Laclau Foucault Poder

ISSN 1897-1652
POLISH JOURNAL OF PHILOSOPHY

Volume V, No. 1 (2011)

Jagiellonian University
Krakw
Published by the Jagiellonian University

in cooperation with the "Dialog" Association

This issue of the journal has been published thanks to the sponsorship
from the Polish Ministry of Culture and National Heritage within the
scheme of Promotion of Reading.

SPRING 2011

Articles

MARIE DU

St. Anselms Ontological Arguments
7

DANNY FREDERICK

P. F. Strawson on Predication 39

STAMATIOS GEROGIORGAKIS
Omniscience in ukasiewiczs, Kleenes and Blaus Three-
Valued Logics

59

LEOPOLD HESS
Superessentialism and Necessitarianism: Between Spinoza
and Lewis

79

STEPHEN PALMQUIST

The Kantian Grounding of Einsteins Worldview:(II)
Simultaneity, Synthetic Apriority and the Mystical

97

LOTAR RASISKI
Power, Discourse, and Subject. The Case of Laclau and
Foucault

Critical Notices

117

Joseph Agassi
Contemporary European Philosophy, After Half-a-Century

Renata Ziemiska
Was Pyrrho the Founder of Skepticism?

139

149

Book Reviews

M. P. Lynch, Truth as One and Many by Michael Horton

The Courage of Doing Philosophy: Essays Presented to
Leszek Nowak, J. Brzeziski, A. Klawiter, T.A.F. Kuipers, K.
astowski, K. Paprzycka and P. Przybysz (Eds.) by Krzysztof
Kiedrowski

N. S. Hilberg, Religious Truth and Religious Diversity by
Piotr Sikora

B. Rundle, Why there is Something rather than Nothing by
Jacek Wojtysiak

Logic in Religious Discourse, A. Schumann (Ed.) by Jan
Woleski

Notes on Books

M. Merleau-Ponty, The World of Perception by Marta Szabat

Moritz Schlick, Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre (Kritische
Gesamtausgabe, Abteilung I, Band I), Herausgeben und
eingeleitet von Hans Jrgen Wendel und Fynn Ole Engler by
Jan Woleski

157

161

170

174

181

184

186

ARTICLES

Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 7-37.

St. Anselms Ontological Arguments
1

Marie Du
VSB-Technical University Ostrava

Abstract. In the paper I analyse Anselms ontological arguments in favour of Gods
existence. The analysis is an explication and formalization of Pavel Tichs study
Existence and God, Journal of Philosophy, 1979. It is based on Transparent
Intensional Logic with its bi-dimensional ontology of entities organized in the ramified
hierarchy of types. The analysis goes as follows. First, necessary notions and principles
are introduced. They are: (a) existence is not a (non-trivial) property of individuals, but
of individual offices to be occupied by an individual; (b) the notion of requisite is
defined, which is a necessary relation between an office O and a property R:
necessarily, if a happens to occupy O then a has the property R. (c) I demonstrate that
an argument of the form R is a requisite of O, hence the holder of O has the property
R is invalid. In order to be valid, it must be of the form R is a requisite of O, the office
O is occupied, hence the holder of O has the property R. Finally, (d) higher-order
offices that can be occupied by individual offices are defined. Their requisites are
properties of individual offices. Then the analysis of Anselms arguments is presented.
The expression God denotes an individual office, a thing to be, rather than a
particular individual. Thus the question whether God exists is a legitimate one. I
analyze the expression that, than which nothing greater can be conceived. Since
greater than is a relation-in-intension between individual offices here, the expression
denotes a second-order office, and its requisites are properties of first-order offices such
as necessary existence. The second of Anselms assumptions is that individual office
that has the property of necessary existence is greater than any other office lacking this
property. From these it follows that the first-order holder of the office denoted by that,
than which nothing greater can be conceived (that is God) enjoys the property of
necessary existence. Thus God exists necessarily, hence also actually. Anselms
argument is logically valid. If it were also sound, then an atheist would differ from a
believer only by the former not believing whereas the latter believing in a tautology,
which is absurd. Yet we may doubt the validity of Anselms assumption that a
necessary existence makes an office greater than any other office lacking this property.

1
This work has been supported by the Grant Agency of the Czech Republic, project
No 401/10/0792, Temporal aspects of knowledge and information. I am grateful to
the anonymous referees for their valuable comments that improved the quality of the
paper.
8 Marie Du
1. Introduction

In this paper I am going to analyse St. Anselms ontological arguments for
the existence of God. There are two main sources which I wish to exploit.
The first one is Dennis Jowers (1999), a short study on Anselms
Proslogion, where the author says:

Anselms ontological argument for the existence of God is, in one sense, quite
simple; God is that-than-which-no-greater-can-be-thought, and he must,
therefore, exist, for otherwise he would not be that-than-which-no-greater-can-
be-thought. Careful analysis of Anselms Proslogion and his Reply to Gaunilo,
however, will show that Anselm proposes not one, but six ontological
arguments which, while relying on common premises about the nature of
thought and the identity of God, differ in their contents, sometimes markedly.
These six arguments may be conveniently divided into four classes: the
arguments from Gods perfection, the argument from His necessity, the
argument from His eternity, and the arguments from His simplicity. As analysis
of these arguments will show, Anselm proposes in the Proslogion and the Reply
not merely a simple argument, but a whole method of reasoning about God
fertile in its implications for His nature and existence.

The second principled source that I will thoroughly analyse is Pavel Tichs
excellent study Existence and God published in the Journal of Philosophy,
1979. The explication of Tichs study is the main goal of this paper. The
analysis is based on Transparent Intensional Logic (TIL) with its bi-
dimensional ontology of entities organized into a ramified hierarchy of
types and it goes as follows. First, necessary notions and principles are
introduced. They are: (a) existence is not a (non-trivial) property of
individuals but of individual offices (Churchs individual concepts) to be
occupied by an individual; (b) the notion of requisite is defined, which is a
necessary relation between an office O and a property R: necessarily, if a
happens to occupy O then a has the property R. (c) it is shown that an
argument of the form R is a requisite of O, hence the holder of O has the
property R is invalid. In order to be valid, it must be of the form R is a
requisite of O, the office O is occupied, hence the holder of O has the
property R. Finally, (d) higher-degree offices that are occupied by
individual offices are defined. Their requisites are properties of individual
offices like existence, significance, etc. Only then the analysis of Anselms
argument of Proslogion III can be detailed.

St. Anselms Ontological Arguments 9

2. Four classes of arguments for the existence of God

Anselms basic premises about God are four:
2

a) something greater than which cannot be thought is God
b) God can be thought
c) God is thought
d) God exists in the mind
Ad (a): The first premise, that the maximal being, or that-than-which-no-
greater-can-be-thought, is identical to the Christian God, Anselm derives
from Christian revelation.
3

He derives his second and third premises, that God can be thought and
that God is thought, from this same source. In addition, he provides a three-
fold philosophical defence of their plausibility. It is as follows:
Ad (b): That God is a secret gives no legitimate grounds to the Fool to
deny that he can think about God at all. Denying this would be as foolish as
saying that one cannot see daylight, because one cannot stare directly at the
sun.
Ad (c): The concept of God as the supreme good resembles things less
good insofar as they are both good. Thus the one who knows things less
good already knows something of the supreme good. Now he may augment
his knowledge of the maximal being by thinking of better and better things
until he reaches the limits of what he can think. That which transcends even
these limits he knows is the maximal being. In addition, this maximal
goodness is not only maximal but the only one supreme good. For, if there
were two (or more) such maximal things, then each of them would be great
due to something else. But then one could think of a still greater thing that
would be great due to both the criteria.
Ad (d): Even if the concept of God were entirely empty, that would not
prevent one from thinking about it. This contention Anselm vindicates by
distinguishing between the thing, that-than-which-no-greater-can-be-
thought, and the concept which signifies the thing. Just as one can
understand the concepts of the ineffable and the inconceivable, Anselm
argues, without understanding the things they signify, so can one
understand the concept, that-than-which-no-greater-can-be-thought, without
understanding God Himself. Since his argument depends on the notion that
human beings can think of the concept of the supreme good, and not that
they can think of the being Himself, Anselm concludes that the concept of
the maximal being would be adequate for his purposes even if it were

2
Portions of this section draw on material from Jowers (1999) and Charlesworth
(1965).
3
See Charlesworth (1965, p. 169).
10 Marie Du
purely empty. To complete the groundwork for his six ontological
arguments, Anselm explains in the somewhat obscure passage that God
exists in the mind:

For, just as what is thought is thought by means of a thought, and what is
thought by a thought is thus, as thought, in thought, so also, what is understood
is understood by the mind, and what is understood by the mind is thus, as
understood, in the mind. (Charlesworth, 1965, pp. 173-175)

On these four premises, therefore, that the maximal being is the God of
Christian revelation, that God can be thought, that God is thought, and that
God is in the mind, Anselm proceeds to construct his arguments for the
existence of God, which may be divided into four classes:

I) the arguments from Gods perfection
II) the argument from His necessity
III) the argument from His eternity
IV) the arguments from His simplicity.

The arguments from Gods perfection are two. The first relies, in addition
to the four premises stated above, on two premises:

I
1
) if the maximal being exists in the mind, it can exist in reality as
well
I
2
) that being referred to in the second case is greater than the first.

It follows from these premises that God cannot exist merely in the mind.
But we know from Anselms fourth basic premise (d) that God does exist in
the mind. God, therefore, exists also in reality.
The second argument from the perfection of God seems to be very
simple. It relies on a single premise: it is greater to exist than not to exist.
Since God is that-than-which-no-greater-can-be-thought, he must, therefore,
exist. This seemingly simple argument from Proslogion III is actually a
very sophisticated and elegant one. It is a subject of Tichs (1979) analysis
and I will deal with it in details in Section 3.
The argument from Gods necessity is perhaps the most complex of the
six arguments Anselm proposes. There are two additional premises:

II
1
) the maximal being, if he does exist, cannot not exist either actually
or in the mind;
II
2
) whatever can be thought to exist and does not exist could, if it were
to exist, possibly not exist either in actuality or the mind.

Hence, since God can be thought (the premise (b)), it follows that God
does, indeed, exist. For, otherwise, if the maximal being did exist only in
mind and not in reality, then His existence would not be necessary, which is
absurd.

The argument from Gods eternity relies, similarly, on two additional
premises:

III
1
) the maximal being can only be thought of as without a beginning;
III
2
) whatever can be thought of as existing, but does not actually exist,
can be thought of as with a beginning.

From these and the introductory axiom (c) that God is actually thought it
follows that He must exist, because, if He did not He could be thought of as
having a beginning, which is self-contradictory.
The arguments from Gods simplicity have precisely the same structure
as the argument III).

IV
1
) the maximal being cannot be thought of as not being whole or as
having parts;
IV
2
) whatever can be thought to exist and yet does not exist, can be
thought as other than a whole and as with parts.

The very fact that God is thought, therefore, proves that He exists, for He is
thought in a way (i.e., as a whole and without parts) that is inconsistent with
non-existence.
It seems that one could generate from the outline of Anselms last three
arguments IIIV as many arguments for the existence of God as there are
known divine attributes, e.g. omnipotence, which are not shared with
created things. Indeed, and in addition, it can be shown that applying the
same structure of argumentation, one can prove the existence of the
greatest evil. Surprisingly, almost all the other ontological proofs and
discussions on these arguments, beginning perhaps with Descartes
ontological proof and ending with Gdels unpublished proof, concentrated
on Anselms Proslogion II to the exclusion of Proslogion III.
4

So much for the arguments of Proslogion II. Now I am going to
thoroughly explicate Tichs (1979) analysis of Anselms argument
presented in Proslogion III using TIL.

3. Foundations of TIL
TIL, with its bi-dimensional hierarchy of entities organized into a ramified
hierarchy of types and procedural semantics, is an overarching theory apt
for any kind of discourse, whether colloquial, professional, logical or

4
For details on Descartes arguments, see, for instance, the entry in Stanford
Encyclopedia, http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/descartes-ontological/. Detailed analysis
of Gdels proof can be found in particular in the articles of Petr Hjek, see, for
instance, Hjek (1996), (2002). For a summary of the contemporary discussion on
ontological proofs, see:
http://www.formalontology.it/ontological-proof-contemporary.htm#godel
12 Marie Du
mathematical.
5
Procedural semantics contrasts with set-theoretical
denotational semantics.
6
The prevailing denotational approach to semantics
conceives of the meaning of an expression E as the extra-linguistic entity
denoted (or referred to) by E. Since the pioneering paper by Frege (1892),
the advocates of denotational semantics have striven to define so-called
structured meanings.
7
Various adjustments to Freges semantic schema
have been proposed, shifting the entity named by an expression from the
extensional level to the intensional level. Yet it has become increasingly
clear since the 1970s that we need to individuate meanings more finely than
in terms of what PWS intensions afford, and the need for hyperintensional
semantics is now broadly recognised. My position is a plea for a
hyperintensional semantics that takes expressions as encoding
algorithmically structured procedures producing either extensional or
intensional entities or lower-order procedures as their products. This
approachwhich could be characterized as being informed by an
algorithmic or computational turnhas been advocated by, for instance,
Moschovakis in (1994). Yet it was much earlier, in the early 1970s, that
Tich introduced his notion of construction as the centrepiece of TIL.
8

Constructions are based on a robust concept of semantic structure as an
extra-linguistic, abstract procedure (a generalized algorithm). Because
procedures are inherently structured, they consist of one or multiple
constituent subprocedures that are to be executed in order to arrive at the
product (if any) produced by the respective procedure. TIL agrees with
Moschovakiss conception of Freges sense as an (abstract, idealized, not
necessarily implementable) algorithm which computes the denotation of a
term (2006, p. 27).
To anticipate a common misapprehension, I wish to emphasize that the
procedures I have in mind are not syntactic objects. They are objectual
procedures consisting of sub-procedures. Thus an answer to Russells
question, What binds the constituents of propositions together? can be
offered.
9
Propositional unity is established by the very procedure that
generates a compound whole from its individual constituents. The meaning
of an expression E is not a list of the meanings of the sub-expressions of E.
Rather, it is the procedure detailing in what particular ways its sub-
procedures are combined. The most important feature of TIL procedural
semantics is that to exercise linguistic competence with respect to an
expression is to know its sense, i.e. the procedure encoded by the

5
Portions of this section draw on material published in Du, Jespersen and Materna
(2010).
6
For discussion, see Johnson-Laird (1977).
7
See, for instance, Cresswell (1985).
8
See Tich (1988, in particular Ch. Five) and (2004, pp. 873-885).
9
See also King (2001).

expression, rather than the entity that this procedure produces. For instance,
to master the empirical predicate is a bachelor is neither to know what
individuals or set of individuals it refers to, nor is it to know the property it
denotes. (Empirical properties of individuals are construed as functions
from logical space to chronologies of sets of individuals.) Rather, it is to
know a procedure which for any state of affairs enables the language-user
to determine whether a given individual is a bachelor.
10
Moreover, some
expressions do not denote anything, yet are anything but meaningless. For
instance, mathematicians needed to understand the meaning of the greatest
prime prior to proving that there is no greatest prime. They had to master
the procedure expressed by this expression in order to show that the
procedure fails to produce a product.
TIL constructions are assigned to expressions as their algorithmically
structured, context-invariant meanings. When claiming that constructions
are algorithmically structured, I mean the following. The objects a
construction operates on are not constituents of the construction. Just like
the constituents of a computer program are its sub-programs, so the
constituents of a construction are its sub-constructions. Thus on the lowest
level of non-constructions, the objects that constructions work on have to be
supplied by other (albeit trivial) constructions. This is in principle achieved
by using atomic constructions. A construction C is atomic if it does not
contain any other constituent but C. There are two atomic constructions:
Variables and Trivializations. They supply objects (of any type, including
constructions) on which compound constructions operate. The constructions
themselves may occur not only as constituents to be executed in order to
arrive at the object, if any, they construct, but also as objects that still other
constructions operate on. Thus when a construction C is Trivialized, it is
not a constituent to be executed; rather, C itself is an object of predication.
Compound constructions, which consist of other constituents than just
themselves, are Composition and Closure. Composition is the procedure of
applying a function f to an argument A to obtain the value (if any) of f at A.
It is improper (i.e., does not construct anything) if f is not defined at A.
Closure is the procedure of constructing a function by abstracting over
variables in the ordinary manner of the -calculi.
11
The fundamental
primitive objects of the ontology of TIL are functions rather than relations

10
Fuzziness and vagueness aside.
11
There are two other compound constructions, (single) Execution and Double
Execution. Execution,
1
C, is the procedure of executing C in order to obtain the product,
if any, of C. Thus,
1
C is the same procedure as C, because the default mode in which a
construction occurs is its Execution. Higher-order constructions can be executed twice
over, which is achieved by Double Execution,
2
C. However, in this paper we will not
need Execution and Double Execution, and thus I omit these two constructions in the
definitions below.
14 Marie Du
or sets. Thus the formal language in which TIL constructions are encoded is
inspired by the (typed) -calculi. Yet a function is not a procedure. We
view functions as set-theoretical mappings, and one and the same mapping
can be produced by infinitely many procedures. Note that we strictly
distinguish between procedures and their products, and between functions
and their values.
12

Constructions, as well as the entities they construct, all receive a type.
The ontology of TIL is organized into an infinite, bi-dimensional hierarchy
of types. One dimension, say horizontal, increases the molecular
complexity of functions. The other dimension of the type hierarchy
increases the order of constructions, which are higher-order entities
constructing lower-order entities. Since in this paper I will not need the
second dimension, I will confine myself to the simple hierarchy of types of
order 1.

Definition 1 (types of order 1) Let B be a base, i.e., a finite collection of
non-empty sets. Then
i) Every member of B is a type of order 1.
ii) Let o, |
1
,,|
m
be arbitrary types of order 1. Then the set
(o|
1
|
m
) of partial functions with values in o and arguments in
|
1
,,|
m
, respectively, is a type of order1.
iii) Nothing is a type of order 1 unless it so follows from i) and ii).

Definition 2 (construction)
i) Variables x, y, z, are constructions that construct objects of the
respective types dependently on valuations v. Let a total valuation
function v be given that associates variables x
1
, x
2
, , x
n
,

with a
sequence Seq of objects a
0
, a
1
, , a
n
, of a type o. Then the
variable x
n
v(aluation)-constructs the n
th
object a
n
of Seq relative to
v.
ii) Trivialization: Where X is an object whatsoever,
0
X is a
construction called Trivialization. It constructs X without the
mediation of other constructions and leaves X unchanged.
iii) The Composition [X Y
1
Y
m
] is this construction: If X v-constructs
a function f of a type (o |
1
|
m
), and Y
1
,,Y
m
v-construct entities
b
1
,, b
m
of types |
1
,,|
m
, respectively, then the Composition [X
Y
1
Y
m
] v-constructs the value (an entity, if any, of type o) of the
function f at the tuple argument (b
1
,,b
m
). Otherwise the

12
The contrast between functions and constructions of functions is not unlike the
contrast between functions-in-extension and functions-in-intension. But I am hesitant to
push the parallel, since function-in-intension remains a poorly-understood notion. See
Church (1941, pp. 2-3).

Composition [X Y
1
Y
m
] does not v-construct anything: it is v-
improper.
iv) Closure: Let x
1
, x
2
, , x
m
be pairwise distinct variables and Y a
construction. Then [x
1
x
m
Y] is a construction called -Closure
(or simply Closure). It v-constructs the following function f of type
(o |
1
|
m
). Let v(b
1/
x
1
,,b
m
/x
m
) be a valuation identical with v at
least up to assigning objects b
1
,,b
m
of types |
1
,|
m
, respectively,
to variables x
1
,,x
m
. If Y is v(b
1/
x
1
,,b
m
/x
m
)-improper (see iii), then
f is undefined at (b
1
,,b
m
). Otherwise the value of f at (b
1
,,b
m
) is
the object of type o v(b
1/
x
1
,,b
m
/x
m
)-constructed by Y.
v) Nothing is a construction, unless it so follows from (i) through (iv).

Comment. The Trivialisation
0
X of an object X simply constructs X without
any change. One may wonder whether this construction is indispensable.
Cant an object X construct itself? No, it cannot. As stated above, we
strictly distinguish between procedures and their products, i.e.,
constructions and what they construct. Thus an object and its construction
are different entities. TIL opts for homogeneity within constructions: the
only possible constituents of a construction are constructions. Mont Blanc
is as little a constituent of a construction as of a Fregean Sinn. What may be
a constituent is a construction of Mont Blanc, for instance
0
Mont_Blanc, the
simplest v-independent construction of this object.
To sum up, our neo-Fregean semantic schema is an adjusted version of
Freges semantic schema as visualized by the following figure.

Expression

expresses
denotes
Construction

constructs
Denotation

The most important relation in this schema is between an expression and its
meaning, i.e., a construction. Once we have exactly defined construction,
we can logically examine it; we can investigate what (if anything) the
construction constructs, what is entailed by it, what is its analytic content,
etc. Thus constructions are semantically primary, and denotations
secondary. Once a construction is explicitly given as a result of logical
analysis, the entity (if any) it constructs is already implicitly given. As a
limiting case, logical analysis may reveal that the construction fails to
16 Marie Du
construct anything by being improper. And if the construction is not
improper, the denotation can be an object of any type of the TIL ontology.
The ontology of objects we can talk about within TIL is determined by
the base of the type hierarchy. TIL is an open-ended system, with no one
base being given once and for all. The choice of base depends on the
domain(s) and language we happen to be investigating. When analyzing
(fragments of) an ordinary natural language, we use the epistemic base
{o, i, t, e}. It is the collection of four atomic, or ground, types:
o = {T, F} (members: truth-values);
i = the universe of discourse (members: individuals);
t = the set of real numbers (doubling as instants of time);
e = the logical space (members: possible worlds).

Since function is a basic notion, we model sets and relations by their
characteristic functions. Thus, for example, the set of individuals is a
function of type (oi) that associates any individual with T or F, according
to whether the given individual belongs to the set. The binary relation >
defined on numbers is a function of type (ott) that associates any couple of
numbers with T or F, according to whether the first number is greater than
the second.
TIL operates with a single procedural semantics, as explained above.
But within this one semantics TIL observes a strict demarcation between
two kinds of subsidiary semantics: one for logical and mathematical
languages and another for empirical languages, whether colloquial or
scientific. The demarcation hinges not on formal vs. natural, but on
empirical vs. non-empirical. The defining difference is that empirical
languages incorporate an element of contingency that the non-empirical
ones lack. Empirical expressions denote empirical conditions that may or
may not be satisfied. For instance, the predicate is a student does not
denote each individual that happens to be a student, nor a class of
individuals which happen to be students. Rather, it denotes a property of
individuals, the populations of which are particular sets of individuals
depending on particular states-of-affairs. To master is a student is not to
know a particular set of individuals; rather, it is to know how, for any state-
of-affairs, to determine whether a given individual satisfies the conditions
for being a student. We model these empirical conditions as possible-world
(PWS) intensions.
PWS intensions are entities of type (|e): mappings from possible worlds
to the arbitrary type |. Type | is frequently the type of the chronology of o-
objects, i.e., a mapping of type (ot). Thus o-intensions are frequently
functions of type ((ot)e), abbreviated as o
te
. Extensions are entities of a
type o where o = (|e) for any type |.

As soon as we introduce an epistemic base for a given empirical
language, the procedural semantics of the language operates in the same
way as in the case of mathematical language. This is so because we apply
explicit intensionalization and temporalization, that is, we insert terms for
possible-world variables and times directly into the logical syntax. We can
thus directly construct possible-world intensions. Where a variable w ranges
over possible worlds, type e, and t over times, type t, the following form
essentially characterizes the syntax of explicit intensionalization and
temporalization:

wt [w.t].

In the parlance of TIL, this Closure is a construction constructing a
possible-world intension. Alternative characterizations would be that the
Closure is a hyperintensionally individuated, algorithmically structured
mode of presentation of a function from logical space to a function from
times to entities, or that it is a procedure whose product is a condition to be
satisfied by world/time pairs.
13

Examples of frequently used intensions are:
Propositions (denoted by declarative sentences) are of type ((ot)e), or
o
te
for short. For instance the proposition that the highest mountain is in
Asia is currently true, but it might have been otherwise (hence the modal
parameter e), and it has not always been and presumably will not always be
so (hence the temporal parameter t).
Properties of individuals (usually denoted by nouns or intransitive verbs
like is a student, walks) are of type (((oi)t)e), (oi)
te
for short;
dependently on worlds e and times t they pick out the set of individuals
that happen to have the property.
Binary relations-in-intension between individuals are of type
(((oii)t)e), (oii)
te
for short. For instance loves, is taller than denote
such relations-in-intension. That an individual a is taller than another
individual b is only contingently so (modal parameter e); and has not
always been and will not always be so (temporal parameter t).
Individual offices/roles (cf. Churchs individual concepts) are of type
((it)e), i
te
for short. For instance, the highest mountain, the Queen of
Canada denote individual offices. Again, that an individual a (currently Mt
Everest) happens to be the highest mountain is only contingently so.
Sometimes it is said that the value of an intension in a possible world w
and at a time t is an extension. As a general claim this is not true, however,
because there are intensions of a higher degree. As an example of a higher-
degree intension, consider, for instance, the expression Einsteins favourite

13
For details see Jespersen (2005).
18 Marie Du
proposition. This definite description obviously does not refer rigidly: in
some equivalence classes of worlds/times Einstein will favour one
proposition, in another equivalence class he will favour another proposition,
and in yet another equivalence class he will favour none at all. So the type
of the denotation of Einsteins most favourite proposition is (
: a 2
nd
-
degree proposition, the type of whose values is
.
Another example of a 2
nd
-degree intension would be the highest US
executive office. This role is occupied by individual offices, currently by the
office of US President, but it might be occupied by the US King or any
other individual office. So the type of the intension denoted by The highest
US executive office is (
.
Quantifiers
o
, -
o
are extensions, viz. type-theoretically polymorphous
functions of type (o(oo)), for the arbitrary type o, defined as follows. The
universal quantifier
o
is a function that associates a class A of o-elements
with T if A contains all elements of the type o, otherwise with F. The
existential quantifier -
o
is a function that associates a class A of o-elements
with T if A is a non-empty class, otherwise with F.

Notation and abbreviations.

X/o means that the object X is (a member) of type o;
X
v
o means that the type of the object v-constructed by X is o. I
use X o if what is v-constructed does not depend on valuation v.
I will standardly use the variables w
v
e and t
v
t.
If C
v
((ot)e), i.e. o
te
for short, then the frequently used
Composition [[C w] t], which is the intensional descent (a.k.a.
extensionalization) of the o-intension v-constructed by C, will be
written as C
wt
.
When using constructions of truth-value functions, namely .
(conjunction), v (disjunction) and (implication) of type (ooo), and
(negation) of type (oo), I often omit Trivialisation and use infix
notion to conform to standard notation in the interest of better
readability. Also when using constructions of identities of o-entities,
=
o
/(ooo), I omit Trivialization, the type subscript, and use infix
notion when no confusion arises. For instance, instead of
[
0
[
0
=
i
a b] [
0
=
((ot)e)
wt [P
wt
a] wt [P
wt
b]]],
where =
i
/(oii) is the identity of individuals and =
((ot)e)
/(oo
te
o
te
) the
identity of propositions; a, b
v
i, P
v
(oi)
te
, I will write
[[a = b] [wt [P
wt
a] = wt [P
wt
b]]].
I will use x A and -x A instead of [
0
o
x A] and [
0
-
o
x A],
respectively, when no confusion can arise.


When assigning constructions to expressions as their meanings as part of
our semantic analysis, we use the following method of semantic analysis.
The method consists in three steps which are (a) type-theoretical analysis,
(b) synthesis and (c) type-theoretical checking.
14
For illustration, here is an
analysis of the well-known sentence The King of France is bald.

(a) Type-theoretical analysis, i.e., assigning types to all the objects
mentioned by various atoms and molecules of the analysed sentence. In our
case we have: King_of/(ii)
te
: an empirical function assigning to each
individual another individual; France/i; KF/i
te
: an individual office;
Bald/(oi)
te
: property of individuals.
(b) Synthesis, i.e., using the constructions of the objects ad (a) in order
to construct the proposition (of type o
te
) denoted by the whole sentence.
Now we have to take into account the fact that the sentence does not talk
about any particular individual. It talks about the individual office KF
assigning to its holder (if any) the property of being bald. The office KF can
be constructed by composing the empirical function King_of with France.
Yet the empirical function is not a type-theoretically proper entity to be
applied to an individual. It must be extensionalised first, i.e. applied to a
particular possible world and time of evaluation: [[
0
King_of w] t]
v
(ii), or
0
King_of
wt
for short, and only then applied to France using the Composition
[
0
King_of
wt
0
France]
v
i. This Composition v-constructs an individual or
is v-improper by constructing nothing according to whether there is an
individual playing the role of the King of France at (w, t). Since in the
actual world W at current time T there is no such individual, the
Composition is v(W/w, T/t)-improper, the King of France does not exist. In
other words, the office of the King is vacant. In order to construct the office
KF, we have to abstract over the values of w and t:
wt [
0
King_of
wt
0
France] i
te
.

In order to assign the property of being bald to an individual that happens to
occupy the office (if any), the property as well as the office must be again
extensionalized first and then the former applied to the latter (if any):
15

[
0
Bald
wt
[wt [
0
King_of
wt
0
France]
wt
]]
v
o
This Composition yields a truth-value or nothing, depending on whether at
the given world and time the office is occupied and if so whether the
individual that occupies the office has the property of being bald in a given
(w, t)-pair of evaluation. Since the sentence The King of France is bald

14
For details see Materna and Du (2005) and also Du et al (2010).
15
For details on explicit intensionalization and temporalization, see Jespersen
(2005).
20 Marie Du
denotes a proposition rather than a truth-value, by abstracting over the
values of w and t, we obtain the analysis of the sentence:

wt [
0
Bald
wt
[wt [
0
King_of
wt
0
France]
wt
]].

(c) Type-theoretical checking. In the interest of simplicity, I will draw a
simplified type-theoretical tree. Thus, for instance, instead of the full tree
on the left-hand side I will draw a shortened tree on the right-hand side:
[[
0
Bald w] t]
0
Bald
wt
(((oi)t)e) e (oi)
((oi)t) t
(oi)
Thus the type-theoretical tree of our sentence is this:

w t [
0
Bald
wt
[w t [
0
King_of
wt
0
France]
wt
]]
(oi) (ii) i
i
(it)
((it)e) et
i
o
(ot)
((ot)e), or o
te
for short.

The type of the constructed object is o
te
. So the sample sentence expresses
as its meaning a construction constructing a proposition, which explains
why the sentence denotes a proposition. Put differently, its meaning is a
hyperproposition, which is a procedure producing a proposition.

3.1 Denotation and existence
In the previous section I explained the difference between denotation of an
empirical expression, i.e. an intension, and a hyperintension, i.e. the
construction assigned to the expression as its meaning. In case of
mathematics there are meaningful expressions without denotation.
However, empirical expressions always denote an object, namely, an
intension.

The above example of the analysis of the sentence The King of France
is bald illustrated that even those expressions which do not refer to any
object in a given (w, t)-pair denote an intension. The sentence denotes a
proposition (of type o
te
) that the King of France is bald, and this
proposition happens to have a value gap in the actual world now. This is
due to the fact that the individual office denoted by the expression the
King of France is currently vacant. Hence the sentence does not talk about
some non-existing individual. Once the base has been chosen, the
universe of discourse is fixed. We do not work with variant domains of
individuals, and thus individuals exist trivially. They are a priori, pre-
theoretically given. In other words, TIL does not work with possibilia.
Instead we work with partial functions, i.e. mappings which assign at most
one object to each argument. Properly partial functions have value gaps. In
this way our procedural semantics operates smoothly with partiality and
non-existence.
Now one can ask: what kind of entity a non-trivial existence is? As many
philosophers observed, it cannot be a property of individuals, because
individuals trivially exist. Some philosophers who have been involved in
the contention on the nature of non-trivial existence are inclined to conclude
that existence is simply not a property ascribable to things.
16

Yet existence is often nontrivially ascribed and coherently denied. It is
true and informative to say that the President of the USA exists whereas the
King of France does not. However, as we explained in the previous section,
these sentences do not mention any particular individual. Instead, they
mention individual offices, that is, intensions of type i
te
. In order to verify
the existence of the President of the USA one does not take a particular
individual and test whether this individual has the property of existence. If
one has the individual at hand, the individual trivially exists and there is
nothing to verify empirically. Instead, one examines the condition specified
by the President of USA and verifies whether there is an individual
satisfying this condition in a given (w, t)-pair of evaluation. In other words,
one examines whether the American presidential office is occupied.
Similarly, to verify that the King of France does not exist amounts to
checking whether the office in question is vacant in a given (w, t)-pair.
Hence TIL treats existence as a property of o-intensions of being
occupied or instantiated, i.e. an object of type (oo
te
)
te
. Existence is a
second-degree property of intensions: unicorns exist at (w, t) iff the

16
For instance, Aristotle in Analytica Posteriora, II, 7, 92b13, says being is not a
genus, Kant in Critique of Pure Reason says Being is not a real predicate, and
according to Russell (Principia Mathematica, 2nd ed., p. 175) there is no reason to
suppose that a meaning of existence could be found which would be applicable to
immediately given subjects.
22 Marie Du
intension Unicorn returns a non-empty set at (w, t); the Queen of Belgium
exists at (w, t) iff the intension The Queen of Belgium returns exactly one
individual at (w, t); etc.
The definition of existence (or occupancy) as a property of an individual
office is this:

(E)
0
Exist = wt u [-x [u
wt
= x]]

Types: Exist/(oi
te
)
te
; u
v
i
te
; x
v
i.

For instance, the analysis of the sentence

The President of USA exists

comes down to this Closure

wt [
0
Exist
wt
wt [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA]]

that can be refined using the definition (E) and an equivalent |-reductions
to

wt [
0
-x [wt [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA]
wt
= x]].

Additional types: President_of/(ii)
te
; USA/i; [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA]
v
i;
wt [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA] i
te
.

Note that since Exist is a second-degree intension the value of which is
applicable to a first-degree individual office, the Closure wt
[
0
President_of
wt
0
USA] occurs intensionally in the Composition [
0
Exist
wt

wt [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA]]. The whole office is an object of predication.
Using medieval terminology, we can also say that the President of USA
occurs with supposition de dicto in the sentence The President of USA
exists.
Compare the above analysis with the analysis of the sentence

The President of USA is a Democrat.

Unlike Exist, the property of being a Democrat is a first-degree intension of
type (oi)
te
. Thus when being extensionalized, it is applicable to an
individual. The analysis of the sentence comes down to

wt [
0
Democrat
wt
wt [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA]
wt
].

Now the Closure wt [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA] occurs extensionally in the
Composition [
0
Democrat
wt
wt [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA]
wt
]. The particular
individual v-constructed by the Composition wt [
0
President_of
wt
0
USA]
wt
,
i.e. the value (if any) of the individual office,

is an object of predication.

We also say that the President of USA occurs with supposition de re in
the sentence The President of USA is a Democrat.
So much for the difference between first-degree properties of individuals
like being a Democrat or being blue-eyed, and second-degree properties of
individual offices like being occupied or vacant.

3.2 Requisites and intensional essentialism

In TIL we argue in favour of semantic anti-actualism: the actual world of all
possible worlds should play no semantic role. A proposition is true in a set
of possible worlds, and if it is actually true, then the actual world is an
element of this set. The more we know, the more powerful propositions
we are able to express. Only if we were empirically omniscient would we
be competent to express a proposition true in a singleton containing just the
actual world. However, this is the status belonging only to God.
In this section I am going to outline an essentialism that likewise accords
no privileged status to the actual world by making the notion of essence
independent of world and time, and thus making it a priori instead. At the
same time, we adhere to ontological actualism as outlined above. All the
individuals at the actual world are all the individuals there are at all the
other possible worlds as well. Hence there are no merely possible
individuals, no possibilia.
Our essentialism is based on the idea that since no purely contingent
intension can be essential of any individual, essences are borne by
intensions rather than by individuals exemplifying intensions. That an
intension has an essence means that a relation-in-extension obtains a priori
between an intension and other intensions such that, necessarily, whenever
an individual (a -entity) exemplifies the intension at some (w, t) then the
same individual also exemplifies certain other intensions at the same (w, t).
This relation is called the requisite relation. We base our essentialism on
the requisite relation and call our position intensional essentialism,
couching essentialism in terms of the interplay between intensions,
regardless of who or what exemplifies a given intension.
Let the property of being a mammal be related by the requisite relation
to the property of being a whale. Then by analytic necessity, that is in all
worlds at all times, if the individual a is a whale at (w, t) then a is also a
mammal at (w, t). It is an open question (epistemologically and
ontologically speaking) whether a is a whale at (w, t). Establishing whether
it is requires investigation a posteriori. On the other hand, establishing
whether a must be a mammal in case a happens to be a whale is a priori,
the requisite relation-in-extension being independent of what is true at any
(w, t). Thus, there is a sense in which intensional essentialism qualifies as
anti-essentialism; it is a theory which includes bare particulars and which
24 Marie Du
claims that no purely contingent empirical property is essential of any
individual.
17

The requisite relations Req are a family of relations-in-extension
between two intensions, hence of the polymorphous type (oo
te
|
te
), where
possibly o = |. Infinitely many combinations of Req are possible, but the
following ones are relevant for our purpose:

Req
1
/(o(oi)
te
i
te
): an individual property is a requisite of an individual
office.
Req
2
/(o(oi
te
)
te
(i
te
)
te
): an individual-office property is a requisite of a
second degree office.

The definitions of requisite relations must respect the fact that the requisite
relation obtains between two intensions in all (w, t)-pairs and thus a
possible vacancy of an office in a given (w, t)-pair is irrelevant. Partiality
gives rise to the following complication when defining the requisite
relation. If an office X has the requisite property Y, it is so no matter
whether the office X is occupied or vacant at a given (w, t). For instance,
even at those (w, t) where the office of King of France is vacant, it is true
that the property of being a king is a requisite of the office. Similarly, it is
true at all (w, t) (including those where the office of President of USA is
vacant) that the office of Commander-in-Chief is a requisite of the office of
President of USA. Therefore, it does not suffice to add the antecedent
condition that X be occupied. For, at a (w, t) where X is vacant, the
antecedent condition is False, and so the intensional descent of X to (w, t)
picks up no individual. In other words, the Compositions X
wt
and [
0
Y
wt
0
X
wt
]
will be v-improper (X/i
te
; Y/(oi)
te
). The truth-functional connective of
material implication (/(ooo)) is such that when applied to a missing
argument (a truth-value gap), the result is v-improper as well, making the
Composition [[
0
Exist
wt
0
X] [
0
Y
wt
0
X
wt
]] v-improper for (w, t). The whole
definiens wt [[
0
Exist
wt
0
X] [
0
Y
wt
0
X
wt
]] will, thus, construct False,
because it is not true that the Composition [[
0
Exist
wt
0
X] [
0
Y
wt
0
X
wt
]] v-
constructs T for all (w, t) pairs (Exist/(oi
te
)
te
is the property of an
individual office being occupied.)
The solution is simple. We apply a property of propositions
True/(oo
te
)
te
defined as follows (variable p
v
o
te
):

[
0
True
wt
p] v-constructs T iff p
wt
v-constructs T,
otherwise (that is if p
wt
v-constructs F or p
wt
is v-improper) F.

Now we are in a position to define the requisite relation between an o-
property and an o-office.

17
For details see also Du (2007).

Definition 3 (requisites) Let X, Y be intensional constructions such that
X/-
n
o
te
, Y/-
n
(oo)
te
. Then

[
0
Req Y X] = wt [[
0
Exist
wt
X] [
0
True
wt
wt [Y
wt

X
wt
]]].

Gloss definiendum as, Y is a requisite of X, and definiens as, Necessarily,
if X is occupied at some (w, t) then it is true that whatever occupies X at (w,
t) has the property Y at this (w, t).

Example. Requisites of the American presidential office are individual
properties like being a human being, being properly elected, being
inaugurated, etc.
Remark. The King of France is a king is ambiguous between two
readingsone necessarily true, the other contingently without a truth-
valueas Tich points out (1979, p. 408; 2004, p. 360). The former is the
requisite (i.e., de dicto) reading:

[
0
Req
0
King wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France]].

Types: King/(oi)
te
; King_of/(ii)
te
; France/i.

If true, it is necessarily so, regardless of whether or not some (w, t) lacks
an occupant of wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France].

The other reading is the de re reading:

wt [
0
King
wt
wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France]
wt
].

If true, it is so only because somebody occupies the Kings office
constructed by wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France] at (w, t) and its occupant is in the
extension of King at (w, t).

Remark. When defining a requisite of an office X, the antecedent condition
of X being occupied is required. Otherwise we shall have the following
invalid argument on our hands (see Tich, 1979, pp. 408ff; 2004, pp.
360ff):

P is a requisite of office O
__________________________ (*)
The occupant of O instantiates P.

This inference pattern is fallacious, for the premise may be true even if O is
vacant, in which case the conclusion, so far from being true, is vacuous
(i.e., lacks a truth value) (Tich, 1979, p. 408, p. 360, resp.).

26 Marie Du
Applying this invalid inference pattern, we might easily prove the
existence of the King of France. Here is how:

1) The King of France is a king
1*) [
0
Req
0
King wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France]] necessarily true, de dicto

2) The current King of France is a king applying (*)
2*) wt [
0
King
wt
wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France]
wt
] contingently true, de re

3) The King of France exists existential generalization
3*) wt [
0
Exist
wt
wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France]]

The step from (2) to (3) is valid, because in any world w at any time t, the
step is truth-preserving.
Here is the proof:

2a) [
0
King
wt
wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France]
wt
] assumption
2b) wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France]
wt
v-proper by Definition of Composition
2c) x [wt [
0
King_of
wt
0
France]
wt
= x] constructs a non-empty class (from 2b)
2d) [
0
-x [wt [
0
King_of
wt
0
France]
wt
= x]]existential generalization
2e) [
0
Exist
wt
wt [
0
King_of
wt

0
France]] by Definition of Exist

However, the step from (1) to (2) is invalid, because it is a step from a de
dicto reading to a de re reading. Whereas the de re reading not only entails,
but also presupposes the existence of the King of France, the de dicto
reading is necessarily true regardless of whether the King exists.
A valid inference rule can be obtained by adding an extra premise to the
effect that the relevant office is occupied:

P is a requisite of office O
Office O is occupied
(**)
The occupant of O instantiates P.

Proof:

Let P/-
n
(oo)
te
; O/-
m
|
te
.
i) [
0
Req P O] assumption
ii) [
0
Exist
wt
O] assumption
iii) wt [[
0
Exist
wt
O] [
0
True
wt
wt [P
wt

O
wt
]]] Definition 3
iv) [[
0
Exist
wt
O] [
0
True
wt
wt [P
wt

O
wt
]]] E
v) [
0
True
wt
wt [P
wt

O
wt
]] modus ponens ii), iv)

Now we turn to the definition of essence as a set of requisites. However,
this drags type-theoretic complications along, since the requisites of an
intension may well be of different types. In order to make essence

homogeneous, we define the essence of an intension as the set of properties
that are necessary for an object to satisfy the condition specified by the
intension. The reason why the definition of essence can be made
homogeneous is that, given an arbitrary intension, there will always be a
corresponding property. For instance, the i-office the tallest woman will
correspond to the property being an x such that x is identical to the tallest
woman. Again, for our purposes it is sufficient to define the essence of an
office. The polymorphous type of such an Essence is ((o(oo)
te
)
te
): given
an arbitrary |-office of type
te
, Essence returns the set of o-properties that
are the requisites of this office. Thus we define:

Definition 4 (essence of an office) Let Z
v

te
; q
v
(oo)
te
;
Req/((o(oo)
te
)
te
). Then [
0
Essence Z] = q [
0
Req q Z].

