-1. Stich cites several works by Christopher Cherniak, chief among them is Minimal Rationality, M.I.T. Press, Cambridge, MA, 1986. 13 Ibid. 14 Biro, J. and K. Ludwig “Are There More Than Minimal A Priori Limits on Irrationality?”, Australasian Journal of Philosophy, Vol. 72, No. 1, pp. 90-91, March, 1994. 15 Ibid., p. 91. 16 Ibid., p. 92. On p. 96 of their paper, Biro and Ludwig report that when confronted with this agument against P4, Stich responded by saying that their epistemic concept of rationality was not the concept of rationality that he was addressing in The Fragmentation of Reason. Stich’s concept appears to be an externalist one. 17 Stich The Fragmentation of Reason, p. 40. 18 Ibid., pp. 51-2. 19 Ibid., p. 53.

40 20 Quine “Where Do We Differ?”, in L. Hahn (ed.), The Philosophy of Donald Davidson, typescript, Open Court, LaSalle, IL, in press. See also Quine Theories and Things, p. 41, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA, for Quine’s ruminations regarding the possibility of untranslatable languages. 21 Stich The Fragmentation of Reason, p. 52. 22 Ibid.

Rational Intentions and the Toxin Puzzle

41

Alfred R. Mele Rational Intentions and the Toxin Puzzle

abstract Gregory Kavka’s toxin puzzle has spawned a lively literature about the nature of intention and of rational intention in particular. This paper is largely a critique of a pair of recent responses to the puzzle that focus on the connection between rationally forming an intention to A and rationally A-ing, one by David Gauthier and the other by Edward McClennen. It also critically assesses the two main morals Kavka takes reflection on the puzzle to support, morals about the nature of intention and the consequences of a divergence between “reasons for intending and reasons for acting.”

Gregory Kavka’s toxin puzzle (1983) has spawned a lively literature. Although the primary thesis that Kavka motivates with the puzzle concerns the nature of intention in general, much subsequent discussion of his puzzle has focused on rational intentions in particular. Here I will follow suit.1 I will evaluate a pair of recent proposals about the connection between rationally forming an intention to A and rationally A-ing, one by Edward McClennen and the other by David Gauthier. The bulk of Kavka’s puzzle is as follows: You have just been approached by an eccentric billionaire who has offered you the following deal. He places before you a vial of toxin that, if you drink it, will make you painfully ill for a day, but will not threaten your life or have any lasting effects. . . . The billionaire will pay you one million dollars tomorrow morning if, at midnight tonight, you intend to drink the toxin tomorrow afternoon. He emphasizes that you need not drink the toxin to receive the money; in fact, the money will already be in your bank account hours before the time for drinking it arrives, if you succeed. . . . All you have to do is . . . intend at midnight tonight to drink the stuff tomorrow afternoon. You are perfectly free to change your mind after receiving the money and not drink the toxin. (The presence or

42 absence of the intention is to be determined by the latest ‘mind-reading’ brain scanner. . . .) (1983, p. 33-34) The billionaire has placed certain restrictions on the avenues by which you may form or acquire the intention. You are not allowed to arrange “external incentives” to drink the toxin: Kavka mentions promising someone that you will drink it, signing a contract that commits you to giving all your money (including the million dollars) “to your least favourite political party, if you do not drink it,” and hiring a hitman to kill you if you refrain from drinking it (p. 34). Also excluded “are such alternative gimmicks as hiring a hypnotist to implant the intention, forgetting the main relevant facts of the situation, and so forth” (p. 34). Kavka adds: “Promising yourself that you will drink the toxin could help if you were one of those strange people who take pride in never releasing oneself from a promise to oneself, no matter what the circumstances. Alas, you are not” (pp. 34-35). Assume that a relatively normal person who is offered the deal thinks ahead to tomorrow. Seemingly, the person will become convinced that tomorrow (like today) he will have no reason to drink the toxin and a good reason not to drink it. (Since the toxin deal has not been offered to anyone else, there is no data on whether winners tend to be toxin drinkers [Kavka, p. 35].)

A

predictable consequence of this conviction is the further conviction that he will not drink the toxin and will make no effort whatever to drink it: Given that he will have no reason to drink the toxin and a good reason not to drink it, why on earth would he endeavor to drink it? And it seems that, having this further conviction, the person is in no position to intend tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow.2 Surely, whatever an intention is, it involves a psychological commitment of some kind at least to trying to do what is intended; and barring a bizarre species of mental partitioning, someone who is convinced now that he will not even make an effort to drink the toxin tomorrow seemingly falls short now of being psychologically committed to making such an effort tomorrow. To be sure, he may fervently want to have the money-winning intention now. But that is another matter. Kavka sums up his estimation of your situation as a hopeful winner as follows: “intentions are . . . dispositions to act that are based on reasons to act -

Rational Intentions and the Toxin Puzzle

43

features of the act itself or its (possible) consequences that are valued by the agent. . . . Thus, we can explain your difficulty in earning a fortune: you cannot intend to act as you have no reason to act, at least when you have substantial reasons not [so] to act. And you have (or will have when the time comes) no reason to drink the toxin, and a very good reason not to. . .” (p. 35). If this is right, the puzzle teaches us something about the nature of intention.3 1. Approaches to the Puzzle: Twisted and Straight Michael Bratman invites his readers to imagine (1) that an agent who is offered the deal somehow manages to cause himself to intend on Tuesday to drink the toxin on Wednesday - perhaps “by using a form of self-hypnosis” - and (2) that “it is rational of [the agent] to acquire and to have” this intention (1987, pp. 103-6).

Presumably, self-hypnosis is meant to be on the original list of

proscribed “alternative gimmicks [such] as hiring a hypnotist to implant the intention, forgetting the main relevant facts of the situation, and so forth” (Kavka, p. 34). But we can imagine that the rules have been changed to allow this. Bratman argues that from (2) and the assumption that on Wednesday things are just as the agent envisaged them, it does not follow that it is rational of the agent to drink the toxin (p. 106). David Gauthier has denied that “it can be rational to adopt an intention and then rational to abandon it should the very conditions envisaged in adopting it come to pass” (1984, p. 159; cf. McClennen 1990, p. 228). However, if Bratman is right, perhaps this is rational in some unusual cases. Edward McClennen implicitly takes the position that without bending the rules in Kavka’s scenario, an agent can rationally form an intention today to drink the toxin tomorrow (1990, pp. 229-31). He describes a “modified version of Kavka’s problem” in which you have two options: You can fulfill the terms of the contract by employing a precommitment device that ensures that you will drink the toxin the next afternoon, but such precommitment will cost you $500,000. Alternatively, you can forego the precommitment device, settle on the plan of drinking the toxin, and stand to be tested by the brain-mind machine to see if you have the capacity to act on such a plan. Thus, if you do not believe that you

44 have [this] capacity . . ., you can sacrifice half your winnings and tie your hands in advance. (p. 229) McClennen explains that “the agent’s capacity today to carry out a plan tomorrow is dependent on his being able to ratify the plan tomorrow” and he suggests that Kavka and Bratman would deny that a rational agent has the capacity to act on a plan to drink the toxin in this case (pp. 229-30). But, he asks (p. 230; cf. Gauthier 1994, pp. 708-9), “How can it be rational to settle for $500,000, when all that stands between you and [an additional] $500,000 is your own inability to decide on a plan and then follow through on it? If you are really prepared to precommit, for example, to have someone else constrain you to drink the toxin, why not ‘mentally’ constrain yourself and save the precommitment costs?” Kavka’s answer might be that, knowing that you will have no reason to drink the toxin tomorrow, you are in no position to decide tonight to drink it tomorrow: you cannot decide to do what you are convinced you will not even try to do. But McClennen can reply that if you were to decide tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow and if you value being the sort of person who executes his decisions provided that, at the relevant time, things are as he envisaged they would be when he made the decision, then you would know that you will have a reason to drink the toxin tomorrow - a reason constituted by the value you place on being a resolute person of this kind and your recognition that a resolute person would execute his intention to drink the toxin. In effect, McClennen can appeal to an analogue of the self-promiser that Kavka excludes from consideration. As “those strange people who take pride in” honoring their promises to themselves even at considerable personal cost may create a reason for drinking the toxin by promising themselves that they will drink it, a person who values being resolute may create a reason for drinking the toxin tomorrow by deciding today to drink it tomorrow.4 But McClennen need not accept the intimation of irrationality for his analogue. He can suppose that you value being a resolute person because you reasonably deem resoluteness rational and value being rational. Would a person who wins the million dollars in the way McClennen imagines rationally drink the toxin? The money is already his and he knows

Rational Intentions and the Toxin Puzzle

45

that. Given that he cares about being resolute, he has a reason to drink it. But he also has a reason not to drink it, since, as he knows, drinking it will make him “painfully ill” for a day. Which is the better reason? In a world much like ours, the winner can reasonably anticipate not receiving a similarly bizarre offer again, and he need not seriously worry that his abandoning his decision now would significantly weaken his character. In the past, when he abided by his decisions at some immediate cost to himself, he did so partly because others cared about his doing what he decided to do (e.g., when he helped neighbors repair their tornado-damaged homes after they helped him repair his). But he knows that the billionaire in no way wishes him to drink the toxin. He has grounds for treating the present case as an exceptional one, and for regarding his abandoning his decision as best, all things considered. To be sure, if the agent were thinking along these lines the preceding night, he might thereby cut himself off from the prospect of winning the million dollars. He might convince himself that he would not abide by a decision to drink the toxin, in which case he faces the problem that Kavka highlights. But some relevant agent may simply be the sort of person who does not give the future much thought or who lacks the intellectual capacity to think through the matter of what he would do tomorrow if matters were as he expected them to be. It may be replied, of course, that even an agent who has already won the money may care so much about being a resolute intender that he would deem it better to drink the toxin and be painfully ill than to abandon his decision. But one is entitled to wonder whether it is rational to care that much about personal resoluteness. One worries that such a person might suffer from obsessive-compulsive disorder. Or perhaps he is unbalanced in another way: the thought of being painfully ill for a day might not bother him much; he might even find himself oddly attracted to the self-induced illness. Consider the following variant of Kavka’s case. Again, “gimmicks” (e.g., hypnosis, forgetting relevant details) and arranging “external incentives” are excluded, and a large prize will be in the winner’s bank account tomorrow morning if she intends by midnight tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow afternoon. But, as in McClennen’s scenario, there are two money-winning

46 possibilities. To qualify for the prize - ten million dollars this time - one must sign a contract stipulating (1) that if one intends at midnight to drink the toxin tomorrow afternoon and then does not in fact drink it, one is allowed to keep the entire ten million and (2) that if one intends at midnight to drink the toxin tomorrow and then does drink it tomorrow, one must return all but ten dollars. The deal is offered to a woman, Ann, who cares very much about being resolute. Ann believes that her resoluteness makes it possible for her to win, but that it also makes it likely that she would gain only ten dollars. If given the opportunity, Ann certainly would drink the toxin for ten million dollars, but she would not drink it for ten dollars. Even so, she realizes that the prize is for intending, not for drinking; and, thinking that there is some chance that the toxin will not be available for drinking tomorrow or that the billionaire will allow her to keep the entire ten million even if she drinks the toxin, she decides to give the offer serious consideration. Ann judges that there is some chance that she will get to keep the entire ten million if she decides tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow and that, given the stakes, it would be best to make that decision. Accordingly, she decides tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow. Tomorrow, matters are just as Ann believed they probably would be. The ten million is in her bank account, the toxin is in her kitchen, and the billionaire has not expressed a change of heart. Her drinking the toxin would cost her $9,999,990 and twenty-four hours of painful illness. Other things being equal (e.g., there is no serious penalty for abandoning her decision), her caring so much about resoluteness that she drinks the toxin anyway would give us grounds for deeming her insane. If this is right, it might sometimes “be rational to adopt an intention and then rational to abandon it [even though] the very conditions envisaged in adopting it come to pass.” This suggests that rational resolute agents will fare no better than ordinary folks in Kavka’s scenario, provided that they are required to think ahead to tomorrow and to assess the situation carefully. Tomorrow, a resolute agent would have some reason to drink the toxin, if he were to manage to form the intention tonight; for he cares about being resolute and recognizes that resoluteness requires drinking the toxin.

However, for reasons already

47

Rational Intentions and the Toxin Puzzle

identified, he will have a significantly better reason not to drink it. And, being rational, he will act on the basis of his better reasons. Further, given that today he thinks ahead to tomorrow and rationally assesses matters, he will conclude today that he will not drink the toxin tomorrow. And as long as he is convinced of the truth of that conclusion, he is in no position to form the intention to drink the toxin tomorrow. Or so it seems. Have I been unfair, however, in being prepared to level the lunacy charge against Ann should she drink the toxin?

It may be suggested that the

rationality at issue here is instrumental rationality and that purely intrinsic desires (desires for things strictly as ends) cannot properly be evaluated from this perspective (provided that they do not compete with other intrinsic desires of the agent). A proponent of a view like McClennen’s might seek to dodge the bullet by appealing to a purely intrinsic desire for personal resoluteness, but this would be a major departure for McClennen himself, who has emphasized that a resolute chooser’s “policy of nonreconsideration can be rationalized by reference to the gains to be had from being able to coordinate the decisions of different time slices of oneself” (1990, p. 231).5

2. Another Toxin with a Twist One might resist the thrust of the preceding section and urge that we should expect a rational agent to have resources for becoming a millionaire in Kavka’s scenario. Rationality might seem to be less than it is cracked up to be if rational agents cannot gain the money. David Gauthier has advanced a principle that may seem to hold some promise for a rational agent who hopes to win the money in Kavka’s case. He writes: Sometimes my life will go better if I am able to commit myself to an action even though, when or if I perform it, I expect that my life will not thenceforth go as well as it would were I to perform some alternative action. Nevertheless, it is rational to make such a commitment, and to restrict my subsequent deliberations to actions intentionally compatible with it, provided that in so doing I act in a way that I expect will lead to

48 my life going better than I reasonably believe that it would have gone had I not made any commitment. (1994, p. 707; cf. Gauthier, forthcoming a and b) Consider an agent, Tex, who is offered Kavka’s toxin deal and is impressed by the support Gauthier offers for the principle expressed in the second sentence of this passage. Tex views intentions as psychological commitments and he believes that if he were to form the intention tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow and were to execute that intention, his life would go better than if he were not to form the intention tonight. Believing this, and believing that Gauthier’s principle is correct, Tex believes that he is in a position rationally to form the intention to drink the toxin. He believes that tomorrow it would be rational to restrict his deliberation to actions “intentionally compatible” with his forming the intention to drink the toxin and therefore rational not to refrain from drinking the toxin. (“An action x is intentionally compatible with the prior actions of an agent, if each of those actions could have been performed intentionally had the agent consciously intended to perform x” [Gauthier 1994, p. 702]. Thus, Tex’s refraining from drinking the toxin tomorrow is not intentionally compatible with his forming the intention tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow, since he cannot form at t the intention to drink the toxin tomorrow if at t he consciously intends to refrain from drinking the toxin tomorrow.)6 Tex concludes that if he forms the intention tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow, it will be rational to drink it. Believing this, and believing himself to be rational, he sees no grounds for believing that he will not drink the toxin tomorrow. Indeed, he believes that he will have an excellent reason to drink it - namely, that this will be the rational thing to do, provided only that he forms the intention tonight to drink it tomorrow. So Tex is convinced that nothing stands in the way of his forming the intention tonight. He would certainly be willing to drink the toxin for a million dollars, and, as he sees it, he is in a position to intend to do what he would be willing to do. Even if Tex can win the money, has he been misled by Gauthier? The sun dawns on a new day. Tex checks his bank account and finds that he is a millionaire. Does he have a reason to drink the toxin? Well, if he still believes

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that it is rational to drink it and if he values doing what is rational, he does. But, today, is it reasonable for Tex to view his drinking the toxin as rational? It may be claimed that since, last night, he believed that his drinking the toxin today would be rational and since circumstances today are just as he envisaged them, consistency requires that he believe this today. However, even if consistency does require this, it certainly seems reasonable for Tex, given the suffering that drinking the toxin would cause, to wonder whether he was mistaken last night about the rationality of drinking it. He might even decide that he was misled by Gauthier and (grateful to Gauthier for putting him in a position to become a millionaire) he may judge that it would be pointless to drink the toxin and utterly rational to refrain from drinking it. This is a natural judgment for Tex to make. (Put yourself in his shoes!) As Gauthier says, his opponents think “it mad to drink the toxin” (1994, p. 709). Of course, if Tex had been thinking this last night, he would not be a millionaire today. But this is a new day; and, as we all know, arguments that struck us as compelling yesterday sometimes look considerably weaker when viewed in a fresh light. If I were to find myself in Tex’s shoes, the million dollars in hand, I would not go near the toxin. I have no doubt about that. Is the suggestion that this would make me irrational much easier to swallow than the toxin is? Consider a modified version of my earlier variant of Kavka’s case. This time, to qualify for the ten million dollar prize, one must sign a contract stipulating (1) that if one intends at midnight to drink the toxin tomorrow afternoon and then does not in fact drink it, one is allowed to keep the entire ten million and (2) that if one intends at midnight to drink the toxin tomorrow and then does drink it tomorrow, one must return all but $100,000. Suppose that Tex had been offered this deal rather than the one Kavka describes. Tex, it so happens, would drink the toxin for $100,000, and he believes that if he were to form the intention tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow and then were to execute that intention tomorrow, his life would go better than if he were not to form the intention tonight. But if, as in the earlier case, he were to form the intention to drink the toxin, convinced that it is entirely rational for him to form it, would it be rational for him to drink the toxin once the ten million is

50 in his bank account? This time, his drinking the toxin would cost him not only a day of suffering but also $9,900,000. A person who would drink the toxin at this price seems far from sane. Acceptance of Gauthier’s principle would enable one to become richer, but subsequent rejection of it has marked advantages too. To be sure, one cannot simultaneously accept and reject it.

But one who benefits from sincere

acceptance of the principle should not have a difficult time, subsequently, finding grounds for sincerely rejecting it. Gauthier writes: “The objector thinks it mad to drink the toxin. I, on the other hand, think it mad not to be the sort of person who would drink the toxin” (1994, p. 709). For my own part, I find it mad to pay the considerable and unnecessary cost involved in drinking the toxin after having benefitted enormously from being, temporarily, the sort of person who would drink it.7 If an agent were able to will irreversibly tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow (cf. Sobel 1994, pp. 347-51), matters would be different. As J. H. Sobel has observed (ibid), an agent who knowingly possesses this imagined ability might reasonably think that he will win the money only if he so wills tonight; and tomorrow, given his inability to refrain from drinking the toxin, he cannot plausibly be charged with irrationality for drinking it.8 I have been imagining that Tex is a relatively normal agent who lacks the capacity to render himself unable to refrain from A-ing tomorrow simply by willing (as firmly as he can) tonight to A tomorrow. 3. Intentions and Rationality Kavka takes reflection on his puzzle to support two points. The first is a thesis about the nature of intention: that all intentions to A are dispositions to A that are based on reasons to A, “features of the act itself [i.e., A-ing] or its (possible) consequences that are valued by the agent” (p. 35). If an agent of the sort Sobel imagines is possible, then this thesis is false.9 Presumably, in (irreversibly) willing tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow, the agent forms an intention to drink it. But although she has a reason to form the intention, she need have no reason to drink the toxin. She might not be fond of drinking toxins, not value

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being a resolute chooser, not accept the principle of Gauthier’s discussed earlier, and so on. Further, as I have argued elsewhere, nonintrinsic intentions to A-intentions that do not represent A-ing as an end - are not themselves reasons for A-ing (Mele 1992b, p. 181), and Sobel’s intender does not regard her drinking the toxin as an end. Rather, she should regard it as an unfortunate consequence of doing what she deems necessary to gain the million dollars namely, willing irreversibly to drink the toxin. Kavka’s “second point” is about rationality: when reasons for intending and reasons for acting diverge, as they do here, confusion often reigns. For we are inclined to evaluate the rationality of the intention both in terms of its consequences and in terms of the rationality of the intended action. As a result, when we have good reasons to intend but not to act, conflicting standards of evaluation come into play and something has to give way: either rational action, rational intention, or aspects of the agent’s own rationality (e.g., his correct belief that drinking the toxin is not necessary for winning the million). (pp. 3536) This is misleading. If, as Kavka himself argues, the money-winning intention cannot be formed or acquired by any eligible agent, including (apparently) perfectly rational agents,10 the issue about rationality does not properly arise. Surely, it is not irrational not to do something that even rational agents cannot do. And what normative force would ‘rational’ have in the following sentence: “Bringing it about that you intend to A is the rational thing for you to do now; but, even though you are completely free of any relevant irrationality, you cannot bring it about now that you intend to A”? Suppose that, without breaking the billionaire’s rules, an agent can bring it about that he intends to drink the toxin at a cost that the agent rationally deems acceptable given the anticipated winning of the million dollar prize. Must this hinge on its being rational for the agent to drink the toxin? If the answer is “no,” then it is rational for some agent to bring it about that he so intends quite independently of the rationality or irrationality of the drinking, and we can “evaluate the rationality of the intention” independently of an evaluation of “the rationality of the intended action.” The basic issue then

52 would be about the nature of intention, not about the connection between rational intentions and rational actions. The problem for normal, reasonably reflective agents who are convinced that they will have “no reason to drink the toxin” tomorrow and “a very good reason” not to drink it (Kavka, p. 35) is that they are convinced, accordingly, that they will not drink the toxin tomorrow and will make no effort to do so. And, again, having the latter conviction apparently is inconsistent with intending to drink the toxin. Gauthier and McClennen seek to remove this obstacle to intention by arguing that a rational agent, or a rational agent of a certain kind, does have a good reason to drink the toxin tomorrow, provided that he intends tonight to drink it tomorrow. And I have argued against their proposals. There is another way to remove the obstacle, the conviction that one will eschew drinking the toxin. An agent who has no reason to drink the toxin might, on grounds of another sort, be convinced that he will drink it. This is the line Sobel pursues. Indeed, his agent can rationally form the intention to drink the toxin and proceed to drink it tomorrow without rationally drinking it (thus, supporting the “no” answer mentioned in the preceding paragraph), if Sobel is wrong in thinking that her drinking the toxin is a rational action in virtue of being “the only thing she could do” after irreversibly willing to drink it (1994, p. 248). I explored a similar idea in an earlier paper (Mele 1992b) in connection with a strengthened version of Kavka’s scenario, and I concluded, among other things, that rationally forming an intention to A is not essentially dependent upon its being rational to A (in the circumstances anticipated at the time of intention-formation). In the strengthened version, to win the money an agent must, while being utterly convinced that he will have no reason to drink the toxin tomorrow, form the intention tonight to drink it tomorrow. Here is a short version of a long example. Ted knows that he is plagued by a mindreading demon who consistently tricks him into drinking non-lethal toxins (within twenty-four hours) when they are nearby, unless Ted intends to drink them and executes his intention (within twenty-four hours). Aware that the billionaire has placed the toxin in his kitchen, Ted is convinced that he will

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drink it sooner or later. Ted sees himself as being able to choose tonight between two options: (1) drink the toxin unintentionally within twenty-four hours, get sick, and get no richer; (2) drink the toxin intentionally tomorrow afternoon, get sick, and receive a million dollars. Knowing that he has a psychological feature called “intention perseverance,” Ted is convinced that if he intends tonight to drink the toxin tomorrow, the intention will persist unless he has a reason to abandon it. And since Ted has long been indifferent between drinking toxins unintentionally and drinking toxins intentionally, he is confident that he will have no reason to abandon the intention tomorrow. He has a good reason to select option 2, and he selects it for that reason: Ted forms the intention to drink the toxin tomorrow afternoon. As in Sobel’s case, Ted manages to form the intention to drink the toxin tomorrow afternoon while having no reason to drink it. Unlike Sobel’s agent, Ted does not have an irreversible intention: if someone were unexpectedly to offer him at 10:00 tomorrow morning a million dollars to drink the toxin before noon, he would abandon his intention for afternoon toxin drinking and form an intention to drink the toxin earlier. So even if, in virtue of being “the only thing” she can do, drinking the toxin at the appointed time is to be counted as rational in the case of Sobel’s agent, this consideration does not apply to Ted. I have drawn some general morals from the toxin puzzle elsewhere (Mele 1992b). My aim here has been to reveal the shortcomings of some interesting proposals - Gauthier’s and McClennen’s - featuring the idea that, in Kavka’s scenario, some money-winners will rationally drink the toxin even though, at the time, they are able to refrain from drinking it. If my arguments are on the money, good reasons for action are not as easy for an agent to generate as some have thought.11

Notes 1 In Mele 1992b, I address the puzzle with the aim of clarifying the nature of intention and the connections between intentions and the following items: beliefs about what one will do, reasons for action, reasons for forming an intention, and intentional actions. See Mele 1995 on the connection between the second and third items.

54 2 Bratman (forthcoming) defends a related proposition: the agent cannot rationally deliberatively form the intention today, knowing that it would be better not to drink the toxin tomorrow. 3 I argue that this is not quite right in Mele 1992b: some possible intentions to A are not based on reasons to A. 4 Kavka describes these “strange people” as taking “pride in never releasing oneself from a promise to oneself, no matter what the circumstances” (pp. 34-35, my italics). But a resolute intender might specifically value acting later on intentions formed earlier when the circumstances that obtain at the time of action are the circumstances envisaged at the time of intention-formation. 5 Gilbert Harman (n.d.) suggests that an agent might win the money in Kavka’s scenario by forming (tonight) an intrinsic desire to drink the toxin tomorrow. Intrinsically desiring to drink the toxin, one might form an intrinsic intention to drink it and then drink it tomorrow simply for the sake of drinking it - unless the desire happens to fade away before noon. This proposal merits consideration, but I lack the space to pursue it here. 6 Notice that the applicability of Gauthier’s notion of intentional compatibility to the toxin puzzle depends on its being true that forming an intention (sometimes) is an action. If Tex’s forming the intention to drink the toxin is not an action, with what prior action of Tex’s is his drinking the toxin intentionally incompatible? (I regard forming an intention, as opposed to merely acquiring one, as an action. One forms an intention to A in deciding to A, and deciding to A may be construed as a mental action. See Mele 1992a, pp. 141, 158-60, 231.) 7 It might be thought (as Michael Bratman suggested to me) that the present case is equivalent to a standard toxin case in which the prize for intending is reduced to $100,000 and that it therefore poses no more gripping a problem for Gauthier’s view than Kavka’s puzzle does. However, a significant difference between the two cases is highlighted by your own reaction to the following question. Which of the following deals would you prefer to be offered? (A) Kavka’s standard toxin deal, except that the prize is reduced from a million dollars to $100,000; (B) the modified deal offered to Tex in the present case. 8 Sobel goes further, claiming that, by exercising the imagined capacity, the agent would have made it the case that drinking the toxin is “the best thing she could do by being the only thing she could do. She would have made it best and rational by default” (1994, p. 248). 9 I argue that this thesis of Kavka’s is false in Mele 1992b. 10 Kavka writes: “you cannot intend to act as you have no reason to act, at least when you have substantial reasons not [so] to act. And you have (or will have when the time comes) no reason to drink the toxin, and a very good reason not to” (p. 35). 11 For comments on a draft of this paper, I am grateful to Michael Bratman, John Heil, and Howard Sobel. REFERENCES Bratman, M. 1987. Intention, Plans, and Practical Reason. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Bratman, M. (forthcoming). “Following Through with one’s Plans: Reply to David Gauthier.” In P. Danielson, ed. Modeling Rational and Moral Agents. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gauthier, D. 1984. “Afterthoughts.” In D. MacLean, ed. The Security Gamble. Totowa: Rowman & Allanheld. Gauthier, D. 1994. “Assure and Threaten.” Ethics 104: 690-721. Gauthier, D. (forthcoming a). “Commitment and Choice.” In F. Farina, S. Vanucci, and F. Hahn, eds. Ethics, Rationality, and Economic Behaviour. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gauthier, D. (forthcoming b). “Intention and Deliberation.” In P. Danielson, ed. Modeling Rational and Moral Agents. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Harman, G. (n.d.). “The Toxin Puzzle.” Written for a commemorative volume for Gregory Kavka to be edited by C. Morris and J. Coleman. Kavka, G. 1983. “The Toxin Puzzle.” Analysis 43: 33-36. McClennen, E. 1990. Rationality and Dynamic Choice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Mele, A. 1992a. Springs of Action. New York: Oxford University Press. Mele, A. 1992b. “Intentions, Reasons, and Beliefs: Morals of the Toxin Puzzle.” Philosophical Studies 68: 171-94. Mele, A. 1995. “Effective Deliberation About What to Intend: Or Striking it Rich in a Toxin-Free Environment.” Philosophical Studies 79: 85-93. Sobel, J. H. 1994. Taking Chances: Essays on Rational Choice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

56 John Heil The Propositional Attitudes

abstract Traditionally conceived, rational action is action founded on reasons. Reasons involve the propositional attitudes — beliefs, desires, intentions, and the like. What are we to make of the propositional attitudes? One possibility, a possibility endorsed by Donald Davidson, is that an agent’s possession of propositional attitudes is a matter of that agent’s being interpretable in a particular way. Such a view accounts for the propositional content of the attitudes, but threatens to undercut their causal and explanatory roles. I examine Davidson’s view and the suggestion that the explanatory value of appeals to propositional attitudes is best understood on analogy with measurement systems, and argue that, appearances to the contrary, this conception of the propositional attitudes can be reconciled with the idea that reasons are causes. Recent philosophy of mind has been preoccupied with the propositional attitudes: beliefs, desires, hopes, fears, intentions, and the like, insofar as these are taken to have ‘propositional content’. My having a belief is a matter of my taking up a particular sort of attitude toward a particular proposition.1 I might harbor the same attitude toward different propositions, in which case I have different beliefs; or I might have different attidudes toward the same proposition: I might believe, desire, hope, fear, or, if I am a rainmaker, intend that it will rain. One notable feature of the propositional attitudes is their fine-grainedness or definiteness. My believing that Socrates is wise differs from my believing that the husband of Xantippi is wise, even though Socrates is the husband of Xantippi. My beliefs inherit this feature — ‘intensionality’ — from the propositions: the proposition that Socrates is wise differs from the proposition that the husband of Xantippi is wise. How might we comprehend a connection between the propositional attitudes traditionally described, and our physical endowment? How might we do so in a way that enables us to see the capacity to take up attitudes toward

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propositions as an outgrowth of more primitive capacities? One possibility is that we cannot. It is a mistake to imagine that, in ascribing beliefs, desires, and intentions to one another, we are picking out, or purporting to pick out, items that have a kind of independent nonmental, physiological standing. I propose to make a start on locating views of this sort within our broader conception of the world and our place in it by considering Donald Davidson’s account of the propositional attitudes and the conditions under which they are correctly and reasonably ascribed.2 Davidson on the Propositional Attitudes According to Davidson, an understanding of beliefs, desires, intentions, or any other propositional attitude, must include a grasp of what is involved in the interpretation of speech. My ability to interpret your utterances is constituted by my possession of a theory of truth — a T-theory — for those utterances. A T-theory assigns truth conditions or meanings to sentences you utter or might utter.3 T-theories are modeled on theories of truth devised by Tarski for formal languages.4 Such theories generate, by means of finite sets of rules, a ‘Tsentence’ for every sentence in the language. T-sentences have the form (T)

S is true if and only if p,

where S is a description of a sentence uttered (or possible utterance), and p expresses that sentence’s truth conditions. If the language in which the theory is expressed includes the language to which the theory applies, the truth conditions of a sentence can be specified via the sentence itself. If, for instance, I advance a T-theory in English for utterances produced by an English speaker, Van, I might express the truth conditions for an utterance, by Van, of ‘Tigers are striped’ by using that very sentence: (T1)

‘Tigers are striped’ (uttered by Van) is true if and only if tigers are striped.

In this case, T-sentences will consist of a sentence inside quotation marks, followed by ‘is true if and only if’ followed by the sentence itself, ‘disquoted’.

58 Do not be put off by the apparent triviality of (T1). A T-theory must include resources for generating every sentence of the language to which it applies. My knowing the truth conditions of some sentence involves my having mastered a theory that implies a theorem of the form (T1), a T-sentence, for that sentence. Such a theory implies indefinitely many T-sentences, however. Thus, I understand your utterance of a particular sentence only if I am in a position to understand your utterance of indefinitely many sentences. On this view, my appreciating the meaning of a sentence requires not only that I appreciate the meanings of many sentences, but also that I grasp systematic relations among sentences of the sort represented by rules used to generate T-sentences. Davidson contends that to interpret your speech I must be in a position to associate meanings or truth conditions with your actual and possible utterances, and to do so systematically. But this is possible, he thinks, only if I am simultaneously in a position to decipher your propositional attitudes, your beliefs, desires, and intentions. You utter a sentence with a particular intention — to inform, to deceive, to amuse, to threaten — because of what you believe, what you take the sentence to mean, and what you hope to accomplish in uttering it. A theory of interpretation, an I-theory, provides an accounting of all these attitudes at once. To understand your speech I must understand what you believe and desire; and a grasp of your beliefs and desires requires that I understand your utterances.5 How might it be possible to break into this circle? Davidson’s suggestion is that interpretation depends on the attitude of ‘holding true’ applied to sentences.6 Without prior knowledge of your language or your beliefs and desires, I might ascertain that you hold a particular sentence true. This does not tell me what you mean in uttering this sentence, but it does constitute evidence for any hypothesis I might venture as to what you mean and what you believe. You will hold true the sentence ‘Tigers are striped’ just in case you believe that tigers are striped and you take the sentence to mean (or to be true if and only if) tigers are striped. In interpreting your speech, then, I begin with guesses about what you believe and what your utterances mean, and check these guesses against sentences I take you to hold true.7 The envisaged technique is based on an insight afforded by decision theory. Decision theory provides a formal account of choice or preference in terms of

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probabilities and utilities. The idea is that an agent’s preference for one course of action over one or more competitors is a function of the relative desirability of the actions’ outcomes and the probabilities associated by the agent with these outcomes. I must choose between going to the movies or going on a hike. The outcomes of these choices could have different utilities for me, and these utilities may be affected by a variety of possible circumstances. I enjoy hiking more than the movies, for instance, but not if it rains. My overall preference is determined by the relative utility or desirability of outcomes weighted by their probability. If the chance of rain is small, I opt for the hike; otherwise I choose the movies. Probabilities and utilities can be expressed numerically and decision theory can be given a precise formal expression. One consequence of the theory is that, given an agent’s preferences for various courses of action, it is possible to derive a unique assignment of probabilities and utilities for that agent. This makes it appear that decision theory is a straightforward empirical theory: we hypothesize probabilities and utilities — beliefs and desires — and test our hypothesis by noting agents’ preferences. The appearance is misleading. Decision theory at most provides a framework within which we can depict important structural features of human decision-making. In this respect it resembles coordinate systems or familiar systems of measurement — about which I shall have more to say presently. For the moment, I shall note only that, on Davidson’s view, an I-theory includes two components: (1) a Tarski-style theory of truth, a T-theory, and (2) a decision theory. Evidence for a theory of interpretation consists of agents’ attitudes toward sentences uttered, most particularly the attitude of holding true. Just as in the case of orthodox decision theory, agents’ beliefs and desires (construed as probabilities and utilities) are regarded as a function of their preferences, on a theory of interpretation, agents’ beliefs, desires, and meanings (truth conditions associated with sentences) are taken to be a function of what those agents hold true. In interpreting you, I advance a theory that ascribes to you a universe of beliefs, desires, and meanings, and is constrained by sentences I take you to hold true.

60 The I-theory I develop assigns ‘contents’ simultaneously to your utterances and to your propositional attitudes. I can adjust for apparently anomalous utterances by supposing that I am wrong about what you mean, or that you have a desire to deceive me, for instance, or that you are being ironic, or by supposing that you harbor a false belief. This might suggest that I-theories need answer only to a requirement of consistency. According to Davidson, however, propositional attitude ascriptions are governed by a Principle of Charity: I must count you right in most things. If I am attempting to discover what you believe and what your utterances mean, I cannot but suppose that your beliefs are largely true. Without this assumption, any consistent theory might be as good as any other. An I-theory must optimize the truth of your beliefs, then, while simultaneously making sense of your utterances. Astute readers will have guessed that, even given Charity, there is no guarantee that there must be a unique theory of interpretation for any speaker. Davidson regards ‘indeterminacies’ of this sort as enevitable, but benign. Two theories of interpretation that are equally charitable and that are consistent with all an agent’s preferences are merely ‘notational variants’ of one another. The situation resembles that in which temperature is assessed in Fahrenheit or Celsius. I say that water freezes at 32° F, you contend that it freezes at 0° C. Which assessment is correct? The question assumes what is false, namely that there is some definite feature of the world concerning which the two assessments might differ. Rather they are simply two ways of describing the same thing. In this respect, Davidson’s conception of interpretation is to be distinguished from those advanced by other theorists. Thus Quine’s account of radical translation leaves open the prospect of more far-reaching indeterminacies. As a result, Quine argues that, where meanings and propositional attitudes are concerned, there are no ‘facts of the matter’.8 I have described Charity as mandating that we ascribe beliefs to agents in such a way as to optimize the truth of those beliefs. In practice, this means that I ascribe beliefs to you in such a way that they come out mostly true by my lights: I make your beliefs consistent with my beliefs as nearly as possible. But now we confront an apparent difficulty. There is an obvious difference between what is true and what I believe to be true. Suppose that many — or

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most — of my beliefs were false. Then, my Charitable interpretation of many of your beliefs would make your beliefs false as well. Davidson argues, however, that this way of thinking about the matter misses an important feature of Charity. Consider my beliefs. The beliefs I actually have are those that would be ascribed to me by an interpreter who knew all there was to know about me and my circumstances, an interpreter in possession of all the evidence, an ‘omniscient interpreter’.9 This is just to say that my beliefs must in fact be optimally true. And if my beliefs are of necessity optimally true, then there is no deep difference between my ascribing beliefs to you in such a way that they are consistent with mine and my ascribing beliefs to you in such a way that they optimize truth. Could this be right? Perhaps; so long as we take seriously Davidson’s perspective on belief ascription. The objects of particular beliefs are, Davidson supposes, fixed in part by their causes. My belief about a tree concerns a particular tree because it is caused by that tree. In ascribing beliefs, then, we identify their causes. We can of course be wrong about these, we can misascribe beliefs. But it cannot be the case that an ascriber’s beliefs are mostly false. They concern their causes, quite independently of what anyone, including the believer, takes these causes to be.10 This is just a more prosaic way of saying that the beliefs I, as ascriber, possess are those that would be ascribed to me by an omniscient interpreter. How plausible is it to imagine that beliefs concern their causes? It is surely possible for a bump on the head to cause me to believe that Napoleon died in battle. The cause of this belief is a bump on the head, yet my belief concerns, not the bump, but Napoleon. It is central to Davidson’s view, however, that beliefs cannot be ascribed singly. In ascribing a particular belief to me, you implicitly ascribe ‘endless’ other beliefs, those beliefs, namely, implied by the I-theory you invoke. It is this holistic edifice that must satisfy Charity and the demand that the objects of beliefs are fixed by their causes. A correct theory of interpretation can accommodate anomalous belief against a background of nonanomalous belief. All things considered, then, an I-theory that depicts me as having acquired a belief about Napoleon as a result of a bump on the head could easily be more

62 parsimonious than a theory that ascribes to me a belief about a bump on the head. Propositional Attitude Ascription on the Model of Measurement11 Consider what is involved in the explanation of a phenomenon or domain of phenomena. Explanation takes many forms. An explanation purports to make clear, or make sense of, or facilitate our grasp of something we want to understand. One familiar sort of explanation is decompositional: we come to understand wholes by seeing how their parts fit together and interact. I come to understand heat by recognizing that heating an object agitates its constituent molecules, and this agitation is transmitted to adjacent molecules — from the hot sand on the beach to the soles of my feet. We grasp the operation of a clock, or a machine that wraps candy bars, or a cold front, or liquidity by discovering the mechanism responsible for the behavior of clocks, candy wrapping machines, cold fronts, and liquid substances. In these cases we come to understand the mechanism by seeing how it works, how its parts interact with one another and and with their surroundings to produce a particular kind of outcome. Mechanistic explanation of this sort is common in the sciences, and in engineering, medicine, and everyday life. Another sort of explanation, a sort much beloved in psychology and the philosophy of mind, is functional explanation. In giving a functional explanation, I abstract from physical details of a mechanism and consider it exclusively in terms of the causal roles of its constituents. We can describe the operation of a steam engine, or a computing machine, or the digestive tract of a human being without concern for the ‘physical implementation’ or ‘realization’ of these things. Consider another way of understanding a domain of objects, one that can be gained by providing a perspicuous description of the domain’s structure. This can be accomplished by overlaying the domain with another domain whose structure is antecedently well understood. We employ calibrated yardsticks, balances, and meters in describing the lengths, weights, and temperatures of objects. Similarly, we comprehend features of the surface of our planet by imposing a coordinate structure on it. Once in place, this system

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of coordinates enables us to specify areas, distances, and relative locations of objects and occurrences on the planet’s surface. It enables us, as well, to offer certain sorts of prediction. If I know the velocity of an object moving across the surface of the planet and I know its location at a time, I can predict its location at some future time. If I know the location of an object and its distance and direction from another object, I can fix the location of the second object. Coordinate systems represent a special case of measurement, the application of the domain of numbers to a domain of objects or properties. When we describe an object as twelve feet long or as weighing 110 pounds, what features of the object correspond to these numbers? The question is misleading. Ordinary physical objects in ordinary settings exhibit a relatively enduring structure that lends itself to description via axiomatizable systems of numbers. The structure of these descriptive systems, the relations among their elements, is crucial; the particular elements that make them up are in one respect arbitrary. We can express weights in pounds or kilograms, length in feet or meters. What is important is that the numbers we choose, and the axioms governing their combinations, exhibit an appropriate structure. Consider the use of a coordinate system in mapping the surface of the Earth. My choice of a system is, in part, arbitrary. I might use a Mercator projection or a spherical projection, for instance. Notice that a geographical region appearing in a Mercator projection may look very different from the same region represented in a spherical projection. I can recall being baffled as a child by the apparent difference in the relative size of Greenland on the globe in the front of my fourth grade classroom and on the large map on the wall above the blackboard. On the one, Greenland seemed to be only a little larger than Texas; on the other it appeared nearly as big as the whole of North America. I wondered how large Greenland was really; both maps could not be right.12 But of course both maps were right. My mistake was to compare objects on one map with objects on another without taking into account that the mapping systems, though structurally isomorphic, were different. The example provides a nice illustration of what, according to Davidson, indeterminacy of interpretation amounts to. Distinct I-theories might appear to

64 ascribe different beliefs or meanings to an agent, yet each theory could be correct. It need not follow that there is no ‘fact of the matter’ as to what the agent believes, however, any more than it follows from differences in maps of the sort mentioned above that there is no fact to the matter as to the relative size of Greenland. The appearance of mystery comes from comparing items across systems without taking into account the systems to which those items belong. Let us say, then, that the structure and point of I-theories is analogous to that of coordinate systems. We know in advance that anything describable via such a system must have certain properties. In the case of a coordinate system, if one object, A, is to the northwest of B, and B is to the northwest of C, then A is to the northwest of C. Objects that fail to satisfy such conditions cannot usefully be represented in such systems and could not be said to have straightforward locations. In the case of an I-theory, if an agent prefers A to B and B to C, then the agent prefers A to C. Creatures who failed to satisfy this condition — not in the sense that they exhibit intransitive preferences, but in the sense that they fail to exhibit anything identifiable as an appropriately transitive repertoire of choices — would not satisfy an I-theory and could not be said to have straightforward preferences.13 If we are to avoid confusion, we must distinguish internal constraints on an I-theory (or a coordinate system) and descriptions of agents (or geographical regions) in terms of the theory (or coordinate system). In deploying a coordinate system, I make use of a well-behaved geometrical structure the features of which can be described quite independently of features of the world on which it is imposed. Similarly, in deploying an I-theory, I make use of a framework that can be characterized abstractly and independently of its applications. In applying coordinate systems or I-theories, we overlay one domain of objects with a structure that reveals structure in the target domain. The target domain itself exists independently as do the objects and properties that make it up. Nevertheless our description of this domain reflects both those independent features and features of the coordinate system or I-theory in terms of which those features are described. And we must not mistake features of the one for features of the other. To do so would be like mistaking latitude and

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longitude lines on a map for physical features of the terrain. If Davidson is right, then imagining that talk of the propositional content of beliefs, desires, and intentions is talk about mechanistic components of agents is to make a mistake of this sort. Consider a simple geographical truth, Milwaukee’s being north of Chicago. The truth depends on the application and orientation of a coordinate system and on system-independent features of a particular region of our planet. Imagine now that you correctly ascribe the belief that tigers are striped to me. The truth of this ascription turns on the application of an I-theory and on theory-independent features of me, ultimately my dispositional makeup. On Davidson’s view, I possess beliefs with settled propositional contents in something like the way cities possess locations. We do not imagine that locations have distinctive physical ‘realizations’ (or that they are ‘multiply realizable’), nor are we tempted to suppose that if locations are not physical, they must be nonphysical. The same holds for the propositional contents of beliefs, desires, and intentions. We ascribe propositional attitudes to agents whose behavior (actual and potential) accords with those ascriptions. One possibility is that it so accords because the ascriptions, if correct, pick out components of a mechanism responsible for the behavior. But there may be no need to suppose this. Propositional attitude ascriptions and the I-theories that license such ascriptions, need not provide quasi-mechanistic explanations of behavior any more than talk of the location of a city or the direction in which it lies from some other city provides a geologically illuminating assessment of the terrain. If this is so, then the kind of explanation of agents’ intelligent behavior we obtain in reckoning their beliefs, desires, and intentions is not functional, mechanical, or decompositional explanation, but one the success of which stems from its exposing and describing in a systematic way the structure of a complex phenomenon. Such explanations have predictive force, not because they reveal hidden mechanisms, but because they apply to potential utterances and deeds, as well as to actual utterances and deeds. More accurately: propositional attitude explanations illuminate, and thus partly explain, the structure of certain sorts of dispositional system. These explanations work, not

66 because they pinpoint the gears and levers in the underlying mechanism or because they uncover an isomorphism between interpretive elements and components of the mechanism; they work because they reveal a structured system of dispositions describable by means of a relatively well understood domain, a domain plotted in theories of truth and decision theories. Putting all of this together, we can say that, to the extent that we can be subjects of propositional attitude ascriptions, our behavior, or rather the dispositional basis of our behavior, accords with a particular sort of theory. Its so according yields a kind of explanation of it. The explanation is not mechanical or decompositional, or functional, however, it differs in kind from such explanations. A mistake made by philosophers of mind and by some psychologists is to imagine that an I-theory describes a mechanism, perhaps at a functional ‘level’, components of which correspond to elements of the theory. Mental Causation and the Propositional Attitudes A difficulty remains. I have suggested that explanations that appeal to the propositional attitudes are nonmechanistic. Such explanations illuminate human behavior by invoking a structure defined by an appropriate I-theory. But if this, or something like it, is Davidson’s view, it would seem to be at odds with another idea of Davidson’s, the idea that reasons are causes: beliefs, desires, and intentions explain actions only insofar as they are causes of those actions. Suppose I (successfully) explain your flipping the switch by ascribing to you a desire to illuminate the room and a belief that by flipping the switch you will illuminate the room. Suppose, as well, that the success of an explanation of this sort does not depend on my having identified constituents of an internal mechanism responsible for your flipping the switch. Although the success of my explanation undoubtedly depends on your neurological condition (and on much else besides), its success need not depend on there being a correspondence between components of my explanation, particular propositional attitudes, and particular kinds of neural state or event. Even if my explanation is correct, then, this implies nothing about the character of the mechanisms responsible

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for your behavior — other than that they must be such that they are capable of producing behavior of this sort. Still, there is an important causal ingredient in my explanation. It is part of the explanatory framework invoked when we appeal to beliefs, desires, and intentions that an agent can have a reason, R, to perform a particular action (where a reason consists of a belief–desire pair), and perform the action for a reason, but not perform the action for reason R. In this case, R does not account for the agent’s behavior because it is not part of the agent’s reason for doing what he does. Imagine that you want to illuminate the room, and believe that you can illuminate the room by flipping the wall switch in front of you. Suppose, in addition, that you want to exercise your finger and believe that you can exercise it by flipping the switch. In this case you might act in order to exercise your finger: you flip the switch because you want to exercise your finger, and not because you want to illuminate the room. And it is hard to understand the ‘because’ here noncausally. Indeed the role of propositional attitudes in explanations of behavior appears to be through and through causal: propositional attitude explanations of actions are explanations in terms of reasons, and reasons are causes. I think this is largely right, although its being right need not be due to belief and desire ascriptions — ascriptions of reasons — picking out pieces of the causal mechanism responsible for our doing what we do. What we do depends on the dispositional character of our bodies. This dispositional character is what ultimately licenses ascriptions of beliefs and desires. Remember: we are supposing that the ascription of propositional attitudes involves the application of something like a theory of interpretation, an I-theory. This theory provides a perspicuous description of a complex dispositional system. Reflect for a moment on the implications of a view of this sort. Dispositions can exist, can come and go, without being manifested. An object can possess distinct dispositions the manifestation of which in the object’s behavior would be indistinguishable. One of these dispositions could be manifested without the others being manifested. An object might possess two distinct kinds of property, P1 and P2, each of which, in concert with the object’s

68 other properties (and properties of objects nearby) disposes the object to turn green when heated. When the object is heated and, as a result, turns green, this might be due to P1, or to P2, or to both. We may have trouble discovering whether P1 or P2 or both P1 and P2 are responsible for the change of color, but that is another matter. Now, what of action? I explain an action, your flipping the switch, by citing your desire to exercise your finger. In so doing (as we are supposing), I explain your behavior by reference to an elaborate framework provided by a theory of interpretation, an I-theory. Your behavior satisfies this theory. But note: an I-theory according to which you act on your desire to exercise your finger differs from an I-theory according to which you act on your desire to illuminate the room. True, your behavior here and now, your flipping the switch, accords with either theory. But this is only part of what the theories address. I-theories range over dispositional systems. And the dispositional makeup of an agent whose behavior accords with the first theory differs from the dispositional makeup of an agent whose behavior accords with the second theory. There is an epistemological hurdle to be negotiated in discovering which theory is correct, but, as in the case of ordinary, nonmental dispositional systems, that is another matter. Explanations that appeal to propositional attutudes are sensitive to dispositional, hence causal, differences in agents whose behavior they endeavor to explain. This need not, however, depend on the presence of a one–one correspondence between propositional attitudes and bodily components. In the ordinary case, your desire, D, explains your behavior only if you would not have behaved as you did had you lacked D. This is because, were you such that you lacked D, were you such that an I-theory ascribing D to you would not be correct, your dispositional condition would have been such that you would not have behaved as you in fact behaved. What of a case like that of your flipping the switch in which you have two desires, D1 and D2, either of which would account for your behavior, but in which you act on one of these desires, D1, and not the other? In such cases, it might well be false that had you not possessed D1, you would not have behaved as you in fact behaved. Had you lacked D1, you might still have had D2, and D2

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might have accounted for your behavior. The example provides a reminder that the use of counterfactual and subjunctive conditionals to capture dispositional characteristics of objects yields unsatisfying results.14 We must appeal to actual dispositional differences between the two cases. Consider two agents, A1 and A2, both of whom harbor D1 and D2. Suppose that both behave in a particular way (both move their fingers, for instance), yet A1 acts on D1 and A2 acts on D2. A1 and A2 differ dispositionally, and it is in virtue of these differences that A1 and A2 satisfy distinct I-theories. Conclusion I have been examining the idea that ascriptions of propositional attitudes and the explanation of behavior by reference to propositional attitudes is a matter of superimposing a structure on a complex domain in a way that makes salient a structural component of that domain. In this respect, the ascription of beliefs and desires resembles my ascription of temperature, or length, or location. In each case, I invoke a descriptive framework whose structure is fine-grained, orderly, and well understood. In the case of temperature and length, I exploit the properties of numbers axiomatized in simple systems. In the case of the propositional attitudes, I exploit semantic features of the sentential structure of my language in concert with a theory of rational choice. Like explanations generally, explanations that appeal to the propositional attitudes are projective, hence predictive. This is due not to their encompassing a mechanism responsible for behavior, however, but to their applying to agents in virtue of those agents’ overall dispositional structure. We are apt to be mislead by our everyday practice of explaining the behavior of an agent on a particular occasion by ascribing to that agent individual beliefs, desires, and intentions. This makes it appear as though components of the agent correspond to each of these. If Davidson is right, however, individual propositional attitude ascriptions are grounded in an implicit theory of interpretation. An ascription of a belief, desire, or intention is correct just in case it is implied by an I-theory satisfied by the agent. This suggests a parallel with measurement and our use of coordinate systems. In measuring the lengths of particular

70 objects, we import an axiomatized system of numbers; in locating objects in space, we impose a system of coordinates. We can make nothing of lengths or locations independently of such systems. It is fashionable nowadays to call the practice of ascribing propositional attitudes ‘folk psychology’. Folk psychology, like folk medicine, is useful, even indispensable. Neither folk practice, however, reveals details of the underlying mechanism. Nor does the apparent success of either practice depend on its revealing such details. This does not mean that folk psychology is ripe for replacement (or elimination) by neuroscience. Folk psychology and neuroscience are not competitors, any more than cartography and geology are competitors. Notes 1 I know of no simple way to characterize propositions. Propositions might be abstract entities, sets of possible worlds, states of affairs, or something else altogether. Some philosophers who speak of the propositional attitudes contend that talk about propositions can be rephrased and replaced by talk about something else. For purposes of discussion here, the notion of a proposition can be left at an intuitive level. (Just for the record: anyone who takes propositions to be abstract entities owes us an account of how human beings could interact with such things. 2 My discussion of Davidson’s views draws on papers reprinted in his Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), especially ‘Radical Interpretation’, ‘Belief and the Basis of Meaning’, and ‘Reality without Reference’; see also ‘Psychology and Philosophy’, reprinted in Essays on Actions and Events (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980). 3 The gap between intuitions concerning a sentence’s meaning and the conditions under which it is true is narrowed when we consider that theories of truth yield truth conditions systematically for every sentence in a language. (For convenience, I shall speak of languages here, although Davidson mentions only actual and possible utterances.) Natural languages include an infinite number of sentences, and theories of truth are finite. As a result, a theory of truth must make use of the compositional structure of language. Sentences are made up of elements that appear in other sentences. The truth conditions (or meanings) of sentences depend on these elements and their arrangement. If it is possible to give a Tarski-style truth theory for a natural language (a big if), Tsentences implied by that theory should mirror native speakers’ judgments about meaning. 4 See Alfred Tarski, ‘The Concept of Truth in Formalized Languages’, in Logic, Semantics, and Metamathematics, (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1956). 5 One consequence of such a view is that only creatures capable of linguistic utterances could be subjects of propositional attitudes. See ‘Thought and Talk’ in Inquiries into Truth and Interpretation. 6 Here, and in what follows, sentences are taken to be sentences uttered on particular occasions, utterances. 7 Pace some theorists, this does not imply that you must be truthful. I might discover that, for any sentence, p, in general you hold true not-p when you utter p. In this respect, it is useful to distinguish Quine’s notion of ‘assent’ to sentences from the attitude of holding true; I can and do assent to what I do not hold true.

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8 It is not that Davidson is just more optimistic than Quine. Davidson-style theories of interpretation leave less latitude in the assignment of meanings than theories of translation of the sort promoted by Quine. Whereas Quine supposes that translation obliges us to read the apparatus of truth functional sentential logic into the target language, Davidson’s appeal to Tarski-style theories of truth brings with it the whole of first-order logic with identity. Quine’s account of radical translation appears in the first two chapters of Word and Object, (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1961). 9 The omniscient interpreter is introduced in ‘A Coherence Theory of Truth and Knowledge’ in Ernest LePore, ed., Truth and Interpretation: Perspectives on the Philosophy of Donald Davidson (Oxford: Blackwell, 1986). 10 This way of putting it is slightly misleading. Every belief has endless causes. The cause of a belief, the cause that fixes its content, depends on which cause is salient to an interpreter. The interpreter is thus ineliminable in Davidson’s theory. 11 Many of the ideas in this sesction surfaced as part of an earlier attempt to explicate Davidson in Perception and Cognition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), chap. 7. 12 My teacher’s explanation: the wall map was larger than the globe. 13 Preferences can change, of course, and so can the locations of objects. The assumption here is that we are considering only time-slices of domains. 14 See C. B. Martin, ‘Dispositions and Conditionals, The Philosophical Quarterly 44 (1994): 1–8.

72 Volkmar Taube Exemplifikatorische Darstellung: Zu den Grundlagen einer kognitiven Ästhetik

abstract After having introduced Goodman’s concept of exemplification I discuss his general argument that exemplification would be the best for comprehensible the expressive phenomena of art. But there will arise problems when making differences between features of works of art which are exemplified and which are not, and when reconstructing the variable forms of autoreflexive expressions. I try to demonstrate that Goodman’s concept of exemplification therefore ist too limited: 1. Goodman doesn’t take into account that the caracteristics of works such as colours, form etc. also can be interpreted as materials of artistic expressions. 2. He doesn’t give any idea to solve the question what would make an exemplification work effectively. Therefore I suggest to reformulate the concept of exemplification. Die Exemplifikation ist eine uns vertraute Form der Darstellung. Fragt uns ein ausländischer Besucher, welche Farbe eine deutsche Telefonzelle hat, können wir ihm eine sprachliche Beschreibung geben - oder ihm eine Telefonzelle zeigen. Wenn ich mich für die letztere Form der Mitteilung entscheide, weise ich einem Alltagsgegenstand eine Symbolfunktion zu: Die Telefonzelle wird zum Beispiel für die Farbe einer Klasse von Gegenständen und auf diese Weise zu einem Mittel einer Darstellung. Nelson Goodman hat bekanntlich die These vertreten1, daß die “Exemplifikation” genannte symbolische Beziehung eine zentrale Bedeutung für die Theorie der Künste hat. Er konnte dabei an den etablierten Sprachgebrauch anknüpfen, demzufolge auch Kunstwerke, die weder etwas beschreiben noch etwas abbilden, eine darstellende Funktion haben, nämlich etwas ausdrücken können. Goodmans Ausdruckstheorie, so fruchtbar sie im Ansatz ist, leistet aber bei der Rekonstruktion des künstlerischen Ausdrucks nicht das, was sie verspricht. Im folgenden soll gezeigt werden, warum das so ist. Doch betrachten wir zuerst den alltäglichen Fall der Exemplifikation etwas näher.

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Die Exemplifikation ist eine symbolische Beziehung. So könnte die Telefonzelle aus unserem Beispiel alle möglichen ihrer Eigenschaften exemplifizieren: ihre Materialeigenschaften, ihr Design, ihre Größe. Tatsächlich exemplifiziert wird aber nur ihre Farbe. Oder stellen wir uns einen Stein in der Vitrine eines Geologiemuseums vor. Er exemplifiziert (je nach Kontext) gewisse oder auch alle seine geologisch relevanten Merkmale, nicht jedoch irgendwelche anderen z.B. wie zufällig der Kopf eines Lebewesens auszusehen. Wie die beiden Beispiele zeigen, findet bei der Exemplifikation eine Auswahl statt: Aus der Menge der vom Symbol besessenen Eigenschaften wird eine Teilmenge von Eigenschaften ausgewählt und zum Gegenstand der Darstellung gemacht. Da die Exemplifikation ersichtlicherweise keine natürliche Beziehung ist, sondern von der Intention des Symbolverwenders abhängt, wie im Falle der Ostension, oder von Konventionen, wie im Falle eines institutionalisierten Kontextes, scheint es angemessen, Goodmans Vorschlag zu folgen und die Exemplifikation als eine Spielart der Bezugnahme aufzufassen. Gegen die Auffassung, ein roter Gegenstand könne auf ähnliche Weise die Eigenschaft Rot bezeichnen wie das Wort “Rot”, scheint erst einmal nichts einzuwenden zu sein. Zwischen beiden Formen der Symbolisierung können wir ja leicht an Hand der verwendeten Symboltypen unterscheiden. Anderseits: Wie können wir Exemplifikation von Abbildung unterscheiden? Denn wie Goodman zeigen konnte, können wir Abbildung, bzw. Repräsentation im allgemeinen, ebenfalls als Bezugnahme verstehen. Sollen wir also sagen, Exemplifikation sei eine Unterart der Abbildung? Das widerspricht aber unserem üblichen Gebrauch von “Abbildung”: Von einem Farbmuster zu sagen, es sei eine Abbildung der betreffenden Farbe, klingt unpassend. Goodman hat den plausiblen Vorschlag gemacht, die Rede von exemplifizierten Eigenschaften oder Merkmalen durch die Rede von exemplifizierten Worten zu ersetzen. Demnach exemplifiziert das rote Farbmuster nicht die Eigenschaft der Röte, sondern das Wort “rot”. Exemplifikation ist damit Bezugnahme auf ein denotierendes Symbol. Während

74 in der Repräsentation und der Beschreibung die Bezugnahme vom Symbol zum Objekt verläuft, läuft Sie in der Exemplifikation in die andere Richtung - vom Objekt hin zum denotierenden Symbol. Nicht nur wegen der Möglichkeit, die Exemplifikation von der Denotation abzugrenzen, ist Goodmans Vorschlag fruchtbar. Betrachten wir den Fall eines obduzierten Hundes, der seine Eigenschaft, ein Lebewesen mit Nieren zu sein exemplifiziert. Wir erwarten zurecht, daß er, wenn er als Beispiel für ein Lebewesen mit Nieren vorgestellt wird, nicht gleichzeitig als ein Beispiel für ein Lebewesen mit Herz vorgestellt werden muß. Andererseits wissen wir, daß die Klasse der Lebewesen mit Nieren identisch ist mit der Klasse der Lebewesen mit Herz. Was also tun, ohne neben Klassen noch Eigenschaften in unser Universum aufnehmen zu müssen? Die Vorstellung, Gegenstände der Exemplifikation seien Wörter, bietet uns eine Lösung. Denn es ist klar, daß sich die Ausdrücke, die wir zur Bestimmung des vermeintlichen Eigenschaftsunterschiedes heranziehen, als Beschreibungen voneinander unterscheiden und daher in der Exemplifikation einen Unterschied ergeben. Der Einwand gegen die Auffassung, Gegenstände der Exemplifikation seien Wörter, liegt auf der Hand: Die Sprache ist nicht ausdrucksstark genug, um alle möglichen sichtbaren Eigenschaften eines Gegenstandes zu bezeichnen. Goodman hat deshalb vorgeschlagen, auch nichtsprachliche Symbole als Objekte der Exemplifikation zuzulassen. Das erhöht offensichtlich den Ausdrucksreichtum, garantiert aber immer noch nicht, daß alle sichtbaren Merkmale eines Gegenstandes bezeichnet werden können - schließlich kann man nicht erwarten, daß für alle wahrnehmbaren Eigenschaften geeignete Repräsentationen verfügbar sind. Goodman macht deshalb einen weiteren Vorschlag: Repräsentationen können auch in den exemplifizierenden Symbolen selbst gefunden werden. Im Falle eines nichtverbalisierbaren Farbtons könnte der rote Gegenstand sich selbst als Repräsentation des besagten Rottons exemplifizieren. Wäre das exemplifizierende Symbol ein farbiges Rechteck auf einer Farbmusterkarte, würde sich dieses Rechteck als Repräsentation des Rottons exemplifizieren. Objekte der Exemplifikation können auch Eigenschaften sein, die dem Exempel nur metaphorisch zugesprochen werden können. Wie Goodman

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überzeugend zeigen konnte: Wenn wir einen mathematischen Beweis elegant, eine verblühende Blume traurig oder eine Maske im Völkerkundemuseum dämonisch nennen, beanspruchen wir, eine wenn auch nicht wörtlich, so doch metaphorisch wahre Aussage zu treffen. Wenn es aber nicht nur Eigenschaften gibt, die dem Gegenstand wörtlich, sondern auch solche, die ihm metaphorisch zugesprochen werden können - warum können wir dann nicht auch davon ausgehen, daß ein Gegenstand, neben Eigenschaften wie rot zu sein, auch Eigenschaften wie dämonisch zu sein exemplifizieren kann? Goodmans fruchtbarer Vorschlag, neben einer wörtlichen, auch von einer metaphorischen Exemplifikation zu sprechen, gibt uns also schließlich auch die Möglichkeit an die Hand, Fälle wie die einer Traurigkeit ausdrückenden Blume als Fälle von Exemplifikation zu behandeln. 2. Goodman meint nun, daß auch Kunstwerke exemplifizieren und daß der Begriff der Exemplifikation uns hilft, manche Rede über das, was uns Kunstwerke “vermitteln”, als Rede über exemplifizierende Symbole zu rekonstruieren. Er knüpft dabei an den Alltagsgebrauch des Wortes “Ausdruck” an. So sprechen wir davon, daß Bilder, Skulpturen, Gedichte usw. etwas ausdrücken: Mut, Freude, Aggressivität usw. Wie Goodman richtig gezeigt hat, kann solche Rede nicht als Ausdruck des Innenlebens des Künstlers aufgefaßt werden. Aber, wie sollen wir Ausdruck dann verstehen? Wie wir gesehen haben, könnten wir ihn als metaphorische Exemplifikation rekonstruieren: Eigenschaften, die nur metaphorisch vom Objekt besessen werden, werden exemplifiziert. Dieser Vorschlag hat etwas Bestechendes. Zum einen bietet er eine weniger mysteriöse Erklärung für Ausdruck als die naive psychologische Erklärung unter Rekurs auf das Innenleben des Künstlers. Zum andern wird er dem Umstand gerecht, daß Kunstwerke weit mehr als nur psychologisch deutbare Eigenschaften ausdrücken können. Denn Eigenschaften wie Lebendigkeit, Dynamik, Schwung, Fiebrigkeit - samt und sonders bloß metaphorische Eigenschaften eines Kunstwerkes - gehören nicht zu ihnen, sind aber gleichwohl Eigenschaften, die sinnvollerweise von Kunstwerken zum Ausdruck gebracht werden

76 können. Für Goodmans These, Exemplifikation trage der Wirkungsweise von Kunstwerken Rechnung, spricht auch, daß wir auch vom Ausdruck eines Kunstwerkes sprechen, wenn es um nichtmetaphorische Eigenschaften geht. Beispielsweise sprechen wir davon, daß ein Gebäude seine Funktionalität, ein Gemälde seine klare Formgliederung oder eine Bewegung Schnelligkeit zum Ausdruck bringt. Eine nähere Betrachtung der These, der am Alltagsfall der Exemplifikation gewonnene Begriff der Exemplifikation stelle eine adäquate Rekonstruktion des für die Kunstheorie so wichtigen Ausdrucksbegriffes dar, konfrontiert uns allerdings mit einer Reihe von Problemen. Wenden wir uns im folgenden diesen Problemen im einzelnen zu. Der Alltagsfall der Exemplifikation läßt sich als ein Fall des Probe-Nehmens verstehen. Die Telefonzelle, die ich dem ausländischen Besucher zeige, wie auch das Stoffmuster im Schaufenster des Schneiders, fungieren als Probe für die Beschaffenheit einer ganzen Klasse von Gegenständen. Eine Probe ist nur dann “richtig gezogen”, wenn ihre Merkmale repräsentativ sind. Wie steht es hiermit im Fall des Ausdrucks? In welchem Sinn können wir hier Repräsentativität erwarten? Nehmen wir den Fall eines Gemäldes, von dem wir sagen, es drücke die Atmosphäre von Feierlichkeit aus. Es gibt viele Beispiele von Bildern (oder anderen Gegenständen), die diese Eigenschaft ausdrücken. Wollen wir also sagen, daß unser Bild repräsentative Merkmale von Feierlichkeit ausdrückenden Bilder (oder anderen Gegenständen) besitzt, so daß es als gute Probe einer Klasse von Bildern (oder von Feierlichkeit ausdrückenden Objekten allgemein) angesehen werden kann? Offensichtlich führt das am Problem des Ausdrucks vorbei. Ausdruck durch Kunstwerke dient nicht dazu, Bekanntes lediglich zu illustrieren. Vielmehr ist es so, daß wir, wenn wir von ausgedrückten Merkmalen sprechen, wissen wollen, inwiefern hier etwas auf eine interessante, aufschlußreiche bzw. neuartige Weise ausgedrückt wird. Wir fragen folglich nicht nur nach dem Inhalt des Ausdrucks, sondern auch nach der Form, also - wenn wir hier von Exemplifikation sprechen wollen - nicht nur nach den exemplifizierten Eigenschaften, sondern auch nach der Art und Weise, wie diese Eigenschaften “vermittelt” werden. Wir sehen sofort, daß zur Beantwortung der letztgenannten Frage die Analyse der Alltagsexemplifikation bisher nichts

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beigetragen hat: Die ästhetisch zentrale Frage, wie etwas Bekanntes auf neue und interessante Weise exemplifiziert werden kann, ist für das Verständnis alltäglicher Formen von Exemplifikation unerheblich. Die alltäglichen Formen der Exemplifikation beinhalteten eine Selektion: Nicht alle, sondern nur einige der vom Symbol besessenen Eigenschaften werden exemplifiziert. Goodman hebt hervor, daß dies auch für die Exemplifikation in den Künsten zutrifft: Lediglich eine begrenzte Menge von Eigenschaften des Kunstwerks werden hier exemplifiziert. Es stellt sich die Frage, welche vom Kunstwerk besessenen Eigenschaften nicht exemplifiziert werden. Man könnte mit Goodman an die folgenden, typischerweise in ästhetischen Kontexten irrelevanten Eigenschaften denken: eine bestimmte Molekularstruktur zu besitzen, soundsoviel Kilogramm zu wiegen, bei bestimmten Beleuchtungsverhältnissen entstanden zu sein usw. Ähnlich wie die geologische Steinprobe in der Vitrine eines Museums nur die geologisch relevanten Eigenschaften exemplifiziert, exemplifizieren Kunstwerke nur die ästhetisch relevanten Eigenschaften. Goodman geht aber einen Schritt weiter. So behauptet er, daß Meinungsverschiedenheiten zwischen Kunstkritikern häufig die Frage betreffen, welche Eigenschaften eines Werkes exemplifiziert und welche nicht exemplifiziert werden. Sicher glaubt Goodman nicht, daß es unter Kunstkritikern strittig ist, welche Eigenschaften dem Typ nach für künstlerischen Ausdruck relevant oder irrelevant sind. Wenn er also annimmt, daß Kontroversen in der Interpretation eines Werkes auf die Frage zurückzuführen sind, welche Eigenschaften vom Werk exemplifiziert und welche nicht exemplifiziert werden, muß er annehmen, daß es Eigenschaften eines Kunstwerkes gibt, die zwar typischerweise , nicht aber im gegebenen Fall für das Verstehen des Werkes relevant sind. Vermutlich hat Goodman einen Alltagsfall der Exemplifikation wie den folgenden im Auge. Stellen wir uns vor, ein Kunde betritt den Laden unseres Schneiders und fragt, welche Farbe der Stoff von angebotenen Stoffballen hat. Der Schneider antwortet dem Kunden, indem er ins Schaufenster greift und die Stoffprobe, die hier Farbe und Webart exemplifiziert, nun als Probe nur für die Farbe verwendet. Für das Verstehen dessen, was exemplifiziert wird, reicht es also nicht aus zu wissen, was die

78 Stoffprobe kraft institutionellem Rahmen exemplifiziert: Die vermittelte Information ist durch Ostension spezifischer geworden. Bisher hat Goodman kein einziges überzeugendes Beispiel vorlegen können, das uns belegt, daß ein solcher Fall von Exemplifikation auf Kunstwerke übertragbar wäre. Man könnte vielleicht an die Ähnlichkeit eines Portraits denken, die für die Interpretation nicht zählt, weil das Bild nicht ausdrücklich eine Abbildung von jemandem sein will, sondern nur ein Portrait im allgemeinen (z.B. Leonardos Mona Lisa). Oder an eine Plastik, bei der das Gewicht des verwendeten Materials nicht anschaulich in Erscheinung treten soll. (Man beachte: Es gibt Plastiken, bei denen das anders ist, z.B. bei vielen Plastiken von Richard Serra.) Dennoch bleibt es unklar, ob dies typische Fälle sind oder eben nur untypische Einzelfälle. In jedem Fall kann ohne hinreichend schlüssige Beispiele, die These Goodmans, daß Meinungsverschiedenheiten über die richtige Interpretation wesentlich Meinungsverschiedenheiten hinsichtlich der Frage sind, was ein Kunstwerk exemplifiziert, nur schwer begründet werden. Aber selbst die schwächere These, daß wir die Exemplifikation brauchen, um diejenigen Eigenschaften “auszumustern”, die für das Werkverstehen generell irrelevant sind, gibt Anlaß zu Fragen. Denn gehören nicht die erwähnten Beispiele für nichtexemplifizierte Eigenschaften alle zum Typ der nichtwahrnehmbaren Eigenschaften, so daß wir nur zu sagen brauchen, wenn eine Eigenschaft keine Wahrnehmungseigenschaft ist, ist sie für das Werkverstehen uninteressant? Man kann Goodmans Mißtrauen gegenüber einer klaren Unterscheidung von Anschauung und Begriff sicher zustimmen. Denn was ist eine reine, vom Wissen unberührte Wahrnehmungseigenschaft? Viele der Eigenschaften im Kunstwerk sind ohne Wissen eigentlich nicht wahrnehmbar. Ist der Flaschentrockner von Marcel Duchamp ohne Hintergrundwissen als ein im Warenhaus gekaufter Flaschentrockner identifizierbar? Oder die bedrohliche Massigkeit einer Plastik von Richard Serra ohne das Wissen, wie schwer ein großer Stahlkörper ist? Trotzdem ist die Unterscheidung von wahrnehmbaren und nichtwahrnehmbaren Eigenschaften nicht völlig unbegründet. Denken wir an die Molekularstruktur eines Bildes. Eine solche Eigenschaft ist auch dann

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von uns nicht wahrnehmbar, wenn wir mit allem nur erdenklichen Wissen über die Molekularstruktur des Bildes ausgerüstet sind. Es ist sicher nicht allzu kühn, zu behaupten, daß Eigenschaften wie diese für die Rezeption eines Kunstwerkes ohne Bedeutung sind. Leider gehören aber die von Goodman angeführten Beispiele von Eigenschaften, die für das Werkverstehen unerheblich sind, alle zu diesem Typ prinzipiell nicht wahrnehmbarer Eigenschaften, und so müssen wir feststellen, daß selbst die schwächere These, die Exemplifikation sei für die Grenzziehung zwischen für das Verstehen von Kunstwerken relevanten und nichtrelevanten Eigenschaften erforderlich, bisher noch auf wackligen Beinen steht. Es fällt auf, daß man bei der Suche nach nichtexemplifizierten Merkmalen im Nebel herumzutappen scheint. Sicher, die Frage welche Eigenschaften ein Symbol exemplifiziert und welche nicht, ist im Fall der Stoffprobe des Schneiders einsichtigerweise zentral. Aber kann das Gleiche für den Fall des exemplifizierenden Kunstwerkes gesagt werden? Um diese Frage beantworten zu können, sollten wir zunächst einmal überlegen, was Goodman mit seiner These, Selektion sei für ästhetische Exemplifikation zentral, eigentlich zu erklären versucht. Goodman geht es letztlich um eine Theorie des ästhetischen Verstehens. Verstehen eines Kunstwerkes bedeutet aber, so Goodmans Überzeugung, Verstehen

von

symbolischen

Bezügen.

Wenn

von

Symbolen

im

Zusammenhang von Kunstwerken gesprochen wird, denkt man zuerst einmal an Abbildungen oder allgemeiner, an Repräsentationen. Aber auch Musik, gegenstandslose Kunst oder Architektur sind nicht frei von symbolischem Gehalt, schließlich kommunizieren auch sie etwas: formale Strukturen, Ideen und andere Ausdrucksgehalte. Mit dem Exemplifikationsbegriff versucht Goodman also, unserer Rede davon, daß auch nichtabbildende Werke bedeutsam sein können, einer Erklärung zuzuführen, und er tut es, indem er Werkverstehen nach dem Muster des Verstehens einer Stoffprobe als die Fähigkeit auffaßt, zu identifizieren, was das Werk exemplifiziert, und somit zwischen relevanten und nichtrelevanten Merkmalen zu unterscheiden.

80 Eine genauere Betrachtung, des Werkverstehens konfrontiert uns aber mit einer komplizierteren Situation, und es wird fraglich, ob das exemplifizierende Stoffmuster ein brauchbares Modell für seine Untersuchung abgibt. Wir verlangen von einem Kunstwerk, daß sein Stil zum Sujet paßt, die Farbe zur Form, der Ausdruck eines Details zum Ausdruck des Ganzen, kurz: Wir erwarten vom Kunstwerk ein funktionierendes Zusammenspiel aller Teilaspekte. Das gilt zunächst für die formale Seite des Kunstwerkes. Alle formalen Aspekte sollen formal zusammenpassen und das heißt, sie sollen funktionierende übergreifende formale Einheiten bilden. Tatsächlich ist jede xbeliebige Gestalt und jede x-beliebige Form aus Elementen zusammengesetzt, die die Eigenschaft haben, sich zu der fraglichen Einheit zusammenzusetzen. Wenn wir im Alltag ein Gesicht identifizieren, fragen wir aber in der Regel nicht danach, woraus sich die Gesamtstruktur zusammensetzt, finden es also nicht beachtenswert, daß Nase, Mund, Augen usw. im Zusammenspiel dafür verantwortlich sind, daß wir das erkennen, was wir gerade erkennen - und erst recht bewundern wir die Natur nicht dafür, daß das Zusammenspiel der Gesichtsteile so schlüssig “ein Gesicht” ergibt. Am Kunstwerk interessieren uns aber im Unterschied zum Mustererkennen im Alltag nicht nur die Muster selbst, sondern auch die Art und Weise, wie sie aus Elementen gebildet werden, einschließlich der Frage nach dem Grad der Geschicklichkeit, mit der sie realisiert worden sind. Von ausgedrückten metaphorischen Eigenschaften, wie z.B. Stimmungen, erwarten wir, daß sie nicht sozusagen frei über dem Werk schweben, sondern an die Existenz bestimmter formaler Mittel gebunden sind. Entgegen Goodmans Rede, das Werk drücke eine Stimmung aus, sagen wir üblicherweise, daß bestimmte Eigenschaften eines Werkes eine Stimmung ausdrücken, etwa ein grauer Farbton die Stimmung des Gedrücktseins oder ein kompositorisches Muster die Atmosphäre der Ruhe. Es ist eine zentrale Aufgabe der Kunst, metaphorischen Ausdruck nicht nur zu erzeugen (wie das Werke der Unterhaltungskunst tun), sondern uns auch zu erläutern, d.h. verstehbar zu machen, mit welchen formalen Mitteln er entsteht. Wir haben weiter oben schon erwähnt: Ein Kunstwerk kann bestimmte Ausdrucksmerkmale auf neue und

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interessante Weise präsentieren und damit das Wie der Konstitution von Ausdruck zum bedeutsamen Merkmal des Werkes werden lassen. Zum anderen müssen wir die komplexen Verflechtungen, die zwischen einzelnen Ausdrucksmerkmalen bestehen, beim Verstehen des Werkes beachten. Eine Stimmung, die ein Gedicht auf der Ebene des Inhaltes transportiert, finden wir vielleicht wiederholt auf der Ebene des Rhythmus, genauso wie die Stimmung, die ein Bild in der Farbe vermittelt, in der Form wieder auftauchen kann. Neben den Wiederholungen von Ausdrucksmerkmalen spielen auch Kontraste zwischen ihnen eine Rolle. Etwa der Kontrast zwischen einer sanften und einer aggressiven Stimmung. Wie bei den formalen Elementen des Kunstwerkes sind wir auch bei den Ausdruckselementen an der Frage des Passens interessiert: Hier an der Frage des Zusammenpassens im Sinne von Wiederholung und Kontrast. Das komplexe Wechselspiel von Teil und Ganzem, mit dem wir beim Verstehen des Ausdrucksgehaltes eines Kunstwerkes konfrontiert werden, bestimmt unsere beständige Suche nach Ähnlichkeiten und Kontrasten. Daher fungieren Elemente, die etwas ausdrücken, z.B. eine Linie oder ein Rhythmus, häufig als Proben von innerhalb des Werkes projizierbaren Markmalen. Wir entdecken eine Stimmung, die uns die Farbe vermittelt, in der Form wieder und schließlich im dargestellten Motiv: So sind wir beständig auf der Suche - nach der Gemeinsamkeit aller Teilaspekte, d.h. der den unterschiedlichen Teilen des Bildes gemeinsamen Ausdrucksstruktur. Es würde unserer beständig mit veränderter Deutung konfrontierten Rezeption eines Kunstwerkes jedoch widersprechen, wenn wir sagen würden, daß diese Suche nur Mittel zum Zweck ist, um schließlich das durch das Werk als Ganzes exemplifizierte Ausdrucksmerkmal erfassen zu können. Es entspricht vielmehr unserer Erfahrung beim Betrachten eines Gemäldes, daß sich das, was ausgedrückt wird, im Fortgang des Eindringens ins Werk fortlaufend verändert, und eben auch, daß diese Veränderungen einen kalkulierten Effekt darstellen und einen Teil des Vergnügens ausmachen, das wir beim Betrachten von Kunstwerken empfinden. Aus den eben gemachten Beobachtungen folgt, daß Kunstwerke nicht bloß gewisse ihrer Merkmale kommunizieren, sondern vielmehr auch die Mittel, mit

82 denen sie erzeugt werden, und das gilt sowohl für die formalen Aspekte, die metaphorischen Aspekte, wie auch für die kausalen Zusammenhänge zwischen formalen und metaphorischen Aspekten eines Werkes. Darüber hinaus spielt auch die Bewertung der eingesetzten Mittel für das Verstehen eine wichtige Rolle: Denn auf die Mittel zu achten, bedeutet hier zwangsläufig, sie auch zu bewerten.2 Wir verstehen nun, was das Verstehen der Bedeutungsstruktur eines Werkes alles umfaßt und auch, warum die Frage nach einer Grenzziehung zwischen bedeutungsvollen und nicht bedeutungsvollen Merkmalen eines Kunstwerkes zwar vielleicht nicht unerheblich ist, aber doch am eigentlichen Punkt vorbeigeht: Die für das Erfassen von Bedeutungsstrukturen eines Werkes so wichtige Frage nach den eingesetzten Mitteln wird nicht gestellt. Man könnte allerdings einwenden: Gut, was hier über die autoreflexive Struktur des künstlerischen Ausdrucks gesagt wird, ist interessant und präzisiert unsere Vorstellung von dem, was wir als ästhetisches Verstehen bezeichnen. Aber, warum sollen wir nicht die komplexen Einsichten in die Konstitution von Bedeutung, die uns das Werk vermittelt, wiederum als exemplifizierten Inhalt ansehen? Die Antwort liegt auf der Hand: Die exemplifizierte Eigenschaft würde dann im Grenzfall einen mehrseitigen Aufsatz über das betreffende Werk umfassen. Formal wäre gegen die Vorstellung, exemplifiziert werde ein solches komplexes Prädikat, nichts einzuwenden - aber hilfreich zur Erläuterung dessen, was man als “Verstehen der komplexen Verflechtung der Ausdrucksmomente” bezeichnen kann, wäre sie aber nicht.3 Vor allem der Umstand, daß Goodman als Ausdrucksträger das Kunstwerk als solches, nicht aber, wie es für unsere Zwecke wünschenswert wäre, einzelne Merkmale des Kunstwerkes ansieht, macht seinen Exemplifikationsbegriff unbrauchbar zur Beschreibung der Ausdrucksdynamik eines Werkes. Wenn eine Anzahl von Formen sich zu einem kompositorischen Muster zusammenfügt, können wir lediglich feststellen, daß das Bild dieses Muster exemplifiziert. Von den einzelnen Formen zu sagen, sie exemplifizierten Eigenschaften, z.B. die, das fragliche Muster zu konstituieren, erlaubt uns der Exemplifikationsbegriff in der vorliegenden Form aber nicht. Oder betrachten wir ein graues Bild, daß Trauer ausdrückt. Goodman ist lediglich in der Lage

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83

festzustellen, daß das Bild sowohl “Grau” als auch “Trauer” zu exemplifizieren in der Lage ist, dem für das Verstehen des Kunstwerkes bedeutsamen Umstand aber, daß die Form die Bedingung des Ausdrucks ist, kann er mittels seines Exemplifikationsbegriffes nicht Rechnung tragen. Ein Exemplifikationsbegriff, der für die Exemplikation von “Ausdruck” adäquat wäre, hätte dem Umstand Rechnung zu tragen, daß wir Farben, Formen oder andere Bildmerkmale als Ausdrucksträger bezeichnen. Darüber hinaus müßte auch die Wirkung der Darstellung Beachtung finden. Eine Exemplifikation ist nicht nur dann mißlungen, wenn die exemplifizierten Merkmale nicht repräsentativ sind, sondern auch dann, wenn die Merkmale nicht oder nicht ausreichend gut vom Adressaten erkannt werden können. Die Stoffprobe des Schneiders im dunklen Raum erfüllt diese Bedingung der Erkennbarkeit offensichtlich nicht. Oder stellen wir uns vor, wir wollten das Gewicht eines Objektes exemplifizieren. Es einfach hinzulegen, genügt sicher nicht. Wir müssen uns Mittel einfallen lassen, mit denen wir das Gewicht anschaulich zum Ausdruck bringen können, z.B. können wir, um den gewünschten Effekt zu erreichen, den Gegenstand auf eine Waage oder eine weiche, leicht verformbare Unterlage legen. Oder denken wir schließlich an eine zu exemplifizierende grelle Farbe. In welcher Umgebung fällt sie sowohl als individuelle Farbe als auch als grelle Farbe auf? Sicher nicht in der Umgebung anderer greller Farben - sondern eher in der von blassen Farben. Das letzte Beispiel führt direkt hinein in die praktischen Darstellungsprobleme des Künstlers, denn in der Kunst spielt die Frage, wie Wirkungen von Farben und Formen hervorgehoben werden können, eine wichtige Rolle. Vom Künstler verwendete Mittel zur Verstärkung und Hervorhebung von Merkmalen sind Kontrastierung und Wiederholung. Daß, wie wir angedeutet haben, die Wiederholung von Ausdrucksmerkmalen auch dem Aufbau übergreifender Ausdrucksstrukturen dient oder der Kontrast von Ausdrucksmerkmalen in sich bedeutsam sein kann, steht hierzu nicht im Widerspruch. Es verweist lediglich darauf, daß die Elemente eines Werkes durchaus gleichzeitig verschiedene Funktionen haben können. Betrachten wir unter dem Gesichtspunkt der Wirkung auch den Fall sogenannter Definitionen mittels paradigmatischer Beispiele. Es ist bis heute

84 rätselhaft geblieben, wie solche Exemplifikationen überhaupt funktionieren können. Klar ist aber, daß auch in diesem Fall der Exemplifikation Darstellungsgeschick eine Rolle spielt - die Fähigkeit, im Gesprächskontext und den darin eingebetteten Hintergrundannahmen die Ostension wirkungsvoll zu plazieren. Eine Ähnlichkeit mit dem erwähnten, auf die ästhetische Exemplifikation verweisenden Beispiel der exemplifizierenden Farbe fällt ins Auge: Hier wie dort geht es bei der Fähigkeit, wirkungsvoll zu exemplifizieren, um ein geschicktes Einpassen von Information: Hier um das geschickte Einpassen einer Ostension in einen Gesprächskontext, dort um das geschickte Einpassen einer Farbe in einen Kontext von anderen Farben. Sicher sind Untersuchungen wie diese nicht mehr mit der Annahme verträglich, zum Verstehen der “Exemplifikation” genannten symbolischen Beziehung genüge es festzustellen, was jeweils kraft Konvention oder Ostension durch das Exempel bezeichnet werde. Doch Ziel dieses Aufsatzes sollte es nur sein, festzuhalten, daß und warum Goodmans Begriff ästhetischer Exemplifikation nicht das leistet, was er zu leisten beansprucht - wenn auch mit der weitergehenden Absicht, auf diese Weise weitere Forschungen auf dem Gebiet der Kunstsemiotik anzuregen.

Anmerkungen 1 Nelson Goodman: Language of Art (1969), Cambridge, Mass. 1981; deutsch: Sprachen der Kunst, Frankfurt/Main 1973 Nelson Goodman: Ways of Worldmaking, Cambridge, Mass. 1978; deutsch: Weisen der Welterzeugung, Frankfurt/Main 1984 Nelson Goodman: Of Mind and other Matters, Cambridge, Mass. 1984; deutsch: Vom Denken und anderen Dingen, Frankfurt/Main 1987 Nelson Goodman, Catherine Z. Elgin: Reconceptions in Philosophy and Other Arts and Science Indianapolis, Mass. 1988; deutsch: Revisionen: Philosophie und andere Künste und Wissenschaften, Frankfurt/Main 1989 Eine systematische Darstellung von Goodmans Theorie der exemplifikatorischen Darstellung findet sich in: Catherin C.Elgin, With Reference to Reference, Indianapolis, Mass. 1983. 2 Hier zeigt sich, daß Goodmans These, in kunstsemiotische Untersuchungen könne man bedenkenlos von der Frage der Bewertung von Kunstwerken absehen, nicht stichhaltig ist. 3 Die Unterscheidung zwischen relevanten und nichtrelevanten Merkmalen eines Werkes spielt beim Werkverstehen in einem speziellen, von Goodmans Vorstellungen allerdings abweichenden Sinn, eine Rolle: als Unterscheidung von gelungenem und nichtgelungenem Ausdruck. Zum Verstehen eines Werkes gehört es, zu verstehen, was beabsichtigter und nichtbeabsichtigter Ausdruck ist. Da in einem Kunstwerk selten (oder wohl nie) das Ideal vollkommener Konsistenz und vollkommener

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85

Materialbeherrschung erreicht wird, spielt in der Kritik die Unterscheidung von relevanten und nichtrelevanten Merkmalen eine zentrale Rolle. Wenn ein Filmdialog Spannung vermitteln soll, aber tatsächlich nur einen blassen Eindruck hinterläßt, werden wir sicher nicht sagen, daß er “Spannungslosigkeit” ausdrückt. (Wir sagen das höchstens im Sinne einer Festellung hinsichtlich dessen, was der Dialog faktisch ausdrückt. Jedenfalls nicht im Sinne der Interpretation.) Wir erkennen, was der Dialog ausdrücken soll, und identifizieren den faktischen Ausdruck daher als für das Verstehen irrelevanten Ausdruck. Das Erfassen dessen, was das Werk ausdrücken soll, liefert daher die Kriterien, an Hand deren wir in der Lage sind, “unbeabsichtigten” Ausdruck zu identifizieren. Möglicherweise liegt hier der Schlüssel zum Werkverstehen und nicht, wie Goodman mutmaßt, im Ausschluß von Eigenschaften, die bei der Herstellung des Werkes zwar notwendig realisiert werden, in der Interpretation aber keine Rolle spielen.

86

NATURALIZED EPISTEMOLOGY, RATIONALITY AND NORMATIVITY

Paul K. Moser and David Yandell Against Naturalizing Rationality

abstract Recent obituaries for traditional non-naturalistic approaches to rationality are not just premature but demonstrably self-defeating. One such prominent obituary appears in the writings of W. V. Quine, whose pessimism about traditional epistemology stems from his scientism, the view that the natural sciences have a monopoly on legitimate theoretical explanation. Quine also offers an obituary for the a priori constraints on rationality found in “first philosophy”, resting on his rejection of the “pernicious mentalism” of semantic theories of meaning. Quine’s pronouncements of the death of traditional conceptions of rationality in epistemology and in the theory of meaning are, we contend, but misguided wishes for their death, wishes that face severe problems of self-defeat. In addition, Quine’s naturalistic epistemology is subject to damaging skeptical worries, the force of which one cannot escape by ignoring them. A non-naturalistic approach to rationality is here to stay, whether friends of Quine’s naturalism like it or not. Any sweeping claim that nonnaturalistic accounts of rationality are dead will face insurmountable obstacles from unavoidable questions about its own rational justification. Such questions will keep non-naturalistic epistemology and first philosophy alive forever, or at least as long as philosophers endure. An increasingly popular dogma among philosophers implies that any reputable field of inquiry must be continuous with the natural sciences. Many advocates of this dogma presume that in analyzing rationality, theorists must restrict their conceptual apparatus to that of the “naturalist” — the term now current for a scientistic materialist. This dogma has led some theorists to suppose that traditional metaphysics and epistemology are moribund, if not dead already. Some recent influential obituaries for traditional non-naturalistic approaches to rationality are, we shall argue, not just premature but demonstrably self-

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defeating. One such prominent obituary appears in the writings of W. V. Quine. Quine’s pessimism about traditional epistemology stems from his scientism, the view that the natural sciences have a monopoly on legitimate theoretical explanation.

Quine holds as a consequence of scientism that

epistemology is at best a chapter of empirical psychology. Quine also provides an obituary for the a priori constraints on rationality found in “first philosophy”, resting on his rejection of the “pernicious mentalism” of semantic theories of meaning.

These pronouncements of the death of traditional

conceptions of rationality in epistemology and in the theory of meaning, we shall argue, are but misguided wishes for their death, wishes that face severe problems of self-defeat. Further, Quine’s naturalistic epistemology is, we shall argue, subject to damaging skeptical worries, the force of which one cannot escape by ignoring them. We shall see that a non-naturalistic approach to rationality is here to stay, whether friends of Quine’s naturalism like it or not. 1. Quine’s Naturalist Obituary for Epistemology Naturalism, put broadly, states that whatever exists is part of the natural order of things. A common understanding of the natural order implies that whatever is natural is explainable in principle by the natural sciences. Naturalism in general affirms that philosophy, psychology, and sociology, as well as all other cognitively significant disciplines, are continuous with the natural sciences — where the natural sciences are whatever one’s favorite list of broadly empirical sciences includes. Naturalism is now the dominant explanatory outlook among philosophers, for better or worse. (For a lucid exposition of naturalism, see Papineau 1993; for criticism of Papineau’s naturalism and other supervenience approaches to naturalism, see Moser 1996, and Moser and Trout 1995.) Quine’s naturalized epistemology recommends a kind of naturalism about the theory of knowledge. His naturalism aims not for a mere description of our ordinary epistemological concepts, but rather for a kind of “explication” that, in the words of Carnap, “consists in transforming a given more or less inexact concept into an exact one or, rather, in replacing the first by the second” (1950, p. 3). Aiming for such explication, Quine (1969a) introduces

88 conceptual substitutes for various ordinary epistemological and psychological concepts. Quine proposes, for instance, that we replace our ordinary notion of justification with a behaviorist notion of the psychological relation between sensation and theory. Quine proposes, more generally, that naturalists should regard the theory of knowledge as a chapter of psychology, that empirical psychology should exhaust the theoretical concerns of epistemologists (Quine 1975a, p. 72).

Call this Quine’s epistemological naturalism.

Quine’s

epistemological naturalism implies that traditional epistemology is dispensable, if not already defunct. In particular, Quine’s naturalism opposes any effort to found the natural sciences on epistemological principles independent of the natural sciences (Quine 1990, pp. 19-20). Quine’s psychological behaviorism (e.g., in Quine 1960, chap. 2; 1979) is perhaps dubious and unpromising even by the standards of our current natural sciences, but this is not our worry now. Our main objection is that Quine’s epistemological naturalism is not itself a thesis of the natural sciences, including empirical psychology. Quine’s epistemological naturalism thus violates a standard of Quine’s own naturalism in general — what we may call Quine’s scientism. Quine’s scientism denies that there is any cognitively legitimate philosophy prior to, or independent of, the natural sciences, and thus implies that one should not make philosophical claims exceeding the natural sciences (see Quine 1954, p. 222; 1981, p. 21, for an identification of the domains of the scientific and the cognitive). Quine’s own epistemological naturalism is itself, however, an instance of philosophy prior to the natural sciences. To overcome this objection, Quine must show that his epistemological naturalism is an hypothesis of the natural sciences. Quine does not, and cannot, discharge this burden, because the natural sciences are not in the business of making sweeping claims about the status of epistemology (even if an individual scientist makes such claims on occasion). This may be an empirical truth about the natural sciences, but it is a warranted truth nonetheless, and it characterizes the sciences generally. It follows that Quine’s epistemological naturalism, as combined with his scientism, is self-defeating. (Quine’s epistemological naturalism may even be a metaclaim unverifiable in principle by the natural sciences, but we shall not digress.) Quine himself, in any case, should care to avoid self-defeat

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inasmuch as the natural sciences do and inasmuch as theoretical conflict is disadvantageous to unified explanation. One might try to rescue Quine’s epistemological naturalism by offering a notion of science broader than that underwritten by the natural sciences as standardly characterized. Such a proposal would perhaps relax the implied requirement that Quine’s epistemological naturalism be an hypothesis of the natural sciences. This, however, would place Quine on the horns of a troublesome dilemma: Either there will be a priori constraints on what counts as a science (since actual usage of “science” would not determine the broader notion), or the broader notion of science will be irredeemably vague and unregulated in its employment. To serve Quine’s purposes, the new notion of science must exclude traditional epistemology, while including epistemological naturalism, in a way that is not ad hoc. Such a strategy for escaping self-defeat demands, in any case, a hitherto unexplicated notion of science, which is no small order. Quine has not defended any such strategy; nor has he otherwise resolved our problem of self-defeat. Traditional epistemologists, past and present, have focused on three main areas of the theory of knowledge: (a) what human knowledge consists in — for example, justified true belief of a certain sort, (b) what human knowledge originates from — for example, sensory experience and/or reason, and (c) what the scope, or extent, of human knowledge is — for example, facts about minddependent things and/or mind-independent things. Philosophical discussions concerning these focal areas have guided epistemology since the time of Plato, and they continue in our own day.

Such epistemological discussions

encompass some of the so-called perennial problems of philosophy, problems enduring seemingly without end. (On the importance of such epistemological problems and the question why they endure without end, see Moser 1989, 1993.) An adequate epistemology, however traditional, relies on epistemological principles that specify, among other things, what conditions epistemic warrant (or, justification) consists in. These principles comprise, or at least yield, an intelligible notion of warrant. Even Quine’s naturalized epistemology relies on epistemological principles. One of Quine’s main epistemological principles is

90 his “maxim of minimum mutilation”: a principle of conservatism implying that it is good not to alter our antecedent theory more than necessary (1990, pp. 15, 56). Quine does hold that another epistemological principle — concerning the maximization of the “simplicity” of theory — can prevail over his principle of conservatism; but this will not affect the present discussion. For simplicity, we shall bracket cases where the two principles conflict. A key question now is whether Quine’s epistemological principle of conservatism is itself an hypothesis of any of the natural sciences. Quine has not shown that it is; nor has anyone else. People engaged in the natural sciences perhaps use this principle at times, but no natural science endorses it, assesses it, or seeks to confirm it. Once again, the natural sciences, given their theoretical objectives, are not in the business of endorsing or assessing general epistemological principles. Witness the absence of epistemology courses taught in science departments. Quine’s preferred species of epistemological naturalism thus includes a principle barred by his own scientism. In this respect, Quine’s version of epistemological naturalism yields self-defeat and thus fails to challenge traditional epistemology. Quine’s epistemological principles, we believe, actually function as analytic truths for him, contrary to his own assumptions. Consider these questions: In virtue of what is Quine’s epistemological principle of conservatism true, or correct? In virtue of what is it true — or actually the case — that warranted theory revision conforms to the maxim of minimum mutilation? What, in other words, makes Quine’s epistemological principle true rather than false? These questions will highlight the importance of analyticity for epistemology, including Quine’s naturalized epistemology. They are not questions seeking a causal explanation of why certain people use Quine’s epistemological principles. They rather seek a specification of what constitutes the truth rather than the falsity of Quine’s epistemological principles. What answer might Quine give? Quine cannot answer by saying that the principle of conservatism requires that warranted theory revision be constrained by the principle of conservatism. It is uninformative to say here that given the principle of conservatism, the principle of conservatism is true. Our question asks what makes it the case that

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warranted theory revision is constrained by the principle of conservatism. We submit that it is just part of Quine’s usage of the term “epistemic warrant” that the principle of conservatism constrains epistemic warrant.

Given this

assumption, we may say that it is analytically true for Quine that the principle of conservatism constrains epistemic warrant. A traditional alternative to this truth’s being analytic proposes that it is a factually substantive principle about the nature of warrant, somehow still knowable a priori (as the empirical sciences do not discuss, let alone endorse, it). The latter alternative would, however, be even more alien to Quine’s naturalistic project, violating both his scientism and his opposition to “first philosophy” (to be discussed in the next section). Quine suggests that his epistemological principles of conservatism and simplicity find support in actual scientific practice. He claims that these principles “are maxims by which science strives for vindication in future predictions” (1990, p. 15). This suggests that Quine’s epistemological principles are justified by their role in actual scientific practice. Quine might propose, in addition, that his principle of conservatism is true in virtue of its role in actual scientific practice. Let’s grant this proposal for the sake of argument, and ask: In virtue of what is it true — or really the case — that actual scientific practice constrains epistemically warranted theory revision? Our answer is that it is just part of Quine’s usage of “epistemic warrant” that actual scientific practice constrains epistemic warrant. It is analytically true for Quine that scientific practice constrains epistemic warrant. Appeal to scientific practice thus does not free Quine from the importance of analyticity. Barring analyticity, we would have great difficulty answering questions of the sort just raised. Perhaps this explains why Quine remains silent on such questions. (See Moser 1993, chap. 3, for a detailed effort to salvage analyticity in the face of Quine’s influential objections.) Common appeals to epistemological holism take nothing away from the importance of analyticity. The epistemological holist uses the term “epistemic warrant” in such a way that considerations of coherence determine epistemic warrant. A question of the sort just raised can thus reveal the importance of analyticity even for the epistemological holist, Quine included. One can ask:

92 In virtue of what is it true that coherence determines warrant? As for semantic holism — holism about meaning rather than evidence — Quine’s commitment to it is explicitly qualified, given his view that some observation statements have their empirical content individually (1986, p. 426; 1990, chap. 1). Holism about warrant, in any case, does not require holism about meaning. Meaning can be a function of coherence relations even if warrant, or justification, is not. Considerations about holism thus do not threaten our remarks about the significance of analyticity, even for Quine. Quine might recommend, by way of defense, that we simply forego talk of epistemic warrant and all such normative talk. This, however, would be a move of true desperation, a move inconsistent with Quine’s own linguistic practices.

It would remove all evaluative talk from epistemology and

philosophy in general.

Instead of evaluating statements relative to

epistemological standards, we could, on this view, only describe statements relative to how entrenched, or firmly held, they are. Quine himself does not settle for mere descriptions of how entrenched statements are (see Quine 1990, pp. 19-20). He is famous, even notorious, for his view that “the lack of a standard of identity for attributes and propositions can be viewed ... as a case of defectiveness on the part of ‘attribute’ and ‘proposition’” (1960, p. 244). Such talk of defectiveness is not the language of someone avoiding normative, or evaluative, talk. In “Two Dogmas of Empiricism” (1951) and elsewhere, Quine uses his views of actual scientific theory revision to set evaluative epistemological standards — standards involving holistic coherence, simplicity, and minimum mutilation. Since Quine does have evaluative epistemological standards, he must face the questions about correctness raised previously. Those questions reveal the philosophical importance of analyticity, even for naturalized epistemology. They also manifest that the natural sciences do not have a monopoly on epistemology or on philosophy in general. (As we have suggested, some philosophers — though not, of course, Quine — will push here for factually substantive necessary truths in epistemology, but this is a topic independent of this paper.)

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We must acknowledge a distinction neglected by Quine, especially in “Two Dogmas of Empiricism”: the distinction between what is true in virtue of a certain policy of linguistic usage and what justifies such a policy.

This

distinction separates (a) what a policy of usage involves or entails and (b) what supports such a policy. Confusion over this distinction underlies Quine’s opposition to analyticity. A statement can be analytically true for a language user just in virtue of a usage policy, even if that usage policy is supported, or justified, only by certain alterable explanatory purposes a language user has. The alterability of the supporting purposes does not discredit the analyticity arising from a policy of usage. The category of the analytic is not the epistemological category of the a priori; nor does it entail unrevisability. Usage policies can and do change — often as a result of changing explanatory purposes. Change in a usage policy is a change in language. The category of the analytic characterizes a kind of truth resulting just from a policy of usage. It is not an epistemological category that connotes a special kind of warrant or evidence. Still, the category of analyticity can contribute to epistemology: It enables us to give plausible answers to the previous questions about correctness of epistemological principles. In addition, it manifests that epistemology is not swallowed up by the empirical sciences, Quine’s empiricist wishes notwithstanding. 2. Quine’s Obituary for Meaning and First Philosophy Quine’s naturalism about philosophy has led him to reject the categories of a priori knowledge in general and a priori ontological commitment in particular. Quine opposes any a priori “first philosophy” independent of the sciences, finding questionable assumptions about meaning to be characteristic of such first philosophy. In “Speaking of Objects” (1969c) and “Ontological Relativity” (1969b), Quine argues against the “copy” or “museum myth” accounts of meaning espoused, according to Quine, by Mill, Frege, and Russell, among others. Such accounts of meaning take meanings to be or involve mental entities, Platonic ideas (by which Quine presumably means any abstracta taken to have mind-independent existence), or concrete objects (as the denotations of

94 words). In contrast, a naturalistic account of meaning rests solely on overt behavior and dispositions to overt behavior, for, according to Quine, “semantics is vitiated by a pernicious mentalism as long as we regard a man’s semantics as somehow determinate in his mind beyond what might be implicit” in his behavior (1969b, p. 27; cf. Quine 1979, pp. 46-47; 1990, pp. 37-38). We shall contend that Quine cannot defend his naturalism about philosophy and meaning without relying on principles unsusceptible to empirical warrant. We shall argue, accordingly, that Quine must have either a priori justification or no justification at all for the needed principles. Quine’s argument against non-naturalistic theories of meaning has several steps. First, Quine asserts that philosophy, including philosophical semantics, ought to be a wholly empirical project. In Quine’s words: “There is no room for a prior philosophy,” or a “first philosophy” (1969b, p. 26; cf. 1975a, p. 72). Second, the only way we can learn meaning is through the evidence of other people’s overt behavior, which will, of course, include their behavior toward us. As Quine claims: “Meanings ... end up as grist for the behaviorist’s mill” (1969b, p. 26; cf. 1990, pp. 37-38). Third, since meaning must be learned socially, there can be no private language. Fourth, meanings are not mental entities, and we can dispense with the domain of mental entities (1960, pp. 26265; 1981, pp. 18-19). Knowing what an expression means, according to Quine, is a matter of knowing how to use certain sounds learned through observing and imitating others (cf. Quine 1979; 1981, pp. 3-5; 1987). Fifth, learning how to use these sounds depends on our observing what it is that is stimulating the persons from whose behavior we learn how to use them. No matter how complex and obscure the linguistic material we learn, overt behavior of other speakers is the only source of linguistic knowledge. Sixth, because behavior is the only source not only of knowledge of meaning but of meaning itself, and since behavior alone never determines any particular meaning, there is no objective truth, no fact of the matter, concerning what words mean (Quine 1960, chap. 2; 1990, chap. 3). Meanings are indeterminate not only from an epistemic standpoint but ontologically as well. Quine has offered an hypothetical model for cases involving translational indeterminacy. Consider an expression in a non-English natural language

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having the following features: (a) the native use of the expression can be translated into two English expressions with different meanings, given appropriate modifications in the translation of the surrounding words; and (b) each of the two translations accords equally well with all observable behavior on the part of speakers and with all their behavioral dispositions. In such a case, Quine maintains, “it would be forever impossible to know of one of these translations that it was the right one,” and “you have to see the notion of likeness of meaning [between the non-English and English expressions] in such a case simply as nonsense” (1969b, pp. 29-30; cf. Quine 1970a). Since the adherents of the museum myth do not see it as nonsense, Quine reasons, so much the worse for their theories. Opposing copy theories of meaning, Quine notes that whenever a rabbit is present, so are undetached parts of a rabbit and a temporal stage of that rabbit (i.e., the rabbit existing at that time). Suppose, Quine suggests, that nonEnglish natives utter the expression “gavagai” whenever a rabbit (and hence rabbit parts and the present temporal stage of the rabbit) is present. In translating “gavagai,” Quine claims, there will be no factually determined way of deciding which of these things (rabbit, some undetached rabbit part, or the present temporal stage of a rabbit) they mean. The natives, given a certain stimulus — such as the sight of a rabbit or of some other thing — will assent or dissent to our employing the expression regardless of which translation we give it. The problem is that “rabbit” has a divided reference, and the division into rabbits, parts, or stages will depend entirely on the principle of individuation applied to it. The referent, Quine argues, cannot be learned through ostension, as one cannot pick out what is being indicated without already knowing how the relevant person is individuating among the rabbity bits of the world. Any of various possible translations will be equally adequate as long as the appropriate adjustments are made in the rest of the translation of the language. So, given that the division could ultimately be settled only on the basis of some observable ostensive behavior, it is impossible to give a determinate translation for “gavagai” (Quine 1969b, pp. 30-36; see also 1969c, pp. 1-6; 1970a, pp. 181-82).

96 Quine contends that it is not only in radically foreign translation that indeterminacy arises.

Within our own language, it is also factually

undetermined whether “rabbit” means an entire animal, an undetached part, a time-slice, or a state or condition of having bunny-properties. Only by fixing the meaning of certain background individuating terms, in what must ultimately be a factually undetermined imposition exceeding behavioral grounding, can we fix the meaning of “rabbit.” Since this holds for all public languages, and there are no private languages or languages of thought, all meanings are relative to hypotheses concerning individuating terms. Reference or extension of terms shares this relativity, and this, according to Quine, is “the substance of ontological relativity” (1970a, p. 183). Since “rabbit,” “rabbit part,” and “rabbit stage” “differ not only in meaning [but also] are true of different things, reference itself proves behaviorally inscrutable” (1969b, p. 35; cf. Quine 1981, pp. 19-21).

Hence, on Quine’s view, reference proves

indeterminate, and ontology is relative. The inscrutability of reference, according to Quine, is not merely a matter of our being unable to know what our expressions refer to. Insofar as there is no resultant difference in behavior, there simply is no fact of the matter concerning what an expression refers to. If, Quine asserts, it makes sense to say concerning oneself whether one is referring to rabbits or rabbit parts, then it would make sense to say the same concerning others — language being exhaustively describable in terms of publicly observable behavior. Since, however, one cannot offer an intelligible account of others’ reference as determinate, one cannot do so for oneself, and hence cannot do so at all. All we are left with for reference is a collection of theories discussable only relative to one another, with no allowable mention of the theories’ corresponding to objects. Neither words nor theories concerning words refer by themselves to objects of any kind. Quine’s argument takes the following general form: Since a philosophical account of meaning, like any philosophical account, is uniformly empirical, any philosophical account of meaning making appeal to mental entities or abstracta is “defective.”

In addition, behavior is the only ground for

interpreting language, and there are cases where behavior is indifferent

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concerning (a) which of two interpretations we give a word or phrase and (b) what the reference of that expression is. Such cases can be resolved only by appeal to other facts about the language in which the expression occurs. So, one’s use of a language constitutes a hypothesis concerning reference, developed via stimulus-response conditioning (depending on “inborn propensities” to associate certain stimuli), and the relevant hypothesis can be adjusted to accommodate more than one reference. As the reference hypothesis of each person cannot be known to correspond to anything factual, reference hypotheses can only be compared in terms of their relations to other hypotheses. Therefore, reference and meaning are indeterminate, both in terms of our knowledge and in terms of the facts of the matter. Quine’s case for naturalism about meaning rests on the view that a philosophical account of meaning, like any philosophical account, must be uniformly empirical. As a result, Quine cannot rely on any a priori principles in making his case. Quine, we shall contend, fails to meet this requirement. In claiming that appeal to mental facts cannot adequately explain determinacy of meaning and reference, Quine relies on assumptions about conditions for adequate explanation that are not themselves empirical. If Quine’s argument against mentalism about meaning rests ultimately on physicalism and empiricism, as many have supposed, then we must ask about the status of physicalism and empiricism in Quine’s philosophy. Do they function as analytic a priori standards in Quine’s position? If so, Quine is open to a charge of self-defeat; he is then using analytic a priori standards to debunk the role of such standards in philosophy, particularly in a philosophical account of meaning. We doubt, however, that physicalism and empiricism are now Quine’s ultimate philosophical standards, even if he seemingly suggested otherwise at some point. Quine’s current assumptions about conditions for adequate explanation include requirements on adequate explanation that demand a basis in the natural sciences. Quine now grants that neither physicalism nor empiricism is his ultimate standard for rational theory assessment, on the ground that natural science could, after a convulsion, do without such standards (1990, pp. 20-21). The heart of natural science, according to Quine, is neither physicalism nor

98 empiricism but its “hinging ... on checkpoints in sensory prediction” (1990, p. 21; cf. Quine 1975b, pp. 68-69). Still, Quine assumes that rational philosophical theories, including theories about meaning, must be constrained by what is predictively acceptable to the natural sciences. What, however, is the status of that fundamental assumption by Quine? The natural sciences themselves do not include that assumption as one of their scientific hypotheses. Indeed, it is doubtful that they could, given that they are, as noted previously, not in the business of making sweeping epistemological claims. Quine has not shown that his fundamental assumption belongs to the natural sciences; nor has anyone else. The best explanation of Quine’s fundamental assumption is that it functions as an analytic a priori truth for him. We have no reason to regard it as an empirical hypothesis, and it has a normative function, for Quine at least, equivalent to the normative function of traditional analytic a priori epistemological principles. As a result, it appears that Quine’s attack on semantic determinacy and first philosophy is self-defeating, owing to its resting on a philosophical assumption that is itself a piece of first philosophy. Having claimed that first philosophy is impossible, Quine devotes much of “Ontological Relativity” (1969b), among other essays, to describing what constraints are placed upon semantics given the explanatory commitments of a naturalist.

The problem is that the relevant semantic constraints and

explanatory commitments evidently rely on principles from a priori first philosophy. At least, Quine has not explained why the matter is actually otherwise. This sort of objection, if sometimes shrugged off by those under criticism, is a sufficient reason to reject the position offered. If, moreover, Quine is allowed his a priori methodological commitments, then others must be granted theirs, and the arena of contention will then shift to the relative merits and demerits of competing theories of rational explanation. Scientism will then no longer enjoy uncritical acceptance. In that case, Quine would have to give independent support for his scientistic naturalism, and that, we believe, is a tall order indeed if it cannot rest on any a priori principle whatever. The problem, again, is that the natural sciences themselves do not settle the general

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philosophical issue of scientism. The natural sciences do not offer, for instance, scientific hypotheses identifying the domains of the cognitive and the scientific. The problem of self-defeat is decisive against Quine’s effort to free rationality of any a priori feature. Without the presumption of the (evidently a priori) truth of empiricism about meaning, the underdeterminative character of ostensive behavior does not entail indeterminacy of knowledge of reference and meaning. Similarly, without the presumption of the (evidently a priori) truth

of

Quine’s

own

scientistic

first

philosophy,

behavioral

underdetermination of reference and meaning in no way implies indeterminacy of semantic or referential fact. In addition, it seems, without indeterminacy of semantic and referential fact, Quine cannot rule out a priori constraints on individuation, and so cannot rule out a first philosophy positing such a priori constraints. Quine’s inability to defend a naturalist theory of meaning without importation of a priori assumptions illustrates the difficulty of settling philosophical issues without reliance on a priori assumptions. 3. Naturalism and Skepticism Quine’s naturalism proposes that skeptical doubts are “an offshoot of science,” on the ground that such doubts stem from simple physical science about the reality of bodies (1975b, pp. 67-68). Elementary physical science, according to Quine, contributes indispensably to our distinction between reality and illusion and hence undergirds skeptical doubts. Quine thus proposes that epistemology should be treated as “an enterprise within natural science,” adding that “Cartesian doubt is not the way to begin” (1975b, p. 68). We shall leave aside the role of Cartesian doubt and the claim that skepticism’s origins lie in science. Even granting Quine this claim, we must distinguish between (a) the conditions for the genesis of our concept of reality and (b) the conditions for justified or reliable application of our concept of reality. The natural sciences might be crucial to our having the distinction between what is real and what is illusory but still fail to be a reliable avenue to reality, that is, to true beliefs about what is real.

We can, accordingly,

coherently entertain hypotheses about the general unreliability of the natural

100 sciences. It is not conceptually incoherent to suppose that most of the claims of the natural sciences are false. (Claims to the contrary resting on Donald Davidson’s principle of interpretive charity will prove to be unconvincing; see Moser 1993, pp. 228-37.)

In fact, one might propose, coherently if

unconvincingly, that the turbulent history of natural science itself lends credibility to claims of the unreliability of natural science. Neither the hypothesis that the natural sciences are generally reliable nor its denial is an hypothesis of the natural sciences.

Those are philosophical

hypotheses that go beyond any claim of the natural sciences. They make claims about scientific reliability in general, thereby exceeding natural science proper. The skeptical hypothesis that the natural sciences are generally unreliable will thus receive no effective challenge from hypotheses within the natural sciences, as the latter hypotheses are not designed to bear on such skepticism. Even if skepticism relies on a concept of reality whose genesis involves elementary natural science, skepticism offers hypotheses that are not adjudicated by the natural sciences themselves. Quine’s naturalism apparently operates with a principle of credulity regarding the reliability of the natural sciences. Quine remarks: ... I also expressed, at the beginning, my unswerving belief in external things — people, nerve endings, sticks, stones. This I reaffirm. I believe also, if less firmly, in atoms and electrons and in classes. Now how is all this robust realism to be reconciled with the barren scene that I have just been depicting? The answer is naturalism: the recognition that it is within science itself, and not in some prior philosophy, that reality is to be identified and described (1981, p. 21). Quine has explicitly endorsed an ontological realism about the existence of at least physical particulars and classes (1970b, pp. 93-97). Quine’s principle of credulity implies that we may presume the reliability of the natural sciences in describing reality. One might hope, then, to construct a reply to general skepticism regarding the sciences based on this principle. Quine’s principle of credulity, however, is not itself an hypothesis of the natural sciences. It is a general epistemological principle about the natural sciences. Individual scientists may presuppose a principle of credulity, but the principle is not included among their scientific hypotheses. Furthermore, in

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light of worries already discussed, it is unclear how the principle can be empirically established in a non-circular manner satisfactory to skeptics. It appears, in any case, that Quine’s principle of credulity functions as an analytic a priori commitment of his naturalism. If this is so, we have yet another illustration of a troublesome kind of inconsistency in Quine’s naturalism. This offers further evidence of the difficulty of formulating a uniformly naturalistic philosophy. Quine might, of course, disown any principle of credulity regarding scientific reliability. In that case, however, Quine will lack an effective way to evade skeptical worries about the reliability of scientific theories. He will then have no discriminating way to dissociate his own naturalistic position from skepticism, as he will then lack justification for relying on the reliability of prediction concerning sensory checkpoints as a constraint on theory formation. Naturalism would then look a lot like traditional skepticism, contrary to Quine’s avowed intentions. 4. Conclusion We have seen that the most prominent effort to bury traditional categories of analyticity and the a priori is actually self-defeating. Quine’s naturalism suffers the same dismal fate in this respect on three counts noted above. Traditional epistemology evidently loses nothing at the hands of Quine. More generally, any sweeping claim that non-naturalistic accounts of rationality are dead will face insurmountable obstacles, for any such claim will be open to unavoidable questions about its own rational justification. Such questions will keep nonnaturalistic epistemology and first philosophy alive forever, at least as long as philosophers endure. Quine may protest otherwise, but such protests are, we have seen, doomed to self-defeat.

References: Carnap, Rudolf. 1950. Logical Foundations of Probability. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Moser, Paul K. 1989. Knowledge and Evidence. New York/Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. _____, 1993. Philosophy after Objectivity. New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press.

102 _____, 1996. “Physicalism and Mental Causes: Contra Papineau.” Analysis 56. Forthcoming. Moser, Paul K., and J. D. Trout. 1995. “Physicalism, Supervenience, and Dependence.” In E. E. Savellos and Ü. D. Yalçin, eds., Supervenience: New Essays, pp. 187-217. New York/Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Papineau, David. 1993. Philosophical Naturalism. Oxford: Blackwell. Quine, W. V. 1951. “Two Dogmas of Empiricism.” In Quine, From a Logical Point of View, 2d ed., pp. 20-46. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1953; 2d ed., 1964. _____, 1954. “The Scope and Language of Science.” In Quine, The Ways of Paradox, pp. 215-32. New York: Random House, 1966. _____, 1960. Word and Object. Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press. _____, 1969a. “Epistemology Naturalized.” In Quine, Ontological Relativity and Other Essays, pp. 6990. New York: Columbia University Press. _____, 1969b. “Ontological Relativity.” In Quine, Ontological Relativity and Other Essays, pp. 26-68. New York: Columbia University Press. _____, 1969c. “Speaking of Objects.” In Quine, Ontological Relativity and Other Essays, pp. 1-25. New York: Columbia University Press. _____, 1970a. “On the Reasons for Indeterminacy of Translation.” The Journal of Philosophy 67, 17883. _____, 1970b. “Existence.” In W. Yourgrau and A. D. Breck, eds., Physics, Logic, and History, pp. 89103. New York: Plenum. _____, 1975a. “Five Milestones of Empiricism.” In Quine, Theories and Things, pp. 67-72. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981. _____, 1975b. “The Nature of Natural Knowledge.” In S. Guttenplan, ed., Mind and Language, pp. 67-81. Oxford: Clarendon Press. _____, 1979. “Use and Its Place in Meaning.” In Quine, Theories and Things, pp. 43-54. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981. _____, 1981. “Things and their Place in Theories.” In Quine, Theories and Things, pp. 1-23. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1981. _____, 1986. “Reply to Hilary Putnam.” In L. E. Hahn and P. A. Schilpp, eds., The Philosophy of W. V. Quine, pp. 427-31. La Salle, Ill.: Open Court. _____, 1987. “Indeterminacy of Translation Again.” The Journal of Philosophy 84, 5-10. _____, 1990. Pursuit of Truth. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.

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Harvey Siegel Naturalism,

Instrumental

Rationality,

and

the

Normatvity

of

Epistemology

abstract Advocates of naturalized epistemology who wish to secure epistemology’s normativity want that normativity to be restricted to instrumental concerns, because these can be understood naturalistically. But epistemic normativity cannot be so limited; a ‘categorical’ sort of normativity must be acknowledged. Naturalism can neither account for nor do away with this sort of normativity. Hence naturalism is at best a seriously incomplete and therefore inadequate meta-epistemological position.

Introduction Epistemology has traditionally been conceived as a normative discipline, concerned to develop and articulate criteria governing the appropriateness of belief. Ideally, it informs us of the warrant or justification which candidate beliefs enjoy, and of the nature of warrant and justification themselves. That is, ideally epistemology helps us to determine which of our beliefs are justified and so worth believing (and why they are); in so far, it helps to determine what we should believe. A central concept of (normative) epistemology is that of rationality, since (roughly) we believe rationally just when our beliefs are warranted and so worthy of belief. A large and growing body of work suggests that epistemology should be naturalized: reconceived as an empirical discipline, and pursued in accordance with the principles, standards and techniques of natural science.

One

outstanding question this work raises is precisely that of the status of epistemology’s supposed normativity. Can epistemology be naturalized in a way that fully preserves and accounts for that normativity? If not, should naturalism be adopted at the cost of the weakening of that normativity? These are the questions to be pursued in this paper.

104 Most naturalists do not advocate the abandonment of epistemology’s normativity.1 Rather, they propose to reconceive and limit it. They reject traditional epistemology’s conception of rationality as ‘categorical’, and argue instead for an ‘instrumental’, hypothetical or strategic conception of rationality, according to which rationality is best understood in means-ends terms, i.e. in terms of the ability of our beliefs (and actions) to secure our epistemic and other ends. Naturalists whose positions otherwise diverge considerably — for example Boyd, Brown, Foley, Fuller, Gibson, Giere, Hooker, Kitcher, Kornblith, Laudan, Lycan, Maffie, Quine, Roth, Shimony, Solomon and Stich — agree (a) that rationality should be understood in this instrumental way, and (b) that this instrumental relationship is completely open to naturalistic investigation, since the ability of our beliefs (and actions) to secure our ends is an open empirical issue. In this way, these authors argue, the normativity of epistemology is preserved within a naturalistic framework. The main focus of this paper is on the ability of this naturalistic, instrumental conception of rationality to account fully for the normativity of epistemology. In section I I review a variety of statements of/arguments for instrumental-normative naturalism.

I then argue (in section II) that the

instrumental rationality of the normative naturalist is insufficient to account for the normativity of epistemology. If my arguments succeed, I will have shown that instrumental-normative naturalism is unable to capture or account for that normativity; and consequently that naturalism must be seen as an inadequate, or at best a seriously incomplete, meta-epistemological stance. I. Normative Naturalism and Instrumental Rationality There is an unusual degree of agreement among normative naturalists concerning the nature of the normativity properly recognized and sanctioned by a properly naturalized epistemology.

For example, Roger Gibson, a

prominent interpreter and defender of Quinean naturalized epistemology, insists both that Quine is best understood as holding, and that it is in any case correct to hold, that naturalized epistemology is instrumentally normative: “Quine conceives of naturalized epistemology as a partly normative inquiry.” ((1988), p. 47)

“Such a naturalized epistemology is both descriptive and

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normative, but it is not justificatory in the way that old-time epistemology aspired to be.” (Gibson (1989), p. 564) “Quine’s point about justification is not that science needs no justification but that it needs no justification in terms prior to science. Science is justified in Quine’s eyes by its measuring up to observation and prediction, i.e. the nomological deductive method.” (Gibson (1988), p. 75, emphasis in original) As these remarks make clear, on Gibson’s view Quinean naturalism embraces, and does not repudiate, normativity. Moreover, the normativity embraced by naturalism is instrumental: “The point that needs noticing and emphasizing is that [according to Quine] science itself, including psychology, is normative. The norms involved are, of course, hypothetical, not categorical: ‘One ought to do x, if one wants y’, not ‘One ought to do x’.” (Gibson (1988), p. 69, emphasis in original) On Gibson’s view Quine’s “pragmatic philosophy of science” is properly characterized as “instrumentalism: ‘As an empiricist,’ Quine says, ‘I continue to think of the conceptual scheme of science as a tool, ultimately, for predicting future experience in the light of past experience’.” (Gibson (1988), p. 16, citing Quine (1953), p. 44, emphasis in original) Thus Gibson interprets Quinean naturalism as embracing an instrumental normativity, such instrumentalism focusing mainly on the predictive efficacy of scientific theory, and defends that conception of instrumentally-normative naturalism.2 Other proponents of instrumentally-normative naturalism develop their positions without explicit reference to Quine. For example, Ronald N. Giere also explicitly distinguishes categorical or unconditional rationality from instrumental rationality, and insists that the latter, though not the former, has a proper home in his naturalized philosophy of science. (1988, pp. 7-10) And in his (1989) Giere underlines this insistence: The central issue, I believe, is this....[According to] the dominant tradition,...it is possible to discover epistemological principles that are autonomous from science. Such principles would provide an autonomous warrant for normative claims as to how scientists should act. They would provide criteria for categorical, or unconditional, rationality among scientists.

106 The naturalist, by contrast, believes that there is no autonomous realm of epistemological principles. This is not to deny that there are better and worse ways of attempting to do science, or to reject the possibility of giving advice about how best to proceed. But the corresponding principles of rationality are only instrumental, or conditional. They connect research strategies with the goals of research. And establishing these connections itself requires scientific inquiry. (Giere (1989), p. 377, emphases in original) If there were autonomous principles of justification, they would provide standards of what is often called categorical, or unconditional, rationality. But there is another, weaker, form of rationality which is conditional, or instrumental. To be instrumentally rational is simply to employ means believed to be conducive to achieving desired goals....[T]here is also a more objective sense of instrumental rationality which consists in employing means that are not only believed to be, but are in fact conducive to achieving desired goals. This latter, objective, sense of instrumental rationality provides the naturalistic theorist of science with ample means for making normative claims about science. These claims, however, are not autonomous but are grounded within science itself. It requires empirical research to determine whether a particular strategy is in fact likely to be effective in producing valuable scientific results. (1989, pp. 379-80, emphases in original) Thus a naturalized philosophy of science...can provide a basis for normative judgments. These judgments would, of course, be only instrumentally, and not categorically, normative. But for the naturalist, that is the only kind of normative judgment anyone can legitimately make. There is no “higher” rationality. (1989, p. 382, emphases in original) In these passages Giere makes clear both his rejection of categorical rationality and his emphatic acceptance of instrumental rationality. He also makes clear why he thinks the latter sort of rationality is at home in a naturalistic setting: it is at home because (“objective”) instrumental rationality “consists in employing means that are not only believed to be, but are in fact conducive to achieving desired goals”, and whether means are so conducive is an empirical question open to naturalistic investigation. Determinations of instrumental rationality thus require naturalistic investigation, and such

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investigation fully licenses judgments of instrumental rationality. Thus are naturalism and instrumental rationality joined. Philip Kitcher similarly provides a very clean account of the reasons why naturalists both turn away from a priori analysis, and embrace a means-ends conception of epistemic normativity. Speaking of the traditionalist’s insistence that the epistemological task is that of providing an analysis of the “ways in which people ought to think”, which analysis can be conducted largely independently of the psychology of belief, Kitcher asks: What grounds the claim that our favored logical principles are prescriptions for thought? What are the sources of these principles? Do such idealized recommendations really apply to us? A traditional response is to propose that they present conceptual truths about rationality, thereby formulating an ideal at which we aim. For naturalists, however, such prescriptions must be grounded in facts about how systems like us could attain our epistemic goals in a world like ours.... The failure of appeals to conceptual truth, to analyticity, is fully general ... The root issue will always be whether the methods recommended by the theory are well adapted for the attainment of our epistemic ends, and that cannot be settled by simply appealing to our current concepts. (Kitcher (1992), pp. 63-64)3 As Kitcher here makes clear, for the normative naturalist the normativity of epistemic principles derives from their ability to contribute to the realization of our epistemic ends, and so that normativity will be instrumental in character. Since it is an open empirical question whether acting and believing in accordance with proposed epistemic principles actually do facilitate — for creatures like us in a world like ours — the achievement of our epistemic ends, we have no choice but to turn to psychology, and to natural science more generally, to investigate the normative status of such proposed principles. Thus we see again how instrumental conceptions of epistemic normativity and the naturalizing of epistemology go hand in hand for the normative naturalist. I hope that the reader will forgive these lengthy citations, but it is important to see just how basic this view of normativity is to extant versions of naturalism. These cited passages are I think entirely representative. Advocates of normative naturalism are virtually unanimous in embracing this sort of

108 instrumentalist account of epistemic rationality/normativity.4 I turn next to the critical evaluation of that instrumentalist account. II. On the Need for a ‘Categorical’ Conception of Rationality The fundamental difficulty with regarding instrumental rationality as exhaustive of rationality or normativity in general is that making sense of it requires appeal to an underlying, non-instrumental conception of rationality; consequently, instrumental, means-ends concerns cannot be the whole story about rationality or epistemic normativity.5 It is clear, as naturalists insist, that judgments of instrumental efficacy require appeal to empirical evidence concerning the efficacy of proposed means with respect to the achievement of given ends. In a case in which such efficacy is established by such evidence, we have good instrumental reason to utilize the means established by that evidence as efficacious for the realization of those ends, in so far as we embrace them as our ends. But how are we to understand the relationship between the evidence for instrumental efficacy and the means-ends pairs concerning whose efficacy it is evidence? What we have is a situation of the following form: Evidence E suggests that means M is instrumentally efficacious with respect to goal G. It is M’s efficacy with respect to G which is established by E.

What is the

relationship between E and the rest of this ‘formula’? In order for the judgment (that M is indeed instrumentally efficacious with respect to G) to be justified, it must be the case that E constitutes evidence which warrants, or makes justified, or renders it rational to accept, the belief/claim C that M is indeed so efficacious. But this further claim, concerning the probative or evidential force of E with respect to C (the claim concerning M’s efficacy with respect to G), is not a claim involving instrumental efficacy (or rationality) at all. M may be instrumentally efficacious with respect to G; but the relationship between E and C is not itself one of instrumental efficacy. On the contrary: in order for our judgments concerning instrumental efficacy to be themselves rationally justified, they must be related to the evidence for them in a non-instrumental, standardly epistemic or probative way.