Remark: It is beyond the capacities of human beings to know an
intension such as an individual office or its essence. This would amount for
knowing actual infinity, i.e. an uncountable infinite mapping. Yet we have
capacities to know potential infinity. The meaning of an expression, such as
the King of France is the construction wt [
0
King_of
wt
0
France]. Its
encoding in TIL language of constructions can be viewed as instructions to
be read as follows:
In any possible world (w), at any time (t), evaluate whether this or
that individual satisfies the condition of being the King of France
([
0
King_of
wt
0
France]). Thus if one understands the meaning of King of
France, it suffices to follow the instructions specified by this meaning;
which does not, however, mean that one is always able to execute these
instructions and thus to know the holder.
This will do as an outline of the philosophy of TIL, together with its
basic definitions. Now I am going to apply the TIL formal apparatus to the
explication of Anselms argument in Proslogion III.

4. On Tichs analysis of Proslogion III

Proslogion III is an earnest prayer rather than a proof. Yet it is a simple,
crisp, entirely transparent and valid argument for the existence of God.
Anselms argument in Chapter III goes as follows:

God cannot be conceived not to exist.God is that, than which nothing greater
can be conceived.That which can be conceived not to exist is not God.
AND it assuredly exists so truly, that it cannot be conceived not to exist. For, it
is possible to conceive of a being which cannot be conceived not to exist; and
this is greater than one which can be conceived not to exist. Hence, if that, than
which nothing greater can be conceived, can be conceived not to exist, it is not
that, than which nothing greater can be conceived. But this is an irreconcilable
contradiction. There is, then, so truly a being than which nothing greater can be
28 Marie Du
conceived to exist, that it cannot even be conceived not to exist; and this being
you are, O Lord, our God.
So truly, therefore, do you exist, O Lord, my God, that you can not be
conceived not to exist; and rightly. For, if a mind could conceive of a being
better than you, the creature would rise above the Creator; and this is most
absurd. And, indeed, whatever else there is, except you alone, can be conceived
not to exist. To you alone, therefore, it belongs to exist more truly than all other
beings, and hence in a higher degree than all others. For, whatever else exists
does not exist so truly, and hence in a less degree it belongs to it to exist. Why,
then, has the fool said in his heart, there is no God (Psalms xiv. 1), since it is so
evident, to a rational mind, that you do exist in the highest degree of all? Why,
except that he is dull and a fool?

Now I am going to logically analyse the argument the core of which is the
second paragraph of the above quotation. Tich presents his analysis
informally, only in prose. So much better for his paper. Yet, using the
formal apparatus of Transparent Intensional Logic (TIL) makes it possible
to clarify Tichs ingenious analysis.
First, there is the question of what the expression God means or
denotes. If God denoted an individual, then it would be purely contingent
matter whether (s)he is omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent, etc., because
any individual might have been malevolent, non-omniscient, non-
omnipotent, etc. But the concept of a malevolent God is certainly not
acceptable for a Christian. Thus the expression God denotes an individual
office, a thing to be, rather than a particular individual, and the question
whether God exists is a legitimate one. We ask whether God-like office of
type i
te
is occupied.

Intermezzo on Descartes ontological proof.

In its very simple form, it is an argument from perfection that can be
formulated as follows:

The essence of God-office is formed by all positive perfections.
Existence is a positive perfection.
Hence, God exists.

Whats wrong here? There are two problems, two flaws.

a) There is a confusion of the intensional and the extensional level of
abstraction: Existence is not a property of individuals. Rather, it is a
property of the office itself. Thus existence cannot be a requisite of God-
office, it is a second degree intension that is ascribable on the intensional
level. However, requisites of an individual office are properties of
individuals that are ascribable on the extensional level.
b) Descartes applies the invalid inference rule (*).


Existence is a requisite of the office of God.

Hence the holder of the office has the property of existence.

As we have seen above, there is a missing assumption on the occupancy of
the office. Yet adding such an assumption makes the proof circular and thus
futile.

End of intermezzo

In what follows I am going to show that Anselms argument does not suffer
any of these flaws, and is, indeed, valid. Thus the only question is whether
it is also sound. Let us reformulate the argument in a concise form:

It is possible to conceive of a being which cannot be conceived not to
exist
The being which cannot be conceived not to exist is greater than one
which can be conceived not to exist.
That, than which nothing greater can be conceived cannot be
conceived not to exist.

That, than which nothing greater can be conceived truly exists.

Descartess and the other ontological arguments are objectionable also from
a theological point of view. They assume that Gods essence is known. In
other words, they assume to know precisely which individual office is that
of God. Yet God is a secret, and St. Anselm in Proslogion III is far from
such arrogance. He addresses God by a modest That, than which nothing
greater can be conceived. All that Anselm here presumes to know is
something about Gods essence, namely that nothing can conceivably
surpass it in greatness. Let us now analyse the expression That, than which
nothing greater can be conceived.

Greater_than/(oi
te
i
te
)
te
is a binary relation-in-intension between
individual offices.

It is not a relation between bare individuals. If one says Tom is greater
than Peter, then this sentence is incomplete in its meaning, because the
sentence lacks to provide a criterion according to which Tom and Peter are
to be compared. For instance, Tom can be greater than Peter as a musician
whereas Peter can be greater than Tom as for his mathematical abilities.
Tich in (1979) adduces a nice example:

Notice that the U.S. president is a strictly greater thing to be than the richest
peanut farmer in Plains, Georgia, but that nothing of the sort can be said
regarding the persons who happen to be those things, for they are one and the
same. (Tich, 1979, p. 413; 2004, p. 365)
30 Marie Du

Moreover, it is a relation-in-intension, because it is a contingent fact that
one office is greater than another one. For instance, the U.S. president is
surely a greater office than that of the President of the Czech Republic in
virtue of the comparative size and might of these countries. But this is
clearly not a matter of logical necessity, it might have been otherwise.
Thus we can take it for granted that the set of individual offices is
partially ordered. Some of the offices are incomparable, because they are
great in virtue of incomparable criteria. Yet let us suppose that one of these
offices is actually and currently the greatest one. Sure, in another possible
world and time some other individual office may be the greatest thing. Thus
the greatest individual office is not any particular office. Rather, it is
something which this, that or other individual office can be. Hence, it is a
second degree officecall this thing Hoccupiable by individual offices.
Hence the expression that, than which nothing greater can be
conceived denotes H/(i
te
)
te
. Anselms key assumption is that

(G) H is occupied by God-office.

For an individual office to occupy H, no other office can conceivably be
greater than it. But as we have seen in Section 3, one can be perfectly
familiar with the condition necessary for an individual office to occupy H,
without knowing which office satisfies this condition. Anselm presumes to
know very well what it takes for an individual office to occupy H, that is to
be the office of God; but since he does not know which particular
individual office is the holder of H, he does not know exactly what it takes
for an individual to be God.
Since existence is a property of individual offices, namely the property
of being occupied, there is no category mistake in the assumption that
existence is a part of the essence of H, i.e. a requisite of H. From a logical
point of view it is a legitimate question to ask whether being occupied is
one of the conditions that an individual office must satisfy in order to be the
greatest conceivable individual office.
Similarly, necessary existence, conceived as a property of being
occupied in all (w, t)-pairs, can be a requisite of H. Note however, that
necessarily occupied office cannot be vacant in any (w, t)-pair. Thus there is
a class NE/(oi
te
) of necessarily occupied individual offices. Anselms key
assumption is the principle that necessary existence is a condition that
overrides all others when it comes to grading individual offices as to
greatness. In other words, he assumes that

(A) An individual office that is necessarily occupied, i.e. that belongs
to NE, is greater than any other that does not.

(A) There is an individual office that enjoys necessary existence.
18

From (A) and (A) it immediately follows that

(B) Necessary existence is a requisite of H.

Here is the proof:

i) x [[H
wt
s x] [x = H
wt
]] H is maximal greatness
ii) z y [[[NE y] . [NE z]] [y s z]] assumption (A)
iii) -x [NE x] additional assumption (A)
iv) [NE g] --elimination (g/x), iii)
v) y [[[NE y] . [NE g]] [y s g]] -elimination (g/z), ii)
vi) [NE H
wt
] assumption of an indirect proof
vii) [[NE H
wt
] . [NE g]] .-introduction, iv) and vi)
viii) H
wt
s g -elimination (H
wt
/y) + modus ponens, v)
ix) g = H
wt
-elimination (g/x), i)
x) [NE H
wt
] substitution of identicals, iv), which contradicts vi), hence
xi) [NE H
wt
] = [NE H
wt
]

Types: x, y, z
v
i
te
; g/i
te
; H/(i
te
)
te
; NE/(oi
te
): the class of necessarily
occupied individual offices.

To show that (A) is valid, Tich defines a simple necessarily occupied
individual office L in the following way. In every (w, t)-pair there are
offices that are occupied. One of them is the lowliest, the least great. (For
instance, it may be the office of the only individual that instantiates only
trivial properties like being identical with itself, being of the same mass as
itself, etc.). We now stipulate that the individual that occupies the lowliest
office in (w, t) is the holder of L.
From (B), however, it cannot be inferred that the occupant of H
necessarily exists. We would have on our hands an instance of the invalid
schema (*). We need to show that

(C) H is occupied.

Anselm is obviously aware of the importance of this assumption. In Chapter
IV of his Monologion he offers a demonstration of the validity of (C). He
does so in two steps. First he argues that some individual offices are
surpassed by no others, they enjoy maximal greatness. In other words, he
argues that there are maximal individual offices transcendent to all the
others in their greatness. Second, he argues that there cannot be more than
one such office. If there were two such maximally great offices, then they

18
Anselm himself seems to have considered this auxiliary fact too obvious to argue
for.
32 Marie Du
would be great in virtue of different criteria. But then one might conceive of
still a greater thing-to-be that satisfies both the criteria. I am not going to
question the conclusiveness of these two arguments, in particular the
former. Anselm was undeniably aware that (C) is indispensable in his
proof, and he evidently accepted the plausibility of (C).
Once we accept (B) and (C), the existence of God cannot be consistently
denied, because the argument is of the valid form (**):

Necessary existence is a requisite of H.
H is occupied.

The holder of H, i.e. God, necessarily exists.

Here is the formal proof:

i) [
0
Req NE H] assumption
ii) [
0
Exist
wt
H] assumption
iii) wt [[
0
Exist
wt
H] [
0
True
wt
wt [NE

H
wt
]]] Definition 3
iv) [[
0
Exist
wt
H] [
0
True
wt
wt [NE

H
wt
]]] E
v) [
0
True
wt
wt [NE

H
wt
]] modus ponens ii), iv)
vi) [NE

H
wt
] by definition of True

Since NE is the class of offices occupied in all (w, t)-pairs, and since the
holder of H is God according to Anselms key assumption (G), we have
proved that

wt [NE

God].

Applying the definition of existence, we have proved that

wt -x [x = God
wt
].

In other words, Gods existence is an analytical fact. God exists
necessarily, hence also actually.

Remark. It is not clear whether Anselm should be understood as allowing
trans-world comparisons between individual offices. Thus the question
arises whether H
wt
is supposed to be the individual office that surpasses all
the other offices in the actual-world order, or rather the office whose
greatness in some possible world surpasses all other offices in any world.
David Lewis in (1970) argued that the validity of the Proslogion II
argument depends on the correct answer to this question. It is readily seen,
however, that the validity of the above Proslogion III argument is immune
against these doubts.
Anselms contemporary, Gaunilo, attempted to cast doubts on Anselms
proof in his famous On Behalf of the Fool. In par. 6 he argues that by
applying a completely parallel line of reasoning one can prove the existence

of a perfect island. Again, the argument in Chapter III is immune to this
objection. To see why, consider H
i
, the second degree office occupiable by
an island-office such that a greater island-office cannot be conceived. We
have seen that in order to infer (B), i.e., that necessary existence is a
requisite of H, from (A), the auxiliary assumption (A) is necessary. By
analogy, in order to prove (B
i
)that necessary existence is a requisite of
H
i
one must first prove that there is an island-office enjoying necessary
existence. But there is no such island-office, because if there were a
necessarily occupied island-office, then in every world w at any time t there
would have to be at least one island. But this is untenable, for there is
nothing impossible about a world that is at some time void of islands. Thus
necessary existence is not a requisite of H
i
.
The logic of St. Anselms argument is impeccable. While one may
quibble with his premises, Anselm combines them in such a way that he
who admits their validity cannot but assent to Anselms conclusions.
Anselm has, therefore, overcome much of the gap between faith and
understanding; for with the help of Anselms techniques, one can defend
that knowledge.
Anselms argument is logically valid. Did Anselm prove the existence of
God? The answer depends on whether the argument is also sound, i.e.,
whether his premises are plausible. There are two assumptions that might
be impugnable.
First, one can doubt the argumentation in favour of the assumption (C).
Is there really an upper bound in the order of things-to-be? One can cast
doubts at the assumption that there are maximal individual offices
transcendent to all the others in their greatness and ask why we couldnt
conceive always of a still greater office. Anselm obviously takes it for
granted that though one can conceive of greater and greater things-to-be,
there are maximal things transcendent in their greatness to any conceivable
thing-to-be. Whether one is content with this is a matter of his/her
philosophical datum.
Second, and perhaps more serious objection concerns the assumption
(A). Is it plausible to assume that the office with necessary existence
understood as occupancy in all possible worlds at all times is eo ipso
greater than any other office? To this issue Tich says:

Excellence is rare. The greater an office, the more exacting it is to its
occupants, hence the harder it is for individuals to become its occupants.
(Tich, 1979, p. 418; 2004, p. 370)

For instance, the first man to run 100 meters in less than 9 seconds is a
greater office (from the athletics point of view) than the first man to run 100
meters in less than 10 seconds. For this reason the former is occupied less
34 Marie Du
frequently than the latter. Recall the necessarily occupied lowliest office L.
Tich says

Imagine that the office of the rottenest apple core in the Chicago rubbish dump
is currently the lowliest of all actually occupied offices. Then the apple core
that fills that office also fills L. Would anyone in his right mind insist that the
apple core occupies an office that is greater than any office occupied by John
Paul II? (Tich, 1979, p. 418; 2004, p. 370)

Tich then shows that even a weaker variant of (A) that does not imply that
necessary existence is all by itself sufficient to make an office superior to
any office that is conceivably vacant, namely

(A) For every office that does not instantiate necessary existence there
is a greater one that enjoys necessary existence

does not solve the problem. Though (A) and (C) are still strong enough to
yield Anselms conclusion, (A) is no more plausible than (A) is. To show
why, consider again the office of the first man to run 100 meters in less than
9 seconds. Call this office Runner. It is currently vacant. In order to utilize
(A), we should now increase its greatness by bestowing the attribute of
necessary existence. Since the office is vacant, no individual has the
capacities to hold the office. It is a properly partial function. In order to
make this function total, we must stipulate its values in those (w, t)-pairs
where there are none. Let an individual a be the assigned value in a
particular (w, t) at which Runner lacks a value. We obtain another office
Runner. But Runner is not greater than Runner. Just opposite. Among the
requisites of Runner there is a property of running 100 meters in less than 9
seconds. However, this property is not contained in the essence of Runner.
In the interest of necessary existence we lose greatness. Since there are no
good candidates, Runner is occupied by lower-quality individuals.
The essence of a necessarily occupied office is minimal, because
necessary analytical existence works against greatness. The greater (more
important) the office, the more difficult for an individual it is to occupy it;
thus an office that is occupied in all worlds and times must have a poor
essence containing only trivial requisites. Take, for instance, omniscience.
Since any individual is possibly ignorant of this or that fact, omniscience
cannot be a requisite of an office occupied in all worlds and times. What
makes the holder of the divine God-office so noteworthy is that the office
he holds requires so much of its holders. But it is this very same fact that
makes it conceivable that the office is actually vacant.
Propositions and truth show a closely analogous inverse dependence.
The more commonly the proposition is true, that is the fewer possible
worlds it excludes, the less informative it is. A necessary proposition that
takes the value 'true in all worlds and times' says nothing informative about

the world and is thus from this point of view worthless. Tich conludes his
paper by:

The analogy is, in fact, closer than it might seem. For an individual office has
necessary existence if and only if the proposition that the office is occupied is
true in all worlds at all times. Thus if God enjoyed necessary existence, then the
proposition that God exists would be a tautology. It is hard to believe, and
definitely unacceptable to those concerned, that the faithful should differ from
an atheist in subscribing to a tautology. (Tich, 1979, p. 420; 2004, p. 372)

When I say that analytically true sentences are uninformative, I do not mean
that they do not convey any analytic information. In Du (2010) I analyse
the difference between empirical information about the world and analytic
information. The classical theory of semantic information (ESI), as
formulated by Bar-Hillel and Carnap in 1952, does not give a satisfactory
account of the problem of what information, if any, analytically and/or
logically true sentences have to offer. According to ESI, analytically true
sentences lack informational content, and any two analytically equivalent
sentences convey the same piece of information. This problem is connected
with Cohen and Nagels paradox of inference: Since the conclusion of a
valid argument is contained in the premises, it fails to provide any novel
information. Again, ESI does not give a satisfactory account of the paradox.
I propose a solution based on the distinction between empirical information
and analytic information. Declarative sentences are informative due to their
meanings. I construe meanings as structured hyperintensions, modelled in
Transparent Intensional Logic as constructions. As demonstrated in this
paper, constructions are abstract, algorithmically structured procedures
whose constituents are sub-procedures. My main thesis is that constructions
are the vehicles of information. Hence, although analytically true sentences
provide no empirical information about the state of the world, they convey
analytic information, in the shape of constructions prescribing how to arrive
at the truths in question. Moreover, even though analytically equivalent
sentences have equal empirical content, their analytic content may be
different. Finally, though the empirical content of the conclusion of a valid
argument is contained in the premises, its analytic content may be different
from the analytic content of the premises and thus convey a new piece of
information.
Similarly, ascription of analytically necessary existence does not convey
empirical information; it says nothing informative about the state of the
world. However, its analytic content is, of course, valuable.
In order to avoid misconception, I wish to remark that this is not to say
that the existence of such a perfect divine being is not desirable. And for a
believer it is undeniably necessary existence. Only that Gods necessary
existence cannot be of logico-analytical character, that is occupancy in all
possible worlds at all times. If metaphysical has any sense then we might
36 Marie Du
perhaps say that the existence of God is metaphysically necessary. Hence to
say that God exists in all possible universes, constrains the range of
possible universes whereas the statement, All bachelors are unmarried,
does not. While the latter statement says nothing informative about the
world, the former says something quite informative inasmuch as it excludes
the possibility that the world is godless.

References

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[http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/basis/anselm-proslogium.html]
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Du, M., Jespersen B., & Materna P. (2010). Procedural Semantics for
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Berlin: Springer.
Du, M. (2010). The paradox of inference and the non-triviality of analytic
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Hjek, P. (2002). A new small emendation of Gdel ontological proof.
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314.
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August 2001.
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Materna, P., & M. Du (2005). The Parmenides principle. Philosophia, 32,
155-180.
Moschovakis, Y.N. (1994). Sense and denotation as algorithm and value. In
J. Vnnen & J. Oikkonen (Eds.), Lecture Notes in Logic (vol. 2, pp.
210-249). Berlin: Springer.
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Gruyter.
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Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 39-57.

P. F. Strawson on Predication

Danny Frederick
Independent researcher
14 Willow Tree Drive, Seaview, Isle of Wight, PO34 5JG, UK

Abstract. Strawson offers three accounts of singular predication: a grammatical, a
category and a mediating account. I argue that the grammatical and mediating accounts
are refuted by a host of counter-examples and that the latter is worse than empty. In
later works Strawson defends only the category account. This account entails that
singular terms cannot be predicates; it excludes non-denoting singular terms from being
logical subjects, except by means of an ad hoc analogy; it depends upon a notion of
identification that is too vague; and it is unnecessarily complicated, relying on analogies
where a more uniform explanation should be possible. But I show how the account can
be corrected to avoid all these difficulties and to provide an accurate account of singular
predication.

1. Introduction

In this paper when I speak of a singular predication, I will be referring to a
kind of sentence, rather than to the proposition expressed by the sentence.
Similarly, I will always use logical subject, subject, logical predicate,
predicate and singular term to refer to linguistic expressions. A singular
predication is a sentence in which an individual is characterised in some
way, or in which several individuals are specified to be in some relation to
each other. For example, Aquinas thinks is a singular predication in which
Aquinas is characterised as thinking. Aquinas is a singular term and is the
logical subject of the sentence, and thinks is the monadic predicate. Plato
is older than Aristotle is a singular predication in which Plato and
Aristotle are singular terms and logical subjects, and the expression older
than is the relational predicate (in this case, a two-place predicate, unlike,
for example, between, which is a three-place predicate). In contrast, a
general predication has an expression for generality in place of the logical
subject, as in Everyone thinks or Someone is older than Aristotle. But
this explanation of singular predication is vague. For example, we might
say that in Aquinas thinks the individual attribute, thinking, is
characterised as belonging to Aquinas, in which case thinks would turn
out to be the singular term and logical subject and Aquinas the predicate.
40 P. F. Strawson on Predication
Providing a clear and accurate account of singular predication has proven
difficult.
Strawson initially offered three related accounts, namely, grammatical,
category and mediating, but in later work he focused on just the category
account. I will argue that all three accounts fail, but that the category
account, despite its formidable difficulties, can be rectified. In his various
presentations of this account over many years Strawsons terminology
varies. What he at some times calls properties, he at other times calls
universals, kinds, general characters or general concepts. Whereas in
some places he says that expressions identify entities, in other places he
says they introduce, signify or specify entities. I think it is plain that
such variations are intended to be merely verbal rather than substantial, so I
will use property and identify consistently throughout.
In section 2, I will expound and criticise the grammatical account. In
section 3, I will explain the category account. In section 4, I will set out and
criticise the mediating account. In section 5, I will criticise the category
account before showing how it can be amended quite simply to provide an
adequate account of singular predication. I conclude the discussion in
section 6.

2. The Grammatical Account

On the grammatical account (Strawson, 1959, pp. 146-158), a singular
predication is a sentence in which two expressions, each identifying an
entity, are propositionally combined, that is, combined in such a way as to
express something which is capable of being true or false. The subject is a
noun or noun-phrase: it identifies an entity in the substantive style. The
predicate is a verb or verb-phrase, identifying an entity in the verbal style.
Since the role of the verb in natural languages is to signify combination into
a proposition, we may further say that what distinguishes subject from
predicate is that the latter, but not the former, identifies an entity in the
propositional style. That is, the predicate, in addition to identifying an
entity, also carries the propositional symbolism. This, says Strawson, would
give us a sense in which the predicate is incomplete vis--vis the subject.
For while each expression is incomplete in that it falls short of being a
sentence, the predicate, by carrying the propositional symbolism, cries out
for completion. Thus, in each of the following sentences,

(1) Socrates thinks,
(2) Socrates is wise,
(3) Socrates is a philosopher,

the subject is Socrates, which is a noun which identifies Socrates. The
predicates are the verb or verb-phrases, thinks, is wise and is a
Danny Frederick 41
philosopher, which identify, respectively, thinking, wisdom (or being wise)
and philosophership (or being a philosopher).
However, this account fails for the following reasons. First, we may
split (3) into Socrates is and a philosopher, in which case the former
expression identifies Socrates in the verbal style while the latter is a noun-
phrase which identifies philosophership in the substantive style. Yet we do
not want to say that Socrates is, as it occurs in (3), is a predicate. Strawson
(1959, pp. 158-159) says that the grammatical account does not entail this
unwanted result, because a philosopher, unlike the philosopher who
taught Plato, does not identify a specific entity. However, he is inconsistent
here. For if, as he says, is a philosopher as it occurs in (3) identifies
philosophership in the verbal or propositional style, then a philosopher as
it occurs in the same sentence should also be held to identify
philosophership, but in the substantive style. The fact that a philosopher
does not identify a specific concrete entity, such as Socrates, is irrelevant.
Second, in

(4) Socrates is the philosopher who taught Plato,
(5) Socrates is Socrates,

Socrates is attaches to a noun or noun-phrase. But unlike the noun-phrase
a philosopher in (3), each noun-phrase or noun following is in (4) and
(5) identifies a specific concrete entity, in fact, the same concrete entity as
is identified by the grammatical subject, Socrates. So Socrates is, in (4)
and (5), qualifies as a predicate on the grammatical account. Strawson is
prepared to accept this result because, he says, in such sentences, Socrates
is has the force of Socrates is identical with, so what it identifies is not
Socrates, but being identical to Socrates. But this is another arbitrary shift
between concrete and abstract entities. Strawson tries to evade the first
objection by averting his eyes from the abstract entity identified by a
philosopher and pointing out that it identifies no concrete entity; and he
tries to evade the second objection by averting his eyes from the concrete
entity identified by Socrates and pointing out that it identifies an abstract
entity (being Scorates, or being identical to Socrates). His responses to
these two objections are entirely ad hoc.
Third, consider the following sentence:

(6) The rose is the colour of the book.

Here Strawson cannot say that the is is the is of identity, on pain of
absurdity. Yet if we split the sentence into The rose is and the colour of
the book, then the latter is the subject on the grammatical account and the
former is the predicate. This gives the result that in (6) we are predicating
the rose of the colour of the book, which is definitely the wrong way
around.
Fourth, we can happily split sentences like (1) into substantive subject
and verbal predicate. But traditional logicians (for example, Arnauld, 1662,
pp. 103-108) would split sentences like (2) and (3) into three parts: subject
(Socrates), predicate (wise, a philosopher) and the sign of
propositional combination (the copula, is). They would do something
similar for sentences (4), (5) and (6). Here, the verbal or propositional
symbolism is separate from both subject and predicate. So it could be
objected that the grammatical account forces us to lump together separate
elements (predicate and copula) that natural language has been kind enough
to separate.
Although Strawson mistakenly says that the grammatical account works
for natural languages, he regards it as ultimately unsatisfactory (Strawson,
1959, pp. 162-166). For, he says, we could have spoken a language in
which there were no nouns or verbs, but in which entities were identified by
means of neutral expressions. Let us pretend that Raleigh and smoking
are such neutral expressions. We can imagine a language in which
concatenation of two such expressions results in a list, whereas
propositional combination is signified by a bracket. But in addition to the
convention Raleigh (smoking), in which propositional indication goes
along with the predicate, there are other possible conventions. In (Raleigh)
smoking the propositional symbolism is connected with the subject. In
(Raleigh smoking) propositional indication is carried by neither subject
nor predicate. In consequence, the grammatical account does not explain
the logical distinction of subject and predicate in a singular predication.

3. The Category Account

Strawson mentions a traditional doctrine to the effect that particulars can
appear in discourse as subjects only, never as predicates; whereas properties
can appear either as subjects or as predicates (Strawson, 1959, p. 137). But
he suggests that, whereas this doctrine appears to base the particular-
property distinction on the subject-predicate distinction, perhaps the order
of explanation ought to run in the opposite direction (Strawson, 1959, p.
161). This leads him to the category account, which explains singular
predication in terms of the types of the entities identified by subject and
predicate. On this view, the basic case of a singular predication is a
sentence, such as Socrates is wise, which consists of an expression
identifying a spatio-temporal particular which is propositionally combined
with an expression which identifies a property of such particulars. The
sentence is true if and only if the particular exemplifies the property. The
subject of the sentence is the expression identifying the particular; the
predicate is the expression identifying the property.
Danny Frederick 43
Just as particulars exemplify properties, so properties exemplify other
properties, as in Wisdom is a virtue; and these latter properties exemplify
further properties in their turn, and so on. In short, we have the idea of a
hierarchical classification of entities into types, with any entity being of
lower type than any entity which it exemplifies. Spatio-temporal particulars
are thus entities of the lowest type (1971a, 68-69). Accordingly, any
sentence in which two properties are identified, and which is true if one of
the properties exemplifies the other, is also, by analogy with the basic case,
to be called a singular predication. The expression identifying the property
of lower type is the subject and the expression identifying the property of
higher type is the predicate. Further, since abstract objects, like numbers,
also exemplify properties, this permits a further analogical extension of the
terminology of subject and predicate in application to singular numerical
statements, such as Six is even; and so on (Strawson, 1959, pp. 171-172;
1971a, p. 69; 1974, pp. 35-37).
Strawson says that on this account the truth of the traditional doctrine
stated at the start of this section is assured. For spatio-temporal particulars
can exemplify properties, but they are not themselves the sorts of things
that can be exemplified. But particulars may be part of what is predicated,
because of the analogy between, for example, is married, which identifies
a property, and is married to Socrates, which identifies a property-cum-
particular (Strawson, 1959, pp. 171-172).
Strawson also says that this account explains a number of asymmetries
between subjects and predicates that have been noted by logicians
(Strawson, 1971b, pp. 96-98, 101-114; 1974, pp. 5-9). The first
asymmetries concern negation:

(n
1
) by negating a predicate we get a new predicate, but by negating a
subject we do not get a subject;
(n
2
) by negating a predicate in a singular predication we obtain the
negation of the sentence, but it is not the case that by negating the
subject we obtain the negation of the sentence.

The other asymmetries concern composition. Consider the following four
sentences.

(c
1
) Tom is both tall and bald.
(c
2
) Both Tom and William are tall.
(d
1
) Tom is either tall or bald.
(d
2
) Either Tom or William is tall.

The sentences (c
1
) and (d
1
) are singular predications with compound
predicates. The sentence (c
1
) is true if and only if the conjunction Tom is
tall and Tom is bald is true. Similarly, (c
2
) has the same truth conditions as
the conjunction Tom is tall and William is tall. The sentence (d
1
) is
equivalent to the disjunction Tom is tall or Tom is bald. Similarly, (d
2
) is
true if and only if the disjunction Tom is tall or William is tall is true. So
far, the second sentence of each pair is parallel to the first, so it seems as if
we may regard these second sentences as singular predications with
compound subjects. But differences emerge once we consider negation.
Strawson says that if we apply (n
2
) to these sentences, while in (c
1
) and (d
1
)
we obtain the negation of the sentence if we negate the compound
predicate, this is not so for (c
2
) and (d
2
). In these latter cases, we have to
negate the compound subject to obtain the negation of the sentence. This
disqualifies (c
2
) and (d
2
) from being singular predications and so it shows
an asymmetry of subjects and predicates with regard to composition.
The explanation of the asymmetries regarding negation and composition
is quite straightforward on the category account. For, with respect to
singular predications of the basic class, the subject identifies a spatio-
temporal particular, whereas the predicate identifies a property which such
particulars may exemplify. And there are appropriate asymmetries between
those classes of entity. For every such property, P, and every particular, p,
there is another such property, P*, such that, necessarily, p exemplifies P if
and only if it does not exemplify P*. But it is not the case that any
particular is such that, for every property which it may exemplify, there is
another particular such that, necessarily, the first particular exemplifies the
property if and only if the second particular does not. Similarly, with
respect to composition, the properties that particulars may exemplify stand
in implication relations to other such properties vis--vis particulars, but it
is not the case that particulars stand in such implication relations to other
particulars vis--vis the properties which they may exemplify. For example,
it is necessary that there is a property (being tall and bald) that is possessed
by all particulars which possess both tallness and baldness. But it is not
necessary that there is a particular that has all the properties that both Tom
and William have. And it is necessary that there are disjunctive properties
(for example, being tall or bald) which are possessed by all particulars
which are either tall or bald, but it is not necessary (or even possible) that
there is a particular that has every property that either Tom has or William
has. Analogous explanations referring to similar facts about entities of
different types will explain the asymmetries of subjects and predicates for
singular predications which are not of the basic class (Strawson, 1971b, pp.
101-114; 1974, pp. 23-29, 35-37).
Strawson (1974, pp. 30-31) offers an explanation based on the category
account for the appeal of the grammatical account. What he feels needs to
be explained is that, in singular predications in natural languages, the
predicate sometimes, though the subject never, absorbs the symbolism of
propositional combination or, to put it another way, takes the form of a
verb. His explanation runs as follows. If we negate the predicate of a
Danny Frederick 45
singular predication, we obtain the negation of the sentence; so negation
and the predicate have an affinity for each other. It would be natural to
express the negation of a sentence by modifying the symbolism of
propositional combination; so negation and the form of the verb have an
affinity for each other. As a consequence, there is a mediated affinity
between the predicate and the function of indicating propositional
combination; and this makes it natural, though by no means compulsory,
that the predicate should take the form of the verb.
Finally, Strawson notes some tensions between the category account and
the grammatical account. The first concerns cases where proper names
appear in predicative positions. Thus a gesture might be described as
Napoleonic or a person might be described as a Hitler. But these are clearly
cases where a particular gives its name to a (possibly complex) property
borne saliently by that particular. Another type of case is where something
is described as being American, for example, because it has the property of
having some close connection with America (Strawson, 1959, pp. 173-174).
A more difficult case is represented by a sentence like

(7) Wisdom Socratises,

if used as an alternative to Socrates is wise. For the category account
might lead us to say that, in (7), Wisdom is the predicate and Socratises
the subject, for it is the latter that identifies the entity of lower type. But the
grammatical account declares the verbal Socratises to be the predicate and
the substantive Wisdom to be the subject. Strawson suggests that the
conflict could be resolved by construing Socratises as short for is a
characteristic of Socrates.
I will criticise and correct the category account in section 5.

4. The Mediating Account

Strawson notes the following contrast (1959, pp. 180-186). Each expression
that identifies a spatio-temporal particular presupposes an empirical
proposition. But it is not the case that each expression identifying a
property presupposes an empirical proposition. The intended contrast seems
to be something like this. The expression wise identifies a property merely
in virtue of its meaning. But the philosopher who drank hemlock
identifies a particular only on condition that a certain empirical fact obtains,
namely, that just one philosopher drank hemlock. Given the Description
Theory of Names, to a version of which Strawson subscribed (1959, p.
181), what holds of definite descriptions that identify particulars holds also
of names for particulars. But the point can be made independently of
adherence to that disputable theory. For it is not sufficient for a name to
identify a particular that the name should have a meaning, that there should
be something that counts as understanding the name. There must also be a
particular in an appropriate contextual relation to the use of the name; and
whether or not this is so depends upon the empirical facts. For example,
Leverrier thought that an unseen planet was responsible for the
irregularities in the orbit of Mercury. He introduced the name Vulcan to
refer to the unseen planet. But the empirical proposition presupposed by the
use of the name turned out to be false: Vulcan does not exist, so Vulcan
identified nothing. (It should be noted that I am using Vulcan here as
Leverrier and his contemporaries used it. Recently, Vulcan has been given
as a name to a planet outside of our solar system.) Something similar can be
said for demonstrative expressions identifying particulars. For example,
someone suffering from a delusion might use the demonstrative expression
that man when there is no man there.
Some philosophers have argued that a genuine name, or a genuine
singular term, cannot have meaning or be understood unless there is an
object which it identifies. On this view, if it is true that someone knows the
meaning of such an expression, then it follows that the expression identifies
a particular. But these philosophers have to admit that when there is no
particular, there can still be an illusion of understanding, an illusion which,
from the point of view of the victim, is indistinguishable from real
understanding, as in the cases of Leverrier and the deluded person just
described. So, on the view of these philosophers, when someone
subjectively appears to understand a singular term purporting to identify a
particular, there is still an outstanding empirical question of whether this
apparent understanding of the meaning of the expression is real
understanding (that is, whether the expression actually identifies anything).
The same sort of empirical question does not always arise in the case of
expressions identifying a property. So Strawsons point would still hold
even from the point of view of these philosophers; indeed, their view has
similarities to Strawsons own later point of view (1974, p. 58).
It should be noted that Strawson is denying that expressions identifying
properties always presuppose an empirical proposition. He is not affirming
that they never do. Strawson gives examples of such expressions which do
presuppose an empirical proposition. The quality most frequently
attributed to Socrates in philosophical examples happens, as a matter of
fact, to identify wisdom. The disease which kept John from work last
week may identify influenza (Strawson, 1959, p. 186).
Thus Strawson is led to his mediating account: a subject of a singular
predication is an expression (short of being a sentence) which, in
identifying an entity, presupposes an empirical proposition, while a
predicate is an expression (also short of being a sentence) which identifies
an entity without in this way presupposing an empirical proposition.
Strawson says that this account harmonises with the category account
Danny Frederick 47
because it has the consequence that expressions identifying spatio-temporal
particulars can never be predicates. It also implies that some expressions
identifying properties will be predicates and some will be subjects, which is
also required by the category account (Strawson, 1959, pp. 187-188).
However, despite Strawsons claims, the mediating account is actually
inconsistent with the category account. For on the latter account, an
expression identifying a property may, in principle, appear either as subject
or as predicate, depending on the type (or level) of entity identified by the
other expression with which it is combined to form a sentence. That is to
say, on the category account, subject and predicate are determined
relatively to each other. But on the mediating account, one can determine
whether an expression is a subject or a predicate in isolation, independently,
on the basis of whether it presupposes an empirical proposition. In fact it
can easily be seen that the mediating account leads to many classifications
which are in conflict with the category account and which are also
mistaken. For example, consider the following sentences, one of which we
have considered already:

(6) The rose is the colour of the book,
(8) Courage is a virtue.

Intuitively, and by the category account, both of these are singular
predications, with subjects, The rose and Courage, and predicates, the
colour of the book and a virtue. Yet on the mediating account, (8)
consists of two predicates and (6) of two subjects, since Courage does not
presuppose an empirical proposition while the colour of the book
presupposes that the book exists and has just one colour.
Strawson considers an example like (8). His response (Strawson, 1959,
p. 189) is to say that courage, as it appears in (8) should be classified as a
subject because (8) is true if and only if the entity identified by courage
exemplifies the property identified by a virtue. He would presumably
make a similar response to (6). But this response undermines the mediating
account. For we are here compelled to say that an expression which is a
predicate on that account, must yet be classified as a subject because it is
classified as a subject by the category account. Similarly, an expression
(the colour of the book) which is a subject on the mediating account must
yet be classified as a predicate because it is classified as a predicate by the
category account. In short, sometimes the mediating account gives the same
result as the category account and sometimes it does not. When it does not
give the same result, it is wrong and should be ignored. When it does give
the same result, it is not needed. The mediating account appears to be worse
than empty.
Strawson sees the contrast between expressions which presuppose an
empirical proposition, and those which do not, as exhibiting a sense in
which the former are complete and the latter incomplete. For both types
of expression are incomplete in that neither is a sentence, so neither
explicitly expresses a proposition. But the former do presuppose, and thus
present, a proposition while the latter do not. Strawson thinks it would be
fitting if expressions which are incomplete in the sense just noted were
also incomplete in the sense of being bearers of the propositional
symbolism. So he offers his mediating account as an explanation for the
appeal of the grammatical account.
However, this supposed explanatory value of the mediating account
appears to be illusory. We have seen that the grammatical account fails. For
example, where a predicate is an adjective (like wise) or an indefinite
noun-phrase (like a philosopher), it does not have a verbal form and so
does not qualify as a predicate on the grammatical account. If the mediating
account were to explain the allure of the grammatical account, one might
expect it to fail in the same cases in which the grammatical account fails.
But adjectives and indefinite nouns may identify their properties without
presupposing an empirical fact, and thus qualify as predicates on the
mediating account. Similarly, if we split

(3) Socrates is a philosopher

into Socrates is and a philosopher, the former expression carries the
propositional symbolism and so counts as a predicate on the grammatical
account; but as it presupposes an empirical proposition (Socrates exists) it
counts as a subject on the mediating account. The two accounts classify the
second part of the sentence, a philosopher in opposite ways, too (despite
Strawsons shifty denial noted in section 2).
However, even in the cases in which the two accounts lead to the same
classification, the supposed explanation appears to be a sham. For it
depends on the application of the same word, incomplete, to the features
by which each account identifies the predicate. But these are different
features for each account. For the grammatical account, incomplete means
carrying the propositional symbolism. For the mediating account,
incomplete means not presupposing an empirical proposition. But despite
applying the same label, Strawson gives no account of any connection
between the two kinds of incompleteness. Indeed, it may be thought that an
expression which presupposes a proposition, and so which presupposes a
propositional tie, has a greater affinity for the propositional symbolism than
one that does not. But this would give the opposite conclusion to the one
Strawson wants. So Strawsons claim of explanation is spurious.
Therefore, the mediating account appears to be mistaken; and
Strawsons contention that the category account is explained and
underpinned by it (Strawson, 1959, p. 245) seems preposterous. It seems
likely that Strawson came to see this himself since, in his later works, he
Danny Frederick 49
continues to defend the category account but not the mediating account (see
Strawson, 1971a; 1971b, p. 97; 1974, p. 9).

5. Critique and Correction of the Category Account

On the category account, the basic case of a singular predication is a
sentence in which two expressions are propositionally combined, one
identifying a spatio-temporal particular and one identifying a property of
such things, the former expression being the subject, the latter being the
predicate. The sentence is true if and only if the entity identified by the
subject exemplifies the entity identified by the predicate. In other cases of
singular predication the subject is an expression identifying a property or
other abstract entity, while the predicate is an expression identifying a
property of such entities.
We saw in section 2 a type of sentence that is problematic for
Strawsons grammatical account, namely:

(5) Socrates is Socrates.

This sentence also appears to be problematic for Strawsons category
account because it contains an expression, Socrates, which identifies a
spatio-temporal particular, and which appears in the sentence first as subject
and then as predicate. Both subject and predicate identify a spatio-temporal
particular.
Strawsons response would be the same as his response to (5) when
considered as a counter-example to the grammatical account: he would
maintain that, in (5), the is is the is of identity, so that (5) is elliptical for
Socrates is identical to Socrates. In this expanded version of (5), we have
a subject identifying a particular, Socrates, propositionally combined with a
predicate identifying a property, being identical to Socrates. Alternatively,
we have two subjects, each identifying Socrates, propositionally combined
with a two-place relational predicate identifying the property of identity.
However, this response depends upon the contention that is is
ambiguous, as between predication and identity. Strawson offers no
argument for this contention. Lockwood (1975) has argued that the
contention goes back to Frege (1892, pp. 43-44), who needed it to save his
theory from refutation by the existence of sentences such as (5), but that
Freges arguments for the contention are invalid. It may also be argued that,
if an expression is ambiguous, then one would expect to have to translate it
into other languages, now one way, now another (Kripke, 1979, p. 19), but
the putative ambiguity in is is preserved as we pass from Freges German
to English and to other languages. There is not space here to discuss this
matter in any detail. But we can acknowledge that, since (5) appears to have
a natural construal as a predication with a singular term as predicate, it is
potentially a counter-example to the category account, and that an account
that dispenses with the supposed ambiguity in is would be preferable.
(Rejection of the claim that is sometimes means the same as is identical
to does not entail that the latter expression has no use or that it does not
express the relation of identity.)
Searle (1969, pp. 115-118) says that if we accept Strawsons talk of
predicates identifying properties, then we must also accept that subjects
which identify particulars also identify properties. For example, in the
singular predication,

(9) The philosopher who drank hemlock was wise,

the subject identifies the particular, Socrates, while the predicate identifies
the property, wisdom (or being wise). But in the same sense in which the
predicate identifies a property (via its meaning), the subject identifies a
number of properties, namely, philosophership, drinking and hemlock.
Strawson explicitly accepts this point:

the concept green can equally be said to be specified [i.e., identified] in each of the
three following English sentences: The door is green, The green door is locked,
Green is a soothing colour (Strawson, 1974, p. 21)

but he fails to see that it is a threat to the category account. Since he
originally (1959, p. 181) adhered to a version of the Description Theory of
Names, by Searles argument Strawson is committed to saying that not only
definite descriptions, but also names and, in fact, all expressions identifying
spatio-temporal particulars, also identify properties.
We can consider a reply that Strawson might have made to Searles
objection. Thus, it could be said that, whereas the definite description in (9)
has semantic parts which identify properties, the expression as a whole
identifies a particular; and it is the whole expression that appears in (9) as
logical subject. But this reply fails. For the definite description taken as a
whole also identifies a property, namely, being uniquely a philosopher who
drank hemlock.
It may be objected that being uniquely a philosopher who drank hemlock
is a strange kind of property in that it can be exemplified by at most one
thing. But we must admit such properties, since they result from the fact,
upon which Strawson draws for his explanation of the asymmetries between
subjects and predicates, that properties have logical relations to each other.
Further, Strawson is happy to admit being identical to Socrates as a
property, as we have already seen, and that property, too, can be
exemplified by at most one thing. Indeed, the category account would
naturally lead us to say that being uniquely a philosopher who drank
hemlock is a property, because it is identified by the predicate in the
singular predication,

Danny Frederick 51
(10) Socrates is unique in being a philosopher who drank hemlock.