In this way, claims concerning

instrumental efficacy presuppose, and depend for their own justification on, a

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non-instrumental (and in that sense ‘categorical’) relation between such claims and the evidence for them. That relation cannot itself be understood in terms of instrumental efficacy: it is not that regarding the evidence for such a claim as powerful is a matter of seeing that regarding it that way serves to further some other goal that we happen to have. Rather, the evidence must establish it as justified or warranted that the means is indeed instrumentally efficacious with respect to the goal. This relation, between the evidence which justifies and the claim (concerning instrumental efficacy) which it renders justified, is just the traditional (categorical) epistemic relation between a claim or belief and the reasons or evidence which support(s) it.

Thus the instrumentalist-only

normative naturalist requires a non-instrumental account of evidential support or epistemic warrant; she needs a ‘categorical’, i.e. non-instrumental, normative theory of evidence to make her instrumental story work.6 The point can be seen more clearly if we attend to a buried equivocation in the case for instrumental rationality considered thus far. The instrumentalist conflates instrumental efficacy and instrumental rationality, and uses these notions interchangeably. This adds undeserved plausibility to her account of epistemic normativity. For the former is a causal notion: M is efficacious with respect to G iff (the utilization of) M tends to bring about the achievement of G. But why should such causal efficacy be thought to have anything to do with rationality, or with normative notions of epistemic evaluation more generally? Consider an example (originally introduced by Laudan). Let M = the utilization of double-blind methodology. Let G = the discovery of the actual medicinal properties of a drug, e.g. its ability to ameliorate some disease. Now, what is the relationship between M and G? Suppose that M is efficacious with respect to G. This is a causal relation: if we utilize double-blind methodology, we are more likely to discover the actual medicinal properties of the drug. How does rationality enter the picture? Once we’ve established the causal efficacy of double-blind methodology with respect to that goal, we are rational to utilize that methodology given our wish to accomplish that goal. The rationality of our utilization of M is not constituted by the causal relation obtaining between M and G, however. Rather, it is constituted by an epistemic

110 rather than a causal relation — namely, the relation between E (the evidence which suggests that M is in fact causally efficacious with respect to G) and the claim concerning causal efficacy, C, for which it provides evidential support. That is, what makes the utilization of M rational is the evidence which justifies our judgment that that utilization is efficacious with respect to the achievement of G. The relation between M and G is causal, not epistemic; the relation between E and the efficacy claim C it supports is epistemic, not causal. When the instrumentalist runs together instrumental efficacy and instrumental rationality, she runs together two quite distinct relationships, which obtain between quite distinct relata.7 Thus, underlying judgments concerning instrumental efficacy is an epistemic, (non-instrumentally) normative relation between reasons or evidence and the judgments, beliefs, and claims concerning causal efficacy which those reasons or that evidence render(s) justified and so rational to believe. Judgments of instrumental efficacy — or, if we continue to conflate causal and epistemic relations, instrumental rationality8 — are dependent upon judgments concerning that epistemic relation. Consequently, instrumental rationality must be seen not as the whole of rationality or epistemic normativity, but rather as itself dependent upon non-instrumental, categorical conceptions both of rationality or epistemic normativity and of the relation obtaining between good reasons/evidence and the beliefs, judgments, and claims for which they are (it is) good reasons/evidence. Instrumental rationality can be regarded as a dimension or form of rationality only to the extent that it is underwritten by non-instrumental rationality. Naturalists are of course correct that instrumental rationality requires appeal to (naturalistic) evidence. The present point, however, is that a nonnaturalistic, non-instrumental story about that evidence and the rational warrant it provides is needed in order to make sense of the alleged instrumental connection between candidate means and ends. Recall the passage from Kitcher cited earlier: For naturalists, however, such [epistemic] prescriptions must be grounded in facts about how systems like us could attain our epistemic goals in a world like ours....The root issue will always be whether the methods

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recommended by the [epistemological] theory are well adapted for the attainment of our epistemic ends. (Kitcher (1992), pp. 63-64) But how will we tell whether or not such prescriptions do help us attain our goals, or whether such methods “are well adapted for the attainment of our epistemic ends”? By gathering evidence, presumably, about that attainment and the efficacy of those methods. When the evidence is gathered and evaluated, it will (ideally) yield conclusions like “Method M is efficacious for the attainment of our epistemic ends; method M* is not (or is less so). Therefore we should utilize method M.” But that the evidence indeed warrants such conclusions is not something that can be understood in instrumental terms: to what further end could we appeal in arguing that our evidence does or does not support such conclusions? There is no such further end — and, moreover, it is a mistake to understand the question in this way, since it confuses causal and epistemic notions and relations. Rather, we have no choice but to refer to our best theory of evidence; to our best theoretical account of the epistemic or normative force that reasons and evidence might enjoy and transmit to the claims which they support. This theory cannot be a naturalistic theory, if naturalism restricts itself to instrumental concerns, for instrumental considerations will not serve to justify such claims of instrumental efficacy. When the naturalist argues that “E shows or suggests that M is more efficacious than M* with respect to G”, she is appealing not to some further goal.9 She is appealing rather to some non-instrumental account of evidential warrant or probative force, such that (according to that account) E warrants that claim. I do not for a moment suggest that any particular account of such force enjoys wide acceptance among contemporary epistemologists. I am suggesting rather that the naturalist needs such an account every bit as much as the non-naturalist does, but that such an account cannot be had naturalistically, if naturalism is restricted to instrumental concerns. Hence naturalism is at most a seriously incomplete epistemology — and a ‘categorical’ conception of epistemic normativity a prerequisite for its completion. If epistemology aims at shedding light on epistemic normativity, then a ‘categorical’ conception of epistemic normativity is an epistemic inevitability.10

112

Conclusion The instrumental-normative naturalist wants to tell a comprehensively naturalistic story concerning epistemic normativity. But such a story cannot be told from within the confines of naturalism, and the instrumental-only rationality that it acknowledges; the naturalist needs a non-instrumental, and so nonnaturalistic, account of evidence or warrant in order to judge that judgments of intrumental rationality are themselves rationally warranted. Thus naturalism must be regarded as at best a seriously incomplete epistemology; it fails to address, let alone answer, fundamental epistemological and meta-epistemological questions concerning epistemic normativity. In particular, it provides no way of establishing that our judgments concerning instrumental rationality are themselves rationally warranted. If this point is correct — that is, if the naturalist’s commitment to instrumental rationality as the whole of epistemic normativity is undermined by the fact that instrumental rationality requires appeal to conceptions and theories of non-instrumental normativity — then naturalism is, at best, seriously incomplete; moreover, if correct, then any version of naturalism which holds or presupposes that rationality or epistemic normativity is completely captured by instrumental considerations stands refuted.11 Postscript Two further points must be noted. First, I have said relatively little about the naturalist’s main argument for naturalism: the impossibility of ‘first philosophy’. The point goes back to Quine’s rejection of the possibility of any ‘cosmic exile’ outside of science from which the normative status of science can be judged; it is endorsed, in some form, by many of the philosophers discussed above, and needs to be squarely met if my argument against naturalism is ultimately to succeed.

Boyd, Brown, Gibson, Giere, Hooker, Ketchum,

Kitcher, and Maffie, among others, join Quine in rejecting first philosophy; if it is rejected, these naturalists argue, then “unlimited” naturalism follows.12 So one task not addressed here is that of demonstrating that the naturalists’

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argument from the rejection of first philosophy to the full embrace of naturalism — and so the complete repudiation of ‘categorical’ conceptions of rationality and epistemic normativity — does not succeed.13 A second locus of concern involves truth. I have argued against instrumental conceptions of epistemic normativity. But a very popular view, endorsed by many epistemologists (e.g. Alston (1985), BonJour (1985), Foley (1987), Goldman (1986), Goldman (1988), Haack (1989, 1993a), and indefinitely many others) who defend a variety of positions on the issues treated thus far, is that the over-arching aim of scientific or cognitive activity is that of truth, and that epistemic normativity — rationality, justification, epistemic evaluation generally — is a function of its ability to achieve that end. This view, if correct, appears to re-establish epistemic normativity as instrumental. It behooves me, then, to show that regarding truth as the ultimate epistemic end does not result in the establishment of the instrumental character of epistemic normativity. While I have begun this effort, by arguing that so regarding it involves a misrepresentation of the relationship between epistemic normativity and truth (Siegel 1983), it is clear that more needs to be said. Saying it must await another opportunity. Having mentioned these further issues, I want now simply to summarize and close the present effort.

The instrumental-normative rationality

championed by normative naturalism, I have argued, is insufficient to account for the normativity of epistemology; naturalist attempts to account for the normativity of traditional epistemology in instrumental, means-ends terms fail. Consequently, naturalism offers at most a severely limited alternative to traditional epistemology. Traditional, non-naturalized epistemology is not eliminable by naturalism; nor can it be replaced or done justice by ‘going natural’.14

Notes 1 I discuss the difficulties facing that abandonment in Siegel (1996). 2 Louise Antony (1987, pp. 251-255) and Paul Roth (1983, 1987) also interpret and defend Quinean naturalism in this way. A subtle and compelling discussion — partly critical and partly supportive — of the normative dimensions of Quine’s version of naturalized epistemology may be found in

114 Haack (1993). It is developed further in Haack (1993a), ch. 6. 3 Boyd likewise argues that the “justifiability” of cognitive strategies is not an a priori matter “but instead a matter of contingent fact about the reliability of those strategies in the actual world.” (Boyd (1980), p. 624) 4 In addition to the sources cited above, see also Brown (1988, p. 65); Fuller (1988, 1989, 1991); Kornblith (1993); Maffie (1990a, pp. 286-8; 1990b); Quine (1986, p. 655); Shimony (1987a, p. 6; 1987b, pp. 291-2; 1987c, pp. 353-4); Solomon (1994); and Stich (1990, p. 24). Laudan (1984, 1987, 1988, 1990) is an ardent proponent of this sort of instrumentally normative naturalism — for references and critical discussion see Siegel (1990), but see also Laudan’s response (1990a). I reply in detail to that response, and also to Giere’s (1989), in Siegel (1996a). Foley also defends an instrumentalist account of rationality, although it is not motivated by any explicit concern with naturalism. See Foley (1987a), pp. 235, 238; (1988), p. 126, 131, passim. The position is most fully worked out in Foley (1987). 5 The following six paragraphs also appear (with some changes) in Siegel (1996a). 6 Virtually the same point, made in terms of “irreducible epistemology,” is made by John Worrall (1990, p. 318).

7 For more systematic discussion of the naturalistic penchant for conflating causal and epistemic notions, see Kim (1988), Siegel (1996). Thanks to John Biro for helpful discussion. 8 If the argument just rehearsed is correct, then ‘instrumental rationality’ is a poorly chosen locution, since it runs together the notions and relations whose conflation I have just deplored. Nevertheless, given the propensity of the naturalists discussed to use it, I cannot very well abandon it altogether. So in the remainder of the paper I will continue to use it — hoping that the reader will keep in mind my criticisms of it — in my further effort to establish that, even if the conflation is not fatal, it remains that the naturalist’s account of epistemic normativity in terms of it does not succeed. 9. If she is, then not only is she conflating causal and epistemic questions; in addition, a problematic regress threatens. 10 For this phrase I am indebted to Susan Haack. 11 A similar conclusion is defended by Hilary Putnam, though for somewhat different reasons. See Putnam, ‘Beyond the Fact/Value Dichotomy’, reprinted in Putnam (1990), pp. 135-141.

12. The expression “unlimited naturalism” is Maffie’s. I should note that some prominent naturalists — Goldman, Laudan, and Shimony, among others — disagree, and offer versions of naturalism which allow ‘analytic’ as well as naturalistic inquiry, and combine a priori and naturalistic considerations. So there is an in-house dispute within the naturalist camp as to whether naturalism should be, in Maffie’s terms, “unlimited” or

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“limited”; whether traditional, non-naturalistic issues and/or techniques should be recognized as legitimate by card-carrying naturalists. 13. I attempt to do this in Siegel (1995). See also Siegel (1984); Almeder (1990). 14. This is a revised and considerably shortened version of an invited address presented at the Eastern Division APA meeting in Washington, D.C. on December 29, 1992. I am grateful to Robert Almeder for his insightful commentary on that occasion, to Jonathan Adler, Leonard Carrier, Christoph Lumer, Timothy McGrew, and Matthias Steup, and to the members of audiences at the APA session, the University of Florida, and the University of Miami, especially John Biro, Harold Brown, Edward Erwin, Susan Haack, Risto Hilpinen, Alan Goldman, Kirk Ludwig, Peter Klein, James Maffie, and Howard Pospesel, for their excellent criticisms of earlier drafts. REFERENCES Almeder, R. (1990): ‘On Naturalizing Epistemology’. American Philosophical Quarterly 27, pp. 263279. Alston, W. (1985): ‘Concepts of Epistemic Justification’. The Monist 68, pp. 57-89. Antony, L. M. (1987): ‘Naturalized Epistemology and the Study of Language’. In Shimony and Nails (eds.), (1987), pp. 235-257. BonJour, L. (1985): The Structure of Empirical Knowledge. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Boyd, R. (1980): ‘Scientific Realism and Naturalistic Epistemology’. In P. D. Asquith and R. N. Giere (eds.), PSA 1980: Volume Two. East Lansing, Michigan: Philosophy of Science Association, pp. 613-662. Brown, H. I. (1988): ‘Normative Epistemology and Naturalized Epistemology’. Inquiry 31: 53-78. Foley, R. (1987): The Theory of Epistemic Rationality. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Foley, R. (1987a): ‘Epistemic Rationality and Scientific Rationality’. International Studies in Philosophy of Science 1: 233-250. Foley, R. (1988): ‘Some Different Conceptions of Rationality’. In E. McMullin (ed.), Construction and Constraint: The Shaping of Scientific Rationality, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1988, pp. 123-152. Fuller, S. (1988): Social Epistemology. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Fuller, S. (1989): Philosophy of Science and Its Discontents. Boulder: Westview Press. Fuller, S. (1991): ‘Naturalized Epistemology Sublimated: Rapprochement without the Ruts’. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 22: 277-293. Gibson, R. F. (1988): Enlightened Empiricism: An Examination of W.V. Quine’s Theory of Knowledge. Tampa: Univ. Presses of Florida. Gibson, R. F. (1989): ‘Review of C. Hookway, Quine: Language, Experience and Reality’. The British Journal for the Philosophy of Science 40: 557-567.

116 Giere, R. N. (1988): Explaining Science: A Cognitive Approach. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Giere, R. N. (1989): ‘Scientific Rationality as Instrumental Rationality’. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 20: 377-384. Goldman, A. H. (1988): Empirical Knowledge. Berkeley: University of California Press. Goldman, A. I. (1986): Epistemology and Cognition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Haack, S. (1989): ‘Rebuilding the Ship While Sailing on the Water’. In R.Barrett and R. Gibson (eds.), Perspectives on Quine. Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 111-127. Haack, S. (1993): ‘The Two Faces of Quine’s Naturalism’. Synthese 94: 335-356. Haack, S. (1993a): Evidence and Inquiry: Towards Reconstruction in Epistemology. London: Blackwells. Hahn, L. E., and P. A. Schilpp, eds. (1986): The Philosophy of W. V. Quine (The Library of Living Philosophers, vol. XVIII). La Salle, Illinois: Open Court Publishing Company. Hooker, C. A. (1987): A Realistic Theory of Science. Albany: State University of New York Press. Hooker, C. A. (1995): Reason, Regulation, and Realism. Albany: State University of New York Press. Ketchum, R. J. (1991): ‘The Paradox of Epistemology: A Defense of Naturalism’. Philosophical Studies 62: 45-66. Kim, J. (1988): ‘What Is “Naturalized Epistemology”?’ In J. E. Tomberlin (ed.), Philosophical Perspectives, 2: Epistemology, 1988, Atascadero, California: Ridgeview Publishing Company, pp. 381405. Kitcher, P. (1992): ‘The Naturalists Return’. The Philosophical Review 101: 53-114. Kornblith, H. (1993): ‘Epistemic Normativity’. Synthese 94: 357-376. Laudan, L. (1984): Science and Values. Berkeley: University of California Press. Laudan, L. (1987): ‘Progress or Rationality? The Prospects for Normative Naturalism’. American Philosophical Quarterly 24: 19-31. Laudan, L. (1987a): ‘Relativism, Naturalism and Reticulation’. Synthese 71: 221-234. Laudan, L. (1988): ‘Methodology’s Prospects’. PSA 86, Volume 2, pp. 347-354. Laudan, L. (1990): ‘Normative Naturalism’. Philosophy of Science 57: 44-59. Laudan, L. (1990a): ‘Aim-less Epistemology?’ Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 21: 315-322. Lycan, W. G.: (1988): Judgement and Justification. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Maffie, J. (1990a): ‘Recent Work on Naturalized Epistemology’. American Philosophical Quarterly 27: 281-293. Maffie, J. (1990b): ‘Naturalism and the Normativity of Epistemology’. Philosophical Studies 59: 333349. Putnam, H. (1990): Realism with a Human Face. (J. Conant, ed.) Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Quine, W. V. (1953): ‘Two Dogmas of Empiricism’. In Quine, From a Logical Point of View. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, pp. 20-46. Quine, W. V. (1969): ‘Epistemology Naturalized’. In Quine, Ontological Relativity and Other Essays. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 69-90. Quine, W. V. (1986): ‘Reply to Morton White’. In Hahn and Schilpp (eds.), (1986), pp. 663-665. Roth, P. A. (1983): ‘Siegel on Naturalized Epistemology and Natural Science’. Philosophy of Science 50: 482-493. Roth, P. A. (1987): Meaning and Method in the Social Sciences: A Case for Methodological Pluralism. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Shimony, A. (1987): ‘Integral Epistemology’. In Shimony and Nails (eds.), (1987), pp. 299-318. Shimony, A. (1987a): ‘Introduction’. In Shimony and Nails (eds.), (1987), pp. 1-13.

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Shimony, A. (1987b): ‘Comment on Levine’. In Shimony and Nails (eds.), (1987), pp. 291-294. Shimony, A. (1987c): ‘Comment on Agassi’. In Shimony and Nails (eds.), (1987), pp. 352-355. Shimony, A., and D. Nails (eds.), (1987): Naturalistic Epistemology: A Symposium of Two Decades. Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing Company. Siegel, H. (1983): ‘Truth, Problem Solving and the Rationality of Science’. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 14: 89-112. Siegel, H. (1984): ‘Empirical Psychology, Naturalized Epistemology, and First Philosophy’. Philosophy of Science 51: 667-676. Siegel, H. (1990): ‘Laudan’s Normative Naturalism’. Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 21: 295-313. Siegel, H. (1995): ‘Naturalized Epistemology and “First Philosophy”’. Metaphilosophy 26: 46-62. Siegel, H. (1996): ‘Naturalism and the Abandonment of Normativity’. In W. O’Donohue and R. Kitchener (eds.), Psychology and Philosophy: Interdisciplinary Problems and Responses. Allyn & Bacon (in press). Siegel, H. (1996a): ‘Instrumental Rationality and Naturalized Philosophy of Science’. Philosophy of Science (in press). Solomon, M. (1994): ‘Social Empiricism’. Nous 28: 325-343. Stich, S. P. (1990): The Fragmentation of Reason. Cambridge: M.I.T. Press. Worrall, J. (1990): ‘Rationality, Sociology and the Symmetry Thesis’. International Studies in the Philosophy of Science 4: 305-319.

118 Ralf Naumann Internal Realism, Rationality and Dynamic Semantics

abstract Putnam’s internal realism implies a form of conceptual relativity with respect to ontology. There can be different descriptions of the world which are based on distinct ontologies. It has been argued that this relativity forecloses any possibility of unifying our knowledge and can even lead to inconsistency. If this is true, internal realism should be abandoned because it is compatible with non-rational positions. We will argue that these objections can be dismissed if truth as idealized warranted assertibility is understood as stability of a belief state under new evidence. This view of truth is still compatible with the existence of distinct belief states expressing different views on the world. This understanding of the notion of truth is a consequence of interpreting both our cognitive activities and the notion of meaning dynamically. The meaning of a sentence is no longer given in terms of (static) truth conditions but as a relation between belief sets, that is, as a kind of information change potential. One of the most prominent theses put forth by Putnam in recent years is the thesis of internal realism. Recently it has been characterized by Putnam in the following terms. The point of internal realism is not that there are perspectives that you cannot conjoin ... but that there is no privileged ‘ontology’ in terms of which reality is to be described. Even unified knowledge can have a plurality of forms (Putnam(94a), p.254). Let us first illustrate what is meant by different perspectives or descriptions of the world by means of an example. Suppose there is some kind of world with just three different objects; call them a, b and c. Object a is black, object b is white and object c is red. According to the description we have just given, the following sentence is true. (1)

There are exactly three objects.

Let us call this perspective or theory theory 1. But now suppose the following is done. One not only counts the objects a, b and c but also their mereologi-

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1

cal sums. For instance, the mereological sum which corresponds to the objects a and b can be taken to consist of the matter (or space) of both objects. These mereological sums can be taken to be a kind of plural object. Formally, the move from ‘normal’ objects to a universe including plural objects can be modelled by embedding the ‘old’ objects in a set-theoretical universe by means of the so-called I-operator whose definition is given in (2). (2)

8x 8y.x=y

This operator maps each object x of type e to the singleton {x}. Next one defines that if a and b are objects, so is their (set-theoretical) union. This (recursive) definition allows one to build more complex objects on the basis of a given base set of atomic objects. In our example the base set consists of the objects a, b and c. Alternatively, one could proceed as follows. Given a set of objects S, one maps this set to V+(S), i.e. the set of all non-empty subsets of S, and counts all elements of V+(S) as objects. In the above example the result will be the following universe. {a,b,c} {a,b}

{a,c} {a}

{b,c} {b}

{c}

Figure 1 As a consequence the universe no longer contains exactly three objects but seven. Thus, the following sentence is true in this changed perspective or theory. (3)

There are exactly seven objects.

Let us call this perspective theory 2. Besides the two sentences about the cardinality of the universe, there are other sentences which evaluate differently in the two theories. Consider the sentence in (4). (4)

There is an object which is partly red and partly black.

120 Such an object exists according to theory 2 because one has that the object {a,c} satisfies the predicate in (4): object a is black and object c is red such that their mereological sum is partly black and partly red. In theory 1, on the other hand, this sentence cannot be (literally) true because there all objects are of exactly one colour. The example shows that the thesis of internal realism is essentially a thesis about ontology. Understood in this way its content is mainly negative: it does not make sense to speak of the totality of all objects. Rather, what is an object depends on what kinds of objects are posited inside a theory or a language. This thesis has subsequently been called conceptual relativity by Putnam.2 This conception of realism has consequences for the notion of truth which is admissible. (5)

Truth is, at least in part, dependent on our (current) belief system, knowledge, interests and desires.

This follows from the fact that there is no privileged ontology, that is, no built-in ontology which science can aim to discover eventually. Rather, the ontology which is used both in science and common sense always presupposes some decisions on the part of the user which are not determined by nature or the ontological structure of the world. But this means that the truth conditions of a sentence cannot be given in terms of any mind-independent ontology. (6)

Truth cannot be defined in terms of a (non-trivial) notion of correspondence.

If truth cannot be defined by means of a built-in ontology, it follows that truth cannot be defined by some kind of correspondence between sentences or parts of sentences and parts or chunks of the world which are given as a totality before any language for which a notion of truth is defined is in place. Formally, this would mean that the domain of each language had to be a subset of this ontology, if the sentences are true. Note that it is not excluded that there will be some kind of trivial notion of correspondence in the definition of truth for a particular language in the sense that the truth conditions of a sentence are given with respect to objects and relations which have been posited inside the

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language. For instance, in the example above one can define two different reference relations between objects in the world and terms in the two different languages, depending on which of the two theories one uses. Yet, the question is how it is possible to define the notion of truth in positive terms. As is well known, Putnam offers the following attempt. (7)

Truth is idealized rational acceptability.

The problem is to explain what is meant by ‘idealized rational acceptability’. Internal Realism and Rationality There seems to be something fundamentally wrong with the thesis of internal realism and the notion of truth it implies. It appears that adopting this kind of realism leads to a position which is relativistic and skeptic in a sense which seems to defy rationality, or which is at least compatible with such positions. If this is in effect true, internal realism is a position which it is not rational to accept. The relativism stems from the fact that it is possible that there are different, logically incompatible sentences which are nevertheless all true.3 This is just a consequence of the thesis of internal realism according to which there can be different perspectives or views of the world which need not be unifiable. As an example take sentences (1) and (3) from above. Both sentences are true. The former according to theory 1 and the latter according to theory 2. But it is not possible to conjoin both sentences to one complete description of the world because the conjunction of sentence (1) with sentence (3) is inconsistent. There can be no world in which one has exactly three and at the same time exactly seven objects. Consequently, internal realism seems to be compatible with the existence of genuine inconsistent descriptions of the world.4 But such a possibility seems to defy any notion of rationality. Next consider the following skeptical argument that the world doubled in size ten minutes ago. According to a metaphysical realist position, there is a fact of the matter which makes this claim either true or false. Put in semantic terms, one can say that there either is some kind of causal (correspondence)

122 connection between the sentence and the world or not. As we have seen, internal realists eschew such talk of a metaphysical connection between language and the world. But then it seems possible to accept both hypotheses, that is, that the world doubled in size ten minutes ago or not. The difference between the two hypotheses only concerns the size of the objects and, therefore, can be seen as postulating two different ontologies such that nevertheless both hypotheses can be true. The general problem for an internal realist can be described as follows. If there are different incompatible ways of talking about or describing reality, what distinguishes these from all those other ways one could use or conceive of but does not want to use because they are wrong or incorrect, that is, cannot be taken as a description of reality. The problem, thus, is how different theories or perspectives of describing the world are possible at all, without at the same time leaving room for too many theories. It is just at this point that some nonepistemic notion seems to be called for as providing a criterion with respect to which the different ways or perspectives can be evaluated. Such a non-epistemic notion can supply an objective standard because it is independent of our own current subjective standards of justification and proof. Blackburn, for example, holds that a move towards unity is necessary because different perspectives must be reconciled if they shall be taken to be theories about the world and not as mere instrumental acceptances.5 For him, acknowledging some kind of conceptual relativity is eo ipso a rejection of this possibility of a unified world view and a rejection of the notion of idealized rational acceptability. Rather, the notion of a unity of science or knowledge is a kind of regulative ideal which guides all scientific thinking and inquiry. Realism based on the idea of a totality of objects and a corresponding definite totality of properties is taken to be a necessary condition for the thesis of the existence of objective knowledge. Irrational positions, on the other hand, deny the existence of such objective knowledge which is independent of any subjective factors.6 One symptom of irrationality is that it has to acknowledge the existence of other, incompatible views or theories. Of course, in most cases such opposing views are said to be false or even unintelligible because they fail to agree with one’s own view. But this falsity is only ‘falsity from the

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standpoint of x’ and not from the standpoint which uses some kind of objective standard. Consequently, it seems that avoiding irrationality is to describe the world or part of it in such a way that it should not reflect any biased or subjective interests or standpoints at all.7 The same point can also be made by requiring that what is needed is some kind of ‘view from nowhere’. Metaphysical realism can be seen as complying with this requirement. By postulating a totality of objects as well as a totality of properties with respect to which truth is defined (via a relation of correspondence), there is an objective standard with respect to which sentences (beliefs) or whole theories can be evaluated. There is no room for a plurality of views which is characteristic of irrational positions because there is only one world, the WORLD in Putnam’s critical description of the metaphysical realist position, which fits exactly one description. Relativistic positions, then, are prone to succomb to irrationality just because they allow a plurality of views and do not insist on some kind of uniqueness. Yet, internal realism as understood by Putnam should rather be seen as a middle way between these two extremes, that is ‘reactionary metaphysics’, on the one hand, and ‘irresponsible relativism’, on the other.8 The question, of course, is how an internal realist can manage to hold course between these two extremes. A first answer Putnam could give to the charge of an irresponsible relativism is to ressort to some kind of empirical underdetermination in the sense of Quine. This would amount to the claim that there is no fact of the matter with respect to which a choice between two incompatible descriptions can be made. For instance, the two descriptions we have given in the example above are empirically equivalent in the sense that they lead to the same set of testable predictions and that they have the same explanatory power. There even exists an effective translation between the two theories which is truth preserving. As an example take the following translation of theory 1 into theory 2. It is based on the fact that the objects of theory 1 are the atomic objects of the universe of theory 2, where the predicate atomic can be defined as in (8). (8)

AT =df. 8X8Y. Y f X v |Y| = 1

124 An atomic object is a set the cardinality of which is 1, that is a singleton. Sentence (1) of theory 1, then, receives the following translation in theory 2. (9)

There are exactly three atomic objects.

Thus, one sees that the word ‘object’ of theory 1 is translated as ‘atomic object’ in theory 2. Sentence (4), on the other hand, can be translated as in (10). (10)

There is a non-atomic object which is partly red and partly black.

(10) now expresses in more precise terms the fact that the non-uniqueness of a colour ascription applies to plural objects and therefore not necessarily to atomic objects. Yet, the Quinean thesis of underdetermination is not the way in which Putnam wants to be understood although he accords with Quine in rejecting the above objection that he has to acknowledge the truth of genuine inconsistent sentences. This objection presupposes a single use of the word ‘object’ because it is only under this premise that the two sentences in (1) and (3) cannot be conjoined. Such a use assumes that there are fixed answers to the questions ‘Are there mereological sums?’ and ‘Are mereological sums objects?’ But questions like these only make sense against the background of the notion of a totality of mind-independent objects which together make up the ontology of the world. On Putnam’s view the impossibility of conjoining the two sentences directly is simply a consequence of the fact that it is not possible to conjoin two conventions which underly different ways of speaking.9 On the other hand, it is possible to conjoin the sentences after one of the sentences has been translated into the language underlying the other theory.10 The difference between Putnam and Quine consists in the role these different notions of objects have. For Putnam the example of the mini-world with exactly three atomic objects reflects different conventions to speak about (part of) the world. These conventions, in turn, are grounded in different interests or desires of those using the different schemes.11 The descriptions or theories are thus at least in part expressed in intentional terms which cannot be eliminated. These descriptions of the world are therefore made from above and not from below, that is, from the standpoint of science itself, where science is

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understood as being opposed to common sense. It follows that Putnam does not defend some kind of naturalism, as it is the case for Quine, who aims at a theory which is completely made from the point of view of science. According to Putnam, neither reason nor mind can be naturalized, that is, be eliminated or reduced to notions which are employed in the natural sciences. He writes: In Quine’s sense, to be a ‘naturalist’ is to believe that there is nothing to be said about science except what science itself can discover about science, i.e. there is no distinctive activity of philosophy apart from science (Putnam(94a), p.251).12 Consequently, a convention, which does not correspond to a fact of the matter, will in general be useful, even in science. A prime example for such a convention is the distinction between cause and background conditions (or background assumptions). This distinction is not built-in into the structure of the world but, rather, depends on human interests and tendencies. Consequently, there is no ‘fact of the matter’ making something a cause or a background condition. Yet, the distinction does play an important role in everday argumentations where the question of what is the cause of some effect or event is at issue. A first stab at another way of looking at the whole question might come from recalling that whether causation ‘really exists’ or not, it certainly exists in our ‘life world’. What makes it ‘real’ in a phenomenological sense is the possibility of asking, ‘Is that really the cause?’ - that is, of checking causal statements, of bringing new data and new theories to bear on them. If we say this, while leaving aside the problematic idea of ‘really existing’, then we have a picture not too different from Wittgenstein’s or Austin’s, or, for that matter, Husserl’s. The world of ‘ordinary language’ (the world in which we actually live) is full of causes and effects. It is only when we insist that the world of ordinary language (or the Lebenswelt) is defective (an ontological ‘jungle’, vague, gappy, and so on) and look for a ‘true world’ (free of vagueness, of gaps, of any element that can be regarded as a ‘human projection’) that we end up feeling forced to choose between the picture of ‘a physical universe with a built-in structure’ and ‘a physical universe with a structure imposed by the mind,’ not to mention such pictures as a physical-universe-plus-a-mysterious-relation-of‘correspondence,’, or a physical-universe-plus-mysterious-‘essences’; to

126 choose, that is, between pictures that are at once terribly alluring and perfectly contentles (Putnam(90), p. 8). Yet, Blackburn’s (or in more general terms: the metaphysical realist’s) objection can be restated in a different form. Although it is not true to say that an internal realist has to acknowledge genuine inconsistent knowledge, it is not the case that he can simply assume the law of bivalence: (11)

Either p is true or its negation is true.

Consider again sentence (1) There are exactly three objects. Upon hearing this sentence, an internal realist always has to ask first in what sense the word ‘object’ in this sentence has to be understood or is intended to be used. He must, so to speak, know the conventions governing this word or know what view on the world is presupposed by the utterance in order to be able to understand the claim which is made by a particular utterance of (1). Note that this knowledge is different from simply knowing the meaning of the word ‘object’ or any other word of a language which one must grasp in order to understand sentences in which this word occurs. Rather, it is like knowing the language which is presupposed by the utterance. In this case there can be many different ways of using the word ‘object’ and those who want to understand an utterance of (1) must know of these different uses which can underly the occurrence of the word ‘object’ in (1). Now Putnam may claim that the formulation in (11) is incomplete. What is missing is a reference to a particular language: (12)

Either p is true in L or its negation is true in L.

It follows that (1) should always be understood with an implicit reference to a particular choice of a language L, say the language L1 corresponding to theory 1. In that case sentence (1) is bivalent (and true). Yet, this reply of Putnam misses something essential from an internal realist point of view, namely, that our cognitive practice is not divided in different languages in which the use of a word can differ in ways which amount to assigning different meanings to one word, here the word ‘object’, even if there may be different perspectives which are used at the same time. Putnam’s reply is open to the same objection which he levels against Dummett, who argues that for example the word ‘small’ has different meanings in the two expressions

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‘the small boy’ and ‘things too small to see with the naked eye’. Whereas the first occurrence modifies a noun which denotes observable objects, the second occurrence is linked to objects which are by definition unobservable (at least for a verificationist like Dummett). Putnam will probably reply that what is different is not the meaning of the word but its use. What one has are not so much different languages but different language games in the sense of Wittgenstein. This view is explicitly embodied by him in the following passage taken from his recent Dewey-Lectures: There is a certain ‘holism’ here; knowing what truth is in a particular case depends on knowing the use of signs in the language game just as knowing what checking is depends on knowing the use of the various pieces in chess (Putnam(94b), p.513).13 Yet, how exactly the difference between meaning and use can be understood is not explained. But note that drawing on such a distinction undermines Putnam’s first reply that the notion of bivalence must be understood with respect to a particular language L. If there is only one language involved in the different games, it follows that bivalence does not apply because one first must know the use (or the game) in order to understand the claim which is made with an utterance of, say, (1). But then bivalence does not hold for sentences like (1) because specifying a particular language L, say English, is not enough to make a sentence bivalent. A further problem with the above reply is the following. Putnam himself argues, e.g. against deflationist positions, that many sentences of a language are not definitely either true or false.14 Yet, if a sentence like (1) is not bivalent because of the non-uniqueness of reference of the word ‘object’, which, in turn, is due to the interest-dependence of the underlying ontology, then almost no sentence will come out as bivalent on an internal realist picture. But this is clearly at odds with our common-sense practice of how sentences are used to make claims about the world. Let us come back to the possible answers Putnam has against the charge that internal realism is compatible with strong forms of relativism and thus with non-rational positions. We have already shown that an internal realist is not committed to accepting genuine inconsistent sentences as true. But what happens if the number of different perspectives is rather large and that it may

128 even not be possible to translate the different perspectives into each other? In this case there will be many different incompatible views which cannot be reconciled and as a consequence opponents holding different views can never agree. Here a non-epistemic notion which allows an objective evaluation of these different views is called for, or so it seems at least. To this objection Putnam can reply as follows. Any attempt to refute relativism by means of some non-epistemic notions of truth, ontology and realism is itself doomed to failure because a position which is based on such purportedly non-relativistic notions is compatible with even very strong forms of antirealism. Consequently, if the opponent believes that a position which uses only non-epistemic notions cannot lead to relativism, he is wrong. As is well known, Putnam’s argument amounts to formally defining an alternative notion of truth, namely truth as determined by a set of operational and a set of theoretical constraints. The class of true sentences can then be defined as the class of all those sentences which satisfy all the constraints in both sets. The problem for a metaphysical realist is that the class of sentences which is true on this latter conception can well be identical to the class of true sentences on his own metaphysical conception of truth. But if the class of true sentences can be the same on both conceptions, one can show that there are different reference relations for the language assigning different objects in the world to one and the same word in the theory without affecting the distribution of truth values to whole sentences. Thus, the problem is that all possible constraints one can put on a theory can at most determine the truth values of sentences but not the semantic values of subsentential constituents and it is just these values for which the metaphysical realist claims that they are unique. The general objection to this argument of Putnam was (and still is) that Putnam wrongly presupposes that a metaphysical realist has to assume that reference and truth are fixed by theories and therefore in the end by a language in which this theory is formulated. Rather, so the argument goes, reference is fixed by some kind of causal connection between the words used in a theory and the world. Putnam’s answer to this argument is that this claim too will be true under different conceptions of truth and reference. Another way of making this point is that as long as the opponent sticks to notions which can be

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justified from a scientific point of view, Putnam’s argument applies to them. Now the opponent could try to use some stronger notions to defend his claim. David Lewis, for example,15 argues that there is some ‘natural constraint’ which fixes the reference of our words. Natural kind terms are said to refer to ‘elite’ classes. The problem with such arguments is that the notions which are used in them are not explained by the author, here Lewis, and that these notions are not used in science either. Thus, one is at a loss in trying to understand what exactly is meant, say, by the notion of eliteness. More seriously, if it is nature or the world itself which determines reference, it should be possible to define concepts like that of eliteness in natural science. But this seems to be impossible.16 I think that if one views this debate in the context of the problem of how an internal realist position is compatible with non-rational arguments a stronger reply is possible. So far the opponent to internal realism has argued that allowing different views of the world cannot foreclose the possibility of these views being to a large degree based on subjective elements which will turn out to be wrong if they were compared with respect to objective standards. The existence of different, incompatible views is always an indication that at least one of these views must describe reality not correctly. On the other hand, in order to be of any use for a definition of what it means to be rational a radically non-epistemic notion of, say, truth is of no help either for the following reason. If the metaphysical realist were right in claiming that truth is determined, say, by some kind of causal connection which may even exist independently of our means of discovering it, we could never use this connection to justify our beliefs because it could always be the case that even though these beliefs pass all tests, they are nevertheless wrong just because they do not get this connection right. To put it differently, rationality is an epistemic notion and it is therefore necessary to define it in terms of notions which we can at least in principle live up to, that is, the application of which to sentences or beliefs can be decided by us as human beings. Notions which are used to provide some kind of objectivity to our beliefs which are not in an essential way linked to our intellectual practices, and this means to what we are in principle able to detect, are of no use for us in defining what it means to be rational. The metaphysical

130 realist is certainly right when he argues that if the criteria according to which the truth (or correctness) of our beliefs (or sentences we believe true) stay too close to our own actual standards, one runs the risk to accept false theories. But this must not be read in the sense in which the metaphysical realist understands this argument, namely, that the only cure against an irresponsible relativism are radically non-epistemic notions of truth and reference. On the other hand, one has to be careful not to read too much of a verificationist approach into Putnam’s internal realism. For example, one may argue that any notion of truth for sentences about the past which is epistemically useful must depend on a kind of effective procedure to eventually decide the truth of such a sentence. According to Putnam, such a conception is ‘radically misguided’ (Putnam(92):357) To give an example, the truth of the sentence ‘Dinosaurs existed 50 million years ago’ does not depend on any traces of this species we can find or have already found somewhere. Even if all vestiges of dinosaurs had been destroyed shortly after their extinction, the above sentence would be either determinately true or either determinately false on an internal realist conception of truth. At one place Putnam writes: My position entails that ‘Lizzie Borden murdered her parents with an axe’ has a truth-value regardless of whether evidence that exists now or that will exist in the future will ever enable anyone to verify that Miss Borden committed the crime or to verify that she did not. Indeed, even if quantum mechanical fluctuations, or whatever, have destroyed the relevant evidence, I maintain that the accusation against Miss Borden has a definite, if unknown, truthvalue. In this sense, it is consistent with my position that some statements should depend for their truth on ‘conditions the obtaining of which may be, in principle, inaccessible to human beings’ (that is, inaccessible as things now stand, even if they were at one time accessible) (Putnam(92), p.363; italics not added). At other places Putnam says that there could be sentences for which the conditions of their truth are recognition-transcendent, even though this could not happen to hold for the vast majority of the sentences we use.17 The example he discusses is the following. (13)

Even if there happened to be intelligent extraterrestrials, we may never be able to verify that there are.

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The antecedent of this conditional presupposes that the sentence ‘There do not happen to be any intelligent extraterrestrials’ could be true. The question then is how it is possible to verify this. The answer could be easy if there are some reasons of why there could not be other forms of life somewhere in the universe except those forms which exist here on earth. In this case there may be some cosmological principle which together with biological and physical facts implies the impossibility of other forms of life. The problematic case rather is if it just happens that there are no extraterrestrials, that is, it is contingently true that there is no life outside earth but that there could in principle be such life. In this case there can be no explanation which is based on underlying principles of our sciences. Now it seems that this concession to a notion used by a metaphysical realist points in the direction of how Putnam can try to refute the objection of a strong form of relativism which is compatible with internal realism and which can lead to forms of irrationality. What is needed is some form of recognitiontranscendence which is not based on the notion of a totality of objects out there waiting to be discovered where this discovery is explicated on the semantic level as establishing the correct correspondence relation between words and the world. On the other hand, the feature of a possible recognition-transcendence of truth separates an internal realist position from that of verificationist accounts like that of Dummett, for example, because it excludes the definition of truth in terms of some effective procedure which will enable us (or our descendants) to eventually arrive at the truth about the world, that is, at a correct and complete theory of the world.18 Directedness versus Unity The idea of eventually conjoining our knowledge of the world is not one thesis but rather consists of two independent claims which, therefore, have to be distinguished. On the one hand, this thesis presupposes that there is, among other things, a mind-independent structure which can be described in a unique way which is independent of any particular point of view. This property of uniqueness guarantees that there cannot be many different descriptions of this

132 structure which are incompatible to each other and consequently that our knowledge will be conjoinable, if it is true with respect to this structure. It follows that the danger of irresponsible relativism is avoided. On the other hand, it is obvious that it is not possible to conjoin our total knowledge at any given time without running the risk of ending up with an inconsistent theory. For example, so far it is not possible to consistently conjoin general relativity and quantum theory. The reason for this impossibility is due to the fact that our current theories still contain many errors and falsehoods. It follows that there can be theories sentences of which are incompatible with each other. Thus, the fact that theories cannot be conjoined is a sympton of incorrectness. To overcome this situation those theories must be further developed towards the ultimate goal of a unified theory of knowledge. This means that our cognitive activities must be directed towards a particular goal which should be reached eventually. Besides uniqueness, the idea of a unified theory of knowledge therefore also presupposes some kind of directedness. The notion of directedness implies that there will be (or at least is in general) a gap between what is currently believed and what should be believed according to this goal. It follows that the notion with respect to which this goal is defined is a normative and not only a descriptive one. It is this gap which seems to be the feature which forecloses the possibility of irresponsible relativism because the irresponsible character follows from the fact that one is allowed to choose different standards in an ad hoc manner such that there need be no gap between these standards and what is currently believed. Internal realism can now be characterized as a position which denies the first claim, i.e. that of uniqueness, but not the second one, i.e. that of directedness. The thesis of internal realism, then, is that irresponsible relativism can be avoided if our cognitive activities are directed, that is, if one acknowledges that there is a gap between what is believed at a particular moment and what should be believed, but that there need not be a single goal towards which our intellectual activities are directed. The question is whether the notion of directedness is compatible with or even required for an internal realist position. I think the reason for requiring directedness on an internal realist is the following. According to Putnam, truth

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cannot be identified with warranted assertability at a given moment by a particular individual or community. In a certain way truth transcends the ‘hic et nunc’ of current belief. This transcendence is just what makes truth a property of sentences. On the other hand, if truth must be obtainable, at least in most cases, to be an understandable property for us, there must be the possibility of ‘moving’ from one’s current (incorrect) belief state to a belief state in which the sentences can be said to have the property of truth in the sense understood by Putnam. The question is in what sense directedness without unity is sufficient for avoiding the possibility of irresponsible relativism. Finding an answer to this question means first giving an answer to the question towards what exactly our cognitive activities are directed. It is obvious that it is not possible to say that it is the truth because this would presuppose that there is something unique which characterizes our beliefs (and sentences) and this is incompatible with the moderate relativism which underlies internal realism. One would at once get the problem of the unity of our knowledge which Blackburn addresses according to which it should be possible to conjoin sentences which are taken to be true. But this is not possible in an internal realist position, as we have seen. Note that for a metaphysical realist the factual development of our cognitive activities and the achieving of the goal are not linked to each other. This is due to the radical non-epistemic character of the notion in which the goal is defined, that is, correspondence truth. According to Putnam, the goal cannot be something that is radically nonepistemic because it has to depend, at least partly, on our general interests and desires because it is only then that the truth of sentences can be made intelligible to us. Compare the following passage: As I have formulated my position in the past, every truth that human beings can understand is made true by conditions that are, in principle, accessible to some human beings at some time or other, if not necessarily at all times or to all human beings. (Putnam(92), p.364) Consequently, the goal with respect to which the direction of our inquiries is defined cannot require a ‘view from nowhere’. But what can be used to fill in

134 this lacuna on an internal realist position? In order to answer this question let us come back to other notions of truth. Putnam rejects the disquotational account of truth according to which the claim that a sentence S is true amounts to nothing more than the claim that S, or, to put it differently, that ‘S is true or false’ is just the same as saying ‘S or not-S’. It follows that for a deflationist truth is not a genuine property of sentences nor is it explained in terms of other notions like correspondence or degree of confirmation. For Putnam giving up the idea that truth is a genuine property of sentences is wrong. With respect to Quine’s position, which can be taken to be a deflationist one, he writes: The price one pays for Quine’s solution to the metaphysical problem is abandoning the idea that truth is a substantial notion, the idea that truthor-falsity is a genuine parameter with respect to which we appraise one another’s utterances and writings. When I say that I am trying to decide whether what you have said or written is true, then, in Quine’s view, all I mean is that I am making up my mind whether to ‘assent’. But this is to give up what is right in realism. The deep problem is how to keep the idea that statements are true or false, that language is not mere noise and scribbling and ‘subvocalizations’, without being driven to postulate mysterious relations of correspondence(Putnam(90), p.93). Let me first point out what seems to be right about a disquotational theory of truth. If a sentence is accepted by someone or if it is part of a theory, it is eo ipso treated as a true proposition at the time of its acceptance.19 Being part of our belief system means that, at least for the time of acceptance, the falsity of the sentence is not regarded as being a serious possibility. Thus, ‘S is true’ is just another way of asserting S. For example, we use our beliefs to make inferences to guide our actions or to calculate our expectations. In all those practices we always suppose that the inferences or calculations are based on true premises. This is different for a metaphysical realist who defines truth in terms of some kind of metaphysical correspondence. On this account asserting S or claiming S to be true cannot be identified with S being true in this metaphysical realist sense. The reason again is that both asserting and claiming to be true are epistemic notions which can well be warrantedly be used without it being the case that the right correspondence relation exists between the words in a sentence and parts of the world. Consequently, for a metaphysical realist truth

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is a genuine property of sentences or a ‘genuine parameter’ to use Putnam’s words because truth is defined by means of something which is ‘outside’ of our current belief systems or our current standards of justification and proof. It is just this non-epistemic character which makes the notion of truth appropriate as the central notion towards which scientific inquiry can or even should be directed. As we have seen, Putnam wants to follow the metaphysical realist in taking truth to be a genuine property of sentences. The ‘genuiness’ can now be said to consist in the independence of the truth of a sentence from our current beliefs. Formally, this shows up in the non-validity of the disquotational scheme. Yet, the question is what exactly Putnam wants to use instead of the metaphysical realist notion of truth. Note that trying to link the notion of truth to epistemic notions like verification or degree of confirmation is no alternative for Putnam for the following reasons. First, there is the well known objection that it is not possible to define the truth of a sentence in terms of any combination of epistemic notions like confirmation or verification conditions because a sentence can have, say, a high degree of confirmation without being true. This does not only hold on the metaphysical realist picture but also for an internal realist because the degree of confirmation is always linked to a particular theory and therefore to a particular point in time. Consequently, there would be no independence of the truth of a sentence from what is actually believed if it were defined in terms of degree of confirmation. This kind of argument is used not only by a metaphysical realist but also by those who do not follow him and reject any attempt at defining truth in terms of correspondence like Carnap or Davidson, for example. On the other hand, the account of truth given by these two authors is a disquotational one and thus does not yield, according to Putnam, a substantive notion of truth. The second reason for not reducing truth to any combination of epistemic notions has already been mentioned above. Putnam does not want internal realism to itself reduce to any form of verificationism according to which a sentence can only be true because of some kind of proof or empirical evidence one has. Yet, Putnam holds that our understanding of the notion of truth depends essentially on a prior understanding of the notion of warranted assertability:

136 I still continue to insist ... that our grasp of the notion of truth depends on our grasp of the notion of warranted assertability (Putnam(92), p.365, italics not added). The reason for this insistence is that truth must be related to our practices of justifying the assertion of sentences in particular situations or contexts. Without such a grounding in those practices the same objection which Putnam levels against the notion of truth used by the metaphysical realist would be possible, namely, that this notion is simply unintelligible from the standpoint of a human being. This linkage must not be misunderstood as a claim that our conception of when a sentence is true is exhausted by our conception of possible situations in which this sentence is correctly asserted by someone. The problem with such a reduction is that it is based on the assumption that there is a general relationship between the truth of a sentence and the class of situations in which it can be correctly affirmed. For the metaphysical realist this relationship is, of course, the unique correspondence relation. But even a verificationist will hold that there is such a relationship which is invariant for at least a large class of sentences, for example, a high degree of confirmation in the case of empirical sentences or some kind of (normal) proof in the case of mathematical sentences. Closely related to this objection is another one. The verificationist believes that it is possible to eventually specify the verification conditions in an effective way such that there can be, at least in principle, a convergence to a final state of inquiry, that is, a situation in which we make no more mistakes about anything.20 For Putnam such a possibility does not take seriously enough the fact that our standards of justification and evaluation of sentences are constantly changing. Taking such a possibility as a serious option comes close to adopting a ‘view from nowhere’ which characterizes metaphysical realism. The difference between the two positions, then, reduces to what is taken to be the objective standard, correspondance truth on the one hand and effectively given justification conditions on the other hand. In both cases the relationship to our actual practices is lost. The question, of course, is in what exactly the relationship between warranted assertability and truth consists. Here Putnam’s answer is already adumbrated in the definition given in (7) that truth is idealized rational accept-

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ability. The relation to the notion of warranted assertability is that the idealization must be understood as an idealization of warranted assertability.21 This idealization must not be understood as implying the idea of an ultimate coherent and complete account of the world, that is, an end of inquiry in the sense of Peirce. But what, then, is meant by this idealization? Putnam is not very explicit about this. At one place he writes: If a statement can withstand all the criticism that is appropriate given its context, perhaps that is truth enough (Putnam(90), p.223). Yet, this seems to be too weak because it allows a position according to which those sentences are true which are assented to by most of the people at a time and against which no one is able to find a strong enough criticism. In a reply to Dummett he gives the following example for what it means to be in an ideal epistemic position to warrantedly assert the sentence ‘There is a chair in my study’: The ideal epistemic situation would be for me to be in my study, with the lights on or with daylight streaming in through the windows, with nothing wrong with my eyesight, with an unconfused mind, without having taken drugs or being subjected to hypnosis, etc., and look to see if there is a chair there (Putnam(94a), p.291). What is missing is some kind of independence from the context which is mentioned in the last but one quotation above which, at the same time, does not imply the existence of an end of all inquiry in the Peircean sense. One way of achieving this is to define truth with respect to different perspectives or views of the world. To avoid the charge of relativism and irrationality this definition must not be local to one particular stage of inquiry which is associated with the given perspective but rather the definition must be given in terms of the development which this perspective can take in the light of new evidence. Internal Realism and Theory Dynamics Let us summarize the theses about the notion of truth according to an internal realist position. There are in sum five different theses:

138 (i)

Truth is a genuine (or substantive) property of sentences.

(ii)

Truth may be recognition-transcendent, even if this can not generally be the case.

(iii)

Truth is not (metaphysical) correspondence.

(iv)

Truth or truth conditions of sentences must be based on a notion of warranted assertability or the notion of a warrant,even if it cannot be reduced to these notions. Rather, truth is an idealization of the notion of warranted assertability.

(v)

Truth is, at least in part, dependent on our (current) belief system, knowledge, interests and desires.

Truth can be said to be a genuine property of sentences because of (iv), that is, because it is not exhausted by what is warrantedly assertible at a particular moment of time by a particular person or a particular community. The feature of idealization makes it also possible to say that truth need not be tied to what is in principle possible for human beings to recognize as a verifying situation for a sentence. On the other hand, even if truth is an idealization of warranted assertability, it is linked in an essential way to it and thus to an understanding of how sentences can be used in particular situations in which one has a warrant to assert this sentence. The relation between the notion of truth on an internal realist account and the idea of a dynamic conception of our cognitive activities is given in the fifth thesis: if the standards of truth and justification can possibly change in the course of our cognitive activities, truth cannot be defined independently of those activities when they themselves are viewed as not being restricted to a single moment in time but as something which evolves through time. Yet, this is exactly what both the metaphysical realist and the Dummettian antirealist do, as we have seen in the last section. For them, the parameters with respect to which a sentence is evaluated are defined independently of the course our cognitive activities take. This accordance between realists and antirealists reveals another point on which they agree, namely, the idea of a static world which science or common sense have to describe or investigate as the ultimate aim of all cognitive activity. The difference between the two positions, then,

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stems from the fact with respect to which notion such a description of the world is evaluated or has to be correct and complete: correspondence truth in the case of a realist and some kind of effective verification conditions in the case of an antirealist, as we have seen. Consequently, one is primarily interested in characterizing the set of true or effectively verified sentences. What is missing are any sentences characterizing our policies or strategies of changing and revising our current belief state. According to a static conception, this is simply not necessary because one always works under the assumption of what has to be the case in some final state of knowledge. In this situation there is no need for any methodological policy of how to revise one’s belief state because no such revision is needed any more or even possible. Let us call such policies revision strategies. Ramsey distinguished two different kinds of beliefs: factual beliefs which are (directly) about the world and general beliefs which express methodological policies of how we should change our beliefs in the light of new evidence. General beliefs can be taken to express revision strategies. According to a dynamic conception of our cognitive activities, what is important is not only a possible final state of knowledge which can be arrived at, at least in an idealized sense, but the relation between any two consecutive belief states. It follows that what is needed is some kind of strategy or methodological policy of how a belief state is changed or revised in the face of new information which is incompatible with the information contained in this current belief state. This means that what is important for an inquirer or individual to be rational is not only (or perhaps not so much) to have a set of true beliefs or to have a strategy which ultimately arrives at such a set, in whatever sense of true, but, rather, to have a strategy to change his beliefs or belief state. The important point to note about the conception of Carnap or, to put it in more general terms, those who base a notion of meaning on epistemic notions like degree of confirmation or some similar notions is that the impetus to change a theory must at least in most cases come from the ouside, for example by doing experiments or making new observations, and that what is affected by possible revisions which are triggered by those experiments or observations is the degree of confirmation of a sentence.22 The reason for being

140 interested in a higher degree of confirmation of a sentence is that theories the sentences of which have such a high degree of confirmation tend to lead to better predictions with respect to testable consequences and also to have a higher explanatory value. It follows that a theory cannot be revised on the basis of the truth of a sentence. This is a consequence of the fact that truth is not taken to be a substantive property of a sentence. A sentence cannot be said to have this property in one theory and to lack it in another one, when viewed from the point of the two theories, respectively. For the deflationist the notion of truth is internal to a given theory and inside a particular theory the truth predicate trivially applies to sentences which are an element of the theory. To put it differently: truth does not, so to speak, transcend a given theory. Consequently, there can be no gap between a sentence being true and a sentence being believed to be true in so far as the sentence is an element of the current theory. This is in contrast to the position of a metaphysical realist. For him the change should ultimately take place with respect to the notion of (metaphysical) truth. Degree of confirmation (or verification) can only be used if the use of a theory is instrumental rather than epistemic. For an internal realist too the change of our theories or our current belief sets should be made with respect to the notion of truth, because it is this property we are ultimately interested in.23 On the other hand, contrary to what the metaphysical realist believes, truth must be related to what can be known in principle by human beings, i.e., truth must be epistemically obtainable or accessible, at least in most cases. But this requirement can only be met if a theory is revised according to our current standards of evaluating sentences, as it is the case for a deflationist. The relevant criterion for a deflationist is to maximize the degree of confirmation (or verification) of a sentence.24 Yet, there is an important difference between a deflationist and an internal realist. The deflationist can determine the success of revising a theory immediately, that is, of whether the degree of confirmation has increased. This is not possible for an internal realist because the notion of truth is not a property which can be determined by inspecting only our current beliefs, in contrast to the notion of degree of confirmation (or that of warranted assertability, for that matter), the exact value

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of which can be determined in each particular stage of an inquiry. One can express this difference between the two notions by saying that whereas (degree of) confirmation is a local property of a theory, truth as understood by an internal realist is not a local property but must be seen more globally. This global character can only be defined with respect to a particular inquiry or research program. Truth must be a global property of a particular inquiry. This independence of truth from a particular theory or belief state expresses the fact that the truth of a sentence is independent of the hic et nunc in the form of the current standards of justification and proof. The dependence on whole inquiries (or research programs), on the other hand, shows that truth does depend on what is possible for us. Note that for a metaphysical realist truth is a local property too because if it were possible for us to adopt a point from nowhere (or a God’s eye perspective), we could at each stage of an inquiry know which sentences stand in the correct correspondence relation to (parts of) the world and are therefore true (in the metaphysical realist sense) and for which this does not hold. It follows that what is needed on the internal realist account is a framework which allows him to model the changing standards with respect to which sentences are evaluated, on the one hand, and to model the idea that truth is a substantive property of sentences, on the other hand. We want to suggest that what is needed for an internal realist not to run the risk of being compatible with non-rationalist positions is to shift from a static to a dynamic conception of knowledge and belief or scientific inquiry. Revision Strategies How can revision strategies be represented formally? There has been much work in recent years on this topic, especially by Peter Gärdenfors.25 He distinguishes three different types of operations which can change a given belief set K. (i)

Expansion: Expanding a belief set K with a sentence p, written K+p, means that p is added to K. If p is already in K or is consis tent with K, the resulting belief set is itself consistent, otherwise it

142 is inconsistent. If a belief set K is modelled as a set of sentences, K+p can be formally defined as K c {p}.26 (ii)

Revision: In this case, the new sentence p is inconsistent with K but the result of adding p to K, i.e. the revision of K with p, writ ten KÐ p, is required to be a consistent belief set. It follows that at least some of the old beliefs in K have to be deleted before p can be added to K.

(iii)

Contraction: In a contraction, written K-p, p is retracted from K with out there any new sentence q being added to K.27

With a contraction and an expansion operation at hand, it is possible to define the revision operation by means of the two other operations in the following way: (iv)

KÐp=def.(K-¬p)+p

According to this definition, the so-called Levi-identity, in order to revise a belief set with a sentence p one first contracts with the negation of p, i.e. ¬p, thereby removing any possible sentence which is inconsistent with p, and then, in a second step, expands with p. Note that it is not possible to define the contraction operation (and because of the Levi-identity, the revision operation) uniquely by only using logical notions. We will come back to this problem below. An important questions concerns the relation between the two components, i.e., sentences characterizing the revision strategy and sentences (directly) about the world. For example, in what sense is the revision strategy determined by our factual beliefs? Robert Stalnaker argues that different revision strategies are only possible if there is some difference in factual belief. I will argue that different dispositions to change what one accepts are always grounded in different factual beliefs. This is why the distinction between the two components of a belief state does not amount to a distinction between two kinds of belief ... But isn’t it at least conceivable that two people might agree in all their beliefs about how things are but disagree about how to respond to new information? This is not conceivable, I will argue, because even if there is no independent way to specify the factual disagreement that explains the difference in

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methodological policy, we take the latter difference itself to constitute a factual disagreement (Stalnaker(87), p.102). It follows that for Stalnaker two people who have exactly the same beliefs will react to new information in the same way. Formally, this means that revision is a function which maps a belief state and a sentence to exactly one (possibly new) belief state. Stalnaker gives the following example to sustain his view. There are two people, call them John and Bill. Neither John nor Bill believes Ted Kennedy to be the Democratic nominee for President in 1984. John believes that if contrary to what he expects Kennedy will try to obtain this nomination, he will win. Bill, on the other hand, thinks this is wrong: even if Kennedy will be candidate for the Democratic nominee, he will not win. Thus, they use different revision strategies. If both John and Bill learn that Kennedy will be candidate, John revises his belief state to the effect that Kennedy will win, whereas for Bill such a revision is not necessary because he thinks that even in this case Kennedy will not be the nominee because he will loose. This difference must be grounded in differences with respect to what John and Bill believe, say, about the preferences of those who decide on the nominee or the political qualities of Ted Kennedy. John may think that Democrates think that Kennedy will be a good president, perhaps comparable to his brother John F. Kennedy, whereas Bill may just believe the opposite: Democrates think that Ted Kennedy does not have the same qualities as his brother and that he only wishes to have political power. It follows that the difference in revision strategy is due to a difference in factual belief. On the level of revision strategy the difference is reflected in the conditional sentences that are accepted.28 For example, one particular revision strategy may be to be disposed to accept a sentence p if one learns that sentence q is true, that is, one is prepared to include p in one’s belief state conditionally on q. But this does mean that one accepts the sentence ‘If q, then p’.29 For instance, in Stalnaker’s example the corresponding conditional sentences are ‘If Kennedy is nominated, he will win’ and ‘If Kennedy is nominated, he will not win’. Note that due to the fact that both conditionals are mutually incompatible to each other this kind of conditional cannot be modelled by means of material implication. The sentence ‘q 6 p v q 6 ¬p is satisfiable. It is true if q is false.

144 But let us come back to the question of whether the revision of a belief set will always be functional. Consider the following example. Let the belief set K consist of the following sentences: p, q, p v q 6 ¬r as well as their logical consequences. Suppose that the new evidence is r. Clearly, r is incompatible with K. Thus, one has to revise K with r. According to the Levi-identity, one first has to contract with ¬r. This means that one must delete ¬r from K. As ¬r is a derived belief, one also has to delete those sentences which enable one to derive this sentence. It follows that in the example at hand at least one of the sentences p, q or pv q 6 ¬r must be given up. But there is no logical reason to choose one of the three options rather than any other. This is the problem of the underdetermination of theories by data. The new evidence r does not logically force a unique revision upon the scientist. What conditions can an internal realist impose on the revision operator to narrow down the possible choices? One possibility is to use the fact of the interest-driven character of inquiry. This allows one to make a distinction between what is tested in an experiment and what is taken for granted or settled, that is, what is taken as a background assumption.30 This distinction can be implemented by assuming that those sentences which are not tested are not eligible for revision. In a particular experimental situation they are taken as a kind of analytic truth. In the above example, for instance, it could be that what is tested is the correctness of the implication. This means that the truth of p and q is taken for granted and one consequently has to give up the implication. On the other hand, this way of proceeding is not the only possible one for an internal realist. Even if it is the implication which is tested according to one set of interests, there could as well be other interests which decide otherwise. For example, one could decide to give up p instead and retain the implication. A consequence of this is that in general there can be many different outcomes of a revision which are all allowed according to an internal realist position. But such a possibility seems to sustain the criticism that in the end internal realism will lead to an irresponsible relativism according to which (almost) anything goes. On the other hand, a metaphysical realist will reply that the underdetermination of theories by data does not exist but is only a consequence of the relativistic basis of internal realism, that is, of his denying the availability

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of an objective, non interest-relative criterion. Rather, what is the case is that there is no underdetermination and that consequently each revision leads to a unique result. The question an internal realist has to answer is how it is possible to combine the idea of truth as idealized warranted assertability with this possibility. Internal Realism and Dynamic Semantics Is there any relationship between Putnam’s criticism of both metaphysical realism and verificationist accounts and the static conception of knowledge and belief on which they are based? As we have seen, Putnam criticizes both positions for grounding knowledge, truth and meaning on something which can at least in principle be given once and for all: correspondence truth based on a fixed totality of objects in the case of metaphysical realism and effectively given (recursively defined) justification conditions in the case of the verificationist. The general assumption which both positions share is thus that of a complete procedure which gives rise to a complete and correct description of the world. It is this assumption which leads to the view that the central notion with respect to which sentences are evaluated is local in the sense that it can be defined with respect to a single theory or a single belief state. It is especially the assumption of completeness which runs counter against our actual cognitive or intellectual practices which are inherently partial. This partial character shows up in the fact that those practices are always directed to only a limited part of the world or to several but not all aspects of a given domain. Partiality may have different reasons. For one thing, it is a consequence of the interest-directed character of our intellectual activities. We are interested in one particular problem in one particular domain but never in all problems in all domains (if this is intelligible at all). Consider the following example from natural language. The definite article the is often said to carry a uniqueness condition with respect to the maximal underlying domain. For instance, the sentence ‘The present king of France’ can only be true if there is exactly one individual which is currently king of France. But many sentences lack such a strict presupposition, for example the sentence ‘The man entered

146 the bar’. This sentence can be true even if there is more than one man in the universe. This is due to the fact that what is presupposed by the sentence is not the whole world, that is, one does not make a claim which assumes the whole world as background but only a rather small part of it. On the other hand, partiality is due to our limited cognitive capacities. For example, no one of us will, at least not in general, be able to deduce all logical consequences of our current (explicit) beliefs. It follows that our belief sets are not deductively closed. A consequence of this partial character of our theories or belief states is that the standards we use to evaluate sentences are themselves only partial and therefore not fixed forever. Rather they can change as a result of our cognitive activities. It follows that one can have a belief state s and another belief state s’ such that the standards which are used to evaluate a sentence can be different. Consequently, neither correspondence truth nor effective justification conditions can be that towards which our cognitive activities are directed because such notions do not depend essentially on what is currently believed. Let us illustrate this by means of one of Putnam’s own examples: ‘There is a chair in my study’.31 In case one only has warranted assertability, the claim that there is a chair in my study can be challenged for different reasons which all have to do with one of the conditions which must be satisfied in order that the sentence can be truly (or warrantedly) asserted. For example, it could be the case that one of those conditions does not hold, say, that the observer has taken drugs or that his sight is not normal. Yet, more important are two principled kinds of objections one can raise. First, it can happen that with respect to one of the conditions which is relevant in that the obtaining of it matters for the truth of the claim it is the case that this condition has not been determined in the appropriate way. For example, one may detect so far unknown defects of eyesight such that a person which suffers from those defects is not a reliable observer. Thus, even though the conditions were specified in a correct way in the particular situation at hand, new evidence shows that the standards associated with this factor were too low. The second kind of objection has to do with the aspect of whether the conditions one has determined are complete. There may be conditions which are relevant and which have so far not been

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included in the list of relevant conditions. For example, external factors like temperature may have an influence on the constitution of the observer which must be taken into account. In both cases the standards with respect to which the above sentence is evaluated are changed and as a consequence the sentence will no longer be regarded as true. Viewed from a dynamic perspective, this means that the sentence is deleted from the current belief set K as the result of the changed assertability conditions expressed in form of, say, the sentence q. Consequently, one has to revise K with q, i.e., one has to construe KÐq. Note that this revision is a proper one in the sense that old beliefs have to be retracted. Thus, it holds that K é KÐq. Repeating our inquiries will lead to a sequence of belief sets K0, K1, K2, K3, ... as a result of applying some revision strategy in the light of new evidence. According to the positions of Carnap, Horwich and others, what should be maximized in such sequences is the degree of confirmation or justification. Thus, the aim of our cognitive activities can be said to arrive at a belief set K such that for each sentence p in K the degree of confirmation is greater than 0.5.32 According to Putnam’s internal realism, what should be maximized is our knowledge about epistemic ideal conditions under which a sentence can be ideally warrantedly asserted. What happens if these epistemic conditions are known and expressed in a belief set Kn? Now in this case an utterance of the sentence ‘There is a chair in my study’ can no longer be challenged if those conditions are in fact satisfied in the context of utterance. Viewed again from a dynamic perspective, it follows that there can be no more revision with respect to this claim (or this sentence). But this means that the sentence is stable in the sense that it will be an element of all later belief sets. In other words: this sentence will not be deleted from future belief sets. Stability of sentences with respect to revision amounts to the fact that each revision is an expansion which does not result in an inconsistent belief set. Consequently, new evidence is compatible with what one believes at the time when the new evidence is registered. The relation between stability and truth as idealized warranted assertability can then be defined as follows. Definition 1

148 The sentences of a belief set K are true in the sense of idealized warranted assertability (or idealized rational acceptability) just in case the belief set is stable under a revision strategy RS. The fact that a belief set K is stable under a revision strategy RS can be defined in the following way. Definition 2 A belief set K is stable under a revision strategy RS just in case all revisions can be reduced to (consistent) expansions, i.e., if one has KÐ p = K+p for all sentences p. That a particular revision strategy RS leads to truth in the sense of internal realism can be defined as given in Definition 3. Definition 3 A revision strategy RS leads to truth in the sense of idealized warranted assertability just in case there is a time t such that for all t’ with t’ > t it holds that (KÐRSp)t’ = (K+RSp)t’. If all revisions are (consistent) expansions, it follows that for each new evidence represented by a sentence p it holds that it either is already in the belief set K or that it is not in K but compatible with the information contained in K. It follows that no sentences of K have to be retracted in the light of new evidence.33 Let us make the following observations. First, the conception we have presented is compatible with there being not a single research program based on one view of the world. There can be several such programs which are based on different views having distinct ontologies. Consequently, progress need not consist in approximating one complete and correct description of the world which details the unique totality of objects existing in the world. Thus, no totality of all objects which is fixed once and for all is presupposed. On the other hand, this conception can be seen as implying some kind of coherence between what is believed and the evidence one can get for what one believes. This is in accordance with what Putnam himself expressed about truth in ‘Reason, Truth and History’: ‘Truth’, in an internalist view, is some sort of (idealized) rational acceptability - some sort of ideal coherence of our beliefs with each other

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and with our experiences as those experiences are themselves represented in our belief system - and not correspondence with mind-independent or discourse-independent ‘states of affairs’ (Putnam(81), p.90, italics added). Second, it is not only the current belief state and the view embodied in it which is relevant for an evaluation of the beliefs an agent has, as is held by many relativists. Rather, one also has to look back at previous belief states, that is, one has to take into consideration what has been believed before. This is necessary in order to be able to detect situations like those in which the cognitive activities have gone into a kind of loop. In such a situation one starts in a belief state s0 and after a finite number of (proper) revisions one is in a belief state sn which is identical to the belief state s0 one started in. Furthermore, the perspective adopted here is a dynamic one in that what is relevant is not only the fact of whether a sentence is true but also how this sentence can be incorporated into a given belief set K. Consequently, what is important with respect to a sentence or the meaning of a sentence are not so much its truth conditions but rather the change this sentence brings about in relation to the belief set to which it is added. Let us elaborate on this distinction. In static semantic theories the meaning of a sentence is a set of assignments or, working in an intensional setting, a set of possible worlds, namely, the set of all those assignments under which the sentence is true or all those worlds in which the sentence is true. In a dynamic setting the truth conditions become secondary. Instead, one focuses on the information change potential of a sentence. For example, a belief set is a particular information state. Applied to such an information state, a sentence will change this state in a particular way. For instance, in the example we used above to illustrate the non-functional character of revisions, the sentence r can be said to change the belief set K, consisting of the sentence p, q and p v q -> ¬r, to a new belief set KÐ r. It takes a belief set K and transforms it into a new belief set. Applied to the parameters with respect to which the truth conditions of a sentence are defined in static approaches, the meaning of a sentence is a relation between assignments or a relation between sets of possible worlds. For example, in the case of an expansion the meaning of a sentence can be taken to be a function which takes a set of possible worlds, namely, all those worlds which are

150 compatible with the input belief set, to another set of possible worlds which is the intersection of the first set with all those worlds in which the sentence is itself true. This dynamic perspective on the meaning of a sentence is directly related to the importance the notion of coherence has for the evaluation of beliefs. Stability means that new evidence does not conflict with what is believed so far and this can be expressed by saying that new evidence formulated as a sentence or a belief must cohere with the sentences in our belief set K (or with the beliefs making up our belief state). As a consequence, the methodological policy we are suggesting here does not require that one is justified in maintaining a sentence in a belief set K only if one has a specific reason to do so, for example in form of a deductive argument which is ultimately based on some kind of basic belief which is self-justifying or self-evident. Part of the justification of a sentence in a belief set comes from the fact that it is compatible with the other beliefs which are elements of this set. Thus, the proposed methodological policy incorporates a principle of conservatism. This principle is defined by Harman in the following way: Principle of Conservatism One is justified in continuing fully to accept something in the absence of a special reason not to.(Harman(86), p.46) On the other hand, stability is not a local property of a belief state or a sentence because one cannot decide whether this property applies to a sentence by inspecting only the current belief state. Rather, what is necessary is to see whether this belief state is a (proper) subset of further belief states. This independence of the truth of a sentence from what is currently believed or from the fact whether it is an element of the current belief set can be seen as the feature which makes up that truth is not reduced to warranted assertability. Warranted assertibilty is a property of a sentence which solely depends on the current belief state and not on other belief states as well. From this non-local or global character of stability it also follows that truth can be recognitiontranscendent because we cannot be sure that if a sentence is an element of a belief set K at time t that it will be an element of all further belief sets in this research program. An example is provided by the sentence ‘There do not happen to be any extraterrestrials’. Suppose that this sentence is an element of

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the belief set K at time t and that the evidence for having incorporated this sentence into K has not been conclusive. Then we cannot be sure that at a later time t’ we will encounter extraterrestrial forms of life, irrespective of what time t we choose. A further characteristic of the above method is that stability depends on the revision strategy which is used. Assuming that the revision strategy itself is not fixed once and for all such that there can be different strategies makes truth dependent on the choice of a particular revision strategy. It follows that contrary to what Dummett requires there need not be any fixed justification procedure for a sentence. A sentence is at least partly justified by being an element of a belief set which is stable. Furthermore, the stability does not apply to the number of research programs (or world views) that are initialized or undertaken. We have already envisaged above the possibility that the result of a revision need not be unique and that different revisions can lead to new research programs. What is important is that each research program stabilizes at some time in the sense that the sentences believed at that time are not deleted at later times from the belief set K representing this research program. The Problem of the Constancy of Reference Let me point out one feature of the approach sketched so far. The revision strategy is a strategy which operates on the level of (whole) sentences and belief sets. The notion of reference does not play any role at all, or, to put it more generally, the semantic values of subsentential constituents do not matter. Those who oppose forms of internal realism may object to this feature just because for them one criterion of the rationality of the scientific enterprise is that we can say that people two hundred years ago have used, say, the word ‘plant’ in a way which is comparable to the way this word is used nowadays. Now this claim must be read as an assertion about the reference of the term ‘plant’: even if many factual beliefs of our ancestors about plants may have been wrong (and so may be many of our current beliefs!), it is nevertheless true to say that they meant (or intended to speak about) the same kind of object as we do when we use this word. Such a constancy of reference seems to be a

152 necessary condition if one wants to treat our ancestors as rational beings and not as mere creatures who uttered noises. This line of reasoning was an essential part of the ‘realist’ Putnam, in particular of that Putnam who wrote ‘The Meaning of Meaning’ and ‘Meaning and the Moral Sciences’. Applied to the approach we have sketched the question cannot be of whether reference has to be stable across different perspectives of the world because it is just one of its central premises that there can be different perspectives which use different ontologies. But what about the development in a single branch, that is, in a single research program? For example, take the case of Newtonian physics where on one version there are particles and forces which act on the particles but where there are no fields through which the forces are propagated, whereas on a second, alternative version there are two such fields, namely the electromagnetic and the gravitational field. Must it be the case that if one works in one of these variants, say the second one, the notion of a field must be a referential constant in order that there can be some kind of growth or directedness? An answer to this question clearly depends on what exactly is meant by referential constancy. In the metaphysical realist picture there seems to be an easy answer. If the word ‘plant’ stands in the right (that is causal) reference relation to the correct (elite) class of objects in subsequent stages of a single theory or two different theories, then the word is used in the same way in both cases despite possible differences with respect to which properties are ascribed to members of this class. The constancy is thus defined in terms of the mind-independent objects in the world and the reference relation between parts of this world and items in a language. But what attitude can and should an internal realist take towards this question? At first it may seem that for him such a constraint is not necessary at all because there is nothing like the correct reference relation. On the contrary, imposing such a constraint rather implies that there is something outside waiting to be referred to by a word in our theories. In order to see this let us first point out what referential constancy cannot mean. First, this constancy can certainly not be identified with constancy of beliefs, that is, sentences held true, in which the word occurs because the question just is how a word can have a constant meaning while the beliefs one has about the referent may vary. Another

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possibility may be to locate the constancy in the role the word plays in a theory. Here, ‘role’ could be some kind of conceptual role. The problem with this suggestion is that in conceptual role semantics the role of a word is only defined relative to a particular theory or belief system at one time but not between two systems or for one system at different times. What would be needed to overcome this is some notion of synonymy which would allow one to keep track of the role a word has in a theory which is developing or to compare the roles of a word in two different theories. Thus, the general conclusion one has to draw seems to be comparable to the one which is often made against attempts to reduce truth to some epistemic notion: the constancy cannot be defined in terms of some epistemic notion like belief or conceptual role because they may change although we still want to say that the word refers to the same class of objects. Another view of the problem of constancy of reference comes from the dynamic perspective we have adopted here. As we have observed above, a sentence which is an element of a belief set does not need a particular reason to be justified in form of basic beliefs. Once a sentence is accepted, one can apply the principle of conservatism. With respect to the notion of reference this principle can be interpreted in the sense that it is not necessary to keep track of the particular intentions which were operative when the terms was introduced in the language or the theory. If reference cannot be defined in terms of a fixed totality of objects because the latter notion does not make sense, the meaning of a word cannot be defined with respect to some part of such a fixed totality. Rather reference is defined inside a language and therefore depends partly on the decisions of those who construct the language. But the terms of the language will not be introduced one after the other but by some kind of simultaneous induction (or definition). It follows that there is a certain holism which governs the meanings of words34 and that the meaning of a word is partly defined by which other words are present in the language. In a sense, the role or function of words is reduced to that which Quine attributes to them: helping to forge structure into sentences and among sentences.35

154 Conclusion Let us advance the following two theses: (i)

Rationality has not only to do with the notions of truth or realism one has but also with the revision strategy one

uses to (ii)

change one’s beliefs. The set of possible revision strategies is invariant with respect to the different perspectives which may be pursued, that is, this set is common to all belief strategies. They can only differ with respect to the way in which possible revision strategies are applied.

The first thesis is a consequence of the rejection of the idea of a fixed totality of objects and a dynamic conception of our cognitive activities and of the notions of truth and meaning. If the notions of truth and reference are not fixed once and for all but can change as a result of our cognitive activities, rationality cannot be defined solely with respect to those notions. This is what is correct with the objection to internal realism. The weak point of Putnam’s account of internal realism is that he still tries to model the notion of truth after a static conception both of our intellectual or cognitive activities as well as of the meaning of sentences expressing our beliefs which are the result of those activities. The changing character of the standards with which we evaluate those sentences must rather be taken to be an essential element of the notions of truth and reference and be integrated into a dynamic perspective of how our beliefs are acquired and changed in the course of our activities. What is needed with respect to the notion of the meaning of a sentence, then, is a definition which incorporates this non-constant character of our standards. This does not exclude the possibility of defining a particular goal towards which our cognitive activities should be directed. On the contrary, by defining the notion of meaning as a relation between belief sets one already builds in a certain directedness (or dynamics) and therefore an independence of the truth of a sentence from what is currently believed. This can be used to define what it means for a sentence to be true. Truth, then, is what one gets if one abstracts from a particular pair of belief sets and focuses on whole sequences of belief

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sets. The unity of our knowledge which Blackburn and others require for rationality can be taken to consist in the goal which is common to each research program, namely, to arrive at a stable or equilibrium state in the sense defined above. Notes 1 A mereological sum can be defined to be an object which has arbitrary objects as parts. 2 See The Many Faces of Realism and A Defense of Conceptual Relativity, in Realism with a Human Face. 3 Where ‘true’ is understood in the sense of idealized rational acceptability. 4 This objection is made e.g. by Simon Blackburn in his Enchanting Views. 5 Blackburn(94) p.21. 6 Or, at least they do not define the truth of their own point of view with respect to any objective factors. 7 At one point Putnam lets the metaphysical realist say: ‘The world is as it is independently of the interests of any describer.’ Putnam(94b), p.448. 8 These two labels are used by Putnam in his Dewey Lectures. See Putnam(94b), p.447. 9 See Putnam(94a) p.247. 10 The possibility of translating different theories which when taken at face value seem to make incompatible claims about the world and which therefore can be seen as notational variants of each other is another point on which Quine and Putnam seem to agree. For Putnam see Putnam(92) p.356. 11 Let us give a concrete example of why one may use theory 2 instead of theory 1. If one wants to semantically analyse natural language sentences with plural objects, say, in the context of Montague Grammar, the use of plural objects is almost mandatory. For instance, there is a constraint that only objects of the same type can be conjoined. Now take the sentence ‘John and his friends shared a pizza’. How should the NP in subject position be analysed? Assuming that plural noun phrases like ‘his friends’ denote a plural object of type e is one possible solution. Another is the one used in the text, that is, to assume that ‘his friends’ denotes a set of objects and ‘John’ denotes a singleton. On both analyses one needs plural objects besides the ‘normal’ objects which are the only objects assumed in theory 1. 12 It follows that Putnam’s famous model-theoretic argument which tries to show that it is not possible to construct a theory which is based on exactly one domain of objects, that is, which has only one intended model, should not be taken as a proof of Quine’s thesis of ontological relativity but, rather, as a reductio ad absurdum of this thesis. See Putnam(94a) p.251. 13 A little bit later Putnam speaks of different sorts of discourse: ‘On the one hand, to regard an assertion or a belief or a thought as true or false is to regard it as being right or wrong; on the other hand, just what sort of rightness or wrongness is in question varies enormously with the sort of discourse. ‘Statement’, ‘true’, ‘refers’, indeed ‘belief’, ‘assertion’, ‘thought’, ‘language’ - all the terms that we use when we think about logic (or ‘grammar’) in the wide sense in which Wittgenstein understands that notion - have a plurality of uses, and new uses are constantly added as new forms of discourse come into existence.’(Putnam(94b), p.515) 14 See Putnam(94b), p.511. 15 See Lewis(84). 16 The general problem, thus, is that most metaphysical realists are at the same time materialists which eschew all talk of concepts which are not definable in one of the fundamental (natural)

156 sciences, say, physics for example. But in their arguments for a realist interpretation of semantic notions like truth and reference, they not only fail to give any hints of how such notions can be reduced to concepts which are scientifically definable but they fall back on notions which stand in need of even more explication as the semantic ones, as is shown by the example of Lewis’ notion of eliteness. 17 Putnam(94a), p.261; see also Putnam(92), p.364f. 18 Note that a verificationist account is not necessarily incompatible with the idea of explaining the relation between sentences and the world in terms of the notion of a correspondence. What a verificationist cannot do is to generally define the meaning of a sentence in terms of a truthconditional semantics in which truth is explained in terms of a (non-epistemic) reference or satisfaction relation. But this does not exclude that for a large class of sentences, for instance observation sentences like ‘The cat is on the mat’, the truth-conditions will not differ from that given by a metaphysical realist. 19 Here we disregard cases where a sentence is included in a theory only for the sake of deliberation or for the sake of a reductio ad absurdum. 20 See Putnam(92), p.257. 21 See the following passage: ‘Suppose, for the moment, that what is right in pragmatism is the idea that truth is an idealization - a useful and necessary idealization - of warranted assertability. (Putnam(90), p.222) 22 Note that the positions we have in mind are deflationists with respect to the notion of truth, like Carnap and Horwich for example, but not verificationist accounts like that of Dummett. The difference between the two positions is that whereas the latter uses a notion of conclusive or effective verification, the former hold that a sentence can at most be verified or confirmed to a certain degree. 23 This does not exclude cases in which one is primarily interested in the instrumental value of a theory, for example, its capacity to make correct predictions to guide our behaviour. 24 Let me note that there exist alternative accounts. Isaac Levi, for example, holds that a revision should be made neither with respect to truth nor probability but, rather, with respect to the information value of a theory: what must be minimized in the revision of a theory is the loss of information. See Levi(84) chapter 8. 25 See Gärdenfors(88). 26 If a belief set K is taken to be deductively closed, i.e., if one has K = Cn(K), K+p must be taken to be the closure of K c {p}, i.e. Cn(K c {p}). 27 If a belief set is taken to be deductively closed (see previous footnote), then in most cases contracting with p will only be possible if other sentences are deleted from K as well. 28 Thus, it is possible to say that the general beliefs of Ramsey which express a revision strategy are (indicative) conditional sentences. 29 One should add that p is believed conditionally on q if q is all that the agent learns. There may well be cases in which someone learns that q but at the same time he also gets informed that r and that this further information prevents him from accepting p. 30 Recall the distinction between cause and background conditions which is not built-in into nature. 31 See Putnam(94a), p.291. 32 Here, degree of confirmation can be defined in terms of the notion of conditional probability. 33 The idea to define truth by means of the notion of stability is also alluded to in ‘Reason, Truth and History’. There Putnam writes: ‘Truth is expected to be stable or ‘convergent’; if both a statement and its negation could be ‘justified’, even if conditions were as ideal as one could hope to make them, there is no sense to thinking of the statement as having a truth-value.(Putnam(81), p.56)

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Yet, as the context makes clear, Putnam is more concerned with the fact that not both a sentence and its negation should be true under ideal epistemic conditions. 34 Recall the passage from the Dewey-Lectures we quoted above, where Putnam himself acknowledges some form of holism with respect to a language or a language game. 35 Note in this connection the following passage, where Putnam compares his own internal realist position with respect to the problem of ontology to that of Carnap: ‘My position resembles Carnap’s (in “Empiricism, Semantics, Ontology”) inasmuch as I hold that differences in ontology sometimes amount to no more than differences in how we use words.’ (Putnam(94a), p.247, italics not added) REFERENCES Blackburn, Simon (94): “Enchanting Views”, in: Clark, P. et al.(eds.) op.cit., pp.12-30 Clark, Peter/Hale, Bob (eds.) (94): Reading Putnam, Blackwell, Oxford, 1994 Gärdenfors, Peter (88): Knowledge in Flux: Modeling the Dynamics of Epistemic States, MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, 1988 Harman, Gilbert (86): Change in View, MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, 1986 Levi, Isaac (84): Decision and Revisions, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1984 Lewis, David (84): “Putnam’s Paradox”, Australasian Journal of Philosophy, 62, 1984, pp.221-236 Putnam, Hilary (81): Reason, Truth and History, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge and New York, 1981 - (87): The Many Faces of Realism, Open Court, La Salle, 1987 -(90): Realism with a Human Face, Cambridge: Harvard, 1990 -(92): Replies, Philosophical Topics, XX, 1, 1992, pp.347-408 -(94a): “Comments and Replies”, in: Clark, P. et al.(eds.) op.cit., pp.242-295 -(94b): “Sense, Nonsense, and the Senses: An Inquiry into the Powers of the Human Mind, The John Dewey Lectures”, Journal of Philosophy, XCI, 9, 1994, pp.445-517 Stalnaker, Robert (87): Inquiry, MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, 1987

158

Axel Wüstehube Noch einmal: Rationalität und Normativität

abstract The ongoing discussion about a notion of pragmatic rationality has evolved in a variety of different approaches, mainly because every author tries to combine his genuine philosophical point of view with the interpretation of “rationality”. Nevertheless there is an agreement of sorts that rationality cannot proceed mereley descriptively but has also normative implications. The paper investigates the proposals of Nicholas Rescher and Herbert Schnädelbach concerning the question of a normativity of rationality. Moreover it deals with the problem of “unity of reason” and its interconnectedness with the inherent normativity of rationality.

I. Auch wenn in der aktuellen Rationalitätsdiskussion die unterschiedlichsten Standpunkte vertreten werden (je nach philosophischer, sozialwissenschaftlicher, ethnologisch/anthropologischer etc. Ausrichtung), so scheint doch eines gleichermaßen anerkannt zu sein: Eine Theorie der Rationalität kann nicht rein deskriptiv verfahren, sie muß auch die immanente Normativität der Rationalität berücksichtigen. - Ein bekanntes Beispiel ist Habermas’ Begriff der “kommunikativen Rationalität”, die von vornherein normativ konzipiert ist, insofern mit ihrer Hilfe “quasi-transzendentale” Diskurspräsuppositionen thematisiert werden sollen. Nicht so sehr das “Haben von Wissen” sei kennzeichnend für Rationalität, als vielmehr die Art und Weise, wie Subjekte Wissen erwerben und verwenden. Der “intuitiv verfügbare” Begriff der Verständigungsrationalität appelliere “an die Erfahrung der zwanglos einigenden, konsensstiftenden Kraft der argumentativen Rede, in der die Beteiligten ihre bloß subjektiven Auffassungen in Richtung auf vernünftig motivierte Überzeugungen und geteilte Einsichten überwinden - um sich in dieser

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Gemeinsamkeit zugleich der Einheit der objektiven Welt und der Intersubjektivität ihres Lebenszusammenhangs zu vergewissern.”1 Habermas opponiert damit ausdrücklich der Vorstellung, daß sich alles, was dem Sprachgebrauch an Rationalität innewohnt, auf Zweckrationalität reduzieren lasse. Vielmehr gelte, und damit geht Habermas über den in der Theorie des kommunikativen Handelns erreichten Standpunkt (daß kommunikative Rationalität die Zweckrationalität als einen ihrer Aspekte unter sich begreife) hinaus, daß beide Rationalitätstypen komplementär ineinander verschränkt sind, sich gegenseitig fordern und aufeinander verweisen. - Auch Karl-Otto Apels vielfältige Versuche, das Problem der Einheit der Vernunft, bei gleichzeitiger Vielfalt von Rationalitätstypen, in den Griff zu bekommen, anerkennen immer aufs Neue die immanente Normativität (deshalb eben: Geltungsansprüche) unserer Sprechhandlungen. In einem der letzten Texte2 entwickelt Apel ein “alternatives Rationalitätskriterium” (nämlich den “Test der Nichtbestreitbarkeit ohne performativen Selbstwiderspruch”), um alle relevanten Rationalitätstypen zwischen den beiden Polen des propositionalen Widerspruchs und des performativen Selbstwiderspruchs (d.h. zwischen “Verstand” und “Vernunft”) verorten zu können. Am einen Ende der “Abstraktheitsskala” befindet sich also die logisch-mathematische Rationalität, am anderen die Diskursrationalität, über die hinaus keine weitere Rationalitätsform gedacht werden kann, weil hier (mittels des erwähnten Tests) die schon von Kant geforderte “Selbsteinstimmigkeit der Vernunft” in einem reflexiv unhintergehbaren Rationalitätskriterium erreicht wird. Die Rationalitätstypen zwischen den beiden Extremen werden je nach ihrer Inanspruchnahme von Argumentation, Verständigung und Diskursivität angeordnet. Apel unterscheidet zwischen (1) szientifischer Rationalität (im Sinne der nomologisch erklärenden Naturwissenschaft und der quasi-nomologischen Sozialwissenschaften), (2) technisch-instrumenteller Rationalität (= Mittel-ZweckRationalität, die als “objektiv-richtige” die szientifische Rationalität voraussetzt), (3) strategischer Rationalität (= reziproke Mittel-Zweck-Rationalität, die auch als abstraktiver Grenzfall der kommunikativen Rationalität verstanden werden kann), (4) kommunikativer qua hermeneutischer Rationalität und (5) kommunikativer qua diskursethischer Rationalität. Wichtig ist, daß Typ (4) und

160 (5) komplementär zu den erstgenannten Typen sein sollen, insofern (4) für die Kommunikation innerhalb von Naturwissenschaft und Technik vorausgesetzt werden muß, und (5) den Typ (3) als abstraktiven Grenzfall der wechselseitigen Verständigung, z.B. in Verhandlungen, in sich enthält, zugleich aber den strategischen Umgang mit normativen Geltungsansprüchen aufhebt. Apel denkt hier sehr hegelianisch: Die Vernunft entäußert sich zwar im abstrakten Verstand, sie hebt diese Entäußerung aber in der selbstreflexiven Diskursrationalität wieder auf - und stellt damit die Einheit von “Sein und Sollen”, von “Faktizität und Geltung”, von Deskription und Normativität wieder her. Auch Autoren, die den eher formalen Rationalitätsbestimmungen in der Spielund Entscheidungstheorie, den verschiedenen Zweigen von Wissenschaftstheorie und Methodologie nicht von vornherein skeptisch gegenüberstehen, anerkennen die Notwendigkeit eines normativen Rationalitätsbegriffs. Stefan Gosepath3 betont, daß die Rationalität von Meinungen und Handlungen, von Wünschen, Normen und Expressionen in ihrer jeweiligen Wohlbegründetheit besteht. Diese Begründungen können sich zwar logischer, mathematischer und entscheidungstheoretischer Hilfsmittel bedienen, was aber für praktische Entscheidungen und Evaluationen nicht hinreicht. Gosepath unterscheidet vier verschiedene Typen bzw. Begründungen von Rationalität. (1) Relative theoretische Rationalität. Begründung von Meinungen durch formale Prozeduren oder Verfahren: “internalistische, kausale, deontologische und prozeduale Konzeptionen von ‘Rationalität’”.4 (2) Absolute theoretische Rationalität. Das Problem ist hier: Sind die theoretischen Rationalitätsregeln für alle Vernunftwesen universell gültig oder sind sie variabel und relativ? Gosepath gesteht zwar eine Relativität von kognitiven Ausgangszuständen, nicht aber der von Standards theoretischer Rationalität zu. Um die wissenschaftlichen Standards selbst zu begründen, bedürfe es des Bezugs auf die Lösung “basaler praktischer Probleme des Lebens”,5 damit auch auf das pragmatische Erfolgskriterium und das aufgeklärte Eigeninteresse jedes einzelnen. (3) Relative praktische Rationalität. Handlungen müssen ebensogut begründet werden wie Meinungen. Voraussetzungen für rationale Handlungen (im Anschluß an Davidson) sind: Freiwilligkeit; Absichtlichkeit; Bezug auf Wünsche, Interessen, Meinungen; Optimalität; Verursachung durch die relevanten Gründe und auf

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die richtige Weise. Wünsche und Meinungen können als interne Gründe motivational und kausal wirksam werden. Gosepath geht es um eine “zielgerichtete Überlegung zur Lösung eines praktischen Problems ..., die bestimmte Standards oder Maßstäbe der Korrektheit erfüllen soll”.6 Zwischen praktischen (ebenso wie theoretischen) Alternativen läßt sich mittels Modellen rationaler Wahl eine Entscheidung treffen. (4) Absolute praktische Rationalität. Als solche bezeichnet Gosepath einen substantiellen Rationalitätsbegriff, der es ermöglichen würde, Normen und Werte in einem “starken” Sinne zu begründen. Gosepath lehnt substantialistische Positionen (wie die Kants, der Transzendentalpragmatik oder eines “aristotelischen” Werte-Objektivismus) ab, und hebt als letzte Begründungsinstanz die konkrete Freiheit und die konkreten Interessen der Individuen hervor. Dem strikten Normativismus setzt Gosepath die Einheit von wertorientiertem und normengeleitetem Handeln entgegen. Die “Einheit der Vernunft” sieht Gosepath in den gleichen Begründungsstrukturen von relativer theoretischer und relativer praktischer Rationalität verwirklicht. Deontologische, utilitaristische und entscheidungstheoretische Kriterien müssen hinreichen, um das aufgeklärte Eigeninteresse der theoretischen und praktischen (und damit auch: normativen und evaluativen) Rationalität zu versichern. - Und auch Robert Nozicks “The Nature of Rationality”7 muß die normative Komponente von Rationalität anerkennen. Einmal spielen für ihn Prinzipien eine wichtige Rolle für rationales Denken und Handeln, da sie Hilfsmittel bzw. Entlastungen sind, und wir in unseren intellektuellen Operationen nicht immer von vorn beginnen müssen. Dabei kann es sich um epistemologische Prinzipien handeln, wie auch um solche personalen Handelns. Eine Person vermag mittels Prinzipien ihre Identität zu bestimmen, und ebenso gilt, daß Prinzipien als Filter oder als Ausschlußkriterium dienen können: nur solche Handlungen dürfen als rationale “live options” gewählt werden, die unsere Prinzipien nicht verletzen. Ein weiteres normatives Element führt Nozick ein, wenn er die Kernbereiche der rationalen Entscheidungstheorie um wichtige Elemente ergänzt. Nozick schlägt vor, den Gewinnerwartungswert (GEW) einer Handlung durch einen Entscheidungswert (decision value, DV) zu ersetzen. Wurde der GEW vor allem aus der Summe von (subjektiv angenommenem) Nutzen und erwarteter Eintrittswahrscheinlichkeit eines Ereignisses gebildet, so kommen

162 beim DV neue Elemente ins Spiel. Einmal wird das Prinzip der Maximierung des erwarteten Nutzens durch die Prinzipien (a) des kausal erwarteten Nutzens (evidentially expected utility, EEU) ersetzt. Zum andern führt Nozick ein Prinzip des symbolischen Nutzens (symbolic utility, SU) ein. Und schließlich werden die Prinzipien jeweils besonders gewichtet. Neu und wichtig in unserem Zusammenhang ist der Begriff des symbolischen Nutzens. Ethisches Handeln symbolisiert immer auch, welche Werte der Handelnde am höchsten schätzt oder wie er selbst behandelt werden will. Abweichungen von rationalen Standardantworten können damit erklärt werden, ohne daß psychologische Erklärungen bemüht oder vom Konzept einer rationalen Entscheidungsprozedur abgewichen werden müßte. Jenseits von Instrumentalismus, Funktionalismus und Evolutionstheorie (alles Theoriebestandteile, die Nozick dennoch in Anspruch nimmt) kann Rationalität uns schließlich dazu verhelfen, Problemlösungsprozeduren,

Fragetechniken,

Methoden

intellektuellen

Vorgehens usw. zu entwickeln. So sollte ein “wohldefiniertes Problem” nach Nozick zumindest folgende Elemente enthalten: (1) ein Ziel (ein evaluatives Kriterium, um Ergebnisse und Zustände zu beurteilen), (2) einen Anfangszustand (Startsituation und zugehörige Ressourcen), (3) zulässige Vorgehensweisen (Regeln, um Anfangszustände zu transformieren), (4) Einschränkungen (die bestimmen, welches Ziel mit welchen Operationen erreicht werden soll) und (5) ein anzustrebendes Ergebnis (“final state”). Nozick geht es darum, nichtmechanische Regeln und Prinzipien zur Konstruktion und Formulierung philosophischer und anderer intellektueller Theorien zu finden. Die von ihm vorgeschlagenen sechzehn “Faustregeln”8 könnten den Beginn einer Theorie der Vorstellungskraft bzw. des Einfallsreichtums und ihrer jeweiligen Funktionsweisen darstellen. Dieser kurze Überblick mag genügen, um auf einige grundlegende Probleme hinzuweisen: (1) Nahezu alle neueren Ansätze in der Rationalitätstheorie anerkennen das Problem der Einheit der Vernunft, trotz der unumgänglichen Differenzierung in Rationalitätstypen;9 allerdings herrscht keine Einigkeit über Art und Umfang der Rationalitätstypen, ebensowenig darüber, wie die Einheit der Vernunft herzustellen ist. (2) Ebenso ist allgemein die Notwendigkeit eines

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normativen Rationalitätsbegriffs (oder einer normativen Theorie der Rationalität) anerkannt, ohne daß jedoch Einigkeit über die Natur dieser Normativität bestünde. (3) Insbesondere bleibt unklar, ob sich die Normativität dem eher formalen Kriterium verdankt, daß Bewertungen oder das Bilden von Präferenzen rationale Handlungen sind und somit die “Einheit der Vernunft” von vornherein die Normativität verbürgt - oder ob Rationalität “in sich” normativ ist (mit einer Verpflichtung bzw. einem Imperativ zu rationalem Überlegen, Handeln und Beurteilen). Da diese Probleme im vorliegenden Rahmen nicht “direkt” bewältigt werden können, wähle ich eine eher “exemplarische” Vorgehensweise. Zwei Philosophen haben für die Problembereiche “Einheit der Vernunft” und “Normativität und Rationalität” wichtige und interessanteste Beiträge geliefert: Nicholas Rescher und Herbert Schnädelbach. Im folgenden soll der Versuch unternommen werden, (I) die Grundzüge der Rescherschen Rationalitätstheorie darzustellen, insbesondere die dort entfalteten Rationalitätstypen, die “Einheit der Vernunft” und (II) das Verhältnis von Normativität und Rationalität, ferner (III) Herbert Schnädelbachs Aufsatz über “Rationalität und Normativität” dazu in Kontrast zu setzen und schließlich (IV) daraus allgemeine Konsequenzen für das Verhältnis von Rationalität und Normativität anzudeuten. II. Reschers Rationalitätstheorie ist bislang am ausführlichsten in Rationality (1988)10 dargestellt. Mehrere Thesen sind hier zentral: Rationalität besteht (im wesentlichen) im intelligenten Verfolgen angemessener Ziele; die wichtigsten Aspekte von Rationalität beziehen sich alle auf menschliches Handeln, nämlich auf Kognitionen, auf die verschiedensten Bereiche von Praxis und auf Evaluationen; die einzelnen Rationalitätstypen stehen nicht unvermittelt nebeneinander, sondern werden unter dem Begriff der “Einheit der Vernunft” zusammengefaßt; nur eine normative Theorie der Rationalität kann dem komplexen Gegenstand gerecht werden, d.h. daß sozialwissenschaftliche Ansätze (in Psychologie, Ökonomie, Entscheidungstheorie etc.), die ebenfalls eine Rationalitätstheorie vorlegen, dabei aber “wertfrei” verfahren möchten,

164 von vornherein zum Scheitern verurteilt sind. Zunächst zu den beiden erstgenannten Aspekten. Auch wenn “Rationalität” in den verschiedensten Bereichen und Zusammenhängen (wie Handlungen, Plänen, Übereinkünften, Fragen, Antworten, Steuergesetzgebungen, Verkehrssystemen ...) nachweisbar ist, so kann sie für Rescher nichtsdestotrotz in einem einzigen Zugriff erfaßt werden. Die Formel lautet: “Rationality consists in the intelligent pursuit of appropriate ends”.11 Damit sind die drei wesentlichen Komponenten genannt: Der Gebrauch von Intelligenz zielt ab auf kognitive Rationalität; das Realisieren von Vernunfteinsichten erfordert praktische Rationalität; die Angemessenheit der Zwecke und Ziele verlangt nach einer evaluativen Rationalität. Das bedeutet auch, daß die erwähnten Pläne, Übereinkünfte oder Systeme nur in einem abgeleiteten Sinne “rational” sind, da ihre Rationalität auf rationale Überzeugungen, Handlungen und Bewertungen zurückgeführt werden kann. Was nun eine Überzeugung, eine Handlung oder eine Bewertung rational macht, sind vor allem “gute” bzw. “zwingende” Gründe, d.h. solche, deren Verwirklichung unsere

Bemühungen

optimal

in

die

“angemessenen

Richtungen” führt - unter Berücksichtigung der jeweiligen konkreten Umstände. Die Vorstellung der Optimierung, des Suchens nach den “überragend” guten Gründen, bildet für Rescher den innersten Kern von Rationalität. Aber gute Gründe allein reichen auch noch nicht aus. Hinzukommen muß die Erkenntnis, daß Rationalität immer komplex und vielseitig ist, und daß es für eine rationale, vergleichende Einschätzung brauchbarer Alternativen zumindest fünf wichtiger Fähigkeiten bedarf: (1) Vorstellungskraft (Abwägen alternativer Möglichkeiten); (2) Verarbeitung von Information (Ermitteln der Grenzen des Machbaren); (3) Urteilskraft (Fähigkeit, zu beurteilen, wie wünschenswert verschiedene Arten von Situationen sind); (4) Auswahlorientierte Entscheidung (Fähigkeit mittels 1-3 Alternativen anzunehmen bzw. zurückzuweisen); (5) Durchführung (Fähigkeit, getroffene Entscheidungen auch zu verwirklichen). Nur ein Wesen, das alle diese Bedingungen erfüllt, kann als rationale Person gelten. Nun zu den einzelnen Rationalitätstypen.

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(a) Kognitive Rationalität. Gegen verschiedene Spielarten des Skeptizismus möchte Rescher zeigen, daß eine “rational gerechtfertigte Überzeugung” nicht unbedingt auf anderen, völlig sicheren Überzeugungen beruhen muß. Er schlägt vor, von Annahmen und Vermutungen auszugehen, um durch immer erneute Durchgänge durch die verschiedenen (pragmatischen, nichtvitiösen) Argumentationszirkel zu Erkenntnis zu gelangen. “Dialektisches Denken”, “plausibles Denken”, die “erotetische Methode”, “Induktion als Wahrheitsschätzung”, “kognitive Systematisierung” - das sind die in vielen Ansätzen erarbeiteten Hilfsmittel, um kognitive Rationalität näher zu bestimmen. Im folgenden sei, exemplarisch, nur auf die Rolle von Präsumptionen hingewiesen. - Präsumptionen sind Annahmen bzw. Hypothesen, die als Ausgangspunkt, als Rohmaterial von Kognitionen dienen. Sie sind der diskursive Bereich der Rationalität (dem substantiellen oder kategorischen entgegengesetzt), der das konditionale Prinzip in Anspruch nimmt, daß wenn man gewisse Thesen akzeptiert, man dann auch ihre ordnungsgemäß ermittelten bzw. bestätigten Konsequenzen akzeptieren muß. Präsumptionen bestimmen unsere “Ausgangsmenge” ursprünglicher Verpflichtungen und erlauben uns, einen Anfang zu machen, auf dessen Grundlage weiteres inferentielles Argumentieren erfolgen kann. “The salient point is simply that there are some sorts of considerations which can cogently be taken as capable of establishing at least a tentative or provisional presumption of rational acceptability. When the sceptic rejects any such presumptions, he automatically blocks any prospect of reasoning with him within the standard framework of discussion about the empirical facts of the world. The machinery of presumptions is part and parcel of the mechanisms of cognitive rationality; abandoning it aborts the entire project at the very outset.”12 Beispiele für solche eher pragmatisch-ökonomischen Präsumptionen sind: Vertrauen in die eigenen Sinne; Akzeptieren der Erklärungen anderer Personen; Vertrauen in die Verläßlichkeit etablierter kognitiver Hilfsmittel und Instrumente; Akzeptieren der Erklärungen etablierter Experten und Autoritäten (auf ihrem Gebiet). Und als eher epistemische Präsumptionen können gelten: eine natürliche Neigung, etwas ohne weitere Überprüfung zu akzeptieren; eine epistemische Nützlichkeit, insofern das Akzeptieren gewisser Sachverhalte die Erklärung anderer Sachverhalte ermöglicht; Analogien, die mit

166 dem, was sich in anderen Kontexten als akzeptabel erwiesen hat, hergestellt werden; das Zusammenpassen mit anderen akzeptierten Thesen. - Präsumptionen stehen, zugegebenermaßen, im Dienste einer common sense-Philosophie, insofern sie das Gewöhnliche und Natürliche favorisieren. Ihre Aufgabe ist v.a. die Vereinfachung kognitiver Operationen und schließlich die Einsparung von (Untersuchungs)Kosten. Den präsystematischen Anzeichen Glaubwürdigkeit zuzugestehen, ihnen den Status von Präsumptionen einzuräumen, bedeutet auch, daß kognitive Rationalität als solche nur einen “schwachen” Status haben kann. So ist etwa Konsistenz zwar ein anzustrebendes Ziel, aber keineswegs ein unentbehrliches Erfordernis für Rationalität.13 (b) Praktische Rationalität. “Rationale Handlungen” bestehen, so Rescher, im angemessenen Gebrauch der Vernunft, um Entscheidungen auf bestmögliche Weise zu treffen. Wesentliche Bestandteile solcher Handlungen sind der Gebrauch von Intelligenz, die Berücksichtigung konkreter Umstände, das Streben nach einem optimalen Ergebnis. Auf rationale Weise zu handeln, heißt von solchen Motiven bewegt zu werden, die gültige Gründe (valid reasons) darstellen - also solche sind, die einen rationalen Akteur motivieren. Handlungen sind immer auch bezogen auf gute Gründe (evaluativer Aspekt) und intelligente Entscheidungen (kognitiver Aspekt). “The rational thing to do is always the intelligent thing - that is the adoption of the overall most cost-effective means toward the achievement of one’s appropriate goals whose realization is conducive to our ‘real’ or ‘true’ interests.”14 Gute Gründe liegen nur dann vor, wenn das, was die Handelnden wollen (wünschen, begehren) erkennbar in ihrem “besten Interesse” ist, wenn es zwingende Gründe zu der Annahme gibt, daß ihr Handeln wirklich zu ihrem Nutzen ist. Eine Schwierigkeit besteht freilich darin, daß unsere Informationen normalerweise unvollständig und unsere Handlungen damit oft suboptimal sind. Es ist deshalb notwendig, soviel Daten (Erfahrungen) wie möglich zu sammeln, um zu optimalen Ergebnissen zu gelangen (nicht zuletzt, weil eine vergrößerte Datenbasis auch zu völlig unterschiedlichen Ergebnissen führen kann). Das Dilemma der Vernunft (predicament of reason) besteht darin, daß Rationalität von uns verlangt, das zu tun, was die scheinbar beste Lösung ist, wir

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jedoch wissen, daß diese keinesfalls wirklich die beste sein muß. “The fact is that the rationally appropriate resolution of a problem on the basis of one body of evidence or experience can always become unstuck when that body of evidence or experience is not actually revised but merely enlarged.”15 Rationalität erweist sich damit als “Kunst des Möglichen”. Jede Problemlösung ist eher davon abhängig, wie wir die Situation beurteilen, weniger davon, wie es sich “in Wirklichkeit” verhält. Hier kann auch die Kritik an der rationalen Spiel- und Entscheidungstheorie ansetzen, denn hätten wir jeweils “vollständige Information” und wüßten wir genau um die Folgen unserer Handlungen, dann wären die Spiel- und Entscheidungstheorie geeignete Instrumente. In “dieser Welt” müssen wir jedoch im Lichte unvollständiger Information entscheiden, planen und handeln. Eine ideale Rationalität käme zu rational angemessenen Lösungen, da sie alle relevanten Daten berücksichtigen könnte. Diese Vorstellung eines völlig rational Handelnden ist freilich nicht mehr als ein regulatives Ideal. Eine praktikable Rationalität muß sich an den Entscheidungssituationen des normalen Lebens, an scheinbaren Optima im Lichte unvollständiger Information orientieren. “It is a trite fact which nevertheless has enormously farreaching implications that the development of intelligence or incomplete information may well yield inappropriate solutions. When one combines this with the consideration that we humans virtually always labour in circumstances of incomplete information, we see that rationality is a resource of inherently limited utility.”16 Das “Dilemma der Vernunft” heißt also auch, daß - obwohl die Rationalitätsziele nur unter idealen Bedingungen erreichbar sind - dennoch auf dem Niveau lokaler und unvollkommener Bedingungen gehandelt werden muß. (c) Evaluative Rationalität. Im Eintreten für Normen und Werte wird dem “Zweck-Mittel-Denken” (bzw. den v.a. von Informationen abhängigen kognitiven Überlegungen) eine evaluative Rationalität entgegengestellt. Gegen Humes Skeptizismus, Nietzsches Nihilismus, Webers Wertfreiheitspostulat und Herbert Simons Instrumentalismus läßt sich, so Rescher, zeigen, daß evaluative Vernunft ebenso auf gute Gründe rekurrieren kann wie kognitive und praktische Vernunft. Eine evaluative Rationalität, die gewisse Präferenzen (die gegen

168 unsere Natur verstoßen, unsere Existenz gefährden oder unsere Möglichkeiten einschränken) als absurd erweist, liegt glücklicherweise im Bereich der menschlichen Möglichkeiten. “The crucial fact is that there is not only inferential (‘logical’) reason but also evaluative (‘axiological’) reason. Just as the rational man only believes what is belief-worthy for someone in his circumstances, so he only values what is value-worthy - deserving of being valued. And the determination of value-worthiness requires the sensible application of appropriate standards - in short, reasoning.”17 Die Rationalität der Werte und Zwecke bedarf einer besonderen Legitimation: Zwecke ohne die nötigen Mittel sind frustrierend, Mittel ohne brauchbare Zwecke dagegen unproduktiv und witzlos. Auf der einen Seite stehen Kosten-Nutzen-Überlegungen, die auf eine Gesamt-“Ökonomie” abzielen, in die auch Werte eingefaßt werden müssen, um Harmonie und Optimierung zu erreichen; auf der anderen Seite kann man nicht rational sein, ohne die Wünschbarkeit dessen, was man wünscht, zu berücksichtigen. Daß Werte rational kritisierbar sind, steht für Rescher außer Frage, denn sonst käme es zu keiner Unterscheidung von angemessenen und unangemessenen Werten. Was sind nun aber die “wirklichen” bzw. “besten” Interessen einer Person? Zum Teil sind es die Bedürfnisse, die alle Menschen gleichermaßen haben: Gesundheit, normales Funktionieren von Körper und Geist, angemessene Ressourcen, menschliches Miteinander und Zuneigung usw. Zum andern kann es sich um Rollen handeln, die das Individuum gerade einnimmt. Und teilweise handelt es sich einfach darum, was man gerade will (z.B. etwas zu essen, weil man hungrig ist). Aber diese an Wünschen orientierten Interessen sind nur durch ihre Beziehung zu universalen Interessen gültig. “Any valid specific interest must fall within the scope of an appropriate, universal covering principle of interest legitimation. (...) A specific (concrete, particular) interest of a person is valid as such only if it can be subordinated to a universal interest.”18 Mein Interesse, eine bestimmte Frau heiraten zu wollen, wird erst dadurch zu einem rationalen, daß es von dem universalen (allgemein akzeptablen) Wunsch abgedeckt wird, “eine Person zu heiraten, die man innigst liebt”. Letztendlich geht es darum, für unsere Wünsche universal angemessene Werte zu finden. Nur eine solche, sub ratione boni erfolgreiche Legitimation kann eine Bewertung

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oder eine Entscheidung oder eine Präferenz, die aus ihr folgt, zu einer rationalen machen. Dieses Messen der eigenen Wünsche an höherwertigen kann auch dadurch erfolgen, daß man sich überlegt, was ein vernünftiger (unparteiischer, wohlinformierter, wohlmeinender, verständnisvoller) Zuschauer als “in meinem besten Interesse” annähme, und welche Wünsche und Präferenzen für diesen akzeptabel wären. Rationalität ist also nicht nur pragmatisch, situativ etc. zu interpretieren. Ohne eine kategorische (universale) Form von Rationalität erwiesen sich die Prinzipien relativer Rationalität als nicht ausreichend. Rationalität von Zielen und Zwecken ist für Rationalität als solche entscheidend. Die “rationale Übereinstimmung” unserer Handlungen, Überzeugungen und Werte mit irgendetwas ist nur dann sinnvoll, wenn das, woraufhin wir den Vergleich anstellen, von vornherein rational ist. Und kategorische, substantielle oder universale Rationalitätsprinzipien ergeben sich nicht einfach aus intellektuellen Überlegungen. “The universally appropriate ends at issue in our human condition are not somehow freely chosen by us; they are fixed by the (for us) inescapable ontological circumstance that - like it or not - we find ourselves to exist as human beings, and thus as free rational agents. Their ultimate inherence in (generic) human needs determines the appropriateness of our particular, individual ends.”19 Praktische Rationalität wird ohne rationale Evaluation unbrauchbar, was für Rationalität als ganze, bedenkt man die systemische Einheit der Vernunft, fatale Konsequenzen hätte. (d) Die systemische Einheit der Vernunft. Die Rationalitätsformel hatte schon zum Ausdruck gebracht, daß die drei Rationalitätsbereiche untrennbar miteinander verwoben sind. - Praxis ist auf Kognition und Evaluation verwiesen, da rationales Handeln nicht einfach effizientes Verwirklichen von Zwecken ist, sondern intelligentes Einsetzen der richtigen Mittel für angemessene Zwecke und mit guten Gründen. Und für die Zwecke selbst gilt: Wenn unsere praktischen Entscheidungen auf “unpassende” Zwecke gerichtet sind, üben wir unser Geschäft des praktischen Überlegens nicht auf die “korrekte Weise” aus. Kognitive Rationalität, um den zweiten Bereich zu nennen, weist sowohl

170 praktische als auch evaluative Aspekte auf. Rationale Überzeugungen können nur über praktische Untersuchungen, Forschungen, effektive Untersuchungsmethodologien, also nach den Regeln praktischer Rationalität, zustandekommen. Um von unseren (immer unvollständigen) Informationen aus Erkenntnisse gewinnen zu können, benötigen wir so etwas wie einen praktischen Schluß20, der den Übergang von subjektiv-empirischen “Anzeichen” zu objektiven Tatsachen zu bewerkstelligen hätte. “We have no alternative but to proceed to cross the evidential gap from experience to objective factual claims by what is, to all intents and purposes, a strictly practical inference whose ultimate foundation lies not in the sphere of information but in that of practical policy.”21 Kognitive Rationalität ist damit per se praktisch, denn auch das Akzeptieren einer These oder die Bildung einer Überzeugung ist eine Art von Praxis. Ebenso ist kognitive Vernunft auch evaluativ, da für jede Schlußfolgerung bereits eine Vorauswahl der Daten getroffen sein muß und wir oft einen Anfang aufgrund “bloßer Anzeichen”, also mittels eines “act of acceptance”, machen müssen. Schließlich sind auch evaluative Aussagen (wie “Stehlen ist falsch”) nicht schlechthin gültig, sondern nur in Bezug auf eine konkrete Situation. Um von (1) Stehlen ist falsch zu (2) X hat etwas Falsches getan zu gelangen, benötigen wir konkrete Informationen (die kognitiv verarbeitet werden). In diesem Falle: X hat etwas genommen, was ihm nicht gehört. Und evaluative Rationalität ist auch auf Praxis angewiesen, da die Verwertung von Fakten nur durch einen Sprung von subjektiver Evidenz zu objektiven Schlußfolgerungen gelingen kann. “Systemische Einheit der Vernunft” heißt also (u.a.), daß unsere Handlungen, Überzeugungen und Bewertungen sinnvoll sein sollten, daß das gesamte “Gewebe” der Rationalität “nahtlos” sein muß, bzw. daß Kognition, Evaluation und Handlung eine untrennbare Einheit bilden müssen. “Our factual judgements (beliefs) and our evaluative judgements (appraisals) are both validated by rational processes whose fundamental structure is one and the same - and on both sides ultimately rest on considerations of praxis.”22 Eine Dichotomie zwischen Werten und Fakten lehnt Rescher ab, da sie nicht berücksichtigt, daß es sowohl deskriptiv-informative als auch normativevaluative Fakten gibt. Bei Informationen geht es um die Akzetabilität der

171

Internal Realism, Rationality and Dynamic Semantics

Daten, bei Werten um die Präferierbarkeit der jeweiligen Ziele und Zwecke, in beiden Fällen also um die Zustimmung zu Tatsachen. (e) Rationalität und Normativität. Die Einheit von Rationalität und Normativität ist damit zumindest von einem Ansatzpunkt aus erwiesen: Wenn Rationalität immer nur als “Ganze” zu haben ist, dann kann es auch keine “wertfreien” Überlegungen und Handlungen geben. Ein weiterer Aspekt von Normativität wurde bereits angesprochen, nämlich der, daß (ähnlich wie bei Habermas) jeder rational Handelnde immer dazu aufgefordert werden kann, gute Gründe zu nennen. Diese guten (gültigen, zwingenden) Gründe sind solche, die die jeweilige Handlung als optimal für die Erreichung angemessener Ziele, und unter den jeweiligen Umständen, erweisen. Gute Gründe sind immer auch mit Interessen verknüpft, aber nicht mit irgendwelchen (bzw. bloßen Handlungsmotiven), sondern mit “wahren Interessen” (real oder best interests), wenn es für die Annahme, daß die Handlungen wirklichen Nutzen bringen, zwingende Gründe gibt. Wer seine “best interests” verwirklichen will, strebt nach einem vollen und erfüllten Leben, - versucht, sich zu einer glücklicheren und besseren Person auszubilden, - handelt zum Nutzen jener, die für ihn wichtig sind (Familie, Gemeinschaft, Zeitgenossen), - kümmert sich um die Entwicklung individueller und öffentlicher Werte - und handelt dabei (mehr oder

weniger

“automatisch”)

rational.

Ein

Mißbrauch,

eine

bloße

Rationalisierung wäre es, wenn wir Gründe für das, was wir wollen, an die Stelle von Gründen für das, was wir tun sollten, setzten. Dennoch verlangt auch Rationalität nichts Übermenschliches: Wir sollen lediglich (“realistic”) effizient und effektiv unsere Handlungsziele im Rahmen unserer Möglichkeiten verfolgen. - Damit kommen wir zu einem dritten Aspekt des Verhältnisses von Rationalität und Normativität, nämlich einem heuristischen bzw. methodologischen Gesichtspunkt. Für Rescher ist Rationalität zentraler Bestandteil unseres Selbstverständnisses. Andere Fähigkeiten wie Vorstellungskraft, Weitblick, Zweifel, Hoffnung etc. sind alle entweder Bestandteile von Rationalität oder in ihren Operationen auf sie angewiesen. Rationalität ist der Kreuzungspunkt all dieser Fähigkeiten. Wenn wir also unsere menschlichen Fähigkeiten verwirklichen wollen, sollten wir uns der Rationalität bedienen. Ebenso steht es

172 mit der Realisierung höchster ethischer Werte. Es ist durchaus sinnvoll, solche Werte zu pflegen und zu verfolgen, auch wenn man sie niemals verwirklichen wird. Auch für den “ethischen Idealismus”23 und seine hochgesteckten Universalisierungen gilt, daß der Weg das Ziel ist. Wissen, Wahrheit, Rationalität und dergleichen Konzepte enthalten immer ein Moment von Idealisierung, das über unsere auf die Realität bezogenen Fähigkeiten hinausgeht. “The machinery of cognition that is at our disposal we owe to evolution. But the conceptual mechanisms that we make use of in cognitive contexts concepts that, like knowledge, truth, certainty, simplicity, comprehensiveness, system, and science orient our thought about the issues of this domain - are in large measure idealizations, intellectual constructs in whose construction idealization plays a crucial role.”24 Konzeptuelle Mechanismen müssen sich nicht an der Realität orientieren. Sie werden vor dem Hintergrund einer hypothetischen Idealordnung entworfen, in der die Grenzen des Faktischen hypothetisch überschritten werden. Kognitive Idealisierungen geben einen Leitfaden ab, um sich leicht und mit guten Ergebnissen im Reich des Denkens orientieren zu können. Damit vertritt Rescher auch in der Rationalitätstheorie einen (methodischen) Relativismus. Völlig rationale Handlungen wären nur möglich unter einer Hegelschen Voraussetzung “absoluten Wissens”, während unsere Wahrheitsund Rationalitätsansprüche in der tatsächlichen Welt immer von unvollständiger Evidenz und ungenügender Information bestimmt sind. III. Auch Herbert Schnädelbach vertritt die These einer Einheit von Rationalität und Normativität. Während Handlungen, Entscheidungen oder institutionelle Regelungen die Eigenschaft haben, rational zu sein, muß man Personen eine dementsprechende Disposition25 zuschreiben. In bestimmten Umständen kann man von jemandem ein gewisses (rationales) Verhalten erwarten. Darüber hinaus gehen wir (mit Chomsky) auch davon aus, daß eine rationale Person kompetent in der Lage ist, Regeln zu verfolgen und über Regeln zu verfügen. Rationalität ist für Schnädelbach wesentlich ein “Kompetenzbegriff”; sie gilt als Inbegriff sprachlicher Kompetenzen im weitesten Sinne, und um kompetent

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Sprache zu benutzen, ist es nötig, Regeln auf die richtige Weise (normativer Aspekt) zu verwenden. “Rationalität” kann also von Anbeginn nicht “wertfrei” interpretiert werden. Die Frage ist nur, wie man die normativen Aspekte argumentativ begründen kann. In “Rationalität und Normativität”26 wird diese Frage im Sinne des “methodischen Nominalismus” so formuliert: “Ist ‘rational’ ein normatives Prädikat?” Drei Zugangsweisen liegen hier nahe. 1) Bei der Verwendung von “rational” beziehen wir uns immer auf eine Norm - und Rationalität ist diese Norm. Normen finden vielfältige Verwendung. So gibt es Normen für Gegenstände: Normalnormen (daß etwas normalerweise der Fall ist), Standards (etwa Papiergrößen nach DIN-Norm) oder Idealnormen (etwa “die freiheitliche Demokratie”). Und für Handlungen lassen sich auch drei Bereiche unterscheiden. Regulative Normen legen fest, was man tun muß, um Handlungen einer bestimmten Art auszuführen (Regeln des Schachspiels etwa). Direktiven Normen entnehmen wir, was wir tun müssen, um ein bestimmtes Ziel zu erreichen oder bestimmten Anforderungen zu entsprechen (Gebrauchsanweisungen etwa). Präskriptive Normen beziehen sich direkt auf Handlungen und benutzen die deontischen Modalitäten “erlaubt”, “geboten”, “verboten” (etwa der kategorische Imperativ). Rationalität ist nach dieser Interpretation ohne Zweifel ein normativ gehaltvoller Begriff. Allerdings ist er noch viel zu weit gefaßt, da z.B. Normalnormen und Standards nichts mit der philosophisch erst interessanten Version von Normativität zu tun haben, nämlich der Maßstäblichkeit im Sinne des Guten und Verbindlichen. 2) Es stellt sich also die Frage, worin der normative Gebrauch von Ausdrücken besteht und wie man ihn charakterisieren könnte, bzw. was es mit der “normativen Rede” auf sich hat. Mit Paul W. Taylor differenziert Schnädelbach (a) in normative und deskriptive Rede, wobei sich (b) die normative Rede noch einmal aufspaltet in einen evaluativen (“richtige” Verwendung von Regeln, “gute” Ausführung von Standards) und einen präskriptiven (du sollst, jedermann sollte) Bereich. Evaluationen und Präskriptionen folgen dabei durchweg den gleichen Regeln, so daß man hier von einer Einheit der normativen Rede auf einer Metaebene sprechen kann. Da es Schnädelbach nun aber darum geht, als “normative Rede”

174 nur eine solche zu akzeptieren, die in einem normativen Kontext einem Referenzobjekt Rationalität zuspricht, verringert er den Bereich der möglichen Kandidaten noch einmal. Präskriptionen wie “sei rational!” oder Verschriften wie “Philosophische Debatten sind rational zu führen!” gehören für ihn nicht zum expliziten Gebrauch des Prädikats “rational”, da hier ja gerade keine Prädizierung vorgenommen wird. Es müßte also folgen, daß “rational” nur evaluativ verwendet werden kann. Diesem Normativismus in der Rationalitätstheorie widerspricht Schnädelbach jedoch. Es ist die Bestimmung des Menschen als animal rationale, die einerseits deskriptiv ist (es wird eine differentia specifica, ein bloßes Klassifikationsmerkmal angegeben), andererseits aber gerade das Prädikat “rational” verwendet. “Die Frage, ob ‘rational’ ein normatives Prädikat ist, kann also so beantwortet werden: Ja, dies ist der Fall, wenn man unter ‘normatives Prädikat’ die Möglichkeit versteht, von diesem Prädikat einen normativen Gebrauch zu machen, wobei wir aber auch deskriptive Gebrauchsweisen als möglich einräumen müssen.”27 3) Es gibt auch einen normativen Gebrauch des Prädikats “rational” neben anderen Gebrauchsweisen. Ein normativer Gebrauch von “rational” liegt dann vor, wenn in normativen Kontexten ein assertiver (Searle) bzw. konstativer (Habermas) Gebrauch von “rational” gemacht wird. Die Frage ist nun, da Deskriptionen und Präskriptionen nur sehr begrenzt als Träger für normative Rationalität taugen, in welchen Fällen “rational” evaluativ verwendet wird. Schnädelbach unterscheidet zwischen Rationalität in einem weiteren (= rational1) und in einem engeren (= rational2) Sinne. Jemand ist im weiteren Sinne rational, wenn er nicht vernunftlos ist, d.h. wenn es möglich ist, ihn unter Rationalitätsgesichtspunkten zu betrachten. Personen, Handlungen und soziale Institutionen können in diesem Sinne rational sein; hier liegt aber noch kein evaluativer Gebrauch von “rational” vor. Dieser spielt erst bei Rationalität im engeren Sinne eine entscheidende Rolle. Jemand ist rational im engeren Sinne, wenn er Rationalität als normatives Kriterium beurteilend verwendet, wenn er sich mit diesem Kriterium identifiziert bzw. es zu seiner eigenen Sache macht wenn er also nicht vernunftfeindlich ist, und dem entspricht, was wir normalerweise als vernünftig ansehen. “Von Evaluation sollte man nur dann

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sprechen, wenn sich der Beurteilende mit den Kriterien identifiziert, d.h. wenn er im Zweifelsfalle nicht nur seine Beurteilungen, sondern auch die Beurteilungsstandards selbst argumentativ zu vertreten bereit ist”.28 Es geht also darum, daß normative Beurteilungen (“der Wein ist nach xyStandards gut”) selbst noch einmal normativ beurteilt werden (“der Wein ist mir für dieses Essen zu gut”), daß erst die Identifikation des Beurteilenden mit den Standards Beurteilungen zu Evaluationen (bzw. normativen Beurteilungen) macht. Die Beurteilung von Standards erfolgt normalerweise durch zuverlässiges Wissen bzw. durch materiale Rationalitätskriterien wie Wahrheit, Richtigkeit, Wirksamkeit, Gültigkeit, Begründbarkeit. Diese sind für Schnädelbach aber nicht geeignet, um den Bereich des Rationalen richtig zu begrenzen, da auch Irrtum und unvernünftige Handlungen nicht von vornherein aus dem Rationalitätsbereich ausgeschlossen werden dürfen. Denn es ist immerhin noch möglich, den Sinn von Irrtümern oder unvernünftigen Handlungen zu verstehen. Rationalität in einem formalen Sinn (= rational1) entspricht deshalb, so Schnädelbach, dem Kriterium der Verständlichkeit. Diese gilt als die konstitutive Bedingung von Rationalität im engeren Sinne. “Nur was wir verstehen können, vermögen wir im Hinblick auf Rationalität (im engeren Sinne), d.h. auf Wahrheit, Wirksamkeit, Richtigkeit etc. zu beurteilen.”29 Personen sind geradezu definiert durch die prinzipielle Verständlichkeit ihrer Äußerungen und Handlungen. Als Bedingungen der Verständlichkeit, die jede Evaluation erst möglich machen, gelten Grammatikalität und logische Konsistenz bei Äußerungen, Kontextadäquatheit und Kontrollierbarkeit bei Handlungen sowie linguistische und kommunikative Kompetenz bei Personen. Diese Regeln bzw. regulativen Normen ergeben zusammen den Typus der kommunikativen Rationalität, die damit die Basis aller anderen Rationalitätsformen abgeben soll, freilich in einem anderen Sinne als bei Habermas. Denn Rationalität im weiteren Sinne bzw. als Verständlichkeit ist für Schnädelbach kein (normativ besetzter) Geltungsanspruch, sondern lediglich eine Präsupposition. Der Fehler des (Apelschen und Habermasschen) “Normativismus” bestehe darin, eine unzulässige “normativistische Umdeutung” des Präsupponierten vorzunehmen, oder, anders ausgedrückt, den engeren und den

176 weiteren Sinn von “rational” nicht zu unterscheiden. Rationalität als Verständlichkeit (= rational1) konstituiert erst den Bereich kommunikativen Handelns und der diskursiv einlösbaren Geltungsansprüche (= rational2). “Kommunikation selber ist nur möglich auf der Basis allseitiger prinzipieller Rationalitäts- oder Verständlichkeitsunterstellungen, die sich auf die Beteiligten ebenso beziehen wie auf ihre Äußerungen und Handlungen.”30 Philosophie, als allgemeine Theorie der Rationalität, ist ebensowenig wie das Prädikat “rational” per se schon normativ (im Sinne einer kritischen Theorie). Vielmehr bedarf es bestimmter Entscheidungen, damit Rationalität normativ bzw. Philosophie kritisch wird. Für Schnädelbach ist es letztlich die Präferenz einer bestimmten Lebensform, die uns zu einer bestimmten Entscheidung bringt. Emotionen und Willensregungen, Entscheidungen und Präferenzen sind Bestandteile normativ-rationalen Handelns. Sie ermöglichen auch eine deutliche Grenzziehung zur “funktionalistischen Neutralisierung” der Vernunft, wie sie etwa in der Luhmannschen Systemtheorie stattfindet. IV. Die Ansätze von N. Rescher und H. Schnädelbach enthalten einige wichtige Vorschläge. So möchte ich vor allem dem pragmatischen Zugriff Reschers auf die Rationalitätsproblematik zustimmen. Überzeugungen, Handlungen und Evaluationen sind rational nur relativ auf die jeweiligen Umstände (die verfügbaren Informationen, die jeweilige Lebenserfahrung, die kognitiven Fähigkeiten). Rationalität ist immer komplex und vielseitig, und es reicht nicht aus, lediglich einen bestimmten Standpunkt einzunehmen, etwa den des rationalen Entscheiders, des homo oeconomicus oder des Logikers. Vielmehr sind in jeder Handlung im allgemeinen alle verschiedenen Aspekte präsent. Hier drängen sich jedoch zwei Fragen auf. (1) Ist Reschers Rationalitätstypologie richtig und vollständig? (2) Wenn in jeder Handlung alle (drei, wie hier angenommen) Aspekte eine Rolle spielen, gibt es dann nicht Probleme der Gewichtung? Die erste Frage ähnelt der nach der Vollständigkeit der Kantischen Kategorientafel, und ist wohl ähnlich unbeantwortbar. Jedenfalls finden sich bei allen aktuellen Rationalitätstheoretikern unterschiedliche Typologien. Apel etwa spricht auch von Verständigungs-, Diskurs-, Logos- oder

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hermeneutischer Rationalität. Habermas spricht dem kommunikativen Handeln eine eigene Rationalität zu, wie er auch zu den (prinzipiell rationalen) Geltungsansprüchen der menschlichen Rede Wahrhaftigkeit zählt, womit ästhetisches bzw. expressiv-dramaturgisches Handeln als potentiell rational ausgewiesen wird. Bei Rescher muß man sich eine solche ästhetische Rationalität, da sie nicht eigens erörtert wird, im Bereich der Evaluation vorstellen. Da Evaluation bei Rescher aber auch Präskriptionen enthält, wird sie zu einem etwas unscharfen Begriff. Eine Differenzierung der evaluativen Rationalität wäre sicherlich angebracht. Dies beträfe dann auch die Frage der Gewichtung (2), denn bislang sieht es so aus, als ob das “intelligente Verfolgen der eigenen, angemessenen Ziele” vor allem von der (evaluativen) Angemessenheit der Ziele und Zwecke dominiert wird. Darauf deutet auch Reschers Gedanke hin, daß jedes einzelne Interesse nur dann rational ist, wenn es sich einem universell angemessenen Wert zuordnen läßt. Die Normativität in Reschers Rationalitätstheorie verdankt sich hier einer handfesten Ontologie, einer “ontologischen Verpflichtung” zu rationalem Handeln.31 Eine solche Ontologie ist aber kritisierbar, da es für jede Handlung die verschiedensten “obersten Zwecke” geben kann. Wirklich attraktiv hingegen scheint mir der von Rescher vertretene kriteriologische (methodologische, konzeptuelle, heuristische) Idealismus. Die Orientierung an obersten Werten (“ethical idealism”), an Gedankenkonzepten wie Wissen, Wahrheit, Rationalität (“conceptual idealism”), an methodologisch-epistemischen Untersuchungsmodellen (“pragmatic idealism”) ist sinnvoll und unentbehrlich - auch wenn diese Orientierungspunkte nie vollkommen erreicht werden. In diesem Sinne wäre “Rationalität” aus methodologischen Gründen bereits ein normatives Konzept: Wenn wir unsere Ziele intelligent verwirklichen wollen, ist es geboten, wie folgt zu handeln ... Das Problem der Einheit der Vernunft schließlich kann für Rescher als gelöst gelten. Da jeder Rationalitätstyp die anderen beiden in nuce mitenthält, muß die Einheit nicht erst mühsam hergestellt werden, sie ist vielmehr immer schon gewährleistet. - Auch viele der Vorschläge von Schnädelbach lassen sich sicherlich in eine umfassende Theorie der Rationalität einbauen. Wichtig ist Schnädelbachs Bemühen, den Rationalitätsbegriff “eng” zu halten, ihn zu begrenzen auf das Verhalten von Personen, womit die

178 “metaphorische” Verwendung im Bereich des Funktionalismus oder der (sozialwissenschaftlichen) Systemtheorie vermieden wird. Diese Engführung bewährt sich (in anderer Hinsicht) auch bei der Problematik von Normativität und Rationalität. Die Differenzierung der normativen Rede in einen evaluativen, einen präskriptiven und einen deskriptiven Bereich ermöglicht erst die Distanzierung zum Normativismus (etwa bei Apel und Habermas) oder auch zu substantialistischen Konzepten wie bei Rescher. Die Unterscheidung allerdings eines engeren und eines weiteren Sinnes von Rationalität scheint mir hinterfragbar zu sein. Um eine Handlung als “rational” bezeichnen zu können, müssen mehrere Bedingungen erfüllt sein. Dazu gehören materiale Rationalitätskriterien wie akzeptable Ziele, angemessene Mittel, korrekte Schlußfolgerungen, ausgewiesene Methodologien - aber auch das grundlegende Kriterium der Verständlichkeit. Es ist m.E. nicht möglich (und auch nicht notwendig), diese Bereich noch einmal zu differenzieren, da sie untrennbar miteinander verbunden sind. Eine Handlung, deren Sinn und Zweck ich nicht verstehe, kann für mich auch nicht rational sein. Kommunikative Handlungen sollten verständlich sein, um ihren Zweck zu erfüllen, und sie sollten zugleich die materialen Rationalitätsforderungen erfüllen. Ob man Verständlichkeit als Geltungsanspruch oder als Präsupposition interpretiert, scheint mir nicht entscheidend zu sein (da beide Begriffe dasselbe bezeichnen können). Wichtiger ist aber die Frage, ob Verständlichkeit nicht doch eine legitime Forderung an unsere Sprechhandlungen darstellt, und damit auch Rationalität “im weiteren Sinne” normativ ist. Dem Normativismus, der von den (formalen) “diskursiv einlösbaren Geltungsansprüchen” (alias “Diskurspräsuppositionen”) sogleich zu einer (materialen) Ethik des Diskurses gelangen möchte, muß man deswegen ja noch nicht zustimmen. Anmerkungen 1 J. Habermas, “Zwecktätigkeit und Verständigung. Ein pragmatischer Begriff der Rationalität”, in: H. Stachowiak (Hg.), Pragmatik. Handbuch pragmatischen Denkens, Bd. III, Hamburg 1989, S. 32. 2 K.-O. Apel, “Rationalitätskriterien und Rationalitätstypen. Versuch einer transzendentalpragmatischen Rekonstruktion des Unterschiedes zwischen Verstand und Vernunft”; in: A. Wüstehube (Hg.), Pragmatische Rationalitätstheorien, Würzburg 1995. 3 Stefan Gosepath, Aufgeklärtes Eigeninteresse. Eine Theorie theoretischer und praktischer Rationalität. Frankfurt/M. 1992. 4 Ebd. S. 95.