Another response that Strawson might have made to Searles point would
be to stipulate that, in a singular predication, an expression is a subject just
so long as it identifies a particular, no matter what else it identifies. This
would make the definite description in (9) a subject, not a predicate.
However, it would also make the predicate of (10) into a subject. For the
predicate in (10) does not only identify a property, it also identifies
Socrates, just as the subject of (9) does. A slightly different example would
be John is taller than everyone else, the predicate of which identifies the
tallest person.
So the category account seems to be refuted. Singular predications of the
basic class were to involve subjects which identified spatio-temporal
particulars and predicates which identified properties of such particulars.
But we have seen that the predicates sometimes identify particulars
(whether or not we accept the supposed is of identity), and the subjects (at
least on Strawsons view) always identify properties.
A further problem for the category account is raised by non-denoting
singular terms. For Vulcan is a planet and The author of Principia
Mathematica is English are singular predications. But Principia
Mathematica had two authors, and it turned out that Vulcan did not exist.
So, these sentences would not qualify as singular predications on the
category account, for while the predicates identify properties that may be
exemplified by particulars, the subjects do not identify particulars. This
also, incidentally, bars the expressions from being subjects on Strawsons
other two accounts (each of which require of a subject that it identify an
appropriate entity). Strawson (1959, p. 228) insists, however, that such
sentences should be classified as singular predications, apparently because
the singular terms presuppose a proposition. This presumably supplies one
of the analogies on which Strawsons account is wont to rely.
Cases like this should make us uneasy. Strawson offers an account of
singular predication which fails to capture some singular predications. But
instead of regarding these sentences as counter-examples to his account, he
looks for and finds some analogy on the basis of which to grant them the
status of singular predication in some extended sense. The manoeuvre
seems ad hoc and to that extent it robs Strawsons account of explanatory
value.
I think that all these problems can be resolved by abandoning
Strawsons notion of identification and replacing it with Mills distinction
between connotation and denotation (Mill, 1843, book 1, chap. 2, section
5), though without accepting Mills denial of connotation to names. The
logical content of an expression is that aspect of its meaning that is relevant
to the inferences in which it may figure. A term is an expression the logical
content of which is a property. The term connotes that property. A one-
place term denotes each thing that exemplifies the property it connotes; a
two-place term denotes each ordered pair of things that exemplify the
relational property it connotes; and so on. A singular term connotes a
property that can be exemplified by at most one thing, so it has a unique
denotation if it has any denotation at all.
Strawsons notion of identification is too loose because it may be taken
to pick out either the connotation of a term or, in the case of a singular term,
its unique denotation. Yet an attempt to restrict the notion of identification
either exclusively to connotation, or exclusively to unique denotation
(where there is such an entity), would ensure that we sometimes get the
wrong result. For, in the case of a singular term, we sometimes want it to be
the connotation that is identified while in other cases we want it to be the
denotation. Strawsons category account only seems to work, when it does,
because Strawson shifts silently between connotation and denotation in
whatever way is required to give the right result. But once we have Mills
distinction, we can specify when it is a singular terms connotation, and
when it is its unique denotation, that is relevant by means of the
specification of the truth-condition for a singular predication. In the
simplest case, where the singular predication is monadic, we have the
following:
Two terms, T
1
and T
2
, are combined into a singular predication =
df
T
1
is
singular; and the combination is true if and only if the thing denoted by T
1

exemplifies the property connoted by T
2
. T
1
is the subject-term; T
2
is the
predicate-term. The property connoted by the predicate-term is predicated
of the thing denoted by the subject-term.
This account naturally accommodates the counter-examples to
Strawsons category account. First, there is no embarrassment caused by
the fact that singular terms may identify both properties and particulars;
indeed, it is central to the account that a singular term may have both
connotation and unique denotation. Second, the fact that a singular term
might not denote is similarly part of the account; for what makes a term
singular is not that it actually denotes something but that its connotation is
such that it can have at most one instance. Third, the account permits
singular terms to appear as predicates in singular predications. Thus,

(5) Socrates is Socrates,

is a singular predication with Socrates as subject-term in its first
occurrence and as predicate-term in its second occurrence, in which being
Socrates, or Socrateity, is predicated of Socrates. (If someone insists that, in
(5), is is not simply the copula but means is identical to, my account will
still classify (5) as a singular predication, but as a dyadic, instead of a
monadic, one.)
Danny Frederick 53
The connotation of a denoting proper name is therefore tantamount to a
haecceity, though different connotations may be tantamount to the same
haecceity, as in the case, for example, of the connotations of Hesperus and
Phosphorus. In contrast, the connotation of a non-denoting name, such as
Vulcan, is not tantamount to a haecceity, because we can grasp a
connotation that is tantamount to a haecceity only if we have an appropriate
contextual connection to the thing which instantiates it.
The distinction of subject-term and predicate-term is a distinction of
logical role, unlike the distinctions between terms, such as singular term
and non-singular term, which are distinctions of logical category. One
category of terms, namely, singular terms, can play either logical role. One
and the same singular term, with one and the same connotation (and thus
the same denotation), makes differing contributions to the truth conditions
of a singular predication depending on whether it occurs as subject-term
(focusing on its denotation) or as predicate-term (focusing on its
connotation). These different contributions are specified by the semantical
explanation of combination into a singular predication: the sentence is true
if and only if the denotation of the subject exemplifies the connotation of
the predicate. So, while the connotation of a term is that aspect of its
meaning that is relevant to inferences in which sentences containing it may
occur, the terms logical role in those sentences is also relevant. This is true
not only of concrete singular terms such as Socrates, but also of abstract
singular terms, such as wisdom. Thus, the sentence Wisdom is wisdom
is true if and only if the denotation of the subject-term, wisdom, exemplifies
the connotation of the predicate-term, namely, being wisdom.
It might be objected that some expressions, such as unique in being a
philosopher who drank hemlock, qualify as singular terms because they
denote at most one thing, but cannot appear as subjects of singular
predications because they are of the wrong grammatical form. But this is a
parochial objection. Such terms can be logical subjects, but the
requirements of our grammar mean we have to give them the form of a
noun before they can appear as grammatical subjects. With regard to the
term in question, we could just prefix the four words the person who is.
Thus we will recognise the same logical term in different grammatical
guises. This is somewhat similar to the way in which we count the logical
predicate as the same in the sentences, Socrates is a human and Socrates
is human (we ignore the indefinite article), or in the sentences Peter lives
and Peter is living (ignoring the verbal differences).
Our account may seem to challenge the traditional doctrine that
Strawson expresses as: particulars can appear in discourse as subjects only,
never as predicates (Strawson, 1959, p. 137). The source of the doctrine
appears to be Aristotle (2007): that which is individual and has the
character of a unit is never predicable of a subject (section 2); primary
substance is not predicable of anything, it can never form the predicate of
any proposition (section 5). However, it is a consequence of our account
that spatio-temporal particulars cannot be predicated, since while they may
be the denotation of a predicate, it is the connotation of the predicate that is
predicated, and the connotation of a predicate is always a property. And
when Aristotle says that a primary substance cannot be a predicate he
cannot mean simply that a primary substance cannot be a bit of language:
he must mean that a primary substance cannot be a property of other things,
which is to say, again, that it cannot be predicated. So there is nothing in
our account of predication to impugn the hoary metaphysical wisdom of
Aristotle. Further, our account plainly preserves Strawsons explanation of
the asymmetries of subjects and predicates with respect to composition and
negation by reference to the differences between properties and their
instances.
For simplicity I have been speaking so far only of monadic predications.
The more general explanation is as follows.
A singular predication =
df
a combination of an n-place term and an
ordered set of n occurrences of m singular terms (n m) which is true if and
only if the things denoted by the n occurrences of the singular terms, taken
in order, exemplify the property connoted by the n-place term. The m
singular terms, in each of the n occurrences, are the subject-terms; the n-
place term is the predicate-term.
This account gives a uniform explanation of singular predication, subject
and predicate, rather than the patchwork of basic case and multiple
analogies that Strawsons account offers. Although we will have to qualify
this in a moment, this is surely a further advantage.
Strawson is aware of this type of objection to the complexities of his
view and he makes a reply to it:

the appearance of any type of item other than a particular in the role of subject is
dependent upon, or presupposes, its capacity to appear in another propositional role.
We could not predicate anything of happiness unless we could predicate happiness
of people. We could not predicate anything of a number unless we could predicate
having a certain number of a set. We could not predicate anything of propositions
unless we framed propositions in which nothing was predicated of propositions. The
propositional role of the particular, on the other hand, isalways that of subject.
(Strawson, 1971b, p. 114)

Even prescinding from the dubiety of the last statement, one surely wants to
protest that such considerations as these are not logical but epistemological.
There is no incompatibility in endorsing a simple and uniform account of
the logical distinction between subject and predicate, on the one hand, while
on the other hand urging the epistemological primacy, amongst singular
predications, of those in which the subject identifies a spatio-temporal
particular. One could even quite consistently go on to maintain the
Danny Frederick 55
metaphysical primacy of spatio-temporal particulars over other kinds of
thing. So Strawsons stated reasons for preferring the convoluted category
account to a more elegant variant do not seem to be cogent.
There is, however, a logical reason for introducing convolutions into an
account of singular predication based on properties and exemplification.
For, if we admit the property of being a property that does not exemplify
itself, we will also admit a paradox; namely, that if this property
exemplifies itself, then it does not, and if it does not, then it does. Russell,
in order to avoid such paradoxes, proposed a rigid hierarchy of types such
that a property could be exemplified only by an entity of lower type and
could only exemplify a property of higher type. If we accept such a
hierarchy, then it seems we also have to accept a hierarchy of types for the
property of exemplification. For the property of exemplification that holds
between particulars and the properties they exemplify would be of a
different (lower) type to the property of exemplification that holds between
these properties and the properties that they exemplify. As a consequence,
there could be no more than an analogy between singular predications
whose subjects identify entities belonging to different types. For whatever
reason, Strawsons category account reflects such a rigid type-hierarchy.
However, various ways of avoiding paradox without enforcing such a rigid
hierarchy have been proposed, and others are being investigated. These
permit properties to be exemplified by entities of different types, which
may enable us to say, for instance, that if John is dyslexic and dyslexia is
interesting, then John is interesting too, and in the same sense. As a
consequence, while some complications will doubtless need to be added to
our proposed simple and uniform account of singular predication to secure
it from paradox, it seems that these should be far less cumbersome than the
profusion of analogies endemic to Strawsons account.

6. Conclusion

Strawson initially offers three accounts of singular predication:
grammatical, category and mediating. In later works he defends only the
category account. I have argued that all of Strawsons accounts fail.
Strawson admits that the grammatical account has counter-examples and
that it is not satisfactory from a logical point of view. But he thinks it is
relatively successful as applied to natural languages. I have argued that
there are more counter-examples than Strawson notices and that the
accounts supposed success depends on artificially lumping together the
predicate with the propositional symbolism even though natural language
has separated the two.
I have shown that Strawsons mediating account is worse than vacuous,
often giving a wrong classification of subjects and predicates. It also fails to
provide any explanation for the appeal of the grammatical account, despite
Strawsons claim to the contrary. For one thing, it leads to different results
to those provided by the grammatical account; and for another, the
supposed explanation depends on application of the same label to quite
different features of expressions.
Strawsons category account entails that singular terms cannot be
predicates, which appears to be false. It excludes non-denoting singular
terms from being logical subjects, except by means of an ad hoc analogy. It
involves a notion of identification that hovers vaguely between connotation
and unique denotation. Its reliance on basic case and analogy seems
unnecessarily complicated. The accounts vagueness and its liberal
invocation of analogies make it ad hoc and seriously undermine its
explanatory value.
But it seems easy to correct the category account by invoking Mills
distinction between connotation and denotation and explaining a (monadic)
singular predication, simply, as a combination of a singular term and
another term into a sentence which is true if and only if the denotation of
the former exemplifies the connotation of the latter.

References

Aristotle (2007). Categories. (E. M. Edghill, Trans.). Adelaide:
ebooks@Adelaide. Downloaded on 27 April 2010 from
http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/a/aristotle/categories/
Arnauld, A. (1662). The Art of Thinking. (J. Dickoff & P. James, Trans.).
Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill (1964).
Frege, G. (1892). On Concept and Object. In P. Geach & M. Black.(Eds.
and Trans.), Translations from the Philosophical Writings of Gottlob
Frege (pp. 42-55). Oxford: Blackwell (1980).
Kripke, S. (1979). Speakers Reference and Semantic Reference. In P.
French, T. Uehling, & H. Wettstein (Eds.), Contemporary Perspectives
in the Philosophy of Language (pp. 6-27). Minneapolis: University of
Minnesota Press.
Lockwood, M. (1975). On Predicating Proper Names. Philosophical
Review, 84, 471-498.
Mill, J.S. (1843). A System of Logic J. M. Robson (Ed.). Toronto:
University of Toronto Press (1974).
Searle, J. (1969). Speech Acts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Strawson, P. F. (1959). Individuals. London: Methuen.
Strawson, P. F. (1971a). Singular Terms and Predication. In his 1971c, pp.
53-74.
Danny Frederick 57
Strawson, P. F. (1971b). The Asymmetry of Subjects and Predicates. In his
1971c, pp. 96-115.
Strawson, P. F. (1971c). Logico-Linguistic Papers. London: Methuen.
Strawson, P. F. (1974). Subject and Predicate in Logic and Grammar.
London: Methuen.

Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 59-78.

Omniscience in ukasiewiczs, Kleenes and Blaus
Three-Valued Logics

Stamatios Gerogiorgakis
Universitt Erfurt

Abstract. In this paper several assumptions concerning omniscience and future
contingents on the one side, and omniscience and self-reference on the other, are
examined with respect to a classical and a three-valued semantic setting (the latter
pertains especially to ukasiewiczs, Kleenes and Blaus three-valued logics).
Interesting features of both settings are highlighted and their basic assumptions
concerning omniscience are explored. To generate a context in which the notion of
omniscience does not deviate from some basic intuitions, two special futurity operators
are introduced in this article: one for what will definitely take place and another one for
what is indeterminate as to whether it will take place. Once these operators are
introduced, some puzzles about omniscience in combination with future contingents are
removed. An analogous solution to some puzzles concerning omniscience and self-
referentiality is also provided.

The classical account of omniscience was essentially elaborated in the
Middle Ages and it has been presenting major problems for philosophy ever
since then.
Being a piece of traditional philosophy, the classical account of
omniscience relies upon the classical semantic setting, i.e., it presupposes
bivalence. Bivalence was challenged initially in the three-valued system of
ukasiewicz (
3
). Part of ukasiewiczs motivation for the introduction of a
third value was to remove troubles with future contingents, which form part
of my problems with omniscience also. Kleene and Blau provided
alternative three-valued systems (K
3
and BL
3
respectively).
A terminological issue has to be mentioned at this point: by future
contingents I mean two things: 1) sentences referring to future states of
affairs which may or may not fail to come about, as well as: 2) the states of
affairs themselves which future contingent sentences refer to, i.e. future
processes with an open outcome. The context will disambiguate.
Let us start with preliminaries. The omniscience principle reads thus:
K
o p p (Omniscience Principleabbreviated as OP)
60 Omniscience in ukasiewiczs, Kleenes and Blaus Three-Valued Logics
(K
o

is an epistemic predicate ranging over the sentences which
omniscient beings know to be true).
The direction: Ko p p is true by the definition of knowledge. The
other direction: p Ko
p has to be assumed as an independent principle in
order to yield the notion of omniscience.
From (OP) we can very easily see that the epistemic operator Ko and
negation are commutative: From (OP) we get trivially: Ko p p. In
(OP) again, we substitute p for p and we get: Ko
p p. With
transitivity we obtain finally:

Ko p Ko p (Principle of Commutativity of Ko and
abbreviated as: COM)

In other words: it is not the case that omniscient beings know that p iff
omniscient beings know that non p. Colloquially, this would mean
something to the effect that what omniscient beings do not know is exactly
what omniscient beings know not to hold.
It has been clear at least since Hintikka, 1962, pp. 13-14, that the
negation in the left subformula of (COM) does not mean the lack of
knowledge, which we usually express with sentences like: Rosie does not
know whether a wildfire will erupt in Tuscany next June. If Rosie does not
know whether a wildfire will erupt at t
n
, then usually she is not said to be
justified to know that a wildfire will not erupt at t
n
, which would be an
interpretation of the right subformula of (COM).
A correct interpretation of the left subformula of (COM) reads: It is not
the case that Rosie knows that a wildfire will erupt at t
n
. This is equivalent
with the interpretation of the right subformula of (COM), which the
whether-expression above is not!

1. Futurity and Knowledge in the Classical Setting

A wildfire will erupt at t
n
has to be formalised by means of a futurity-
operator. (OP) has, for sentences preceded by the futurity-operator (F), the
following form:

Ko Fp Fp (Omniscience Principle concerning the Future
abbreviated as: OP-F)

According to (OP-F), predictions made by omniscient beings cannot fail to
be true and every future event is known by omniscient beings. The
substitution instance of (COM) for Fp instead of p is also interesting. It
reads thus:
Stamatios Gerogiorgakis 61

Ko Fp Ko Fp (COM-F)

I.e., it is not the case that omniscient beings know that a wildfire will erupt
at t
n
iff omniscient beings know that no wildfire will erupt at t
n
. In other
words: Nothing fails to be predicted by any omniscient being, unless it fails
to come about; and nothing fails to come about, unless it fails to be
predicted by any omniscient being.
An interesting side-effect of (COM-F) shows that for a prediction made by
an omniscient being, there is no difference between a close match and a
total failure. When omniscient beings fail to know exactly that a wildfire
will erupt, then they know exactly that it will not erupt.
To anyone who has studied the scholastic issue of predestination, it is clear
that there is a whole cluster of problems connected with omniscience and
future contingents. Solutions reach from the Scylla of fatalism to the
Charybdis of realising contradictions. Between these very radical positions
lie determinism and Aristotelianism. If we succeed to show that the
combination of omniscience and future contingents makes no sense already
when we assume any of the moderate positions, we need not bother with the
radical ones.
A determinist would say that the sentence: A wildfire will erupt at t
n
,
albeit referring to an event which is supposed to take place at t
n
, is
nevertheless today either definitely true or definitely false. Eventually, a
determinist would say that todays prediction of a wildfire at t
n
(whereby t
n

refers to some future moment) is false today iff no wildfire erupts at t
n
, but
that it is true today iff a wildfire erupts at t
n
. I.e. the sense in which
something can be known about future contingents is not different from
knowledge ex post. This alone shows that determinism eliminates the very
idea of future contingents.
Aristotelians would oppose this, claiming that the sentence: A wildfire will
erupt at t
n
is underdeterminate inasmuch as it expresses today nothing
definitely true and nothing definitely false. An Aristotelian considers
underdetermination of a temporalised sentence to be a tense-semantic
property, which shows that it is a future contingent sentence. But to know
that a future event will definitely or will not definitely take place is to
deprive the sentence which expresses it of its underdetermination. Thus, the
idea of an omniscient being seems to stand in opposition to the idea of
underdeterminated future contingent sentences. In order to cope with both
ideas, some Arab Aristotelians thought it plausible that omniscient beings
can predict only general processes in the future, but no individual future
events,
1
i.e. they saw divine foreknowledge as pertaining only to the laws of
nature, not to every sentence which will come to be true. Omniscient beings
could fail to predict the outcome of those and only those events which do
not fall under a law of nature, i.e. of miracles. Only miracles would not be
subject to fatalism and only miracles, in fact the only events which are
supposed to be determined directly by God, could properly be called future
contingents. But this peculiar view was not the Aristotelian mainstream.
Mainstream Aristotelians favoured another view to combine future
contingents with omniscience. They said that an omniscient being knows
also of individual future contingent events, but future contingents are not
yet present in some of their causes and eo ipso that future contingents have
some indeterminate causes for some time to come.
2

If we assume that a wildfire will definitely erupt at t
n
, then we actually
mean that the wildfire is present today in all its causes and thus the wildfire
is irreversible. But if we assume that the wildfire will erupt contingently,
then there must be some causes in which (rather: for which, but I will
retain the traditional way of speaking) the wildfire is not present today. A
contingent wildfire remains contingent iff (and as long as) it is not present
in those causes which make it irreversible as soon as they occur. A future
wildfire is already present in some causes which have been in effect for a
very, very long time, like the occurrence of oxygen in the Earths
atmosphere. Some of them might have been in effect for two or three
months, like dry foliage on the ground. Both oxygen and dry foliage are
remote causes of the future fire. Their being there today alone does not
result in tomorrows fire: not until the immediate causes of tomorrows fire
also occur, e.g. a spark and a strong wind, does the eruption of a wildfire
become irreversible. In general, a future contingent event (e.g. a wildfire) is
contingent at t
0
iff its immediate causes (e.g. spark, strong wind) occur at t
j
,
whereby 0 < j < n.
But a spark and a strong wind, even the most unpredictable and sudden, are
also caused. To make a long argument short: if a wildfire is a future
contingent event and an omniscient being predicts at t
0
a wildfire for t
n
, then
what is expressed by the sentence A wildfire will erupt at t
n
is not present
in some of its causes (contingency!) until t
j
for 0 < j < n ; however, the
wildfire is present in all its causes after t
j
. It is clear then that A wildfire

1
Cf. Belo, 2006, pp. 181; 194. This doctrine was attributed by Thomas
Aquinas, In I sententiarum, dist. 36, q. 1, art. 1, to Avicenna (11
th
century),
Averroes (12
th
century) and, mistakenly, to Al Gazali (11
th
12
th
c.).
2
This is an extremely influential line of thought, as can be seen from its history,
beginning with Aristotles discussion of the future sea battle in De interpretatione
18 b, via John Damascene, Expositio fidei, s. 44 (7
th
-8
th
century) and Thomas
Aquinas, Summa contra gentiles, I, cap. 67 [n. 6] (13
th
century), up to Arthur Prior
1962, p. 124 (reprinted in Prior 1968, pp. 38-39).

will erupt at t
n
describes an irreversible future event at t
k
for j k < n , but a
contingent future event at t
i
for 0 i < j . Therefore for A wildfire will erupt
at t
n
to be contingent, the wildfire has to have some cause which is
described by some sentence of the form x will be the case at t
x
(for
variable x) and at t
i
the wildfire may not be present in this cause.
The whole task concerning the contingency of the sentence: A wildfire will
erupt at t
n
passes over into finding other contingent sentences of the form
x will be the case at t
x
, which describe causes of the wildfire and in which
the wildfire is not present at t
i
(obviously for x < i). But then the task
concerning the contingency of the sentences of the form x will be the case
at t
x
, will pass over into finding contingent sentences of the form y will be
the case at t
y
for y < x, which describe the causes of the events by which x
will be the case at t
x
and so on. So, to say that a future event was contingent
at t
i,
and therefore not present in some of its causes, generates a regress and
implies that there is at least one contingent event which is not present in at
least one of its causes before t
i
and, actually, before any time limit ad
infinitum. But there are no contingent past events, nor are there any past
events of which an omniscient being is not aware of as being necessary.
Consequently, mainstream Aristotelianism cannot consistently accept both
future contingents and omniscience, unless by future contingents we mean
something like an epistemic uncertainty shared only by non omniscient
beings. Nevertheless, this way out of the puzzle is not open to the
Aristotelian. The Aristotelian thinks that at least some future events are
objectively contingentin the sense that the contingency of a sentence is a
matter of fact and not an epistemic uncertainty, a matter of perspective, just
an impression or the like. Omniscient beings have to know, now, of every
matter of fact, including everything which non-omniscient beings know (if
they really know about it, then it has to be a matter of fact, regardless of
their not being omniscient). Now, a non omniscient being would certainly
know that to say today that a wildfire will erupt at t
n
is completely different
from saying at t
n
that a wildfire is erupting. Because the first event is a
future contingent one and the second is notthis having to be objectively
so, if the Aristotelian is right about the future contingents. But does an
omniscient being know that these are different things? To know this, an
omniscient being should have a grasp of the objective underdetermination
of future contingent eventsviz. one which cannot be reduced to subjective
uncertainty.

2. Self-Reference

Consider the following example, which was given by professor Milne in his
2007 article.

S: No omniscient being knows that which the sentence S expresses.

If the sentence S is false, then there are omniscient beings, who know that
which the sentence S expresses. What they know, is that no omniscient
being knows that which the sentence S expresses. But what is known, by an
omniscient being or anyone else, has to be true. Hence the sentence S is
true.
If the sentence S is true, then no omniscient being knows that which it
expresses, because S says so. At the same time, being true implies being
known by an omniscient being (by definition of omniscience). This would
make, in its turn, the sentence S false.
The sentence S is supposed to show that the very idea of omniscience is
contradictory. If there are true contradictions (as dialetheism asserts), then
omniscient beings are dialetheists. But if dialetheism happens to be hocus
pocus, a being whose existence implies contradictions would not be a
dialetheist but non-existent (Milne, 2007, p. 251, footnote 1).
S is paradoxical in a way very similar to the Liar Paradox. The Standard
Solution of this paradox (see section 5 of this paper) rejects classical
semantics for the sake of three-valued semantics. It says that self-referential
sentences are neither true nor false. But what do omniscient beings know
then about such sentences?
Future contingents and the Standard Solution of self-referential
sentences of the Liar type invite the use of three-valued semantics, so that
all the obstacles which one stumbles upon when one wants to make sense of
basic intuitions concerning omniscience in combination with future
contingents and self-referentiality are dissolved once one adopts a three-
valued setting. This is, at least, the hope. It is arguably an old hope. Prior,
1953, p. 324, saw it expressed by some medieval authors.
3
In sections 3 and
4 I will try to reconstruct the object of this hope: some principles
concerning omniscience and future contingents in a three-valued setting.
The setting has to be three-valued for one additional reason: I would be
reluctant to allow spectacular changes of the classical setting. Adding just

3
In this, Arthur Prior did not agreealthough he explicitly assumed that he
didwith Philotheus Boehners reading of Ockham. Boehner, 1941, pp. 423-424
called three-valued logic non-Christian and saw
3
just as an attempt to formalise
some thoughts of Aristotle, not as a genuine option to make sense of omniscience
and future contingents in a Christian context.

one truth value is keeping the modification of the classical setting to a
minimum.

3. The Three-Valued Setting

Before we can assign concrete truth-values of the three-valued setting to
future contingents, we have to set a three valued semantics first. To begin
with negation: ukasiewicz, 1930, 65 (references to this paper are to the
original pagination of the Warsaw edition of 1930) and Kleene, 1952, p.
334, define (i.e. truth-functionally) negation in
3
and K
3
thus:

P ~P
T F
I I
F T

BL
3
has, additionally to this strong negation, a weak one (cf. Blau 1978, pp.
49-50, especially for the motivation). The weak negation of a formula
follows from the strong negation of the same formula in BL
3
. However, it is
not possible to express the weak negation in
3
and K
3
:
4

P P
T F
I T
F T

4
If we want to provide a truth-table for the weak negation r[p] of r[p], that is,
of a formula which is possibly identical with p, and may have three values, r[p]
has to be equivalent to q[r[p]] (viz. a formula q, in which r[p] occurs), such
that: a) q[r[p]] is false iff r[p] is true, and b1) q[r[p]] is true iff r[p] is false or
b2) indefinite (by the truth-table of the weak negation). But the condition (b2) is
fulfilled in
3
iff (I take the connective to be basic): b2.i) r[p] is implied by a
false formula, or b2.ii) r[p] implies a true formula, or (b2.iii) r[p] is implied or
implies an indefinite formula (by the truth-table for in
3
). For the sub-
condition (b2.i) we get: q[r[p]] = (falsum r[p]); for the sub-condition (b2.ii) we
get: q[r[p]] = (r[p] verum); for the sub-condition (b2.iii) we get: q[r[p]] = (r[p]
indefinite) or q[r[p]] = (indefinite r[p]). The sub-conditions (b2.i) and (b2.ii)
are however fulfilled, i.e. they make q[r[p]] true,also for true instead of false
r[p], which contradicts (a). In K
3
only the sub-conditions (b2.i) and (b2.iii) are
relevant for (b2) (by the truth-table for in K
3
). But, as we have seen in
3
,
(b2.i) already generates a contradiction to (a). What has been shown is that for any
formula r[p] with any grade of complexity, including p as a limit case with only
one connective, there is no q[r[p]] in
3
and K
3
with the desired truth-table. QED.
ukasiewicz 1930, 65, gives the following truth-table for the conditional in
3
:

Unlike
3
, the truth-table for the conditional in K
3
gives the value:
indefinite for indefinite P and Q (cf. Kleene, 1952, p. 334; Gottwald, 1983,
p. 168). The truth-functional definition of the implication in BL
3
deviates
from
3
at another point: it gives the value: true for indefinite P and false Q
(cf. Blau, 1978, p. 99).
5

In order to undertake a semantical analysis of the omniscience principle
(OP-F) and the commutativity principle (COM-F) for three-valued logics,
we need to define truth-functionally the connective which appears in these
principles, i.e. , for these logics. Actually, we only need the conditions
under which a sentence with the connective is true, because these
principles are assumed to be true. The sentence P Q is true iff the
sentences P Q and Q P are true, i.e. the connective has to be
understood as a biconditional, but not necessarily as an equivalence. Note
that the equivalence is true iff P Q and Q P have the same truth-
value. This can lead to deviations between the truth-functional definition of
the biconditional and the truth-functional definition of the equivalence. For
example, the truth-functional definition of the equivalence in K
3
gives the
value: true for indefinite P Q and Q P, which is, of course, not the

5
An overview of the truth-tables for the conditional, biconditional and
equivalence in all three systems discussed here can be found in Pinkal, 1985, pp.
109-110.
P Q P Q
t t t
t i i
t f f
i t t
i i t
i f i
f t t
f i t
f f t


case in the truth-functional definition of the biconditional in K
3
. In
3
and
BL
3
, however, P Q and Q P have the same value iff they are both
true. That is, according to the truth-functional definitions of the
biconditional and the equivalence in
3
, the biconditional is valuated as true
in the same rows of the truth-table in which the equivalence is valuated as
true. The same happens in BL
3
.

Precisely, we get (the verification can easily
be done by means of truth-tablesby elementary subformulae I mean the
P and Q of the truth-table, not the formulae: P Q and Q P):

1) A biconditional is true in
3
iff
1a) Both elementary subformulae are true
1b) Both elementary subformulae are indefinite
1c) Both elementary subformulae are false

2) A biconditional is true in K
3
iff
2b) Both elementary subformulae are false

3) A biconditional is true in BL
3
iff
3b) Both elementary subformulae are indefinite
3c) One elementary subformula is indefinite and the other is false
3d) Both elementary subformulae are false

With the help of this three-valued setting, I am going to attempt to solve in
sections 4 and 5 the problems posed in sections 1 and 2.

4. More Troubles with Future Contingents and How to Solve
them (ad Section 1)

ukasiewiczs (1930, p. 64) primary motivation for introducing
3
was to
enable considering future contingent sentences to be indefinite. Given the
three-valued setting and the attachment of the value indefinite to future
contingents, we obtain the following for Fp = A wildfire will erupt at t
n
in
all three systems,
3
, K
3
and BL
3
:

1. v(Fp) = indefinite (assumption concerning future contingents).
2. v(~Fp) = indefinite (from (1) and the truth table for ~).

BL
3
has additionally:

3. v(Fp) = true (from (1) and the truth table for ).

From (OP-F) we obtain from the truth-table for ~: K
o
~Fp ~Fp and
from the truth-tables for in
3
and K
3
: ~Ko Fp ~Fp, which implies:

~Ko
Fp K
o
~Fp (COM-F with Strong Negation)

In BL
3
, however, (COM-F with Strong Negation) does not follow from
(OP-F).
6
What follows from (OP-F) in BL
3
, is (COM-F).
(COM-F with Strong Negation) has to be interpreted in
3
like in the
classical setting for v(Fp) = true and for v(Fp) = false. Nevertheless, for
v(Fp) = indefinite we get
7
in
3
:

4. v(Ko Fp) = v(Ko ~Fp) = v(~Ko Fp) = v(~Ko ~Fp) = indefinite

which suggests that an omniscient being is uncertain about indefinite Fp
and ~Fp and that it is indefinite, viz. uncertain again, whether an omniscient
being knows about Fp and ~Fp.
As indefinite sentences may occur in the scope of the operator Ko , we
can write: Ko Ko Fp. We just saw that Ko functions as a knowledge
operator when true sentences occur in its scope, but as an uncertainty
operator when indefinite sentences occur in its scope. But then, the
expression Ko Ko Fp will have to be understood as saying something to
the effect that omniscient beings are uncertain about being uncertain about
future wildfires. That is, from a second-level perspective, omniscient beings
do not even know whether they are uncertain about future wildfires or not.
Omniscience, normally, would imply self-knowledge, but this, as one easily
sees from this example, is not the case on ukasiewiczs account. There are
no philosophical puzzles there, of course, but the question arises whether an
epistemic capacity which does not entail self-knowledge, may be rightfully
called omniscience.

6
For v(K
o
p) = false and v(Fp) = indefinite, which are two valuations that make
(OP-F) true in BL
3
, we get by the truth-table of ~: v(~K
o
Fp) = true and v(~Fp) =
indefinite, which make ~K
o
Fp ~Fp false in BL
3
, from which (COM-F) would
have to follow.
7
By the truth-table for ~ we take for v(Fp) = indefinite: v(~Fp) = indefinite.
But by (COM-F with Strong Negation) we get in
3
: v(K
o
Fp) = v(Fp). Likewise:
v(K
o
~Fp) = v(~Fp). These equations make v(K
o
Fp) = v(K
o
~Fp) = indefinite.
Again, by the truth-table for ~, the two last valuations have to be equal with v(~K
o
Fp) = v(~K
o
~Fp). I.e. v(K
o
Fp) = v(K
o
~Fp) = v(~K
o
Fp) = v(~K
o
~Fp) =
indefinite.

In K
3
now, for K
o
Fp Fp (which is our OP-F) to be true, the
subformulae Ko Fp and Fp have to be either both true or both false. As
one sees, (OP-F) is made true in K
3
by the same pairs of values of the
elementary subformulae as in the classical setting. Clearly, then, assuming
(OP-F) in K
3
gives the same results as assuming (OP-F) in the classical
setting. The three-valued setting in terms of K
3
makes no difference
compared to the classical setting.
As remarked above, BL
3
has two negations, a weak and a strong one.
What is characteristic of the weak negation is that every indefinite formula
is true when weakly negated. I.e. for indefinite Fp and ~Fp we get in
BL
3
: v(Fp) = v(~Fp) = true. That is, any future contingent can be said
truly not to be now the case about t
n
. It is not the case that a wildfire will
erupt at t
n
and It is not the case that a wildfire will not erupt at t
n
are both
true. This justifies the writing the omniscience-operator Ko in front of
every weak negation of a formula which is attached the value indefinite.
The resulting formula will be, of course, true. But for indefinite sentences
like: A wildfire will erupt at t
n
as our Fp we get: v(Ko Fp) = false or v(K
o Fp) = indefinite.
8
I.e. omniscient beings either fail to know altogether or
fail to know with certainty of something indefinite. Intuitively however,
what omniscient beings are supposed to know, they are supposed to know
with certainty. That is, omniscience according to BL
3
either comes down to
the same thing as in the classical setting, or has to reject the Aristotelian
idea that contingent future events are objectively indefinite.
All these troubles with
3
, K
3
and BL
3
dissappear if we introduce two
distinct futurity-operators: One for the Diodorean and one for the
indeterminate future.
The Diodorean futurity-operator pertains to events which will
supposedly be definitely the case. Like in the case of Diodorean modalities
in general,
9
Diodorean future has the same modal status as the past and

8
This follows from the following considerations: v(Fp) is true for v(Fp) =
indefinite. This makes v(K
o
Fp) = true. But by K
o
Fp K
o
Fp (alias:
(COM-F)) we get v(K
o
Fp) = true, which is only possible if v(K
o
Fp) = false or
v(K
o
Fp) = indefinite.
9
Arthur Prior, 1955, was the first to highlight the philosophical importance of
Diodorean modalities in our times. A scholar deeply influenced by ukasiewicz,
Prior (1953, pp. 321-324), thought of
3
as providing the basis for a semantic
definition of modal operators immune to the determinism inherent in the Diodorean
account, and indeed, as helping solve the puzzles which arise out of the
combination of future contingents with Gods foreknowledge. In Prior, 1967, pp.
126-127, however, the Ockhamist model of branching time, an attempt to
allows necessitation.
10
Sentences in which the Diodorean futurity-operator
occurs have to be understood as eternal sentences, which refer to a moment
which only happens to be future from todays point of view, but is not
essentially a future moment. According to the Diodorean conception, we
get:

Ko Dp Dp (OP-D)

(the capital letter D marks the Diodorean futurity operator, suggestively
for definitely to take place, determinate future or for Diodorean). It
says that a wildfire is known by an omniscient being to erupt definitely at t
n

(accidentally a future moment) iff it erupts definitely at t
n
.
From this, the substitution instance of (COM) for the Diodorean futurity
follows:
Ko Dp Ko Dp (COM-D)

Non omniscient beings, however, can predict to the best of their available
knowledge (observing dry foliage, predicting strong winds and high
temperatures) that a wildfire will erupt at t
n
, without a wildfire eruption at t
n

being the case. I would like to formalise such states of affairs by using the
futurity-operator I (the capital I suggesting indeterminate). v(Ip) is
true when it expresses an indeterminate future contingent, false otherwise.
For an indeterminate future contingent sentence Ip we get:

achieve the latter goal, considers future (the tense-logical counterpart of
possible) as primitive. The construction of futurity with the help of three-valued
semantics is avoided there. Instead, the alternative future contingents are modelled
as true relatively to different time-branches. The Ockhamist model is essentially
a possible worlds semantics for tense logic with (of course) only two truth-values.
That is, the late Prior of the Ockhamist model put aside ukasiewiczs
arguments for a modal semantics based on a three-valued setting. This does not
mean that Prior felt that his Ockhamist model provided a solution to the problem
it was initially supposed to solve, i.e. the puzzle concerning Gods foreknowledge
of future contingents. On the contrary! Prior, 1962, pp. 121-122 (reprinted in Prior,
1968, pp. 48-50) thought that the Ockhamist model accounted rather for Gods
lucky guesses about which of all alternative future contingents will come true, than
for some kind of knowledge.
10
Vuillemin, 1996, pp. 213-215, also for an ancient discussion of this
interpretation.

1. v(Ip) = true
2. v(~Ip) = false (from (1) and the truth table for ~).

By the introduction of the operators D and I it is left up to the syntax to
show which sentence about the future is definite and which is
indeterminate. The former have D as their futurity operator, the latter have
I. Formulae which are formulated with one of these operators and a
sentence-letter are either true or false. There is no third value, although the
I-sentences deal with the indeterminate.
Given the possible values: true or false for v(Ip), v(~Ip) can be false or
true respectively, i.e. in BL
3
the value for ~Ip always coincides with the
value for Ip.
The omniscience principle and the commutativity principle read thus:

Ko Ip Ip (OP-I)

Thus an omniscient being knows with certainty of every indeterminate
event that it is indeterminate whether it will be the case.

~Ko Ip Ko ~Ip (COM-I)

The advantage which the indeterminate future has over the futurity operator
F as pertains to future contingents is that the indeterminate future does
justice to the fundamental intuition concerning the weather forecast: it
makes sense for omniscient beings to know that something will happen, but
that it will not happen definitely (consider that Ko Ip follows from (1) and
OP-I).
Moreover, introspection, i.e. self-knowledge, remains possible, i.e. one
can place Ko in front of a true formula preceded by I once, or twice or,
in fact, as many times as one wishes.

5. Who is Afraid of Self-Reference? (ad section 2)

The troubles which arise out of contexts with self-reference have been taken
for some decades now to be a considerable reason to abandon analysis of
self-referential sentences in terms of two-valued semantics. This is very
broadly the outline of what has been called lately the Standard Solution
of the Liar Paradox.
11

To know that which every meaningful sentence expresses is rightfully
demanded of an omniscient being. This is also the case with the sentence S.
However, knowledge about that which a sentence expresses may not be
more precise than the expressed matter itself allows one to know. So the
question goes into what the sentence S expresses.
A dialetheist context, at least one of the kind, which was introduced by
Graham Priest (2001, pp. 127-128), suggests a truth-value gap between the
two classical values. So it is not obligatory to assign to the sentence S either
the value true or the value false. But does the sentence S really express an
indefinite circumstance? Here are my reasons to believe so. In the sentence
S it is not clear what the negation applies to. There are, I think, four
possible readings:

S*: It is not the case that there is at least one omniscient being and every
being of this kind knows that which S* expresses.
S: There are no omniscient beings and, non-existent as they are, they do
not know that which S expresses.
S: There is at least one omniscient being and every being of this kind
does not know that which S expresses
S: There is at least one omniscient being and every being of this kind
knows something which the sentence S expresses, and there is
nothing which the sentence S expresses

Let us leave S* for later.

If S were an adequate interpretation of S, then S would be true in the case
there were no omniscient beings and false in the case there were some. This
would generate no contradictions and Milnes argument would be
irrelevant. S cannot be an adequate interpretation because the sentence
which it contains is obviously false (there is nothing which the sentence
S expresses). S is the only remaining possibility of all three which
remained after the temporary casting out of S*. It presupposes that there are
omniscient beings. Therefore the negation expressed in S is the
presupposing (strong) negation. Let us now look at the affirmative which
S strongly negates:

S
~
: At least one omniscient being knows that which the sentence S
~

expresses

11
Discussions of different versions of the Standard Solution are to be found in
Brendel, 1992, pp. 87-117 and Greenough, 2001.