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5 Ebd. S. 198. 6 Ebd. S. 247. 7 Robert Nozick, The Nature of Rationality, Princeton NJ (Princeton University Press) 1993. 8 Ebd. S. 170 f. 9 Nur Nozick glaubt, die Entscheidungstheorie in allen relevanten Bereichen gleichermaßen anwenden zu können, wodurch es auch nicht scharf voneinander getrennter “Rationalitätstypen” bedarf. Gosepath versucht, die vier genannten Typen auf zwei zu reduzieren, nämlich relative theoretische und relative praktische Rationalität, und auch deren strukturelle Gleichheit zu erweisen. 10 N. Rescher, Rationality. A Philosophical Inquiry into the Nature and the Rationale of Reason, Oxford 1988. Dt. Übers. vom Verf. Rationalität, Würzburg 1993. 11 Ebd. S. 1. Eine andere Formulierung lautet: “The crucial point is that rationality as such is something complex and manysided - though all of its parts are embraced within the one, overall generic formula that rationality consists in the intelligent conduct of one’s affairs.” (Ebd. S. 8 f.) 12 Ebd. S. 51. 13 Ebd. S. 91. “Cognitive rationality as such does not involve an absolute, unswerving commitment to consistency at any cost. Consistency is a prime desideratum of rationality, but not an absolutely indispensable requisite for it. It should be viewed not as a present demand, but as an ultimate ideal.” 14 N. Rescher, A System of Pragmatic Idealism, Vol. I, Princeton NJ (Princeton university Press), S. 7. 15 N. Rescher, Rationality, a.a.O., S. 22. 16 Ebd. S. 29. 17 Ebd. S. 97. 18 Ebd. S. 101. 19 Ebd. S. 105. 20 Reschers praktischer Schluß verläuft nach folgendem Muster: 1.

Nach den vorhandenen Anzeichen, P.

2.

Unter den vorliegenden Umständen können wir (epistemisch) nichts besseres tun, als uns nach den vorhandenen Anzeichen zu richten.

3.

Das Akzeptieren von P ist (unter den vorliegenden Umständen) die bestmögliche Wahl (aus 1 und 2).

4.

Nehmen wir die bestmögliche Wahl an (eine Sache “praktischen Verfahrens”).

5.

Akzeptieren wir P (aus 3 und 4).

6.

P (aus 5). Ebd. S. 123.

21 Ebd. S. 123. 22 Ebd. S. 127. 23 N. Rescher, Ethical Idealism. An Inquiry into the Nature and Function of Ideals, Berkeley/Los Angeles 1987. 24 N. Rescher, A System of Pragmatic Idealism, Vol. I: Human Knowledge in Idealistic Perspective, Princeton N.J. 1992, S. 45. 25 H. Schnädelbach / E. Martens (Hg.), Philosophie. Ein Grundkurs, Reinbek 1985, S. 110 ff. 26 H. Schnädelbach, “Rationalität und Normativität”, in: Ders., Zur Rehabilitierung des “animal rationale”, Frankfurt/M. 1992, S. 79 ff. 27 Ebd. S. 93. 28 Ebd. S. 95.

180 29 Ebd. S. 97 f. 30 Ebd. S. 101. 31 Vgl. hierzu N. Rescher, Moral Absolutes, New York 1989, Ch. 1, 2, 4. Rescher spricht hier ausdrücklich von einer ontologischen Verpflichtung als der Quelle der deontischen Kraft von Moralität. “The most promising prospect [um die Frage “Why be moral?” zu lösen, A.W.] is to look to the ontological duty of selfrealization which appertains to any rational agent whatsoever - the fundamental obligation of endeavoring to make the most of one’s opportunities for realizing oneself as fully as possible, a duty which, insofar as one “owes” it to anyone at all, one owes no less to the world at large than to oneself.” (S. 90).

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RATIONAL EXPLANATION, REASONING AND JUSTIFICATION

Philip Pettit Three Aspects of Rational Explanation1

abstract Rational explanation, as I understand it here, is the sort of explanation we practise when we try to make intentional sense of a person’s attitudes and actions. We may postulate various obstacles to rationality in the course of offering such explanations but the point of the exercise is generally to present the individual as a more or less rational subject: as a subject who, within the constraints of the obstacles postulated and they can be quite severe - displays a rational pattern of attitude - formation and decision-making. In this paper I want to draw attention to three distinct, and progressively more specific, aspects of such rational explanation. I do so, because I believe that they are not always prised apart sufficiently. The first aspect of rational explanation is that it is a programming variety of explanation, in a phrase that Frank Jackson and I introduced some years ago (Jackson and Pettit 1988). The second is, in another neologism (Pettit 1986), that it is a normalising kind of explanation. And the third is that it is a variety of interpretation: if you like, it is a hermeneutic form of explanation.

1. Rational explanation as programming explanation Rational explanation of action involves the attempt to explain an agent’s speech or behaviour by reference to distinctive psychological states: roughly, by reference to states that reflect the information to which the agent gives countenance and the inclination that moves him; by reference, as the stock

182 phrase has it, to beliefs and desires. The first thing to be said in characterisation of such explanation is that it invokes higher-level causal factors, not factors that operate at the most basic level there is. A similar point holds for the rational explanation of attitudes, of course - the explanation of why an agent comes to think or feel something, for example - but we can take the explanation of action as our main point of reference. A level is characterised by the causally relevant properties that figure there: the physical level by physical properties, the biological by biological, and so on. Such levels will be distinguished from one another, roughly, by the fact that the properties at any level join forces with one another in a way in which they do not join forces with properties from other levels. And such levels will be designated as higher and lower, depending on which are thought to be causally more basic. Consider these two properties of a rod: first, its malleability, second, its particular molecular structure. Those properties may each be relevant, by whatever test of relevance, to the rod’s bending under a certain pressure. But they are not relevant in the sense of each playing a part in the same process; neither appears earlier than the other in the same process and neither combines with the other, in the way in which the presence of the oxygen combines with the striking of the match to produce combustion. They do not get together in those ways - that they do not join forces, as we might put it - in the production of the event to which, nonetheless, they are each causally relevant. They are causally relevant to the event at different levels. If the malleability of a rod and its molecular structure are properties of different levels, which level is lower, which higher? The judgment will be driven by our assumptions as to whether the causal relevance of the molecular structure mediates the causal relevance of the malleability, or the other way around. Is the malleability relevant to the rod bending in virtue of the fact that it is the molecular structure of the rod which accounts, in context, for the bending? Or the other way around? Clearly, by this test, the molecular structure is causally the more basic level. To be malleable is to have such a molecular structure as will allow bending under such and such a pressure; if the

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malleability is causally relevant to the bending, its relevance is mediated by the relevance of the structure. I claimed that the first thing that characterises rational explanation is that the psychological factors it invokes as causally relevant are higher-level. The factors involved are intentional properties, properties of belief and desire, and they represent a different level from that represented, for example, by the properties identified in neurophysiology; they do not join forces with such properties in producing behaviour and yet both sorts of properties are causally relevant, so we judge, to behaviour. As between the psychological and the neurophysiological families of behaviour-relevant properties, which represents the more basic level? If we are to avoid positing special Cartesian forces, then we must say that the neurophysiological level is the more basic. If mother nature has designed us to be such that our psychological states are causally relevant to our doing this or that, if it has designed us to be psychologically organised systems, then it has done so through ensuring that the neurophysiological connections to behaviour sustain the psychological connections: it has done so through designing our neurophysiology to sustain the causal relevance of psychological states in something like the way that the molecular structure of the rod sustains the causal relevance of its malleability. Let us agree that the psychological properties introduced in rational explanation are higher-level, in particular that they are of a higher level than neurophysiological properties. But how can properties at different levels both be causally relevant to one and the same thing? How can they collaborate causally, as it were, given that they do not join forces: given that they do not collaborate in the familiar diachronic or synchronic fashion? Reflection on this problem leads us to see that rational explanation is a form of programming explanation (see Jackson and Pettit 1988, 1990a, 1990b and Pettit 1993). The programming model focuses on the way causal and explanatory relevance, however paraphrased, may be reproduced across different levels. It applies to the intentional and neurophysiological levels but it also applies in many other cases. It helps us to make sense, not just of how beliefs and desires can be causally relevant to something that is produced by neurophysiological antecedents, but also of how malleability can be causally relevant to the

184 bending that is produced, under appropriate pressure, by the molecular structure of the rod; and so on in other cases. Suppose that there is no doubt about the causal relevance of properties at a given level L to the occurrence of an event E, of a given type. Suppose that we are interested in how a property, P, at a higher level can be simultaneously relevant to E. According to the program model, P will be causally relevant to E just in case three conditions are fulfilled. 1. The instantiation of P non-causally involves the instantiation of certain properties-perhaps these, perhaps those-at the lower level L: typically, the instantiation of the L-properties will ‘realise’ P, as it is said, given the context. 2. L-properties of the sort associated with instantiations of P, or at least most of them, are such as generally to be causally relevant - in the circumstances - to the occurrence of an E-type event. 3. The L-properties associated with the actual instantiation of P are causally relevant to the occurrence of E. These conditions are readily illustrated. Intuitively, the malleability of this rod is causally relevant to its bending, and relevant simultaneously with the exact molecular structure. How so? Because the program model applies. The instantiation of the malleability involves the instantiation of certain molecularstructural properties; the sorts of properties associated with instantiations of malleability are such as generally to be causally relevant to the sort of bending effect in question; and the molecular-structural properties associated with the actual instantiation of malleability are causally relevant to the bending. A computer program ensures that things are organised in the machine language of the computer-may be in this fashion may be in that-so that certain results reliably follow on certain inputs. In cases where the program model applies, even in a simple case like that of the malleable rod, the higher-level property can be cast as programming in a parallel manner for the appearance of a certain effect. The presence of the malleability ensures, non-causally, that things are organised at the molecular level-the level corresponding to the machine language-so that the rod will bend under suitable pressure. Where the

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molecular structure is described as producing the bending, the malleability can be thought of as programming for the effect produced. Other examples of the program model become salient as we recognise suitably corresponding relations across levels in different cases. In every case the relation must be such that the instantiation of the higher-level property ensures or at least probabilifies-in a non-causal way-that there are causally relevant properties present at the lower level. But there may be quite different reasons applicable in the different cases as to why that relation obtains; each case will require its own annotation. The squareness of the peg probabilifies the sort of molecular contact which blocks the peg going through the round hole; the (boiling) temperature of the water in the closed flask probabilifies the presence of a molecule of the right position and momentum to break a molecular bond in the surface and crack the flask; the rise in unemployment probabilifies a shift in motives and opportunities that is likely to increase aggregate crime; and so on across a great variety of possible cases. The probabilification holds for different reasons in the different cases. But the fact that it obtains shows how the program model may apply in any of the examples, making sense of how the higher-level property can be causally relevant to something which is also traceable to the lower-level properties. As the program model applies to these sorts of cases, so it applies too to the way in which intentional and neurophysiological properties produce behaviour. How is a particular psychological set causally relevant to an agent’s doing something? In particular, how is it relevant, given that the action is produced without remainder-without leaving anything to be explained-by a certain complex of neurophysiological states? The program model suggests that the psychological set will be causally relevant so far as its realisation in an agent of that kind makes it more probable than it would otherwise have been-it may make it more or less certain-that there will be a neurophysiological configuration of properties present-may be this, may be that-which is sufficient to produce the required behaviour. The psychological set may not produce the behaviour in the same way in which the neurophysiological complex does. But it is nonetheless causally relevant to the appearance of that behaviour. It

186 programs for the behaviour to the extent that its realisation means, more or less certainly, that there will be a suitable neurophysiological producer present. I hope that these remarks will help to make vivid the idea that rational explanation is a sort of programming explanation. I have presented arguments elsewhere in defence of that idea. Here I will only say that it is not clear how a higher-level, rational explanation can introduce causally relevant properties unless the program model applies. There are no alternatives in the literature that would make comparable sense of the way in which properties at higher and lower levels can be simultaneously relevant to a certain effect (see Pettit 1993). If not this, what? 2. Rational explanation as normalizing explanation Whenever the program model applies, whenever there are higher-level properties which exercise causal relevance, we will find lawlike regularities in place. I have in mind regularities like that which binds the malleability of the rod to its bending under such and such pressure, or the squareness of the peg to its being blocked from going through a suitably corresponding round hole. Program explanation will amount to what I have described as normalizing explanation just in case the relevant regularities, or at least some of the relevant regularities, have the status of norms. Otherwise it will be a sort of regularizing explanation (Pettit 1986). All of the non-intentional examples of program explanation that were given in the last section involve non-normative regularities and so the explanation in question is of the regularizing kind. Consider the regularities linking malleability and bending, the squareness of the peg and the blocking, the (boiling) temperature of the water and the cracking, the rise in unemployment and the increase in crime. None of these regularities represents a norm for the behaviour of a system, in any plausible sense of ‘norm’. Things are different, however, in other cases. Suppose that we have designed a computer to add any numbers presented to it and to display the sum: we have designed it to function as an adding device. If we have designed the computer properly, then whenever a set of numbers is registered, the computer will

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respond by giving us their sum. The presentation of the numbers will be causally relevant to that response, even though the response is produced at a lower level by the machine features of the computer. The presentation of the numbers will program for the appropriate response, ensuring the presence of a machine profile that produces it. The program model will apply. This case resembles the other instances of the program model fairly closely, with one difference. This is that the sort of regularity involved in any of the adding machine’s responses will have the status of a norm. Given that we know or assume that this is meant to be an adding device, we can deduce that if it is given the numbers seven and four as input, then it will display eleven as output. It is a hypothetical imperative for any system that if it is to count as an adder then for input seven and four, it should produce output eleven. Thus, assuming that the system is an adder, we can say that it is a norm for the system that for that input, it should produce that output. There is no mystery in how a regularity, in particular a programmed regularity, can have the status of a norm. As we have imagined this happening with an artificially designed system, so we can envisage it coming about with any system that is the product of design or selection. A regularity will count as a norm for a system just in case the satisfaction of that regularity is required for the system to succeed in the role for which it has been designed or selected. An example from the realm of natural selection will help to make the point. We assume that the temperature-control system in the human body has been selected-or the associated genetic profile has been selected-for the effect it has in maintaining a certain temperature within the body. That being so, we must see the regularity whereby it produces perspiration in a sauna as a norm for the system and, more generally, the organism. The regularity isn’t just something that happens to obtain. It is something that more or less has to obtain if the system is to be successful in the role for which it has been shaped. That a programmed regularity is a norm is not of ontological significance. It means that the system in question is the product of design or selection, it is true, but it does not entail any further difference between that system and other less normatively directed organisms. Normatively organised systems, in the

188 sense introduced here, are as much a part of the natural world, and are just as subject to the regime of natural laws, as any rock or cloud or mountain. But if the normative status of programmed regularities is not of ontological significance, it may be very important from a heuristic point of view. The reason should be clear. We can have evidence that a system is designed or selected to fit a certain sort of role, and we may be able to work out the regularities that should be normative for such a system, independently of identifying empirically the regularities that it actually satisfies in its behaviour. Knowledge of the designer responsible, or of the designer’s purposes, or just a little experience of the system itself, may convince us that this device is meant to add. And that being so, we are in a position to predict a whole range of responses, at least when the system does not go on the blink. We can occupy a vantage point on the performance of the system that is going to be difficult to attain with any agent that is not normatively directed in this way. The normative status of certain programmed regularities may be not just heuristically significant-not just significant in the generation of knowledge-but also significant from an explanatory point of view. To get an explanation of the kind that is relevant here is always, I take it, to get information on the causal history of the event or condition explained (see Lewis 1986, Essay 22; Pettit 1993, Chapter 5). To know that a certain antecedent not only programs for a result, but programs for it normatively, is to acquire a distinctive sort of information on the genesis of the event. It is to learn that the antecedent programmer gave rise in context to the result, as in any other case, but it is also to learn that consistently with the system’s satisfying the role for which it is designed or selected-consistently, for example, with its being an adding device-that antecedent condition was required in that context to give rise to that result; it could have failed to do so only through malfunction. The normalizing explanation not only tells us what any program explanation tells us, in other words; it also directs us to a certain sort of modal or counterfactual information about the genesis of the matter explained. It lets us see that in any possible world where the system is to satisfy its role-subject perhaps to certain constraints-things will have to be such that, absent malfunction, the antecedent state gives rise to the result in question. Not only

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are things organised in this world so that the realisation of the programming state more or less ensures that there will be a lower-level state available to produce the result. Things have to be organised in that way in any world where the system satisfies the role for which it is designed or selected. So much on normalizing explanation in general. What I now suggest is that rational explanation is not just a form of programming explanation, it is also a form of normalizing explanation. In dealing with one another, we put in place an assumption that, absent malfunction and other ills, we are creatures who satisfy the role of rational agents: we are more or less rational in our responses to evidence and more or less rational in moving from what we believe and value to what we do (see Cherniak 1986). The regularities that govern our adjustments in these respects are norms of rationality: they are regularities that any rational creature will have to respect, as the principles of addition are regularities that any adding machine will have to honour. We may believe that we satisfy the role of rational creatures as a result of natural selection, or cultural influence, or divine design, or a mix of these influences. The grounding does not matter. The important thing is that we expect one another-and, if we are to relate as human beings, we probably must expect one another-to conform to that role and to the associated regularities. The expectation of rationality-strictly, rationality-absent-malfunction-ordisturbance-or...-enables us to generate predictions of another agent’s behaviour that would otherwise be difficult to generate. This is the heuristic aspect of our seeing intentional regularities as norms. Furthermore, the expectation means that we each find a special explanatory significance, a significance lacking in regularizing explanation, in the fact of being able to trace another’s response to an intentional, programming antecedent; we see the response as one that is required in any rational agent who displays the antecedent state. This is the explanatory significance of our representing the regularities as norms. As I have not formally argued that rational explanation is a form of programming explanation, so I will not repeat my arguments here for holding that it is a form of normalizing explanation (see Pettit 1986). Suffice it to mention that the picture of rational explanation as normalizing fits with a variety of views current in philosophy; it is not based in any particularly

190 sectarian commitment. A range of views emphasise the extent to which rational explanation is directed and driven by the attempt to represent the behaviour or attitudes explained, given background and context, as in some way normatively appropriate responses. Any such view would give us reason for being hospitable to the thought that in rational explanation, we not only trace an agent’s responses to certain, programming antecedents, we often trace it to antecedents whose realisation means that the responses were required or expected of the agent. 3. Rational explanation as hermeneutic explanation Is every sort of normalizing explanation going to count as hermeneutic or interpretative? Of course not. The explanations which we invoke for the adding machine’s responses need not count as interpretations. And certainly the explanations which we give for the responses of the human body in a sauna or in a cold shower will not count as interpetative. But is an intentional, normalizing explanation of a human being’s responses bound to count as interpretation? Again, and surprisingly, no. Consider a human being to whom we apply, successfully, the apparatus of Bayesian decision theory. We find a pattern in the person’s responses which allows us to assign a probability function-this determines degrees of belief-and a utility function-this determines degrees of desire-and to see everything he does, and indeed every revision of probability he undergoes, as rational in Bayesian terms. The utility function gives a utility figure to every prospect and the probability function offers us suitably corresponding measures of probability; different versions of Bayesian theory require different measures (Pettit 1991). We find that in every thing the person does, he maximises expected utility: the utility of the option chosen, computed as the sum of the utilities of its probabilistically weighted possible outcomes, is always greater than the utility of any alternative. If we were able to make decision-theoretic sense of an agent in this way, then we would surely have programming and normalizing explanations of his reponses. We would be able to subsume those responses under regularities that count as norms for a decision-theoretically rational subject. We would be able

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to see each of the responses as being programmed for by the state of the agent’s utility and probability functions and we would be able to see the sort of programming involved as normatively required in any suitably rational agent. But though we would be in a position to offer a programming and normalizing explanation of the person’s responses, there is still an important sense in which we might fail to provide anything worthy of being called a hermeneutic explanation. Consistently with displaying the patterns that invite the decision-theoretic explanations, the agent could be a creature which does not go through any conscious ratiocination. He might be a sort of automaton who enjoys such a superb design that, exposed to appropriate evidence, he revises his degrees of belief in the rational way and, presented with any range of options, he forms degrees of desire, and chooses according to strength of desire, in the rational way. He might never have to think about the import of the new evidence put before him, weighing its significance in the balance with more familiar facts. And he might never have to deliberate about the options which he faces, trying to determine their relative attractions and trying to establish which is the most desirable. His revisions of belief, and his decisions about what to do, might just happen, without any consciousness or control on his part. Decision-theoretic explanation, as this shows, can be entirely silent on how things present themselves within the forum of the agent’s attention. The explanation of a change of belief or a choice of action does not suggest, on any plausible reading, that the agent thinks explicitly in terms of his own probabilities and utilities; it is not clear how he would even know what these are, given the detail involved (Harman 1986, Chapter 9; Pettit 1991). And the explanation leaves it entirely dark as to how the agent reasons otherwise. Suppose that his degrees of belief that p and that q lead him, rationally, to form a certain degree of belief that r. Or suppose that those degrees of belief combine with certain degrees of desire that s and that t to lead him, rationally, to form a certain degree of desire that u. How is the agent supposed to think as he reasons his way, however implicitly, to the conclusion that leaves him with the appropriate degree of belief that r or degree of desire that u? Presumably the agent holds the objects of his grounding beliefs-‘p’ and ‘q’-before his mind. But

192 how does he register the partiality of his beliefs in these objects? Presumably, again, he holds the objects of his grounding desires-‘s’ and ‘t’-before his mind. But how does he register the fact that he desires those propositions rather than believing them? We are left entirely in the dark. The pattern of decision-theoretic explanation which we have been discussing is certainly a programming and normalizing form of explanation, then, but it hardly deserves the name of interpretation. The point becomes compelling when we recognise that there is a more common-or-garden sort of rational explanation that is not silent in the decision-theoretic manner on the way a person thinks and reasons. Not only does it seek to subsume our responses under appropriate norms, it also points us to how things present themselves from the agent’s point of view (Pettit and Smith 1990). Consider a case where an agent walks up to a beggar by the roadside and puts some money in his cap. The decision-theoretic mode of explanation would direct us to the agent’s utilities for the different possible outcomes-probabilistically weighted-of that option and would present the option as superior in such terms to the alternatives. But it would not give us any idea as to how the agent is thinking; indeed, as have seen, it would be compatible with the complete absence of thought. The more regular sort of intentional explanation would score over the decision-theoretic story in this regard. It might say, for example, that the agent took pity on the beggar and gave him the first coin that came to hand; or that the agent was following the principle of always giving beggars a certain amount; or that the agent conceived it to be his duty to help a beggar a day and this was the lucky one; or whatever. But in any case, it would draw attention to the sorts of things that imposed themselves, more or less consciously, on the agent’s attention. It would give us an entree to his cast of mind. This common-or-garden variety of rational explanation, then, is quite distinct from the austere, decision-theoretic kind. It invokes psychological states that program and normalise the responses explained, as decision-theoretic explanation does. But it also lets us see the structure of the subject’s thought, as we might put it. The human subject is not just an arena within which degrees of belief and desire relative to certain contents rationally come and go and

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rationally congeal, as occasion requires, in the formation of decisions. The human subject makes judgments about those contents, in particular judgments about their degrees of probability and desirability, and may make efforts to ensure that he conforms to the requirements of such self-represented probabilites and desirabilities in the attitudes he forms and the actions he takes. The common-or-garden variety of explanation focuses on this process of reasoning in making sense of how a person thinks and acts. The austere decision-theoretic variety ignores the process; it treats the human subject as a black box. When rational explanation assumes a hermeneutic form, and not just a programming and normalising one, then it casts the person not just as a rational system, not just as a system whose responses display a causally relevant pattern of rationality, but also as a reasoning or ratiocinative subject. The rational system - the ideal subject of decision theory - may realise its rationality on the basis of a purely sub-personal mode of organisation and attunement; it need not have what we would describe as a mental life. The ratiocinative system - the sort of system that our species implicitly or explicitly typifies - may be a more or less rational system in this sense but it is also something else besides; it is a rational system which attains rationality, to the extent that it does, on the basis of distinctive efforts or habits of attention, reflection and reasoning. Rational explanation goes hermeneutic when it characterises such a mental life in the person whose attitudes and actions it explains. Rational explanation, qua programming, directs us to regularities in the way in which certain higher-level factors occasion thoughts and actions. Rational explanation, qua normalising, represents those regularities as norms for the subject in question: ideals that it has to satisfy, though perhaps only within certain constraints and up to certain limits, on pain of not counting as a rational system. And rational explanation, qua hermeneutic, represents those norms as ideals which the subject aspires and tries to fulfill, in the manner of a reasoning agent; it offers an insight into how the subject achieves whatever rationality he displays.

194 Notes 1 This paper is a recasting, in many places a recycling, of material in Pettit 1994. It draws heavily on the picture of the human subject in Pettit 1993. REFERENCES Cherniak, Christopher (1986) Minimal Rationality, M.I.T. Press, Cambridge, Mass.. Harman, Gilbert (1986) Change in View, M.I.T. Press, Cambridge, Mass.. Jackson, Frank and Philip Pettit (1988) ‘Functionalism and Broad Content’ Mind, 97, 1988, 381-400. Jackson, Frank and Philip Pettit (1990a) ‘Program Explanation: A General Perspective’, Analysis, 50, 107-17. Jackson, Frank and Philip Pettit (1990b) ‘Causation in the Philosophy of Mind’, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 50, 1990, 195-214. Lewis, David (1986) Philosophical Papers, Vol 2, Oxford University Press, New York. Pettit, Philip (1986) ‘Broad-minded Explanation and Psychology’, in Philip Pettit and John McDowell, eds, Subject, Thought, and Context, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 17-58. Pettit, Philip (1991) ‘Decision Theory and Folk Psychology’, in Michael Bacharach and Susan Hurley, eds, Foundations of Decision Theory, Blackwell, Oxford. Pettit, Philip (1993) The Common Mind: An Essay on Psychology, Society and Politics, Oxford University Press, New York. Pettit, Philip (1994) ‘Towards Interpretation’, Philosophia, Vol 23, pp. 157-70 Pettit, Philip and Michael Smith (1990) ‘Backgrounding Desire’, Philosophical Review, 99, 565-92.

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Keith Lehrer Rationality and Trustworthiness

abstract Our rationality depends on the reasons we have for accepting and preferring what we do. But where do reasons come from? What makes what I accept a reason for a conclusion or what I prefer a reason for action? We can explain where reasons come from without postulation or regress. The explanation rests on our trustworthiness combined with our acceptance of it and our preference for it. The explanation reveals that theoretical and practical reason are intertwined in a loop of trustworthiness in what we accept, what we prefer and how we reason. The loop is the keystone of our rationality. Our rationality depends on the reasons we have for accepting and preferring what we do. But where do reasons come from? Let me put that another way. What makes what I accept a reason for a conclusion or what I prefer a reason for action? Some philosophers are inclined to say that some things that I accept just are reasons for conclusions and some things that I prefer just are reasons for action, and that is all that you can say about it. These things are a kind of surd of reason. You cannot explain why they are reasons; they just are. It might appear that the surd of reason is inescapable or we will fall into a regress of explanation and justification. But we can escape the surd of reason. We can explain where reasons come from without the surd of reason or the absurd of regress. The explanation rests on our acceptance of our trustworthiness and our preference for it. Our quest for the explanation will reveal that theoretical and practical reason are intertwined in a referential loop which is the keystone loop of rationality. The first step to answering our question involves the recognition of metamental ascent beyond the first level of belief and desire to the next level of acceptance and preference. Beliefs and desires often arise in us without reflection and sometimes contrary to our interests. We have, however, the capacity to evaluate our first order beliefs and desires and, in this way, rise

196 above them. The positive evaluation of a belief results in the acceptance of what we believe, and the positive evaluation of desire results in a preference for what we desire. Negative evaluation involves the rejection of a belief or the repudiation of a desire. Acceptance may, in addition, result from the positive evaluation of something considered but not believed, just as preference may, in addition, result from the positive evaluation of something considered but not desired, but acceptance is typically based on what we believe as preference is typically based on what we desire. Acceptance and preference are functional states of a higher order mind, what I have called a metamind,1 resulting from metamental evaluation of the contents of first order states of belief, desire or consideration. The distinction between levels is here conceived as a relative notion. What is accepted or preferred may be evaluated again by metamental ascent and higher order acceptance and preference. The importance of the distinction between first order states and the metamental states of acceptance and preference resides in the fact that these states constitute our best efforts to attain our goals and objectives in the light of the information we possess. The objective of acceptance is to accept what is worth accepting and not to accept what is not measured in terms of our theoretical interests, most saliently, the interests of obtaining truth and avoiding error. The objective of preference is to prefer what is worth preferring and to not prefer what is not worth preferring measured in terms of our practical interests, most saliently, of obtaining value and avoiding disvalue. So, acceptance and preference represent our best efforts. But are our best efforts good enough to yield reasons? What converts our best efforts into reasons? Let us begin with acceptance. What converts what we accept into reasons? One way to find the answer to the question is to confront a skeptic. Suppose a skeptic challenges us to show her that we have reasons for what we accept. How are we to meet her challenge? We cannot avoid appealing to what we accept to meet the challenge. A skeptic who insists that we show her that we have reasons for what we accept without appealing to anything we accept must be ignored for we can have nothing to show her. To meet the challenge, we must assume that we are trustworthy in what we accept. It was Thomas Reid who first saw the importance of this principle.2 For, as he said, if a skeptic does

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not allow that I am trustworthy in what I accept, then rather than dispute with her, I must put my hand over my mouth in silence. If, on the other hand, it is allowed that I am trustworthy in what I accept, then I can proceed to show her that what I accept is reasonable. Of course, to assume that I am trustworthy in what I accept is not to claim infallibility. I do accept things that are false and not worth accepting, however avidly I seek to avoid doing so. Though I am fallible, I am, nonetheless, trustworthy. As an analogy, I might hire a guide to help me explore an unfamiliar terrain, and, though she is fallible, for even the best of guides lose their way now and then, she may be someone who is, nonetheless, trustworthy, and it is reasonable for me to follow where she leads. Suppose, then, that I accept the following principle derived from Reid: A. I am trustworthy in what I accept. I may, then, use this principle to show the skeptic that what I accept is reasonable. Suppose I accept that p. My argument that it is reasonable for me to accept that p runs as follows: 1. I accept that p. 2. I am trustworthy in what I accept. 3. I am trustworthy in accepting that p. (1,2) 4. Accepting that p is more worthy of my trust than not accepting that p. 5. It is more reasonable for me to accept that p than not to accept that p. 6. It is reasonable for me to accept that p. 7. It is reasonable for me to accept a conclusion I reach by reasoning from p. 8. Thus, p is a reason for a conclusion I reach by reasoning from p. Each line is inferred from the one directly preceding it except 3 which is inferred from the two preceding lines. This argument shows us where reasons come from. They come from what I accept combined with the assumption of my trustworthiness in what I accept. What is there to be said in defense of the argument? The inference from 1 and 2 to 3 depends on the interpretation of 2. I will have more to say about 2 below as it is the key premise, and, I suggest, a keystone premise. The inference from 3 to 4 depends on the assumption that if I am trustworthy in accepting something, then accepting it is more worthy of my trust than not accepting it.

198 In defense of this inference, suppose I confront the issue of whether to accept or not to accept that p. Suppose I accept that p. If I am trustworthy in what I do, then acceptance must be more worthy of my trust than nonacceptance. The inference from 4 to 5 depends on the objective of accepting what is worth accepting. If that is my objective, and, in terms of that objective, acceptance is more worthy of my trust than nonacceptance, than acceptance is more reasonable than nonacceptance too. Whether it is reasonable to accept something depends on your objectives, and if, as I assume here, my objective is to accept what is worth accepting, then if acceptance is more worthy of my trust for attaining that objective, then it is more reasonable for me for attaining that objective as well. The inference from 5 to 6 is, hopefully, noncontroversial once 5 and 6 are properly understood and distinguished from other claims. It is important to notice the distinction between 5 and the weaker claim X. It is more reasonable for me to accept that p than to accept that not p. Premise X is weaker in that it allows for the possibility that it is more reasonable to suspend judgement, to accept neither p nor not p, than to accept either. Thus, the inference from X to 6 would be invalid because X allows for the possibility that the reasonable course is to accept neither p nor not p. But 5 is the stronger claim, not to be confused with X, that accepting p is more reasonable than not accepting it and, therefore, excludes the possibility that suspension is the reasonable course. On the other hand, premise 6 is a weaker premise than some that it might suggest, for example, O. Every reasonable person ought to accept that p. Premise O is stronger than 6 because the latter says something about what it is reasonable for one person to accept and allows that others, having different evidence perhaps, might be reasonable to accept something else. The inferences of 7 from 6 and 8 from 7 rest on the reasonableness of my reasoning. That needs some defense which I will later undertake. Let us assume for now the reasonableness of my reasoning. What I reason to as a conclusion from what it is reasonable for me to accept is also something it is reasonable for me to accept. So 7 follows from 6. In that case, however, what I reason from is a reason for my accepting the conclusion. Thus, 6 leads to 8 in this way. Some

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may, however, find the inference from 6 to 8 more compelling without the mediation of 7, and they may omit the intermediate step to 7. A short version of the argument might be put as follows: 1. I accept that p. 2. I am trustworthy in what I accept. 3. I am trustworthy in accepting that p. (1,2) 6. It is reasonable for me to accept that p. One possible refinement of this would be to combine premises 1 and 2 into a single premise which connects my acceptance of p with my trustworthiness in a more direct way. A premise implying that my acceptance of p is the result my trustworthiness is as follows: 1,2C. I accept that p because I am trustworthy in what I accept. This premise might replace the first two premises of the argument and strengthen the intermediate conclusion 3. The intended meaning of the combined premise is that my acceptance of p is explained by my being trustworthy in what I accept. The substitution of that premise for 1 and 2 would defend the inference to 3 against some objections. Premise 1 of the argument is a given in the discussion with a skeptic. I am not assuming that I have infallible knowledge concerning what I accept. I could, in fact, be wrong about whether I accept something just as I could be wrong about whether what I accept is true. The premise is a given in the sense that it is a starting point. I accept something and then raise the question of whether it is reasonable to accept it, whether I am justified in accepting it and so forth. If I do not accept anything, then these questions do not arise. Some radical materialists, if I understand them, may have doubted whether anybody ever accepts anything, which is a more general worry than the localized concern about whether I accept any specific thing. What I would say to them is that they too start with what they accept because there is no place else to start. An eliminative materialist may begin by accepting the claims of science rather than those of common sense, but they begin with what they accept. There are those who, for spiritual considerations, have alleged to avoid accepting anything. I do not know whether they succeed, but if they do, I can only wish them well at

200 the same time that I doubt that they will succeed. The life of reason is not for everybody. The crucial premise is premise 2. What reason do we have for accepting premise 2? We have assumed it on the grounds that otherwise we are reduced to silence. Does that mean that it is just a surd of reason? Must we say, when asked why it is a reason for concluding anything, that it is a reason because it just is? Fortunately, as Reid again noticed, the situation is not so desperate because 2 has a peculiarity, namely, that when we accept 2 it vouches for ist own truth in just the way that it vouches for the truth of everything else that we accept. Reid says that evidence is like light it this respect. Just as light reveals itself in revealing the illuminated object, so evidence vouches for itself in vouching for some other conclusion.3 We can take this insight from metaphor to argument by noting that premise 2, or principle A, which is the same, is itself something that I accept and, therefore, the argument outlined above yields the conclusion that it is reasonable to accept A when A replaces the variable p. The argument for the reasonableness of accepting A runs as follows: 1. I accept that A. 2. I am trustworthy in what I accept. 3. I am trustworthy in accepting that A. (1,2) 6. It is reasonable for me to accept that A. Premise 3, when expanded, says that I am trustworthy in accepting that I am trustworthy in what I accept, and 6, the conclusion, is that it is reasonable for me to accept that I am trustworthy in what I accept. So, we may say this on behalf of A, premise 2 of the argument, that it vouches ist own truth. If we accept it as a premise in the argument, then the argument shows that it is reasonable for us to accept it, and, therefore, that it is a reason for what we conclude from it. Moreover, principle A explains why we are reasonable to accept it. We are reasonable because we accept it and are trustworthy in what we accept. Objections proliferate, however. Are we not just arguing in a circle? And, if so, will not principle A once again become the surd of reason when we end our dialectical cycling around A? Principle A, the principle of the

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trustworthiness of acceptance, does refer to acceptance of itself in a loop of selfreference. But the inclusion of the principle among the things I accept plays a special role which escapes the surd of reason. When asked why it is reasonable to accept the principle, we are not reduced to answering that it just is. The principle explains the reasonableness of what we accept, including itself. The explanation is that acceptance of A converts it into a reason for accepting itself as well as the other things that we accept because we are trustworthy in accepting A as well as the other things we accept. This explanation rests on truth of A as well as our acceptance of it. If we are incorrect in accepting A, that is, if we are not trustworthy in what we accept, then the explanation of the reasonableness of accepting A is also incorrect. But is A true? One might doubt the truth of A on the grounds that we are trustworthy in some of the things we accept but untrustworthy in the acceptance of others. There are two ways of replying to this objection. The first is to note that the principle might be relativized to specific domains, to perception, memory, and so forth, without sacrificing the advantages just considered so long as one of the domains about which I am trustworthy is my own trustworthiness in what I accept. If, as the objection proposes, we are not trustworthy about some of the things we accept, but we can tell whether or not we are trustworthy, then we will be trustworthy about our trustworthiness. Thus, in place of A, I might accept some domain specific principle affirming that I am trustworthy in what I accept in certain domains d1, d2, and in the domain of what I accept about my trustworthiness. For example, consider the following principle: AD. I am trustworthy in what I accept in domains d1, d2 and so forth including the domain of my trustworthiness in what I accept. Some such modification AD of A will have the advantages of A. It will lead to the result that what we accept in the specified domains is reasonable and, included, is the domain of trustworthiness in what we accept. Therefore, the modified principle again explains why it is reasonable to accept it and to employ it as a reason for drawing further conclusions. From AD and my acceptance of it we may conclude that I am trustworthy in accepting AD and the consequences that follow from this conclusion outlined above.

202 I prefer, however, to defend the original principle A. First of all recall that the goal of acceptance is to accept that p if and only if p is worth accepting. For my acceptance to be trustworthy at all it must serve this goal. Consequently, if I think that I am not trustworthy in some domain, for example, in matters of what the income tax law says, then I should not accept things within that domain without the advice of an expert I consider to be trustworthy. In domains where I cannot tell whether something is worth accepting, whether it is true or false, for example, I should not accept anything. Thus, acceptance itself is influenced by my accepting that I am not trustworthy about certain matters. In respect to those matters, I should withhold my acceptance. Put another way, though I agree that there are domains in which I would not be trustworthy were I to accept claims about those domains, I am, in fact, trustworthy in what I accept because I withhold my acceptance in those domains. Secondly, I do not need to be perfect in order to be trustworthy. Premise A should not be treated as the following universal generalization: UGA. For any p, if I accept that p, then I am trustworthy in accepting that p. My imperfection, which is simple human fallibility, implies that I will sometimes accept something when I am not trustworthy in accepting it. Even given my seeking not to accept something in a domain in which I am not trustworthy, it remains possible that, being fallible and imperfect, I might think that I am trustworthy about the domain when I am not and, therefore, accept something when I am not trustworthy in accepting it. Thus, the proper interpretation of A is not UGA but rather a statement of capacity which might be formulated as follows: AC. I accept what I do out of my general capacity to be trustworthy in what I accept. Given that my capacity is fallible, the inference from premises 1 and 2 to 3 is not deductive but inductive. My inference from 1 and 2 to 3 or, even more clearly from 1,2C. I accept that p because I am trustworthy in what I accept to

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3. I am trustworthy in accepting that p is an inference like the inference from the premise that a fragile glass is dropped to the conclusion that it has broken. The reasoning, though not deductively valid is, nevertheless, itself reasonable. We will later seek the source of the reasonableness of reasoning and find it in the trustworthiness of reasoning. Let us now turn to the reasonableness of preference. Remember our distinction between preference and desire. Preferences are, for the most part, favorably evaluated desires, though, in fact, we can favorably evaluate a course of action which we consider but do not desire at all, for example, an action which we consider to be the fulfilling of an unpleasant obligation. Thus, preferences represent the results of evaluation. It is assumed in the philosophical and scientific literature that it is reasonable to do what you prefer to do. Expected utility theory assumes this, for example, whether applied to practical matters to yield preference or theoretical matters to yield acceptance. But this conclusion rests on the implicit acceptance of the trustworthiness of what you prefer. For, to take the instance of expected utility maximization, a person might have a coherent probability assignment and a coherent utility assignment yielding expected utility expectations, but his or her assignments might be completely ridiculous. It would not be reasonable for such an agent to act on his or her preferences. The practical syllogism in which one reasons from what one believes to be the best means to a desired end raises the same point. It is natural to suppose that the conclusion of such reasoning is reasonable, but, if the belief or desire is unreasonable, the conclusion may be so as well. The assumption that the conclusion is reasonable rests once again on the assumption that one is trustworthy in accepting what one believes and preferring what one desires. The reasonableness of preference rests, as does the reasonableness of acceptance, on the assumption of trustworthiness, in this case on the trustworthiness of what the person prefers. It is the acceptance of that trustworthiness that converts mere preference into reasons for action. The argument parallels the one given above and is as follows: 1. I prefer x.

204 2. I am trustworthy in what I prefer. 3. I am trustworthy in preferring x. (1,2) 4. Preferring x is more worthy of by trust than not preferring x. 5. It is more reasonable for me to prefer x than not to prefer x. 6. It is reasonable for me to prefer x. 7. It is reasonable for me to prefer a preference I reason to from my preference for x. 8. Thus, my preference for x is a reason for me to prefer a preference I reason to from it. The argument for the inference from 1 and 2 to 3 is as well as the arguments for the inferences from 3 to 4 and from 4 to 5 parallel the arguments pertaining to acceptance closely. If I am trustworthy in evaluating what will fulfill my practical objectives and, hence, trustworthy in what I prefer, then preferring what I do is more worthy of my trust than not preferring it. So 4 follows from 3. Again if my preferring something is more worthy of my trust than not preferring it, then reason favors my preferring it to my not preferring it, and it is more reasonable for me to prefer it than not to prefer it. Thus, 5 follows from 4. The argument for the inference from 5 to 6 again parallels the earlier one concerning acceptance. The inference from 6 to 7 involves assumptions about the reasonableness of my reasoning which I will subsequently defend. Again let us assume the reasonableness of my reasoning at this point. If it is reasonable for me to prefer something, and I reason from that preference to prefer something further, then that further preference is also reasonable. Hence the inference from 6 to 7. Moreover, the preference from which I reason is itself a reason for the further preference. Thus, in the practical case as in the theoretical one, the reasonableness of the premise, whether something I accept or prefer, converts it into a reason for further conclusions reached from it by reasoning. The two arguments concerning acceptance and preference are, therefore, very similar. There is, however, a disanalogy between the two arguments concerning acceptance and preference pertaining to the principles of trustworthiness. The principle used here as premise 2, namely, P. I am trustworthy in what I prefer

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is one I defend as reasonable by my acceptance of it and the trustworthiness of acceptance discussed above. This suggests that the theoretical reason of acceptance is more fundamental than the practical reason of preference, but, in fact, I suggest that this illusory. Just as my acceptance of the truth of A and P, the principles of the trustworthiness of acceptance and preference respectively, supplies a premise which enables me convert acceptance and preference into reasons, so my preference for the truth of A and P is required for the conversion to succeed. Let us consider why. Consider the following four principles in a loop of reason: AA. I accept that A

AP. I accept that P

PA. I prefer that A

PP. I prefer that P

Remember that A is the principle affirming that I am trustworthy in what I accept while P is the principle affirming that I am trustworthy in what I prefer. The role of acceptance of A and P, that is, AA and AP, in converting acceptance and preference into reasons for acceptance and preference is clear. Their role is the acceptance of a key premise. What is the role of PA and PP, preference for A and P? Consider the preference for A, that is, the preference for being trustworthy in what one accepts. If a person lacks preference PA for being trustworthy in what she accepts, then the person has grounds for doubt that she will be trustworthy in what she accepts which will undermine her trustworthiness in the acceptance of A. Consequently, premise A will be false and the argument to convert acceptances into reasons will fail. Moreover, and perhaps most profoundly, if a person lacks preference PP for being trustworthy in what she prefers, then the person lacks a reason for accepting that she will be trustworthy in what she prefers. Her lack of preference for being trustworthy in what she prefers provides grounds for doubt that she will be trustworthy in what she prefers which will undermine the trustworthiness of her preferences. Consequently, premise P will be false and the argument to convert preferences into reasons will fail. Finally, it is important to notice that since the acceptance of A and P depend on the preference PA, if the preference PP is lacking, there are grounds for doubting that preferences are trustworthy, namely, the lack of motivation to make them

206 trustworthy. Since she lacks the motivation to make her preferences trustworthy, she lacks something essential to being trustworthy in what she prefers. Consequently, there are grounds for doubting the trustworthiness of preference PA on which the acceptance of A and P depend. Thus, all the components in the loop of reason play a necessary role in the conversion of acceptances and preferences into reasons. Acceptance of the trustworthiness of acceptance and preference supplies the principal premises in the arguments for such conversion. But preference for being trustworthy in acceptances and preferences is essential to the truth of the premises supplied. Theoretical reason supports practical reason because our acceptance of our trustworthiness converts acceptance and preferences into reasons for thought and action. But practical reason supports theoretical reason because our preference for our trustworthiness in acceptance and preference is essential to our trustworthiness. All of the components of the loop of reason are essential to conversion of acceptances and preferences into reasons. None are cornerstones. Instead, they are parts, arcs, of a keystone loop. The metaphor of a keystone is important to the argument. Consider an arch with a keystone in the top of it. The keystone supports the other stones which would fall inward and collapse without it, and, at the same time, the other stones support the keystone. My trustworthiness in what I accept is a keystone in the arch of acceptance as my trustworthiness in what I prefer is a keystone in the arch of preference. But my acceptance of and preference for my trustworthiness in acceptance and preference connect these keystones into a greater loop. Think of the arches as arches in a dome with a circular keystone at the top supporting the arches as they support it. That is the way to think of keystones of our trustworthiness and our acceptances and preferences regarding it. There is an arch missing in the dome of rationality, however, to which we must now turn. All the arguments assume, however implicitly, the reasonableness of how we reason. Whatever the merits of the premises in all the arguments, they will be useless unless we reason in a reasonable way. We might reasonablely accept and prefer what we do, but for what we accept and prefer to constitute reasons we must be able to reason in a reasonable way from them. What is the source

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of the reasonableness of reasoning itself? The answer requires that we note a distinction between the inferences we make at the first level and the positive evaluation of them in metamental ascent. Just as I have distinguished between belief and acceptance, desire and preference, so I now distinguish between inference and reasoning. Reasoning, like acceptance and preference, ascends beyond the first level to an evaluation of it. Some inferences we evaluate negatively, others positively. The positive evaluation of inference, whether an inference actually drawn or only considered, is what I will call reasoning. Reasoning represents our best effort to proceed in a way that is valid and cogent. Are our best efforts good enough to conclude that they are reasonable? We require something more to conclude that our reasoning is reasonable for even our best efforts my go awry. What more is needed? The answer should be apparent. We need to assume that we are trustworthy in how we reason. Thus, consider the following principle: R. I am trustworthy in how I reason. We can use this principle to reach the conclusion that we are reasonable in how we reason. The argument runs as follows: 1. I reason that p. 2. I am trustworthy in how I reason. 3. I am trustworthy in my reasoning that p. 4. Reasoning that p is more worthy of my trust than not reasoning that p. 5. It is more reasonable for me to reason that p than not to reason that p. 6. It is reasonable for me to reason that p. This argument need proceed no further. Reasoning supplies us with further premises for reasoning, of course, but these are things we accept or prefer as a result of the reasoning in a reasonable way. The expansion of the keystone loop to include principle R used as premise 2 in the argument clarifies the nature of the loop. To use the argument above, I must accept the premises of this argument. But that is not enough. I must be reasonable in accepting them. To reason to that conclusion, I will need the premise that I am trustworthy in what I accept and, as we have seen, the preference for my being trustworthy in what I accept, and, ultimately, in what I prefer as well.

208 I reason that I am trustworthy in how I reason in the argument just formulated when the variable p is replaced by R itself. I reasoned that I am trustworthy in what I accept and prefer as well in the early arguments. I must accept and prefer that I am trustworthy in how I reason to sustain the argument above. Thus, the keystone loop expands to include the following: AA. I accept that A AP. I accept that P. AR. I accept that R PA. I prefer that A PP. I prefer that P PR. I prefer that P RA. I reason that A RP. I reason that P RR. I reason that R The keystone loop is the principle that I am trustworthy in what I accept, in what I prefer, and how I reason including my acceptance of, preference for, and reasoning to the principle itself. Where do reasons come from? They come from the keystone loop of my trustworthiness. My trustworthiness is not infallibility. How often must I succeed in order to be trustworthy? I must succeed a trustworthy amount of the time. There is no naturalistic exit from the keystone loop of trustworthiness. The dome of rationality is supported by the arches supported by the keystone loop of our trustworthiness. With the keystone in place, the dome stands solid against the assault of irrationality. But it all depends on our trustworthiness. Moreover, a dynamic component is important to our trustworthiness. To be trustworthy a person must be trustworthy in the way she changes what she accepts, prefers and how she reasons. The dynanics of change bring in a social aspect. Changes in what a person accepts, prefers and how she reasons require the evaluation of the trustworthiness of others. No one is an island of trustworthiness unto herself. We become trustworthy by our evaluations of the trustworthiness of others and the aggregation of those evaluations. This, however, is another subject for another time. This paper ends with a keystone loop of the individual supporting the arched dome of her rationality.

References Alston, William. (1985). “Thomas Reid on Epistemic Principles.” History of Philosophy Quarterly 2: 435-452. Alston, William. (1986). “Epistemic Circularity.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 47: 1-30.

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Audi, Robert. (1988). Belief, Justification and Knowledge. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Baier, Annette. (1992). “Trust” In The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, Grethe Peterson (ed.). Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press. Bartlett, Steven (ed.). (1992). Reflexivity: A Source-Book in Self-Reference. New York: Elsevier Science. Black, Max. (1958). “Self-Supporting Inductive Arguments.” Journal of Philosophy 55: 718-725. Chisholm, Roderick. (1989). Theory of Knowledge. 3rd ed. Englewood Cliffs, NJ : Prentice-Hall. Cohen, Jonathan L. (1977). The Provable and the Probable. Oxford, Clarendon Press. Feigl, Herbert. (1961). “On the Vindication of Induction.” Philosophy of Science 28: 212-216. Hofstadter, Douglas. (1979). Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid. New York: Basic Books. Holton, Richard. (1994). “Deciding to Trust, Coming to Believe.” Australiasian Journal of Philosophy 72: 63-76. Kordig, Carl. (1983). “Self Reference and Philosophy.” American Philosophical Quarterly 20: 207-216. Lehrer, Keith. (1989). Thomas Reid. New York: Routledge. Mele, Alfred. (1986). “Incontinent Believing.” Philosophical Quarterly 36: 212-222. Reichenbach, Hans. (1940). “On the Justification of Induction.” Journal of Philosophy 37: 97-103. Suber, Peter. (1987). “A Bibliography of Works on Reflexivity.” In Self-Reference, Peter Suber (ed.). Dordrecht:Nijhoff. Van Cleve, James. (1979). “Foundationalism, Epistemic Principles and the Cartesian Circle.” The Philosophical Review 88: 55-91. Notes 1 Keith Lehrer, Metamind, (Oxford, 1990). 2 Thomas Reid, The Works of Thomas Reid, D. D., Eighth Edition, Sir William Hamilton, ed.,(Edinburgh, 1895), Vol I. p. 448. 3 Ibid.

210 Alexander Ulfig Stufen der Rechtfertigung

abstract For the last 30 years there have been debates in philosophy about the concept of rationality. In anglo-american circles they have been primary characterized as discussions about “justified beliefs.” By contrast, the debate in Germany among discourse-theorists (Habermas, Apel) has been linked to the problem of justification of communicative speech-acts (within the concept of the entire communicative situation). Herbert Schnädelbach has modified the discours-theoretical account. His concept can be regarded along a number of dimensions. He has developed a linguistic analysis of the validity claims made in various speech-act situations (following Paul Taylor). In Schnädelbach’s view, normative characterizations of speech acts can be used descriptively, too. Furthermore, the hierarchy of justifications ends on the level of rational choice. My starting point here is: there is a fundamental distinction between justifications in everyday-life and a theoretical level of justification (discoursive justifications). Thus, I discuss the hierarchy of justifications developed by Schnädelbach. Furthermore, I evaluate Schnädelbach’s concept in a semantic perspective. I will show that Schnädelbach’s pragmatical account requires a semantic analysis. Without recourse to such analysis, we cannot understand the universe of normative language. In den letzten 30 Jahren gibt es in der Philosophie Debatten über Rationalität, die im angelsächsischen Bereich als Diskussionen über “justified beliefs” charakterisiert werden können. Der Rationalitätsbegriff wurde hier weitgehend epistemologisch bestimmt. In der diskurstheoretischen Debatte in Deutschland (Habermas, Apel) wird die Explikation der Rationalität hingegen an die Rechtfertigungsproblematik von kommunikativen Sprechhandlungen gebunden. Herbert Schnädelbach hat 1977 die Arbeit “Reflexion und Diskurs” veröffentlicht, in der er den diskurstheoretischen Ansatz in wesentlichen Punkten fortentwickelt hat und auf die sich seine späteren Überlegungen zum Begriff der Rationalität zum Teil stützen. Die Schnädelbachsche Konzeption des normativen Diskurses liefert eine linguistische Analyse der Geltungsansprüche von Sprechhandlungen. Eine weitere These von Schnädelbach besagt, daß auch von normativen Charakterisierungen ein deskriptiver Gebrauch

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gemacht werden kann. Die Stufen der Justifikation finden ihre Grenzen in der rationalen Wahl einer Lebensform. Schnädelbachs Vorschläge, insbesondere seine sprachanalytische, linguistische Transformation der transzendentalen Geltungsreflexion und damit die linguistische Charakterisierung der Geltungsansprüche, wurden weder von Habermas noch von Apel aufgenommen. Ich gehe davon aus, daß es sich bei Rechtfertigungen auf allen im folgenden dargelegten Stufen primär um Antworten auf Geltungsfragen handelt. Daher ist es in einem ersten Schritt angebracht, die Rede von “Geltung” und “geltungstheoretisch” zu präzisieren. Eine semantische Analyse von normativen Redemitteln betrachte ich als grundlegend gegenüber einer rein sprachpragmatischen - hier liegt mein Hauptkritikpunkt an Schnädelbach. Zweitens sollen die einzelnen Rechtfertigungsstufen im Sinne einer Hierarchie dargestellt werden, wobei die Unterscheidung von alltagskommunikativen und diskursiven Rechtfertigungen maßgebend ist. Der Weg durch die einzelnen Rechtfertigungsstufen führt uns zu einem Begriff der rationalen Wahl, der sowohl für kommunikations- als auch für handlungstheoretische Zusammenhänge von Bedeutung ist. Es empfiehlt sich, “Geltung” als Thema der Verhandlung von geltungstheoretischen Prädikationen zu behandeln. Die Geltungsdimensionen der Rede können mittels geltungstheoretischer Charakterisierungen eingeführt werden. Hierzu verwendet Schnädelbach das Konzept der “normativen Rede”. Ziel einer solchen Analyse im Kontext der Diskurstheorie ist es, normative Gesichtspunkte für die Thematisierung und Validierung von Geltungsansprüchen aufzuzeigen. Die Geltungsdimensionen betreffen erstens das sprachliche Alltagshandeln (das primär-kommunikative Handeln), zweitens die Thematisierung und Validierung der Alltagskommunikation im Diskurs, drittens - in einem weiteren rekonstruktiven Schritt bzw. auf einer höheren rekonstruktiven Ebene - die Thematisierung und Validierung der Geltungsdimensionen der diskursiven Rede. Um die Geltungsbasis der Rede zugänglich zu machen, bedarf es linguistischer Charakterisierungen. Um argumentative Rede als einen Kommunikationsmodus im Zusammenhang mit der Sprachverwendung der normativen Rede zu rekonstruieren - denn hier, in der normativen Rede,

212 werden Geltungsansprüche thematisiert -, soll nach Schnädelbach das Prädikat “geltungstheoretisch” durch den Ausdruck “in normativer Rede” ersetzt werden. Es muß hier hervorgehoben werden, daß es sich hier nicht um “faktische Geltung” (“faktische Anerkennung oder faktische Problematisierung von Geltendem in bezug auf seinen Geltungsanspruch”), also um empirisches Anerkanntsein von Sätzen handelt, sondern um “normative Geltung”, d.h. um Geltung, die nur in normativer Rede thematisiert und problematisiert werden kann.1

Diese

Unterscheidung,

die

ihren

philosophiegeschichtlichen

Entstehungsort in der kantischen Philosophie hat (vgl. die kantische Frage “quid iuris?”), taucht in unterschiedlichen Kontexten in der modernen Philosophie auf. “Faktische Geltung” kann sowohl deskriptiv (z.B. als ein sozialer Tatbestand) als auch hermeneutisch (im Prozeß des Sinnverstehens) thematisiert werden. Geltungstheoretische Charakterisierungen unterscheiden sich von deskriptiven und hermeneutischen dadurch, daß sie (a) faktisch Geltendes im Hinblick auf seinen “normativen Sinn” und (b) diesen Sinn im Hinblick auf eine mögliche (nicht faktische) Anerkennung durch den Charakterisierenden explizieren. Geltung soll nicht ontologisch durch Rekurs auf einen ontischen Gültigkeits- oder Normenbereich, sondern mit Hilfe “linguistischer Charakterisierungen normativer Rede” problematisiert werden. Mittels der linguistischen Charakterisierungen soll die argumentative Rede, in der Geltungsansprüche thematisiert werden, sprachanalytisch rekonstruiert werden. Von besonderer Bedeutung für die Charakterisitk der normativen Rede ist die terminologische Unterscheidung von Geltung und Gültigkeit. Unter “Geltung” ist hier nur die Dimension zu verstehen, in der bestimmte Ansprüche und Bedingungen charakterisiert werden, ohne daß sie gerechtfertigt, eingelöst oder erfüllt wären. “Gültigkeit” soll hingegen diejenige Dimension anzeigen, in der “Legitimität von Geltungsansprüchen” und das “Erfülltsein von Geltungsbedingungen” bereits bestehen.2 Von “Geltung” spricht man dort, wo ein Anspruch erhoben, gegebenenfalls problematisiert und verhandelt wird, wo etwas gelten soll, von “Gültigkeit” dort, wo ein Anspruch bereits eingelöst ist, wo etwas bereits besteht, “gilt”.