S
~
is true iff some omniscient being knows that which it expresses (because
it says so). But what does the omniscient being know exactly? She or he
knows that there is at least one omniscient being (e.g. herself or himself)
who knows that which the sentence S
~
expresses. But what does the
sentence S
~
express exactly? Well, that some omniscient being is supposed
to know that S
~
expresses that some omniscient being is supposed to know
that S
~
expresses... and so on, ad infinitum. There is no method to find out
whether an omniscient being knows that which is expressed by S
~
before
the infinite regress is over. But an infinite regress is never over. So there is
no method to discover whether S
~
is true.
Is S
~
false then? This would be the case iff no omniscient being knew
that which S
~
expresses. But what would the omniscient beings exactly not
know in that case? They would not know that which the sentence S
~

expresses. But what does the sentence S
~
express exactly? It expresses that
some omniscient being is supposed to know that which it expresses
whatever this is. So, if we suppose that this is false, then no omniscient
being would know that S
~
expresses that some omniscient being is
supposed to know that S
~
expresses that no omniscient being would know
... and so on ad infinitum. Again there is no method to find out whether any
omniscient being does not know that which S
~
expresses, before the infinite
regress is over. But an infinite regress is never over. So there is no method
to discover whether S
~
is false (or true). Being neither true nor false, S
~
is
indefinite. Consequently, S is the strong negation of an indefinite
sentence, S
~
, and has eo ipso to be indefinite itself (trivially from the truth-
functional definition of strong negation).
What S expresses probably cannot be known (i.e. as true) and therefore
it is untenable to demand an omniscient being to know it in the classical
sense. As I remarked above, even an omniscient being should not be
expected to know more on a subject matter than what the subject matter
contains.
Let us turn at last to S*. If S* is indefinite, then it is not true. But since
S* itself says that it is not true, it says the truth. Again, if S* says the truth,
then S* is not true, since it (an allegedly true sentence) says so. A new
regress arises. Despite not being true, S* is neither false (initially we took it
to be indefinite instead) nor indefinite any more (because of the new
regress). This was exactly what has motivated Bas van Fraasen, 1968, p.
147, to introduce a fourth value between the values: true and indefinite.
Let us call it: half-indefinite. For analogous reasons a regress is going to
arise again and a fifth value (say: quarter-indefinite) has to be introduced
between half-indefinite and true and so on.
Understood as the weak negation of S
~
, i.e. as S*, S becomes less and
less indefinite the longer you iterate. But understood as the strong negation
of S
~
, i.e. as S, S

presupposes the existence of omniscient beings. Just as
the sentence X smiled presupposes that X is a human independently of its
truth, S presupposes that there are omniscient beings who know that there
are omniscient beings and know that which the sentence S means as well.
So they assume the sentence S to be true. Assuming S to be true,
omniscient beings assume to know that there are omniscient beings and
that the omniscient beings do not know that which S means. Obviously
then, whether we assume or deny S, omniscient beings know that there
are omniscient beings.
12
Like in S*, it is indefinite, half-indefinite, quarter-
indefinite and so on, what the sentence S partly expresses, but this does
not lead to a regress in respect to everything S says. The price to pay for
this solution, van Fraasens solution, is that, as Brian Skyrms, 1970, pp.
156, 160-161 has pointed out, whatever we say about the value of indefinite
first-order-sentences has to be indefinite itself.
To block this, one could say with Gupta (1982), Herzberger (1982) and
Gaifman (1992), that different readings or tokens of the Liar sentence have
different truth-values. I do not think that this is appropriate for the analysis
of S. An omniscient being should not discern between different truth-values
of readings or tokens of the same sentence. However, there is
something in this proposal which is a step in the right direction. There is a
special sense of knowing at stake here, one that pertains to fairly precise
knowledge of matters, but not an absolutely precise knowledge, because
there is nothing to know absolutely precisely in them. Omniscient beings
know some things which the sentence S expresses, while they ignore others,
because there is nothing there to know. An omniscient being, that is, knows
that S can be read like S* or S.
i) Omniscient beings know that S* iff they know that it is not the case
that an omniscient being knows that S* expresses that an omniscient being
knows that S* expresses and so on. In a way, this is some amount of
knowledge, because after several iterations whatever it is that S* expresses
has become somewhat clearer: the half-indefinite is between the indefinite
and the true, the quarter-indefinite is between the half-indefinite and the
true and so on.
ii) Further, omniscient beings know that S iff they know that there are
omniscient beings who do not know that S expresses that they do not
know that S expresses and so on. Omniscient beings know according to
this reading of S that there are omniscient beings, which is, of course, also
some amount of knowledgegiven that there are some, as S suggests.
Additionally, they know what they know according to the reading S* (cf.
(i)).

12
Van Fraasen, 1968, pp. 148-150. This is the result of applying van Fraasens
solution of the Liar Paradox to Milnes example, not van Fraasens words.

Knowing something in the sense of (i) and (ii) is different from knowing
something in the traditional sense of (precisely) knowing. It requires that
the amount of knowledge which is contained in S be acquired by
omniscient beings. Let us call this kind of fairly-precisely-but-not-
absolutely-fully knowing: Having the correct-but-rough intuition. For
example, the occurrence of the expression to know that which in S has
to be understood as having the meaning: to have the correct-but-rough
intuition of that which. Obviously, having the correct-but-rough
intuition is an epistemic notion which can be used in combination with
indefinite sentences, in order for the resulting sentence to be true or false,
but not indefinite (remember that this was also the case with the tense
operator I). S* and S (one has to re-read them and replace knowing by
having the correct-but-rough intuition) are false if there are any
omniscient beings. I.e., given that there are omniscient beings, they do have
the correct-but-rough intuition of that which S* and S express. S is also
false if there are no omniscient beings, because it presupposes the existence
of at least one omniscient being. Consequently S is false in any case,
because this follows from two contradictory assumptions.
A model is provided for S* if there are no omniscient beings and, non-
existent as they are, they do not have the correct-but-rough intuition (or any
intuition, of course) of that which S* expresses. But this makes S true at
the same time, which is a non paradoxical reading of S.
Note that the understanding of knowing as having the correct-but-
rough intuition allows self-knowledge. Given that there are some
omniscient beings, they know in the traditional sense of knowing that S
~

and they know that it is not the case that S. I.e. omniscient beings would
know (in the traditional sense) that it is not the case that S: no omniscient
being knows (=has the correct-but-rough intuition of) that which the
sentence S expresses.
The troubles which the notion of omniscience faces with respect to self-
referential contexts of the Liar type are thus solved with the introduction of
a primitive notion, which bears some analogies to the solution which
proposed for the problems with future contingents in section 4.

6. Conclusions

As the analysis above has shown, when sentences of the form Fp appear
in the scope of the epistemic operator Ko , this happens at the cost of the
intelligibility of this operator. Indefinite knowledge would have to be
introduced then.
ukasiewiczs primary intuition, to consider future contingent sentences
as applications of a unique notion of futurity and to attach to them a value
between true and false, does not help much in making intelligible the idea
that omniscience can be combined with sentences which are objectively
underdetermined.
A primitive operator for indeterminate futurity (I) resolves these
points. It also resolves the paradox according to which non-omniscient
beings know things which omniscient beings do not know (remember that
non-omniscient beings know that true future contingents are something else
than true sentences about future events which will definitely take place). By
using different futurity operators, I and D, one shows that omniscient
beings can use the former for future contingent events and the latter for
future events that are definitely to take place. I.e. they can tell the difference
between future contingents and events definitely to take place as much as
non omniscient beings can, plus they know much more than non omniscient
beings.
Analogous results are produced by the introduction of the primitive
epistemic notion of having the correct-but-rough intuition in the analysis
of professor Milnes sentence S.
I have not discussed every problem faced by omniscience. For example,
I have not discussed the issue of knowledge of counterfactuals by an
omniscient being (Molinas middle knowledge).
13
This is because the
assignment of a truth-value to counterfactuals is a completely different
issue as compared to the ones discussed here.

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13
Cf. Zagzebski, 1996, pp. 141-152 for the problems of middle knowledge.

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Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 79-95.

Superessentialism and Necessitarianism:
Between Spinoza and Lewis

Leopold Hess
Jagiellonian University, Krakw

Abstract. The paper concerns mutual relations between two metaphysical positions:
superessentialism, claiming that all properties of every object are essential, i.e.
necessary, and necessitarianism, claiming that everything is necessary, i.e. there is
only one possible world. The theories of Spinoza and Lewis serve as examples. In
section I the two positions are characterized. In section II and III interpretations of
Spinozas and Lewiss metaphysics are presented, and it is explained to what extent
they can both be considered superessentialists and necessitarians. In section IV the two
theories are compared. In section V three possible ways of arguing for
superessentialism are presented. It is then shown that the premises of these arguments
appear, at least implicitly, in both of the theories. In section VI additional premises are
numbered which have to be further assumed to prove necessitarianism. In the final
section it is shown how Lewis can claim that there are contingent facts, while being a
superessentialist and a necessitarian. It is argued that his claim of contingency is a
matter of semantics, not of metaphysics.

James Bond is a human being. This belongs to his essence. In other words,
he is necessarily human and could not have been otherwise. Until some
time ago, all of us thought he was also necessarily dark-haired. Since we
have been proved wrong, it follows that the colour of his hair is only a
contingent, accidental property of James Bond, and not an essential
quality.
1

The division of properties into essential ones and accidental ones is quite
firmly grounded in common sense and in philosophical tradition.
Nevertheless, for many decades now it has been clear that the division is
not uncontroversial. Here I am not going to consider the reasons why the
idea of this division is not so easy to maintain. Instead, I will take a look at
one of a couple of theories that can compete with classical essentialism.

1
Throughout the text I will use the terms necessary property, essential property,
essential quality etc. interchangeably. The same applies to the terms contingent
property, accidental quality etc.
80 Superessentialism and Necessitarianism: Between Spinoza and Lewis
If one thinks that properties cannot be divided into essential and
accidental, one has three ways to choose: one can acknowledge that the
division depends on the context (e.g. on the language game), or one can
assume that either all properties are accidental or all of them are essential. I
will label the third solution superessentialism and this solution is the
subject of the present paper.
Superessentialism is thus the thesis that all of an objects properties are
necessary, i.e. no object could be in any respect different than it actually is
(in other words, if any property of the object were different than it is, it
would not be the same object anymore).
2
The terms property and object
are to be understood as neutrally as possible with regard to various
metaphysical theories, as superessentialism can be admitted by proponents
of many of them, just as essentialism can. I would wish to remain equally
neutral with respect to the scope of properties that the thesis of
superessentialism is supposed to embrace, but I find it hard to maintain.
Thus, I will assume that it concerns all and only the internal properties,
while the external ones can be contingent (as long as a given metaphysical
theory allows for such a division of properties, of course).
3

It seems worthwhile to clarify how we should interpret the claim that all
properties are necessary. If a classical essentialist were to explain the
difference between essential and contingent properties, she would say that
the former belong to and constitute the nature of the object, while the latter
are only its complements. The difference between them is therefore a
difference in their relation to the object itself, and, what follows, in their
mode of existence. Superessentialism simplifies the picture, implying that
all of the properties exist and belong to the object in the same way and
constitute its nature.
Thats what would have been said a century ago. Today, we interpret
modal propositions in a different way, with the help of the concept of
possible worlds. If we believe that an object could be different than it is, we
say that in some possible world it is different. Thus, we can easily construe
the thesis of superessentialism as a rejection of trans-world identity.

2
Fabrizio Mondadori has characterized superessentialism in two ways he finds
equivalent: Modally: superessentialism is the thesis that none of the properties i
possesses is a property i could have lacked while still existing/being i. Counterfactually:
superessentialism is the thesis that, were i to lack any of the properties it possesses, i
would not be the individual it is/the same individual. (quote after: Koistinen, 2003, p.
300, note 32)
3
To avoid problems that might arise from the question of identity in time, I assume
that we can always replace a property P with a set of properties P in time t for every t in
which the object has the property.
Leopold Hess 81
According to the superessentialist, no object exists in more than one
possible world.
4

Still another way of expressing the superessentialists claim is to say that
objects supervene on properties, i.e. there cannot be a difference in
properties without a difference in objects (if an object had had a different
property than it actually has, it would have been a different object). It can
also be understood as a thesis about unactualised possibilities: every
unactualised possible property requires an unactualised possible object (of
which it is a property).
I will analyse superessentialism construed in this way in relation to
another, somewhat similar, thesis dealing with the modal features of reality:
the thesis of necessitarianism, claiming that everything (in the broadest
possible sense of the word) is necessary, i.e. there is only one possible
world. A simple intuition suggests that both theses are closely related: if we
assume that every (internal) property of every object is necessary, not much
prevents us from assuming that simply everything is necessary.
Nevertheless, superessentialism does not imply necessitarianism. The
implication requires additional premises. In order to explicate them, I will
quote two examples from the history of metaphysics: the theories of Baruch
Spinoza and David Lewis.
All this might seem to be in need of justification. What is the reason to
examine such exotic and counterintuitive theses? Why have I chosen these
two philosophers and not others? In response to the first question, while
necessitarianism indeed may be counterintuitive and undesirable, there are
nevertheless some reasons to accept superessentialism. Hence, it seems
worthwhile to examine whether we can at the same time accept the latter
and avoid the former. The answer to the second question is less complex:
Spinoza and Lewis are convenient for the purpose of this paper. They are
both superessentialists (although David Lewis only implicitly). Lewis
explicitly rejects necessitarianism, whereas Spinoza whole-heartedly
endorses it. Moreover, contrary to first appearances, their metaphysical
theories are easily compared.

II

The interpretation of Spinoza as a superessentialist and a necessitarian
should not be controversial (although, as I will show, it is not

4
Strictly speaking, rejection of trans-world identity is a stronger claim than
superessentialism, which (if it is limited, as I have assumed, to internal properties)
implies only that no object can have different properties in different worlds. It can,
however, exist in more than one world, having the same (internal) properties in each of
them.
unproblematic
5
). It is especially easy to find the thesis of necessitarianism in
the first part of the Ethicsin P29, P33 and P35.
6
And, since necessitarianism
implies superessentialism, Spinoza is a superessentialist, too. There is also
independent evidence for Spinozas superessentialism in the Ethics, even if it is
not as clear as in the case of necessitarianism. In EI P33 Dem
7
Spinoza claims
that if the order of things had been different than it is, the nature of the divinity
itself would have to be different too, therefore there would have to be two
divine beings. In other words, if the properties of the only substance had been
different, there would have to be another, different substance. Undoubtedly,
this is a statement of superessentialism.
However, as I have already mentioned, the issue is not that self-evident
and there certainly have been problems with this interpretation. Some
commentators, therefore, have doubted whether Spinoza was a necessitarian
(these problems concern his superessentialism all the more).
8

EI P1
9
says that substance is by its nature prior to its modes. The
statement is very obscure, even for Spinoza. Some light can be shed on this
proposition by P5 Dem, which is the only place where Spinoza directly
invokes the first proposition of his treatise
10
. He argues that there cannot be
two substances with the same attribute. Any two substances must differ (by

5
My interpretation owes much to Koistinen (2003).
6
P 29: In rerum natura nullum datur contingens, sed omnia ex necessitate divin
natur determinata sunt ad certo modo existendum, & operandum. P 33: Res nullo alio
modo, neque alio ordine a Deo produci potuerunt, quam product sunt. P35: Quicquid
concipimus in Dei potestate esse, id necessario est. (All Latin quotes come from the
Gebhardt (1925) edition. Traditionally, EI P8 Dem is Ethics, part I, proposition 8,
demonstration, etc.) It would be interesting to see whether the three propositions are
equivalent, it is out of the scope of my present interest, however. EI P16 (Ex necessitate
divin natur, infinita infinitis modis (hoc est, omnia, qu sub intellectum infinitum
cadere possunt) sequi debent) can also be construed as a necessitarian claim.
7
Si itaque res alterius natur potuissent esse, vel alio modo ad operandum
determinari, ut natur ordo alius esset; ergo Dei etiam natura alia posset esse, quam
jam est; ac proinde (per Prop. 11) illa etiam deberet existere, & consequenter duo, vel
plures possent dari Dii, quod (per Coroll. 1 Prop. 14) est absurdum.
8
Bennett points to some problems with interpreting Spinozas metaphysics as
necessitarian (see below). Curley argues that Spinoza was a determinist, but not a
logical determinist, i.e. he was not a necessitarian (cf. Curley, 1988, pp. 48-56).
9
Substantia prior est natura suis affectionibus.
10
P5: In rerum natura non possunt dari du, aut plures substanti ejusdem natur,
sive attributi. Dem.: Si darentur plures distinct, deberent inter se distingui, vel ex
diversitate attributorum, vel ex diversitate affectionum (per Prop. prced.). Si tantum
ex diversitate attributorum, concedetur ergo, non dari, nisi unam ejusdem attributi. At
si ex diversitate affectionum, cum substantia sit prior natura suis affectionibus (per
Prop. 1), depositis ergo affectionibus, & in se considerata, hoc est (per Defin. 3 &
Axiom. 6) vere considerata, non poterit concipi ab alia distingui, hoc est (per Prop.
prced.) non poterunt dari plures, sed tantum una. Q.E.D.
Leopold Hess 83
P4) either in their attributes or in their modes. Two substances with the
same attribute cannot differ in their attribute. Therefore, the substances
would have to differ in their modes. Since, however, substance is prior to its
modes, they can be omitted in comparing substances, and then there
remains nothing that could make the alleged two substances different.
Hence, it is only one substance.
According to Bennett (1984, pp. 67-68), this passage undermines a
necessitarian interpretation of Spinoza, as it requires the assumption that
modifications are accidental with regard to substance. This claim follows
from Bennetts reconstruction of the (rather unclear) proof. Bennetts
reconstruction is not entirely plausible but there is no need to examine it in
detail. Even if Bennetts interpretation is wrong, the proof poses serious
difficulties. The problem can easily be seen if we take under consideration
the thesis of superessentialism expressed in terms of supervenience. On the
grounds of Spinozas metaphysics, it says that the modes supervene on the
substances, therefore, there is no difference in modes without a difference
in substances. However, what Spinoza claims in P5 Dem is quite the
contrary: differences in modes do not involve differences in substances; we
can have different modes, and still only one substance. The problem is even
more serious, as P5 is one of those crucial propositions of the Ethics that
justify Spinozas monistic view of reality. Thus, if we are to look in P5
Dem for the correct interpretation of P1, we might be forced to admit that
Spinoza rejects superessentialism and what follows from it,
necessitarianism, in the very first proposition of his treatise.
The situation is therefore difficult, but not hopeless. As I have said
already, Spinoza seems to need P1 for no other reason than to prove P5.
Therefore, if we can interpret P1 in such a way that it wouldnt contradict
superessentialism and at the same time could serve to prove P5,
11
we will be
able to free ourselves of this trouble. Such an interpretation is possible. It
suffices to assume that P1 asserts the very supervenience of modes on
substances (saying that A is prior to B can be, I believe, an obscure way of
saying that B supervenes on A) and admit an interpretation of Spinozas
metaphysics where substance is identical with the attribute
12
. Then we can

11
Another condition could be imposed on this interpretation, namely that it should
conform not only with the (reconstructed) spirit, but also with the letter of P5 Dem. It
does not seem possible, though, and we must probably assume that Spinoza erred in this
proof.
12
Most of the commentators agree with that, but not all. If the Reader does not wish
to accept such an interpretation, she can instead assume that P1 asserts the
supervenience of modes on attributes, not on substances. Such a reading runs much
farther from the letter of the text, though. On the other hand, if we assume the identity
provide a proof of P5 as follows: two substances can differ either in their
attributes or in their modes. By hypothesis, they cannot differ in attributes.
Nor can they differ in modes, since a difference in modes implies a
difference in substance, that is, in attribute. Thus, there cannot be two
substances of the same attribute. Q.E.D.
This way we save the coherence of Spinozas system. It might seem that
there is a high price to pay for that: the assumption of superessentialism
almost without a proof (in the demonstration of P1 Spinoza quotes only
definitions 3 and 5). But this is not so, since we find a proof of
superessentialism no later than in P6 (I will come back to this further on),
and it is a proof that requires neither P5 nor P1.
13

III

David Lewiss superessentialism is not easy to understand either, but the
problem we face here is of a different nature. It is not the case that Lewiss
theory is either circular or incoherent, but it is that at first sight his view is
not superessentialist at all. And indeed, in some sense, Lewis is not a
superessentialist. But in another sense, he is.
To explain this ambiguity we have to distinguish between two levels of
his metaphysical theory: the semantic and the metaphysical.
14
On the

of substance and attribute, there seems to be no reason to demonstrate that there cannot
be two substances with the same attribute (since identity is transitive).
13
P6: Una substantia non potest produci ab alia substantia. [] Aliter:
Demonstratur hoc etiam facilius ex absurdo contradictorio. Nam si substantia ab alio
posset produci, ejus cognitio a cognitione su caus deberet pendere (per Axiom. 4);
adeoque (per Defin. 3) non esset substantia.
14
One could reasonably doubt whether a distinction of this sort is at all possible on
grounds of Lewiss philosophy. Let the following example be a proof that in fact it is
possible. In the framework of Lewisian theory of possible worlds one can say that there
is a substantial difference between our world and other possible worlds, namely, ours is
actual, whereas all the others are merely possible. On the other hand, one can also say
there is no difference between them, apart from the difference of their content. The
difference between what is actual and what is merely possible cannot be that of content,
though (which was already stressed by Kant). The two ways of speaking about worlds
seem to be therefore mutually exclusive. However, it is possible to put them into
agreement, as the concept of actual is an occasional one: actual means nothing else
but this-worldly (cf. the discussion of this concept in Lewis, 1986, pp. 92-101). I
propose to call the difference between these two ways of speaking about worlds a
difference between, respectively, the semantic level and the metaphysical level, since
there is a semantic difference between the actual and the merely possible, but there is
not a metaphysical one. But I could as well speak of a difference between a relative and
an absolute, or restricted and unrestricted, way of speaking, making it clear that I do not
Leopold Hess 85
former, we describe the way we interpret our statements that contain modal
concepts. On the latter, we describe what there is.
Let me begin with what there is, or rather with what there is not.
According to Lewis, there is no trans-world identity and no trans-world
individuals. Lewis devoted to this issue On the Plurality of Worlds, where
he showedamong other thingsthe superiority of the counterpart theory
over the theory of trans-world identity (Lewis, 1986, pp. 192-263). Other
issues are also mentioned in that last chapter, but I am mostly interested in
Lewiss rejection of the possibility of an overlap of worlds.
If we were to admit trans-world identity, we would have to allow the
worlds to overlap, i.e. to have some parts in common. If an object from
one world is to be identical with an object from another, it will simply be
one object, which will therefore be a part of each of these two worlds.
Overlap of worlds is not a problem for most theories of possible worlds
which take objects to be some kind of abstract (e.g. linguistic) entities.
Abstract entities can overlap. The possible worlds of David Lewisas
spatiotemporal and causally isolated concrete beingscannot. This can be
easily shown. In the actual world James Bond has his heart on the left side
of his chest and it is his only heart. However, he could have had his heart on
the right side of his chest (just like Dr No). Thus, in some possible world he
does have his heart on the right side (and it is his only heart). If our-worldly
left-chest-hearted James Bond is identical with the other-worldly right-
chest-hearted James Bond, then James Bond (a concrete physical entity) has
a heart on the left side of his chest and a heart on the right side of his chest
and both of these hearts are (is?) his only heart. This conclusion is
obviously unacceptable. Lewiss theory cannot explain the fact that objects
have different properties in different worlds in terms of trans-world
identity. Superessentialism can be construed as a rejection of trans-world
identity, as I said at the beginning of this paper. Hence, on the metaphysical
level David Lewis is a superessentialist, since he claims that no object can
exist in two different possible worlds. Therefore, no object can have
different properties than it has (since we have agreed that a possibility of
having some property consists in having it in some possible world).
On the semantic level things are quite different. Lewis not only allows
for contingent properties, but even presents himself as an essentialist of
some sort (distinguishing several kinds of essences[1971], p. 210). It is
possible for him to do that thanks to his counterpart theory.
15
This theory
tells us how to interpret modal de re propositions. If one says that James

suggest any strong dualism of semantics and metaphysics or, Jove forbid!, of language
and world.
15
On counterpart theory, see Lewis 1968; 1971; 1973, pp. 36-43; 1986, pp. 9-13,
192-263
Bond could have had his heart in the right side of his chest, we should
understand by it that in some possible world James Bond has a right-hand-
hearted count er par t .
I shall not go into the details of this original theory here, but I want to
stress that the relation between counterparts is that of similarity, not
identity.
16
What allows us to say that a property of an object is contingent is
not the propertys modal way of being, but a difference between the
object and its counterpart. In Lewiss theory the modality of properties gets
reduced to similarity and difference, and is shifted to the semantic level.
Thus, Lewis can adopt a convenient and simple superessentialist
metaphysics by reducing the difference in the ways of being of the
properties, while at the same time preserving our common intuitions which
tell us that at least some properties are contingent.

IV

I mentioned at the outset that the metaphysical theories of Spinoza and
Lewis can easily be compared. It is now time to prove it.
According to Spinoza, nothing exists but a single substance and its
modes. The one substance has infinitely many attributes. I propose,
however, a simpler interpretation: All of the attributes are only different
aspects of the one substance. A thing belonging to one attribute is identical
with its counterparts in others. So, we can treat the one substance as if it
had only one attributelet us make it the attribute of extension. Let us
further treat the modes of the one substance as physical individuals,
interconnected by spatiotemporal and causal relations. The most interesting
question in this context is: what is the nature of the relation between the
modes and the substance? Unfortunately, Spinoza gives no precise answer.
The only thing he tells us is that modes are in substance and are conceived
by substance,
17
but it is still unclear what this relation is. We may assume,
for simplicitys sake, that it is a mereological relation between the whole

16
Of course, we can say that an object and its counterparts are identical (cf. Lewis,
1986, p. 194): our-worldly James Bond is James Bond in the same way that his
counterparts are. We need to remember, though, that their identity consists only in the
fact that James Bonds counterpart is his de re representation. And this is true only
because we say so. The identity of an object and its counterpart belongs to the semantic
level and not to the metaphysical one. (On the way in which de re representation
depends on our choice cf. Lewis, 1986, pp.248-263.)
17
EI Def. 5: Per modum intelligo substanti affectiones, sive id, quod in alio esc,
per quod etiam concipitur.
Leopold Hess 87
and its parts. The substance is, therefore, a mereological sum of all
spatiotemporally and causally interconnected physical objects.
18

Let us add that Spinozas necessitarianism, combined with the thesis that
there exists nothing but the substance and its modes, implies that the one
substance is identical with the only possible world. I hope that the reader
will no longer doubt that Spinozas metaphysics is close to Lewiss. Lewis
simply believes there are more substances like that than just the one
substance Spinoza introduces.
Having thus characterized the metaphysical positions of Spinoza and
Lewis, I can proceed to analyse the way in which superessentialism is
supported and its relations to necessitarianism.

V

There are at least three ways to argue for superessentialism.
19
First, we can
invoke Leibnizs principle of the identity of indiscernibles, which says that
no two distinct objects exactly resemble each other. Therefore, if we
compare our-worldly Socrates, who is ugly, with a Socrates from another
possible world, who is handsome, they would be discernible, and thus not
identical. Therefore, the proposition Socrates could be handsome is either
false or it refers to some other Socrates and not the one we refer to in the
indicative mode. (Or we assume that could be handsome is an irreducible
property that simply belongs to Socrates.) This argument can be overturned
in various ways. One could assume some weaker concept of identity (so-
called relative identity), which does not imply indiscernibility. One could
also introduce a concept of world-indexed properties, which would allow
her to say that Socrates is ugly-in-our-world and handsome-in-some-other-
world. But those are controversial solutions that come at a price of various
problems that follow from both the concept of relative identity and world-
indexed properties.
The second argument is grounded in the so-called conceptual
containment theory of truth. According to this theory, P is true of x iff P
belongs to the concept of x. Such a definition of truth implies, on some
interpretations, the claim that all of an objects properties belong to its

18
I do not claim, of course, that it is an admissible interpretation of Spinozas
system in its actual historical shape. I believe, however, that it is at most highly over-
simplifying, and not false.
19
The second and the third of the following arguments I owe to Koistinen, 2003, pp.
302-304 and note 38. The first one that I present differs slightly from Koistinens first
argument: I invoke the principle of indiscernibility of the identical, whereas he takes as
premises the principle of the identity of the indiscernible and the principle of sufficient
reason. My version seems to me simpler and based on less controversial premises.
definition. And this can be construed as a form of superessentialism: the
object would not have been what it is according to its definition, if at least
one of the objects properties had been different. Thus, all of its properties
are essential. Again, one could give an answer to this argument by
introducing the concept of world-indexed properties. But again, there are
various well-known problems with this solution.
The third argument rests on two premises: the claim that substances (or
simply objects) are causally independent, and the principle of sufficient
reason. The first premise contradicts a natural intuition that some properties
of an object result from its internal nature, while others are effects of its
causal interaction with other objects (e.g. James Bond is rational because of
his human nature, but he is bleeding because he has been shot). This
intuition seems to be one of the most important motivations of the division
of properties into essential and accidental. If we reject the possibility of
objects causally interacting with each other, all properties have to follow
from the objects nature. If we further assume the principle of sufficient
reason, it will follow that all of the properties have to be essential. The
reasoning is as follows: If a property P of an object x were contingent, there
would have to be a possible world in which x (or its counterpart) does not
have this property. But since P follows from xs nature, x would have to
have a different nature. By definition, however, one object cannot have two
different natures. It follows that there cannot be any contingent properties.
The reasoning itself is highly convincing, but obviously its premises are
controversial. Before I consider their validity, let us see which of those
arguments are used by Spinoza and Lewis.
Lewis uses the first one. While he does not explicitly invoke Leibnizs
principle, his argument against trans-world identity implicitly assumes it. If
we were to reject this principle, there would be no reason why our-worldly
left-chest-hearted James Bond could not be identical with the other-worldly
right-chest-hearted James Bond.
The other two arguments are not raised by Lewis, but they could have
been. He does assume a theory close to the conceptual containment theory
of truth: namely, he claims that properties are sets of objects. Therefore, x
has a property F iff x belongs to F (Lewis, 1986, pp. 50-69). Every property
is identical to a set that includes all of the objects (in all possible worlds)
that have this property. Thus, objects properties are necessary.
20

20
We have to bear in mind here that in case of Lewis every argument for
superessentialism applies only to the metaphysical level. On the semantic level
superessentialism is not true, and it is easy to show that these arguments are not valid.
Leopold Hess 89
Lewis also claims that there are no causal interactions across possible
worlds
21
. This does not mean that there are no causal interactions between
individuals inside a world, but that does not stop us from using the third
argument. If there are no inter-world causal relations, all of the properties
of a world are, according to the argument, necessary.
22
Meanwhile, the
individuals and the individuals properties that are parts of this world can be
treated as properties of the world (e.g. the world has a property such that
James Bond has dark hair in this world). In Spinozas terms, the individuals
may be treated as modifications of the one substance. In other words, we
can say that inside the world everything is necessary. So, even if the causal
relations between lesser individuals make it possible to differentiate
between the properties that result from their internal natures and ones that
result from external influence, there will be no difference in the modal
status of those two groups of properties: all of them will be necessary.
23,24

Spinoza could have also used all three arguments. He never does invoke
Leibnizs principle, but there seems to be no reason for him to reject it. He
also seems to accept the conceptual containment theory of truth (Koistinen,
2003, p. 304, note 38). His main argument is nevertheless the third one.
I have already pointed out the premises of this argument: the principle of
sufficient reason and the thesis of causal isolation of substances. That
Spinoza accepted the principle of sufficient reason is quite obvious,
25
but
we should have a look at the second premise. The claim that one substance
cannot influence another is expressed in EI P6.
26
Strictly speaking, he
claims that one substance cannot be produced (non potest produci) by
another. But I think that what should be understood by this claim is that no
modification can be produced by another substance. Therefore, there cannot
be any causal relation between two distinct substances. Two proofs are

21
He proves it by analysing causality in counterfactual terms, cf. Lewis, 1986, pp.
78-81.
22
I assume here that Lewis, at least on the metaphysical level, would agree to the
principle of sufficient reason. If I am wrong, the argument does not hold. Nevertheless,
Lewis remains a superessentialist.
23
It is possible that using the two latter arguments Lewis would expose himself to
the charge of a vicious circle (it might be that their premises follow from the
metaphysical thesis of superessentialism). In such a case we can treat them as a mere
explication, not a justification of superessentialism. In any case, the first argument
suffices to prove the thesis.
24
It is worth noting that, as was shown by Wahl (1987), any possibilistic theory (i.e.
a theory that takes possibilia to be irreducible to actualia), and Lewiss theory is
possibilistic, implies the rejection of trans-world identity.
25
See for instance EI P11 Aliter: Cujuscunque rei assignari debet causa, seu ratio,
tam cur existit, quam cur non existit.
26
Una substantia non potest produci ab alia substantia.
given for this proposition. One of them rests on EI P5, and thus indirectly
on P1, which I have interpreted above as a claim of superessentialism, so it
must be ignored here. The other proof is more interesting.
27
It invokes no
other proposition, but only Axiom 4 and Definition 3.
28

According to this proof, one substance cannot be a cause of another
because the knowledge of the former would depend on the knowledge of
the latter. By definition, a substance cannot depend in this way on anything
else: a substance is what exists by itself and by itself is conceived. Since the
substances cannot influence one another, while everything must have a
sufficient reason, all of the substances properties must result from its
internal nature, and therefore be necessary.
Spinozas proof of superessentialism thus rests on the definition of
substance. A question arises: why should we accept this definition at all? In
other words, why should we assume that there is just one substance and our
world is that substance? I admit I do not have a fully satisfactory answer to
this question. However, I do not think the situation is as difficult as it might
seem.
It is true that the claim that whatever exists is either a substance defined
in the above-mentioned way or a modification of this substance, is not
prima facie plausible. But it becomes much more plausible if we take into
account that it means that what ever is act ual or r eal (i.e. everything
that is not an unactualised possibility) is a substance like this. In other
words, the claim is that the reality as a whole exists by itself and is
conceived by itself. I dare say it is not that implausible, as it would be hard
to name something else in which the reality as a whole should exist or by
which it should be conceived.
29

VI

After this detailed analysis of Spinozas and Lewiss superessentialist
claims, I will consider the relation between superessentialism and
necessitarianism. Necessitarianism implies superessentialism, but not vice
versa. Additional premises are required:

27
Demonstratur hoc etiam facilius ex absurdo contradictorio. Nam si substantia ab
alio posset produci, ejus cognitio a cognitione su caus deberet pendere (per Axiom.
4); adeoque (per Defin. 3) non esset substantia.
28
A4: Effectus cognitio a cognitione caus dependet, & eandem involvit. Def 3: Per
substantiam intelligo id, quod in se est, & per se concipitur: hoc est id, cujus conceptus
non indiget conceptu alterius rei, a quo formari debeat.
29
This explanation is by no means meant to be an argument to the effect that such a
definition should be accepted. An argument like this would require us to prove that the
substance is unique.
Leopold Hess 91
1. Every actually existing object (substance) exists necessarily.
2. There are no possible objects (substances) that do not actually exist.

These premises can be also formulated as a single claim that every object
(substance) that possibly exists, necessarily exists.
30

Spinoza accepts the first premise in EI P7,
31
which says that existence
belongs to the nature of substance, i.e. an existent substance exists
necessarily. In the proof of the proposition Spinoza invokes P6, which was
considered above, saying that one substance cannot causally influence
another, in particular it cannot produce it, i.e. be the cause of its
existence. The hidden premise of this proof is a very strong interpretation of
the principle of sufficient reason (in Spinozas version it claims that not
only everything has a cause, but also that the bond between cause and effect
is logically necessary). Therefore, the proof goes as follows: no other
substance can be a cause of a substances existence. Hence, only the
substance itself (its nature) can be its own cause. Every cause produces its
effect necessarily. Thus, every existent substance exists necessarily.
The argument for the second premise is analogous: if something does
not exist, there must be a reason for its non-existence. A reason produces its
effect necessarily, therefore whatever does not exist, does not exist
necessarily, i.e., cannot exist.
That is how we can reconstruct Spinozas proof of necessitarianism. The
reconstruction might not be textually accurate enough to be considered a
good piece of history of philosophy. But for my purpose it has great merit
for one specific reasonit does not involve the so-called ontological
argument for the existence of God (i.e. the only, absolutely infinite,
substance).
32

The proof depends on the two basic premises: (i) the concept of
substance as existentially and conceptually independent and (ii) the
principle of sufficient reason. From the former the thesis of causal isolation
of substance can be deducted. From this and the latter premise follows
superessentialism. Finally, from superessentialism, the thesis of causal
isolation, and the principle of sufficient reason necessitarianism can be
proven.
33

30
Strictly speaking, it should also be added that every object that exists, is possible.
But this is a logical truth in all but the most extravagant modal calculi.
31
P7: Ad naturam substanti pertinet existere. Dem: Substantia non potest produci
ab alio (per Coroll. Prop. prced.); erit itaque causa sui, id est (per Defin. 1), ipsius
essentia involvit necessario existentiam, sive ad ejus naturam pertinet existere. Q.E.D.
32
I do not wish to claim that the ontological argument is not a necessary part of
Spinozas system. It is probably indispensable for proving Spinozas monistic claim.
33
This shows how important in Spinozas system these two elements are: the
principle of sufficient reason and the definition of substance.
VII

Since David Lewis accepts superessentialism, and rejects necessitarianism,
one could easily think that he rejects at least one of the premises mentioned
at the beginning of the previous section. In other words, he may assume that
all of the properties of actually existent objects are necessary, but there are
some objects that contingently exist or do not exist. This margin of
contingency would allow him to escape necessitarianism and claim that
there are many ways the world could be (other than the way it is).
This is not the way David Lewis chose, however. He does not think that
the existence of objects is contingent, nor is such an assumption his way to
escape necessitarianism (all this concerns the metaphysical level).
Moreover, Lewis is a necessitarian, just like Spinoza is. It is a matter of
necessity that there are such and so many worlds as there are. And every
property of every world (everything that happens in it) is also necessary
this is Lewiss superessentialist claim.
34
On the metaphysical level there is
no way to meaningfully construe the claim that the worlds could have been
different than they are, or that their number could have been different, etc.
Lewis thus accepts superessentialism and necessitarianism at the
metaphysical level, but rejects both these claims at the semantic level. He
can do that thanks to the counterpart theory which allows him to interpret
modalities in terms of similarities and differences, providing extensional
semantics for modal utterances. What is most interesting is that Lewis can
achieve this with a superessentialist and necessitarian metaphysical theory,
very close to that of Spinoza.
But maybe there is some important difference after all in the
metaphysical basis of Spinozas and Lewiss conceptions? One that
would justify the huge difference in what they say on the semantic level (let
us remember that Spinozas semantic level coincides precisely with the
metaphysical one, so that superessentialism and necessitarianism hold on
both)? At first sight, there is such a difference. Spinoza claims there is only
one possible world. According to Lewis, there is infinitely many worlds.

34
Cf. Lewis, 1986, pp. 97-101. In this fragment Lewis considers an objection
against his theory: that it implies that everything is necessarily actual, because there is
no room for unactualized possibilities: since all the worlds exist in the same way, all are
actual. Lewis, to defend his conception, makes some distinctions parallel to my
distinction of metaphysical and semantic level. He claims that the objection rests on an
ambiguity of the concept of actuality. If we construe it in a broad sense, as a blanket
term for everything, possible worlds included, then indeed nothing could be different
than it is. When we say, however, that the actual world could be different, we use the
term actual in a restricted sense, which applies only to our world. And we say the
truth. In my terms, in the former case we use a concept belonging to the metaphysical
level, in the latter one belonging to the semantic level.
Leopold Hess 93
Since necessitarianism is the very claim that there is only one possible
world, we seem to be on the right track. Since Spinoza holds there is only
one world and Lewis says there are plenty of them, it is no wonder that
Spinoza is a necessitarian, and Lewis is not. Moreover, nothing else but the
plurality of worlds makes it possible for Lewis to build extensional
semantics for modal utterances, based on the counterpart theory. The
counterpart relation is, after all, a relation between individuals belonging to
two different possible worlds. Only by comparing myself to my (supposed)
counterpart from another possible world can I claim anything about what
coul d have happened to me.
But this way of interpreting the difference between Spinoza and Lewis is
misleading. The assumption of a plurality of worlds does not have to lead to
the rejection of necessitarianism. Nor does assuming only one world lead to
its acceptance. I will now try to show that.
The plurality of worlds as Lewis conceives them does not preclude
necessitarianism. The worlds are nothing else but individuals existing in the
same way our world does. They are possibl e alternative worlds not
because of some special modal properties, but because they can de re
r epr esent our world as being different than it is thanks to a complex
network of similarities and differences. The fact of de re representation
does not belong to the metaphysical level, but to the semantic one. Whether
and in what way other worlds de re represent ours depends solely on our
decision: on what counterpart relations we choose, what similarity
standards we establish, and so on. Hence, Lewis could have been a
necessitarian without renouncing the plurality of worlds (quite another
question is why should he then need them to be plural). Spinoza without
renouncing necessitarianism could have accepted plurality of substance-
worlds.
There is no reverse implication either: assuming that there is only one
world does not compel one to accept necessitarianism. Counterparts can
belong to one world. At several occasions Lewis suggests that a counterpart
relation can hold between two individuals from one world.
35
A simple
example shows that there is no reason to deny that. In a situation where
someone whose qualifications do not differ from mine gets a job that I do
not get, I can, and most probably will, be led to think It could have been
me who got the job. This modal proposition is not based on a comparison
between myself and my counterpart in another possible world, but between
myself and the person who actually got the job. We are similar enough (we
both ran for the job, we both have similar qualifications) to be counterparts.
If relations of that kind are possible with just one world, one does not need

35
Cf. note 15.
more worlds to reject necessitarianism. Therefore, Lewis could have
renounced the plurality of worlds without becoming a necessitarian, and
Spinoza could have rejected necessitarianism, without changing the
metaphysical framework of his theory.
As we see, the decision on whether to assume only one or many possible
worlds is independent of the decision on whether to accept or reject
necessitarianism. Both are also arbitrary to a large extent. Possible worlds
other than ours can only be postulated, since we haveby definitionno
cognitive access to any of them. The thesis of necessitarianism is subject to
a decision that is made solely on the semantic level and is not limited by
any metaphysical considerations.
Why, then, did Spinoza and Lewis decide the way they did? I find it
plausible to say that the main reason lies in their fundamental intuitions, to
which they wanted to do justice in their theories. In the case of Lewis, it
was an intuition of the contingent character of the world surrounding us that
led him to reject necessitarianism, and also the intuition that our world does
not embrace ever yt hi ng (in the broadest sense possible) and thus does not
provide truth-makers for all modal utterances (not every counterpart we
need can be found in our world). Spinozas intuitions led him in exactly the
opposite direction. He believed in a scientific, causal rationalism, expressed
in the principle of sufficient reason and the claim that causal relations are
necessary. That was the motivation of his necessitarianism. He also
believed that our world is identical to God, so it cannot be anything else but
ever yt hi ng in the broadest and most inclusive possible sense.
36

The examples of the two philosophers show how one can assume an
elegant and simple metaphysical conception, which superessentialism is,
and at the same time give justice to very complex, deep and, most of all,
diverse intuitionsmodal, metaphysical and theological.

References

Bennett, J. (1984). A Study of Spinozas Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Curley, E. (1988). Behind the Geometrical Method. Princeton: Princeton
University Press.
Spinoza, B. (1925). Spinoza Opera, Vol. II C. Gebhardt, (Ed.). Heidelberg:
Carl Winters Universittsbuchhandlung.

36
Spinoza was aware of our common intuitions concerning the contingent character
of our-worldly things, but he thought them to be only a product of our ignorance. More
on this topic can be found in Miller (2001).
Leopold Hess 95
Koistinen, O. (2003). Spinozas Proof of Necessitarianism. Philosophy and
Phenomenological Research, 67, 283-310.
Lewis, D. (1968). Counterpart Theory and Quantified Modal Logic. The
Journal of Philosophy, 65, 113-126.
Lewis, D. (1971). Counterparts of Persons and Their Bodies. The Journal of
Philosophy, 68, 203-211.
Lewis, D. (1973). Counterfactuals. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.
Lewis, D. (1986). On the Plurality of Worlds. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Miller, J. (2001). Spinozas Possibilities. The Review of Metaphysics, 54,
779-814.
Wahl, R. (1987). Some Consequences of Possibilism. Australasian Journal
of Philosophy, 65, 427-433.

Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 97-116.

The Kantian Grounding of Einsteins Worldview:
(II) Simultaneity, Synthetic Apriority and the Mystical

Stephen Palmquist
Hong Kong Baptist University

Abstract. Part I in this two-part series employed a perspectival interpretation to argue
that Kants epistemology serves as the philosophical grounding for modern revolutions
in science. Although Einstein read Kant at an early age and immersed himself in Kants
philosophy throughout his early adulthood, he was reluctant to admit Kants influence,
possibly due to personal factors relating to his cultural-political situation. This sequel
argues that Einsteins early Kant-studies would have brought to his attention the
problem of simultaneity and the method of solving it that eventually led to the theory of
relativity. Despite Einsteins reluctance to acknowledge his Kantian grounding, a
perspectival understanding of Kants philosophy of science shows it is profoundly
consistent with Einsteins views on both synthetic apriority and the nature of scientific
theory. Moreover, Kant and Einstein share quasi-mystical religious tendencies, relying
on an unknowable absolute as the ultimate boundary of our scientific understanding of
nature.

1. Kant and Einstein on Simultaneity and the Ideality of Time

This is the second in a pair of articles arguing that Immanuel Kants
philosophy, interpreted as a system of perspectives, contains within it the
key features that provided a philosophical grounding for Albert Einsteins
worldview. Part I of this series
1
defines a worldview as the set of
background assumptions that inform a person on such key issues as the
nature of time and space, how causality functions in the empirical world,
and ultimately, the nature of God and religion. We saw that Einstein read
Kant as a young teenager, immersed himself in Kants philosophy during
his middle teens, and continued to return to Kant for inspiration throughout
his young adulthood. Nevertheless, in his mature accounts of the influences
on his intellectual development Einstein tended to downplay Kants
influence. An examination of various personal factors relating to his
cultural-political situation provided an adequate explanation for why he
distanced himself from Kant, despite the obvious influence Kant had on

1
Palmquist, 2010; hereafter abbreviated as Part I.
98 The Kantian Grounding of Einsteins Worldview
him and the urgings of many self-declared Kantians to woo Einstein into
their camp. In this sequel we shall look beyond Einsteins self-portrayal of
his intellectual development, in search of more concrete evidence that
Kants philosophy served as a substantive grounding for Einsteins highly
original way of thinking, not merely as an accidental precursor that the
young Einstein grew out of. This controversial claim would be substantially
verified if evidence could be found that Einsteins early study of Kant
played a formative role in his actual discovery of the theory of relativity.
Einstein was just 27 in 1905, when he published his epoch-making paper
introducing the first of his two relativity theories. The aging Einstein recalls
that the paradox that gave rise to the line of thinking that led him to
propose the principle of relativity first occurred to him when he was 16
the very year he was most deeply immersed in Kants philosophy (see Part
I, 3). Einstein describes that paradox as follows:

If I pursue a beam of light with velocity c ..., I should [according to Newtonian
physics] observe such a beam of light as a spatially oscillatory electromagnetic field
at rest. However, there seems to be no such thing, whether on the basis of
experience or according to Maxwells equations. From the very beginning [i.e.,
since age 16] it appeared to me intuitively clear that, judged from the standpoint of
such an observer [i.e., one who was moving along with the beam of light],
everything would have to happen according to the same laws as for an observer
who, relative to the earth, was at rest. For how, otherwise, should the first observer
know, i.e., be able to determine, that he is in a state of fast uniform motion?
(Einstein, 1949/1969a, p. 53)

Einsteins dating of his first awareness of this paradox suggests that Kant,
his favorite philosopher at the time, would be a likely source of inspiration,
if Kant discusses anything relevant to this issue. Before considering this
possibility, let us look briefly at Einsteins solution to this paradox, a
problem arising out of his attempt to understand the strange relativity
evident in our observations of simultaneity.
Einsteins solution to the problem of simultaneity follows an ingenious
procedure: he took a problem that had arisen in the science of his day and
treated it as a solution (i.e., a given result) that would be virtually self-
evident if certain background assumptions were revised (von Weizscker,
1979, p. 160). To those already familiar with the special theory of relativity,
Einsteins background assumption seems so obvious that it is difficult to
imagine how new and strange it seemed at the time. The problem facing
physicists in Einsteins day was that recent discoveries in experimental and
mathematical physics, as best documented by the Michelson-Morley
experiment (1887), indicated that the speed of light is not affected by the
motion of the object emitting it; yet this result challenged the classical
Stephen Palmquist 99
notion of simultaneity
2
and thus appeared to be inconsistent with the time-
honored presupposition of Newtonian physics, that space is an absolute
container existing independently both of the objects that fill it and of
time. Einstein takes this problematic result as his starting point by assuming
that a hypothetical person traveling at the speed of light could distinguish
his or her perception from the perception of someone at rest only if the
laws of physics (including the speed of light) are invariant, governing
both states equally. He thus took the problem (that simultaneity does not
appear to be determinable in any absolute sense) as the outcome of a
process no previous physicist had correctly understood. By replacing
Newtons notions of absolute space and timewhat Einstein often called
arbitrary conventionswith his new conventions, the principle of
relativity (that all motion is relative to a given coordinate system or
frame of reference) and the invariance of the speed of light (so that light
travels at the same speed whether the object emitting it is in motion or at
rest), these inconsistencies became the expected outcome of the otherwise
problematic experiments (Einstein, 1998a, p. 124).
As von Weizscker (1979, p. 161) observes, the only philosopher before
Einstein to reflect deeply on the problem of simultaneity was Kant. In 4 of
the Transcendental Aesthetic Kant cites the problem of how an experience
of simultaneity is possible as a key rationale for assuming that time is a
necessary representation that underlies all intuitions (Kant, 1929, p. 46):
Only on the presupposition of time can we represent to ourselves a number
of things as existing at one and the same time (simultaneously) or at
different times (successively). He adds (p.47): Time has only one
dimension; different times are not simultaneous but successive (just as
different spaces are not successive but simultaneous). These principles
cannot be derived from experience, for experience would give neither strict
universality nor apodeictic certainty. From the fact that different times are
not simultaneous Kant infers that time is transcendentally ideal.
Furthermore, in the section of the Analytic of Principles defending the
Second Analogy (pp. 247-249), he argues that the principle of causality
applies to simultaneous events (causation through spatial relation) as much
as to successive events (causation through temporal relation) because the
category of causality must be schematized (time-related) whenever we
apply it to phenomena. Unfortunately, von Weizscker cites only this
second passage, showing no awareness of Kants earlier, more weighty

2
Although there is no conclusive evidence that Einstein was familiar with the
Michalson-Morley experiment as a teenager, he explicitly states that he was aware of
the problem of simultaneity that it created for the physics that was being discussed
during his youth. He also mentions this problem in the first paragraph of the ground-
breaking paper that introduced the principle of relativity. See Einstein, 1998.
appeal to simultaneity as confirming the transcendental ideality of time, as a
synthetic a priori condition for the possibility of experience.
3

Instead of comparing Einsteins approach to this problem with Kants,
von Weizscker (1979, p. 161), apparently unaware of young Einsteins
study of the first Critique (see Part I, 3), merely dismisses the similarity
with the remark that Einstein could hardly have known this passage of
Kants. For Kant, the problem of simultaneity was that Newtonian physics
requires us to be able to identify events as simultaneous in certain cases, yet
no appeal to empirical facts could show how this is possible. Kant solves
Newtons problem by treating it as the empirical outcome we would expect,
if we replace Newtons assumption that space and time are absolute
empirical containers with the new assumption that space, time, and
causality are synthetic a priori conditions for the possibility of experience.
Kant concluded that our experience of simultaneous events in nature
thereby confirms his Copernican hypothesis as applied to time. What has
heretofore gone unnoticed is that, although Kant obviously assumes a
Newtonian view of simultaneity, he presents his Copernican revolution (in
the second Preface to the first Critique and throughout the book) as
following a procedure virtually identical to the one Einstein later followed.
Even though the physics of Kants day did not present him with the
empirical facts that prompted Einstein to propose his 1905 solution to the
problem of simultaneity, Kant did recognize that in order to resolve the
very different simultaneity paradox that did arise for Newtonian physics,
one of Newtons basic assumptions had to be abandoned: space and time
could no longer be regarded as absolute realities that exist apart from their
relation to the human observers mind. This fact, together with the facts
regarding Einsteins early intellectual development that were detailed in
Part I, leads to an intriguing inference. Einstein was probably just 13 when
he first read Kants claim that, by regarding space and time as pure
intuitions, a crucial simultaneity problem could be solved; even if he
missed the significance of this claim at that point, he could not have missed
it when he immersed himself in the first Critique three years later, at the
very age when he began to reflect deeply on a new simultaneity problem
that had arisen in the physics of his day. In order to solve this new version
of the problem, he (like Kant) had to free himself from the Newtonian
worldview that had kept physics in a straitjacket for over two centuries (i.e.,
the position Kant called transcendental realism). His reading of Kant is
the best explanation of what brought this problem to his attention and freed
his mind to resolve it in the way he did. What else could have prompted
young Einstein to recognize both the paradox of simultaneity and the

3
For other references to simultaneity, see Kant, 1929, pp. 112, 139, 226, 260, 262,
319-20, and 456.
proper method to resolve it, as he did during the next decade, by replacing
Newtons view of time as an absolute container for physical objects with
the (Kantian) assumption that the passage of time is a mental construct?
Einsteins use of Kants Copernican procedure to solve the paradox of
simultaneity reaches a conclusion quite different from Kants, because
science had produced different empirical data. Kant assumed empirical
simultaneity to be a real phenomenon because the physics of his day
required it. Similarly, Einstein assumed absolute simultaneity to be illusory
because the physics of his day had called it into question. The differences in
the empirical data the two thinkers took for granted should not prevent us
from recognizing that Einstein, like Kant, took this unexplained empirical
result for granted and explained it as the natural outcome we would expect
on the basis of his new hypothesis, whereby time is not absolute (as Newton
had assumed) but relative to whatever coordinate (inertial) system is
presupposed by a bodys movement (Einstein, 1954b, p. 229; Einstein,
1954c, pp. 246-247). Whereas Kant had explained how events could appear
to us to be simultaneous by portraying time itself as a mental construct,
Einstein explained how absolute simultaneity could turn out to be illusory
by portraying time itself as relative (Einstein, 1949/1969a, p. 61): There is
no such thing as simultaneity of distant events; consequently there is also
no such thing as immediate action at a distance in the sense of Newtonian
mechanics.
In a letter to the logical empiricist, Moritz Schlick (dated 14 December
1915), where Einstein agrees with Schlicks rejection of Kants theory of
the role of synthetic a priori principles in science and points to Mach and
Hume as the primary influences on his development of the theory of
relativity (a position we shall examine further in 2-3, below), he adds
(Einstein, 1998b, p. 165): the general theory of relativity implies that
time & space lose the last vestiges of physical reality. Surprisingly,
Einstein does not acknowledge that Kant was the source of his view that
space and time are transcendentally ideal (i.e., mental constructs). Yet
surely, the question that was so crucial to young Alberts early reflections
on relativity, Was it possible that the key to understanding the universe
was in the structure of our own minds? (Overbye, 2000, p. 7), must have
occurred to him as a direct result of his reading of Kant.
That Einstein was aware of Kants influence is evident from a letter he
wrote to Ernst Cassirer on 5 June 1920, after reading his treatise (i.e.,
Cassirer, 1921). Einstein says he thoroughly studied Cassirers book and is
mostly in agreement. The only disagreement he cites is that Cassirer too
closely identifies Newton and Kant on their views of space and time
(Einstein, 2006, p. 44): Newtons theory requires an absolute (objective)
space in order to be able to attribute real meaning to acceleration, which
Kant does not seem to have recognized. To presume to correct such an
eminent Kant-scholar, Einstein must have felt confident that he knew
Kants text well. Ironically, as the editors of Einsteins letters note,
Cassirers book does present Kants theory accurately, as claiming that
absolute space is not to be seen as a real object itself, but as an idea guiding
our intellect (Einstein, 2006, p. 294n (German edition); cf. Cassirer, 1921,
p. 83)a position close (if not identical) to Einsteins. Clearly, Einstein had
not read Cassirers book with sufficient care; but the point here is that his
complaint against Cassirer reveals that Einstein was aware of the
revolutionary impact of Kants non-Newtonian view of space and time.
Just ten days after Einstein wrote the above letter to Cassirer, Hans
Reichenbach wrote to Einstein requesting permission to dedicate his book,
Relativity Theory and A Priori Knowledge, to Einstein. In that letter
(Einstein, 2006, p. 57) Reichenbach disparages Cassirer and the neo-
Kantians, saying very few tenured philosophers have the faintest idea that
your theory is a philosophical feat and that your physical conceptions
contain more philosophy than all the multi-volume works by the epigones
of the great Kant. He goes on (p. 57) to describe his book as an attempt to
free the profound insights of Kantian philosophy from its contemporary
trappings and to combine it with your discoveries within a single system.
Cassirer and Reichenbach, therefore, both wanted to render Einsteins
relativity theory consistent with Kants philosophy, though in substantially
different ways.
4
Perhaps in the end the main reason Einstein refused to
acknowledge the full extent of his debt to Kant was that this enabled him to
remain aloof from this (to him) onerous battle between the neo-Kantians
and the logical empiricists.

2. Two Perspectives on Science: Synthetic A Priori Principles
vs. Heuristic Conventions

Another feature of Einsteins theory of relativity that resonates with Kants
philosophy is its dependence on perspectival reasoning. Contrary to some
popular portrayals, Einsteins theory does not imply relativism, in the
sense that term is typically used today, whereby there simply are no
absolutes.
5
Rather, Einsteins insights on the simultaneity paradox arose out

4
Ryckman provides a detailed historical overview of this fascinating period in the
history of the philosophy of science. As he and various other historians of science detail
(see notes 17 and 19 of Part I), Reichenbach and the logical empiricist school won the
battle over how Einsteins theory should be interpreted; but Ryckman argues that
Cassirer and others with neo-Kantian leanings deserve a second hearing, as
transcendental idealism may be the only plausible way to preserve a robust empirical
realism that is consistent with relativity theory. See also note 18 of Part I and Ryckman,
2005.
5
For a detailed account of this distinction, see Rotenstreich, 1982, pp. 175-204.
of thought experiments based on the perspective of observers considered in
different contexts. One of the cornerstones of the special theory of relativity
is the principle that all frames of reference are equivalent with respect to the
laws of physics. Where did Einstein learn to regard different perspectives as
equally valid, even if observers adopting those perspectives perceive
different results? As I argued in 1 of Part I, perspectival reasoning
constitutes the core of Kants philosophical method (see also Palmquist,
1993, especially Chap. II). While it is also employed by philosophers such
as Leibniz and Spinoza, Einstein did not read these philosophers until much
later. So his early exposure to Kant must have been a primary source for
this aspect of Einsteins worldviewthough of course, he had to apply
perspectival reasoning in his own unique way in order to resolve problems
in physics.
We can now further contextualize Einsteins reluctance to align himself
too closely with Kant
6
by recalling Abraham Pais opinion that, although
philosophy stretched his personality (Pais, 1994, p. 13), Einsteins own
philosophical knowledge played no direct role in his major creative
efforts. This depends on what direct means. Einsteins reading of Kant at
such a young agePais himself says it may have begun as young as 10, but
was certainly well underway by the time Einstein was 15 (Pais, 1994, p.
520)is very likely to have had a direct influence on the way Einstein
thought: at the very least, as we saw in Part I, it provided a grounding for
his general worldview; and we now know from 1 of this article that it
probably also focused his attention on the importance of the simultaneity
paradox as well as suggesting the correct method for solving it. However,
Einsteins relativity theory is based on an empirical absolute that is not
present in Kant: in special relativity, this absolute is the constant speed of
light; in the later, general theory of relativity, Einstein adopts the notion of
a curved (non-Euclidean) spacetime as the absolute framework for all of
physics. Obviously, Pais is correct if he means that neither of these ideas
came directly from Kant. Nevertheless, they were made possible by the
Kantian worldview that had permeated Einsteins thinking since he was a
young teenagera worldview that was suppressed when he was forced to
turn away from philosophy and toward science as the focal point of his
career and was later repressed when he turned away from Germany and
Germany turned away from him during his adult years (see Part I, 4); yet it
continued to ground his thinking throughout his life.
That the teenage Einstein had bathed himself in Kant makes it hardly
surprising that so many of his contemporaries, as we have seen, emphasized
interesting parallels between the two. In response to one such suggestion

6
For details on this tendency of Einsteins, and an initial attempt to explain why this
does not constitute counter-evidence for the main thesis of this pair of articles, see 4 of
Part I.
put to him during a meeting of the Socit Franaise de Philosophie,
Einstein replied:
7

On the matter of the philosophy of Kant, I believe that every philosopher has his
own Kant, and so I cannot reply to what you have just said, because the few
indications that you gave are not enough for me to know how you interpret Kant. I
do not believe, for my part, that my theory agrees on all points with the thought of
Kant such as it appears to me.
What appears to me most important in the philosophy of Kant is that it speaks of a
priori concepts for constructing science. However, one can oppose two points of
view: the apriorism of Kant, in which certain concepts are preexistent in our
knowledge, and the conventionalism of Poincar. These two points of view agree on
this point, that in order to be constructed, science has need of arbitrary concepts; as
for knowing if these concepts are given a priori or are arbitrary conventions, I can
say nothing.

Einsteins concluding choice of words seems to beg the question: by saying
the concepts necessary to construct science are arbitrary, he appears to
side with Hume, viewing concepts such as causality not as Kantian
principles of pure understanding, and space and time not as Kantian pure
intuitions, but all such notions as merely heuristic devices (cf. Humean
habits) for interpreting the world. Nevertheless, if we focus on Einsteins
appeal to two perspectives (or points of view) and take arbitrary
literally, to mean freely-chosen, Einsteins point has a markedly Kantian
twist after all.
For Kant, our freedom from the world makes science possible, freedom
being the idea of reason corresponding to the cosmological antinomies. He
argues in the Appendix to the Dialectic of the first Critique that science
must adopt certain ideas of reason as heuristic (as if) devices to
encourage systematic unity. But for Kant, unlike Einstein, the pure
intuitions of space and time, together with causality and other principles of

7
Transcript of discussion on April 6, 1922, in Leclerc, 1922, pp. 91-113; my
translation. The partial translation in Pais 1994, pp. 213-214, and in Pais, 1982, p. 319,
is misleadingly loose; he also cites incorrect volume and page numbers for the journal.
As the original is rare and difficult to trace, I provide the French here in its entirety:
A propos de la philosophie de Kant, je crois que chaque philosophe a son Kant
propre, et je ne puis rpondre ce que vous venez de dire, parce que les quelques
indications que vous avez donnes ne me suffisent pas pour savoir comment vous
interprtez Kant. Je ne crois pas, pour ma part, que ma thorie concorde sur tous les
points avec la pense de Kant telle quelle mapparat.
Ce qui me parat le plus important dans la philosophie de Kant, cest quon y parle
de concepts a priori pour difier la science. Or, on peut opposer deux points de vue:
lapriorisme de Kant, dans lequel certains concepts prexistent dans notre conscience,
et le conventionalisme de Poincar. Ces deux points de vue saccordent sur ce point
que la science a besoin, pour tre difie, de concepts arbitraires; quant savoir si ces
concepts sont donns a priori, ou sont des conventions arbitraires, je ne puis rien dire.
pure understanding, have a special status: in order to produce science, we
must freely chooseyes, in this limited, perspectival sense,
arbitrarilyto intuit the world using the formal structure of space-time
and to conceptualize it using the formal structure of schematized categories
such as causality. Kant distinguishes this synthetic a priori free choice
from the hypothetical free choice of rational ideas that enable us to bring
unity into a system of science. The former structures must be presupposed
by anyone who wishes to obtain scientific knowledge; the latter may be
revised as science becomes continually more refined. Along these lines,
Flsing (1997, p. 136) rightly observes that Einstein probably first learned
to think in terms of this heuristic viewpoint from his early reading of
Kant, who frequently used heuristic principles. Einsteins heuristic
method was to state, or perhaps invent, an assertion from which familiar
facts could then be deduced. As such, Weinert (2005, p. 591) points out,
there is a distinctively Kantian flavour in Einsteins position on the nature
of scientific knowledge. However, by rejecting synthetic apriority in his
casual comments on Kant, Einsteins free choice conflates what Kant
distinguishes: the (perspectival) necessity of principles such as causality
becomes just another heuristic device that scientists may or may not adopt
in search of systematic unity.
After briefly summarizing his quasi-Humean epistemology, Einstein
explains his major disagreement with Kant:

Kant ... took [certain concepts, as for example that of causality] ... to be the
necessary premises of every kind of thinking and differentiated them from concepts
of empirical origin. I am convinced, however, that this differentiation is erroneous
... All concepts ... are from the point of view of logic freely chosen conventions, just
as is the case with the concept of causality ... (Einstein, 1949/1969a, p. 13)

Perspectival interpretations now commonly recognize that Kant did not
intend his principle of causality to apply to every kind of thinking, but
only to any thinking destined to produce empirical (especially scientific)
knowledge. Einsteins use of the perspectival phrase from the point of
view of logic rests on a fundamental misunderstanding: Kant defends the
synthetic apriority of space, time, and the schematized categories not from
the logical perspective (where the relation between concepts is ones only
concern), but from the transcendental perspective (where the focus is on
concepts joining with intuitions to produce valid judgments). Assessing the
origin of concepts from the logical perspective will naturally produce
different results from those produced when adopting the transcendental
perspective, as Kant demonstrates in the Dialectic, where he examines
proper and improper uses in science of concepts with no grounding in
intuition. Kant there defends the same view Einstein later backed, that in
the purely logical task of system-building, ones guiding assumptions are
heuristic conventions. By failing to distinguish between the transcendental
perspective as it operates in the Critiques Aesthetic and Analytic of
Principles and the logico-hypothetical perspective as it operates in the
Analytic of Concepts and in the Dialectic, Einstein neglects the subtlety of
Kants key perspectival distinctions. The alleged synthetic a priori status of
space, time, and causality was the issue Einstein associated with Kant; he
mentions it virtually every time he criticizes Kant. Ironically, as we shall
see in 3, Einstein had a stronger (i.e., more absolute) commitment to
spatiotemporal causality than Kant himself had.
Einstein openly acknowledges the Kantian grounding of his worldview
in his June 1920 letter to Cassirer (Einstein, 2006, p. 44): I can understand
your idealistic way of thinking about space and time and also believe that
one can thereby arrive at a consistent point of view. Not being a
philosopher, the philosophical antitheses seem to me more conflicts of
emphasis than fundamental contradictions. He goes on to argue that the
empiricism of Mach and the Kantian idealism of Cassirer are both
acceptable, provided they are considered as emphasizing different
conceptual perspectives. Unfortunately, Einsteins public statements on
Kantian philosophy were often not so open-minded.
A separate study would be needed to establish how Kants synthetic a
priori can be consistent with the notion that such principles are,
nevertheless, freely chosen as viewed from the Dialectics logico-
hypothetical perspective. My previous, perspectival interpretation of
Kantian apriority clears up various interpretive difficulties often associated
with Kants theory.
8
The same hermeneutic strategy can be applied
straightforwardly to Einsteins case: Kants theory of the synthetic apriority
of space, time, and causality, when considered from the philosophers
transcendental perspective, is wholly consistent with a thoroughly (and
exclusively) a posteriori theory of the origin of knowledge, considered from
the scientists empirical perspective. Describing that a posteriori status as a
heuristically chosen convention poses no challenge to Kants theory, for
as we have seen, Kant himself emphasizes the importance of hypothetical
conventions for science. Similarly, Moritz Schlick criticizes Reichenbach
for not recognizing that a priori correspondence principles are
completely identical to Poincars conventions.
9
Einstein (1949/1969b,
pp. 678-679) himself reports a Non-positivist critic who criticized
Reichenbachs approach, telling him: It seems to methat you have not at

8
See Palmquist, 1987a, and Palmquist, 1987b. For a recent study of how Kants
theory of synthetic apriority provided a backdrop for relativity theory, see DiSalle,
2006, Chapter 3, Empiricism and a priorism from Kant to Poincar. DiSalle notes (p.
67) that Kant did defend the need for a concept of absolute space in physics, but
correctly points out that this was a matter for empirical realism to decide, not part of
what is required by Kants transcendental idealism.
9
Letter to Einstein, dated 9 October 1920, in Einstein, 2006, p. 171.
all done justice to the really significant philosophical achievement of
Kant. I think your censure [of Kant] is directed less against Kant himself
than against those who today still adhere to the errors of synthetic
judgments a priori. With such confusingly conflicting statements coming
from the philosophical experts of Einsteins day, it is no wonder that he
sought to distance himself from both Kant and synthetic apriority. But did
Einstein, in fact, reject the role of causality as a transcendental principle? A
brief examination of this question will serve as a prelude to our discussion
of the religious aspects of Einsteins Kantian worldview.

3. The Irony of Einsteins Claim To Have Rejected Synthetic
Apriority

Einsteins unwillingness to accept Kants theory of the synthetic a priori
status of the principle of causality ironically led him to adopt a position
regarding the status of causality that prevented him from accepting the
empirical evidence for quantum indeterminacy. Despite his many references
to the arbitrary nature of all theoretical concepts in science, in practice
Einstein took causality to be more than just a mental construct that the mind
must impose onto the (mentally constructed) space-time continuum in order
for scientific knowledge to be possiblethis being Kants perspectival
position. Instead, he treated causality as so absolute that he rejected the
whole notion of independent free will.
10
In his mature years this bias had
such an impact on Einsteins approach to the emerging science of quantum
mechanics that he adamantly refused to accept the arbitrary convention
that most physicists regarded (and still regard) as providing the most
plausible account of quantum events: at the lowest level of submicroscopic
nature, the concept of causality ceases to be applicable. Niels Bohrs
Copenhagen interpretation of quantum physics (that the principle of
causality is irrelevant when science deals with objects or events that are not
observable) is itself thoroughly Kantian.
11
Yet Einstein, failing to grasp (or
possibly, understanding but simply choosing to reject) Kants notion of
synthetic apriority, insisted on postulating hidden variables that would

10
For example, Einstein (1954a, pp. 8-9) says: I do not at all believe in human
freedom in the philosophical sense. Everybody acts not only under external compulsion
but also in accordance with inner necessity. This realization mercifully mitigates the
easily paralyzing sense of responsibility and prevents us from taking ourselves and
other people all too seriously; it is conducive to a view of life which, in particular, gives
humor its due.
11
See e.g., Beller, 1999, pp. 162, 180, 205. For a detailed defense of the Kantian
grounding of quantum mechanics, see my two-part series of papers, Kantian Causality
and Quantum Quarks (under review).
explain the true (i.e., causal) explanation for quantum eventsa
possibility that has now been experimentally refuted by Bells Theorem.
A similar irony is that, by rejecting Kantian apriority, Einstein lost a
golden opportunity to provide a philosophical justification for the deeply
cherished religious aspects of his worldview. Kants transcendental
perspective explains why the absolute things Einstein honored with such
reverent awe cannot be spoken about in scientific terms without
transforming them into something that is not absolute.
12
In fact, the mature
Einstein did applaud Kant for realizing the profound importance of the
mysterious yet necessary comprehensibility of the world. It is one of the
great realizations of Immanuel Kant, Einstein observes, that the setting up
of a real external world would be senseless were this mysterious
comprehensibility not possible.
13
This relates to what Kant calls the
affinity of the manifolda term Kant uses 19 times in the first Critique,
most notably in the first edition of the Transcendental Deduction (all
omitted in the second edition) and in his account of the regulative use of the
ideas of reason (e.g., Kant, 1929, pp. 689-91). It refers to the mysterious,
yet necessary fit between our faculty of sensibility (producing the
manifold of intuition) and our faculty of understanding (conceptualizing
the manifold). Without presupposing such affinity, we might still
experience the striking diversity of our perceptions and be able to think
consistently in abstraction from experience, but empirical science could not
exist. This illustrates how both Kant and Einstein based their understanding
of science on a two-sided mystery: the incomprehensibility of the absolute
things in their most fundamental, nameless state; and the amazing
comprehensibility of the world as constructed out of the network of
concepts we create to explain the way things appear to be.
One further example should suffice to establish the ironic (almost self-
defeating) nature of Einsteins reluctance to admit the Kantian grounding of
his worldview. In the Reply to Criticisms that concludes the festschrift in
his honor, Einstein attempts to distance himself from any particular
philosophical position; yet, for anyone familiar with Kants Critical
method, his words only intensify the impression that Einstein was, whether
or not he admitted it, applying Kants philosophical revolution to science:

Science without epistemology isinsofar as it is thinkable at allprimitive and
muddled.... The scientist ... must appear to the systematic epistemologist as a type of
unscrupulous opportunist: he appears as realist insofar as he seeks to describe a
world independent of the acts of perception; as idealist insofar as he looks upon the
concepts and theories as the free inventions of the human spirit (not logically

12
See the first paragraph of Part I, and Palmquist, 2000.
13
Einstein, 1936. Jammer (1999, p. 42) lists references substantiating Einsteins
claim to have grounded his position on the mysterious comprehensibility of the world in
Kants philosophy.
derivable from what is empirically given); as positivist insofar as he considers his
concepts and theories justified only to the extent to which they furnish a logical
representation of relations among sensory experiences. (Einstein, 1949/1969b, p.
684)

Einsteins claim, that one can be a realist from one perspective yet an
idealist from another, unmistakably mirrors a fundamental tenet of Kants
epistemology, that [t]he transcendental idealist ... is an empirical realist,
and allows to matter, as appearance, a reality which does not permit of
being inferred, but is immediately perceived.
14
That Einstein added a nod
to his positivist supporters (several of whom started out as quasi-Kantians,
though these logical empiricists departed further and further from Kant as
they refined their position) only intensifies the sense that he is here
revealing, albeit unintentionally, his own Kantian roots.
Perhaps the ultimate irony is that Einstein did not unambiguously affirm
Kants perspectival hermeneutic, whereby a person can defend apparently
conflicting ideas without destroying the integrity of ones system, provided
one is adopting different perspectives wherever the conflicts arise. Recent
interpreters of Kant have argued that this is central to the whole Kantian
project, that we cannot understand how Kants specific arguments function
if we fail to recognize the perspective Kant adopts when advancing each
argument. But none of the contemporary philosophers who were competing
for Einsteins attention interpreted Kant this way, so he had good reason to
reject the Kant he saw them portraying. The irony is that the scientific
theory that made Einstein the twentieth centurys most influential scientist
utilized the same perspectival methodology that Kant-scholars nowadays
see operating in the writings of young Alberts hero. Perhaps the budding
genius understood Kant more accurately than did either the neo-Kantians or
the logical empiricists who later competed for the mature Einsteins
blessing, to whose philosophical expertise he so readily deferred when
interpreting (or refusing to interpret) Kant.
We have now seen that, despite his tendency to downplay Kants
influence, Einsteins worldview exhibits these key Kantian features:
15
(1)
the Copernican notion that revolutionizing science requires changing the
background assumptions, so that what previously constituted an unsolvable
problem becomes the expected result of the new assumption; (2) space,
time, and the schematized categories (especially causality) determine how
we understand the empirical world, but are contributed by the human mind
rather than being self-subsisting, absolute containers whose nature is

14
Kant, 1929, A371; see also A375. I discuss this passage in Palmquist, 1993, p.
175n.
15
For an excellent distillation of Einsteins philosophy into seven basic ideas (all
of them consistent with the Kantian position defended here), see Pais, 1994, pp. 130-
132.
inherent within the world itself; (3) science requires regulative guidance by
certain rational ideas, freely chosen to contribute systematic unity and
coherence to the scientists theoretical system; and (4) a deep, two-sided
respect for the mysterious unknowability of the world as it is in itself and
the amazing knowability of the world as experienced. The latter point leads
us directly to our final consideration: the resonance between Kant and
Einstein on religious matters.

4. Kant and Einstein on Critical Mysticism

That Einstein regarded science as a primarily conceptual discipline, and
religiona rarefied, quasi-mystical form of religionas primarily intuitive,
is illustrated by his frequently-quoted claim: Science without religion is
lame, religion without science is blind.
16
Kant obviously influenced even
this expression of the relation between science and religion. Although he
might have forgotten its origin, since he did not cite a source, Einsteins
statement paraphrases one of Kants most well-known maxims (Kant, 1929,
p. 75): Thoughts without content are empty, intuitions without concepts
are blind. Merely replacing Einsteins science with thoughts or
concepts and his religion with content or intuitions renders his
statement identical to Kants, except for the use of lame in place of
empty. As a teenager, Einstein read Kants maxim in German
(Gedanken ohne Inhalt sind leer, Anschauungen ohne Begriffe sind
blind), so his later use of lame was simply a loose translation of leer
(literally, empty or void; figuratively, hollow, futile, vain, or
inane)lame being a synonym that simply relies on a different
metaphor.
As is well known (Pais, 1982, p. 319), Einstein himself wasa deeply
religious man. Brian (1996, pp. 4-5), for example, notes that those who
knew the mature Einstein would not only attest to his admiration for the
ethical and aesthetic aspects of some Christian and Jewish traditions, but
also mention his frequent allusions to a cosmic intelligence. Significantly,
biographers agree that young Einsteins reading of Kant came just after his
experience of a brief bout of extreme religious fervor, when he temporarily
adopted the Jewish traditions his parents had discarded. To speculate that
Einsteins early study of Kant may have shaped not only his view of
science but also his view of God and religion is therefore not without
warrant. No author Einstein read during this period was in a better position
than Kant to have such an effect, so similarities between their religious
worldviews are unlikely to be coincidental. Let us therefore conclude by

16
This statement (quoted, for example, in Pais, 1982, pp. vi and 319, and in
Jammer, 1999, p. 11) is from Einstein, 1941, p. 605.
examining some resonances between Einsteins view of religion (including
its relation to science) and Kants.
Unlike the average reader of Kant nowadays, Einstein was surely aware
that Kant can be interpreted as a friend of mysticism, because the outline of
his college class on Kant (see Part I, note 16) featured among its topics
Kant and the mystic. The other topics listed on the outline included
Kants books on Religion and The Conflict of the Faculties (where the first
of three sections deals with theology), Kant as natural philosopher, The
natural history of the heavens, Space, Time, Causality and several other
typically Kantian topics.
17
That these lectures included an examination of
Kants relation to mysticism seems less surprising once we recall the
influence of Carl du Prels (1885) mystical interpretation of Kant in the
waning years of the nineteenth century.
18
Although we do not know how
much Einstein actually learned about Kants views on religion or the then
popular notion that Kants philosophy promotes a (Critical) form of
mysticism that is compatible with science, because he did not complete the
requirements for the class, he must at least have seen the outline, so we may
safely assume that young Einsteins Kant was a Kant for whom religion and
science were two sides of one philosophical coinjust as they were for the
mature Einstein.
The deep absolutes in Einsteins theory of relativity, the constant speed
of light and the totality of spacetime as a curved (non-Euclidean) structure,
are not objects that human beings can experience as such. We see things in
light, because we live at the crossroads between matter and energy.
However, we cannot travel at the speed of light, and Einsteins theory
makes all scientific knowledge necessarily relative to this absolute. The
popular science fiction portrayals of Einsteins theory, as implying the
possibility of time travel or other oddities, are discounted by Einstein
himself, who regarded human travel at the speed of light as a practical
impossibility. In one interview (quoted in Brian, 1996, p. 115), Einstein
responds to a question about the implications of his theory by claiming that
for a human space traveler with a body and sense organs, at the speed of
light his bodys mass would become infinitely great. Obviously, if things
traveling at the speed of light have infinite mass, then Einsteins deep
absolute just is the whole universe, the whole spacetime continuum (cf.
Einstein, 1954c, pp. 247-248)an absolute that Kant, too, regards as lying
beyond the reach of human knowledge and experience.
Franquiz (1964) discusses at length Einsteins mystical tendencies and
how they were moderated by his insistence that they be compatible with a

17
Einstein, 1987, p. 364 (German edition). For a thorough account of the likely
contents of this college class, taught by August Stadler, see Beller, 2000.
18
du Prel, 1885. For a thoroughgoing study of Kants relation to mysticism, see
Palmquist, 2000, Chapters II and X-XII.
scientific worldview. Einstein was fond of saying he believed in Spinozas
Godthough Franquiz argues that his self-assessment in this case was not
well-informed.
19
When we let Einstein speak for himself, his position on
religious issues is admittedly very difficult to pin down. In a personal
conversation, for example, Einstein once said (quoted in Jammer, 1999, pp.
39-40):

Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find
that, behind all the discernible concatenations, there remains something subtle,
intangible and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can
comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in point of fact, religious.

What we can say is that the transcendent awe Einstein experienced when
he contemplated the mysterious order and harmony science perceives in a
world whose absolute nature remains unknowable (Morrison, 1987, p. 54)
is an essential feature of Kants Critical mysticism (see Palmquist, 2000,
Part Four). Indeed, one would be hard pressed to say whether Kant or
Einstein penned exclamations such as the following (Kant, 1755, p. 367;
translation mine): In the universal silence of nature and in the calm of the
senses the immortal spirits hidden faculty of knowledge speaks an ineffa-
ble language and gives [us] undeveloped concepts, which are indeed felt,
but do not let themselves be described.
Instead of recognizing the Kantian features in Einsteins veneration of
the absolute but unknowable grounding of nature, Jaki (1987) reads the
Dialectic of the first Critique as if it undermines the very metaphysical
ideas (God, freedom, and immortality) that Kant wished to promote
(primarily from the practical standpoint). Jakis portrayal of an opposition
between Kant and Einstein on this point could hardly be more mistaken
(pp.12-13): Once the notion of the universe was made out to be
intrinsically unreliable, Kant could argue that any step from the universe to
the Creator was also unreliable. But once the notion of the universe was
fully vindicated by general relativity, Kants argument and his whole
criticism of natural theology lost whatever credibility it could marshal.
Einsteins theory of relativity is no more a vindication of the concept of the
universe than Kants critique of the concept as a speculative idea of
reason was a rejection of the great usefulness this idea can have for
science, when adopted as a heuristic convention. On this issue Kant and

19
Franquiz, 1964, p. 67. Franquiz claims that Einsteins beliefs were closer to those
of an intelligent Christian Theism than Spinozian pantheism. The compatibility
between this way of interpreting Einstein and my portrayal of Kant in Part Four of
Kants Critical Religion should be obvious to readers familiar with the latter. Beller
(2000, p. 94) affirms such compatibility: There is no doubt that there is a close affinity
between the Einsteinian and the Kantian God. The Einsteinian God is the God of Kant,
and not of Spinoza, as often stated (sometimes by Einstein himself).
Einstein are of one accord, both seeing the universe as a hypothetical
construct, an idea whose reality could never be conclusively proved with
empirical (observational) evidence, yet must be assumed in order to
guarantee the unity and coherence of empirical science.
20

Einstein described his theory of relativity not so much as a radical
revolution, but more as a natural evolution from a variety of foregoing
theorists, beginning with Newton and passing through Faraday, Maxwell,
Planck, etc. (Einstein, 1954c, pp. 248; see also Einstein, 1954b, pp. 227-
232, and Jammer, 1999, p. 35). I have argued that a grounding in an
essentially Kantian worldview played a significant and often unrecognized
place in that evolutionary process, so that if the young Einstein had not
been so intoxicated with Kant, he might have never set foot on the path
that led him to become the great exponent of a new (yet fundamentally
Kantian) way of viewing of the world. Reading Kant was not the only
possible way Einstein could have been put into this frame of mind, yet this
frame of mind (the worldview) was necessary for the discoveries Einstein
made. Somehow Einstein was led to adopt this worldview, and the
previously unnoticed or underemphasized similarities between Kant and
Einstein point to his early enthusiasm over Kant as the accident of history
that provided this deep-seated grounding. Of course, had Einstein never
read Kant, some other influence might have led him to adopt a similar
worldview. While Kant did not teach Einstein the theory of relativity,
reading Kant brought to Einsteins attention both the nature of the problem
and the proper philosophical tools and procedure he needed to solve it. As
he reflected on the problem of simultaneity, Einstein adopted Kants
challenging new worldview, one that acknowledges the perspectival role of
the observer in all knowledge while resisting the temptation to identify such
knowledge with the deepest nature of reality. This worldview was a
necessary prerequisite for Einsteins great revolution in twentieth-century
physics.
21

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Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 117-136.

Power, Discourse, and Subject. The Case of Laclau and
Foucault

Lotar Rasiski
University of Lower Silesia

Abstract. In this text the author draws on two contemporary accounts of powerby
Michel Foucault and Ernesto Laclauand, on the basis of thorough analysis and com-
parison, he argues for the discursive account of power (DAP) as a new concept re-
flecting the novel approach to the theory of power developed by these two philosophers.
He opens with a broad methodological outline of contemporary concepts of power,
distinguishing between the classical and the modern approaches. Basing his find-
ings on Laclaus and Foucaults work, he then presents DAP as a theory characterized
by decentralizing, non-normative, and conflict-based tendencies that does not exhibit
many of the limitations that usually characterize both classical and modern concepts of
power. In the second part of the article the author presents a detailed methodological
analysis of Foucaults and Laclaus concepts of power, focusing on three axes: power,
discourse, and the subject. The author dedicates the last section to a comparison of both
approaches, concluding that DAP is an inspiring project that exceeds the limits of tradi-
tional liberal theories of power and politics.