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Die entscheidende Frage in diesem Zusammenhang lautet: Was kann Geltung beanspruchen, bzw. was kann gültig sein? Nach Schnädelbach sind drei Gültigkeitsbereiche zu unterscheiden: (a) Dinge, Sachverhalte und Ereignisse: Geltungsansprüche (Ansprüche auf Legalität, Legitimität und Regelgerechtheit) werden hier “von uns” in bezug auf Gegenstände, Sachverhalte und Ereignisse erhoben; Schnädelbach spricht von “normierten Sachverhalten” (Geltung 1). (b) Regeln, Normen, Gesetze, Vorschriften können gültig oder ungültig sein; diese “Sachverhalte” erheben “uns gegenüber” normative Geltung man spricht hier von “normativen Sachverhalten” (Geltung 2); Sachverhalte selbst erheben hier Geltung (nicht nur die Formulierung der Sachverhalte beansprucht Geltung). (c) Redegegenstände normativer Diskurse, die die Sprechakte als Handlungen und den propositionalen Gehalt thematisieren (Geltung 3).3 Geltung 1 und Geltung 2 betreffen Redegegenstände des alltagskommunikativen Gebrauchs normativer Rede, Geltung 3 betrifft die Redegegenstände normativer Diskurse. In der Alltagskommunikation werden normative Prädikate (“gut”, “richtig”, “geboten”) auf Sachverhalte bezogen; diese Sachverhalte bestehen oder bestehen nicht, gelten oder gelten nicht; sie können jedoch weder wahr noch falsch sein. Daher ist es angebracht, normative Aussagen (evaluative und präskriptive) der Alltagskommunikation von diskursiv-normativen Aussagen, die sich auf deskriptive und normative Aussagen der Alltagskommunikation selbst beziehen, zu unterscheiden. Dies hat Folgen für die Hierarchisierung der Rechtfertigungsstufen; ich werde im folgenden auf die Unterscheidung zwischen alltagskommunikativen und diskursiven Rechtfertigungen einen großen Wert legen.4 Schnädelbach analysiert nicht die Semantik der “normativen Sprache”, sondern geht davon aus, daß der explikative Diskurs im Sinne einer Pragmatik der Erläuterung die Verwendung der Redemittel zu klären vermag. Diese zunächst plausible Darstellung setzt sich dem Einwand eines pragmatischen Fehlschlusses aus. Auch eine Pragmatik der Erläuterung muß sich auf eine semantische Analyse der in ihm verwendeten Ausdrücke stützen müssen, da die Erläuterung der entsprechenden linguistischen Mittel in verschiedenen Verwendungssituationen nicht semantisch leer sein soll. Dies betrifft alle

214 Redemittel

des

normativen

Diskurses

und

die

sprachlichen

Referenzgegenstände. Schnädelbach geht davon aus, daß der explikative Diskurs eine Sache der Übersetzung ist, d.h. ein Explanandum Ei wird in einen anderen Kontext übertragen, da der vorherige dieses Explanandum unverständlich ließ. Daraus ziehe ich die Folgerung, daß wir einer semantischen Analyse bedürfen, um den Gebrauch der normativen Redemittel zu bestimmen. Diese Analyse sollte nicht auf der Basis des Regelbegriffs, sondern der einer kognitiven Semantik erfolgen.5 Die Semantik der normativen Sprache (Sprache als System von Ausdrücken) betrifft 1. semantische Eigenschaften der Wörter, mit denen wir normative Kennzeichnungen äußern, 2. semantische Eigenschaften der Wörter, mit denen wir Gründe für oder gegen normative Charakterisierungen abgeben; das Denken in diesem Kanon (1-2) heißt, die normative Sprache verwenden zu können. Ein Vorschlag für eine semantische Analyse soll unten anhand der Rechtfertigungsstufe der Verifikation gemacht werden. Ich möchte von einer Charakterisitk normativer Rede im Zusammenhang der Alltagskommunikation ausgehen. Charakterisierungen in normativer Rede, die dem alltagskommunikativen Handeln eigen sind, werden von Schnädelbach normative Charakterisierungen im Gegensatz zu diskursiv-normativen Charakterisierungen genannt; in normativen Charakterisierungen werden normative Ausdrücke prädizierend den Redegegenständen (Dingen, Personen, Ereignissen, Handlungen, Eigenschaften) zugesprochen. Die meist - aber nicht ausschließlich - objektsprachlich gebrauchten Ausdrücke der Alltagskommunikation können im Hinblick auf ihren Gebrauch untersucht werden (es ist möglich, auch objektsprachlich über Ausdrücke zu reden). Zu den Referenzobjekten dieser Rede gehören dann Dinge, Sachverhalte usw., aber auch “Sprachliches als Ding, Sachverhalt oder Ereignis (Hervorhebung d.V.)”.6 Zunächst müssen allerdings diese Gegenstände als Referenzobjekte normativer Prädikationen identifiziert werden; um diesen Gegenständen Prädikate zuzusprechen, müssen sie als für die normative Rede geeignete Gegenstände fungieren und zum Referenzbereich einer normativen Prädikatenklasse gehören (bei G. Ryle heißt eine solche Prädikatenklasse “normative Kategorie”). Die Identifikation von Gegenständen normativer Rede wird in der identifizierenden Kennzeichnung vom Typus “Dies ist ein ...”, “Der ...” usw. vollzogen,

Stufen der Rechtfertigung

215

die als Bestandteil der normativen Charakterisierung aufzufassen ist. Zur normativen Charakterisierung gehört neben ihr die prädizierte Beurteilung; im Falle der “prädizierenden Beurteilung” werden den Redegegenständen normative Prädikate vom Typus “... ist gut”, “... ist richtig”, “... sollte der Fall sein” zu- oder abgesprochen, die sich in evaluative und präskriptive aufteilen lassen. “Evaluative Basisterme” sind “gut” und “richtig”, der “präskriptive Basisterm” heißt “sollte”. Beide Gebrauchsweisen gehören zur normativen Beurteilung.7 Können normative Kennzeichnungen und normative Beurteilungen der Alltagskommunikation auch im normativen Diskurs vorkommen? Die diskursiv-normativen Charakterisierungen sollen nach Schnädelbach als normative Charakterisierungen von normativen und deskriptiven Charakterisierungen begriffen werden; er spricht hier von normativen Charakterisierungen zweiter Stufe, die selbst wiederum normative Kennzeichnungen und Beurteilungen beinhalten; normative Charakterisierungen zweiter Stufe sind geltungstheoretische Charakterisierungen der Geltungsansprüche im Sinne von Geltung 3. Schnädelbach schlägt an dieser Stelle folgendes Modell normativer Charakterisierungen vor: Die Behauptung “a

0

S” soll als Einsetzungsfall von

“xn1 0 Pn1" auftreten; “x” steht für Gegenstände aller Art (Dinge, Ereignisse, Personen, Handlungen, Eigenschaften), “P” steht für Prädikate, der Index n1 zeigt an, daß x und P zu einer bestimmten normativen Kategorie Kn1 gehören. Explizit wird in “a 0 S” behauptet, daß dem Gegenstand a die Eigenschaft P zugesprochen wird. Implizit lassen sich jedoch folgende Unterstellungen formulieren: (a) “a ist ein Wert von xn1", (b) “S gehört zur Prädikatorenklasse Pn1", (c) “Es trifft zu, daß a 0 S”. Gültigkeit dieser Unterstellungen beansprucht man, wenn “a 0 S” behauptet wird. Die normative Charakterisierung erster Stufe “a 0 S” darf somit selbst normativ charakterisiert werden, und das bedeutet, daß man den Sinn von “a 0 S” in normativer Hinsicht kennzeichnet.8 In der normativen Kennzeichnung kann der Sinn eines Sprechaktes als Gegenstand einer normativen Charakterisierung in die diskursive Rede eingeführt und das “Woraufhin” dieses Sinnes festgelegt werden. Dabei müssen die kennzeichnenden Ausdrücke (“Es wurde gesagt, daß ..., und damit unterstellt, daß ...usf.”) selbst zur Kategorie der normativen Sprache gehören, wenn das, was sie kennzeichnen, als Gegenstand einer möglichen normativen

216 Beurteilung eingeführt werden soll; Schnädelbach spricht in diesem Fall von diskursiv-normativen Kennzeichnungen. Indem die in alltagssprachlichen Charakterisierungen beanspruchten Redemittel als Gegenstände möglicher normativer Beurteilung in die diskursive Rede eingeführt werden, legt man den normativen Sinn aus, d.h. die Geltungsansprüche der Redemittel als Gegenstände einer möglichen normativen Beurteilung. In der normativen Beurteilung - sie ist die normative Charakterisierung der durch die diskursivnormative Kennzeichnung bereitgestellten Redegegenstände - werden Prädikate wie “korrekt gebildet”, “richtig angewandt”, “vernünftig”, “gültig”, “wahr” verwendet; Schnädelbach nennt dies die diskursiv-normative Beurteilung. Den alltagskommunikativen Geltungsanspruch erhebt man nicht im normativen Diskurs,

weil

durch

den

“Wechsel

der

normativen

Hinsicht

der

Charakterisierung beim Übergang zum Diskurs” andere Geltungsansprüche erhoben werden - Geltungsansprüche der diskursiv-normativen Charakterisierung, die man selber thematisieren und virtualisieren kann. Von besonderer Relevanz ist der Umstand, daß der normative Diskurs (also die diskursiv-normative Charakterisierung zweiter Stufe) nicht nur normative Charakterisierungen erster Stufe der Alltagskommunikation, sondern auch deskriptive Charakterisierungen zum Thema macht; dies wird mit Hilfe der folgenden Prädikate vollzogen: “logisch konsistent”, “grammatisch richtig gebildet”, “verständlich”, “wahr”. Dies führt uns zu der These, daß der normative Diskurs Geltungsansprüche verschiedenster Art problematisiert, d.h. alle Aspekte des alltagskommunikativen Handelns berücksichtigt, die für eine normative Charakterisierung geeignet sind. Die Wahl dieser Aspekte hängt von den jeweiligen normativen Gesichtspunkten

ab.

Die

diskursiv-normativen

Charakterisierungen

unterscheiden sich von den normativen Charakterisierungen des alltagskommunikativen Handelns dadurch, daß (a) “ihr Gegenstandsbereich nur die Redemittel des primär-kommunikativen Handelns umfaßt, sofern deren Sinn Gegenstand einer möglichen normativen Charakterisierung ist; (b) in ihnen kommen nur solche normativen Prädikate vor, die sich sinnvollerweise auf den Sinn jener Redemittel beziehen lassen”.9 Zu solchen Prädikaten - neben den schon erwähnten -, die nicht den Vollzug, sondern den “Sinn” eines Sprechaktes betreffen, gehören: “Es ist wahr: ...”, “Es ist richtig: ...”, “Es ist beweisbar: ...”

Stufen der Rechtfertigung

217

oder “...ist gerechtfertigt”. Beurteilungen von Sprechakten sind Gegenstände der diskursiven Rede, nicht die Sprechakte als solche. Diskursive Beurteilungen von z.B. Aufforderungen enthalten selbst keine Aufforderungen. Eine Beurteilung des Sprechakts “Ich fordere Dich auf, x zu tun” hätte z.B. die Form “Der Sprechakt ‘Ich fordere Dich auf, x zu tun` ist sinnvoll” oder “Der Sprechakt ‘Ich fordere Dich auf, x zu tun` ist berechtigt”. Auch diskursiv-normative Charakterisierungen

können

zum

Gegenstand

diskursiv-normativer

Charakterisierungen werden; in diesem Fall untersucht man sie Schnädelbach zufolge so wie die Charakterisierungen des alltagskommunikativen Handelns. War bisher von der Thematisierung von Geltungsansprüchen mittels der normativen Charakterisierung die Rede, so soll im folgenden die Eigenart von Überprüfung und Rechtfertigung von Geltungsansprüchen gegenüber ihrer bloßen Thematisierung der Gegenstand der Untersuchung sein. Im ersten Schritt empfiehlt es sich, den “überprüfenden und rechtfertigenden Gebrauch von normativen Charakterisierungen” in der Alltagskommunikation zu behandeln (normative Überprüfung bzw. Rechtfertigung). Die normative Überprüfung wird eingeleitet mit der Frage: “Trifft es zu, daß p?”. Für “p” steht kein Ding, keine Person oder Handlung, sondern ein Sachverhalt, der durch eine normative Charakterisierung in die Rede eingeführt werden soll, um einer normativen Überprüfung zugänglich zu sein; erstens erfolgt also die normative Charakterisierung, erst daraufhin können Sachverhalte normativ überprüft werden.

Mögliche

Gegenstände

der

normativen

Überprüfung

im

alltagskommunikativen Handeln sind demnach die durch normative Charakterisierung in die Rede eingeführten normativ-relevanten Sachverhalte. Die überprüfende Verwendung normativer Charakterisierungen wird also mittels der Frage “Trifft es zu, daß p?” in Gang gesetzt; anhand dieser Frage will man nicht erfahren, welche normative Eigenschaft dem Redegegenstand von “p” zu- oder abgesprochen wird, sondern ob der Gegenstand, dem eine Eigenschaft bereits zu- oder abgesprochen ist, diese Eigenschaft wirklich besitzt. Die Antwort auf die Frage “Trifft es zu, daß p?” kann eine affirmative modale Beurteilung sein: “Ja, wirklich p!”. Der Umstand, daß einem Redegegenstand eine normativ-relevante Eigenschaft in der normativen Charakterisierung zuoder abgesprochen wird, liegt der Überprüfung von Sachverhalten voraus.

218 Deshalb kann zwischen einer Überprüfung von Sachverhalten und der normativen Charakterisierung von Gegenständen differenziert werden. Unter Rechtfertigung ist zunächst ein “Verwendungstypus normativer Charakterisierungen” zu verstehen. Alle Rechtfertigungen haben gemeinsam, daß sie nicht als Präskriptionen auftreten können, obwohl sie sich auf evaluative und präskriptive Sätze beziehen - Präskriptionen können nicht zur Rechtfertigung von Präskriptionen verwendet werden. Um die positiven Vorstellungen, die mit dem Begriff “Rechtfertigung” assoziiert werden, zu vermeiden, schlägt Schnädelbach vor, den Ausdruck “Justifikation” zu verwenden. Er soll dasjenige bezeichnen, das als Antwort auf normative Überprüfung zu verstehen ist - Beispielsweise die Antwort auf die Frage “Trifft es zu, daß p”. Im alltagskommunikativen Handeln beziehen sich Justifikationen auf normativ-relevante Sachverhalte: “die Existenz von a (als Wert von xn);... daß a die Eigenschaft (als Wert von Pn) besitzt; das Ereignis En; die Handlungen etc.” Diese Sachverhalte sind justifiziert, wenn gezeigt wird, daß sie dem normativen Anspruch genügen, der durch den Index n angezeigt ist.10 Zwei Arten der Justifikation können in der Alltagskommunikation genannt werden: (a) Justifikation “... daß ...” und (b) “... weil ...”. Im Falle von (a) ist ein Sachverhalt pn gerechtfertigt, wenn p der durch n angezeigten Norm entspricht; diese Norm zeigt man modal auf: “... ist wirklich ...” (konstative Justifikation). Im Falle (b) ist ein Sachverhalt pn gerechtfertigt, wenn er zu einer Gruppe von Sachverhalten gehört, in der alle Sachverhalte bereits gerechtfertigt sind (Justifikation durch Ableitung - argumentative Justifikation).

Dabei sind

allerdings nicht nur logische Ableitungen, sondern auch z.B. pragmatische Rechtfertigungen gemeint. Argumentative Justifikationen haben die Form: “‘p` ist wahr, weil ‘q` wahr ist”; die Gültigkeit einer Behauptung wird von der Gültigkeit einer anderen Behauptung abhängig gemacht, wobei die Gültigkeit der anderen Behauptung unterstellt wird. Im Falle von pragmatischen Rechtfertigungen hat die argumentative Justifikation die Form: “pn weil qn” (pn ist durch qn gerechtfertigt, weil qn selbst schon gerechtfertigt ist). Die konstative Justifikation und die empirische Verifikation haben die Konstatierung gemeinsam; der Unterschied liegt in dem, was sie konstatieren; im Falle der

Stufen der Rechtfertigung

219

konstativen Justifikation ist es das “Gerechtfertigtsein eines Sachverhalts”, im Falle der empirischen Verifikation das “Bestehen eines Sachverhalts”. An dieser Stelle möchte ich eine semantische Analyse der Rechtfertigungsstufe Verifikation vorschlagen, und zwar der Verifikation von elementaren Wahrnehmungsaussagen “a ist F”, in denen einem Gegenstand ein Prädikat oder mehreren Gegenständen ein mehrstelliges Prädikat zugesprochen wird. Der Gegenstand wird über die Bedeutung der in der Aussage verwendeten singulären Termini wie Eigennamen, Kennzeichnungen und deiktischen Ausdrücken festgelegt. Wenn auf den festgelegten Gegenstand ein Prädikat “zutrifft”, ist die Aussage wahr. Die Verifikation von elementaren Wahrnehmungsaussagen knüpft an die Bedeutung der einzelnen Teile der Aussage an. Insofern kann die Rechtfertigungsstufe der Verifikation mittels einer semantischen Analyse der singulären Termini und der Prädikate geklärt werden. Eine solche Analyse wird u.a. von Tugendhat durchgeführt. Die Verifikation des Prädikats “F” wird durch die Verwendung des Satzes “dies ist F (bzw. nicht F)” in verschiedenen Verifikationssituationen erklärt (das Wort “dies” steht jeweils für einen verschiedenen Gegenstand, jedoch immer für einen Wahrnehmungsgegenstand).11 Man muß zunächst eine oder mehrere passende Situationen für “dies ist a” überprüfen, um in der allgemeinen Verifikationssituation für “dies ist F” mit Recht sagen zu können “dies ist a”. Wie kann aber die allgemeine Verwendungsregel der allgemeinen Verwendung von “F” in “a ist F” bestimmt werden? Die Verwendungsregel kann hier nicht durch die Verwendungssituation festgelegt werden. Die Verifikationsregel des Prädikats zu erklären heißt, zu zeigen, wie bei einem beliebigen Gegenstand festgestellt werden kann, ob das Prädikat zutrifft. Im Normalfall wird das Prädikat mit einem beliebigen singulären Terminus “a” verbunden (“a” steht für einen Gegenstand, der nicht in der Wahrnehmungssituation gegeben zu sein braucht). Somit kann das Prädikat “F” in Verbindung mit einem singulären Terminus “a” verwendet werden; das Prädikat “F” trifft auf den mit “a” gemeinten Gegenstand zu. Daraus folgt die Angabe der Wahrheitsbedingung einer prädikativen Behauptung “a ist F”: “Die Behauptung, daß a F ist, ist wahr, wenn man den Satz ‘dies ist F’ in der Situation, in der man das Wort ‘dies’ für

220 ‘a’ ersetzen kann (sagen kann ‘a ist dies’), richtig verwenden kann, ‘richtig’ gemäß der vorausgesetzten Erklärung der Verifikationsregel von ‘F’.”12 Was die argumentative Justifikationen angeht, so nennt man sie oft Begründungen. Im alltagskommunikativen Handeln figurieren Begründungen als Antworten auf “epistemische Warum-Fragen”, z.B. “Warum ist das Wetter heute so schlecht”?; Antwort: “Der Grund ist: Weil die Temperatur gefallen ist”. Von dieser Begründungsform sind zu unterscheiden Antworten auf Fragen “nach Intentionen und Handlungszielen”: “Warum hast Du das getan?”; Antwort: “Der Grund für mich war ...”; und Begründungen als Antworten auf Fragen nach der “Berechtigung, etwas zu tun”: “Wie kommst Du eigentlich dazu, dies zu tun?”; Antwort: “Dies mußte aus den und den Gründen getan werden”. Die ersten zwei Begründungsformen nennt Schnädelbach “explanatorisch”, die dritte “justifikatorisch”. Im alltagskommunikativen Handeln beziehen sich die Justifikationen “nur implizit” auf normative Charakterisierungen; “implizit” bedeutet hier, daß sie affirmativ oder negativ auf die durch die normativen Charakterisierungen in die Rede eingeführten Sachverhalte Bezug nehmen. In Diskursen dagegen sind normative Charakterisierungen selbst Gegenstände der Justifikation.13 In Anlehnung an P.W. Taylor unterscheidet Schnädelbach vier Stufen der Justifikation: (a) Verifikation - primäre Justifikation (siehe oben). (b) Validation - die Rechtfertigung der Gültigkeit oder Angemessenheit der Regeln und Standards für den konkreten Fall einer Evaluation oder Präskription. Durch die Validation wird die Anwendung der Regeln und Standards gerechtfertigt. Die Rechtfertigung von normativen Charakterisierungen ist erst dann vollständig, wenn sie die Validation umfaßt. (c) Vindikation - die Rechtfertigung des Akzeptierens eines normativen Gesichtspunktes und die pragmatische Rechtfertigung der Wahl eines normativen Gesichtspunktes. (d) Rationale Wahl - sie verweist auf Minimalbedingungen der Rationalität der Wahl normativer Gesichtspunkt.14 Lassen sich diese vier Typen von Justifikationen nur innerhalb des alltagskommunikativen Handelns finden oder überschreiten sie den Bereich der Alltagskommunikation und werden dadurch diskursiv?

Stufen der Rechtfertigung

221

Nach Schnädelbach bleiben die Justifikationen auf den Stufen von Validation, Vindikation und rationaler Wahl von Sachverhalten, die durch normative Charakterisierung in die Rede eingeführt werden, innerhalb der Alltagskommunikation, weil sie sich, wie dargestellt wurde, auf Sachverhalte beziehen und nicht wie Diskurse auf normative Charakterisierungen von Sachverhalten. Die diskursiv-normative Justifikation ist die normative Rechtfertigung der Geltungsansprüche der normativen und deskriptiven Charakterisierungen von Sachverhalten. Die vier Justifikationsstufen tauchen in diskursiven Kontexten auf als Justifikationen des Geltungsanspruchs normativer und deskriptiver Charakterisierungen selber. Die diskursiv-normativen Überprüfungen und diskursiven Justifikationen beziehen sich nicht nur auf die deskriptiven und normativen Charakterisierungen des alltagskommunikativen Handelns, sondern auch auf den gesamten Justifikationszusammenhang, also auf die alltagskommunikative Validation, Vindikation und rationale Wahl. Die rationale Wahl einer Lebensform bestimmt die Vindikation der Standards und Regeln und die Auswahl der normativen Gesichtspunkte. Die Vindikation betrifft die Rechtfertigung der Akzeptanz von normativen Gesichtspunkten. Davon hängt qualitativ und strukturell der ganze Evaluations- und Justifikationszusammenhang ab. Es kann jedoch verschiedene Wert-Systeme geben, zwischen denen ich mich im Konfliktfall entscheiden muß; hierdurch wird die Vindikation nochmals bewertet (Vindikation der Vindikation); wir brauchen hier die Rechtfertigungsstufe der rationalen Wahl. Die Hierarchie der Rechtfertigungen findet ihr Ende in der rationalen Wahl einer Lebensform. Die rationale Wahl soll dann gerechtfertigt sein, wenn sie rational ist; zwischen beiden Prädikaten besteht nach Taylor Bedeutungsgleichheit. Rationale Wahl wäre dann auch in diesem Sinne gerechtfertigte Wahl. Wodurch wird sie aber gerechtfertigt? Laut Schnädelbach kann eine solche Rechtfertigung nicht argumentativer Art, das Prädikat “rational” kein Gegenstand der argumentativen Justifikation sein. Es kann nur in einem explikativen Diskurs aufgezeigt werden.15 Die Justifikationen finden ihr Ende in einer Explikation des Prädikats “rational”, die nur noch akzeptiert oder zurückgewiesen werden kann. In der diskurstheoretischen Rationalitätskonzeption von J. Habermas finden wir keinen Platz für eine solche entscheidungstheoretische Komponente. Natürlich

222 ist “rationale Wahl” kein rein semantischer Begriff; er betrifft einerseits die kognitive Basis in Bezug auf die Entscheidungsfähigkeit von Personen, andererseits die Selektion von möglichen Orientierungen im handlungstheoretischen Kontext. Zu den Bedingungen der rationalen Wahl gehören: 1. der Wählender darf nicht unter äußeren oder inneren Zwängen stehen; 2. er muß auf der Basis seiner eigenen Überlegungen zu der Entscheidung kommen; 3. der Lebensweg muß für ihn durch Exemplifizierungen

weitgehend

durchsichtig sein; 4. es gibt keine absolute rationale Wahl; das Konzept der rationalen Wahl impliziert eine Pluralität von Lebensformen und privilegiert keinen einzigen “richtigen” Lebensweg. Diese Bedingungen können nicht angeben, für was für einen Lebensweg ich mich entscheide. Dies kann nur durch einen Wechsel der Betrachtungsperspektive geschehen. Es bedarf einer evolutionären Perspektive, in der die Selektion der zur Disposition stehenden Lebenswege vorgenommen wird. Eine solche Perspektive ermöglicht auch einen interkulturellen Vergleich von Lebensformen.

Anmerkungen 1 H. Schnädelbach, Reflexion und Diskurs. Fragen einer Logik der Philosophie, Frankfurt am Main 1977, S. 223. 2 Ebd., S. 226. 3 Ebd., S. 228. 4 A. Ulfig, Lebenswelt, Reflexion und Sprache. Zur Thematisierung der Lebenswelt in Phänomenologie, Existenzialontologie und Diskurstheorie, Würzburg 1997. 5 vgl. zu einer kognitiven Semantik: G. Preyer, “Sprachbedeutung ohne Regelbefolgung”, erscheint 1997. 6 H. Schnädelbach, op. cit. 1977, S. 183. 7 Ebd., S. 234. 8 Ebd., S. 236. 9 Ebd., S. 241. 10 Ebd., S. 246. 11 E. Tugendhat, Vorlesungen zur Einführung in die sprachanalytische Philosophie, Frankfurt/M 1976, S. 335f. 12 Ebd., S. 336. 13 H. Schnädelbach, op. cit. 1977, S. 249. 14 Vgl. P.W. Taylor, Normative Discourse, Englewood Cliffs 1961. 15 H. Schnädelbach, op. cit. 1977, S. 276.

Stufen der Rechtfertigung

223

1 I acknowledge that the account of rationality I am using probably is inadequate as a way of fully capturing individual practical rationality. What is important for my purposes, however, is, as Jordan Sobel writes in “Utility Maximizers in Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemmas,” Dialogue (March, 1976) p. 38-53: ...whether or not and if so how utility maximization is inadequate as a conception of individual rationality cannot presently be settled by showing how it is inadequate in what, on the face of it, is a quite different and possibly unrelated way, namely, as a basis for communal life. 2 Fred Feldman, “On the Advantages of Cooperativeness,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy, Volume XIII, (1988) p. 309. 3 Ibid. p. 309. 4 Robert Axelrod, The Evolution of Cooperation ( New York, 1984) 5 Peter Danielson, “The Moral Significance of Tit For Tat, “ Dialogue 25 (1986) p. 449-470. 6 Peter A. French, Responsibility Matters (Lawrence, KS, 1992) Chapter 2. 7 Peter Danielson, Artificial Morality (London, 1992) p. 46. 8 David Gauthier, Morals By Agreement (Oxford, 1986). 9 Ibid. 10 Danielson, Artificial Morality (London, 1992) p. 89. 11 Danielson provides tables to show how the tournament tests will come out. See, Ibid. p. 99. 12 Of course, in the bellicose moments that precede the game both participants threaten not veering and proclaim with loud assurance that the other will chicken out as the fateful moment approaches. 13 Danielson, Artificial Morality, Chapter 9. 14 Ibid. p. 196. 15 Feldman, p. 321.

224 16 see Peter A. French, Corporate Ethics (Fort Worth, 1995) p. 85-87. 17 Hilary Putnam, Meaning and the Moral Sciences (London, 1978) p. 63. 18 Peter A. French, The Scope of Morality (Minneapolis, 1979) p. 151-153. 19 Immanuel Kant, The Doctrine of Virtue, trans. by M.J. Gregor (Philadelphia, 1964) p. 23

1 Wenn McCulloch (1995) in seiner Einleitung behauptet, eine Form des cartesischen Internalismus bilde die Hauptströmung innerhalb der Philosophy of Mind, kann er sich damit nur auf alle Positionen beziehen, die nicht seine ‘ontologische’ Variante des Externalismus vertreten. Vgl. u. im Text. 2 Solche Gegenüberstellungen haben natürlich immer etwas Künstliches an sich, können nie ganz trennscharf sein und nicht alle Teilnehmer der Debatte lassen sich zweifelsfrei zuordnen. Trotzdem erscheinen sie mir hilfreich, will man die Motivation der verschiedenen Externalismus-Konzepte verstehen, zumal nichtrepräsentationalistische Theorien per definitionem externalistisch sind, läßt man eliminative und rein syntaktische Theorien außer acht. 3 Der Ausdruck ‘intentionalistisch’ wird hier im wesentlichen bedeutungsgleich mit ‘repräsentationalistisch’ verwendet, wenn es auf das Mentale Bezug nimmt. Die Bezeichnung ‘individualistisch’ wird von Sterelny, nach dem Vorbild Burges, gleichbedeutend mit ‘internalistisch’ verwendet. 4 Auf das Problem, mit dem Sterelny zu kämpfen hat, ist schon häufig hingewiesen worden: Letztlich kann jedes System jede funktionalistische Beschreibung erhalten. 5 Das Gegensatzpaar ‘wide content’ vs. ‘narrow content’ bezeichnet zwei Arten repräsentationalen Gehalts eines mentalen Zustandes und ist vor allem von Fodor in zahlreichen Arbeiten thematisiert worden. ‘Wide content’ ist dabei der nach externalistischer Theorie zugeschriebene Gehalt, ‘narrow content’ ist der mentale Gehalt, den ein Erdenbewohner und sein Zwilling auf Zwillingserde teilen können. ‘Wide content’ ergibt sich als ‘Funktionswert’ aus ‘narrow content’ und der jeweilig verschiedenen Umwelt. 6 Semantik ist dann atomistisch, wenn die Bedeutung einer Repräsentation nicht von den Bedeutungen anderer Repräsentationen abhängig ist, d.h. wenn sie nicht holistisch ist.

Stufen der Rechtfertigung

225

722Diese Fregedeutung liegtvgl. in FN Fodors Eine psychologisierende These, die eigene Probleme aufwirft, 16. spezifischem Ansatz begründet. Da auch Fodor gerne Schwierigkeiten von ‘Propositionen’ spricht, wäre es Autorität allerdingsresultieren wünschenswert, er würde deren Status 23 Bilgramis mit erstpersönlicher allerdings in stärkerem Maße näher erörtern. aus dem - an Davidson orientierten - strikt drittpersönlichen Ansatz, den er verfolgt, als aus seinem 8Externalismus. Vgl. hierzu Kap. 5 in Jerry A. Fodor: A Theory of Content. And Other Essays, Cambridge, Massachusetts & London 24 Donald Davidson: “A1992. Nice Derangement of Epitaphs”, in: Ernest Lepore (Hg.): Truth and 9 Daß eine solche, philosophisch letztlich nicht befriedigende, Problems für einiges Interpretation. Perspectives on the Philosophy of Donald Umgehung Davidson, des Oxford & Cambridge, Mißfallen sorgt,1986. kannDaß nicht Siehe McCulloch (1995), S. 182,Aufsatz FN 3, wo er Fodors Massachusetts dieüberraschen. Kombination mitetwa den Ausführungen in diesem sinnvoll und Position alsist, “uncharacteristically bezeichnet. intendiert betont Davidson desperate” selbst in: “Reply to Bernhard Thöle”, in: Ralf Stoecker (Hg.): Reflecting Davidson. Donald DavidsonistResponding to an International Forum of Philosophers, 10 Mit ‘historischer Externalismus’ hier eine Theorie nach Art Millikans gemeint: Die Berlin einem & New York 1993, S. 248-250. jetzigen internen Zustand vorangehenden externen Zustände eines Subjektes und deren Ursachen

bestimmen dessen mentalen Gehalte; identische Subjekte“First-Person mit verschiedener Geschichte 25 Eine derartige Kritik findet sichzwei z.B.intern in: Kirk A. Ludwig: Knowledge and können verschiedene mentale Gehalte haben. Siehe & hierzu v.a. Ruth Millikan: Thought, Authority”, in: Gerhard Preyer, Frank Siebelt Alexander Ulfig (Hg.):Language, Language, Mind and Other Biological Categories, CambridgePhilosophy, 1984. Epistemology. On Donald Davidson’s Dordrecht, Boston & London 1994, S. 367-398. Vgl. auch Dretske: meine diesbezügliche Zeitschrift philosophische Forschung 49 (1995), S. 63611 Fred Explaining Rezension Behavior. in: Reasons in afürWorld of Causes, 3. Aufl., Cambridge, 642. Massachusetts & London 1992. 26 Davidson: Mythos des Subjektiven. Philosophische übers. hg. v. Joachim 12 Donald Daniel C. Dennett:Der “Real Patterns”, The Journal of PhilosophyEssays, 89 (1991), S. & 27-51. Vgl. auch: Schulte, [Reclam-Universal-Bibliothek Nr.in: 8845] Michael Stuttgart Quante: 1993. “Rationalität Zement des Geistes?2, Axel Wüstehube (Hg.): Pragmatische

Rationalitätstheorien. StudiesRichtung in Pragmatism, and Philosophy of Mind, Würzburg S. 27 Eine Kritik in diese bietet: Idealism, Eva Picardi: “First-Person Authority and 1995, Radical 223-268. Interpretation”, in: Ralf Stoecker (Hg.): Reflecting Davidson. Donald Davidson Responding to an International Forum of Philosophers, Berlin &sei New 1993, S. 197-209. Inbesonders seiner Antwort auf 13 Zum Problem mentaler Verursachung aufYork die empfehlenswerte, an dieser Picardi zeigt Davidson sich übrigens sehr unsicher, ob ihmvon eineKim Klärung erstpersönlicher Schwierigkeit orientierteselbst Einführung in die Philosophie des Geistes hingewiesen: Jaegwon Autorität gelungen ist. Boulder, Colorado & Oxford 1996. Vgl. auch: Michael Quante: “Mentale Kim: Philosophy of Mind,

Verursachung. Die Krisis des nicht-reduktiven Physikalismus”, Zeitschrift für philosophische hier Davidson eine Ausnahme. Seine Position ist sicherlich zwiespältig.Forschung Er selber 28 Vielleicht bildet 47 (1993),wie S. 615-629. Eineseinem weitere, nicht nur in dieser Hinsicht aufschlußreiche Einführung schient, gesagt, mit Klärungsversuch nicht recht zufrieden. Johannes Brandl: bietet: “How Samuel Guttenplan: “An Essay on Mind”, ders. (Hg.): Companion to the Philosophy of Mind, Relational Are Davidson’s Beliefs?” in: Ralfin: Stoecker (Hg.):AReflecting Davidson. Donald Davidson Oxford & Cambridge, Massachusetts S. 1-107. Responding to an International Forum1994, of Philosophers, Berlin & New York 1993, S. 175-193 z.B. rekonstruiert 14 Vgl. FN 2. Davidsons Position als explizite Ablehnung des üblichen Begriffs erstpersönlicher Autorität. 15 Für eine Auseinandersetzung mit McDowells Ansatz siehe: Marcus Willaschek: “Die Für Verbesserungsvorschläge zu früheren Fassungen des Textes danke ich Michael Quante und Wiederentdeckung der Welt als Gegenstand der Erfahrung. Bemerkungen zu John McDowells ‘Mind Andreas Vieth. and World’”, Allgemeine Zeitschrift für Philosophie 21 (1996), S. 163-174. 16 Der Begriff ‘Phänomenologie’ wird von McCulloch nicht im Sinne Husserls verwendet. Er bedeutet bei ihm vielmehr das, was unserem alltagspsychologischen Vorgehen und Empfinden immanent ist. 17 Zuletzt in: John Searle: The Redsicovery of the Mind, Cambridge, Massachusetts & London 1992. 18 Wie oben dargelegt gilt dies natürlich auch für die Theorie McDowells. Dieser bietet aber zumindest einen Hinweis auf eine mögliche Lösung, indem er auf das Konzept der ‘zweiten Natur’ bei Aristoteles und die menschliche Fähigkeit der Spontaneität verweist. 19 Siehe z.B. Jerry A. Fodor & Ernest Lepore: Holism. A Shopper’s Guide, Cambridge, Massachusetts & Oxford 1992. 20 Es scheint eine berechtigte Frage, wie dieser dann allgemein zugänglich sein kann. 21 Steve Edwards: Externalism in the Philosophy of Mind, Aldershot, Brookfield u.a. 1994, FN 16, S. 27. Das Buch bietet im übrigen eine enorm hilfreiche Einführung in die Problematik und verschiedenen Motivationen von Externalismus und Internalismus. Edwards selber ist vor allem am Problem mentaler Verursachung interessiert und vertritt, in Anlehnung an C. Macdonald, eine typenexternalistische Theorie psychologischer Zustände in Verbindung mit einer tokenphysikalistischen Identitätstheorie.

226

CONCEPTS OF PRACTICAL RATIONALITY

Peter French Rationality and Ethics

abstract The “Why be moral?” problem has been one of the more persistent problems of ethics. The problem is typically posed as a conflict between what is straightforwardly maximal for a person to do in specific circumstances and what is recommended by the principles or rules of ethics, usually what is communally optimal, in those circumstances. Typically ethicists try to convince us that both collectively and individually we will be better off in the long run if we each adopt cooperative strategies despite the temptations of immediate profit offered by straightforward maximization policies. After reworking the notion of “straightforward maximizer” such that it makes sense to say that I may sometimes have rationally good reasons to perform actions that do not in the circumstances, taken individually, maximize my utility just so long as the best-for-me accessible-to-me possible world is realized, I am able to show why it is the case that in social interactions that mirror iterated Prisoner’s Dilemmas the constraints of ethics on straighforward maximization are redundant. The policy of straighforward maximization that I defend is more flexible that one of cooperation. It reaps the benefits of cooperation when they are to be had and avoids the disasters of cooperation that lurk in every meeting one has with potentially treacherous strangers. Where the policy of straightforward maximization departs from the ethical choice, I argue, it does so because making that choice would be scrificial, supererogatory, even from the moral point of view. Acting ethically by constraining one’s straighforward maximinzation therefore cannot be rationally justified. 1. One of the more persistent problems of ethics has been the one framed by the question “Why be moral?”. The problem is typically posed as a conflict between what is straightforwardly maximal for a person to do in specific

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circumstances and what is recommended by the principles or rules of ethics, usually what is communally optimal, in those circumstances. A considerable amount of ink has been expended on trying to provide reasons why one should generally adopt the moral point of view, act in a cooperative manner, even when it appears not, within the foreseeable future, to have self-maximizing payoffs. Typically ethicists try to convince us that both collectively and individually we will be better off in the long run if we each adopt cooperative strategies despite the temptations of immediate profit offered by straightforward maximization policies. Suppose that I have a neighbor with whom I am engaged in an Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma situation. It is not important to spell out the specifics of the situation. Suffice it to say that each of us has two choices, (1) to cooperate and (2) to not cooperate, every time we meet. Thankfully, we do not meet often. Each time we meet the moves and associated payoffs for each of us are as follows: If we cooperate, we can achieve a Pareto optimal outcome in which we both gain something. If we both chose not to cooperate, we will both lose an equal amount, but each of our loses will be less than will be suffered by one who decides to cooperate when the other decides not to cooperate. In such a case the noncooperator will gain much more than what he can get from the joint cooperative action and the cooperator will lose more than he will lose if both do not cooperate. The number of meetings we have does not alter the payoffs for each of us on each meeting. They remain the same on the tenth meeting as they were on the first. Suppose further that you are my good friend and that you want the best for me. I ask for your counsel as to what sort of policy to adopt regarding my choices when I confront my neighbor, and I assure you that I will abide by your advice. What policy do you urge me to adopt, one of straightforward maximization or cooperation? “Why be moral?” is supposed to arise because the action endorsements of a policy of straightforward maximization and those of cooperation are not thought to coincide in a significant number of circumstances. If, or rather when, they diverge, the cooperative policy seems not to be sufficiently selfrecommending to override the motivation of maximization. Some further persuasion to do the cooperative thing is apparently needed and rational

228 persuasion must be ruled out by the very statement of the problem in the first place. After all, if one could be rationally persuaded to always be cooperative, the “why be moral?” problem would evaporate. Non-rational persuasions, however, tend to be coercive and that, many will tell us, is not in itself morally justifiable. In fact, on some accounts, Kant’s famously, if one has to be coerced into being moral, one gets no credit for the cooperative deeds one performs. Truly good people are those whose goodness flows from a good will. Kant, of course, thought that there was a rational basis for morality and so the problem was for him, in the end, a pseudo one. For most of the rest of us the conflict between a personal policy of straightforward maximization and one of cooperative adherence in a number of situations seems to have no satisfactory resolution that moralists will sanction. 1 The policy of straight-forward maximization usually is formulated in a way that enjoins a person to perform an action if and only if no alternative has a higher utility for that person in the circumstances. As Fred Feldman has noted2, such a policy runs into difficulty when it is applied to complex actions. A complex course of action considered as a whole may satisfy the policy, while elements of that course, specific individual actions considered seriatim, may not maximize utility for the person. If you recommend a straight-forward maximization policy to me, and my Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma relationship with my neighbor is seen as a complex action in which a certain course will yield maximization but individual actions in the course will not, what should I do? Should I disdain the course by not performing the individual nonmaximizing actions, or should I accept the shortfalls on the specific actions and stay the course for overall maximization? You might recommend a general rule favoring maximization over the long haul, shifting the evaluation of the individual cases to the evaluation of the course of action or the practice. (This would be comparable to the move made by rule utilitarians to avoid a similar problem with act-utilitarianism.) One thing seems, however, clear: your recommendation to me to adopt a policy of straightforward maximization generates no clear endorsement for me if I rightly perceive myself to be in a complex action situation. You could, however, reformulate the policy of straightforward maximization for me and alleviate the problem.

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Suppose you offered me something like Feldman’s version of the policy of straightforward maximization. He writes: I prefer to think that, at each moment of choice, there are several possible worlds “accessible” to the agent...Instead of judging actions by appeal to the values of their outcomes, I prefer to judge them by appeal to the values of the accessible possible worlds in which they are performed.3 The idea is that I am to imagine the possible worlds accessible to me at any time as the maximal courses of action open to me at that time. If I perform all of the actions in one of those courses of action, that possible world will be actualized for me. Each of these worlds may be evaluated on the basis of my “welfare-level” (Feldman’s term) in that world. If I am to be a straight-forward maximizer, I will always behave as I do in the best-for-me of the accessible-tome worlds. Another way of putting this is to say that this version of the policy tells me that there is a rationally good reason for me to do y, if y is a part of a course of action that, if all of the actions in that course are performed by me, the possible world that is best for me will be actualized. I will have a rationally good reason to do y if I have determined which possible worlds are accessible to me and, on evaluating them, have identified the course of action that includes y as the bestfor-me course of action. So, as a straightforward maximizer, I may sometimes have rationally good reasons to perform actions that do not in the circumstances, taken individually, maximize my utility just so long as the best-for-me accessible-to-me possible world is realized.

2. Acting ethically, on a number of well-known accounts, essentially involves accepting constraints on the straightforward maximizing of one’s own interests in social interactions when such maximizing will not produce Pareto optimal outcomes, that is, when cooperation and mutual benefit will not otherwise occur. In its basic form, to be ethical is not to use persons as mere means to one’s gains even when that appears to be what the policy of straight-forward maximization counsels in the circumstances. My acting cooperatively, however, can be rationally justified only if producing a Pareto optimal outcome between

230 me and my neighbor is a part of a course of action that maximizes my utility or is incidental to such a maximization. Remember that the situation in which I find myself with my neighbor is of the type generally referred to as an Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma. The standard argument, following the work of Robert Axelrod4, has been that if Prisoner’s Dilemma is played over and over by the same players, a strategy that is not apparently straightforwardly maximizing will recommend itself to the person who has adopted the policy of straightforward maximization. That strategy is Tit For Tat. A Tit For Tatter in Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma cooperates on the first move and then plays whatever the other player has played on the previous move. So, if the Tit For Tatter’s opponent does not cooperate in response to a cooperative move, on the next move the Tit For Tatter will not cooperate and will continue not cooperating until the other player responds with a cooperative move. Peter Danielson once praised Tit For Tat as a basic ethical principle,5 and I agreed with him.6 It certainly seems to be “an impartial, mutually beneficial principle.” At least it has that effect in Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma. But all is not as it appears. Consider again Feldman’s reworking of the notion of straightforward maximization in terms of the accessible-to-me possible worlds in Iterated Prisoners Dilemma. The Tit For Tat strategy seems to require me to make moves that, were they evaluated in isolation, would be judged irrational because they are not utility maximizing. Still, they are integral elements of a complex action that will maximize utility for me. The rationality of the actions (or plays) that are a part of the complex should be evaluated in terms of an appeal to the values of the accessible-to-me possible world to be actualized by my adopting the Tit For Tat strategy. A Tit For Tatter in Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma is straightforwardly maximizing, because using that strategy, as tournament results purportedly demonstrate, actualizes the best-for-me world of the accessible-to-me worlds in the extended circumstances of iterated plays. Of course, it might be thought that Tit For Tat is also a basic ethical principle that happens to be the straightforward maximizer’s preferred strategy in Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemmas. The ethical person, it might be imagined,

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chooses Tit For Tat because its choice flows from a good will. A nice idea, but if we look closely we will see that Tit For Tat fails to qualify as an ethical principle in the first place. It does not require me to constrain my attempt to maximize my utility. Its appeal to me will be that by adopting it I will stand a better chance of realizing the best-for-me accessible-to-me possible world in the circumstances of the extended game. That is hardly an appeal that will be confused with an ethical one. Danielson now concedes, “TFT [Tit For Tat] is not a moral principle because in Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma it is straightforwardly in the agent’s interests.”7 You will recommend Tit For Tat to me because it has proven to be the most likely strategy to maximize my gain where the accessible-to-me possible worlds are limited by the context of the iterated game. With David Gauthier8, we should agree that Tit For Tat does not therefore really constrain the person who plays it. You will recommend it to me just because my adoption of it as a strategy in dealing with my neighbor will be beneficial to me. Assuming, of course, that my neighbor is not a saint who cooperates for its own sake, but is also motivated by rational self-interest, no other strategy offers me as good a likelihood of actualizing the best-for-me accessible-to-me outcome. You will counsel me to straightforwardly maximize and, that will mean, play Tit For Tat. The intriguing result of reexamining the Tit For Tat strategy in this light is that it exposes the fact that in social interactions that mirror Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemmas ethics is not needed to produce Pareto optimal (best-for-us) outcomes of the accessible-to-us possible worlds. Straightforward maximizing by the persons involved in those situations will produce the optimal results for all without the importation of ethical constraints and all of the accompanying moralizing. Straightforward maximizers choosing Tit For Tat will stabilizes into a cooperative relationship without the need of ethical enticements. The constraints of ethics on straightforward maximization are redundant in these types of cases. The so-called ethical solution of Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemma is not really ethical at all. To achieve the ethically preferred outcome players do not have to impose on themselves consideration of the interests of others. If they just act on principles of maximizing their own interests, the cooperative

232 outcome will materialize. In these contexts, ethical egoism, despite what we have heard from some ethicists, is not self-defeating. You, who are looking out for my interests, will recommend it to me in my dealings with my neighbor. 3. Life, of course, is not filled only with social interactions that mirror Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemmas. Not infrequently, for example, we confront single play Prisoner’s Dilemmas. Suppose I find myself in such a situation with a stranger and again call upon you for advice. What is the best-for-me action in such circumstances? Should I cooperate or not cooperate? We are usually told, that an ethical person will cooperate while the straightforward maximizer will not. Of course, if the stranger is also a straightforward maximizer both of us will not do well in the interaction, though we will both individually do better than either would if he or she cooperated and the other did not. Still we will not achieve a Pareto optimal outcome as long as we both fail or either one of us fails to cooperate. So in single play Prisoner’s Dilemma there does seem to be a chasm between what straightforward maximization and what ethics recommends. After all, it hardly seems rational for me to commit to cooperating with the stranger when that just sets me up to be preyed upon by her. Can cooperation in a single play Prisoner’s Dilemma type interactive situation ever be the rational move for you to counsel me to make? You could argue that Gauthier’s principle of constrained maximization will preserve both the rational and the ethical element in such interactions.9 Were I to adhere to it, I would cooperate in single play Prisoner’s Dilemmas with those I believe are most likely to cooperate with me. How will this stranger act? I cannot base my estimate of the likelihood of her cooperating on previous experiences with her. She is, after all, a stranger. Danielson argues that Gauthier’s principle, which, with him, we can call “conditional cooperation,” does not fare as well rationally as the principle Danielson calls “reciprocal cooperation.” The principle of reciprocal cooperation tells us to “cooperate when and only when cooperation is necessary and sufficient for the other’s cooperation.”10 The difference between the two principles is that Gauthier’s principle is used to induce others to cooperate, while Danielson’s principle has player’s

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constraining themselves when they must to get cooperation from others. Tournament results of playing these two strategies against each other and against those who always cooperate (unconditional cooperators) and those who never cooperate (unconditional noncooperators) seem to support Danielson’s claim. Reciprocal cooperators do better over all.11 There is a difference between reciprocal cooperation and straightforward maximization that warrants mention, though the recommendations of both diverge in a remarkably small number of cases. The reciprocal cooperator is a straightforward maximizer in all non-Prisoner’s Dilemma situations and in all Prisoner’s Dilemma situations in which the stranger will not make the cooperative move regardless of what the player does. In the case where it is perceived to be likely that the stranger will be cooperative, the reciprocal cooperator departs from straightforward maximization and cooperates. If you are counseling me, do you recommend I shift from being a straightforward maximizer to a reciprocal cooperator? If you have my best interests at heart, I do not think that you do. The reciprocal cooperator does not do better than the straightforward maximizer. As the two will be indistinguishable in all but the case where the stranger will cooperate if I do, that is the only type of case you need to consider. There seem to be two ways in which the stranger’s decision to cooperate might occur. In the first, the stranger has decided to act cooperatively but only if I do, and in the second the stranger will act cooperatively regardless of whether or not I do. In the first type of case, Pareto optimality will be achieved, if I cooperate, and straightforward maximization counsels cooperation because I cannot do better than I can by cooperating. In the second case, the stranger will cooperate regardless of what I do. In that case, you will recommend that I not cooperate, for I will then gain significantly at the stranger’s expense. But the reciprocal cooperator will cooperate in the second case and gain less than the straightforward maximizer. So I will gain more by being a straightforward maximizer in the only case in which the adopting of one or the other of the strategies will yield a different result. A further point: both the straight-forward maximizer and the reciprocal cooperator will exploit unconditional cooperators, by not cooperating with them because they do not have to cooperate to get them to do so. Gauthier’s

234 conditional cooperators will not exploit the unconditional cooperators. It looks as if conditional cooperation is at least more ethical than reciprocal cooperation and it is certainly more ethical than straightforward maximization. It should be recommended by you if you want me to do well while doing good. However, that is not your assignment. You are just to look after my interests. But it is worth considering. After all, if I can be good while not compromising many of my opportunities to do what is best for me, that may be a decided benefit to my sense of well-being. Conditional cooperators, however, are not so morally righteous, as may first appear. They will cooperate with reciprocal cooperators, so they will not protect the unconditional cooperators from the reciprocal cooperators. They will stand by when they are exploited. 4. Prisoner’s Dilemma situations (whether or not they are iterated), of course, do not exhaust social interactions that can be profitably mirrored in game theoretical models. The game of Chicken was played where I was a teenager by two guys driving cars on a narrow road directly at each other. The loser of the game was the one who first veered off the straight course. If neither veered, the two cars crashed. I admit to engaging in this entertainment on only one occasion. I still remember the surge of excitement and anxiety it produced. The whole business was made worse, or better, by the crowd that gathered to cheer the winner and scorn the loser. In my case, the event was declared a tie. Both my opponent and I simultaneously decided to veer off on our respective sides about 12 feet from a collision. The possible payoffs in Chicken-type interactions are different than those in Prisoner’s Dilemma. The major variation is that if neither player cooperates in Chicken, if both continue on the collision course, they both achieve the worst possible outcome in the game. Yet, if I do not veer and the other person does, I gain the best outcome available in the game. But the loss I take for veering is no where near as great as the one I suffer if neither of player veers.12 In social interactions involving threats, such as those modeled by the game of Chicken, Danielson maintains that a cooperative strategy that is less broad than reciprocal cooperation will be rational.13 The less broad cooperator will

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concede only to unconditional noncooperators in Chicken-type interactions, while refusing to go along with the threats of any other ethically constrained players. My opponent and I both were convinced that the other was an unconditional noncooperator. But does less broad cooperation in Chicken-type encounters yield different results than would adoption of a Feldmanesque straightforward maximization policy? I think not. In fact, they yield identical results. Nonetheless Danielson writes: [I]nstrumental rational agents...must limit the class of agents with which they share co-operative benefits...depending on the context, they must be able at least to identify other co-operators, or similarly constrained players or, in Chicken, unreasoning threateners...[O]ne way to do this is by means of transparently public principles, which others can test and copy.14 5. Although I have no idea how the required transparency is to be anything more than superficially accomplished, suppose I am transparent to those with whom I interact in, at least, negotiable situations of a Prisoner’s Dilemma sort. I meet a stranger who is perceptive enough to see through me to my policy and who can therefore discern how I will act during our meeting. I will not be able to bluff, lead her on into thinking I will be cooperative, and then turn the tables at the propitious moment. If I adopt straightforward maximization, she will know that and can guard against my gaining the advantage on her by insuring that I get no opportunity to maximize at her cost. If I decide to be a cooperator (of whatever sort) she will discern that and can act accordingly. Gauthier seems to think that if the stranger knows I am guided by straightforward maximization, I will not be able to benefit from mutually advantageous cooperation with the stranger. She will just not cooperate. The best I could hope for is the mutually disadvantageous situation in which neither of us cooperate. If, however, the stranger recognizes me as a cooperator, she might very well choose also to cooperate and the Pareto optimal outcome will be achieved by us. It seems as if the transparency condition cries out for the adoption of a cooperative rather than a straightforward maximizing policy. But is that really the case?

236 Recall again that on the Feldmanesque interpretation straightforward maximization is understood in terms of the best-for-me of the accessible-to-me possible worlds. To determine what is the best-for me of the accessible-to-me possible worlds, you need to examine my situation vis a vis that of the stranger. First of all, you know that I am transparent, the stranger knows this and is able to discern my policies, but how will the stranger behave? The stranger might be disposed to cooperate if I do. Because I am transparent, I cannot exploit the cooperative move of the stranger, so the best-for-me possible world is the one in which I cooperate and the stranger responds in kind, having been disposed to do so if she ascertains that I am cooperative. So, in Feldman’s terms “it is wrong to suppose that people whose behavior is guided by straightforward maximization will not be able to enjoy the benefits of cooperation.” 15 The other possibility would be that the stranger is disposed to take advantage of me, that is, in the end to not cooperate despite feigning cooperation. As I am transparent, I cannot mislead the stranger as to my actual policy, so the best-for-me of the accessible-to-me possible worlds in the situation is to not cooperate and thereby avoid the greater loss. That is what straightforward maximization will recommend. That is what you should recommend to me. The policy of straightforward maximization is more flexible than one of cooperation. It reaps the benefits of cooperation when they are to be had and avoids the disasters of cooperation that lurk in every meeting I have with potentially treacherous strangers. You should not counsel me to be a cooperator even if I were transparent, despite the entreaties of those who write books and articles on moral motivation. But what would happen if both the stranger and I were transparent with respect to the policies that govern our choices of action? The simple answer is that we should both adopt Feldmanesgue straightforward maximization and we will cooperate, just as the ethicists would like us to behave. Of course, I think we will never have to confront the transparency conditions in ourselves or other humans, though it is possible and probably desirable that we design our institutions and corporations to be transparent.16 Hilary Putnam reminds us of the fantasy of the game theorist’s interest in transparent players. He writes:

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Suppose our functional organization became transparent to us. Suppose we had a theory of it, and we could actually use this theory in a significant class of cases. What would happen to us?...Would it be possible to have friendships or hostilities? Would it be possible to even think of oneself as a person? I don’t know the answer to these questions, but it seems clear that the development of that sort of knowledge of ourselves and each other would modify our natures in ways that we cannot predict at all. Every institution we now have: art, politics, religion - even science would be changed beyond recognition. But a fact, however ‘empirical’, which underlies our entire history and which influences the character of every one of our institutions is not ‘mere’. The fact that we are partially opaque to ourselves, in the sense of not having the ability to understand one another as we understand hydrogen atoms, is such a fact, a constitutive fact.17 6. The point of all of this is that the “Why be moral?” question is much more difficult to answer than some have supposed. There are no good rational reasons to be moral, if being moral is defined in terms of steadfastly constraining straightforward maximization in favor of adopting cooperative policies for the sake of the cooperative outcomes to be realized. Not only do straightforward maximizers of the Feldmanesque variety do better than cooperators, they usually do what ethics would recommend. Where they depart from the ethical choice, they do so because making that choice, adopting that policy, would be sacrificial, supererogatory, even from the moral point of view. In the Scope of Morality I wrote: ...None of us individually may have a good prudential reason in specific cases to be either moral or kind that is better than the good reasons we have to be purely self-interested. In other words, if “reasonableness” is defined in terms of utility maximization (which does not seem prima facie objectionable), then any individual choosing to do the moral act, eschewing the prudential act, is usually doing an unreasonable thing...Although one may have a self-interested reason to do what there is a moral reason to do, from the point of view of rationality one cannot have only a moral reason to do what there is a moral reason to do that is better than the prudential reason one has to do something else in that instance...An unbridgeable gulf remains between what is reasonable (as

238 utility maximization) for the individual to do and what morality often demands...In no individual case would it seem that acting discordant with morality involves risks greater than ostracism. Indeed, the greater personal risks are run in acting morally.18 I am still convinced that the gulf is unbridgeable and that acting ethically by constraining one’s straightforward maximization cannot be rationally justified. Such acts are heroic and as such they cannot be morally obligatory. Perhaps the Feldmanesque straightforward maximizer in certain cases, in Kantian terms,19 lacks moral strength and even wants for some virtue, but he or she cannot be faulted from the point of view of rationality and you would not be meeting your obligation to me to look after my interests, were you to advise me to shun straightforward maximization and adopt a personally risky, even if morally admirable, cooperative policy.

Notes 1 I acknowledge that the account of rationality I am using probably is inadequate as a way of fully capturing individual practical rationality. What is important for my purposes, however, is, as Jordan Sobel writes in “Utility Maximizers in Iterated Prisoner’s Dilemmas,” Dialogue (March, 1976) p. 38-53: ...whether or not and if so how utility maximization is inadequate as a conception of individual rationality cannot presently be settled by showing how it is inadequate in what, on the face of it, is a quite different and possibly unrelated way, namely, as a basis for communal life. 2 Fred Feldman, “On the Advantages of Cooperativeness,” Midwest Studies in Philosophy, Volume XIII, (1988) p. 309. 3 Ibid. p. 309. 4 Robert Axelrod, The Evolution of Cooperation ( New York, 1984) 5 Peter Danielson, “The Moral Significance of Tit For Tat, “ Dialogue 25 (1986) p. 449-470. 6 Peter A. French, Responsibility Matters (Lawrence, KS, 1992) Chapter 2. 7 Peter Danielson, Artificial Morality (London, 1992) p. 46. 8 David Gauthier, Morals By Agreement (Oxford, 1986). 9 Ibid. 10 Danielson, Artificial Morality (London, 1992) p. 89. 11 Danielson provides tables to show how the tournament tests will come out. See, Ibid. p. 99. 12 Of course, in the bellicose moments that precede the game both participants threaten not veering and proclaim with loud assurance that the other will chicken out as the fateful moment approaches. 13 Danielson, Artificial Morality, Chapter 9. 14 Ibid. p. 196. 15 Feldman, p. 321.