Introduction: classical and modern accounts of power

All agree that the problem of power has been one of the most important
issues of political philosophy from Plato till present times. All agree also, as
I suppose, that power is one of the most essential elements of social life,
without the analysis of which it would be impossible to understand what
modern society is. However, most theoreticians stress the fact that so far all
attempts to create a unified, complete and satisfactory theory of power have
failed. There are fundamental difficulties with defining what power is, how
it is manifested and how it influences individuals, to what extent it
conditions social behaviour, what are and what should be the limits of
exercising power, as well as whether it is at all possible to create a model of
power which would be characterized by respect both for individual rights
and the rules of social justice.
Another problem, concerning not so much power itself as the theory of
power, is connected with the fact that each attempt at formulating such a
theory is inevitably related to a political choice, and thus becomes
118 Power, Discourse, and Subject. The Case of Laclau and Foucault
ideological. There are usually two possible stances to take regarding these
difficulties. For some (Bourdieu, Foucault, Laclau), any reflection on
society which attempts to evade political implications is impossible. In
effect, the only task for philosophy is the critique and demystification of
this dependency. Thus, theoreticians of this sort will be, most often, a kind
of political realists underlining the omnipresence of power relations and
giving up on the creation of a good model of power and its
implementation by the state. Abandoning the issue of legitimation and
improvement of political systems, they focus rather on the
characterization of particular manifestations of power in everyday life in
order to unravel its mechanisms and range, as well as to consider the
possibility of resistance. For others (Weber, Parsons, Rawls), the possibility
of grounding the theoretical discussion of power in the sphere of politics
would only subvert its authority, and, what follows, the disciplinary
grounding of such statements. That is why, according to these theoreticians,
it is necessary to defend the independence of knowledge from politico-
social influences and try to construct models of power which would be
empirically verifiable and philosophically answerable. All of them, though,
seem to agree that one working definition of power and one objective and
generally accepted theory based on that definition do not exist.
Such methodological assumptions lying at the base of a theory will
undoubtedly influence how the definition of power is constructed and how
questions it forces are being answered. Thus, I assume that there exist two
general tendencies in the analyses of power: the classical and the
modern one. The differentiation I develop establishes, of course, a certain
convention and is meant to serve as a general reference for the clearer and
more transparent expression of something we could name the general
tendency in the analyses of power.
I characterize the classic formulation thus: (1) the problem of power is
usually analyzed in the context of its legitimacy or lack thereof, i.e. by
asking what is the source of the right to rule (natural law, divine law, social
contract, etc.), when is the exercise of political power legitimated and when
is it not, etc. etc.; (2) the center of power is most often situated in the state
understood as the political institutions which have the right of making
laws, to use John Lockes words; (3) the scope of power is associated with
the limits of state law; (4) it posits a separation of the public sphere from
the private sphere, with which political power (government) is not allowed
to interfere; (5) power is a contractual relation between the ruler and the
ruled; (6) a breach of the contract by the ruler results in repression or
usurpation, and in the right to rebel on the part of the ruled.
I argue that the classic formulation of the definition of power has only a
limited analytical efficacy. It cannot describe the way in which an
individual is embroiled in the social and economic system of institutions, to
Lotar Rasiski 119

what extent he (or she) depends on them, and to what extent he (or she) is
capable of influencing and transforming them. An analysis of power in
terms of how adequatly political institutions function and follow the law
ignores a whole series of phenomena occurring in our present social and
political reality which I in fact believe to be, quite crucial. If there are
significant social groups that consider themselves as having no influence on
either current or long-term state policy (e.g. new social movements), the
type of analysis which recognizes such conflicts and crosses the artificial
divisions between the political and the social is, in my opinion, a more
proper analytical tool for understanding contemporary society .
Therefore, I contrast this classical conception of power with a modern
one, characterized among other things by the crossing over of power
relations beyond the sphere of political institutions, and the bracketing of
the problem of legitimacy. Since the French and American Revolutions, a
common conviction in political theory has been that power is maintained on
the basis of general public support. In democratic countries power has been
seemingly maintained simply by citizens granting legitimacy to their
representatives. In the modern concept of power the situation becomes more
complex. The question of legitimacy turns out to be of secondary
importance when it becomes apparent that the government endowed with
legitimacy does not, in fact, rule in the name of the masses, but instead in
the covert interests of the elites, certain classes, sexes, races, etc. According
to theoreticians of the modern approach to power, the exercise of power
finds entirely new theatres of operation. Foucault, for example, points out
manifestations of the exercise of disciplinary power in families, factories,
prisons and schools, i.e. in the institutions which could not be consider
political by the classic formulation of power. Together with a changed view
concerning the location of power, the borderline between the public and
private spheres becomes blurred.
Historically, we can find the beginnings of the modern concept of power
in the Marxist theory of class and in the way it connects domination with
access to the means of production; in Nietzsches concept of the will to
power, positing the basic social relationship to be that of domination and
subjugation (master and slave), which is in some sense a biological relation;
and in the Freudian theory of the unconscious, which describes power as a
relation within the subject.
It is necessary to stress here that the opposition between the modern and
the classical approaches to power cannot be reduced only to historical
arguments. I do not claim that the theories of Freud, Marx and Nietzsche
represent the rupture between the classical and the modern epoch in the
study of power. Instead, the opposition lies in the contrasting types of
reflection. The most we can say is that in the 19
th
century, alongside the
classical conception of power there emerged a new type of reflection on
power, which ultimately lead to the treatment of power as a cultural
phenomenon. Thus in the contemporary discussions of power both the
classical and the modern models of thinking about power are applied.
Among the contemporary representatives of the modern conceptions of
power are e.g. M. Walzer, J. Habermas, E. Laclau and Ch. Mouffe, S.
Lukes, M. Foucault, W.E. Connolly, and many others. The classical
theoreticians are, among others, M. Oakeshott, R. Dworkin, R. Nozick, J.
Rawls, or R. Aron.
It is important to notice that both the classical and the modern
conceptions of power favor normative reflection, but it is of a different
character in each case. While most contemporary classical theoreticians of
power concentrate on the problem of state government and its
implementation of the rule of law or principles of justice and liberty (e.g.
Dworkin, Rawls), the modern thinkers will unravel the negative effects of
the exercise of power outside political institutions in the classic sense,
focusing on elements of social life such as education, habits, the influence
of technology and media, access to the means of production, ideology,
gender and race (e.g. Frankfurt school). Yet in both formulations one may
condemn or seek to improve the form of government in the name of
postulated normative ideals, such as autonomy, freedom, social justice, etc.
The normative element seems to be something natural in the majority of
theories of power. Most of them consist in capturing the difference between
the existing state of affairs and the required state of affairs. This difference
indicates that our social reality is not as it is supposed to be and that it needs
to be transformed into a proper one. The downside of this kind of
analyses is that they are not capable of critically examining the existing
social or political reality; they describe not what it is, but only what it
should be. Therefore a number of irresolvable difficulties arises in
connection with the normative type of analysis of power, in many cases
making it useless and contradictory. First of all, one assumes in this type of
analysis that the position from which the demands have been raised is
external in relation to the field in which they should be applied. It means
that the theorist is not a part of the bad reality described by him, and that
he, as the only one, liberated himself from it and recognized what is good
for the society. This is the case not only with Marxism, in which the role of
such a normative indicator is played by the promise of a future
communist society, where man is free of any oppression or apparatus of
control, and is able to realize his own real nature. Also in classical
liberalism, the concept of the proper state of nature takes a similar
position: man in this state is in his natural condition, and the main
objective behind the founding of a society is to better preserve his natural
Lotar Rasiski 121

rights and capabilities.
1
Subsequently, a series of questions can be raised in
relation to this kind of claim: Why should one concept of human nature be
better than another? Why should one system of values, e.g. one based on
the idea of individual freedom, be better than another, e.g. one based on the
idea of equality? Are there any bases other than religious ones for
statements concerning the direction in which a given society should evolve?
My main goal in this text is to present, on the basis of the concept of
power by Michel Foucault and the idea of hegemony by Ernesto Laclau, a
mode of thinking about power which is free of the contradictions connected
with both the normative and the classical reflection on power. Let me call it
the discursive account of power. Let me now summarize in a few points
the similarities between Laclaus and Foucaults approaches, which will
make it possible, in my view, to speak about a parallel theoretical account:
(1) we can find the common roots of both theories in the structuralist theory
of language/discourse; (2) both theories reject any kind of foundationalist or
essentialist thinking (e.g. critique of economism); (3) in both approaches
the concept of discourse, understood as a theoretical horizon within which
an analysis of society becomes possible, is the methodological starting
point; (4) this results in a view of power that is decentralized and dispersed,
i.e. power becomes a set of relationships, techniques and practices with no
privileged field of reference; (5) the concept of conflict or antagonism plays
an equally important role in both theories; (6) neither theory is based on any
normative assumptions; they try rather to show and to depict the
mechanisms of power, resigning from utopian visions of a perfect society;
(7) in both theories the stress is placed on productive or creative aspects of
power, especially in the context of the relationship between the individual
and the social, and not only on negative and prohibitive ones.

Foucault: subject, repression, and war

Throughout his working life, Foucault has repeatedly stressed that his
intention in research and writing was not to arrive at something one could
call a theory of power. In one of his last texts, The Subject and Power,
for example, he states:

I would like to say, first of all, what has been the goal of my work during the last
twenty years. It has not been to analyze the phenomena of power, nor to elaborate
the foundations of such an analysis. My objective, instead, has been to create the
history of the different modes by which, in our culture, human beings are made
subjects. (Foucault, 1982, p. 208)

1
It does not matter here that the liberal ideal served only as a kind of hypothesis
which had only theoretical importance. The fact is that in both approaches we can find a
similar theoretical construction, based on some essentialist assumptions.
First of all, the issue is not to create an objective and unhistorical
description of power. Foucault is interested in power in so far as it is
connected with the subject, as a technique of objectification. By this
technique he understands a takeover and rationalization of some
unconceptualized field, for example when madness became a subject of
newly emerging sciences (at this time still pseudo-sciences, or types of
knowledge) of psychology and psychiatry in the nineteenth century. We
encounter a similar approach in The Order of Things (1970) where other
objectifications appear, that of Man in language, life, and work (his three
doubles) or in the prisoner or the subject of sexuality in later works. This
understanding stresses the tight connection between the practices of power
and knowledge that Foucault describes by means of the concept of
power/knowledge. The subject plays a double role here: s/he is the product
of historical power relations and, at the same time, the main agent through
whom power gains access to knowledge. This means that there is no one-
directional relation between power and knowledge, but rather that both
elements mutually exchange and support each other.
On the other hand, however, stress should be placed on these modes
by which human beings are made subjects. Foucaults concern is not to
create a general theory of power, but rather to depict the specific and
concrete techniques and practices through which subjects become
subjugated, processes that belong both to the sphere of politics and that of
epistemology. That is why Foucault prefers to refer to his own approach to
power as analytics rather than theory. By analytics Foucault
understands a definition of a specific domain formed by power relations
and a determination of the instruments that will make possible its analysis
(Foucault, 1978, p. 82; compare Foucault, 1980a, p. 199).
These two tendencies are visible throughout Foucaults work: on the one
hand, he seems to be a historian of knowledge in the French meaning of
the word, concerned with a whole set of methodological problems that one
can find in Bachelard or Canguilhem (e.g. the problem of the status of some
sciences, that of historical changes in some of them, or the place of the
subject in analysis); on the other hand, he was very often, and gradually
more and more so, interested in the political dimension of his work, the
consequence of which was placing the concept of power in a significant
theoretical position. A clear picture of this tension in his work is to be
found in his reference to two complementary methods: archeological and
genealogical, where Foucault tries to situate and distribute properly the two
components of analysis, the political and the epistemological. Therefore,
power in his work is not a separate and privileged theoretical problem, but
rather one of several instruments through which analysis of the modes
by which, in our culture, human beings are made subjects is possible
(Foucault, 1982, p. 208).
Lotar Rasiski 123

One of the main arguments of Foucaults account of power is to avoid
something he calls economism in the theory of power. Paradoxically, this
element can be seen not only in Marxism, but also, and perhaps most
importantly, in juridical or liberal conceptions of political power based
on the concept of sovereignty. While in the Marxist tradition the economy
is a historical raison dtre of power, a principle of its functioning, in
liberalism the power is considered to be a right which one is able to possess
like a commodity, and which one can transfer to anybody by some legal act
that we could call a contract. The partial or total cession by an individual
of his/her rights enables the functioning of power and the establishment of
sovereignty. As a consequence, one can say that the basis for the
constitution of political power is a contractual type of exchange, that is
basically an economic relationship (see Foucault, 1980b, p. 88). Foucault
believes that this kind of analysis does not exhaust the multiplicity of power
relations operating in society. And if power is not to be seen as a possession
or a commodity that we can exchange, if it exists only in action, it has to be
seen as a relation of force. Foucault differentiates between two kinds of
analysis of power based on this view: either power is understood as an
organ of repression (repressive hypothesis) or as a relation of struggle,
conflict and war (hypothesis of war) (Foucault, 1980b, p. 90).
It is clear that the concept of repression played a significant role in
Foucaults earlier writings. For instance, the image of the exclusion of
madness and its submission to reason in Madness and Civilization (1965)
has strong Freudian and Hegelian connotations. Either on the
epistemological level, in Descartes reflections on the cogito, or on the
social level, in the whole machinery of confinement of the poor and the lazy
in asylums, we can find a common mechanism of repression described by
Freud in the double play of the conscious and the unconscious. Foucault,
however, has always been diffident of the notion of repression, because it
is quite inadequate for capturing what is precisely the productive aspect of
power (Foucault, 1980c, p. 119). Defining power in terms of repression,
one has to adopt a purely juridical conception of power and identify it
with law understood as a prohibitive force. Foucault finds impossible the
efficiency of such power:

What makes power hold good, what makes it accepted, is simply the fact that it
doesnt only weigh on us as a force that says no, but that it traverses and produces
things, it induces pleasure, forms knowledge, produces discourse. (Foucault, 1980c,
p. 119)

Foucault considers an approach to power based on the relation of struggle
and war in his lectures given at College de France in 1976 (Foucault, 2003).
He proposes a reversal of Clausevitzs assertion that war is politics
continued by other means: politics (power), in his view, is the continuation
of war by other means (Foucault, 2003, p. 48). Historically, Foucault
places the beginnings of this kind of thinking about power in the 17th
century, in the English and French anti-monarchist movements, even if in
both countries they were of a different character.
2
Foucault calls this
discourse about power historico-political in opposition to the philosophico-
juridical discourse of sovereignty. The main characteristic of this discourse
is the assumption that social order, the organization and structure of law,
and the functioning of power are not the consequence of pre-established
consent or contract, but rather they are an effect of mud of the battle
(Foucault, 2003, p. 47). Society, according to Foucault, is based on real
war, permanent and silent, which goes on behind the official declarations of
peace. Everybody is engaged in this war, nobody stays neutral. A binary
structure runs through society (Foucault, 2003, p. 51)Foucault
concludes.

Laclau: hegemony, antagonism, and empty signifiers

Laclaus idea of hegemony stems directly from that branch of Marxism
which rejected economism as the only and the ultimate factor contributing
to social change and highlighted the role of politics, ideology, and culture
as equally important. According to Laclau and Mouffe, the concept of
hegemony was an attempt to supplement the economic logic of necessity
with the political logic of contingency. The need to break the Marxist
iron logic of history appeared in the writings of the late 19
th
and early 20
th

century theoreticians, who recognized that capitalism is not only far from
collapsing, but that it is capable of self-reform in order to avoid the
predicted pauperization and polarization of society, which in turn were
to be followed by a general revolution and a change of the political
constitution. These thinkers started to look for theoretical solutions which
would take into consideration the importance of factors other than
economic for the historical process. Breaking with the explanation of
historical processes which relied on the necessary mechanism of class
struggle made it possible to introduce an element of contingency. Thus,
in the orthodox version of Marxism by Kautsky, intellectuals are to be the
force capable of preventing the fragmentation of the working classes and
the depolarization of the social field, and of restoring the proper direction of
the historical process. For Bernstein, the inventor of revisionism, the social-
democratic party was to be such a factor, while Sorel spoke of the myth of
the general strike. According to Lenin, hegemony meant political
leadership within a broader class alliance, uniting peasants, agricultural

2
In England it was based mainly on the bourgeoisie and peoples revolt against
absolute monarchy; in France the group most opposed to the monarchy was the
aristocracy.
Lotar Rasiski 125

workers and soldiers under the banner of the working class. The most
important issue was no longer the position within the social structure, but
rather the struggle against the common enemythe tsarist regime. The
most complete depiction of hegemony is provided by Gramsci, who
describes it as an ideological struggle of peoples hearts and minds, in
which a new collective identity, or to use Gramscis own words, a new
collective will is constituted. The economic factor becomes for him only
one of the manifestations of the historical process. For Gramsci, such
elements as race or religion are equally important.
3

Laclaus initial philosophical standpoint was close to that of such
theoreticians of Marxism as Althusser, Balibar or Poulantzas. This is clear
from his first work published in 1977, Politics and Ideology in Marxist
Theory (Laclau, 1977), which reveals a strong influence of the French
wave of Marxism of the sixties. However, even this early work contains
elements which herald Laclaus later dismissal of Althusserism and its
structural account of Marxism. The concept of relative autonomy of
superstructure as it was introduced by Althusser and his followers did not
change the traditional concept of economy, which still appeared as an
abstract entity located outside of the society and its relations, i.e. having its
own logic and being apolitical. The main point of disagreement, however,
was class reductionism, which Laclau completely dismissed toward the end
of the 1970s. A clear conclusion of this process was the publication,
together with Chantal Mouffe, of Hegemony and Socialist Strategy (1985).
This work provoked a wave of discussion in the circles of contemporary
Marxists. The opponents most frequently criticized the authors for
undermining Marxisms scientificity and for decreasing the role of the
economy by introducing a new account of historical agency which
undermined the idea of class as the main motor of history. It should be
stressed, however, that the principal arguments of the work were in
agreement with the criticism of Marxism provided not only by the
proponents of neogramscianism, but also by feminists, theoreticians of
culture, and political scientists who were interested in the emergence of
new social movements not directly related to class divisions.
The restoration of Gramscis political thought in Great Britain was
closely connected to the success of Margaret Thatcher and her party in the
general elections of 1979 (and subsequently in 1983 and 1987). This fact
provoked the leftist intellectuals sympathizing with the Labour Party to
revise their approach and beliefs. They realized that it was not a strong
program of economic reforms that decided about Thatchers victory, but
rather the ideological battle over the hearts and minds of the British

3
An excellent review of the genealogy of the concept of hegemony in socialist
tradition is provided by Laclau and Mouffe in Hegemony and Socialist Strategy (1985),
pp. 7-46.
people. Thatcher won not only the ballots of the middle class, but also of a
significant portion of the working class vote. To explain this phenomenon,
many intellectuals returned to Gramsci and his idea of moral-intellectual
reform. The attractiveness of Gramsci, however, was limited by the
essentialist residues, which did not allow him to fully develop a non-
economic theory of hegemonic articulation. One can place Gramsci,
together with Althusser, within the current of Marxist reforms that have
been undertaken from the inside, but which regard the logic of
contingency, as it appears in the theory of hegemony, rather as a
supplement to the general mechanisms of history, which remain unmodified
as such. Laclau and Mouffe assume the task of removing these essentialist
residues, attempting to elaborate on certain Marxist themes and to complete
them by adding elements of social critique developed by poststructuralism.
To put it shortly: their main idea is to make essential an area of
investigation that was previously considered only a supplementary field. To
some degree, Marxism is a starting point for Laclau and Mouffe, but from
their theoretical position a return to Marxism in the classical sense is
impossible.
Laclaus concept of hegemony assumes that the social is a
multidimensional field of antagonistic forces, which is ruled by the logic of
contingency rather than necessity. Similarly to Marxism, social conflict
still plays an important role, but economic conflict has the same status as,
for instance, racial or ideological conflicts. There is no ultimate foundation
of conflict that would be able to polarize the social while producing at the
same time a clear and transparent picture of the social structure. Laclau
rejects the idea of the ultimate conflict, as well as the liberal conception
of the social contract, according to which free individuals conscious of their
rights and interests work to constitute social order by putting a portion of
their rights into the hands of their representative, or to use Hobbes words,
the sovereign. The core of the idea of hegemony lies in the assumption that
such a constituting exchange is impossible. To perform such an act it is
necessary to assume that the subjects participating in it have a pre-
established identity. And this, in turn, results in the theoretical privileging
of some social spheres, those in which these identities could find
grounding.
Instead, Laclau proposes that every process of representation, as the
principle of functioning of democratic societies, understood either liberally
or in the Marxist context, assumes some interference with the identity of the
representative as well as of the represented.

The original gap in the identity of the represented, which needed to be filled by a
supplement contributed by the process of representation, opens an undecidable
movement in two directions that is constitutive and irreducible. There is an
Lotar Rasiski 127

opaqueness, an essential impurity in the process of representation, which is at the
same time its condition of both possibility and impossibility. (Laclau, 1996, p. 98).

The need for representation follows from the fact that the basic identity of
the represented is constituted in a certain place A, but the decisions which
can influence this identity are arrived at in place B. The representative then
inscribes this interest into a complex reality totally different from that in
which it was formulated, while at the same time this interest is transformed
and established anew. The hegemonic dimension of the social is then
contingent enough not to permit the introduction of any privileged position
within the social, while at the same time rejecting any necessity to
complete such an original state of affairs. The political field is a result of
the competition between many various forces, where both the identities and
interests of particular agents are forged. Hence, multiple political alliances
and configurations are possible which in no way reflect the traditional
labels to which we got so used, and which do not fit the political reality.
The goal of hegemony is to transform the demands of some social
groups into universal ones, so that they would be able to encompass as
many particular demands as possible, becoming their representatives. These
universal demands are usually an expression of opposition against some
dominating force that plays the role of a great oppressor, while at the
same time mobilizing and universalizing the demands of particular groups.
That is why Laclau stresses so strongly the agonism of the political
condition. The interests of particular social groups are constituted mostly in
opposition to some dominating political forceat least in the images they
produce, for example, for election purposesa force that is to be seen as a
threat for the other groups, i.e. for the whole community. Any success of
the hegemonic struggle, consisting in the encompassment of the entire field
of particular demands by one of the groups, is followed by the loss of that
specificity which had been the reason for choosing that particular group as a
representative of a broader field of interests. This is because the
achievement of hegemony is related to the simultaneous elimination of the
great oppressor and the assumption of its role by the new hegemonic
group. From this moment the game of hegemony starts again from the
beginning. There is no stable and long-term hegemony; it exists only as a
temporary intervention, as the mobilization of demands against the existing
regime.
Following this description of hegemony and generalizing it, one can say
that the most important dimension of political power is that of the
language/discourse game rather than that of any other social factor. If we
understand discourse as an open theoretical horizon through which the
analysis of the social is possible, and if we assume together with Laclau that
the discursive is a meaningful totality that is not organized around any
original foundation, we can recognize the importance of the symbolic or
rhetorical level within the political sphere. That is why Laclau introduces
the concept of empty signifierssignifiers without signifieds. Empty
signifiers refer to any attempt at encompassing all the differences within a
certain field of meaning; one can say that it is the practice of hegemony in
the kingdom of meaning. This is the case of Saussures idea of language
considered as a closed system. There being a limit to this system is in fact
the condition for its existence and for the process of signification. When
some set of elements is described as a system, it becomes indispensable to
exclude what is not a part of this system. This means constituting an outside
by means of a limitthe borderline where the linguistic passes into the
extra-linguistic. Speaking more generally, in order to exist every system of
signification requires something to limit it, to separate it from what it is not,
to exclude what is its opposite. According to Laclau, the limit of the process
of signification must present an interruption, a breakdown in signification.
Thus we are left with the paradoxical situation that what constitutes the
condition of possibility of a signifying systemits limitsis also what
constitutes its condition of impossibilitya blockage of the continuous
expansion of the process of signification (Laclau, 1996, p. 37).
Turning back to our example of hegemony as an attempt to attain
political power through the mobilization and universalization of particular
demands, we can easily show how empty signifiers are socially
constructed. The existence of a particular struggling group is determined by
the existence of an oppressive groupno matter whether constructed,
imagined, or realthat is its constitutive outside. On the one hand,
abolishing the great oppressor is the main goal mobilizing the oppressed
group into action. On the other hand, the completion of this demand
undermines the very raison d'tre of the group. To use Laclaus words, the
great oppressor is the condition of both possibility and impossibility of
the group.
One can refer to examples of the functioning of empty signifiers
which are closer to our political reality. Any political action aimed at
attaining hegemony is usually connected with the offering of radical
solutions to the undesirable state of affairs. Thus, the aspiring group
describes the world dominated by the great oppressor as untrue or unreal,
and presents its own solution as the only possible alternative. That is why
we hear so often that after elections we will find real freedom or real
justice or equality, etc. These expressions are in fact the best examples of
the functioning of empty signifiers in politics. As we know very well, they
can be used by any political force, whether the right or the left, radicals or
moderates; and they can be filled at any time by another meaning, precisely
because they are essentially empty. Only temporary fixations of their
meaning are possible, and these are historically and politically dependent.
Lotar Rasiski 129

That is why the history of thought knows so many versions of what is good
and what is bad for society, of what is freedom and what is its violation.
Let me summarize in a few points Laclaus view of hegemony, or,
speaking more generally, his view of power.
The main condition of hegemony is the unevenness of power relations
that makes conflict possible. This means that one of the groups competing
in the hegemonic struggle is able to attain superiority over others, to
propose its own demands, and to present oneself as being capable of
representing a universal task.
There is hegemony only if the dichotomy universality/particularity is
superseded; universality exists only if it is incarnated inand subverts
some particularity. Conversely, however, no particularity can become
political without also becoming the locus of universalizing effects.
Hegemony requires the production of empty signifiers which make the
play of the universal and the particular possible, enabling the latter to take
up the representation of the former.
The relation of representation is the condition of the constitution of
social order, and again, of the play between the universal and the particular
(see Laclau, 2000, p. 207).
Let me illustrate this with the example of Laclaus interpretation of
Hobbes idea of the sovereign. According to Hobbes, the therapy for a
malady called the state of nature was power. The establishment of
community and hierarchy was meant to emancipate people from ruinous
equality. Equality embodied extreme disorder, arbitrariness, egoism, and a
permanent possibility of the outbreak of conflict; it was a source of
suffering and menace. Hobbes noticed an essential issue here: the need for
collectivity was due to a lack of order that would be a response to the
inconveniences of the state of nature. The only alternative to the state of
nature could be absolute power concentrated in the hands of the sovereign
as the embodiment of the society as a totality. It was unimportant for
Hobbes whether the ruler represented some special virtues or capabilities.
The ruler was only an actualization of order, a radical alternative to the
disorder of the state of nature.
The Sovereign, the highest and the only power in the community is,
however, nothing but a concentration of forces held by each citizen
individually. In Hobbes opinion, the Sovereign is not a distinct and
independent being. Instead, it is an artificial creature, a kind of totality
which embodies and collects the capacities of individual subjects; it is a
symbol of the unity of a community. As a consequence, the Sovereign must
also embody directly the will of the whole community. On the one hand,
this logical construction does not allow him to operate against the
community, because in this way he would be a threat to himself; on the
other hand, to rebel against the Sovereign is an absurdity, because in
principle the subjects would be rebelling against themselves.
Paradoxically, in this way Hobbes theoretically eliminated power in two
ways. In the state of nature power is distributed evenly among all the
people, which completely eliminates power. Nobody can gain advantage
over anybody else, because every individual is bestowed with the same
capabilities, and therefore with the same ability to rule. We are, however,
dealing with a similar situation when power is absolute, when it is
concentrated in the hands of an artificial creaturethe Leviathanwhich is
nothing but a collection of the capacities of all individuals. We are losing
one essential and indispensable element of the power relation: who is to be
the ruled, when in the process of this quasi-representation the sovereign
directly reflects the will of the individuals? And on the other hand, who is
to be the ruler if the will of the ruled decides everything? Power becomes
impossible in this way, because the community constitutes an absolute
unity. This eliminates the relation of representation, since it requires two
separate subjects and the relation of articulation between them. The radical
universal moment of the constitution of the Sovereign also eliminates the
interplay between the universal and the particular, an interplay which
Laclau considers to be essential for the political. This approach, therefore,
is located directly on the opposite side of the idea of hegemony,
undermining most of its critical assumptions.

Laclau and Foucault: power, discourse, and subject

Let me continue now with a comparison of Laclaus and Foucaults
accounts of power. I will analyze their approaches on the basis of the three
essential axes: power, discourse and subject, which, I argue, cannot
be treated separately.
Let me first briefly address certain issues which do not constitute an
argument, but which show the preliminary difficulties linked to this matter.
The first difference between Laclau and Foucault is of course connected to
the theoretical traditions on which they draw. Foucault insists on pointing
out his own connections to the so called, philosophy of knowledge, of
rationality, and of the concept, reminding the readers that he is the
inheritor of Bachelards and Canguilhems thought, and separates this line
of thinking from philosophy of experience, of meaning, and of the subject
with Sartre and Merleau-Ponty (see Foucault, 1999, p. 466). Laclau,
instead, locates himself in the non-orthodox Marxist tradition led by
Gramsci. The different backgrounds of the two thinkers affect the
objectives they embrace in significant ways. Foucaults goal is rather
theoretical: he tries to show the history of how human beings are
transformed into subjects. In this sense, I would call him rather a historian
Lotar Rasiski 131

of knowledge than a political philosopher. Laclau, on the other hand, sets
an essentially political problem: he wants to rethink the project of the left
in the face of the theoretical as well as practical defeat of Marxism.
The issue here, however, is to find similar modes of thinking about
power in their two approaches. We can attain this only by temporarily
suspending our knowledge of their theoretical location and purposes and by
considering both propositions structurally. We will therefore focus on some
methodological issues, as well as on those descriptive parts of their analyses
which contain their detailed views of the mechanisms of power.
First, it should be mentioned that theory of discourse plays a similar
methodological role in Laclaus and in Foucaults thought: it is a certain
theoretical tool which enables one to analyze political reality. We can find
the roots of the two accounts in poststructuralist revision of Saussures idea
of language. Laclaus concept of discourse shares a series of assumptions
with Derridas or Lacans critique of the structural approach to language,
especially in rejecting the idea of language as a closed system, as well as
the idea of strict isomorphism between the order of the signified and that of
the signifier which stems from Saussures theory. This criticism results in
an account of discourse seen as an open and decentralized signifying field,
where one cannot find any privileged position. The meaning of a sign is
determined rather in terms of the free play of signifiers and their differential
positions, and not as an effect of reference to a stable signified or some
extra-discursive object. Laclau and Mouffe fully agree on this point with
Foucault, and use his expression from Archeology of Knowledge (1972),
regularity in dispersion, to stress the impossibility of any unifying
principle of discourse, except the dispersion itself. In this sense, the
discursive constitutes a domain where we can find specific rules concerning
the functioning of discursive elements, i.e. some regularities which are not
at all limited to language relations. This is stressed by Laclau when he
speaks about the openness of the discursive pointing to its social and
historical character. The determination of meaning depends on the
interference of various dimensions of discourse, including social, political
or economic relations.
Foucault similarly talks about the interdependence of the discursive and
the extradiscursive. The system of discourse formation, for example,
includes not only the relations between different kinds of discourses, but
also the influence of techniques, practices, institutions, or social groups
which play an important role in the constitution of the discursive formation.
The problem, however, lies in Foucaults assigning, to use Dreyfuss and
Rabinows words, a relative autonomy to the discursive, and finally
treating it as a privileged and abstract field of analysis. This is precisely
what Laclau and Mouffe criticize in their work, Hegemony and Socialist
Strategy: Foucault, for example, who has maintained a distinctionin our
opinion inconsistentbetween discursive and non-discursive practices,
attempts to determine the relational totality that founds the regularity of the
dispersions of a discursive formation. But he is only capable of doing this in
terms of a discursive practice (Laclau & Mouffe, 1985, p. 107). We
encounter similar difficulties when we look at Foucaults concept of
statement (lnonc) from the Archeology of Knowledge (1972). Foucault
seems to consider discourse to be a very limited collection of utterances
which have passed the institutional test and which pretend to spell out the
truth and become knowledge. It is obvious that among all speech acts this
kind of statement is quite rare. According to Laclau, on the other hand, the
whole social reality is meaningful in the sense that it can be understood
only through discourse, which for him is a common matrix of both
behavioral and linguistic aspects of social practice. It should be
stressed, however, that both accounts are directed at the same goal at this
point, which is to show the interdependence between the linguistic and the
social or political practices, even though they attempt to achieve this goal in
two different ways. Furthermore, a natural consequence of defending such a
standpoint is to defend also the historical character of discursive formation,
which is a point strongly emphasized both in Laclaus and Foucaults
writings. Foucault writes about historical a priori as a subject of
archeology, and Laclau says that discourse theory can be included into the
transcendental turn in philosophy, but only with the restriction that
discursive a priori forms are historically dependent.
Let us pass now to the concept of power. Laclau, as could already have
been noticed, does not use the word power and prefers to talk about
hegemony. On the one hand, this serves to remind us that his theoretical
project is close to that of Gramsci, according to whom social life and
political activity organize themselves around two overlapping and mutually
dependent dimensions: political and civil societies. Gramscis idea of
intellectual and moral leadership was meant to demonstrate that a
condition for taking over state power was the achievement of hegemony on
the level of private organisms constituting the civil society. That is why
struggling for the hearts and minds of the people was as important as
struggling for economic rights. Laclaus project, as a continuation of this
aspect of Gramscis thought, introduces a much broader concept of power
than what we find in classical accounts, where power is usually strictly
limited to state-legal institutions. In his view, power is exercised on many
different levels within the society, and it cannot be reduced to any particular
source. We find a similar approach in Foucaults depiction of the
microphysics of power. His entire theoretical effort is aimed at replacing
the view that sees power as a one-dimensional and one-directional force
which has its origin in the hands (or perhaps in the head) of the sovereign.
As Foucault puts it: We must eschew the model of Leviathan in the study
Lotar Rasiski 133

of power (Foucault, 1980b, p. 102) and focus on these peripheral
subjects by which power is exercised. That is why Foucault is interested in
analyzing the historical formations of power such as bio-power,
discipline or governmentality. They are all examples of the exercise of
power that surpasses the fabricated manthe State. In Foucault, power
manifests itself not only in the laws and political institutions, but rather in
the whole network of private organisms, to use Gramscis words,
disciplining and controlling the human body by means of families, schools,
asylums, factories, prisons or barracks. In summary, both theories present
power as decentralized and dispersed throughout the whole society, and as
irreducible to the conscious and intentional actions of particular individuals
or institution.
There is, however, another meaning of hegemony which reminds us of
the differences between the two approaches. Laclau inherits also this part of
the hegemonic tradition which is closely connected to the idea of restoration
and reparation of Marxist thought. In this sense, hegemony is a well-
defined political project, with concrete objectives and tasks to perform. Its
theoretical framework allows one to locate the source of domination and
oppression in a certain historical moment, because the construction of
bipolar divisions within the society belongs to the essence of the political-
discursive reality. And finally, the goal of hegemony is always to gain
power over the entire state, while at the same time eliminating the
hegemonic efforts of the oppressed groups. Therefore, one could say that
Laclaus view of power is much more clearly outlined and determined than
that of Foucault. In Foucaults work power circulates freely through the
network of organizations and individuals, and cannot be described at any
moment as a clear bipolar structure.
The role of conflict in both theories is closely linked to the problem of
the range of power. It is precisely a new formulation of the idea of conflict
that allows Laclau to develop a theory of power that is multidimensional
and not limited to any rigid economic divisions. While the cornerstone of
Marxism was the assumption that all conflicts and struggles within the
society have an economic foundation, and that they are essentially reducible
to the fundamental opposition between the working class and the capitalists,
Laclau's understanding of conflict is much more complex and more
sensitive to contemporary social problems. Articulations of hegemonic
efforts are to be found not only in the struggles for economic rights, but
also for racial, ethnic, sexual, gender and other minority rights. What
should be stressed, however, is that conflict in Laclau still plays an essential
role in the constitution of political reality, and it is this broad understanding
of conflict that makes his theory resistant to the traditional criticisms levied
against Marxism. In this context Laclaus ideas clearly refer to Foucaults
project of eschewing the model of Leviathan. One of its main goals is to
avoid economism in thinking about power. The stake here, however, is
not only the elimination of Marxist economism, but also, and perhaps most
importantly, the elimination of a specific liberal or juridical kind of
economism, named by Foucault contractual exchange or legal
transaction, which allows us to make analogies between power and
commodity, or power and wealth. A better alternative to this type of
analysis proposed by Foucault is the hypothesis of war, i.e. an analysis of
power relations in the society in terms of conflict, struggle, and war.
Similarly to Laclau, Foucault differentiates between multiple dimensions of
struggles which run throughout the society:

either against forms of domination (ethnic, social, and religious); against forms of
exploitation which separate individuals from what they produce; or against that
which ties the individual to himself and submits him to others in this way (struggles
against subjection, against forms of subjectivity and submission). (Foucault, 1982,
p. 212)

At this point we encounter the problem which constitutes perhaps the most
important connection between Laclaus and Foucaults theories.
Paradoxically, in both cases the main condition for conflict to break out in
the society is the existence of a free subject, an active and dynamic
participant in power relations. One can say that the relation of power is
essentially the relation of confrontation between two adversaries, but it is a
confrontation which does not paralyze both sides, it is rather a relation
which is at once reciprocal incitement and struggle (see Foucault, 1982, p.
222). This becomes evident in Foucault when he speaks of agonism in
power relations. A similar assumption can also be found in Laclau, who
insist that hegemony consists in the play of the universal and the particular,
this play marking out their conditions of both possibility and impossibility.
Of course, this is not to say that the subject is totally free. This is rather to
say that in both theories the extreme or radical political situations are
rejected. On the one hand, there is no society without power relations, and
then the actions of the subjects are always somehow limited; in this sense,
there is no absolute freedom either. On the other hand, there is no absolute
or full power, such that could determine all actions.
As a consequence, in both theories power is not only a repressive and
prohibitive force, an obstacle to broadening the sphere of freedom, but
rather it becomes a factor essential for the functioning of the society.
Laclaus concept of articulation, meaning any practice establishing a
relation among elements such that their identity is modified as a result
(Laclau & Mouffe, 1985, p. 105) aims to indicate that social relations
inevitably affect the identities of their subjects, constituting new goals,
interests and demands of the particular political agents. And this is also one
of Foucaults main arguments: he considers the subject to be a target of a
Lotar Rasiski 135

series of techniques and procedures directed not only at controlling, but also
at conducting human actions.
To summarize, I am not attempting to say that in the case of Foucaults
idea of power and Laclaus concept of hegemony we are dealing with one
consistent theoretical model of power. One needs to be aware of the
significant differences between these theories, even as to the very concept
of power. Nevertheless, the evident analogies I tried to point out do allow
us, I suppose, to speak of a similar mode of thinking about power, and
this is exactly what I wanted to present.

References

Foucault, M. (1965). Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the
Age of Reason. (R. Howard, Trans.) New York: Pantheon.
Foucault, M. (1970). The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human
Sciences, New York: Pantheon, & London: Tavistock.
Foucault, M. (1972). The Archeology of Knowledge and the Discourse on
Language. (A. M. Sheridan, Trans.). New York: Pantheon.
Foucault, M. (1978). The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1: An Introduction. (R.
Hurley, Trans.). New York: Pantheon.
Foucault, M. (1980). Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other
Writings 1972-1977 C. Gordon, (Ed.). Harvester Press: London, &
Pantheon Books: New York.
Foucault, M. (1980a). The Confession of the Flesh. (C. Gordon, Trans.). In
Foucault, 1980.
Foucault, M. (1980b). Two Lectures. (K. Soper, Trans.). In Foucault, 1980.
Foucault, M. (1980c). Truth and Power. (P. Patton, & M. Morris, Trans.). In
Foucault, 1980.
Foucault, M. (1982). The Subject and Power. In H. L. Dreyfus, & P. K.
Rabinow (Eds.), Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and
Hermeneutics. Harvester: Hemel Hempstead.
Foucault, M. (1988). Technologies of the Self: A Seminar with Michel
Foucault L. H. Martin, H. Gutman, & P. H. Hutton (Eds.). Amherst,
MA: University of Massachusetts Press.
Foucault, M. (1999). Life: Experience and Science. (R. Hurley, Trans.) In
Aesthetics, Method, and Epistemology (Essential Works of Foucault,
1954-1984, Vol. 2) J.D. Faubion (Ed.). New York: The New Press.
Foucault, M. (2003). Society Must Be Defended. Lectures at the Collge the
France 1975-1976. (D. Macey, Trans.). New York: Picador.
Laclau E., & Mouffe Ch. (1985). Hegemony and Socialist Strategy.
Towards a Radical Democratic Politics. New York-London: Verso.
Laclau, E. (1977). Politics and Ideology in Marxist Theory. London: Verso.
Laclau, E. (1996). Emancipation(s). London-New York: Verso.
Laclau, E. (2000). Structure, History, and the Political. In J. Butler, E.
Laclau, & S. iek (Eds.), Contingency, Universality, Contemporary
Dialogues on the Left, London-New York: Verso.

CRITICAL NOTICES
BOOK REVIEWS
NOTES ON BOOKS

Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 139-189.

Critical Notices

Contemporary European Philosophy, After Half-a-
Century

Joseph Agassi
Tel-Aviv University and York University, Toronto

I. M. Bochenski, Contemporary European Philosophy: Philosophies
of Matter, the Idea, Life, Essence, Existence and Being, translated
from the German by D. Nicholl and K. Aschenbrenner, University of
California Press 1956, pp. xi + 326.