Feeling and Coercion: Kant and the Deduction of Rights 16 see Peter A. French, Corporate Ethics (Fort Worth, 1995) p. 85-87. 17 Hilary Putnam, Meaning and the Moral Sciences (London, 1978) p. 63. 18 Peter A. French, The Scope of Morality (Minneapolis, 1979) p. 151-153. 19 Immanuel Kant, The Doctrine of Virtue, trans. by M.J. Gregor (Philadelphia, 1964) p. 23

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abstract Even though the concept of right is not empirical, Kant does not deduce right in a transcendental manner. If, in conformity with the rational principles of transcendental philosophy, we try to understand why this is so, the answer may be found in an analogy with aesthetic reflection. Indeed, aesthetic reflection might contain the transcendental ground of violence in civil society. Kant’s concept of right essentially consists in the law of external freedom, which defines a symmetrical order of coexistence for human beings living according to the spatial relations proper to each society. The law not only delimits the domain which one may reasonably consider one’s own and occupy as one sees fit, but it also authorizes one to defend one’s domain against encroachments and attacks from without. Indeed, according to Kant, right is analytically linked with the authorization of coercion: “there is connected with Right by the principle of contradiction an authorization to coerce someone who infringes upon it.”1 The authorization of constraint is thus the expression of one’s permission to defend domains of freedom which are universally compatible with one another.2 But we may nonetheless ask why Kant does not go on to deduce right, why right, though its concept is not empirical, does not in its universal principle admit of a transcendental demonstration, which would make it a necessary representation.3 The answer may be found in an analogy; it seems that an absolute distinction between the principle of right and the categorical imperative cannot be drawn, since both contain criteria of universalization that reason draws from itself. In both cases, the other is only postulated; I cannot represent the other’s freedom to myself. Each of the deductions of juridical concepts (possession, acquisition, occupation) is an analytic proof, while the juridical propositions to which these concepts contribute are synthetic because, a priori, “practical reason extends

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itself without intuitions.”4 In this sense, the ensemble of these deductions is related to the initial impossibility of a transcendental deduction of right in its universal principle. But if the highest principle of practical reason is indeed a synthetic, a priori proposition, though one that can be only exhibited and not deduced,5 does the impossibility of a deduction in the case of the universal principle of right indicate that right is fundamentally free of any synthetic character? We are led to ask whether instead there might not be a synthetic element in right which, for reasons that remain to be seen, stands in the way of transcendental deduction. In order to establish the concept of coercion, Kant relies upon an analogy with mathematics and physics, just as he did in the case of objective knowledge. He writes: “The law of a reciprocal coercion ... is, as it were, the construction of that concept; that is, the presentation of it in pure intuition a priori, by analogy with presenting the possibility of bodies moving freely under the law of the equality of action and reaction.”6 It is perhaps the reference made to space instead of time which seems at first to justify the rejection of any a priori deduction. For example, one empirical condition to which Kant attributes an unavoidable character, a condition without which the possibility of a community of human beings would be unthinkable, is nothing else than the spherical shape of the earth; on this empirical spatial condition is based the non-empirical, juridical concept of original communal possession.7 More generally, Kant considers the state of nature that precedes the constitution of a common, public will (the social contract) as a mere idea, and not as a fact which one might assign a chronological origin in the time of history.8 Kant thus finds that though the concept of right itself cannot be presented in an intuition, this is not the case for the concept of coercion, which, however, we have just seen to be analytically linked to the concept of right. In other words, though right in its universal principle surely cannot be deduced transcendentally, there is no reason for the same to be true of coercion. While the works of Galileo and Newton were the dominant references in the analogical work leading to the transcendental constitution of knowledge, it does not seem an exaggeration to say that, in the case of right and politics, it is Hobbes who occupies this position. Is it not Hobbes who, in the modern era,

242 hopes to apply the mathematical method to political philosophy in order to transform it into rational knowledge? The problem Hobbes sought to resolve is the following: while pure mathematics never really stands in opposition to the pre-scientific lifeworld, since counting and calculating belong to both, an exact representation of the political relations between individuals, however, supposes the suppression of the everyday passions which constantly undermine them.9 For Hobbes, of course, it is a question of conceiving the passage from the state of nature to that of civil society in such a way that passions and natural opinions (essentially focused on the constant play of praise and blame) both lose their sway. In his doctrine of right, Kant presents himself as the champion of Hobbes’ doctrine: “The doctrine of Right wants to be sure that what belongs to each has been determined (with mathematical exactitude).”10 Here, the term “exactitude” refers to the delimitation of a space which admits of no exception, as would be the case in a doctrine of virtue. In fact, Kant’s reference to Hobbes is a constant throughout his work; it culminates in the 1793 text on the problematic relations at once conjoining and separating theory and practice, a text in which Kant develops a systematic critique of Hobbes. As early as the Critique of Pure Reason, Kant agrees with Hobbes that there is injustice and violence in the state of nature; the coercion of law is necessary so that the coexistence of my freedom with that of others may be a lasting one.11 Which is the determining factor which pushes human beings to accept the passage into civil society? For Hobbes, it is violence itself as an empirical fact. Of course, Hobbes does wish to rise above the most ordinary experience: as he puts it in the De Cive, this would only show that what everyone wants from society is only either utility or the strictly egotistical pleasure of glory. The fact of society does not in any way follow from these facts; at most, they can account for spontaneous assemblies of people. An extended and lasting society can have no other origin than the mutual fear human beings develop with regard to one another. Mutual fear is a higher type of experience, for it is an “inference, made from the Passions.”12 The human capacity for reasoning is thus “deduced” from this passion, since one sees it confirmed by examples which show human beings reflecting upon themselves: “...when taking a journey, he armes himselfe ... when going to sleep, he locks his dores; when even in his

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house, he locks his chests.” Kant, however, does not allow himself to draw a concept from a passion or a feeling. The passage into civil society results instead from a conflict of feelings within the state of nature, a conflict which pushes man to move out of himself. In this regard, there is a remarkable congruence between the necessary condition for all knowledge and the properly human way of living in society; this congruence does not, however, indicate any historical evolution from one term to the other, but rather an inversion of their meaning. At the basis of all knowledge, according to critical philosophy, there lies reason’s polemic with itself, in which hypotheses can be admitted for the momentary needs of a good cause.13 For the needs for defense, we can even completely invent our weapons, which are so many opinions we leave aside once defense is secured.14 The transmutation of dogmatic into critical philosophy must go through an antinomical conflict, which is a polemic that still takes itself seriously, but which then, because of the critique, turns into a war in which one fights only with “leaden weapons.”15 It is also the evolution from barbarism to civilization which is founded on an original conflict, but the order of the terms is reversed. The distinctive character of the human condition which leads to civil society is “a certain disingenuousness” which is none other than “a disposition to conceal our real sentiments, and to make show of certain assumed sentiments which are regarded as good and creditable.” The search for an advantageous appearance (and thus for seriousness) has a civilizing effect because it keeps one from returning upon oneself; no one, in fact, can “see through the outward show of respectability, honesty, and modesty”16; I accept civil society because I take part in a game in which I seek to maintain an acceptable public appearance. Thus, as opposed to the case of knowledge, in public life falsehood wins out over truth. Without the play of feelings that pushes private conscience outside of the subject by cloaking it in the external signs of morality, individual freedom could never be recognized as the basis for a perfect reciprocal coercion attuned to the freedom of all following universal external laws; from the perspective of right, my freedom would remain a freedom in name only, for it could never receive the sanction of a public law. In the Metaphysics of Morals, Kant goes one step further. The emergence from the state of nature is a commandment of

244 reason, but one that would appear to have no basis other than the absolutely provisional acquisition of something external through occupation or contract. The civic state is comparable to the state of reflection accompanying action because it indicates “the conditions under which these laws are put into effect.”17 Though it is true that one cannot speak of a reciprocal and necessary relation between individuals before the establishment of a state of public legality, it is also true that one cannot speak of violence outside of civil society. It is as if it would be meaningless, from a transcendental perspective, to speak of violence reigning blindly in the state of nature. There, in accordance with an imperative of reason, all action always already moves in the expectation of the other’s opinion. From the perspective of right, the fact of violence cannot be ascertained through immediate experience, because it only exists once when civil society has managed to reconstruct a completely ideal meaning for it, outside the sensible mediation of the other’s opinion.18 Thus, the way is closed to a necessary deduction of right in its universal principle, because it cannot do otherwise than to transform its requisite condition (the fact of violence in the state of nature) into an undesirable consequence of the exercise of its power in civil law. The concept here conforms to the fact, which it thereby no longer understands; there is no “Copernican” perspective which could make sense of the fact in conformity to a concept. These considerations concerning the limits of a deduction of right converge with the fundamental themes of the Critique of Judgment. On the level of aesthetic experience, too, it is impossible to derive a concept from a solely private feeling. It is, of course, an imperative of reason that we leave the state of nature, but despite the absolute coercion this imperative places us under, its provisional foundation may yet waver. Such a precariousness of the absolute recalls the fundamental fragility of the aesthetic feeling, a fragility that is constantly covered over by the demand that the public necessarily assent to my private feeling. It is precisely only in the aesthetic feeling that one does not seek to exhibit feelings one does not have. It is perhaps the only kind of experience in which a priori conditions force us to live according to ideas. A reflection which aims at recovering the immediacy of contact with the singular is the inverse of the determining, temporalizing judgment because the latter already

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possesses the universal (concept or law). In the aesthetic feeling, we encounter an expectation that is nonetheless no longer dependent on time. Someone who says “this thing is beautiful” does not simply “count on other people to agree with his judgment on the ground that he has repeatedly found them agreeing with him; rather, he demands that they agree. He reproaches them if they judge differently, and denies that they have taste, which he nevertheless demands of them, as something they ought to have.”19 In the aesthetic judgment, ignorant of the challenge that my pretension so often meets with, I attribute to all of humanity beforehand a feeling that is identical to my own; the walls separating the public from the private are razed in the moment of feeling. The work of reflection consists in transforming a feeling which at first seems private and incommunicable into something communicable, through which I take others into consideration by putting myself in their place. Even though I take the others’ points of view into consideration, it is only first to attribute to them my own feeling. I feel permitted to do violence to the other by encroaching on his judgment because through him I only ever address myself to all others, to the humanity which while it resides in him, also exceeds his person as well as mine. The other’s judgment, on which I base my own feeling, is not a real judgment, but a merely possible judgment, without which the experienced conflict between judgments would never yield to any communication.20 Doing violence to the other in this way (in the idea only, in the name of a humanity which is our common horizon) invariably results in a feeling of violence which must accompany every aesthetic feeling. There is in me a relationship to all of humanity, but it brings me no peace since it always exceeds me. Humanity serves as a universal (without which I could not judge at all), but one which is never initially guaranteed correspondence with the universal aimed at in reflection. This is because my aesthetic relationship with others is always only a possible relationship, not necessarily actual as in civil society. If it happens that there is even one person in the public who refutes my feeling, I undergo a shock that is all the more violent for the fact that I invest myself in my feeling, that I strive to live thereby in accordance with all of humanity. I thus find myself in direct conflict with morality, according to which I must seek to universalize the maxim of my action, in order to submit

246 to the causality of beings in the intelligible world of freedom. Do not the initial demand and the subsequent reproach proceed from the same feeling of repulsion (which is the starting point for blame), namely, the repulsion before the always only possible character of my relation to others in terms of feelings, that is, the radical incompleteness of aesthetic concern? This “always only possible” is experienced as such even in its actualization, since nothing in the challenge put to my feeling stops me from trying again. This is the strange, provisional basis (human nature) for the absolute, for a legally organized human society. Are not blame and denial, then, as the vectors of aesthetic concern, the transcendental condition for violence? If this is correct, we can explain how it is that a certain violence persists in us (whether latent or expressed) even after the laws of freedom governing the external relations of people among themselves have been promulgated. Let us now turn to the section from the 1793 text concerning theory and practice, which is presented as a systematic critique of Hobbes. Kant begins by rejecting the notion of the desire for happiness as the determinative principle of external right.21 There is no determinative end, in fact, no determination at all; we are indeed within a reflective judgment. No determination is prior to man’s capacity for reflection. This means that man is born adult; the time between the moment of his birth and the moment he reaches legally recognized maturity is of no consequence for right. Nothing about his birth makes him qualified to occupy a position of domination or to accept a servile condition.22 Kant rejects any identifiable moment of origination for the social contract, and makes the case for an “original contract, among men on which alone a civil constitution can be based, one that is thus completely compatible with right and by means of which a commonwealth can be established.”23 Such a contract is a product of the general, unified will of the people. But once again it is meaningful only on the level of mere possibility. Indifferent to the actualization of the possibility it contains, the original contract is presented as a sort of aesthetic judgment in which my feeling seems to have managed to protect itself a priori, as it were, against any challenge from others. In demanding the consent of others, I no longer indulge in the fantasy of “someone abandoned on some desolate island” who is not content “with an object unless he can feel his liking for it in a

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community with others.”24 Not that this illusion is eradicated. Given the overwhelming task of living according to an idea of humanity which is never assured, the original contract allows one to experience the frustration that follows the repressed need for communication, that is to say, to suffer the paradox of solitude in the midst of society. Indeed, “if a public law is so formulated that an entire people could not possibly agree to it...it is not just; however, if only it is possible that a people could agree to it, it is a duty to regard that law as just.”25 Since it remains within the domain of the possible, the original contract unconditionally prohibits any physically violent rebellion against the supreme legislative power. Violent opposition to the ruler presupposes a deceptive confusion between foundation and result, condition and conditioned. While the foundation may be certain, the result of such an action is always uncertain. Violence consists in a sort of contamination of the certain by the uncertain, or of the condition by the conditioned, such that the foundations become suspended, as it were, and the original contract gets abrogated: “might [instead of right]...renders all lawful constitutions insecure.”26 The cooperative subject, Kant writes, “must be able to assume that his ruler does not want to harm him.”27 One who legitimately considers himself a victim of power should understand the ruler’s right to error and to ignorance of certain consequences of the laws. It is remarkable that Kant in no way considers the possibility of uncertainty concerning the intelligibility of the law itself. Why couldn’t a radical uncertainty be the basis of both action and judgment? After all, Kant himself admits that it is “somewhat difficult to determine what requirements a person must meet so that he can be his own master.”28 If the amount of property necessary for citizenship is left indefinite, then it seems reasonable to claim that, despite himself, Kant invests the grounds of public right with a radical uncertainty. Only a naive belief in the ruler’s benevolence (which belief is not reflective in the least and accepts the play of determination) is capable of conferring an image of stability, one that is too easily taken for a reflection of the supposed certainty of the grounds of law. As we might expect, what is at stake in the rejection of uncertainty with regard to the intelligibility of the laws is the overall consistency of the Kantian

248 project. If we pursue the question of uncertainty, however, we push the concept of right into another domain. Let us return for a moment to Hobbes’ conception of violence in the civil state. The mechanism of socialization is deduced from mutual fear, rather than from utility or egotism. This is essentially because fear is commutative and leads to the reciprocity of perspectives. This strict reciprocity, in its turn, leads “mechanically” to the explicit recognition of the general interest. Interest is distributed perfectly equally. But is this sufficient to eliminate all traces of uncertainty? Men’s equality was, in practice, already the essential characteristic of the state of nature. Hobbes deduces war, as a phenomenon proper to the condition in the state of nature, from the equality of abilities and our equal hope of attaining our ends.29 Thus, the passage into the civil state occurs without ever disturbing the principle of the equality of men. The transfer of power to the Leviathan can therefore have no other purpose than to make this passage visible. Since an individual is attributed rights and powers that place him infinitely above those who were his equals before the contract, there is no longer any cause for hostility between them and him, at least not for the hostility arising from the reciprocal presence of equal individuals. There can no longer be any question of natural violence between the sovereign and his subjects. But this system remains exposed to an entirely different kind of uncertainty, in connection with the function of visibility the sovereign fulfills. There is nothing to ensure the absence of another kind of violence: a political violence in the cases of abuse on the part of the head of state. One might then imagine another inference to be drawn from the passion for political violence; this inference would provide the basis for yet another contract designed to abrogate it, and so on. This infinite regress is based on a radical uncertainty, one which is never really affected by the social contract, but merely displaced. One might wonder why Hobbes insists that the fundamental passion which makes it possible to overcome the divergence and conflict of opinions is the fear of dying at the hands of others. Hobbes considers the object of deliberation in the contract is to remove any just reason for fear. But isn’t my life already vulnerable to a violent end in the state of nature? It seems that at the most basic level, the fear is a fear that man will stop nature from doing its work. A paradox ensues: in order to

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face up to the expectation of death and to preserve his natural end, man gives himself over to civil society, in which an infinitely powerful Leviathan utterly supplants nature. The fear is not lessened; it is, so to speak, buried alive in homage to inalterably all-powerful nature. Mathematical rigor in the metaphysics of the passions has not really rid this power of its sacred aura. Made visible and ruled by an infinite power, civil society escapes the control of its individual subjects and takes the place of nature. This substitution is successful and even desirable, because my own death escapes me in the same way that an infinite power never really exists. In addition to allowing peace between men, the infinite power they invent is the condition of possibility for non-human nature to carry out its work. Of course, we might be reminded, with Pascal, that man authentically measures up to himself when his fear of death is fear out of danger, not in danger. But isn’t it also true, as Pascal goes on to argue, that nature makes do with the meagrest means to destroy him, for a vapour or a drop of water is enough to kill him? Kant seeks precisely to cut short any series of subordinations that stretches to infinity.30 The original contract, he writes, “[is] an infallible standard”31 for determining whether the legislator is consistent with the principle of right. Kant states that the principle of infinite regress invalidates itself: “It would be an obvious contradiction for the constitution to include a law ... giving the people the right to overthrow the existing constitution, from which all specific laws derive (even laws covering breach of contract), for it would then necessarily contain a publicly constituted opposing power.”32 Such a power would have its own leader, which would presuppose that at the origin of right one could postulate the existence of a lived contradiction between antagonistic parties who were always already there. If this were the case, then mutual coercion would have to exist before the recognition of finite domains for the exercise of freedom. The analytic principle of right, according to which coercion and finitude are simultaneous, would be ruined by this. To live within a contradiction is thus not at all the same thing as to judge according to its principle. Now, the notion of humanity in the state of nature has no transcendental significance, since a minimum of culture must be posited in advance.33 For the

250 peoples who experience a tendency towards legal society, there is always already an original difference between antagonistic parties, namely, a social difference between cultured and uncultured classes. Hence Kant’s definition of humanity as a “universal feeling of sympathy” between the classes, which shows that the difference in question is prejudicial to the possibility of conceiving a reciprocal communication between what is innermost (the private judgment) and what is most universal (the idea of humanity which permeates every judgment of this kind). This communication would thus occur in the mode of taste. This is not to say that through taste a dissociation between the orders of nature and of culture arises at a certain moment in the history of a people, as if they became aware one day of the illusion they were living under while attached to the quasi-immutable determinations of nature. Not only does the illusion remain once detected (for we constantly distance ourselves from the state of nature, precisely because this is unthinkable, resistant even to a retrospective determination), but it is also what allows us to open ourselves to the universal idea of humanity. Indeed, even when we become completely civilized, the work of reflection required to approach the idea will not be eliminated; as Kant points out, that pleasure which taste declares valid for mankind in general will remain. The indeterminable, original contradiction will always be with us, indefinitely repeated, to the same degree that taste cannot be enclosed in a concept and that its illusion cannot be mastered.34 Right reduces an original difference as much as possible. This is a difference that the movement of history, and not simply (as for Hobbes) the movement of atomic individuals in brutish nature, designates as increasingly intolerable. In an ideally civilized society, the aesthetic feeling will always provide us with a sort of supplement of humanity, a difference between humanity and itself, because this feeling directs us back to the real purpose of the violence animating all conflicts, all differences - the origin of these differences is no longer even identifiable, for it is shrouded in the depths of the past. We find a fine example in the difference between the warrior and the statesman, a difference which Kant considers universally valid, as much for the primitive as for the most civilized of men. It is not the statesman but rather the general who inspires the greater admiration in the aesthetic sense. He is a man who is undaunted, who

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does not yield to danger, and whom one expects to “demonstrate all the virtues of peace,” because he knows no fear and does not give way to danger, but sets manfully to work with full deliberation.35 In other words, since for him living and judging are one, he is alone in being able to claim that his reflection could pass for a determination. Such is not the case for the sovereign, for whom the right to error or ignorance removes any reason for being from the prestige of visibility. Therefore, the sovereign’s function is rather to ensure the visibility of his subjects through the freedom of the public expression of opinions. This is why, in the final analysis, the only case in which rebellion is legitimate is one in which the freedom of expression has been abrogated.36 Does this imply that a knowledge (even if only ideal) of the universal bases of right allow any given public legality - provided it absolutely prohibits censorship - to avoid what Kant calls “a crime against human nature,” namely, the implementation of an immutable contract requiring mutual obligation among its members? It lies in human nature’s “proper destiny” to press the boundaries of knowledge ever further. Every age only ever lives in “expectation of a better [law].”37 Now, the condition of possibility for such progress in knowledge is nothing other than the polemical use of reason, which consists in recognizing and utilizing the power contained in inevitable illusions. The critique of pure reason begins by neutralizing the dogmatic use of hypotheses, such as one finds in the antinomical conflict of pure reason. As for the polemical use of these hypotheses, which follows the critical solution of the antinomies, it gives us to understand that in a battle of this kind, “both parties beat the air, and wrestle with their own shadows.”38 Nonetheless, there is once more something very serious lurking behind these battles which are no longer battles, behind the peace which is always yet to come because “the bloodless conquests” are an indefinitely renewable pleasure. In fact, “though a merely negative attitude toward the assertions of others may seem very modest and moderate,” that is, even if the polemical use of hypotheses is limited to a game, nonetheless “to proceed to represent the objections to an assertion as proofs of the counter-assertion is to make claims no less presumptuous and visionary than if the positive position and its affirmation had been adopted.”39 We recall that, at any place or time, showing oneself to be better than one is is an

252 essential component of civilization, because this pretension is the first way man becomes an authentically moral being. One might thus say that polemic is the way to indefinitely repeat the (indeterminable) act by which man first emerged from the barbaric state of nature. The harmless and apparently groundless games in which polemic is engaged recall the fragile nature of all pretensions (including that of knowledge), and thus of human nature in general. But doesn’t the modern era present us with the image of polemics that become deadly games, like the French Revolution and its struggle to provide itself with a new beginning to history, one which would now be conscious of itself? Kant’s ambiguity concerning this event is well-known. While he does consider violent revolutions to be wrong in every age, he cannot refrain from adopting a position which, as he puts it, “verges on enthusiasm.”40 This taking sides does not seem at all solid and secure; it gives one the impression of an aesthetic judgment unwilling to recognize itself as such. There is indeed a distance which keeps this position from taking the final step and admitting that it is simply aesthetic. Indeed, what gives the French Revolution its public significance is less the participants than the spectators who hail it without implicating themselves in it. In the case of this particular event, it is as if the judgment of the spectators was an aesthetic judgment which succeeded, as it were, precisely because it kept its distance from the place where history is made and unmade, that is, a place where I still have to fear being judged by others. Two senses of the transcendental condition of possibility follow from this connection between knowledge and right. In the critique of pure theoretical reason, we move from facts to a legitimating concept, from the original finitude of the given to the aim of dialectical reason: the infinite. In the metaphysical doctrine of right, we begin with freedom as a given infinity in order to deduce finitude: the coexistence of finite domains of freedom embodied in the sensible world. The aesthetic judgment is the underlying pivot of these two movements. As we have seen in the case of revolution, where coexistence is put into question once more, the transcendental condition of possibility of any rebellion, legitimate or not, is the aesthetic judgment, which is always at least potentially open to being abrogated (through the other’s challenge), and which is thus followed (at least ostensibly) by a rebellion against human nature.

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Regarding the aesthetic judgment, we may say that it always verges on a “crime against human nature” as this nature is given to us; this judgment always moves in the direction of a supposedly definitive modification of this nature according to new conventions. Only the general, by reminding us of our original condition of unresolved contradiction, could succeed in converting the frustration of a failed rebellion into pure satisfaction. This exception aside (and independently of our own doubts about its accuracy), life in civil society, just as the object of an aesthetic judgment, is the outcome of a disappointed expectation.

Notes 1 Kant, The Metaphysics of Morals, tr. Mary Gregor (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p.57 (Akademieausgabe vol. VI, 231). All references to the Akademie edition of Kant’s works will hereafter be given, with volume and page number, in parentheses after the English-language reference. 2 Ibid., p.69 (Ak.VI, p.247). 3 Ibid., pp.56-7 (Ak.VI, p.231). 4 Ibid., p.76 (Ak.VI, p.255). 5 Critique of Practical Reason, trans. Lewis White Beck (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1949), p.156 (Ak.V, p.46). 6 Metaphysics of Morals, op. cit., p.58 (Ak.VI, p.232). 7 Ibid., p.83 (Ak.VI, p.262). 8 “On the Proverb: That May be True in Theory, But Is of No Practical Use,” (hereafter “Theory and Practice”) in Perpetual Peace and Other Essays, trans. Ted Humphrey, (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1983), p.77 (Ak.VIII, p.297). 9 See L. Strauss, The Political Philosophy of Hobbes, (London: Oxford, 1936). 10 Metaphysics of Morals, op. cit., p.58 (Ak.VI, p.233). 11 Critique of Pure Reason, trans. Norman Kemp Smith (New York: St. Martin’s, 1965), p.601 (A752/B780). 12 Hobbes, Leviathan (London: Oxford University Press, 1909), I 13, p. 97. 13 Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit., p.617 (A776/B804). 14 Ibid., p.619 (A780/B808). One of these weapons is dream, though the imaginative dream is characterized elsewhere as nothing more than a sign of laziness (p.613, A770/B798). 15 Ibid., p.618 (A778/B806). 16 Ibid., p.599 (A748/B776). 17 Metaphysics of Morals, op. cit., p.124 (Ak.VI, pp.312-3). 18 Kant writes: “It is not experience from which we learn of men’s maxim of violence....On the contrary...before a public lawful condition is established, individual men...can never be secure against violence from one another, since each has its own right to do what seems right and good to [him] and not to be dependent upon another’s opinion about this” (Ibid.) 19 Kant, Critique of Judgment, trans. W.Pluhar (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1987), p.56 (Ak.V, pp.212-3).

254 20 Ibid., p.160 (Ak.V, pp. 293-4). 21 “Theory and Practice,” op. cit., p.70 (Ak.VIII, p.289). 22 Ibid., p.74 (Ak.VIII, p.293). See also “What is Enlightenment?”, in Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, transl. Lewis White Beck (New York: Macmillan, 1985), p.85 (Ak.VIII, p.35): “Laziness and cowardice are the reasons why so great a portion of mankind, after nature has long since discharged them from external direction (naturaliter maiorennes), nevertheless remains under lifelong tutelage.” Right cannot be grounded in the difference between tacit and explicit consent, in the sense of Locke, because this would amount to admit the prior role of ready-made determination in reflection. 23 “Theory and Practice,” op. cit., p.77 (Ak.VIII, p.297). 24 Critique of Judgment, op. cit., p.164 (Ak.V, p.297). 25 “Theory and Practice,” op. cit., ibid. 26 Ibid., p.84 (Ak.VIII, p.306). 27 Ibid., p.82 (Ak.VIII, p.304). 28 Ibid., p.76n. (Ak.VIII, p.295n). 29 Leviathan, op. cit., I 13, p. 95. 30 “Theory and Practice,” op. cit., p.73 (Ak.VIII, p.291). 31 Ibid., p.79 (Ak.VIII, p.299). 32 Ibid., p.82 (Ak.VIII, p.303). 33 Critique of Judgment, op. cit., pp.231-2 (Ak.V, pp.355-6). 34 In this connection, the reader will recall that Kant’s project for perpetual peace remains perfectly compatible with the existence of violent, bloody battles. 35 Critique of Judgment, op. cit., p.121 (Ak.V, p.262). 36 “What is Enlightenment?”, op. cit., pp.86ff (Ak.VIII, pp.36ff). 37 Ibid., p.88 (Ak.VIII, p.39). 38 Critique of Pure Reason, op. cit., p.604 (A756/B784). 39 Ibid., p.620 (A781/B809). 40 The Conflict of the Faculties, Ak.VII, p.85.

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Raymond Boudon Une éthique est-elle possible en l’absence de croyances dogmatiques?

abstract A recurrent topic among philosophers as well as social scientists since Novalis, Comte, Weber, modern existentialists, and post-modern sociologists, etc. is that in the absence of what Tocqueville called “dogmatic beliefs” values cannot be grounded : you prefer liberty, I prefer equality; none of us would be neither right nor wrong. Contemporary writers as Rawls and Habermas defend, against this current view, the idea that value statements can be grounded rationally. Habermas’ theory of communicational rationality remains procedural, formal and on the whole mysterious, however: how can this peculiar type of rationality be definied and made analytical ? A cognitive theory of axiological rationality is developed here starting from the basic point that normative statements and axiological beliefs should be analyzed as grounded on reasons with a transsubjective validity, as positive statements are. This theory is checked in a tentative fashion against some examples of axiological beliefs from ordinary experience and against a few pieces of data drawn from experimental social psychology.

Une obsession Le “désenchantement” a-t-il ruiné les valeurs? Sommes-nous devenus incapables d’endosser un jugement de valeur avec confiance? L’axiologique est-il devenu une affaire d’opinion ? Cette inquiétude est depuis longtemps omniprésente dans les sciences sociales et ailleurs. Dans “La Chrétienté ou l’Europe”, Novalis regrette que nous ne vivions plus “dans l’ère belle et heureuse où l’Europe était unie par une croyance universellement partagée”. A. Comte partage la même inquiétude. Le thème est repris de manière positive par ce disciple si proche du maître que fut Durkheim : sur quelles bases asseoir une morale laïque? Chez Max Weber, le “désenchantement” se conjugue avec le “polythéisme des valeurs”, mais laisse subsister la “rationalité axiologique”. Dans ce concert, Tocqueville est peut-être -comme souvent- le plus nuancé et le plus perspicace. La ruine des “croyances dogmatiques”, irréversible selon lui, est grosse d’une

256 lourde menace : la tyrannie de l’opinion. Mais le fait qu’elle puisse être vécue comme une tyrannie suffit à témoigner de l’existence d’une aune supérieure1. La question du fondement de l’axiologie dans un monde d’où se sont évanouies les croyances dogmatiques est peut-être au total la plus fondamentale pour toute théorie de l’ordre social. Je laisse de côté la réponse que lui apportent les religions traditionnelles : elle consiste à nier l’irréversibilité du désenchantement et à annoncer le retour des “croyances dogmatiques”. Le XXIe siècle sera religieux, proclama l’écrivain A. Malraux. On répète souvent cette formule-choc après lui. Je la crois rhétorique : elle contredit trop de faits. L’interprétation religieuse des phénomènes naturels a irréversiblement cédé la place à une interprétation de type scientifique. Les espaces non occupés par le savoir scientifique eux-mêmes sont plutôt laissés vacants que remplis par des interprétations de type religieux. La morale elle-même s’est irréversiblement laïcisée depuis Kant et les philosophes des Lumières. L’argumentation religieuse en matière d’éthique est abandonnée aux croyants. Seuls sont publiquement pris en compte les arguments non fondés sur de croyances dogmatiques. Je laisse également de côté la réponse “sociologiste” (les valeurs doivent s’analyser comme des illusions sociales), qu’elle soit déclinée sur le mode nietzschéen ou marxiste, ou même durkheimien. Malgré sa popularité auprès des “post-modernistes”, elle contredit, elle aussi, trop de faits pour mériter d’être considérée. Afin de clarifier d’entrée de jeu ma position, j’ai toujours pensé pour ma part, dans la ligne de Benjamin Constant ou de Tocqueville2, qu’il n’y avait aucune raison pour que le désenchantement ruinât l’éthique et plus généralement l’axiologique (je désigne ainsi l’univers des jugements de valeur). Les jugements de valeur ne sont pas fondés sur des bases moins solides aujourd’hui qu’hier. Le “polythéisme des valeurs” n’exclut pas la “rationalité axiologique”. Les doctrines religieuses doivent être tenues, comme l’indiquait encore Tocqueville, comme une expression sur le mode symbolique de l’exigence de valeur qui définit la transcendance de l’homme3. Elles doivent donc être vues comme traduisant des réalités irrécusables, mais aussi comme leur conférant une expression contingente.

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Les théories qui tentent de saisir les valeurs de façon positive sont rares aujourd’hui. Celle de J. Habermas en est une. Elle a attiré l’attention parce qu’elle pose une bonne question : celle des conditions de possibilité d’une axiologie ne reposant pas sur des “croyances dogmatiques” au sens de Tocqueville. Avant d’esquisser ma propre réponse, je tenterai de dire pourquoi la réponse qu’il donne à cette question me paraît insuffisante. Une réponse moderne Mon but n’est pas de proposer une critique de Habermas, mais plutôt d’aller droit à quelques objections. L’auteur parle de la “capacité de vérité de la question pratique”4. Ainsi, les jugements de valeur relevant de l’ordre de l’éthique seraient capables de vérité. Comment déterminer leur validité? En se donnant par la pensée une situation idéale où des participants impartiaux, pouvant exprimer leurs vues sans entraves, délibéreraient les uns avec les autres. La “raison communicationnelle” à l’oeuvre dans cette situation idéale serait de nature à déterminer la vérité éthique. Cette situation de référence véhicule une heureuse idée de méthode. Elle concrétise l’idée que l’arbitre non impliqué mais concerné a plus de chance de voir le juste que celui qui est juge et partie. Pour mesurer l’insuffisance de la réponse de Habermas, considérons toutefois un exemple simple. Plaçons-nous en un temps fictif précédant la démonstration de la formule donnant la surface du rectangle. Un paysan a un champ de dimensions x et y ; un autre a un champ de dimensions x’ (>x) et y’ (y’ que xy=x’y’)7. La théorie cognitiviste des croyances Première thèse. Je prends l’adjectif “cognitiviste” en un sens plus étroit que celui dans lequel on le prend généralement. En effet, l’on qualifie souvent ainsi la théorie pratique de Kant, comme celle de Habermas, indiquant par là que le jugement moral est supposé avoir dans ces théories des bases cognitives plutôt par exemple qu’affectives. En parlant de théorie cognitiviste, j’entends indiquer que les jugement et plus généralement axiologiques (le jugements de valeur) ne me paraissent pas assis sur des bases différentes des jugements assertoriques. Plus brutalement : la validité des jugements qui nous disent comment le monde doit être fait ne se fonde pas autrement que celle des jugements qui nous disent comment il est fait. Deuxième thèse. Le jugement “la surface d’un rectangle est égale à xy” se mesure à la solidité des raisons qui fondent cette assertion. Il n’y a aucun moyen, en examinant cette proposition en elle-même, de déterminer si elle est acceptable ou non. Pour le savoir, il n’est d’autre moyen que d’examiner les raisons qui la fondent et d’en apprécier la validité. Il en va de même, selon la théorie cognitiviste que j’esquisse ici, des jugements portant sur le devoir-être. Reprenons l’exemple ci-dessus. Les trois participants concluent “il faut comparer xy et x’y’ pour déterminer l’impôt que chacun des deux paysans doit payer”. Cette proposition sur le devoir-être est-elle valide ou non? Pour le déterminer, il est inutile de chercher à en évaluer les propriétés. La seule

260 manière de la juger consiste à examiner les raisons qui la fondent et à déterminer leur solidité : un jugement de valeur est valide s’il est fondé sur des raisons solides. Troisième thèse. Deux argumentations peuvent différer selon leur degré de validité. Ce sera le cas par exemple si l’une des argumentations, mais non l’autre, comporte un argument faible. Ainsi, dans l’exemple précédent, les deux premières argumentations sont dominées par la troisième. À supposer qu’on s’accorde à penser que l’impôt foncier doit être proportionnel à la superficie des terres, le jugement de valeur “le premier paysan doit payer moins d’impôts que le second puisque x<x’ “ est moins solidement fondé que le jugement “il doit payer plus d’impôts puisque xy>x’y’ “. Pour des raisons de simplicité, j’ai pris ici un exemple où un jugement de valeur se ramène à un jugement assertorique. On verra plus bas que l’idée de la solidité relative des argumentaires axiologiques peut être généralisée quand on sort de ce type de cas. Quatrième thèse. Ce cas particulier permet toutefois d’attirer l’attention sur une proposition importante, à savoir que l’axiologique se réduit bien souvent à l’assertorique. Cela se produit notamment lorsqu’un jugement de valeur est fondé sur des critères conséquentialistes : “x est mauvais car l’application de x entraînerait des conséquences que tous s’accorderaient à trouver détestables”. “Trouver détestable” est un jugement de valeur. Que “tout le monde trouve un état de choses détestable” est un jugement de fait. Jugements de fait et de valeur se combinent et s’interpénètrent d’ailleurs constamment. “Ce couteau est bon” (un jugement de valeur) signifie “ce couteau coupe” (jugement de fait) ; “c’est un grand mathématicien” peut vouloir dire “il a inventé un théorème, ce qui est rare” (combinaison de deux jugements de fait) ou “il a inventé un théorème important” (combinaison indissociable d’un jugement de fait et d’un jugement de valeur). Encore une fois, tous les jugements de valeur ne se réduisent pas à des jugements de fait. Mais cette intersection entre jugements de valeur et jugements de fait suggère que le mur que toutes sortes de traditions de pensée, de l’empirisme au sociologisme, tentent de bétonner entre l’être et le devoir-être mériterait peut-être d’être abattu.

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Cinquième thèse. Un bon argumentaire dans le domaine de l’assertorique est un ensemble de propositions dont chacune est acceptable. Il en va de même dans le domaine de l’axiologique. Sixième thèse. Il n’existe pas dans le domaine de l’assertorique de théorie unique composée d’un nombre fini de propositions qui permette de déduire l’ensemble des énoncés vrais sur le réel. Je prends soin d’apporter cette précision, car plusieurs théories cherchent à déduire l’ensemble des jugements de type “cela est juste”, “cela est injuste”, d’un ensemble fini de propositions. Il n’existe pas de tel système s’agissant de “cela est vrai”, “cela est faux”. Pourquoi le domaine de l’axiologique serait-il plus simple que celui de l’assertorique ? Je suis bien conscient que ces remarques bousculent des idées reçues. Elles indiquent en effet que “rationalité axiologique” et “rationalité instrumentale” ne peuvent être traitées comme deux compartiments étanches; que la coupure traditionnelle entre l’axiologique et l’assertorique, entre l’être et le devoir être, entre “raison instrumentale” et “raison axiologique” est beaucoup plus fragile qu’on ne le pense à la suite d’influentes traditions de pensée. Des croyances assertoriques M’autorisant une certaine liberté de vocabulaire, j’appelle assertoriques les croyances portant sur l’être par opposition aux croyances axiologiques, celles qui portent sur le devoir-être. Avant de passer à l’axiologique, il me faut souligner un point essentiel à propos des croyances assertoriques: elles doivent être analysées comme faisant sens pour l’acteur, i.e. dans la plupart des cas comme fondées sur des raisons. C’est un des apports les plus importants de la sociologie -du moins dans sa tradition de la sociologie de l’action- que d’avoir montré qu’une assertion sur le monde, même si elle apparaît absurde à l’observateur, doit être analysée comme ayant un sens pour l’acteur. Il en va de même s’agissant des croyances relatives au devoir-être. Ce postulat essentiel se dégage de la méthodologie implicite d’un Tocqueville et demi-explicite d’un Max Weber: il faut analyser les croyances, quelles qu´ elles soient, comme fondées sur des raisons. On est convaincu que x, on croit que x parce que x est fondé sur un système de raisons qu’on perçoit

262 comme solides. Ces raisons peuvent être objectivement bonnes. Elles peuvent être bonnes pour tel ensemble d’acteurs, mais non pour tel autre. Je propose de parler alors de “bonnes raisons”. Certains des “philosophes” du XVIIIe siècle avaient de bonnes raisons de croire aux vertus de ce qu’on appellera plus tard la planification, même si elle est souvent une mauvaise chose. Ces raisons tenaient à ce que, vu l’état de la France de l’époque, on pouvait facilement croire qu’il était indispensable de substituer à des institutions perçues comme chaotiques et illégitimes une société organisée selon des plans préétablis8. Tocqueville ne nous dit pas que cette proposition ait la validité objective de “2+2=4". Lui-même la considère plutôt comme fausse. Et il souligne que les Anglais n’avaient aucune raison d’endosser les mêmes vues. Mais toute son analyse suggère en même temps que, si l’on cherche à expliquer pourquoi cette croyance collective s’est installée, il faut examiner les raisons que les “philosophes” en question et leur public avaient d’y croire. Seules ces raisons sauraient légitimement être tenues pour les causes de ladite croyance. En même temps, nous avons des raisons de croire (je ne les développerai bien sûr pas) qu’ils avaient tort: nos raisons sont meilleures que les leurs. Cette méthodologie a l’avantage d’éviter les apories du relativisme (à chacun sa vérité) et du rationalisme sommaire (une croyance qui n’est pas fondée sur des raisons objectivement bonnes, du type de celles qui fondent 2+2=4, est irrationnelle). Bref, il s’agit de substituer à l’opposition brutale entre “superstitions” et raisons objectivement bonnes l’idée que des systèmes de raisons peuvent: être plus ou moins solides, se trouver en concurrence ou non sur un marché des idées, être de “bonnes raisons” pour tel groupe, etc. Plusieurs configurations peuvent alors être observées: celle où un système de raisons est en concurrence avec d’autres et où l’un de ces systèmes est définitivement meilleur ; celle où des systèmes sont en concurrence sans qu’aucun ne domine les autres; celle où un système “local” résiste à un système “cosmopolite”, celle au contraire où le premier cède devant le second, etc. Les Indiens Papago de l’Arizona expliquent toutes sortes d’événements et de faits par la volonté d’un Dieu dont ils croient qu’il vit au sommet du mont Boboquivari, un point culminant qui peut être vu de l’ensemble de leur

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territoire. Pourquoi personne n’a-t-il jamais vu ce Dieu? Parce que les araignées l’avertissent de l’approche des humains, lui permettant ainsi de se cacher9. Il serait bien superficiel de considérer cette argumentation comme irrationnelle ou comme obéissant à des lois de la pensée propres aux Papago. Ce qui frappe au contraire, c’est sa virtuosité logique et son souci vétilleux d’éviter la contradiction et l’incompatibilité avec les faits. Le fait de n’avoir jamais vu le Dieu du Boboquivari n’est pas une preuve de sa non existence, mais montre qu’il ne veut pas être vu et qu’il a les moyens d’accomplir cette volonté, laquelle s’explique par son souci de tenir ses fidèles à distance afin de préserver le respect qui lui est dû. L’existence des araignées peut être vérifiée, mais dans l’état actuel de nos connaissances, on ne peut vérifier qu’elles avertissent le Dieu du Boboquivari: il faudrait pour cela que les humains parlent l’araignée ou que les araignées maîtrisent le Papago, l’Anglais ou l’Espagnol. Mais comme par ailleurs l’hypothèse de l’existence de Dieu explique tant de choses aux yeux des Papago, cette difficulté leur paraît à juste titre secondaire. Cette observation rappelle un apologue du néo-popperien Lakatos10: un astronome qui n’observe pas la planète dans le ciel là où il l’attendait fait l’hypothèse -laquelle peut se révéler pendant très longtemps aussi difficilement vérifiable que celle du langage des araignées- qu’il existe un nuage de poussières cosmiques qui en modifie le cours. Sa foi dans sa théorie peut donc rester intacte: elle explique tant de choses! On comprend donc que les Papago aient des raisons de croire au Dieu du Boboquivari. En même temps, même le plus coriace des relativistes aura la certitude absolue que la théorie des Papago est fausse. Pourquoi? Parce qu’il peut facilement leur opposer un argumentaire qui domine le leur: aucun Dieu ne loge au sommet du Boboquivari. C’est pour cette raison qu’on ne le voit pas. Il n’y a donc pas lieu de supposer que les araignées ont un langage. En outre, nous disposons pour rendre compte des phénomènes que les Papago expliquent par la volonté divine de théories qui se passent d’hypothèses aussi lourdes. Notre conviction négative à propos des croyances des Papago est fondée sur le fait que notre argumentation est objectivement supérieure. Même au prix d’une immersion prolongée dans leur société, l’ “ethnométhodologue” le plus à cheval sur ses principes (les croyances d’un groupe valent celles d’un autre) ne pourrait

264 réussir à reprendre à son compte les croyances des Papago: il ne pourrait en effet oublier qu’on peut expliquer d’une manière plus acceptable les phénomènes dont ils rendent compte par la volonté divine. (Je note incidemment que l’on tire de ces remarques un corollaire: celui de l’irréversibilité du “désenchantement”). On éprouve une certitude négative de même nature lorsqu’on évoque aujourd’hui les vérités scientifiques d’hier, comme la théorie à l’aide de laquelle la physique aristotélicienne expliquait le mouvement des flèches. Cette théorie se comprend: les aristotéliciens avaient des raisons fortes d’y croire. Il n’y a pas de mouvement sans cause, argumentaient-ils: un objet au repos n’y reste-t-il pas tant qu’une cause ne vient pas le déplacer? Quelles causes expliquent-elles donc que la flèche qui vient de quitter l’arc continue son mouvement? Réponse: elle provoque une perturbation du milieu aérien ayant pour résultat d’entretenir son propre mouvement. Cette argumentation garda sa force de conviction jusqu’au moment où elle fut ébranlée par un argument simple qui était appelé à bouleverser la physique naissante: un voilier est en mouvement; le vent tombe; donc les causes du mouvement disparaissent; pourtant, il continue de glisser sur son erre. Le principe de l’inertie qui se profile derrière cet argument s’imposa progressivement, discréditant les tourbillons aristotéliciens: à une situation d’équilibre entre argumentations succéda une situation de domination d’une argumentation par l’autre. Les deux exemples que j’ai évoqués ne sont pas fondamentalement différents l’un de l’autre. Notre certitude négative provient dans les deux cas de ce que nous savons. Notre familiarité avec le principe de l’inertie fait que nous percevons facilement la théorie aristotélicienne comme tout aussi inacceptable que la théorie des Papago. Nous savons qu’il n’y a pas lieu de s’interroger sur les forces mystérieuses qui entretiendraient le mouvement des flèches puisqu’un corps en mouvement tend à le rester. Cette argumentation a aujourd’hui une valeur “cosmopolite”. Mais les physiciens aristotéliciens avaient des raisons de croire à la théorie des tourbillons. Cet exemple a aussi l’avantage de rappeler que, s’il existe des situations où une argumentation en domine une autre, il existe des situations où deux argumentations différentes sont en situation

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d’équilibre. C’est seulement lorsque le principe d’inertie a eu fait ses preuves que l’argumentation des physiciens aristotéliciens est devenue non crédible. Ce que montrent ces exemples familiers, c’est d’abord que la connaissance ordinaire s’appuie, tout comme la connaissance scientifique, sur des systèmes de raisons plus ou moins solides. C’est ensuite qu’on a avantage à chercher à déceler un système de raisons derrière toute croyance assertorique: cela provient de ce que sur beaucoup de sujets l’idée d’une croyance qui soit purement “personnelle” est inconcevable; si l’on ne peut justifier x par des raisons acceptables par les autres, on ne peut y croire soi-même. C’est d’autre part qu’un système de raisons apparaît comme solide ou non par comparaison avec les systèmes de raisons concurrents présents sur le marché. La sociologie cognitive peut donc tranquillement souscrire au principe de Tocqueville-Weber: toute conviction s’appuie sur des raisons que le sujet perçoit comme fondées dans le contexte qui est le sien. Ce postulat esquisse une théorie générale des croyances. Il évite bien des oppositions sommaires qui s’évanouissent dès qu’on tente de les saisir: superstitions/croyances, croyances rationnelles/ irrationnelles. Il suggère qu’il est préférable de parler de croyances locales/ universelles, dominantes/dominées. Ainsi, les croyances des Papago comme celles des philosophes du XVIIIe siècle selon Tocqueville sont “locales”: les Français mais non les Anglais avaient des raisons de croire que la planification était une bonne chose; les Papago, mais non nous, que les araignées informent le Dieu du Boboquivari; les physiciens aristotéliciens, mais non leurs successeurs, que le mouvement des flèches est produit par la vibration de l’air qu’elles provoquent. Des croyances axiologiques Ainsi, on a la conviction que “x est vrai” quand on a la certitude qu’aucune argumentation meilleure ne risque, dans l’état de notre information, d’aboutir à une autre conclusion. La thèse principale de la théorie cognitiviste que je défends ici est qu’il en va de même dans le domaine de l’axiologique: la conviction que “x est bon, juste, acceptable, etc.”, comme la conviction “x est vrai”, s’établit à partir du moment où, de façon plus ou moins consciente, on a

266 la certitude de ne pas entrevoir d’argumentation meilleure et comportant une conclusion opposée. S’il en est ainsi, la mystérieuse “raison communicationnelle” de Habermas et son tout aussi mystérieux “principe U” se clarifient. Dans le domaine de l’axiologique comme dans le domaine de l’assertorique, on rencontre des situations où une argumentation aboutissant à la conclusion “x est bon, juste, acceptable, etc.” apparaît comme plus solide que toute autre. On pourra dire dans ce cas, utilisant et transposant une notion familière, que l’argumentation en question représente un équilibre réflexif. Dans ce cas, la “raison communicationnelle” nous dit que “x est bon, juste, acceptable, etc.”. Dans d’autres cas, on peut opposer à une argumentation concluant à “x est bon, juste, acceptable, etc.” une autre argumentation aboutissant à la conclusion opposée sans qu’il soit facile d’affirmer que l’une est préférable à l’autre. On observe aussi des situations évolutives où une argumentation devient obsolète, soit qu’un nouvel argument soit apporté auquel on n’avait pas pensé auparavant, soit que des faits nouveaux viennent à être découverts. Cet aspect “dynamique” n’a rien de surprenant étant donné notamment l’interpénétration des jugements de valeur et des jugements de fait. Ainsi, l’attitude à l’égard de la peine de mort varie entre autres choses selon que ses effets dissuasifs apparaissent démontrés ou non. La philosophie morale a souvent tenté d’exprimer la source cognitive de la morale. Le succès d’un Rawls11 s’explique sans doute par la nature cognitive de son projet: établir une théorie composée d’axiomes susceptibles d’entraîner un assentiment général et tirer de ces axiomes des critères permettant de définir ce qui dans le domaine du politique peut être tenu pour juste, légitime ou acceptable; réciproquement, fournir une explication des sentiments de justice ou d’injustice, de légitimité ou d’illégitimité que suscitent les institutions et les décisions politiques. C’est dire que selon cette théorie, les sentiments de justice ou d’injustice, de légitimité ou d’illégitimité sont vus comme le produit de systèmes de raisons. Il faut d’ailleurs noter que Rawls reprend ici une méthode vénérable, la méthode contractualiste. Dans son principe même, elle vise à déterminer ce que des contractants libres jugeraient à l’unanimité comme bon et, réciproquement, à expliquer les jugements “cela est bon, juste, légitime” par

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des systèmes de raisons assez solides pour que le théoricien puisse les présenter comme acceptables à l’unanimité. L’on peut noter incidemment que Habermas paraît ne pas bien saisir l’essence de la méthode contractualiste, ni la nature de l’entreprise de Rawls12. Il la taxe d’ “invraisemblance” sans prêter attention au fait, bien marqué pourtant par le célèbre “écartons les faits” de Rousseau, que le contractualisme ne doit pas être interprété de manière réaliste. Qui peut imaginer que Rousseau lui-même se représentait la fondation des sociétés comme un contrat passé devant notaire? L’ “état de nature” crée seulement une situation idéal-typique permettant de comprendre les sentiments de légitimité ou d’illégitimité associés aux institutions politiques. C’est cette idée de méthode que reprend Rawls. Imaginons, nous dit-il, des individus placés “sous le voile de l’ignorance”, ne sachant rien de leurs propres goûts, de leurs aptitudes, de leurs préférences, ignorant la place qui sera la leur dans la société, les aléas auxquels ils seront confrontés, etc. Sur quels principes les institutions de ladite société devraient-elles être appuyées pour qu’ils les jugent acceptables? Cette fiction de la “situation originaire” permet à Rawls de répondre à des questions comme: à quel prix des inégalités vont-elles être jugées légitimes? Réponse: les citoyens dans la situation originaire vont jouer la prudence. Ne sachant pas quel sera leur sort, ils recourent à la stratégie dite du maximin: ils exigent que les institutions aient pour objectif de rendre la condition des moins favorisés aussi bonne que possible. Si un accroissement des inégalités a pour effet d’améliorer leur condition, il sera donc jugé bon. Il sera jugé indifférent s’il n’a aucun effet sur la situation des plus démunis et mauvais s’il aboutit à une dégradation de leur situation. Il n’y a aucun doute que l’argumentation qui compose la théorie de la justice de Rawls est bonne: ses propositions de base sont acceptables. La seule question est de savoir si elle est plus acceptable que toute argumentation concurrente. Pour concrétiser cette difficulté, je me bornerai à évoquer l’argumentation développée par le fonctionnalisme sociologique dans les années 50-60. Cette théorie propose de considérer que les inégalités tendent à être jugées légitimes lorsqu’elles sont favorables, non seulement comme chez Rawls aux plus démunis, mais à tous. Ainsi une politique de redistribution des revenus qui améliorerait la condition des plus démunis, disons de 10% sans affecter la

268 condition des autres serait jugée par les contractants de Rawls meilleure qu’une politique qui améliorerait la condition de tous de 5%. Les “fonctionnalistes” soutiendraient l’opinion opposée. Bref, il n’est pas sûr que sur cette question des inégalités, la théorie de Rawls ne veuille pas trop préciser les choses. On peut en effet facilement imaginer des situations où les sentiments de légitimité trancheraient en un sens différent du sien. On verra ci-dessous où réside la source principale de cette faiblesse. Mais les deux théories évoquées ont en commun un point essentiel, à savoir que le sentiment “ces inégalités sont acceptables/inacceptables” y est analysé comme une conviction fondée sur des raisons solides. Il est vrai que si une réduction des inégalités entraînait une détérioration de la situation soit de tous soit des moins bien lotis, cela serait jugé mauvais. On peut par comparaison évoquer la théorie à l’aide de laquelle le danois Ranulf tentait d’expliquer les sentiments d’injustice soulevés par les inégalités : l’envie est la passion dominante de l’homme, avance-t-il ; mais elle est si disgracieuse que les sciences humaines passent leur temps à essayer de la dissimuler13. Si cette théorie était vraie, il en résulterait que, toutes choses égales d’ailleurs, une situation plus égalitaire serait toujours considérée comme plus juste. L’observation la plus simple montre que cela n’est pas le cas. Mais la théorie de Rawls me semble, comme bien des théories produites par la philosophie morale, se heurter à une objection principale. Aucune théorie unique, quelle que soit sa solidité, ne peut se donner pour ambition de déduire l’ensemble des propositions de type “x est juste, bon, recevable”, s’agissant même d’un domaine particulier. Dans Political liberalism, Rawls insiste sur le point que sa théorie ne concerne que les institutions et les décisions politiques ; elle ne traite en aucune façon, dit-il, des questions morales14. Il est vrai qu’elle ne porte que sur les droits fondamentaux et les problèmes relevant des inégalités (inégalités des chances et inégalités des résultats). En ce sens, sa théorie n’a effectivement pas l’ampleur par exemple de la théorie kantienne. Malgré cette restriction, elle se heurte à l’objection, à mon sens fondamentale, que le monde des sentiments de justice est trop complexe pour qu’il soit possible d’en rendre compte par une théorie unique. Pour mesurer la naïveté de cette ambition, considérons le cas de la physique. Les mouvements du pendule sont expliqués par la théorie de Huygens, la

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réflexion optique par celle de Descartes, etc. Sans doute existe-t-il un tissu conjonctif entre ces différentes théories. Mais même dans une discipline aussi “mûre”, il n’est pas question de déduire l’ensemble des phénomènes d’un nombre fini de propositions. L’ensemble des propositions “x est vrai”, même s’agissant d’une catégorie bien déterminée de phénomènes, correspond non pas à une théorie unique, mais à un ensemble de théories, i.e. de systèmes de raisons multiples. La connaissance scientifique évoque l’image plutôt d’un archipel que d’un continent. Pourtant, alors que la vision newtonienne d’un savoir totalisé est devenue caduque s’agissant de la connaissance scientifique, elle persiste curieusement s’agissant de la morale, peut-être en raison de l’influence durable de Kant en matière de théorie de la pratique. Pourquoi faudrait-il qu’un argumentaire unique de type rawlsien permette de déduire toutes les propositions de forme “x est juste/injuste” qu’on peut émettre à propos des institutions ou des décisions politiques ? Même si on se limite aux sentiments de “justice”, même si parmi les sentiments de justice on se borne à ceux qui sont liés à des questions de répartition des biens, il paraît impossible de les déduire d’une théorie unique. C’est là en tout cas l’un des enseignements principaux des innombrables études “empiriques” qui ont été produites par les sciences sociales sur les sentiments de justice. Sans doute réflètent-elles une attitude naturaliste. On s’y soucie davantage d’enregistrer les sentiments de justice ou les jugements de valeur comme des faits bruts que de comprendre leur genèse. C’est pourquoi la richesse et les enseignements théoriques potentiels de ces travaux ne sont pas toujours bien perçus. Rien n’interdit cependant d’aller au-delà et de tenter d’extraire notamment de la structuration statistique des réponses qu’elles font apparaître des conjectures sur les systèmes de raisons qui fondent les sentiments de justice. Surtout, ces études permettent de voir que, si la certitude morale est associée à des raisons solides, ces raisons ne peuvent se réduire à un argumentaire totalisant. C’est pourquoi, malgré leur modestie, elles ouvrent une piste permettant de corriger les faiblesses du cognitivisme kantien ou même rawlsien. Une étude psychosociologique

270 A l’appui de cette analyse, j’évoquerai un fragment d’une belle étude de psychologie sociale, très typique des travaux que j’évoque ici15. J’espère que les quelques remarques qui suivent suffiront à montrer leur importance pour l’analyse du phénomène axiologique. Ils fournissent en tout cas une confirmation empirique remarquable à la version particulière de la théorie cognitiviste des sentiments moraux que je défends ici. Cette étude vise à explorer un problème moral classique : dans quelle mesure et sous quelles conditions a-t-on le droit de tirer profit de circonstances favorables, lorsque cela n’est pas sans incidence sur autrui? Lesdites circonstances concernent en l’occurrence les variations de l’offre et la demande sur différents marchés concrets, de sorte que l’étude apporte aussi de précieux éclairages sur les interférences entre les sentiments moraux et les “lois” économiques. On y propose à un ensemble de sujets, dont l’effectif varie d’une question à l’autre, un ensemble de situations simples où un acteur économique prend une décision affectant son environnement social. Les sujets sont invités à juger de la recevabilité de la décision. Je me bornerai à considérer quelques unes des deux douzaines de situations fictives évoquées par les auteurs de l’étude. 9a. Une petite entreprise emploie plusieurs ouvriers et leur verse des salaires moyens ; il y a un sérieux chômage dans la région et l’entreprise pourrait facilement remplacer ses employés avec de bons ouvriers à des salaires plus bas. L’entreprise fait des bénéfices. La direction réduit les salaires de 5%. Cela est-il acceptable? Sur 195 personnes, 23% trouvent la réduction acceptable, 77% la jugent inacceptable. 9b. Une petite entreprise [...] L’entreprise perd de l’argent. La direction réduit les salaires de 5%. Cela est-il acceptable ? Cette fois, les répondants jugent la réduction acceptable dans 68% des cas et inacceptable dans 32 %. On discerne assez facilement une théorie dominante derrière ces réponses. On peut la traduire de la façon suivante :

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¨ Dans un système où offre et demande sont des paramètres importants, qui s’imposent aux acteurs économiques, il faut tenir compte de leur valeur. ¨ Néanmoins un acteur ne peut profiter unilatéralement d’une situation qui le favorise s’il n’y est pas contraint et si cela provoque une détérioration sans contrepartie de la situation des agents appartenant à son système de production. ¨ Or dans la situation 9a évoquée, il n’y est pas contraint (la santé de la firme est bonne). ¨ Dans cette situation, il ne peut donc arguer du chômage dans la région pour baisser les salaires de ses employés. En revanche quand la santé de la firme n’est pas bonne, une baisse des salaires d’une part est peut-être indispensable à la survie de l’entreprise et par conséquent de l’intérêt de tous. Dans ce cas (situation 9b), l’argumentation bascule donc vers la conclusion opposée. On a observé récemment en France une situation réelle qui n’est pas sans rappeler cette situation quasi-expérimentale. Il s’agit de la grève de la compagnie Air France d’octobre 1993: la direction avait décidé d’un plan destiné à mettre fin à un déficit considérable. Le plaÁ comportait notamment une réduction des primes allouées aux catégories de personnel les plus modestes; un malheureux télescopage entre des décisions indépendantes fit que la direction donna l’impression qu’elle comptait surtout sur les sacrifices des bas salaires pour rééquilibrer ses comptes. La grève comportait des inconvénients pour les usagers. Elle mettait à mal la compagnie. Elle comportait des inconvénients pour les compagnies étrangères atterrissant à Paris. Malgré cela un jugement s’imposa: les grévistes ont eu raison. Les sytèmes d’arguments qu’on peut déceler ou en tout cas conjecturer derrière les réactions des acteurs et de l’opinion sont de même ordre que ceux qui sous-tendent les appréciations des juges dans l’étude expérimentale sous examen. La situation de l’entreprise AirFrance, la nécessité de la redresser dans un contexte de concurrence internationale, le fait que sa mauvaise situation ait menacé son existence même et par conséquent ses employés de tous niveaux n’entraînait pas qu’on puisse ignorer le principe selon lequel des sacrifices doivent être équitablement répartis. L’intensité des réactions fut à la mesure de la solidité de cette

272 argumentation. En dépit des conséquences économiques et politiques de la grève, le public n’a pas dans son ensemble jugé incompréhensible la vigueur de la réaction syndicale. L’argument “on n’a pas le droit de revendiquer en période de chômage” émis par certains journalistes a été mal perçu; l’argument “ils provoquent des conséquences nuisibles à la compagnie, à la communauté nationale, à eux-mêmes” n’a pas entraîné le sentiment qu’ils avaient tort. Je reviens maintenant à l’étude expérimentale : 14. Un propriétaire loue une petite maison. Au moment du renouvellement du bail, il apprend que son locataire a pris un emploi tout près de son domicile. Il y a par conséquent peu de chances qu’il veuille déménager. Le propriétaire augmente alors son loyer de 40 dollars de plus qu’il ne l’avait envisagé. 9% des sujets jugent la décision acceptable ; 91% la jugent inacceptable (N=157). Les réponses sont encore plus nettes que dans le cas précédent. On ne peut unilatéralement profiter de circonstances fortuites lorsque cela entraîne des inconvénients pour une personne avec laquelle on est en relation. Á la différence du cas précédent, les acteurs hypothétiques concernés n’appartiennent pas à un système coopératif; mais ils s’apprêtent à s’engager mutuellement par contrat. Surtout, il y aurait ici pour l’acteur favorisé par les circonstances quelque chose de plus choquant que dans le cas précédent à profiter de la situation. Le droit légitime et imprescriptible qu’a le locataire de choisir librement son emploi se trouverait en effet comme retourné contre lui par le propriétaire. Il ne s’agit plus seulement pour ce dernier de tirer avantage du jeu de l’offre et de la demande, mais de profiter de la situation de faiblesse dans laquelle se met le premier en exerçant ses droits élémentaires. L’étude ne le dit pas, mais on peut supposer que si le propriétaire hypothétique avait décidé d’augmenter le loyer en raison d’une tension de la demande de logements dans l’environnement, on aurait observé davantage de réponses positives. Dans ce second cas hypothétique, le propriétaire se contenterait de profiter de la loi de l’offre et de la demande; dans le premier, il transformerait en faiblesse un droit du locataire afin d’ “exploiter” ladite faiblesse. Considérons un autre exemple

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16. Une entreprise est implantée dans une communauté qui compte un taux élevé de chômage. Elle recrute un informaticien. Quatre candidats sont jugés qualifiés pour l’emploi. Le directeur leur demande d’indiquer le salaire le plus bas qu’ils accepteraient et choisit celui qui a indiqué le salaire le plus bas. La décision est jugée acceptable par 36% et inacceptable par 64 % des répondants (N=154). L’on peut supposer que la décision est jugée majoritairement inacceptable parce que le décideur profite de la faiblesse des candidats. Celui qui indique le salaire le plus bas est peut-être celui qui a le moins d’espoir de trouver un emploi, ou le plus timide. Mais on n’a pas sur ce point de certitude: en effet il est peut-être aussi le plus stratégique: a-t-il deviné que la question de l’employeur n’était pas désintéressée? Au mieux, le directeur considère des traits des candidats qui n’ont rien à voir avec leur capacité de contribuer à la production. Il excède donc les limites de son droit à s’informer. De surcroît, il utilise à son profit les renseignements que lui donnent les candidats. La décision est donc inacceptable. Mais à la différence du cas précédent, où l’un des acteurs, le décideur, était en position de force par rapport à l’autre, les protagonistes sont ici dans une situation d’interaction stratégique. C’est sans doute pourquoi la décision est tout de même perçue comme acceptable par près de 40% des répondants? Peut-être aussi certains ont-ils considéré que la situation n’était pas décrite avec clarté. Ainsi, si l’on introduit l’hypothèse que la firme a des difficultés, la décision représente une mesure favorable pour l’ensemble du personnel. Surtout, la décision du directeur n’entraîne pas, à la différence du premier cas, de détérioration de la situation de quiconque. Le candidat qui estime s’être fait piéger peut finalement refuser de se laisser recruter. Il n’est même pas sûr que sa situation soit plus mauvaise qu’elle ne le serait si le directeur n’avait pas forcé les candidats à exprimer leurs préférences. En d’autres termes, on peut facilement imaginer un argumentaire étayant la réponse “acceptable”. Si la majorité se porte de l’autre côté, c’est sans doute surtout parce que le directeur apparaît comme ayant eu recours à une rouerie pour tenter de profiter de l’excès de la demande locale d’emploi sur l’offre. Autre différence avec le cas précédent: le propriétaire imposait au locataire une

274 hausse de loyer sans qu’on puisse faire l’hypothèse d’une éventuelle contrepartie positive pour quiconque. Ici, il n’impose rien et l’on peut évoquer l’éventualité de contreparties. Examinons un dernier extrait de cette étude. 5a. Une file d’attente se développe pour un modèle populaire d’automobile. Les clients doivent désormais subir un délai de livraison de deux mois. Un concessionnaire vendait ses voitures au prix du catalogue. Il les propose désormais à un prix supérieur de 200 dollars au prix du catalogue. La décision est jugée acceptable par 29% des répondants, inacceptable par 71% (N=130). 5b. [...] Un concessionnaire vendait ses voitures en proposant un rabais de 200 dollars. Il les propose désormais au prix du catalogue. La réponse est jugée acceptable par 58% et inacceptable par 42% des répondants (N=123). Dans le premier cas, le concessionnaire profite de la situation de manière unilatérale et impose à ses clients des conditions moins favorables pour eux. En revanche, dans le deuxième cas, il revient sur un avantage qu’il consentait auparavant. Or on a le droit de revenir sur un avantage qu’on proposait librement, surtout lorsque ledit avantage était lié à des circonstances particulières et que ces circonstances ont disparu. C’est bien le cas ici: cet avantage visait à attirer la clientèle. Or il est devenu inutile et même absurde, en raison de la conjoncture de pénurie. Comme dans le cas précédent, des incertitudes interprétatives peuvent contribuer à expliquer la dispersion des réponses. Que font les autres concessionnaires? Le concessionnaire est-il en situation de monopole? L’hypothèse la plus simple est qu’il tire profit de la suppression de la réduction. Si tel est le cas, il y a enrichissement sans cause et avantage unilatéral. Mais le concessionnaire ne rompt aucun contrat. Et le client peut sans doute aller ailleurs et dans bien des cas garder son ancienne voiture en attendant une situation plus favorable. L’enrichissement sans cause tend à faire pencher la balance dans le sens de la réponse “inacceptable”. Mais cet enrichissement n’est pas pendable dans la mesure où le client est libre de ne pas accepter les nouvelles conditions.

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L’absence de consensus qu’on observe ici n’implique pas que le jugement moral soit idiosyncrasique, qu’il émane d’un point de vue injustifiable et purement intuitif. Le fait que la structuration de la distribution des réponses varie sensiblement d’une situation à l’autre suggère au contraire que celles-ci sont toujours fondées sur une théorie, c’est à dire sur un système d’arguments que le répondant perçoit comme fort. Mais la plupart de ces situations laissent à l’interprétation une plus ou moins grande marge. Selon les hypothèses qu’on rajoute pour remplir les “blancs” laissés par la situation fictive, la validité d’une argumentation peut changer. Dans le dernier cas, selon que l’on suppose le concessionnaire en situation de monopole ou non, son comportement est plus ou moins acceptable. Dans le cas où apparaît une forte asymétrie dans la distribution des réponses, c’est que les “blancs” sont réduits et que l’on peut appliquer en confiance un argumentaire solide et qui tend à être dominant. Il m’est difficile, vu la nature des données, d’aller plus loin dans l’analyse. Mais les ébauches précédentes permettent de vérifier qu’il est impossible de comprendre l’ensemble des phénomènes de structuration (dans la distribution statistique des croyances collectives normatives) qu’on observe dans des études comme celle que je viens d’évoquer, si l’on ne fait pas l’hypothèse que les jugements de type “ceci est acceptable/inacceptable” sont appuyés sur des argumentaires visant à un maximum de validité. Quelquefois, un argumentaire tend à s’imposer: on a alors une situation d’ “équilibre réflexif”. Dans d’autres cas, on pressent que plusieurs argumentaires valides peuvent être développés. La symétrie de la distribution des réponses est plus accusée dans le second cas. De façon générale, lorsqu’on examine l’étude réanalysée ici dans son ensemble, on en tire facilement l’impression qu’on décèle derrière les réponses une véritable théorie globale relative aux conditions sous lesquelles on peut légitimement tirer profit des circonstances: cela est légitime si, ce faisant, on n’impose pas une nuisance à autrui; si l’on y est contraint, si la nuisance qu’on impose à certaines personnes est compensée par des effets positifs sur d’autres; si l’on ne rompt pas un engagement, etc. Le développement complet de cette théorie dépasse mon propos présent. Tout ce que je veux suggérer c’est que son existence dans l’esprit des répondants fait peu de doute au sens où, sans elle, il paraît impossible de rendre compte de la structuration des réponses.

276 D’autre part, il est clair que cette théorie ne se réduit en aucune façon à la simple application de principes généraux, mais qu’elle représente un argumentaire complexe modulé par les répondants en fonction des situations hypothétiques auxquelles ils sont exposés. Enfin, on peut émettre la conjecture -mais il faudrait des études empiriques conçues d’une manière dynamique pour le vérifier- que, si les “blancs” étaient éliminés par la discussion, cela faciliterait l’identification d’un argumentaire dominant. Bien sûr, il faut admettre aussi qu’il est des cas d’indécidabilité objective, où même si les “blancs” étaient éliminés et si la discussion devenait entièrement transparente, on ne pourrait obtenir une réponse unique s’imposant à tous. Ainsi, à la question 5a, on peut insister ou sur l’enrichissement sans cause du concessionnaire ou sur le fait que personne n’est forcé d’accepter ses conditions, et il est difficile de montrer qu’il faille trancher plutôt dans un sens ou dans l’autre. Ces espaces d’indécidabilité incompressibles sont au fondement même de la politique : aucun argumentaire ne peut par exemple déterminer les meilleures limites de la contrainte publique en matière de lutte contre le tabagisme. C’est pourquoi dans un cas comme celui-là la raison du plus fort politiquement tend à être la meilleure. Mais autant il est indispensable de souligner l’existence de ces espaces d’indécidabilité, autant l’on doit se garder de considérer que toutes les questions axiologiques en relèvent. On peut noter au passage que c’est sur cette hyperbole que se fonde souvent le nihilisme axiologique des “post-modernistes”. Conclusion Des habitudes de pensée contractées sous l’influence des empiristes, des positivistes et des différentes variétés de théories réductionnistes des valeurs ont occulté quelques propositions simples mais essentielles, à savoir que les convictions axiologiques comme les convictions assertoriques tendent à s’appuyer sur des argumentaires aussi solides que possible. Une conviction morale ne saurait être vécue comme telle par un sujet qui n’aurait pas le sentiment qu’elle est justifiée par un système de raisons solides et par là communicables.