I only met Joseph Bochenski once, long ago, during a conference. We
briefly discussed some of his works. Regrettably, my familiarity is limited
to his popular writingson logic and on contemporary philosophy. I find
them admirable, just because they are successful vulgarizations. The
Enlightenment Movement rightly deemed as lasting intellectual assets only
those items accessible to all. This holds particularly true for philosophy,
whose rightful place is the market place, where Socrates of old used to
pester the passers-by. Though he insisted on his right to do so, preferring
death to quitting this vocation, reactionary philosophers have shown disdain
for the common people. Recently their disdain has won a professional
consensus of sorts. The stage of popular philosophy is now almost void.
Much of the void is filled by scrap. This makes Bochenski's contribution
very significant.
I was eager to discuss with Bochenski his distinctive book on
Contemporary European Philosophy. I was struck by his openness. He said
its success had surprised him, as initially it was just a lecture course for
American soldiers stationed in Europe after the War. He admitted he was
not sufficiently prepared for the task. He made extensive revisions,
sincerely embracing criticism and suggestions.
140 Critical NoticesBook ReviewsNotes on Books
The value of a successful vulgarization is lasting: it enters the cultural
heritage, even though it and what it vulgarizes are not immune to
obsolescence, of course; valuable items remain a part of the cultural
heritage even after they are superseded. Bochenski's Contemporary
European Philosophy is one such example: over half-a-century later, it still
challenges. This is a critical view of a significant part of this book followed
by a brief discussion of the basis for its success.
In half-a-century the scenery changes, but schools themselves do not
change that quickly, only their famous leaders do. The knowledgeable may
notice this by taking a glance at the four page long Index of names; others
should skip this paragraph, which is but a comment on that Index. Most of
its items are single entries. Of the most frequently named some serve as
background: St. Thomas, Kant, Hegel, Kierkegaard, and Nietzsche. I
counted 18 of Bochenskis near-contemporaries: Alexander, Bergson,
Blondel, Bradley, Brentano, Carnap, Collingwood, Nicolai Hartmann,
Heidegger, Husserl, James, Jaspers, Marcel, Meinong, Reichenbach,
Rickert, Russell, and Whitehead. Some of them are forgotten; today Frege,
Peirce, Wittgenstein, and Popper would be better noted; Buber, Bunge,
Gadamer, Quine and Rorty would be mentioned as well. (Polanyi too,
whose work is eclipsed by Kuhn's famous wayward version of it.)
The first challenge for a writer of a survey, a task particularly hard in
philosophy, concerns the choice of the framework. A survey of all
frameworks should be modified repeatedly in the light of each of them.
Relativists (Collingwood, Evans-Pritchard, Polanyi, and Kuhn), who insist
that the choice of a framework is arbitrary, have no other option. Not
scientists. Newtonian and Einsteinian mechanics share a framework that
imposes itself on all scientists. Absolutism allows for relative truth (as
Bunge shows), but relativism denies the possibility of absolute truth (denies
even meaning to the very concept). Allowing for significant error leaves
relativism with no merit.
Being a Dominican, Bochenski naturally tended towards Thomism. As
he was not dogmatic, he made the happy choice of an accommodating
framework: it is absolutist about truth and dualist about the mind-body
problem in metaphysics (in a manner less Thomist than Cartesian). This is
no endorsement on my part: though an absolutist, I am no Cartesian. Logic
has pushed out of the arena the very concept of substance or essence;
Cartesian dualism can hardly survive this amputation. Fortunately, this was
not noticed by Bochenski, or else he could not have written this survey.
It is hardly useful to discuss here the contributions of Russell and the
Anglo-American philosophers (this includes the Viennese!). Bochenski
was perceptive in his dismissal of positivism, sensationalism and
pragmatism. Very much interested in modern logic, he nevertheless allotted
it a secondary place, declaring erroneously that it is indifferent to
Critical NoticesBook ReviewsNotes on Books 141
metaphysics. (It should be indifferent to metaphysics, of course, as it should
not adjudicate on disputable matters.) Consequently, logic comes as an
after-thought, as an appendix to the second edition. Bochenskis view as
expressed there is now generally received, though only tacitly. This,
however, has to do more with the politics of the profession than with
historical facts.
Besides the Anglo-Americans, we meet here diverse neo-Kantians and
neo-Hegelians (including Marxists), and historicists of all sorts. By now
these have become marginal or out-of-date; what of their output invited
attention is absorbed into the later part of the book. This part still
challenges, particularly the section on Heidegger, who plays a central role
and wins high praise. Yet when the text is read carefully and taken
seriously, it undermines his philosophy more than any other contemporary
presentation of it
Heidegger declared the essence of Man to be fear [dread, anxiety,
Angst] plus boredom. This is odd. The view of the essence of Man as
(conceptual) thought at least sounds plausible: of all creatures only humans
use abstract language. Thus, in defense of materialism La Mettrie claimed
that in principle computers and monkeys can learn to speak. Right or
wrong, this renders classical metaphysics intelligible. The Marxist view of
the essence of Man as work is similarly understandable if work is
considered broadly. By comparison, modern alternatives look arbitrary. It is
hard to see how to compare rationally the following options as to what the
essence of Man consists in: fear and boredom (Heidegger); fear and nausea
(Sartre); pure fear (Kierkegaard?); dust and ashes (Camus?); wickedness
(traditional religion?); love (traditional religion?); knowledge of good and
evil (Genesis, 2:17); sweet tooth.
Heidegger challenges. Truth is the let-be-of-the-what-is, he says; and
beauty is the let-be-of-the-what-is; hence, he concludes, truth is beauty.
This is odd. The inference is a famous fallacy (a is c and b is c,
therefore, a is b); Heidegger knew that well; his message is not literal, it
baffles. Was it meant to baffle?
Heidegger's fame is now lesser than it was when Bochenski presented it.
The cause of this decline is his wretched personality and the Nazi ingredient
of his philosophy that is nothing if not profoundly and overbearingly
Romantic and militaristic. When Bochenski's book appeared, Heidegger
was the rage; much of the book's value is due to its effort to explain
Heidegger in relatively simple words. Whatever may be said of it, it
displays admirable courage. Perhaps it started the trend away from taking
Heidegger seriously.
Bochenski's first mention of Heidegger is apropos of logical positivism,
where he agrees that Heidegger's famous the Nothing nothings is
meaninglessnot because of any logical analysis like that of Carnap, but
because it baffles. It may then be viewed as meaningful when it is properly
explained. Bochenski takes up the challenge and tries to offer such an
explanation. To the extent that the explanation is not understood, it should
be left and the initial text may be ignored or explained again, in accord with
the rule that one should not try hard to interpret an interpretation. After over
fifty years it is clear: as the task is not likely to be repeated soon, what can
be gained from Bochenski with ease is canonic Heideggermore-or-less.
Bochenski says he finds Heidegger exciting, although he is
exceptionally hard to understand (p. 161): he is an extremely original
thinker (p. 161). His scholarship is great, but it hardly counts, since he
interprets ... in a very arbitrary fashion (p. 161). Some of Bochenski's
accounts are also hard to comprehend. Authoritative commentators declare
his translations of Heidegger's terminology to be only approximate (p. 162,
note). This should do for us here.
So the essential Heidegger is more-or-less this: philosophy is universal
phenomenology proceeding from the hermeneutic of human existence (p.
163). What this means can be unpacked, as Bochenski offers the meanings
of these terms: to understand humans some deep idea is needed, idea about
existence. What this existence is we learn soon (p. 189): What mythical
language calls 'soul,' is called 'existence' in philosophical terminology.
Existentialism is thus idealism in disguise.
Heidegger agrees: the world is made not of things but of tools (p. 164).
It's not that things exist first and only later become useful, but the other way
around (p. 162). This is idealism pure and simple. Since Bochenski is a
confessed realist, he is simply being polite in presenting Heidegger's depth
as that of viewing the world as my dream, in the fashion of Fichte's The
Destiny of Man (1800). Facts, say Fichte and Heidegger, are man-made.
Bochenski presents existentialism as the view that to be free is to be self-
made (p. 160), again much la Fichte's The Destiny of Man. Assuming that
we do craft ourselves (out of what?), does it follow that we can unbind our
fetters? Fichte proclaims that his philosophy makes all fetters vanish. This
is just bragging.
Heidegger perceives that if I create my world, then by itself it does not
exist, and this is dreadful. He fuses this dread with Freudian dread. (He did
not acknowledge this debt himself, but Sartre did.) He translates Freud's
angst, objectless-fear, fear-as-such, into his fear-of-nothingness. Dread is
fear of nothingness, death is nothingness, hence, dread is fear of death. We
have already come across this sort of fallacy. The essence of Man is asking:
What is the essence of Man? This looks different from the claim that the
essence of Man is fear and boredom. No fear. The essence of Man is deep
thinking, and this deep thinking is about nothing, namely, abut death, so the
essence of Man is the fear of death and the boredom associated with it.
True: angst leads to depression and the chief symptom of depression is
boredom.
Some people are full of energy and enthusiasm. Heidegger dismisses
them as despicable pragmatists, as slaves to things (p. 167). Worse:
pragmatism is the worst kind of self-deception, as it rests on fear.
Heidegger calls the one honest with oneself authentic, and the self-deceiver
he calls inauthentic. Self-deception is a big crime. (Sartre says it is the only
crime. Likewise Konrad Lorenz demands in the name of honesty that we
admit our cruelty and jealousy and allow for them.) The authentic are in
agreement with us; the others we must despise and ignore. (This renders
Heideggers philosophy an instance of what Popper calls reinforced
dogmatism.)
Death alone is the end of human existence (p. 167). Fine. Without
death there is no life. Fine. The day-to-day being is untruth (p. 168); it
is nothing (so that ordinary people deserve contempt). To be extra-ordinary
we have to commit ourselves spontaneously to surpass ourselves, to
follow our conscience such as it is; we will thus overcome all sense of guilt
(pp. 168-169). Bochenski could not possibly condone this dismissal of all
guilt. He did not cite Buber on guilt and guilt-feelings because he was
ignorant of Buber, as he frankly admitted to me.
After the presentation of the profound idea that a sense of guilt torments
(pp. 168-169) and the profound conclusion that we should ditch all sense of
guilt, the core of Heidegger's view becomes transparent: it is the
recommendation of resoluteness.
Authentic resoluteness is the opposite of egocentricity, as it is the
readiness to die, to make the supreme sacrifice. This is Heidegger's
celebrated philosophy of [evolutionary] being in time (pp. 169-170): selfish
Man can evolve and develop the readiness for self-sacrifice and heroism.
Query: Can one be resolute even when self-sacrifice is not required? No. As
the famous Fascist slogan goes, Vivere periculoso! Live dangerously! Now
it all ties in: the fear of death prevents people from taking risks and then
they suffer boredom. The cure is resolution, impulsive commitment to a
cause; fighting, literally fightingwith weapons and all. When bullets
whistle, death and boredom are vanquished. Bochenski admits that
Heidegger is difficult to interpret, particularly as he rejected all his
interpreters. Freedom is the ground of the ground; this, says Bochenski, is
the last word of Heidegger's philosophy (p. 172). Freedom to commit
oneself to the lifestyle that Nazism recommends, then.
My presentation of Heidegger has been much too long. Fortunately, I
can quicken my pace, as the part already reported is the heaviest. Sartre,
Marcel and Jaspers follow. I will discuss only Sartre.
Bochenski appreciates Sartre more than Heidegger, as he is less
romantic and more rational (p. 173). This is an unexpected condemnation of
Heidegger. Sartre is a determinist, yet he permits human freedom (p.
175)because we are a universe apart. Hence (!), Man has no fixed
essence; hence (!), human essence is freedom; hence (!), it is the ability to
change (p. 177). Freedom reveals itself in dread; so we seek reassurance
by attempts at domination la Hegel. Thus we are all in permanent conflict
(pp. 178-179): freedom is frustrated. Desperately, then, Man tries to be
God. This is absurd, as Man is essentially imperfect. Existentialism is
nihilist, concludes Bochenski. This applies to Heidegger too, but only
tacitly.
Sartre endorses Heidegger's theory of authenticity with a vengeance: the
only real crime is self-deception. Why is only honesty of real value? Is a
simpleton of common decent inferior to a frankly brutal Nazi? No answer.
Hoodlum philosophy did encourage some Nazis to be proudly brutal. Why
are they better than the simpletons they gleefully murdered? No answer.
As Bochenski was writing his survey, the memory of the shock
connected with the discovery of the Holocaust was still fresh. His
discussion here begins with a presentation of contemporary philosophy as
undergoing a crisis. The first one to view matters in this way was Husserl:
his final, moving study (1936) is of that crisis, presenting it as political.
Husserl and Bochenski shared the minority view of philosophy as always
relevant to ordinary life, and they readily accepted political responsibility
for their actions. Why then did Bochenski dodge this point concerning
Sartre? Because he preferred to hint, to use understatements.
Indeed, the force of his presentation lies in its gentleness. He posed
harsh questions, however gently and tacitly, and then he left them without
answers. He did so with ease, oblivious to recent events and oblivious to
embarrassing philosophical questions, old (what is essence?) and new (what
is being-in-the-world?). Existentialism came and went; but essences are still
with us. What are they?
Preceding the chapter on existentialism is the chapter about essence,
devoted to Husserl and Scheler, but mostly to Husserl. How much of his
idiosyncratic essentialism became generally received?
Husserl is not as unusual as he might seem to be at first, since he is one
of the better known students of Brentano. He attempted to overcome
empiricism, idealism and even conceptualism, (p. 152) not to mention
nominalism and phenomenalism (p. 153). This had a great liberating
force, as he made it possible to recognize other aspects of the spirit,
including emotions (p. 152). He wanted to assume nothing, yet to that end
he did assume the theory of essences, and accepted that essences so
described do exist.
This is puzzling: after all, essentialism is not necessary for Husserls
rejection of all the traditional philosophical doctrines and for his
recognition of emotions. The gain from essentialism, says Bochenski, is
that it places Man in the center (p. 153). Why is this a gain? What if Man is
a marginal thing in God's Universe? And does the assumption that man is
the center of the universe (Aristotle?) burden us with essences?
Husserl put epistemology aside. So did Frege before him. Both
suggested that the question of knowledge be postponed, yet only Husserl
ignored natural science and developed his phenomenology instead. What
was gained thereby? Husserl's new method is for analyzing the essence of
appearances. What did he say this was?
The most basic idea in philosophy is the traditional Greek division of the
universe into appearances and reality, with only the real as fixed and simple
and worthy of our respect and attention. Unlike appearances, essences
belong to reality. Husserl tried to find what is real in the apparent. Does that
make sense? How? This question divides philosophers into those who
admire Husserl and those who ignore him, and it causes the most
embarrassing segregation among philosophers. It is so severe that the very
few that have crossed the line ignore their own past. It is no accident that
the relevant part of Russell's monumental A History of Western Philosophy
of about the same time makes no mention of Husserl.
What can the essence of appearance be? It is what makes an appearance
whatever it happens to be. An appearance and a fantasy of a thing have the
same essence. Since (by definition) appearances vary and essences persist,
the question baffles. Husserl's predecessor, Brentano, opened the way
toward a new attitude to appearance by declaring that since meaning
includes reference, speech cannot avoid some realism. As Husserl spoke of
the sense of appearances, he did not draw on Brentano's insight. It was
exploited by (the later) Wittgenstein and his followers; they made it a basic
tenet of their philosophy. Regrettably, Bochenski says, though Husserl
began as a realist, he ended up an idealist (p. 132). But it is simply not so;
Husserl had hoped that his method would yield realism and he simply
failed. A failed realist is still a realist.
Bochenski praises Husserl for two items (pp. 143-145). First is his
critique of nominalism. This is embarrassing. Tradition provides two
theories of meaning as reference, essentialism and nominalism.
Traditionally, then, criticizing one sufficed as a defense of the other. Only a
conjunction of both critiques transcends the dichotomy. Even that is no
longer needed, as the traditional theory of meaning as reference has already
been transcended by Boole's definition of the empty set; this is a point that
both Frege and Meinong made amply clear. One need not endorse the view
of the meaning of names as long as Frege's refutation of the reference
theory of meaning is accepted (the contrast between contingent sentences
like the evening star is the same as the morning star and necessary
sentences like the morning star is the same as the morning star). The
allegation that Husserl refuted nominalism is thus false and redundant. So is
the allegation that Wittgenstein refuted essentialism. (Those ascribing to
them such achievements display an inability to ascribe to them any new
idea.) Admittedly, nominalism and essentialism are still popular, but this is
another story, partly due to the erroneous identification of today's Platonism
with its pre-Fregean version.
The second praise of Husserl is for his theory of meaning. He endorsed
the inclusion in meaning of both sense and reference (of Frege, who is
overlooked here), and added mental images, propositional attitudes (assent,
doubt, etc.), content, and more (p. 134). Further additions can be made to
the cargo that goes with meaning (Wittgenstein, Austin etc.). But to what
end?
Pure grammar includes but meaning-categories and the relations of the
whole and its parts (p. 135). The idea of meaning-categories has been
severely criticized; it is now advocated only by the essentialist Saul
Kripke,
1
who demands that possible worlds be created by deeming a word a
possible substitute for another if and only if the two belong to the same
meaning-category. The logic of the relations between wholes and parts was
developed by the Polish school of logic (here hardly alluded to) and others,
including Prior and Bunge. It matters little how much it signifies and how
much it owes to Husserl: standard presentations of philosophy and of his
phenomenology ignore it.
Husserl is primarily the inventor of the phenomenological method. It is
the recommendation that all that appears to the mind (fiction included)
should be admitted and elucidated (explicated, to use Carnap's locution).
Husserl hoped that when all possible worlds are clearly described, the true
one will stand out. Kripke, too, admits meaning-categories as intuitions,
saying they are reflected in ordinary parlance; the difference between fact
and fiction he also sees as intuitively given, and he says there is no way but
to trust this intuition. (His version of essentialism is not traditional, as it
takes depictions of essences to be neither definitions nor definite, and hence
not binding. Like Husserl, Kripke sees no way out of the commonsense
view that clear intuitions are usually right.) He is taken to be a follower of
Wittgenstein rather than a synthesizer of Kant, Husserl and Wittgenstein.
This is so due to the politics of the profession and to the fleeting fact that
these days Wittgensteins fans are supposed to possess a smattering of
logic, whereas Husserl's fans can do without it.
Husserl's failure to secure a hold of reality, says Bochenski, led to the
development of existentialism as a theory of being (of the real).
Whitehead's tenet, too, is a theory of being, with Thomism as its
culmination. Whitehead's tenet is called process philosophy: he took
modern physics seriously, concluding that fields of force replace matter,

1
For a detailed discussion of Kripke's work see my (1995).
and as forces are mere potentialities, the actual is a mere potential, if one
may use Aristotle's idiom to restate Whitehead's philosophy. Bochenski
ends his discussion of it by reference to his conception of God, which is the
process variant of Spinozism. Then he moves on to (neo-) Thomism, which
he presents as a theory of being (p. 239), and which he endorses, so that the
story as he presents it is of a line of progress from Husserl to Bochenski.
This is hardly surprising: Hegel was an Aristotelian, and all whom he
influenced suffered the same fate. The ideas presented here as central to
(neo-) Thomism (pp. 239-240) can be viewed as developments from
Aristotle via Hegel, Marx, (Bergson,) Husserl, and Heidegger. Only what
Bochenski says here of the soul and of its duties is under dispute. At the end
of the book Bochenski admits that essentialism suffers severe difficulties,
but he praises it nonetheless, because he greatly values metaphysics and he
sees no better expression of this love than Thomism. Sharing his love of
metaphysics I do not know why he puts it in a Procrustean bed except that it
might be due to his religious affiliation, which I will not discuss.
What, then, is the secret charm of the book? How should it be
appraised? Clearly, the author's bias in favor of metaphysics is one of its
assets, but it is marred by the identification of metaphysics with
essentialism of an unspecified sort. Since it is shared by Aristotelians,
Hegelians, and their later-day heirs, and since this renders them not at all
comprehendible, it is a marvel that Bochenski has succeeded in surveying
them in a manner at least half-understandable to all.
How should one handle a text that one finds not sufficiently
understandable? In answer to this question Wittgenstein suggested the
technique of clarifying a text until it is purged of all metaphysics. This is
now pass; Derrida has insisted that his texts are not understood due to the
fact that much effort is required in order to acquire sufficient background
knowledge to comprehend them. Yet opponents claim to have made such
efforts and to have failed to comprehend him nevertheless. Bochenski offers
a remarkable middle way that sounds almost comprehensible, yet it shows
how much arbitrariness this philosophy still exhibits, and how much of the
critique of essentialism it simply ignores.
Reading Bochenski's book helps to get some general idea of what is
going on and to see the importance of the critique of the classical theory of
meaning understood as reference. The weakest point in Bochenski's book is
his claim that modern logic is irrelevant to metaphysics. He may be right, of
course. But Russell insisted on the claim that modern logic is very relevant
to metaphysics as it grants relations the same kind of reality as properties.
And, right or wrong, Russell is not to be disregarded. Insofar as Bochenski
sees the controversy between nominalism ad essentialism as central to
philosophy, he admits that much of philosophy is stuck. This must be
remedied in the light of Frege's critique of the classical theory of meaning
as reference. There is still no adequate theory of meaning, perhaps, and
Bochenski's mention of the fact that so many logicians are Platonists is
certainly to the point. But there is no return to the old theory of meaning.
This is the moral to be drawn from Bochenski's book, despite his own deep
convictions, and so the book should be updated.

References

Agassi J. (1995). Naming and Necessity: A Second Look, Iyyun, 44,
243-272.


Was Pyrrho the Founder of Skepticism?
2

Renata Ziemiska
University of Szczecin

The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Scepticism. R. Bett (Ed.), New
York: Cambridge University Press 2010, pp. 380+xii, ISBN 780521697545.

The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Scepticism, edited by Richard Bett,
consists of an Introduction and fifteen papers written by international
authors (three of them have been diligently translated into English by the
editor). The volume presents the major figures of ancient skepticism and the
major interpretational problems. Separate papers are devoted to Pyrrho of
Elis (Svavar Hrafn Svavarsson), Arcesilaus and Carneades (Harald
Thorsrud), Aenesidemus (R.J. Hankinson) and Sextus Empiricus (Pierre
Pellegrin). Agrippa seems to be the only missing figure on the list.
Moreover, we can also find a lot of information about the minor figures of
ancient skepticism. Mi-Kyoung Lee presents skeptical ideas in early Greek
philosophy and Carlos Levy writes about the later academic skeptics,
especially Clitomachus, Philo of Larissa and Cicero. Richard Bett in his
Introduction lists the most important problems in interpreting ancient
skepticism: What kinds of belief, if any, are open to a skeptic? Can a
skeptic allow for choice and action and if so, then how? Is skepticism
compatible with an ethical outlook? Is there a real difference between the
Academic and Pyrrhonist varieties of skepticism? Casey Perin takes on the
first one, Katja Maria Vogtthe second, Richard Bettthe third, and
Gisela Strikerthe last one. We also have the next five papers presenting
other important aspects of ancient skepticism. Paul Woodruff writes about
skeptical modes, James Allen about the relation between Pyrrhonism and
medical schools, Emidio Spinelli about the critique of specialized sciences,
Luciano Floridi about the modern rediscovery of ancient skepticism, and
Michael Williams about its Cartesian transformation. The Companion is
very rich in content and very up-to-date, presenting the latest hypotheses.
Here I would like to discuss the problem of Pyrrhos place within the
skeptical tradition.

2
Scientific work supported by the funds for science in years 2009-2011 as a
research project.

I disagree with the initial sentence of the first essay: Scepticism was
first formulated and endorsed by two different schools or groups, the
Academics in the third century BC and the Pyrrhonist skeptics in the first
century BC (Lee, 2010, p. 13). Pyrrho of Elis is passed over in silence. It is
the thesis that Pyrrho was not a declared skeptic and that the first declared
skeptic was Arcesilaus in Platos Academy. Later in Lees essay, Pyrrho is
interpreted as a representative of Cratylus view on the indeterminacy of
nature (Lee, 2010, p. 24). I am not convinced that this interpretation is
correct.
Lees view fits Betts (2003) metaphysical interpretation of Pyrrho as
not being a skeptic at all. Pyrrho declared reality to be inherently
indeterminateIn Sextus own terms; Pyrrho would thus qualify as a
dogmatist rather than as a sceptic (Bett, 2003, p. 4). In his Introduction
to this Companion Bett additionally writes that Pyrrhos influence on
Arcesilaus is debatable:

It has been suggested that Pyrrho was in some way an influence on Arcesilaus,
and this is possible (though neither he nor anyone else in the Academy is
known to have acknowledged it). But Arcesilaus did claim to have learned from
Socrates (Cicero, Acad. 1.45); and certainly Socrates argumentative practice in
many of Platos dialogues could well have served as a model for someone in the
business of constructing sets of opposing arguments, with a view to suspension
of judgment. (Bett, 2010, p. 4)

Also H. Thorsrud in his paper Arcesilaus and Carneades suggests that
Pyrrho is an inspiration for the later Pyrrhonists but not for academic
skepticism. Thorsrud presupposes Arcesilaus tenuous connection with
Pyrrho and claims that Arcesilaus initiated a skeptical phase in the
Academy on the ground of an innovative reading of Platos dialogues
(Thorsrud, 2010, p. 58).
Fortunately, Svavar Hrafn Svavarsson in his paper Pyrrho and Early
Pyrrhonism defends Pyrrhos important position in the history of
skepticism. Svavarsson concedes that Ciceros ignorance of Pyrrho and
Pyrrhonism is problematic.

The ignorance of such a learned man engaged in the history and explication of
scepticism, if not feigned, may indicate the obscurity and perceived
inconsequentiality of Pyrrhos views at the time, a mere curiosity, with little
bearing on scepticism. Ciceros remarks pertain to the Pyrrho who postulated
indifference as an ideal state of mind, with no reference to its epistemic source.
(Svavarsson, 2010, p. 38)

Pyrrho might have been just an icon of indifference for the later Skeptics
when they defended the possibility of life without belief.
Svavarsson provides serious reasons to retain the skeptical reading of
Pyrrho in the canonical testimony of Aristocles in Eusebius (Praep. evang.
14.18, DC 53, LS 1F). He opposes Betts radically objective and
metaphysical reading, according to which Pyrrho claimed that things in
themselves were indeterminate (a kind of dogmatic claim alien to later
Pyrrhonism). After a long list of different attempts at interpreting the
canonical text of Aristocles, Svavarsson's proposal seems very convincing:
Pyrrho does not claim that things are indeterminate, but he claims that we
are not able to decide how things are (Svavarsson 2010, 42). He says that
things are equally indifferentiable (adiaphora) and unmeasurable
(astathmeta) and undecidable (anepikrita) and because of this neither our
perceptions nor opinions tell the truth or lie. This is a subjective reading of
the adiaphora, astathmeta, anepikrita adjectives and an epistemological
reading of the whole passage. It is meaningful (against Bett, 2003, p. 22)
because if things are such that we cannot decide how they are, our
perceptions and opinions have no established value (true or false). On this
conception, if one tells the truth, one gives a true account, an account of the
nature of things (Svavarsson, 2010, p. 45). If we cannot decide how things
are, there is no chance that our perceptions and opinions are true or even
definitely false. They are quite incomparable to things. Pyrrho does not
speak about the nature of things (metaphysical level); he talks about the
insufficiency of our cognitive capacities to capture the nature of things; he
emphasises our inability to decide in the case of conflict of appearances
(epistemological level). This is still a kind of dogmatic claim about our
cognition (Svavarsson, 2010, p. 47), but this particular kind of dogmatism
appears very often among skeptics (for instance in the new Academy).
Pyrrho preserves as fundamental the skeptical insight that one cannot
decide how things are by nature (Svavarsson, 2010, p. 44).
In the Aristocles passage Pyrrho claims that our reaction to the
undecidability of things should be living without opinions (adoxastous) and
simply saying that each thing no more (ou mallon) is than is not or both is
and is not or neither is nor is not. Aphasia as non-assertion in effect
amounts to suspension of judgement Pyrrho neither affirms nor denies
anything, just like Sextus (Svavarsson, 2010, p. 49). This interpretation
places Pyrrho within the skeptical tradition and explains why he was a hero
for the later Pyrrhonists
3
. It also fits in with the testimony of Diogenes
Laertius.
In my opinion, making a strict distinction between metaphysical and
epistemological readings of Pyrrho is somewhat artificial. Bett may have
overestimated Pyrrho's dogmatism at the methaphysical level; after all,
every thesis is dogmatic according to Sextus. The accusation that Pyrrho is

3
Besides metaphysical and epistemological readings, there are also ethical readings
(restricting apatheia to ethical predicates; Hankinson 1995, Decleva Caizzi 1981) and a
theory attributing the epistemological content of Aristocless passage to Timon
(Brunschwig, 1994, p. 211).
a dogmatist may be a typical mistake connected with the language
difficulties of every speaking skeptic. Throughout its history, ancient
skepticism struggled with the charge of negative dogmatism. For instance,
Arcesilaus and Carneades tried to explain how they can be skeptics and live
and philosophize. Despite their explanations, Aenesidemus accused them of
dogmatism and he himself was similarly challenged by Sextus. In modern
reception, Sextus view has been interpreted as a dogmatic thesis that we
have no knowledge and all his subtle explanations were ignored. Pyrrho was
probably no more a dogmatist than other skeptics.
It was courageous of Lee to start her essay with the opinion that
skepticism started in the Academy. Maybe she decided to honor only strong
and direct testimonies like Ciceros works and tried to ignore the later and
less decisive ones like Sextus Empiricuss, the less credible ones like
Diogenes Laertiuss, or third-hand information given by Eusebius. Thorsrud
could be right that we can find a dialectical method (Thorsrud, 2010, p.
59) in Platos dialogues. Socrates unintentionally promotes epoch insofar
as he offers nothing to replace the views he has refuted; he leaves his
interlocutors in a state of aporia, that is, puzzled and uncertain as to what
they should now think (Thorsrud, 2010, pp. 60-61). But we still have
serious reasons to think of Pyrrho as the founder of skepticism.
Sextus Empiricus (PH 1.7; 1.234), as well as Diogenes Laertius (DL 9),
Eusebius following Aristocles and Numenius (LS 1.F; LS 68.F), an
Anonymous commentator on Platos Theaetetus (LS 71.D), Photious
(Library 169b.20) and others present Pyrrho as a skeptic. Timon is said to
have promoted Pyrrho in Athens in Arcesilaus times. Timon was also
acquainted with Lacydes, Arcesilaus pupil. Timon describes Arcesilaus
(DL 4.42) as a vain crowd-pleaser and is annoyed by the Academic
practice of argument contra every thesis, as the basis for suspension of
judgment (LS vol. 1, p.24). However, after Arcesilaus death he actually
praises his philosophy (DL 9.114-115). This testimony confirms that
Arcesilaus knew about Pyrrhos philosophy of suspending judgment and
about his lifestyle without opinion.
Numenius in Eusebius writes that

Arcesilaus stayed faithful to Pyrrho, except for the name, by the denial of
everythingdenied the true, the false and the convincing. Though he might
have been called a Pyrrhonist by reason of his Pyrrhonian features, he allowed
himself to go on being called an Academic. (Prep. Evang. 14.6, LS 68F1-2)

Numenius, as a Platonist from the 2
nd
century AD, is hostile toward
Arcesilaus, but he points to Arcesilaus difficult situation in the Academy
as something that could have prevented him from talking about his
Pyrrhonian inspiration. Also Aristo in Diogenes Laertius describes
Arcesilaus as Plato in front, Pyrrho behind, Diodorus in the middle (DL
4.32, LS 68E2). This description shows Arcesilaus to be neither an idealist
like Plato, nor a serious ethical skeptic like Pyrrho, but a dialectician using
skeptical arguments in the battle against the Stoics.
Arcesilaus had serious reasons to remain silent concerning the
inspiration he drew from Pyrrho: he was in fact obliged to develop Platos
thought, and thus he was ashamed of having such alien inspirations. All
academic skeptics must have been feeling the pressure of a possible
disloyalty to Plato. They had good motivation to leave Pyrrho
unacknowledged and to emphasize their own tradition. It would have been
strange to admit that a poet like Timon or a country philosopher such as
Pyrrho had inspired the leader of a great academy. It was already quite
strange that skeptical views were accepted in a school with such great
traditions. In order to gain acceptance for his philosophy, Arcesilaus had to
show his precursors to be Socrates and Plato.
Differences also existed. Pyrrhos skepticism with gave no reason to
engage in philosophical argument (LS, 446). For him skepticism was a
way of life, but for Arcesilaus it was a method of arguing both sides, a
weapon against the Stoics. The Academy of Plato took a skeptical turn in
direct reaction against the newly-developed and highly optimistic early
Stoic epistemology (Hankinson, 1995, p. 5). This difference explains the
usefulness of the skeptical view for Arcesilaus and the dialectical
interpretation of this skepticism, but it does not preclude Pyrrhonian
inspiration. After disarming the Stoics, the time came also for the
Academics to ask how to live without an opinion. In both cases, skepticism
was leading to the suspension of all assents. Such was the idea of
skepticism before Aenesidemus. Plutarch describes skeptics as the people
who suspend judgment about everything (Plutarch, AC 1120C, LS 68H1).
We may find it problematic that Sextus writes remarkably little about
Pyrrho, mentioning him several times, but with no comment on his
doctrine. Sextus work, meaningfully entitled Outlines of Pyrrhonism,
contains the sentence: Pyrrho appears to us to have attached himself to
skepticism more systematically and conspicuously than anyone before him
(PH 1.7). The phrase appears to us is interpreted as an expression of
distance. But Sextus had some plausible excuses. Several sentences earlier
he declared speaking only about appearances to be a fundamental
principle of his skeptical discourse. He did not have Pyrrhos original texts
and was probably disgusted by Timons poetry, thinking that he quoted
poorly. Timon did give an account of Pyrrhos life, but might have
appeared unreliable about Pyrrhos philosophy. Aenesidemus even
corrected anecdotes about Pyrrhos life (DL 9.62, LS 1.A). Sextus as a
skeptic might have needed to be cautious in ascribing any doctrine to the
father of skepticism. The problem was twofold. Firstly, Sextus had no
beliefs about Pyrrhos view, because he had no beliefs at all. Secondly,
Pyrrho had no doctrine as a skeptic (see Theodosius in DL 9.70). In effect,
when the later Pyrrhonists used Pyrrhos vocabulary such as apatheia,
ataraxia, no more, determining nothing, they were not quoting Timon.
And they probably did not know the Aristocles passage. This shows that
while peripatetic Aristocles was able to summarize Timons texts in one
rational view, Sextus and other later Pyrrhonists were unable to do it
(probably because of Pyrrhos position and their own skepticism).
Cicero is the oldest extant and direct source of ancient skepticism. He
confirms that the memory of Pyrrho was alive in the first-century BC and
confirms also his interest in ethical matters.

For Aristo the highest good is not to be moved to either side in these
[intermediate between virtue and vice] things, which he calls indifference.
Pyrrho, on the other hand, held that a wise man is not even aware of them,
which is called impassivity (apatheia). (Acad.2.130=DC 69A, LS2F)

Pyrrho is presented as an austere moralist, but the passage does not show
him as an important figure in the discussion about suspending judgment.
Cicero does not use the word scepticus, so he has no opportunity to call
him a skeptic. The lack of this concept was for Cicero an obstacle to seeing
skeptics outside of the academy. He could not, of course, say that Pyrrho is
an Academic and he did not have the concept of scepticus. As far as we
know, it was Philo of Alexandria who, in the first century AD, used the
word skeptikoi for the first time (Bett, 2003, p. 148). It would have been
fine if Cicero had written that Pyrrho advised the suspension of judgement.
But Cicero wrote only about indifference and apatheia as the central
concepts of Pyrrhos view. I think that in this he might even be close to the
Aristocles passage. Apatheia is the reaction to problems with determining
things and establishing the truth. The quotations from Timon show that
Pyrrho was interested in epistemology, even if his ethics and lifestyle were
more famous. These epistemological elements could not have been added
by the later Pyrrhonists, because they are quotations from Timon.
Ciceros testimony remains important, however closely it might be
connected with the academic tradition. Cicero, in fact, is not very well
informed about Greek philosophy: He also shows no knowledge whatever
of his rough contemporary Aenesidemus (Bett, 2003, p. 105). He does not
understand Pyrrho, he is a Roman stranger who has had a brief, direct
exposure to the Academy, and he has forensic and political ambitions,
necessarily of a somewhat dilettante nature (Bett, 2003, p. 105). Ciceros
testimony is the oldest important first-hand source, but he represents one
specific tradition. When we move on to other traditions, we can learn about
Pyrrho as a skeptic (Timon, Antigonus, Diogenes Laertius, Sextus,
Numenius in Eusebius). The Peripatetic Aristocles refers to Timons
writings and has no doubt that Pyrrho, not Plato, was the powerful advocate
of skepticism.
According to Lee, early Greek philosophers were not nave about the
possibility of acquiring knowledge. Almost every later skeptical argument
was already in the air then, but no one during this period deliberately
embraced the position that nothing can be known, or argued for suspension
of judgement on all matters (Lee, 2010, p. 33). For instance, in Posterior
Analytics 1.3 Aristotle considers the threat of infinite regress and vicious
circle, but he opposes such ideas, does not think that anyone would be
happy to conclude that nothing can be known; indeed, he doesnt actually
think of it as a philosophical position at all (Lee, 2010, p. 26). Here the
possibility of a skeptical conclusion is rather an opportunity to re-examine
the assumptions. But such a description of the pre-skeptical period does not
suit Pyrrho. Lee writes that Pyrrho just accepted the indeterminacy thesis,
like Cratylus, without making a skeptical declaration (Lee, 2010, pp. 24-
25). In my opinion, such an interpretation does not fit in with our
knowledge of Pyrrhos life. He was famous as a philosopher who overtly
promoted non-assertion. Many anecdotes about Pyrrho show that he treated
indifference very seriously. He was the first strongly declared and
convinced skeptic, as far as we know. He declared himself a skeptic even
more radically than Arcesilaus, who was hidden behind Plato.
The new interpretation is interesting, but it rests on tenuous ground.
Cicero is the oldest source, but not an impartial one. When we follow
Cicero, we get no properanswer to the question: if Pyrrho was not a skeptic
at all, why did Aenesidemus choose Pyrrho as a skeptical hero? It is not
enough to say that the later Pyrrhonists may have harbored negative
emotions toward the Academy. The Peripatetic Aristocles seems to be the
most impartial of all sources, and so his evidence should prevail.
Additionally, Aristocles writes in Eusebius that Pyrrho was a distinctive
representative of skepticism. Pyrrho of Elis was also a powerful advocate
of such a position [that we know nothing] (Praep. Evang. 14.18; DC 53).
Aristocles is hostile to skepticism, but he does admit that Pyrrho was a
special figure in the history of skepticism. Sextus writes similarly: Pyrrho
appears to us to have attached himself to scepticism more systematically
and conspicuously than anyone before him (PH 1.7).

References

Bett, R. (2003). Pyrrho, His Antecedents, and His Legacy. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Brunschwig, J. (1994). Once Again on Eusebius on Aristocles on Timon on
Pyrrho. In Papers in Hellenistic Philosophy (pp. 190-211). Cambridge:
Decleva Caizzi, F. (1981). Pirrone: Testimonianze. Naples: Bibliopolis.
Lee, M.-K. (2010). Antecedents in early Greek philosophy. In Bett, 2010,
pp. 13-35.
Long, A.A, & Sedley, D.N. (2009). The Hellenistic Philosophers. New
York: Cambridge University Press. Vol.1 (LS).
Hankinson, R.J. (1995). The Sceptics. London: Routledge.
Svavarsson, S.H. (2010). Pyrrho and Early Pyrrhonism. In Bett, 2010, pp.
36-57.
Thorsrud, H. (2010). Arcesilaus and Carneades. In Bett, 2010, pp. 58-80.

Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 157-189.

Book Reviews

M. P. Lynch, Truth as One and Many, Oxford: Oxford University
Press 2009, pp. 192, ISBN 0199218730.

Lynch has written a clear, accessible, and philosophically rich book that
draws on and ultimately moves beyond his previously published work on
truth. The view that emerges, alethic functionalism, has as its core tenet the
claim that a proposition is true only in case it has a property that plays the
truth-role. This specification, functionalist in character, leaves open the
possibilityendorsed by Lynchthat more than one property can play that
role. In order for a property to play the truth-role it must possess the truish
features, features picked out by our core folk truisms about truth.
The first chapter tells us the conditions under which a theory is a theory
of truth and, in so doing, sets out the truisms about truth. Truisms tell us a
thing's or a propertys nominal essence, which is just to say that the truisms
tell us our folk concept of it (p. 7). In order to count as a theory of truth, a
theory must not only incorporate the truisms, it must also explain them or,
in the case of those that they do not incorporate, explain them away (p. 18,
emphasis in original). The core truisms are an epistemically more
heavily weighted subset of our folk preconceptions about truth. They
include Objectivity: The belief that p is true if, and only if, with respect to
the belief that p, things are as they are believed to be (p. 8), Norm of
Belief: It is prima facie correct to believe that p if and only if the
proposition that p is true (p. 10), and End of Inquiry: Other things being
equal, true beliefs are a worthy goal of inquiry (p. 12). Although no single
truism, core or otherwise, is sacrosanct, denying too many of them,
especially too many of the core truisms, implies that one has changed the
subject. Having a set of core truisms keeps us on target; having that set be
somewhat fluid avoids begging the question.
The next two chapters make up two horns of a dilemma. Adopt a
monistic theory of truth, such as classical correspondence or contemporary
representationalism, and you face the difficulties presented in Chapter 2.
Respond to these challenges by adopting a pluralist truth theory, and you
face the difficulties presented in Chapter 3. The key ideas for
representationalism, according to Lynch, are the adoption of Tarskian
machinery, according to which the truth of complex expressions is
recursively defined in terms of basic constituents and the denotation
relation, and the analysis of denotation in causal or teleological terms. This
view fares well when the relata standing in the denotation relation to the
basic lexical items are existing, mind-independent objects, such as hats and
hammers. When the view is extended to other objects, the problem of
scope arises (p. 32ff). What do causal correspondence theorists make of
truths about numbers or about moral properties? The domain where
representationalism works best is limited in scope.
Lynch also considers antirepresentational theories according to which
truth is characterized in terms of warrant (or superwarrant, or
supercoherence) and ideal epistemic circumstances (p. 38). These positions
seem plausible in the case of truths about humor or legal truths. It does
seem wrong to suggest that something is funny even though no one will
ever be warranted in believing it is. Humor is epistemically constrained.
When we think of epistemic constraints into other domains, the scope
problem arises again. Surely, one might think, writes Lynch, there are at
least some truthsperhaps about the distant past, or far side of the
universe, or the number of stars right now, for which no evidence will ever
be available in principle (p. 43). Believing in antirepresentational views
seems to rule this out. The situations of both the representationalist and the
antirepresentationalist are parallel. Either admit an unintuitive consequence
or admit restricted scope.
The scope problem is a problem, however, only on the assumption that
the property targeted by the theorycausal responsiveness, biological
function, warrant, coherence, etc.is the only candidate that can carry the
explanatory weight. What if a plurality of properties were in play? Would a
plurality of properties help explain the apparent diversity of intentional
content, some of which is best regarded as being mind-independent and
other of which is not? This is the suggestion of pluralists and it is to this
suggestion that Lynch turns in Chapter 3.
If the requirements on a theorys counting as a theory of truth cannot be
satisfied globally, then perhaps they can be satisfied locally. It is instructive
to consider the first pass at this idea, namely, Simple Alethic Pluralism
(SAP) (p. 54). SAP is the idea that there are several truth concepts, each of
which picks out one of several truth properties. Such a view faces numerous
difficulties, argues Lynch. For instance, what is the Simple Alethic Pluralist
to make of compound propositions such as the proposition that murder is
wrong and two and two make four (p. 56)? Suppose propositions of
mathematics are true
1
and propositions of morality are true
2
. In what sense
is the conjunction true? If it is true in one particular sense, then it looks like
our concept of truth is univocal after all. If it is not true in one particular
way, then the alethic pluralist will have to explain it in a non-standard way.
These problems suggest, writes Lynch,

that any coherent pluralism about truth must stop short of saying that the
truth-predicate expresses completely different concepts across domains. If we
are to be pluralists, we need a unifying explanation of the different types of
truthan explanation that nonetheless leaves room for truth to be plural in
some significant sense, that allows truth to be many but one. (p. 59)

Chapter 4, Truth as One and Many, contains Lynchs proposal that
attempts to unify the different types of truth in a way that accounts both for
the unity of our intentional content as well as for its diversity. Recall the
truisms from earlier. These are used to specify truths job description, a
theoretical structure characterizing the relationships between true
propositions and propositions with other properties like warrant and belief
(p. 71). The features specified by the truisms are the truish features and,
when had by propositions of various domain, they manifest truth for that
domain. Manifestation is similar to the determinable/determinate relation.
When a property manifests truth, it will be a priori that the truish features
are a subset of the manifesting propertys features. Owing to the fact that
different properties can in principle manifest truth, this position promises to
avoid the problems affecting both traditional monisms as well as those
facing simple alethic pluralism. Truth is many and one.
A key move motivating the current proposal over its previous
incarnations occurs in Chapter 3 (p. 64-65) and is mentioned again in
Chapter 4 (p. 73). Lynch is considering the view of Crispin Wright, who
holds that a priori principles or platitudes specify one concept of truth, but
that the property realizing it can vary from discourse to discourse. Might
this view survive the challenges besetting SAP? Might it specify something
that all true propositions have in common, that can be preserved in valid
inference, etc.? There is admittedly no single property of truth, on this view.
Lynch nevertheless considers a response on behalf of Wright. Might all true
propositions share the admittedly thin property of falling under the concept
of truth (pp. 64-5)? This amounts to saying that all true propositions
have the property of having some property that is distinct from warrant,
possessed by asserted propositions, etc. (p. 64, emphasis in original). To
get this step, Lynch reasons thus:

[I]f every true proposition has some property that has certain features, then
there is something that every true proposition has in common. And if they all
have something in common, then they share a property. What property? The
property of having some property that has the relevant features. (p. 64)

Lynch points out, correctly, that the property of having a property that
falls under the descriptive concept of truth, doesnt itself fall under that
description (p. 64). Hence, it isnt truth. So if on the amended account it is
what valid inference preserves and what all true propositions have in
common, etc., then the amended account fails because what valid inferences
preserve is not truth.
The charge here is that the pluralist has changed the subject. To an
extent, this is correct. If truth satisfies the descriptive content of truth but
this new property, truth*, does not, then truth truth*. As Lynch showed,
however, from the fact that a proposition is true we can conclude that it is
true*, because all true propositions have the property of having some
property that plays the truth role. But does the inference work in reverse?
Yes.

(a) Suppose a proposition, <A>, has the property of having some
property that satisfies the descriptive content of truth.
(b) If <A> has the property of having some property that satisfies the
descriptive content of truth, then it has a property that satisfies the
descriptive content of truth.
(c) <A> has a property that satisfies the descriptive content of truth.
(d) Truth satisfies the descriptive content of truth.
(e) <A> is true.

If this is right, then the fact that valid inferences preserve Truth* still tells
us something very valuable. Let an argument be valid* only in the case it is
impossible for its premises to be true* and its conclusion false*. Let a
proposition be false* only in the case it isnt true*. Now

(i) Suppose argument A is valid* and has all true* premises.
(ii) Argument A has a true* conclusion. (from (i) and definition of
validity*)
(iii) Argument A has a true conclusion (from (ii) and (a)(e))

The pluralist who has accepted Lynchs possible suggestion on Wrights
behalf can still countenance all the inferences of classical first-order logic.
Mixed-compounds could be handled the same way. To this end, it satisfies
the weak grounding principle of Chapter 5s discussion of compound
propositions. There it was granted that whats right about recursive
accounts of truth for compound propositions is that there can be no change
in the truth-value of a compound proposition without change in the truth-
value of some atomic propositions (p. 90).
One issue raised in Chapter 4 received little attention, namely, the issue
of mixed atomic propositions. Lynch himself mentions The number
seventeen is beautiful (p. 79). According to Lynch, what distinguishes
propositions from one another is the kind of concepts that compose them;
he maintains that belonging to a particular domain is a feature of an atomic
proposition (p. 80). Nonetheless, Lynch later writes, a claim, even
suitably disambiguated, may express an atomic proposition that is neither
determinately a member of one domain nor another. In such a case we shall
say that its truth is similarly indeterminate (p. 81). Presumably, this applies
to Lynchs own example. Hence its truth is indeterminate. The motivation
for this concession seems to be the claim that if we take propositions
instead to be domain-independent, then we can no longer saythat kinds of
propositions are individuated by the distinct types of propositions and
concepts that compose them (p. 81-82). Exactly why is unclear.
Chapters 5 and 6 are elaborations of alethic functionalism. The former
tackles the thorny issue of alethic functionalisms implications for logic,
while the latter contrasts the explanatory power of alethic functionalism
with the relative explanatory poverty of deflationism. Chapter 7,
Expanding the View: Semantic Functionalism, examines how a
functionalist about truth might take on other areas of philosophical interest,
for example, semantic content, and concludes that alethic functionalism is
consistent with semantic functionalism, according to which semantic
concepts comprise a functional network and whose semantic properties
are open to plural manifestation. Chapter 8, Applying the View: Moral
Truth, turns to one of the more problematic issues within theorizing about
truth and the nature of objectivity, namely, morality.
Truth as One and Many is an impressive contribution to the
contemporary discussion on truth and related issues, and it self-consciously
leaves much room for discovery in how truth manifests itself across the
spectrum of our thought (p. 192). I recommend it highly to anyone
interested in philosophys most fundamental issues.

Michael Horton
University of Kentucky

The Courage of Doing Philosophy: Essays Presented to Leszek
Nowak, J. Brzeziski, A. Klawiter, T.A.F. Kuipers, K. astowski, K.
Paprzycka and P. Przybysz (Eds.), Amsterdam-New York, NY:
Rodopi B.V. 2007, pp. 471, ISBN 90-420-2336-8.