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Ce postulat est présent dans la sociologie de Tocqueville comme dans celle de Weber : les croyances axiologiques doivent s’expliquer par la force des raisons que l’acteur social a d’y croire. Il explique l’efficacité de l’une et de l’autre s’agissant de l’explication des croyances axiologiques. Ce même postulat se retrouve au fondement de la philosophie “contractualiste”. Sa force explique sans doute aussi l’importance qui a été accordée à la théorie de Rawls. Adoptant le point de vue de la philosophie contractualiste, elle repose en effet sur l’idée que les sentiments de légitimité ou d’illégitimité qui s’attachent aux institutions et aux décisions politiques s’appuient sur un argumentaire que des juges impartiaux endosseraient à l’unanimité. D’un autre côté, la tradition contractualiste présente une faiblesse majeure : celle de croire que l’ensemble des jugements de type “cela est bon, légitime, recevable” peut être déduit d’un système unique de principes simples. Cette faiblesse affecte aussi bien entendu la tradition kantienne. Les études “empiriques” sur les sentiments moraux, comme celles que j’ai évoquées dans la dernière partie de cet article, suggèrent quant à elles que l’on peut conserver de ces traditions l’idée que les argumentaires associés aux convictions morales doivent être conçus sur le modèle des systèmes de raisons associées aux convictions assertoriques. En revanche, elles suggèrent clairement que les sentiments moraux ne peuvent être déduits d’une axiomatique unique, mais plutôt, comme dans le cas de l’assertorique, de “théories”, i.e. de systèmes de raisons capables d’épouser la diversité et la complexité des situations concrètes. Les mêmes études suggèrent aussi que, pas plus que les convictions assertoriques, les convictions axiologiques ne sont dépendantes de l’existence de croyances dogmatiques. Enfin, elles font bien sentir l’importance du ciment moral dans l’ordre social. Ce ne sont pas seulement les discussions ou les événements politiques majeurs qui sont soumis par le citoyen au crible de l’argumentation morale; les événements les plus prosaïques et les plus mineurs de la vie de la cité provoquent aussi un flux continu d’appréciations et de réactions morales. En tout cas, les sujets de Kahneman et de ses collaborateurs paraissent ne manifester aucun doute sur deux points: que le légal ne coïncide en aucune façon avec le légitime, i.e. que les décisions sur lesquelles le droit est

278 muet sont jugées d’un point de vue moral, et que le jugement moral peut normalement prétendre à l’objectivité. Finalement, la théorie cognitiviste que j’ai ébauchée ici permet peut-être de donner un contenu à la “raison communicationnelle” de Habermas, puisqu’elle avance que, comme les convictions assertoriques, les convictions axiologiques se fondent sur des systèmes de raisons visant à être aussi objectives et par suite communicables que possible.

Notes: 1 Boudon, R. “Le pouvoir social : variations sur un thème de Tocqueville”, (Communication présentée devant l’Académie des Sciences morales et politiques, le 16 novembre 1992), Revue des Sciences Morales et Politiques, 1992, 4, 531-558 et Commentaire, été 1993, nE 62, 311-322. 2 Et aujourd’hui d’un H. ALBERT, “Der Sinn des Lebens ohne Gott”, in Hörster, N. (ed.), Religionskritik, Stuttgart, Reclam, 1984, 119-28. 3 Au sens de Luckmann, T. Die unsichtbare Religion, Frankfurt, Suhrkamp, 1991. 4 Habermas, J. Moralbewusstsein und Kommunikatives Handeln, Frankfurt, Suhrkamp, 1983, p.53 ; tr. fr.: Morale et communication: conscience morale et activité communicationnelle, Paris, Cerf, 1986. 5 Merton, R., Science, Technology and Society in Seventeenth Century England, New York, Howard Fertig, 1970 (1938). 6 Habermas, J. Theorie des kommunikativen Handelns, Frankfurt, Suhrkamp, 1981, 3e ed. 1985; tr. fr.: Théorie de l’agir communicationnel, Paris, Fayard, 1987. 7 Habermas semble parfois subodorer cette réponse. Ainsi il évoque occasionnellement l’idée que la validité puisse émaner de la “pratique argumentative” ( “Argumentationpraxis”), Faktizität und Geltung, Frankfurt, Suhrkamp, 1992, p.565. 8 Toqueville, A. de. L’Ancien Régime et la Révolution, 1856; Paris, Laffont, 1986. Livre 3, Chap. 1 à 3. 9 Borhek, J.T. et Curtis, R.F. A sociology of Belief, New York, Wiley, 1975. 10 Lakatos, I. “Falsification and the Methodology of Scientific Research Programs” in Lakatos, I. et Musgrave, A (ed.) Criticism and the Growth of Knowledge, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1974, 91-196. 11 Rawls, J. A Theory of Justice, Cambridge MA, The Belknap Press of Harvard University, 1971; tr. fr.: Théorie de la justice, Paris, Ed. du Seuil, 1987 (préface propre à l’édition française). 12 “Nicht nur unter Philosophen und Juristen, auch unter Oekonomen hat sich ein Diskurs eingespielt, der an Theoreme des 17 und 18. Jahrhundert so ungeniert anknüpft als brauche man von der sozialwissenschaftlich Entzauberung des Rechts keine Notiz zu nehmen”, Faktizität und Geltung, op. cit., p.79. À propos du contractualisme, il commente : “diese unwahrscheinliche Idee”, Ibid. , p.63 13 Ranulf, S. Moral Indignation and Middle Class Psychology; A sociological Study, Copenhagen, Levin & Munksgaard, 1938. 14 Boudon, R. “Libéralisme et pluralisme selon John Rawls”, Analyses de la Société d’Études et de Documentation Économiques, Industrielles et Sociales, sept. 93, nE95, 1-9.

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15 Kahnemann, D. Knetsch, J.L Thaler, R. “Fairness as a constraint on profit seeking: entitlements in the market”, The American Economic Review, sept. 1986, Vol. 76, NE4, 728-42.Voir aussi Boudon, R. “L’objectivité des valeurs”, in: S. Langois, Y Martin (ss.ladir.de) l ´horizon de la culture, hommage a Fernand Dumont, Sainte Fey (Quèbec) , Les Presses de l`Université Laval 1995, 217-236. article à paraître dans un volume d’hommage à F. Dumont et “La logique des sentiments moraux”, L’Année sociologique, 1994 (à paraître).

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RaimoTuomela Rational Cooperation and Collective Goals

abstract It is argued that full-blown cooperation needs collective goals in a strong sense satisfying the “Collectivity Condition”. According to this condition, a collective goal ist of the kind that necessarily, due of the goal-holders acceptance of the goal as their collective goal, if it is satisfied for one of the goal-holders it is satisfied for all the others. Not only collective goals but also other group-factors (such as possibly institutional “group-mode” preferences and utilities) are argued to be relevant to rational cooperative solutions of collective action dilemmas.

I Introducing Rational Cooperative Action The purpose of this paper is to discuss the notion of rational cooperation and particularly under what conditions it is rational to cooperate. In part the discussion will make use of game-theoretical notions and results, but with an emphasis on conceptual rather than technical issues. I will take cooperation in its full sense to be collective activity requiring the shared pursuit of a collective goal. “Quasi-cooperation”, however, is a weaker notion of cooperation that only requires action towards shared personal goals (which fall short of constituting a collective goal). Quasi-cooperation is the kind of cooperation that is typically meant when cooperation and defection in the context of collective action dilemmas (such as exemplified by the Prisoner’s Dilemma situation) are considered. Cooperation can concern both single-agent actions and collective (as well as joint) actions. The main new idea or point in this paper is the elaboration of the idea that one’s reasons for cooperative action can be either “merely personal” (or “individual”, but still possibly highly social) or “collective” (or “group-related”). Collective reasons are relevant to attempts to resolve the conflict between individual rationality and collective rationality involved in collective action dilemmas.

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When a group of persons rationally accepts a collective goal and acts together to achieve it, we are dealing with full-blown cooperation (this will be clarified in Section II). Each participating agent is supposed to contribute to the collective goal, acting together - at least in a broad sense - with the other participants. A single agent’s contribution can accordingly also be called cooperation. We may ask what such rational contribution really is and under what conditions cooperation is rational. In this paper I will mainly operate with a notion of “strictly” rational action. This is the normative notion according to which rational action is not action performed for good prudential reasons but action which is best or optimal for a certain agent or agents in a certain situation relative to the resources (including normal human abilities) available. This notion can be spelt out in more detail for action-tokens (of a type C, say) as follows: R) A cooperative single-agent action (viz. action-token) performed by an agent A in a situation S was (strictly) rational for A if and only if a) it was “correctly” grounded in A’s rational intentions (and goals), references, and beliefs, and b) it maximized his expected utility in S, taking into account both his private (viz. merely personal) goals and preferences and his collective goals and preferences. What we are dealing with here is the comprehensive rationality (not only instrumental rationality) of a cooperative action token by a single agent. (I will not discuss the case of rational cooperative joint action in detail in this paper.) Analysis R) relies on the notion of cooperation, which will be clarified below. As rationality is a very broad notion and can be taken to include actions which merely “satisfies” some relevant rationality criteria, the above analysis must be taken to concern the strict notion of rationality - rational action as something not prudentially improvable in the circumstances in question. The correct applicability of the predicate ‘rational’ accordingly is a different matter, for which clauses a) and b) are sufficient but not necessary. The present paper concentrates almost solely on b) - which by itself certainly is a broad enough topic. This clause concerns instrumental rationality, and also takes into account collective rationality. Clause b) entails that the

282 agent believed that he was acting in accordance with his (want-based) preferences, or, speaking technically in terms of quantified preferences, was maximizing his expected utilities by acting.1 According to clause a) his belief must be rational, but not necessarily true. A rational belief is one acquired using well-known rational methods of reasoning and adequate corrective procedures, but the demands of rationality must allow for the psychological limitations of normal human beings. Rational goals are supposed in general to respect the agent’s preferences, except that collective action dilemmas make this a problem because of a conflict between the agent’s merely personal and collective preferences (see below and Section IV). Clause a) is supposed to make the action rational in a comprehensive sense also concerned with “endrationality”, “value-rationality”, and “expressive rationality”. The idea is, of course, that the agent’s action-generating intentions, goals, and beliefs should adequately reflect his society’s and culture’s (rational) values and norms as well as his basic underlying needs. (For an account of some central features of the “well-groundedness” conception of rational single-agent action, see e.g. Föllesdal, 1982, Audi, 1985, and for the rationality of beliefs in a strong gametheoretic sense see Bicchieri, 1993.) Part of the discussion below will be concerned with defending and explicating the following thesis: T) One may cooperate for one’s personal reasons (which are allowed to be other-regarding) or for one’s group, and these two reasons, viz. the groupreason (or collective reason) and the private (or mere personal) reason, may be in conflict with each other (serving to create collective action dilemmas). T) may not be new in itself, but it will be illustrated and defended by using some new considerations. If a reason or the reasons for which one acts are rational or “good”, we can speak of rational action in a non-instrumental sense, as clause a) of R) does. Clause b) makes the action rational in an instrumental sense. Corresponding to T), actions can be to various degrees group-rational actions and merely personally rational. For instance in a Prisoner’s Dilemma (PD) situation performing C (“cooperation”) and performing D (“defection”) are both rational in their own, incompatible ways. Thus C is group-rational at least in an instrumental sense - and D is personally rational - at least in an

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instrumental sense. I will use PD, one of the nastiest strategic situations, to illustrate my main points as we go along. For a very simple example of a PD consider the following two-person two-choice outcome matrix: B C

D

C 3,3

-1,5

A D 5,-1 0,0 The joint outcomes are thus ranked - in a personal, non-collective sense - by the players as: DC, CC, DD, CD. Collective action dilemmas are dilemmas between, so to speak, “collective and individual rationality” as exhibited by PD and other related game-situations (such as Chicken and the Battle of the Sexes).2 I will argue below that in some circumstances it is rational for the participants to cooperate by choosing C even in a “single-shot” case, especially when groupfactors are heavily emphasized. II Collective Goals and Cooperation According to the view I defend in my recent work (Tuomela, 1996b), cooperating (viz. intentionally cooperating) means acting together intentionally either in the pursuit of an intended collective (or, more specifically, joint) goal or in the pursuit of an intended personal goal. Our writing a joint paper or singing a song together are examples of cooperative joint action in the pursuit of an intended joint goal. In such joint action each participant cooperates by performing his part of the joint action. Two drivers can cooperate by jointly removing a tree fallen across the driveway and preventing the drivers from getting where they want. This is an example where cooperation has more the character of a joint means to different personal goals rather activity towards a preplanned joint goal. The joint or collective action with respect to which the agents cooperate may accordingly be a goal in itself or (inclusive “or”) it can be a means for the agents to achieve their shared collective goal, when such a goal exists in the situation in question, or their personal goals. Whichever of these

284 three possibilities concerning further goals is involved, the joint action in question can in any case be regarded as at least a proximate goal - telos - that the agents share. Thus it is possible to say that when cooperating they share an intended collective goal - at least the same joint action with regard to which they cooperate. A cooperative situation can be viewed in terms of the practical reasoning the participants are supposed to be disposed to perform (cf. Tuomela, 1995, Chapter 3, for a fuller discussion). Concentrating on two basic “bare-bones” patterns and leaving out the fine points, let us consider a situation in which the participants cooperate towards a collective goal G. When in a reflective mood, they can collectively be taken to reason (more or less) as follows in a certain situation: CPR) i) We intend (rationally) to achieve collective goal G. ii) We mutually believe that the best way for us to achieve G here is to collectively perform action X. iii) Therefore, we intend to perform X. Each single participant is personally assumed to be disposed to reason thus: PPR) a) We intend to perform X collectively. b) Therefore, I intend to contribute to G by performing my share of X, viz. the best way I can contribute to G. We note that i)-iii) concern the members of the group collectively, in a “chorus sense”, while a) and b) relate to one single member. Clause b) is understood to entail that the reason for his intention to contribute is his acceptance of a), viz. the collective intention to perform X collectively, this in turn having as its central reason the members’ acceptance of the collective goal G. Note here that the schema CPR) becomes logically binding only if the participants are taken to understand that the rational achievement of a goal

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entails performing actions which are best, viz. utility-maximizing, for G. (Note that there are other possibilities for premiss ii), e.g. X could be regarded as necessary for G; see Tuomela, 1984, Chapter 11.) More about the general nature of cooperation can be argued for. Thus all full-blown cooperation must not only involve commitment toward a (cooperative) collective goal or plan but the participants’ underlying interests or preferences, qua participants of the action, had better be positively, if not highly, correlated. In other words, commonality of interests serves to make the action situation cooperative by nature (by making additional and “supererogatory” activities contributing to the collective goal desirable and rational). Furthermore, the cooperative nature of an action is enhanced if the participants act out of a cooperative attitude. (See Tuomela, 1993 and 1996b, for a discussion of these features.) In a nutshell the following is an acceptable thesis about cooperation: C) Two or more actors cooperate in the full sense of the notion if and only if they share a collective (or joint goal) and act together in order to achieve that goal. Cooperation is rational in the comprehensive sense if the collective goal is rational and the collective means-action is also rational (in the context of strict rationality: utility-maximizing). Thesis C) is a rough statement of what cooperation in a general but full-blown sense can be taken to involve. However, this thesis must be understood broadly enough to be compatible with the claim that not all cooperation need involve acting towards a collective end-state. The truth of this claim is based on the possibility of cooperation which only involves shared activity - a collective action-goal - but which shared activity does not purport to lead causally to a collective end, only to personal ends or no ends separate from the action at all. Note, too, that cooperation in the sense of C) does not require an agreed-upon joint plan. Thesis C) centrally relies on the notion of a collective goal. A summary analysis of the full-blown notion can be given as follows (cf. Tuomela (1996a): (ICG) G is an intended collective goal of some persons A1,...,Am forming a collective C in a situation S if and only if G is a state or (collective) action such that

286 a) each member of C has G as his goal in S, entailing that he intends to contribute (at least if “needed”), together with the others, as specified by the mutually believed presupposition of the shared goal G - to its realization; b) part of each member’s reason for a), viz. for his having G as his goal, is that there is a mutual belief (entailing iterable loop beliefs of the kind “A believes that B believes that A believes such and such”, for all A and B) among them to the effect that a); c) if G is satisfied for a member Ai of C, then, on quasi-conceptual grounds, it is satisfied for every member of C; and this is mutually believed in C. (Collectivity Condition) I have suggested that this analysis gives the strongest viable notion of an intended collective goal which does not involve full-blown joint intention. It is based on personal intentions in the “we-mode”, viz. with the collective content of acting together.3 It also makes the personal intentions responsive to mutual belief (common belief, in the game-theorist’s vocabulary). However, this is a requirement that we need to impose only on full-blown cases. The analysis (ICG) makes the intention (goal) collective not only in the sense of involving acting together but also in the sense (which also joint intentions and joint goals satisfy) of “all for one and one for all”. This is spelt out by the central clause c), the Collectivity Condition. Let us consider it briefly (drawing from Tuomela, 1996a, below). Consider a familiar example like getting street lights in our village. When this goal has been achieved (in accordance with whatever the participants have presupposed of the goalsatisfaction) every villager’s collective goal of getting street lights has been (nonaccidentally) satisfied. The satisfaction of clause c) is an important feature of an intentions’s being a collective one. I wish to emphasize that the satisfaction of a collective intention requires more than the mere coming about of the contentstate - it must come about from collective action as presupposed by the participants. The participants can be said to construct collective goals by their conceptual activities, by their collective acceptances and allowances. In our street light example, they must collectively bring about the goal in order to satisfy it. What if only one of us gets the street lights? This process leads to proper satisfaction

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of the collective goal only if the participants have somehow authorized the person to do it - or, to use my earlier terminology, only if this is allowed by the presupposition of the collective goal. I will say below that one can have a goal (one and the same state or action) either in the private (or merely personal) mode, viz. the “I-mode”, or in the collective mode, the “we-mode”, the central difference being that the we-mode attitude brings about the satisfaction of the Collectivity Condition satisfied while the I-mode attitude does not.4 Whether the situation or state whose existence the satisfaction of the goal G conceptually guarantees can be somehow utilized by all persons having had G as their goal is a different matter. If we have as our collective goal to provide i) streetlights or ii) a barrel of whisky for our village we can say that the satisfaction of a goal is supposed to be rewarding per se, since if you get what you want (viz. G) that is personally rewarding. Thus the provision of i) or ii) is rewarding to all who had the goal in question (and for those who did not succeed in their attempts to help to bring the goal about), irrespective of whether they can make use (be beneficiaries) of the state resulting from the provision of the goal. My analysis does not take a stand on this. The matter depends on what the members of the group decide or accept about the situation. This matter is independent of whether the goal is “indivisible” (or, equivalently, “in joint supply”) as in case i) or “divisible” (case ii)) in the economists’ sense. Thus, as economists typically define public goods in terms of the conjunction of the ontic feature of indivisibility and the “accessibility” feature of non-excludability, a collective goal in my sense can be either a public or a non-public one. Rational cooperation in the full sense was taken to be based on rational collective goals. In this paper this rationality feature cannot be properly discussed. I will, however, impose the condition that a rational collective goal must be an equilibrium (a Nash equilibrium) in the game-theoretical sense. It must, in other words, be the state resulting from the agents’ best responses to the other persons’ best responses. An equilibrium state is accordingly one in which no participant has an incentive to deviate, given that the others do not. We can see that by itself my analysis ICG) almost entails that G is an equilibrium outcome. This is seen by noting, first, the following result of game

288 theory: in a choice situation in which i) each participant is rational (viz. a utility-maximizer) and in which ii) the participants have mutual beliefs about each the others’ strategy choices, the choices constitute a pure-strategy (Nash) equilibrium (see Brandenburger, 1992, p. 90). Note that clause b) of ICG) assumes that the participants not only have a true shared but even a true mutual belief about the means-action for G (cf. ii). Assuming next that our participants are rational utility-maximizers (cf. i)) we arrive at the result that a collective goal G is a Nash equilibrium outcome (but in general not conversely; cf. note 9). Assumptions i) and ii) seem fairly realistic. Thus it is not rare that collective goals in our full sense are stable in the precise sense of a Nash equilibrium. We can in addition discuss the desideratum that collective goals be individually rational, viz. that achieving them improves on what the individuals can achieve separately. Achieving this may sometimes involve changing the situation appropriately so that a contained collective action dilemma is solved (think of a case where free-riding is made very costly to individuals by sanctions). There are weaker kinds of cooperation, including quasi-cooperation. For instance, cooperative activity based on reciprocity, where no collective goal but only personal goals need to be present, represents quasi-cooperation. What is discussed under the heading ‘cooperation’ in game-theoretical literature normally or often belongs here. This actually is the sense of cooperation I will discuss at length below. A brief summary of the two-person case goes as follows (cf. Tuomela, 1996b):5 (COINT) Two agents A and B interact quasi-cooperatively if and only if a) they fit their relevant private (or merely personal) goals, preferences, and actions to the other’s private goals, preferences, and actions; but b) they do not have a joint or collective goal related to the actions in question. (Alternatively, if one wants a broader notion, one could say in clause b) that A and B do not have to have a collective goal.) Here each of the participants can be said to quasi-cooperate when they interact quasicooperatively. This would cover mutual cooperation in a collective action dilemma. We can of course also speak of unilateral cooperation in such a dilemma and allow that a) holds true of only one of the agents.

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In game-theoretical literature one also finds uses of ‘cooperation’ which have hardly anything to do with the intuitive notion. Thus one may more or less arbitrarily label one of the choices ‘C(ooperation)’ and the other one, in a two-choice case, ‘D(efection)’, perhaps, however, requiring that the mutual Cchoice outcome be Pareto-preferred to the mutual D-choice outcome. In this highly liberal use cooperation does not even require taking into account what the other person wants (over and above what is given by the mutually known preference or utility structure). III The Rationality of Cooperation and Quasi-Cooperation In this section, and in the rest of the paper, I will mainly operate within a gametheoretical setting and concentrate on so-called non-cooperative games, in which no agreements between the players are made. I will present below a schema for collective action dilemmas showing a number of relevant parameters - viz. parameters which will help to answer the question “Under what circumstances is it rational to cooperate?”.6 Here cooperation will be mostly quasi-cooperation, but full-blown cooperation requiring a collective goal may be involved. I will view the situation mainly from a single participant’s point of view, which makes it possible to speak of one-sided cooperation as well. In this section I will concentrate on merely personal reasons for cooperation. These reasons can be highly social, but it is not assumed that the participants share a collective goal in the full-blown sense. They may, however, share a goal in a personal sense (which does not satisfy the Collectivity Condition). As stated, I will concentrate on a game-theoretical situation of strategic interaction in which the participants actions are dependent on each other with respect to the outcomes. A finite non-cooperative game in “strategic” (or “normal”) form consists of a) a finite set of players and, for each player b) a finite set of choices and c) consistent preferences concerning them represented by a payoff or utility function associating a payoff to that player with every specification of choices by all the players. The agents are also assumed to have d) subjective conditional point probabilities about each other’s actions.7 They are also assumed to have mutual beliefs about a)-d).

290 We can, more generally, take the participants’ preferences to be about the entities in the situation they “care about”. These entities may be a selected set of joint outcomes or goals or conglomerations of actions together with their outcomes, or something else relevant (see Tuomela, 1984, Chapter 12, for a discussion). Thus in a simple two-person two-choice situation (on which I concentrate) in a PD case I will simply speak of the four joint outcomes CC, CD, DC, and DD as the entities valued by the agents. This kind of talk may mean several things, particularly the whole mutual action-process with a certain intended and expected joint outcome. Thus agent A’s action of choosing C and carrying it out accompanied by B’s action of choosing D and carrying it out together with the resulting joint outcome CD is the entity assumed to be valued by the agents from their own perspective (“in the I-mode”). The joint outcome may but need not involve their shared goal. Assumptions a) -d) are problematic as they are generally unrealistic and as there are technical problems involved with the various approaches to formalizing preferences and degrees of belief. Ordinary folks simply cannot be modeled so that often - as studies by psychologists (such as Tversky and Kahneman) show or seem to show. Since however my present topic is rational action one may better be excused to use the mentioned kinds of formal tools. (A validity problem, which I cannot really discuss in this paper, still remains.) I will start by considering personal utilities relevant to situations of strategic interaction. In the next section I will consider how to take collective preference and group utilities into account, but for the time being I will work with the “Imode” utilities rather than the “we-mode” utilities, reasoning, and acting. I will consider some parameters representing reasons for rational (in the comprehensive sense) intention formation and action in problematic cases, viz. cases involving a conflict between collective and individual rationality. In terms of these parameters it is also possible to formulate decision-making criteria for when to cooperate rationally and when not. Suppose we are concerned with the bringing about of a goal-state G. In this “single-shot” case (which may be the sole case of its kind) G can in principle be either a public good or a private good. The production of G gives a certain amount of utility to the participants in the situation. This can be any kind of

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utility. I will here be concerned with the situational factors affecting a person’s utilities concerning his participation in the production of G - this is typically a collective action dilemma situation. I will be concerned with quasi-cooperation, which only needs to involve a state, G, which is wanted (actually, wanted first and foremost) by some agents who are disposed to strive for this goal, depending on the “costs” involved. The goal-state G thus is assumed to be personally wanted by the agents; it need not be a state they have personally committed themselves to achieving (and thus intend to achieve). Still less need it be a state they jointly or collectively want or intend in any interesting sense (they need not have, for instance, explicitly or implicitly agreed to achieve the goal-state together). To simplify the exposition, I shall impose some further, easily removable restrictions. Assume first that G is an “indivisible” and non-excludable public good, viz. a good whose use or consumption does not reduce the amount available to others and which is made available to all the members of the collective in question. Next, G is taken to be a step-good in the sense that it requires the participants to perform their parts to come about at all. I also assume in my technical comments that there are only two participants with two possible choices (C and D). Furthermore, I will begin by assuming that G can be produced even alone but that, assuming a fixed total collective cost, the individual cost of producing it alone is higher than when it is produced together. Let u be the gross reward (utility) that a participant receives when G is produced, whether alone or together. What I call a reward here is meant to be understood in a broad sense to include persons who act out of duty or moral principle or, more demandingly, act because of the validity of a normative principle. In the limiting case of Kantian unconditional cooperators there is also a kind of reward related to his ranking cooperation higher than defection, possibly in a somewhat figurative sense. The utility u can be a transformed utility (in the sense of Kelley and Thibaut, 1978, and Chapter 12 of Tuomela, 1984), but it need not yet be the utility on which our agent acts. Even if u were an other-regarding gross utility, in an actual situation of action new elements not explicitly considered previously must be taken into account.

292 As earlier, the utilities dealt with here apply to the actions (achievementactions, including the outcomes). Thus, so to speak, they give values to the whole action process leading to a given outcome. The actions can, furthermore, be understood as described in a way that takes the reasons for which they are performed into account. For instance an agent can perform a “cooperative” action, C, for a rational reason, which might even be or include the reason that he wants to show that he is a cooperative person by performing it. I will not here discuss these factors but simply remind the reader that my framework allows for their inclusion. I will assume that if G is produced alone, only one of the participants contributes (C) while the other defects (D). Assume, for simplicity’s sake, that there is a fixed (material and/or psychological) cost, c, of producing G. When G is produced by both of the participants jointly there will be a jointness effect or an interaction effect, say j, which can be negative in some cases. On the whole, j can be taken to represent at least the reasons for cooperating a) for the sake of cooperation, b) because one normatively ought to (be this a personal or a social norm), c) out of friendliness, and last but not least it can express d) various “consequentialist” factors (e.g. cooperate because in this situation cooperation has good consequences in being necessary or being in some sense useful). Category d) is obviously a large one. Factors a)-d) can coexist and exist to various degrees. I will not try to speculate here on how they might combine to result in a single numerical index j (even if this is not always possible, let us simplify the situation and assume here that it is). In general, j is a function of the costs and a net interaction effect, say i. For instance, if the two of us carry a table upstairs together the total cost of achieving the goal that the table is upstairs can be much less than when one of us alone carries it. Furthermore, we may be able to do it more effectively and to cause less damage to the walls doing it together: i here represents the net gain from both of the agents’ action rather than only one. We may accordingly have an interaction effect - positive or negative - both with respect to costs and with respect to what is achieved by joint action. We need not here take a definite stand on what kind of function of i and c the parameter j in various cases is, but will here assume for the purpose of facilitating our discussion that it is simply

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a sum of the kind j= c/2+i. Thus, when both participants contribute they will both receive the payoff u+j less c/2 (assuming equally shared cost for simplicity’s sake). In part then j involves the gain of c/2 as compared with the case of producing X alone (with cost c). (Two persons cannot each produce the good related to X separately, since once produced the good cannot be reproduced.) The case of two participants taking part in the production of the public good involves two possibilities. They can do it together (intentionally) or separately. The interaction effect i should in a finer analysis be decomposed into two components to account for these possibilities. If separate two-person production is concerned there may - in spite of the separateness concerning the production intentions - still be a factual interaction effect, but full joint production can involve an additional effect from coordination. I will for simplicity not make explicit use of this possibility of decomposing i here. Next we consider the possibility that one of the agents, say A, defects. Supposing that X can be performed alone and that the other participant’s contribution here amounts to performing X alone, the free-rider will then gain a certain amount f by his defection, viz. from switching from C to D. Alternatively, f can be regarded as a free-rider effect or a free-rider incentive. What happens when A contributes while B defects? Then A has to produce X alone, and that may of course be much more costly for him than performing it jointly with B. The sole contributor has to pay cost c rather than c/2, but A may lose more since he may also psychologically and socially lose something from the very fact that he (correctly believes he) is being cheated or is a “sucker”. We will denote by s the total loss (viz., the extra effort plus the sucker effect) accruing to A from his being the sole contributor. Factor s can also have a positive value in that the sole contributor may view herself as a good person or something like that. (In principle there could also be other higher-order effects while A’s utility may be affected by his thought that he is being cheated by B, this fact may in turn affect B’s utility, and so on. But I shall not consider these possibilities here.) There is also a normative aspect of free-riding. In normal collectives there is a social norm barring free-riding (cf. Chapter 1 of Tuomela, 1995, on social norms of two different kinds). At any rate, any collective goal by itself

294 presupposes and thus entails that the goal-holders ought to contribute. Informed and rational participants accordingly will think that they ought to participate in the performance of X. If they do not, they face social sanctions (disapproval) and perhaps experience such sanctions as feeling of guilt (a psychological expression of the sanction from deviating from the accepted norm of cooperating) or shame (a psychological consequence of social disapproval of not acting in accordance with the normative expectation of cooperation). Thus there is a negative normative effect, sometimes a moral one, from defection, given that there was an obligation or at least a normative pressure to contribute. I will denote the effect of social sanctions by m. In the case of mutual defection this social sanction may be nonexistent or at any rate may have a different value. We let the mutual defection utility, including the social sanction effect, be m*. I will now write out the various sources of utility in the form of a diagram and in doing so make two assumptions: i) the utility factors can be linearly totaled as net utilities, and ii) these factors can have negative values; thus no minus signs need to be used. What we now get is the following, assuming that the participants are in a symmetrical position with respect to their payoffs, and writing out only participant A’s payoffs: B C

D

C

u+j

u+s

D

u+f+m

A m*

When should a rational agent A contribute (cooperate, choose C) rather than defect or act separately? Suppose he ascribes the following subjective probabilities to B’s actions: p(CB/CA) = p1, p(CB/DA) = p2, p(DB/CA) = p3, p(DB/DA) = p4. Now we can compare the expected payoffs for C and D accruing to A: EU(C) = p1(u+j) + p3(u+s) EU(D) = p2(u+f+m) + p4(m*)

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If A acts on his preferences he will cooperate rationally in the production of G by choosing C if and only if EU(C) > EU(D). Consider now our earlier example of a Prisoner’s Dilemma (I now write out both participants’ utilities): B C

D

C 3,3

-1,5

D 5,-1

0,0

A Our relevant parameters might now get the following values: u=4, c=-4, i=1, s=-5, f=1, m=m*=0. We could also make m=m*=-1/2 and subtract one half of a point from the defection line values without changing the nature of the game. The - or a - standard “external” solution of a PD goes in terms of norms. For instance, if we can bring it about that m=m*=-3 the cooperative action C will dominate defection, and a kind of resolution of the collective action problem in question has been arrived at - see Section VI for more comments.8 However, we can arrive at the result that EU(C) > EU(D) for some suitable probability values without changing the structure of the game. I will next show this in the context of another issue. In general, utility transformations change the preference structures involved and lead to new, more palatable and friendly games. I will not discuss such transformations here in detail (see Kelley and Thibaut, 1978, and Tuomela, 1996b, Chapter 8). Let me, however, mention one special case involving the transformation of objective payoffs into S-shaped utilities. We start with a PD with either objective payoffs such as money, or possibly with some other objective utilities - e.g. institutionally and normatively defined utilities. These given utilities are transformed into realistic, S-shaped final utilities in accordance with what experimental research tells us. In such a situation, agreeing with experimental research, in some cases we have the result that while the expected utility of defection is greater than that of cooperation in the case of the original payoffs, in the case of the S-transformed utilities cooperation wins, given suitable probability assignments. (See e.g. Tversky and Kahneman, 1992,

296 and Dacey and Gallant, 1995, and Tuomela, 1996b, for a discussion and references.) Similar observations as above can be made in the case of at least some other dilemmas of collective action (e.g. Chicken). It can be shown in the case of twoperson games that if the participants share their knowledge of the structure of the game, the rationality of the players, and about the above kind of probabilistic beliefs, then we get a mixed strategy equilibrium; full-blown mutual knowledge (“common” knowledge in game-theoreticians’ terminology) is not needed (see Brandenburger, 1992). In many cases mutual cooperation can be such an equilibrium. IV I-Mode Utilities and We-Mode Utilities I will distinguish between personal utilities and group utilities. Personal utilities can be other-regarding, but they are still assumed to be distinct from group utilities. In the present context these will be assumed to be based on collective preferences defined over joint outcomes in situations of strategic interaction or to be based on goals generated by joint outcomes. In order to keep things simple (my purpose being to illustrate conceptual issues rather than try to be very realistic in all ways), we will then deal with group preferences such as CC being regarded by the group as preferable to DD in a two-choice two-agent game with C and D as the choice possibilities. Next, and this is crucial, I will assume that each participant has group preferences of this kind. A and B being the participants, both A and B then are assumed to have preferences concerning joint outcomes. Suppose we are dealing with a PD situation. Let us call merely personal or individual preferences i-preferences and group preference or collective preferences g-preferences. In our earlier terminology i-preferences are I-mode preferences and g-preferences are we-mode preferences. In the case of a PD both agents then take the joint outcome CC to be both i-preferable and gpreferable to DD. Here g-preference means that the group (here a dyad) prefers CC to DD. In part because of this, each member of the group qua a group member, also prefers at least in the ideal case, and we now can say g-prefers, CC to DD (cf. schema PPR) of Section II). Each group member thus thinks that it is better for their dyad that CC be realized than DD. In a PD this g-preference

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happens to coincide with the person’s i-preferences concerning the outcomes in question, as CC is Pareto-preferred to DD. Each participant thus i-prefers what he personally “gets” from the joint outcome CC to what he personally gets from the joint outcome DD. This is a clearly different preference from his collective preference for what the group (the participants in toto) gets from the joint outcome CC over what it gets from DD. Note that a participant might prefer outcome CC over DD not merely because of his selfish or self-regarding reasons, but because he other-regardingly i-prefers CC to DD for the reason that the sum (or product, or both) of the participants’ utilities from CC is greater than that from DD. I wish to emphasize that this is still an i-preference in my present classification and fails to satisfy the Collectivity Condition. Even if all the participants have as their mutually believed goal, say, to maximize the sum of their utilities with the sider that no one falls to the sucker-level, that need not satisfy the Collectivity Condition. Even if all participants accidentally chose C, that would not amount to their acting together in choosing C. This is because they would not intentionally act (choose C) so as to satisfy their collective intention to maximize the utility sums together. They would only act to satisfy their personal intention to maximize the utility sums, the other agents being regarded as contingent parts of their surroundings, as it were. Group preferences for outcomes and goals may of course be discussed from the point of view of their rationality, and rationality desiderata may be imposed on them. Thus, if a group prefers a collective goal G to another goal G’ this must somehow be reflected in the group members’ personal g-utilities. For instance, either the sum or the product (or both) of the personal utilities of G may be larger than the respective sum or product (or both) of the utilities of G’. Take the utility sum case: each agent then has the sum as his utility, and maximization of this utility of course means choosing an action in favor of G rather than G’; in the case of our PD it means mutual choice of C. Note that as we are dealing with two different kinds of preference orderings here, presumably only the i-utilities would give a PD. The g-preferences could go in many different ways, except that the CC outcome would be preferred to the

298 DD outcome (for instance, the group might or might not prefer CD and DC to CC). If a reason or the reasons for which one acts are good we can speak of rational action in the comprehensive sense. An action can be made rational by g-reasons and an incompatible action can be made rational by i-reasons. Thus, in the two extremes in a PD situation, doing C (“cooperation”) and doing D (“defection”) are both rational in their own incompatible ways (assuming what has been said above about the relations between g-preference rankings and ipreference rankings). I will discuss two technical ways of implementing this general idea. First, I suggest we can combine personal utility maximization and group utility maximization, for simplicity, by a linear combination (this may not be the only feasible way of combining them) and use the index i for individual or merely personal and g for collective. Thus the suggestion is to use the following formula for the basis of decision-making: EUt(X) = wiEUi(X) + wgEUg(X) Here EUt(X) means the total expected utility of a choice X for a participant in a situation of strategic interaction. The weights, viz. the individual or iparameter wi and the collective org-parameter wg, add up to one: wi+wg=1, 0 # w i,w g # 1. The factors in Ui are supposed to be factors viewed from an

individual’s perspective, whereas those involved in Ug are factors viewed from the group’s perspective. Thus one and the same factor f can be involved here but viewed from these two different perspectives so that we can speak of gpredicates and i-predicates, e.g. g-shame and i-shame. Some special cases and some dependences between the parameters have to be imposed. Thus wi=0 entails unconditional cooperation and wg=0 acting on merely personal preferences to satisfy purely personal goals (which of course may be otherregarding). If a person strictly accepts a goal G as his collective goal and is fully committed to it, this entails that wg=1.9 But he can in a weaker sense take group factors into account and respect individual factors. G could be a collective goal in a group or collection of participants but a certain person might not yet have committed himself to it, so that he would only give some

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weight less than 1 to wg. If a participant accepts the standard game-theoretical dominance principle for i-preferences then wg=0 for him in a PD. In the case of the expected utility EUi the probabilities are as specified above. In the case of EUg the situation is different. Do we even need expected utility in the case of collective goals or could we get by with the plain goalvalue (or, more precisely put, the g-utility value of the joint outcome)? We do seem to need probabilities (degrees of belief). This is because it is possible that the probability (p) of the chosen action X not leading to goal G is less than 1. This may come about if the collective action opportunities do not hold - e.g. not enough participate - or because the environment does not cooperate. But probabilities here are of a different kind than in the case of EUi. When a group rationally accepts a goal it does so on the basis of its preferences. Suppose now that in a situation of strategic interaction it has accepted a certain joint outcome G as its goal (or as a group means to a goal but let us here be simple-minded and think of CC itself as a collective goal or a group goal). In the present setup this entails that the participants accept G as their collective goal (to be distinguished from their purely individual, i-goals). One of the central features of a collective goal that the members have is that in accepting the goal they also in effect accept the Collectivity Condition, a principle relating the satisfaction conditions for the individual members’ g-goals in a noncontingent way. Note here that if the participants of a coordination game just happen to select one of the coordination equilibria (say, because of its salience) thus, in a well-worn example, a meeting at the church of the foreign village rather than at some other place, this equilibrium is not a collective goal in the strong, full-blown sense meant here. Rational collective goals in general, however, should be and also will be equilibria - or so I argued in Section II. What do we get in the case of PD as the values of EUt? If CC has been selected as the dyad’s goal then, no matter how unstable, it will be carried out by rational, committed participants: wi=0 and wg=1 and EUt(C) > EUt(D) (=0). This does not require agreement by the players to choose C, only their separate acceptance of CC as a collective goal (which is not an equilibrium relative to i-preferences).

300 In other cases, in which there is no commitment on the part of both participants (or no expectation to this effect with a probability of one) and which correspond to some of the cases with no agreement concerning CC or cases with non-enforceable agreement concerning CC, we get something else. Both wi and wg can then have non-extreme values. Both individual and collective reasons might still favor cooperation and EUt would then be maximized by mutual cooperation (recall the case with S-shaped utilities), or ireasons and g-reasons might conflict, and then EUt might or might not favor cooperation. With sufficiently strong i-reasons for defection the expected total utility of C will become less than that for D. The extreme case is where there is commitment to D (e.g. via the acceptance of the dominance principle). Then wi=1 and wg=0. The second way to combine i-reasons and g-reasons technically is to do it in a partial way as follows. In view of the schemes CPR) and PPR) of practical reasoning introduced in Section II and assuming C to be the agents’ contributory action in conclusion b) of PPR), we simply do this: In our PD of the previous section we add a parameter g to A’s C row (cells CC and CD) of personal utility, and likewise for B (cells CC and DC). In this way we come down to the level of individual utilities and can use our previous model, where the utilities now involve both merely personal and group utilities. Accordingly, in the case of A, the expected utility of C will be EU(C) = p1(u+j+g) + p3(u+s+g) and that of D EU(D) = p2(u+f+m) + p 4(m*). Obviously, positive g-values can on some occasions make EU(C) larger than EU(D). There is the problem with this second solution that, although perhaps “extensionally correct”, it summarily mixes I-mode utilities (what the original model has) and we-mode utilities (the g-factor) in a theoretically unacceptable or at least suspect way. This is why the first solution seems clearly preferable. Leaving aside technicalities, let me comment on institutional collective goals. They can be taken into account via g-preferences in one of the ways discussed above. By institutional goals I mean normatively defined goals such as the general goal of obeying the laws of the state and more specific goals like paying one’s taxes, keeping public places peaceful and clean, educating one’s children properly, being polite to the elderly and the disabled, and so on. One

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of our institutional goals is to maintain our democratic political system by voting and in other ways. Consider voting. We can regard voting as an institutionally proposed goal which concerns all citizens. Voting can be discussed as a collective action dilemma. At least in some contexts, one can perhaps regard a general election as a PD situation from a purely personal point of view. A citizen prefers his candidate to win, but the chances are slim. However, without voting the whole system would collapse and then one’s own candidate of course cannot succeed. Voting can be regarded as more costly (at least physically) than abstaining from voting; one’s candidate winning without voting oneself is the most preferable situation whereas the worst situation is where one votes in vain for one’s candidate. This can be construed as a PD situation by treating the others as a collective player choosing either in favor of one’s candidate or against him. When g-preferences are brought into the picture it may change a lot, depending on how strongly committed one is to the institutional goal of voting. Suppose, for instance, that a person accepts the collective goal that the election is to be successfully held. The presupposition belief underlying this is that a great majority of people vote. Having accepted the election as a collective goal (G) he ought to contribute by voting. As the collective prefers that the majority vote and also wishes to keep the institution alive (repeated horizon), an agent’s voting is collectively rational even if not necessarily individually rational (a big effort with a slim chance of having an effect on the outcome of the election). Why the collective regards the institution of voting and other institutions as important, is another matter, which I cannot discuss here. This kind of institutional situations can, however, be fruitfully compared with an indefinitely played collective action dilemma game (see the next section). V Repeated Situations of Strategic Interaction The best hope of finding rational cooperative solutions to social action dilemmas may seem to relate to the case of repeated games. The strategically interesting thing here is that the participants can now reward and punish the other participants in the course of playing the game. Various psychological

302 “continuity” factors such as reputation and trust can be argued to affect the strategic situation. I will discuss some well-known technical results on repeated games below. (For good presentations of these results standard textbooks such as Myerson, 1991, Binmore, 1992, Morrow, 1994, and Osborne and Rubinstein, 1994, can be recommended; also cf. Axelrod, 1984, and Bicchieri, 1993.) We consider games in normal form and assume for the time being in the standard fashion that the participants have mutual knowledge (or at least true mutual belief) about the structural features of the game. We say that a joint outcome is in Nash equilibrium if it is a result of the players’ use of (pure or probabilistically mixed) strategies which are in Nash equilibrium. Such a set of strategies is in Nash equilibrium if and only if each player’s strategy gives his best response to the other players’ fixed (pure or mixed) strategies. We say that the equilibrium is subgame-perfect if the players’ strategies are in Nash equilibrium in every subgame. Let us now consider a game G (also called the stage game) and denote the repeated game consisting of G being repeated either finitely or infinitely many times by G(T). Let us first consider finitely repeated games. For the our present purposes the payoffs of G(T) can be taken to be the sum of the payoffs of G. Here is a basic result for such games: If the original game G has a unique Nash equilibrium then for any finite T, the repeated game G(T) has a unique subgame-perfect outcome consisting of the equilibrium of G being played at every stage. For the game to be epistemically adequate this result assumes that the players have at any stage perfect information of what they have done before in the game and it also assumes higher order beliefs, basically that a player at any stage knows, not more and not less, what the next choosing player knows (see Bicchieri, 1993, Chapter 4). Applied to the case of a PD this epistemically burdensome result entails that the mutual defection outcome will result at all stages. (In the case of stage games with several equilibria, some additional cooperativeness can rationally come about due to repetition - see e.g. Osborne and Rubinstein, 1994.) For a person to be epistemically rational in a strategic situation we must require optimal use of social and other information in practical reasoning and the capacity to gather relevant new information (cf. Tuomela, 1984, Chapter 7,

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Bicchieri, 1993, Chapter 3). Repeated games are in many ways informationally demanding, as rational players must be able e.g. to keep track of the moves made in the game and respond to them (auxiliary technical devices can of course be used). It is worth noting that there are some results concerning epistemically less demanding situations, in which a PD game actually becomes more cooperative. Thus Kreps et al. (1982) show that in a simple two person PD uncertainty about the other player’s dynamic strategy or “player type” may make a considerable difference. Suppose that the players think that the other one will with some small probability not be fully rational but mechanically play only tit-for-tat (viz. start with cooperation and cooperate if the other does, otherwise defect). If there is two-sided asymmetrical information of this kind, there will be an equilibrium in which the players will cooperate almost until the end of the game. Next consider indefinitely repeated games, viz. games which are assumed to continue at least with some probability. Here the general picture is somewhat different. The so-called folk-theorems, of which there are quite a few corresponding to different kinds of situations, state that there will be lots of individually rational equilibrium outcomes, both cooperative and noncooperative. The results are usually proved by using Moore-machines and simple choice-strategies (e.g. so-called tit-for-tat, grim, tweedledum, etc.) formulated in terms of these finite automata. To state one of these theorems for the two-player case, assume complete mutual knowledge as above. Let us say that a set of payoffs, M, is feasible if it is a combination of payoffs for different outcomes in the stage game. A payoff is individually rational if it is not less than the minimax value he can secure for himself under any circumstances. Let d be the discount parameter for discounting future payoffs. The folk theorem in question now says this: For any individually rational, feasible payoffs M of an indefinitely repeated stage game G and for a sufficiently large d, there is a Nash equilibrium that has payoffs M. As indicated, there are many other kinds of analogous folk theorems, but I cannot consider them here. Instead, to make the matter more concrete, we can look at our example PD with the payoff matrix

304 B C

D

C 3,3 - 1,5 A D 5,-1

0,0

In the indefinitely repeated game we get lots of equilibria, an infinity of them. If, in particular, we suppose that the players use tit-for-tat, it follows although now we do not get subgame perfect equilibria - that mutual cooperation CC with the payoff 3,3 will be one of the equilibria, and so will of course DD with 0,0 together with a convex set of others (but not CD or DC). Tit-for-tat is not informationally demanding, as players respond only to a move at the preceding stage. Analogously to PD, such collective action dilemmas as Chicken and Battle of the Sexes can be also shown to have lots of equilibria. In such cases repeating a game does not mean that the participants will cooperate, but does offer it as a rational possibility. Let us now consider the significance of these results for rational cooperation. First, as to rationality itself, these results offer opportunities for acting rationally in the sense of striving for an equilibrium outcome. This means not only that the behavior process is rational but also that the end is rational relative to other comparable ends in such a situation. A rational collective goal is an equilibrium (recall Section II), which at least must be a Nash equilibrium but preferably a subgame perfect one and perhaps even a stronger one (e.g. a trembling-hand equilibrium). Being an equilibrium outcome is necessary but not yet sufficient for the rationality of the goal. As to the above folk-theorems, it can be noted that the equilibria are entirely brought about by the participants in a self-policing way, thus without external authorities or controllers. This is rationality in a “reason-control” or autonomy sense. The folk theorems involve the disturbing feature that most of them concern infinite interaction sequences while we human beings are finite beings with rather short finite lives. Nevertheless, we can act for reasons which are in a sense “future-open” (recall Section III). We can have in mind a sequence of interactions without paying attention to its finiteness. In particular, we often do not have a clear idea of when precisely a continuing relationship will end.

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This kind of “indefinitely open horizon” seems to be mentally possible, viz. a possible perspective in our mind when we consider our reasons for action even if we may not be able to play the games in our minds. We may come to think of a process of interaction converging to some equilibrium when continued sufficiently long. This contrasts with a finite horizon in which we know that the process will end after so and so many stages. I suggested earlier that many institutional processes, e.g. voting or advancing democratic liberalism, are openended processes. Similarly, a organization like the UN or the Red Cross could be thought of as an open-ended organization with positions and roles surviving the death or disappearance of particular office-holders. Closer to home, people might act for the prosperity of such groups as their families or clans on the understanding that new position and role-holders will “always” emerge. Repeated games - in an idealized way - serve to make clearer what rational cooperative processes are like and also give some idea of when it is rational to cooperate and when not. The game-theoretical results discussed here of course do not have much predictive power even in the case of agents rational in the game-theoretical sense. This is in part generated by the infinite character of many of the processes and the bewildering plurality and variety of equilibria (even admissible, viz. “non-improvable” ones).10 VI Cooperative Solutions to Collective Action Dilemmas We may divide collective action dilemma solutions and attempts of solution into internal and external. Internal ones leave the general structure (especially the inbuilt preference structure) of the collective action dilemma unchanged and commend cooperation to rational agents. In contrast, external solutions change the structure of the situation. What kinds of rational solutions or sketches of solutions for cooperation have I been offering in this paper? Briefly put, the discussion in Section III related to the various parameter changes occurring when given preferences or utilities change into final or effective ones mainly concerns changes in the preferences and thus is concerned with external solutions. (An exception to this was the consideration of S-shaped utilities, if we take the initial objective

306 payoffs to be institutionally created utilities.) The consideration of collective or group preferences in Section IV mainly leads or can lead to external solutions. However, the points about commitment and agreement (commented on in note 9) are concerned with internal solutions. Finally, the results from the theory of repeated games, where applicable, yield internal solutions, even selfrecommending ones (because of their self-policing nature). Internal solutions are of course preferable when they can be achieved, but they may be rare. As we saw, the game-theoretical results are highly idealized and typically cannot be directly applied to real life situations. Still, on the whole, it can be said that there is no longer a large gap between what experimental evidence and what game-theoretical and other theoretical (e.g. philosophical) investigations have arrived at. Experimental evidence suggests that quite a lot of cooperation in collective action dilemma situations occurs, and more recent theoretical investigations tend to concur. Let me end with some general comments on real life collective action dilemmas such as PD. When such a dilemma structure is changed into a more palatable situation by a law of the state (a frequent case), we are dealing with a standard kind of external solution. This approach is what is often attempted in modern societies, and it often works. One well-known problem with this kind of solution is that it may be too costly, at least when laws (and other similar rules) are used for the purpose, and that the payment of the costs may involve a new second-order collective action dilemma. However, in collectives in which there are plenty of social norms based on mutual beliefs and approvaldisapproval sanctions (and are called s-norms in Tuomela, Chapter 1) and in which good upbringing and education play a central role, people are often typically disposed to cooperate in dilemma situations. As the sanctions are either low-cost or, being part of the social nature of people, do not cost a thing, this helps the collective to avoid higher-order dilemmas. Good upbringing and education can be expected to socialize people by giving them “cooperative” values, goals and (conditional) we-intentions - and hence cooperative action strategies and repertoires. These factors function so as to dispose people to share collective goals and thus to cooperate in the full sense rather than to

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cooperate only in the weaker quasi-cooperation or coordinative sense discussed in this paper. Consideration of repeated situations is important, be the situation actually repeated or not. The central element is what kinds of mental games people are playing. If in an overtly single-shot situation the participants’ reasoning takes into account what might occur in future situations of the same kind either with the very same participants or with participants who can spread information about one’s behavior and character (think of reputation, for instance) the situation is really an iterative one, in which we are actually dealing with a higher-order factor. The participants need not be assumed to play the very same game with the very same participants, but what is at stake is social interaction especially the face-to-face type of interaction - on the whole. What we do to others and what they do to us tends to matter for our future. The distinction between “general” preferences and “situation-specific” preferences is also central. The general given preferences often directly reflect underlying objective payoffs (money or other transferable objective media of exchange). However, in a concrete situation of cooperation various new elements may enter the picture (cf. Sections III and IV). The resulting final costinvolving preferences may be such that the participants favor cooperation instead of defection. That such situational considerations change the dominances or expected utilities need not as such entail anything about other situations. In the next situation - say one with unfriendly participants - our former cooperator may rationally change into a defector. (See Tuomela, 1995, Chapter 4 for additional remarks emphasizing the role of “we-ness” thoughts in solving collective action dilemmas.) Comprehensively rational cooperation in the sense of R) of Section I may require reference to irreducible values and norms. The argued need for irreducible collective goals and the existence of such game-theoretical results as the huge multiplicity of equilibria in repeated games seem to lend support to this general and venerable old idea. Indeed, game theory does not seem to suffice to account for the social order; in this sense (and on this kind of “objectlevel”) social norms thus seem to be needed over and above strategic rationality.

308 Game-theorists may disagree, and there is room for disagreement. Who is right may hopefully be decided by future empirical research.

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Notes 1 In the case of preferences we can also speak of wants: My preferring x to y can be taken to amount in this context to my wanting x to be realized rather than y. While I will not take a specific stand in this paper, we may represent the preferences numerically by means of von Neumann-Morgenstern utilities, which requires that the preferences be defined over lotteries and make use of previously available objective probabilities. (In Section III subjective probabilities will be used; cf. note 7.) In general, intention-contents are goals. There are both “action-intentions” (concerning what the agent has committed himself to) and “aim-intentions” (concerning commitments the agent believes require collective action for their satisfaction). As indicated, a rational agent tends to select goals and form intentions which respect his preferences, whenever his preferences are not themselves in conflict - as merely personal and group preferences (preference rankings) may be. 2 Let me consider the notion of a collective action dilemma in some detail. Some typical preference structures exemplifying a collective action dilemma in addition to the Prisoner’s dilemma (PD) are Chicken (CG); and the Battle of the Sexes (BS). In the two-person cases they can be described in terms of the following orderings, using the standard interpretation C = contribution, D = defection with the comma representing the “greater than equal” relation: PD: DC, CC, DD, CD CG: DC, CC, CD, DD BS: DC, CD, CC, DD Many-person game-structures can be obtained by generalization, although there are several possibilities of generalization. Here are some examples: PD: DCC, CCC, CCD, CDC, DCD, DDC, DDD, CDD CG: DCC, CCC, CCD, CDC, DCD, DDC, CDD, DDD BS: CDD, DCD, DDC, CCC, DCC, CCD, CDC, DDD I have discussed in Tuomela (1992) and (1996b) collective action dilemmas at length and have proposed the following rather general description: (CAD) Let S be an interpersonal outcome structure (viz. a game-theoretical structure) or a token of such a structure. S then involves a collective action problem (or dilemma) if and only if S involves a conflict between collectively rational and individually rational action, viz., if and only if there are (distinct and incompatible) actions or strategies C and D such that C is a collectively rational action (e.g. in the sense of leading to a Pareto-preferred outcome when chosen by all or most) and D is an individually rational action (e.g. in the sense of individual expected utility-maximization). This simple analysis needs some qualifications and refinements, but will suffice for the purposes of this paper. 3 In clause a) the notion of acting together is used. Acting together is meant to be understood here as a something weaker than proper joint action, understanding proper joint action to be action based on the agents’ shared plan to do something together. Let me briefly and roughly indicate what I mean without giving a proper defense (but see Tuomela and Bonnevier-Tuomela, 1996). Consider the simple case of two agents, you and I: (AT) You and I intentionally act together in performing X if and only if 1) X is a collective action type (in the sense of a “joint action type” Tuomela, 1984, Chapter 5, viz. an “achievement-whole” divided into A’s and B’s parts, not necessarily on the basis of an agreement or even a social norm); 2) a) I intend us to perform X together, and I perform my part of X (or participate in the performance of X) in accordance with and (partly) because of this intention; b) you intend us to perform X together, and you perform your part of X (or participate in the performance of X) in accordance with and (partly) because of this intention; 3) a) I believe that you will do your part of X (or participate in the performance of X);

310 b) you believe that I will do my part of X (or participate in the performance of X); 4) 2) in part because of 3); 5) If my intention that we perform X together is satisfied, then, on quasi-conceptual grounds, your intention that we perform X together is also satisfied, and vice versa (viz. my participation commitment to X is not fulfilled before yours is, and vice versa), and each of us believes this. 4 In view of the importance of the collectivity condition the following more detailed remarks about it are warranted. Let me restate its basic, strong form: (CCs) If G is satisfied for a member Ai of C, then, on quasi-conceptual grounds, it is satisfied for every member of C; and this is (normally mutually) believed in C. Here the qualification “on quasi-conceptual grounds” involves - to put the matter somewhat circularly - that the collective goal G is collective because of its collective acceptance (and construal) by the members of C as their intended collective goal (understood minimally in a sense entailing (CCs)). If the analogue of our strong collectivity condition were satisfied on contingent grounds only, G would not be a collective goal, but simply a shared personal goal with a collective content. The fact that a collective goal must be conceptually constructed by the participants (or by some authorities in institutional cases) and accepted as a collective goal (at least in a pre-systematic sense) can still be illustrated by the following example. Suppose that at an airport the authorities have put up a sign “Do not leave your luggage unattended”. This mandates the acceptance of a collective goal. If the passengers obey the order, not leaving one’s luggage unattended becomes a collective goal. Here the collective goal is “built on” personal ones. To clarify the conceptual situation assume there are only two participants, you and I. I accept as my personal goal not to leave my luggage unattended, as you do. These personal goals are satisfied by our not leaving our luggage unattended. This can also be our collective goal if we have accepted it as such. In this case the Condition of Collectivity is imposed. Not leaving one’s luggage unattended is satisfied as a collective goal only if we not only have not left our luggages unattended but also have accepted that our collective effort is required in a sense leading to satisfaction of the Condition of Collectivity. Thus the collective goal is not satisfied until each person in our collective (here a dyad) does not leave his luggage unattended but also accepts that when the goal is satisfied as a collective goal for one of them, it is by its very construction also satisfied for the other party. There are also differences with respect to the commitments involved in personal as against collective goals, see Tuomela, (1996a,b). Space does not allow discussion here. 5 I have discussed in a joint paper a closely related notion, that of a compatible coaction (Tuomela and Bonnevier-Tuomela, 1996). This notion might be taken to explicate quasi-cooperation in the present sense. The following is a concise explication of this notion: (CO) Agents A1 and A2 coact compatibly in a situation S relative to their personal goals G1 and G2 if and only if 1) their respective primary goals in S, viz. types of states or actions, G1 and G2, which relate to the same field of action dependence) in S are compatible, viz. they can be satisfied without conflict by their respective agents; 2) a) A1 intends to achieve G1 without means-actions conflicting with A2's attempts to satisfy his goal and believing that he can at least with some probability achieve it in that context although his relevant G1-related actions are dependent on A2's relevant G2-related actions, and he acts so as to achieve G1; and b) analogously for A2: 3) a) A1 believes that 1) and 2) , and b) analogously for A2. 6 Consider the following list of cases where it is in some sense collectively rational (and in some cases even necessary for a task) for some agents to cooperate, to join their forces and act together as a

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group rather than separately (see Tuomela, 1995, for more detailed discussion). Cooperation in this sense is a central case of cooperation, and it accords with thesis C) of Section II. Here is the list: A. This first group consists of actions which simply are such that typically or often it is not possible for a single agent to perform the action in question. The possibility in question may be conceptual, moral, legal, etc., or may be purely factual (and generally nomological). B. Next we have the cases where it is desirable or useful, for various reasons, to perform something jointly or together. Thus joint action may, on factual grounds, save time, energy, etc.. C. Acting jointly may as a matter of fact increase the likelihood of success. D. Two or more agents may by acting jointly improve the quality of the joint product significantly above what they could have achieved by acting separately. E. Sometimes it is more pleasant, and less boring, to do things together rather than separately. F. As with the previous case, acting together may make the participants feel more secure than when acting alone. G. In some cases of competition it may profit some of the agents to form a coalition against the other agents or coalitions of agents. H. In joint action each participating agent may gain or profit more than by acting alone. This situation may arise in the cases of exchange between agents in cases of imperfect competition in the economic sense (cf. Edgeworth diagrams and models of oligopoly). I. In cases involving a collective action dilemma (e.g., Prisoner’s Dilemma type situations) it is in many circumstances collectively and individually more rational to act jointly (or collectively) rather than separately. In general we can speak of a jointness effect in collective and joint action in the following senses. Let us consider an action X and assume that it is in principle possible to perform X both jointly and separately. (Actions which can only be performed as joint actions or only as single actions can be treated as special, limiting cases.) We can compare the situation in which two agents A and B do X jointly on the basis of their agreement to do so with a) a situation in which X is done by no one; b) a situation in which one of the participants does X; c) a situation in which A and B each do X but separately (or at any rate not jointly in the full-blown sense); d) a situation in which one of the participants is forced by the other’s threat to do something Y, which may be worse for the threatened agent than his doing nothing or either one doing nothing or the person threatened performing X separately or alone. In this paper I will concentrate on c), but it is advisable to keep the other cases in mind as well. Reasons for cooperating consired in the present note may or may not amount to the kind of good, optimal or maximizing reasons required by the criterion of rationality in R) for making the action rational. I will discuss such maximizing reasons in the rest of the paper, although mainly in formal terms only. 7 I will assume here that we can use well-grounded conditional probabilities here. However, in general there seems to be reason to employ causal conditionals in the arguments (cf. Gibbard and Harper, 1978 and Tuomela, 1984, esp. Chapter 12). Speaking in non-formal terms, what we should thus use is probability sentences of roughly the following kind: p(outcome CC would be “purposively generated”, viz. be generated in the intended way, should A do X intentionally for the rational intention-belief reason). This is the probability of a causal conditional statement being true. The probabilities here have been regarded as being independent of utilities. This seems to be a simplification since wants and beliefs may factually interact - e.g. we seem to have a tendency to “believe what we want”. Note, however, that the discussion in this section has assumed that goal G is strictly (= with probability one) generated by the CC outcome. In a more general treatment we will need to take into account probabilities of the kind p(G/CC), p(G/CD), etc.

312 8 Let us next try to see what happens if we remove or change the special assumptions concerning goal G and its achievement. First assume that G is a private good, viz. a divisible good. Next we assume that if a group member does not participate (make a contribution) he will be excluded from the consumption of the good - he does not get a slice of the cake. Then our schema looks like this: B C D C u+j, u+j u+s, m A D m, u+s m*,m* Here the person who does not participate becomes socially sanctioned and receives the negative utility m, assuming that G can be produced alone or without this person. In the case of mutual defection both are socially sanctioned, but, as earlier, it can have a different value (m*). (In cases where the free-rider still succeeds in getting his slice of the cake, our first schema, meant for a public good, applies.) Assume next that goal G cannot be produced alone - or (in our example) that both participants are needed. We then get the following schema: C B D C u+j,u+j s,m A D m,s m*,m* The defector gets nothing but a social sanction. In the special cases discussed here, the expected utilities of actions of course can be computed as in the case of public goods producable alone. 9 In cooperative game theory commitments have been dealt with in terms of contracts or agreements (see e.g., Myerson, 1991, pp. 245-247. Considering a simple PD, let us make the following distinction: a) commitment to a collective goal (e.g. the joint outcome CC or one its consequences in our earlier context), entailing a personal commitment to contribute to the collective goal. b) acceptance of an agreement to cooperate (act jointly, e.g. to mutually choose C) with respect to a collective goal, entailing a strong interpersonal commitment to fulfil the agreement. To deal with commitment in terms of the normal or strategic form of a game we start with our usual PD discussed in Sections I and IV and add to it the choice of making an agreement. This results in an “agreement game”. Consider thus adding a new choice possibility, K, to our earlier PD: C D K C 3,3

-1,5

-1,5

D 5,-1

0,0

0,0

K 5,-1

0,0

3,3

A

We consider two different interpretations of K correspondingrespectively to cooperation towards a collective goal in the sense of ICG) and in the stricter sense of cooperative joint action in the “proper” sense: 1) K = accept CC as a collective goal for the dyad (and thus form the intention to perform C, committing oneself to it), given that the other player also commits himself to CC; if only one player commits himself to perform C choose D. 2) K = accept the agreement that all are to perform C, given that the other player also accepts the agreement; if only one player accepts the agreement choose D. We are speaking about binding acceptances here. (The second interpretation has been inspired by a related one in Myerson, 1991, p. 245.) The payoffs for K are rather obvious. Under both interpretations mutual choice of K means adopting K as a collective goal (almost in the sense of (ICG)). There is the same payoff as accrues from the mutual choice of C. If one of the players does not commit himself to K we are back in the pre-agreement situation with defection (D) as the choice.

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It is easily seen that KK will be a Nash equilibrium (cf. Section V) in pure strategies, being the best response outcome for the participants. A cannot improve his payoff by switching, nor can B. We can now make the observation that the mutual choice of KK entails that the participants accept KK as their collective goal almost in the sense of ICG). Note particularly that the central Collectivity Condition is clearly satisfied. I will not discuss this in more detail here except to point out that in the second, agreement-interpretation of K the situation is simple. We have conceptually built into the definition of K that if it is satisfied for one of the participants then it is satisfied for the other. The satisfaction of the Collectivity Condition can be regarded as a conceptual consequence of the construction of our agreement game. The content has simply been conceptually built into the choice alternative K. The first clause of 1) of ICG) can also normally be regarded as satisfied in our present context of contract (or agreement) games. At least cooperative game theory seems thus to be able to incorporate, although in a theoretically rather trivial way, the Collectivity Condition related to collective goals, but note that the “we-ness” problem required by the notion of acting together is yet to be dealt with. 10 In a more realistic approach related to full-blown cooperation we could speak of the production function involved in the provision of the collective goal (which can here be assumed to be a public good) in question. The production function might be of the general form x=f(y,z,...) where x represents the collective goal in question and y the number of cooperative action tokens. The other arguments (z,...) can deal with the qualitative features of the situation, taking care that the right kind of variety of actions is present, if the production of the good is based on a division of tasks and labor. For simplicity’s sake, I shall suppress these other variables below and deal with a simple function of the kind x=f(y), assuming the variable y to be of the right kind so that it measures the number of such actions needed for the production of any amount of good x in the first place and, in the second place, for the production of an increment in variable x. I assume that there is a number, say K, which is an allowed value of variable y such that f(K)=x(0), where x(0) represents a token of the minimally existing quantity of the public good X. f may be a steadily growing (discrete or continuous) function of the number of cooperative action tokens or it may be S-shaped so that f(K+N)>f(K) for some N but f(K+N+P)