The book The Courage of Doing Philosophy: Essays Presented to Leszek
Nowak is a collection of articles dedicated to one of the most eminent
Polish philosophers of the second half of the twentieth centuryProfessor
Leszek Nowak, who celebrated his sixtieth birthday in 2003. Following the
Introduction by Klawiter and astowski, and a list of Nowaks most
important publications (including his books), the book contains three
sections entitled respectively Science and Idealization, Science and
Ontology, and Science, Philosophy and Values.
Considering Nowaks scholarly activity, the thematic scope of the
articles included in this collective work shows that Nowaks theoretical
propositions constitute a rich source of inspiration for philosophers
specializing in various philosophical disciplines. There are indeed few areas
of philosophical reflection which would be entirely free from the impact of
Nowaks original thought and would not embrace at least some elements of
his theoretical approach to a given philosophical problem.
Leszek Nowak, who is best known for his philosophical activity in the
field of methodology as the main co-founder of the idealizational
conception of science, has formulated also other original theoretical
conceptions: the concept of an ideal legislator, an adaptational
interpretation of historical materialism, a non-Marxian historical
materialism, a non-Christian model of man, and a negativist unitarian
metaphysics.
Notwithstanding the fact that the presentation of philosophical problems
and the formulation of these problems theoretically possible accounts are
in the case of this thinker particularly original, Nowaks approach to
philosophy (metaphilosophy) is largely related to the most eminent
intellectual formation in the history of Polish philosophy: the Lvov-Warsaw
School. Started by Kazimierz Twardowski in 1895 and vigorously active
until the beginning of World War II, the Lvov-Warsaw School constituted a
unified philosophical camp precisely because of the metaphilosophical
principles introduced by its founder. A prerequisite for a full understanding
of Nowaks intellectual output is becoming acquainted with his main
metaphilosophical assumptions, whichbecause of their dispersion in
various publicationswill be here collected and outlined.
Of paramount importance is the fact that Nowaks entire scholarly
output has been developed in the spirit of analytical philosophy. His
principles of philosophizing in a clear style and of using a formal apparatus
to reach this clarity and precision are what makes it possible to consider the
author of non-Marxian historical materialism an analytical philosopher. All
these principles are directly related to the postulates which Twardowski
started to introduce and pass on to his students after becoming Chair of
Philosophy at Lvov University in 1895. It is enough to refer to the works of
such eminent students of Twardowski as Jan ukasiewicz, Stanisaw
Leniewski or Kazimierz Ajdukiewicz to see not only that the students
thoroughly absorbed the metaphilosophical postulates of the founder of the
Lvov-Warsaw School, but also that they went on to develop the research on
the formal apparatus in order to realize these postulates. It is because of the
existence of this tradition that one would search in vain in Nowaks
writings for any lack of probity of thinking (stressed repeatedly by
Twardowski), and this regards Nowak's clarity and precision both in
formulating philosophical problems and in justifying ones claims.
These principles are also respected in the newest philosophical theory of
the author of Being and Thoughthis negativist unitarian metaphysics.
This proposition is a fulfillment of the analytical postulate concerning the
unambiguity of concepts in a core area of philosophy. Unitarian
metaphysics is a proof that those philosophical problems traditionally
classified as belonging to metaphysics can be approached in an analytical
manner and can be an object of scientific philosophy in the modern sense.
Also in this respect Nowaks metaphilosophy agrees with that of the
representatives of the Lvov-Warsaw School. For this School was not anti-
metaphysical, even if this feature has been commonly attributed to it on the
basis of the convenienteven if, from the historical point of view,
misleadingmyth that the Lvov-Warsaw School was a Polish
neopositivism. On the other hand, the unitarian metaphysics formulated in
the several volumes of Being and Thought is based on a rejection of the
postulate of minimalism in philosophy; a postulate which was respected by
the representatives of the Lvov-Warsaw School. Still, Nowak's introduction
of the assumption of systemicity seems to be a more consistent application
of the analytic style of philosophizing to metaphysical problems. In this
approach metaphysics should provide the richest possible non-contradictory
conceptual apparatusan apparatus which will make it possible to
formulate precisely and, above all, unambiguously the definitions of the
basic ontological and metaphysical categories, as well as systemic
statements. The analysis of particular metaphysical problems (that is,
constructing metaphysical theories), valuable in itself for the explication of
these problems it provides, cannot eventually lead to a systemtheories
can at best constitute an aggregate, but not a system.
Another assumption determining the overall character of Leszek
Nowaks scholarly output is his conviction that a philosopher should try out
paths of thought that are alternative to the commonsensical ones. This
conviction has its roots in the cultural role of philosophy, which consists in
providing alternative intelligible images of the world, including images of
the actual world (and in the case of metaphysicsimages of being as a
whole).
This part of Nowaks metaphilosophy is reflected on in Katarzyna
Paprzyckas article On Willfully Contrarious Beliefs, placed in the
section Science, Philosophy and Values. Swimming against the current,
understood as maintaining methodologically nonstandard beliefs, is an
expression of breaking culturally accepted norms in research practice
(especially in philosophy), norms behind which there hide beliefs of a
conformist nature. If it is assumed that the inclination to conformism,
stemming from the herd-nature of human beings, is the main obstacle in the
search for truth, then contrarious beliefs play a key role in theoretical work,
especially in philosophy.
Assuming the theoretical importance of contrarious beliefs should not be
mistaken for indicating the beliefs preferred by the author of Being and
Thought, that is, for propagating a certain worldview. One of his major
assumptions, again rooted in Twardowskis metaphilosophical views, is that
it is necessary to radically differentiate between philosophy and worldview.
This demarcation, of course, is not meant to deny that having a worldview
is important for human beingsthe aim is to maintain an attitude of non-
intervention, in which the worldview is not mixed with philosophy if the
latter is to be understood as a science.
To bring this outline of Nowaks philosophy to an end, it seems fitting to
point to an article of another eminent Polish philosopher, the author of the
Primitive Theory of Being, Professor Jerzy Perzanowski, which is entitled
In Praise of Philosophy and is also placed in the section Science,
Philosophy and Values. In this article the author presents a number of
suppositions of a metaphilosophical nature, indicating what procedure
within scientific philosophy leads to rational, holistic and ultimately true
philosophical ideas. What radically distinguishes these two thinkers is their
attitude toward the question of epistemological certainty of
metaphilosophical judgmentsaccording to Perzanowski this is
unquestionable; according to Nowak, the metaphysical level is at most a
collection of hypotheses.
The section Science, Philosophy and Values comprises a number of
articles raising such issues as lies (Max Urchs, On the Structure of
Deceptive Speech Acts: Lying as an Element of Communication), love
(Roman Kubicki, Love: In the Search for the First Philosophy),
worldview (Bert Hamming, Is the Enlightened Worldview on Retreat),
and the philosophy of sport (Martti Kuokkanen, Boxing and Violence),
which do not relate directly to the theories formulated by LeszekNowak.
Out of all his theoretical propositions, the one that is most widely
undertaken and discussed in this volume is his idealizational conception of
science. Its formulation originated in Nowak's research into the
methodological aspect of Karl Marxs Capital. He demonstrated that the
idealization used by Marx was a procedure analogous to that used by
Galileoin consequence, it can be claimed the natural sciences and the
social sciences use the same research method. The idealizational conception
of science, developed for many years by Nowak and a wide group of
collaborators, has become a serious and widely elaborated alternative to
Popperian hypothetism.
The section Science and Idealization comprises articles that are
variously related to the idealizational conception of science.
Theo A.F. Kuiperss article On Two Types of Idealization and
Concretization: The Case of Truth Approximation, based on his (2000)
book From Instrumentalism to Constructive Realism, is a survey of the
idealizational and concretizing properties of the qualitative and structuralist
theory of truth approximation. It explicates concepts that are of key
importance for this theory, such as confirmation, empirical progress,
truthlikeness, and the relations between them. The intuition of cognitive
efficiency (success intuition) speaks about the relation between empirical
progress and truthlikeness, while the idealization and concretization
intuition establishes a correlation between the empirical idealizational-
concretizing method and the process of truth approximation; both intuitions
are the main criteria of adequacy for the explication of the appropriate
concepts. In the final part of the article the author outlines the
epistemological position that he prefers: that of constructive realism, which
allows for truth approximation and isas he maintainsa concretization of
constructive empirism which considers all non-logical terms to be
observational ones.
In the article Idealization, Counterfactuals, and Truthlikeness Ilkka
Niiniluoto discusses the consequences of approaching idealizational
statements as counterfactual conditionals with a different level of truth-
value within the semantics of David Lewiss possible worlds. Against this
background the author discusses Nowaks views concerning the ontological
foundations of idealization, juxtaposing them with Lewiss ontology of
possible worlds. In doing so, Niiniluoto points to the fact that Nowaks
possible worlds (including the ideal ones), as well as the concept of truth,
may be explicated in terms of Alfred Tarskis model theory. Niiniluoto
analyzes also the concepts of truthlikeness (the level of truthlikeness of a
theory or a statement refers to the proximity to a target t adopted within the
conceptual framework L) and lawlikeness, discussing at the same time the
possible application of lawlikeness to counterfactual conditionals.
R. F. Hendry and Stathis Psillos in the article How to Do Things with
Theories: An Interactive View of Language and Models in Science attempt
to demonstrate which approach to scientific theories is the proper one.
Linguistic (syntactic) conceptions, in which theories are identified with
languages, and non-linguistic conceptions, in which theories are identified
with models, can be formulated in strong or weak versions. The authors
suggest an interactive approach, comprising the weak versions of the
linguistic and non-linguistic conceptions. This approach makes it possible
first of all to explicate in what ways theories represent the world.
Izabella Nowakowas article The Method of Ideal Types versus the
Method of Idealization juxtaposes systematically the Weberian method of
ideal types, in C.G. Hempel and P. Oppenheims explication, with the
Hegelian-Marxian method of idealization/concretization. The central issue
is the possibility of reconstructing one approach within the conceptual
apparatus of the other. As the author demonstrates, the method of ideal
types can be reconstructed within the conceptual apparatus of the method of
idealization, but not vice versa.
Igor Nanzel in his article Leszek Nowak on Scientific Laws and
Scientific Explanation outlines C.G. Hempel and P. Oppenheims
nomologic-deductive model and points to its limitations and to the way in
which the idealizational conception of science makes it possible to
overcome these limitations.
In the article Synthetic and Neutralist Theory of Evolution: The Issue
of Methodological Correlations Michael J. Shaffer points out the great
importance of Nowaks detailed study of the concept of idealization for the
analytical philosophy of science. At the same time, the author agrees with
Niiniluotos criticism concerning the logical problems which the
idealizational conception of science faces, carries out a critical analysis of
Nowaks response to Niiniluotos charges, and then explicates some
consequences of this criticism.
In the article Synthetic and Neutralist Theory of Evolution: The Issue
of Methodological Correlations Krzysztof astowski carries out a
theoretical and methodological analysis of the theory of natural selection
(TNS), the synthetic theory of evolution (STE), the neutralist theory of
evolution (NTE), the selectionist theory of molecular evolution (SelTME),
and the synthetic theory of molecular evolution (STEM). He also confronts
the synthetic theory of evolution with M. Kimuras neutralist theory of
evolution, approaching both as idealizational theories. An analysis of
theselected approaches to evolution and of the relations among them
enables the author to demonstrate, among other things, that Kimuras
neutralist theory of molecular evolution remains in the methodological
relation of refutation with the synthetic theory of evolution, which is in turn
in the relation of dialectical correspondence with the theory of natural
selection. For this reason, Kimuras theory should be regarded as non-
Darwinian, and not anti-Darwinian.
Adolfo Garcia de la Sienra, in the article entitled Idealization in the
Labor Theory of Value, analyzes the foundations of the labor theory of
value from the perspective of the concept of idealization,.He does so on the
basis of the issue of idealization in economy as it was elaborated by Uskali
Mki.
Evandro Agazzi in the article Idealization, Intellectual Intuition,
Interpretation, and Ontology in Science (published in the Science and
Ontology section) focuses on highlighting and briefly explicating the
concepts that are fundamental for the theory of idealization, i.e. abstraction,
idealization, gradual concretization and others, and then juxtaposes them
with concepts from the epistemology of science that he has been developing
for years.
The first two articles from the section Science and Ontology take a look
at the idealizational conception of science from the ontological perspective.
The metaphysical foundation for the idealizational conception of science is
the thesis of metaphysical essentialism, which points to a differentiation of
reality in terms of essentiality. Reflecting on idealization led Nowak to
formulate a radical metaphysical position called supra-realism, which
advocates a pluralism of worlds in the strong sense (Nowaks realism is a
radicalization of Lewiss possibilism), that is their ontological and
metaphysical independence in relation to the actual world. As consequence
of this view, idealizational procedures are treated as true descriptions of
some existing worlds which are radically different from the actual world.
The special status of idealization as a deformation procedure leading to the
question of negativity and the position of supra-realism are the two major
ideas explicated within negativist unitarian metaphysics.
In the article Model Construction, Idealization, and Scientific
Ontology, C. Ulises Moulines takes on the question of idealization from
the ontological perspective. He does this by indicating, to use Quines
language, what constitutes and what the conditions are for, an ontological
commitment of scientific theories. Additionally, in the first part of the
article C. Ulises Moulines outlines the basic disagreements between himself
and Nowak. These concern a methodological questionaccording to the
author, idealization has more to do with a model than with law-like
statements; a metaphysical questionthere is no reason to assume that
essentialism is the right metaphysical foundation for science; and the
question of the status of approximation and its relation to idealization.
Also Thomas Mormanns article, Representations, Possible Worlds,
and the Idealizational Approach to Science, undertakes to investigate the
ontological foundations of the idealizational conception of science.
According to this author, it is not Nowaks modal supra-realism, but the
combinatorial/representational theory of modality, whose main
representative is D. M. Armstrong, that is the position which properly
grounds the idealizational conception of science. In Mormanns view, both
in Armstrongs position and in the idealizational conception of science a
key role is played by the concept of representational construction. In
addition, the author maintains that the possible worlds of the combinatorial
approach and the idealized worlds of the idealizational conception of
science have their foundation in the actual world, which disagrees with the
position of supra-realism.
Another of Nowaks important theories was non-Marxian historical
materialism, published finally in 1991 in the three volumes of the book U
podstaw teorii socjalizmu [Foundations of the Theory of Socialism]. The
inspiration for this theory was provided by the limitations of Marxian
historical materialism (such as the narrowing down of the explanatory
power of this theory to class societies and taking into consideration only the
economic factor). Leszek Nowaks major contribution was to point out the
great role of political and cultural (spiritual) factors, in addition to the
economic ones.
Krzysztof Brzechczyns article On the Application of the Non-Marxian
Historical Materialism to the Development of Non-European Societies,
published in the section Science and Idealization, is the only one in this
collection to refer to Nowaks social theory. Non-Marxian historical
materialism was developed with a view to applying it to the developmental
phenomena of European societies. Yet Nowak and Paprzycka have
suggested that the framework of non-Marxian historical materialism can
also be used to explain such phenomena in Third World countries (see
Paprzycka & Nowak, 1989). In Brzechczyns view, this approach is too
narrow for the purpose: it does not adequately account for developmental
processes of non-European countries. To overcome this shortcoming, the
author presents an expanded typology of societies within the framework of
non-Marxian historical materialism. The typology comprises eighteen types
of societies determining eighteen lines of development. The proposed
typology of societies reveals an area of theoretical gaps in the original
version of Nowaks social theory, indicating at the same time the need to
develop this theory further. This task has been undertaken by Brzechczyn
himself: in one of his studies he analyzes the development of the Mexican
society from the pre-Columbian Aztec period, through the times of Spanish
colonialism, up until the period of the independent Mexican state.
Nowaks latest theoretical proposition, which he has been
conceptualizing for a dozen years or so, is negativist unitarian metaphysics.
The theory so far has been published in the three volumes of the book Being
and Thought, but the authors intention is that the whole conception be
covered in four volumes.
4
Unitarian metaphysics is on the one hand related
to the tradition of such large (holistic) metaphysical systems as the
Plotinian, Leibnizian or Hegelian ones, and on the other to the analytical
style of philosophizing. The main ideas of this system include: attributivism
(the ontological foundation of the world is constituted by simple and
autonomous attributes); negativism (attributes, in addition to positive
values, can also adopt neutral or negative values); pluralism (in the
ontological universe a plurality of worlds is admitted); and unitarism
(unitarian metaphysics attempts to reveal a common foundation for various
types of being). It is important to point out the methodological side of this
theory: the method according to which metaphysical and ontological
categories are conceptualizedand one which corresponds at the same time

4
Among L. Nowaks articles which present selected ideas of negativist unitarian
metaphysics in English there are Nowak, 1991 and Nowak, 1997.
to the order of the presentationis the method of idealization and
concretization. However, in order to compare metaphysical systems the
paraphrase method, formulated by Kazimerz Ajdukiewicz, is used. These
ideas, combined with Nowaks metaphilosophy, make it possible to regard
negativist unitarian metaphysics as a very original, radical and novel
theoretical proposition.
Piotr Przybysz, in the article What Does to Be Mean in Leszek
Nowaks Conception of Unitarian Metaphysics? published in the Science
and Ontology section, presents the basic ideas and concepts of negativist
unitarian metaphysics. Reconstructing the basic metaphilosophical theses
characteristic for modern analytical metaphysics, the author demonstrates
that they are correlated with a set of commonsensical beliefs depicting a
certain vision of reality and described by Nowak as metaphysical
positivism. In a later part of the article Przybysz describes the main ideas of
unitarian metaphysics and offers an outline reconstruction of the
construction of beingness (model I of unitarian metaphysics), as well as of
the concepts of essentiality and being (model II) as the key metaphysical
categories of the system. In doing so, he points to the possibility of a
moderate and an extreme version of the negativist conception of being.
In the article Formal and Ontological Roundabouts Roberto Poli
draws attention to the weaknesses of negativist unitarian metaphysics
treated as a generalization of the idealizational understanding of science.
The author indicates i.a. the lack of an explicitly defined formal base of
unitarian metaphysics, and an imprecise definition of the term negative. A
major flaw of unitarian metaphysics (and also of the idealizational method)
consistsin Polis viewin basing it on overly simple mathematics, that
is, on elementary algebra. As the author maintains, a rich ontology must be
based on a subtler and richer formal apparatus.
Jan Woleski, in the article entitled Metalogic and Ontology carries
out a comparison of standard ontology with unitarian ontology, pointing out
at the same time that the theory of models better supports the standard
ontology. The background for this analysis is provided by an outline of the
metaphilosophical differences between the author and Nowak.
Leszek Nowaks thought is both valued by and offers significant
inspiration to thinkers dealing with very different philosophical issues. The
reason for this is certainly not only the originality and versatility of his
theoretical propositions, but also their systematic and comprehensive
treatment.

Krzysztof Kiedrowski
Adam Mickiewicz University, Pozna

References

Kuipers, T. (2000/ICR). From Instrumentalism to Constructive Realism. On
Some Relations Between Confirmation, Empirical Progress, and Truth
Approximation. Synthese Library, vol. 287. Dordrecht: Kluwer
Academic Publishers.
Nowak, L. (1991). Thoughts are Facts in Possible Worlds, Truths are Facts
of a Given World. Dialectica, 45, 273-287.
Nowak, L. (1997). On the Concept of Nothingness. Axiomathes, 1-3, 381-
394.
Paprzycka, K., & L. Nowak (1989). On the Social Nature of Colonization.
In L. Nowak (Ed.), Dimensions of the Historical Process (Pozna
Studies in the Philosophy of the Sciences and the Humanities, 13) (pp.
299-312). Amsterdam: Rodopi.

N. S. Hilberg, Religious Truth and Religious Diversity, American
University Studies Series 7, Vol. 288, New York: Peter Lang 2009,
pp. 172.

The question of religious realism and the problem of religious diversity are
two of the most disputed questions in contemporary philosophy of religion.
In a book entitled Religious Truth and Religious Diversity, Nathan S.
Hilberg connects these two topics by posing a dilemma: either one
interprets religion realistically and faces the philosophical problem of
religious diversity, or one interprets religion irrealistically and faces the
problem of offering an interpretation of religion which is inevitably
revisionary. Hilberg argues, and this is the main thesis of his book, that this
dilemma is an inescapable and a serious one. Hilbergs thesis is very
interesting, and, if it is true, has important consequences for philosophical
interpretation of religion. This is why it is worth considering.
The dilemma posed by Hilberg is a serious one, because the problems
faced by realism and irrealism respectively are genuine ones. The
philosophical problem of religious diversity arises because of two facts: (1)
the fact that different religions make truth claims which (at least seem to)
contradict one another; (2) the fact thatas Hilberg assumesthe great
historical religions of the world are on par with each other epistemically
(p. 9). As a consequence, one cannot know how to determine which, if any,
of the mutually incompatible religious claims is true; this inability
constitutes the philosophical problem of religious diversity. On the other
hand, revisionary interpretations are problematic because they change the
object of interpretation instead of interpreting it: these are not religions as
they are conceived and presented by their adherents, but something else,
some artificial philosophical construct, which is interpreted by irrealists.
In order to prove that the posed dilemma is inescapable Hilberg tries to
give a detailed account of both religious realism and religious irrealism, and
attempts to show that each interpretation which seems to escape the
dilemma does not in fact escape it. In the first part of the book (chapters 2-
4) he discusses realism, in the second part (chapters 5-8)irrealism. His
main realistic interlocutors are Alston, Hick, Plantinga, and Van Invagen.
As regards the irrealists, these are: Feuerbach, Wittgenstein, Phillips,
Malcolm, and Winch.
Hilberg tries to make his thought very clear and precise. As regards the
style, his efforts are successful. But as regards the content, he has not
escaped some important confusions and oversimplifications that make his
argument implausible. Let me justify this opinion.
Hilberg claims that in order to see the genuine character of the posed
dilemma, one should make adequate distinctions. He insists that there are
not two but three possible stances here: (1) religious realism, which
amounts to the position that for each religious statement there are objective
truth conditions; (2) religious anti-realism, which claims that these
objective truth conditions do not obtain; (3) religious non-realism,
according to which for any instance of religious language there are no
objective truth conditions (p. 2). The second and third options are the
irrealistic ones.
On the other hand, Hilberg notes, realism and anti-realism share the
common feature of endorsing the cognitive character of (at least some)
religious utterances. Contrary to this view, non-realism denies that truth-
predicates do apply to any instance of religious language. In other words,
non-realism amounts to non-cognitivism.
The above-mentioned typology seems to be clear and precise. The
problem is that when Hilberg goes into detail, he makes important
epistemological and semantic confusions, due to which his account is
hardly consistent.
In describing religious realism, Hilberg draws on Alstons thought.
According to that position, there are three criteria of alethic realism: i) the
statements in question are genuine factual statements, ii) these statements
are true or false in the realist sense of those terms, and iii) the facts that
make true [statements] true hold and are what they are independently of
human cognition (cf. p. 15). The crucial notion of the realist sense of the
term true is explained by a T-schema: p is true if and only if p, where p
obtains independently of what we do, say, or believe.
Hilberg acknowledges that in saying this he hasnt yet given an account
of the match between p (a language utterance) and p (a state of affairs
described by that utterance), an account needed for realism to be a plausible
philosophical theory of religion. However, he claims that his argument does
not depend on there being such an account (although he tries to give one in
the Appendix of the book). This is because, as he writes, one should make a
distinction between ordinary realism and theoretical realism. It is only the
latter that includes the attempt to provide a plausible explanation of the
match between religious utterances and reality described by it. But it is only
the former that must be upheld, Hilberg claims, as the only possible
prospect for non-revisionary interpretation of religion. Ordinary realism, as
Hilberg describes it, has a pragmatic rather than a theoretical character:

Ordinary realism underlies the practical ontologies we utilize in our everyday
lives (...) [it] operates according to the assumption that p is true if it matches
p. For our ordinary realist, it is not that she presumes realism is the correct way
to think about life; she assumes that by following her realist inclinations she
will manage just fine. (p. 7)

Given such a description of realism it should be evident, according to
Hilberg, why it is that only the realist faces the philosophical problem of
religious diversity. This is due to this realism's inability to reconcile
mutually contradictory and equally justified claims made by different
religions. Irrealist interpretations are able to avoid this problem because
they relativize truth claims. Hilberg construes the irrealist line of reasoning
as follows: a is true according to such and such perspective, since their
cognitive situation would dispose them to view truth along the lines of a
and not-a is true according to thus and so perspective, since their cognitive
situation would dispose them to view truth along the lines of not-a (p. 4).
Besides the point that such a line of reasoning may be attributed to an anti-
realist but not to a non-realist, now it becomes apparent that there is
something problematic in Hilbergs account of the realism/anti-realism
distinction.
First of all, it is clear that in Hilbergs view, realism cannot acknowledge
the perspectival, non-absolute character of human cognition. But this is a
very dubious thesis: if we assume that human beings try to get knowledge
about a reality which transcends their minds, it seems plausible to conclude
that different people or groups of people can get only fragmentary and
perspectival knowledge about that matter, and that instances of language
these people utter express only that perspectival and fragmentary
knowledge. This assumption seems especially plausible if it is the infinitely
perfect and ultimate reality (that in western culture is most frequently called
by the name God) which constitutes the matter in question. It is easy to
show that the acknowledgment of the fact of such inadequacy of human
cognition of the divine/ultimate reality belongs to the very core of most
great religious traditions. Hilberg is wrong (or revisionary) when he claims
that the ordinary religious practitioner affirms that God created the
heavens and the earth accurately describes a state of affairs in which God
created the heavens and the earth (p. 6), and that to believe otherwise is
revisionary. Hilberg's assumptions about ordinary believers are supported
by no empirical evidence, his statements about standard, orthodox
interpretation of religion are contrary to the evidence of most of the
important, authoritative written religious sources (with respect to the
Christian tradition one can point out such figures as Gregory of Nyssa,
Augustine or Aquinas). However, the assumption of adequacy of cognition
and truthfulness of literally understood language expressions constitutes a
major reason for Hilbergs argument to the effect that realistic
interpretations of religions necessarily face the philosophical problem of
religious diversity.
Hilberg seems to be mistaken also in his claim that the theoretical
philosophical elucidation of ordinary realism necessarily includes a
correspondence theory of truth (p. 8). This does not seem to be the case.
There are plausible arguments (cf. many works of Hilary Putnam) that our
ordinary, pragmatic realism, by the aid of which we, as Hilberg himself
puts it, simply manage just fine, is compatible with conceptions of truth
other than the correspondence theory, conceptions which hold that truth is
epistemically constrained and perspectival. Ordinary, pragmatic, non-
revisionary realism concerning religion need not be connected with
absolutist, metaphysical realism.
But if one allows that such interpretations of religion, interpretations
which acknowledge the perspectival character of cognition and true
statements, could in fact be realistic, then what about the distinction
between realism and anti-realism? I suggest that if such a distinction is to
be maintained at all, it has to be stated in terms of reference and meaning.
However, this is precisely the point at which Hilbergs thought is confused.
Consider the following reasoning by him: A non-revisionary interpretation
of religion in one that upholds the idea that when religious devotees assent
to a given p it is p to which they assent. Note the affinity between this
description of non-revisionary interpretations of religious belief and
religious realism, which maintains that a religious p is true if and only if
p (p. 6f). So far, so good. But to say that when a religious person assents to
a given p it is p to which she assents, or that religious p is true iff p, it
is to make purely formal statements. The crucial question for assessing
whether one gives a realistic or an anti-realistic, a revisionary or a non-
revisionary interpretation of religion, is the question of what, according to
such an interpretation, is the meaning and reference of p. But this is the
point where Hilberg is confused. In order to see this let us look at his
interpretation of Feuerbach's thought. Hilberg writes: Feuerbach indicates
that for him, God refers to something other than the God of traditional
Western theism (...). Since Feuerbach would agree that God exists
constitutes a human projection, this exemplifies what I call theological anti-
realism precisely because it expresses the position that God exist is false
since it does not refer to a state of affairs independent of human cognitive
undertakings (p. 60). Hilberg confuses here two separate questions: (1) the
question of meaning and reference of the term/word God, and (2) the
question of the truth value of the sentence God exits. It is then unclear
whether Hilberg sees realists and anti-realists as disagreeing about the
meaning and reference of the word God, and by consequence about the
meaning of the sentence God exists, or as disagreeing about the truth
value of that sentence.
The confusion described above is, I would suggest, connected with the
fact that Hilberg does not properly grasp another point of disagreement
between realists and anti-realists, namely their disagreement about the
nature of truth. Sometimes he writes as if realists and anti-realists held the
same view of truth, the same view as to what is involved in the nature of
the match between an instance of language and what it describes (p.62),
and the difference between them consisted in the fact that the anti-realist
considered the statements affirmed by the realist to be false. In other places
he defines anti-realism as a position which, contrary to realism, relativizes
truth to proper context or perspective (cf. p. 4f).
Given what has been written above, it is evident, I think, that Hilberg
fails to give an account of religious realism and anti-realism that would be
sufficiently precise and substantive to support his claim that the dilemma
posed by him is a genuine one.
I have focused here only on the realism/anti-realism distinction. I have
done so because Hilberg regards realism to be the most attractive position
in the debate (p.123f.), and because to show that he has blurred the
distinction between realism and anti-realism is sufficient in order to prove
that the project of his book fails. However, it is possible to demonstrate that
Hilbergs account of non-realism is affected by similar confusions and
oversimplifications. Nevertheless, Hilbergs book is worth reading as a very
good lesson of what mistakes one could make in thinking about realism,
truth, and religion.

Piotr Sikora
Jesuit University of Philosophy and Education
"Ignatianum", Krakw

B. Rundle, Why there is Something rather than Nothing, Oxford:
Clarendon Press (reprinted 2005), pp. ix + 204, ISBN 0199270503.

Leibnizs question: Why is there something rather than nothing?
continues to intrigue philosophers. Is there anything new that can be said
here? It seems that there is not: all options have already been exhausted.
One may, however, come forth with yet a more precise analysis, formulate
new arguments, falsify doubtful presuppositions, and thereby unveil certain
research prospects. In this sense, Bede Rundles book is new. This
author, a philosopher from Trinity College in Oxford, in an interesting
manner and in a broad context of contemporary analytical philosophy,
grapples with Leibnizs titular question, or even deconstructs it.
Traditional replies to this question have been related to the quest for a
necessary being. Theists would identify it with God. They claimed that if
He exists necessarily, He does not have to be explained, or finds
explanation in Himself. What is more, once we refer to Him as the creator
(and supporter of existence) of all things outside of Him, we find the
ultimate answer to the question Why are there things at all?
Rundle rejects the theistic perspective, and this is not primarily because
the so-called theistic arguments are weak. (In fact, he criticises only two of
themin the margins of the main considerations, see pp. 96-98, 107-108).
Rundle finds the concept of God problematic in itself. Concepts used in
science do not have to be empirical, but they must be clearly defined. When
the physicist postulates the existence of some unobservable object, he tells
us what changes can be observed under its influence. We do not know,
however, what changes could be made by God. And even if it were well-
known, we could not (in our normal usage of words) comprehend how God,
a spiritual being, could cause something physical or act on what is physical.
As the author concludes, there is some incoherence in the very idea of a
being that transcends space and time yet is capable of action on, or in
producing, the material world (p. 192). In these circumstances, the
concepts of creating, maintaining in existence, or Divine intervention, if
they do not lose all meaning, then at least they lose some of their
explanatory value.
Almost the entire first half of the book is devoted to a critique of the
conceptual and linguistic drawbacks of theism. (This critique mingles
philosophical and religious concepts of God, and is present in the rest of the
book). What next? Once we reject theism, do we have to accept the
conception of a brute and inexplicable fact or can we wait until science
formulates a satisfactory theory of everything? The former solution means
that we surrender intellectually and remain with no enlightenment. The
latter seems impossible: science always presumes something or halts
somewhere in the process of explanation (cf. pp. vii-viii). Rundle proposes
therefore yet another way. Instead of starting from the quest for a necessary
being, it is better to consider whether it is necessary for something to exist.
In other words, instead of asking Is there something necessary (something
that has to be)? let us ask Must something (this thing or another) exist at
all?
According to Rundle, the answer to the second question is positive (see
5.2., pp. 108-117). The proposition there must be something (or there
has to be something, or it must [has to] be so that there is something) is
excluded by the proposition there may not exist anything (it may be so
that there is nothing), but it is impossible to think that there is nothing.
Any attempt to think nothingness clashes with an obstacle: there always
remains something, even if only space, which is something. The
impossibility of thinking nothingness is confirmed by logical and
grammatical analyses which reveal that the various paraphrases of the
proposition there is nothing lead to absurdity. Thus we can find an
argument for the claim that there has to be something without having to
demonstrate that there is something that has to be (p. 110). This argument
falsifies Leibnizs presupposition (there could be nothing) and makes us
reject the causal interpretation of the why? on behalf of the modal
interpretation or its derivation (see p. 124).
Considering the above matters, Rundle directly assumes that some
concepts (e.g. time, space, causation, coming into being, and dissolution)
have only an inner-world character (see 5.3, pp. 117-124): they are applied
to the components of the physical world, not to the world as a whole.
Things are situated in space and time, they come into being and cease to
exist, there are various causative relations between them. We cannot,
however, say about the world that it is in time or space, that it came into
being or will end, that something or someone affects it. There is nothing
beyond or above the world; the world is therefore not in something or
towards something. To say that once there was no world (or there might not
have been) or that it will some day cease (or begin) to exist makes no sense,
just as it makes no sense to state that somewhere there is no world.
If we limit ourselves to the physical world understood in this manner,
we shall easily find in it something basic and existentially independent.
This something is matter (or in other words: physical reality, something
that falls under the general category of what is physical, physical
materialpp. 128, 131, 132). It is not even energysubstantialised,
according to Rundle, by the interpreters of contemporary physics (energy is
the capacity to make work, but capacitiesaccording to our grammar
must apply to something material; see pp. 129-130, 165). One cannot
negate the existence of immaterial objects (especially abstract and
psychological), but a condition for their existence is that which is material
(see Chapter 6 and 7). Mathematics has exclusively an applicative sense
(ultimately to that which is physical), and mental predicates are predicated
about the whole person (not about some spiritual substance). In this
situation while there is a distinction between There must be something
and There is something that must be, we do not have the same division
with respect to There must be matter and Matter must be (p. 147). Let
us stress that there must be matter (in the process of transformation) as
such, although not necessarily as this or that shape of it.
Rundles metaphysics is based on conceptual analysis. However, the
(moderate) materialism that is assumed in it does not allow him to ignore
scientific data. How then, for instance, to combine the metaphysical
statement that the world had no beginning (or that the notion the worlds
beginning is absurd) with the cosmological hypothesis of the Big Bang,
which in colloquial interpretation somehow implies the origin of the
Universe? Rundle suggests that we may remove this apparent
incompatibility by referring to Hawkings theory of the world (space-time)
without boundaries or assume a continuous (non-granular) conception of
time (see p. 123). However, Rundle also proposes his own original solution.
Here is a brief reconstruction of his argument that forms the most
interesting passage of the book (see 8.1, pp. 167-178).
There is an ontological symmetry between past and future. The past
differs epistemologically from the future in the sense that the former we
know (from memory), and the latter we only expect. Now the ontological
difference consists only in the fact that what is past was (real, actual) and
what is future is not yet: it will (possibly) be (real, actual). This difference is
inessential, for reality (actuality) cannot be predicated of past or future
events, but only of present events. Ontological symmetry, for instance,
allows us to deduce about past attributes on the basis of the future. The
latter option can be understood as potentially infinite. This means that
between any point in the present (or the past) and any point in the future
there is a definite distance, but we may always imagine that this distance
will become longer by another unit of time. In effect, it turns out that it is
possible for the world to be temporarily finite in terms of its future, but not
to have a final event. If this may happen in the future, thenby virtue of
ontological symmetryit is the same in terms of the past: the world can
possibly not have had a beginning (origin, coming into being) at a particular
time. The above argument (though based on a non-intuitive premise of the
ontological symmetry between the past and the future) permits the author to
avoid the problem of regress in explanation. It seems (cf. pp. 179-181) that
we have three options here: the actual (thus inaccessible to us) infinite
series of explanations; the first contingent fact (the first contingent facts)
explaining but not explained; and the first necessary being: explaining and
necessary, but ontologically troublesome. None of these possibilities seems
satisfactory. But Rundles conception, the conception of potential temporal
infinity in the past, permits the existence of a potential explanation of
everything without assuming actual infinity or any necessary being (or
fact).
Let us add that Rundle, while seekingcontrary to common fashionto
keep the principle of sufficient reason, notices that not everything needs to
be explained (see 8.3, pp. 183-193). The change of state calls for
explanation, but not the duration in a state. Rundle justifies this in a special,
metaphysical way by generalising the first principle of Newtons dynamics:
a body rests or is in uniform linear motion if no force acts on it (or acting
forces balance one another out), i.e., in the ontological interpretation, the
motion itself and rest (as the preservation of a concrete state) do not call for
a cause. If the particles had never moved, and the Universe had not
expanded, then neither of the manifestations of movement would call for
explanation. We also do not have to explain the law of conservation of
energy: the state of energy is constant on the global scale, despite internal
fluctuations. As we can see, the application of the principle of sufficient
reason, contrary to experiences from the history of philosophy, does not
have to lead to theism.
Summing up the authors ideas, I have to admit that he proposes the
most compelling version and defence of metaphysical naturalism that has
come to my attention. This version is free from radical scientism and vulgar
materialism. His defence is formulated with high conceptual and analytical
precision and demonstrates great philosophical knowledge of (esp. theistic)
tradition. Rundle is consistent in the way he develops his conception. He
discusses a series of problems in the contemporary philosophy of religion,
science, language, mathematics, and the mind. From his book we may learn
a lot about the discussions in analytical philosophy concerning verification,
laws of nature, causality, existence, time, necessity, explanation, the ontic
status of numbers, the role of decision-making in action, etc. Perhaps the
most interesting section of book is devoted to fine tuning (see pp. 30-36,
where the author criticises the explanatory despair of theists and proponents
of the conception of many worlds). Obviously, the whole book is imbued
with the radicalised spirit of Hume and the second Wittgenstein (depending
on the subject matter of quotations).
As to the main antitheistic message of the book, we should admit that its
argumentative devil is in the details. There is no room here to discuss all
of them; I shall therefore limit myself to the three most general issues.
These are linked to some doubts as to the central thesis of the book, i.e. that
it is not possible that there is nothing. (T. Nagel also raises doubts
concerning the validity of this thesis in his review of Rundles book).
Let us begin with the question of time. The author presupposes a
relational and inner-world (non-absolutist) conception of time: time is
essentially linked exclusively to the events within the physical world. I
think, however, that this conception of physical time is no obstacle to
assuming also some different kind of time: absolute or quasi-absolute, i.e.
abstract, imaginative, or conventional. There is no conceptual incoherence
in the mental grounding of the physical world on, if only intentionally, an
(actually and countably) infinite and transcendent line of time. The mind
that could compare both timesthe time of the world and the time as
suchwould state whether there is a possibility of an unambiguous
ordering of their moments or not. If yes, the physical time of the world is
countably infinite; if not (and if the continuity of the physical time is
excluded), then it is finite.
I do not claim that any (finite) mind would be able to perform the above
operation. I only claim that one can think of a situation where there was a
(imagined) period of time when there was no world and its physical time.
This possibility refutes Rundles belief that it is not possible that there was
a once, even though there was no world. It may not be physically
possible, but it is conceptually possible. The authors thesis therefore,
contrary to what he says, may only have the status of a physical thesis. Let
us add that the thought experiment with imagined time refutes also
Rundles argument supporting the potential infinity of physical time. The
time of the world seen from outside, when compared with a time
transcendent to it, will turn out finite or actually infinite, and not potentially
infinite.
Let us come to the second problem. According to the author, the main
theses of his book are more grammatical than empirical (see pp. 131, 165,
172). This means that they are based on an analysis that unveils the
essential (and unmasks the apparent) traits of our conceptual scheme: the
scheme by means of which we think about the world. How do we know,
however, that this scheme is the only possible (useful) or necessary
scheme? If the authors analyses are correct (of which I am not fully
convinced), then they prove only that within a certain conceptual scheme it
is impossible to think that there is nothing, that God (as a coherent being)
exists, that we can completely abstract from matter. This does not exclude,
however, the possibility or usefulness of schemes in which things are
exactly the other way round, where some of the difficulties connected with
talking about God disappear.
The above remark is important for at least two reasons. First, it weakens
Rundles objections to the concept of God. The concept of God is to be
dubious because it is not a concept of something physical, nor is it
abstracted from that which is physical. A God that is physical (limited by
matter) is not God, and the physical language (the author is right here) can
only give us a vague picture of Him. We cannot exclude, however, that
there is another language, modelled on that which is non-physical. Second,
the physical scheme has its weaknesses. Let us assume that ultimately we
cannot think an object without matter. But can we think matter itself? We
do not identify matter as such; rather, we identify some material objects. In
Baldwins experiment of subtraction (pp. 121-122), which the author
criticises, we subtract material objects from the world. In consequence,
there will not be any matter or space left. They disappear together with the
objects that are of them or in them. We may think again that there is
nothing, not even matter or space.
And let us look at the final question. The author uses the concept of the
physical world (the Universe). He does not analyse it, therefore we do not
know what is its relationship to the concepts of time and space, matter or
the set of all physical objects. It seems that Rundle treats the world as a
specific object, the subject of attributes: the world is material, spatial and
temporal, expanding, temporally potentially infinite, etc. Let us take,
however, a piece of metal. Is it not material, spatial and temporal,
expanding (in relation to warmth), or maybe temporally potentially infinite
(inasmuch as certain conditions are fulfilled)? Why, then, may we say about
this piece of metal that it was made, whereas the same declaration about the
Universe makes no sense? If the Universe is a physical object, then why
does the author deprive it of some attributes that other physical objects may
have? If it is not a physical object, then why does the author ascribe to it so
many traits of physical objects?
One should stress that since the concept of the world is not analysed, we
find it difficult to evaluate Rundles theses as conclusive. If, for instance, P.
Simonss analysis is correct and the name world is a collective name
rather than an individual one, then there is no such physical object as the
world or the Universe (in analytical philosophy, B. van Fraassen thinks the
same). Such being the case, there are no grounds to claim that the concept
of the physical world is an indispensable element of our conceptual scheme
(see p. 128). One should rather speak about the concrete existing physical
objects (inhabitants of the world). But of each of them one may think that
it does not exist.
Let us conclude as follows. Rundles book is a serious challenge for the
theist. It may help him in the process of purifying the concept of God. Its
greatest advantage is that from the point of view of theism it goes beyond
the dominating, continental trend of contemporary naturalism. Today's
naturalists usually claim that there is nothing ontologically necessary, that
all beings are in fact contingent. Rundle seems to break this tendency. His
thesis reads: it is conceptually necessary that there be something and that
something is physical reality. Let us add: since we cannot think its non-
existence, then it is a necessary being. In like manner Rundle ended up with
what he sought to avoid, namely, with a necessary being. The difference
between the theist and Rundle is not that great: the first one seeks a
necessary being; the second one lets it in through the back door. The second
one identifies it with the physical world or matter, the first one with
Someone from beyond the world or not of this world. Both are
convinced, however, that there is non-refutable necessity. The theist must
refer to God (because he thinks that it is possible that there is nothing
physical, takes Leibnizs question into consideration and is consistent in his
application of the principle of sufficient reason). Therefore he risks to a
greater extent that his language will not satisfy some logical and empirical
criteria that have been shaped by the physical reality.

Jacek Wojtysiak
John Paul II Catholic University of Lublin

Logic in Religious Discourse, A. Schumann (Ed.), Frankfurt
(Heusenstamm): Ontos Verlag 2010, pp. 286, ISBN 3868380612.

This book consists of the following essays: Andrew Schumann, Preface:
Religious Logic as a Part of Philosophical Logic; Subkash Kak, Logic in
Indian Thought; Kamaleswar Bhattacharya, On Two Questions of the
New Logic of India; Dilipkumar Mohanta, The Use of Four-Cornered
Negation and the Denial of the Law of Excluded Middle in Ngrjunas
Logic; Fabien Schang, A Plea for Epistemic Truth: Jaina Logic from a
Many-Valued Perspective; Jerzy Pogonowski, Remarks on Ancient
Chinese Logic; Avi Sion, Talmudic Hermeneutics; Petr Dvok,
Analogy in Thomism; Pawe Rojek, Towards a Logic of Negative
Theology; Sara L. Uckelman, Reasoning About Trintity: A Modern
Formalization of a Medieval System of Trinitarian Logic; Paloma Prez-
Ilzarbe, Late Medieval Trinitarian Syllogistic: From Theological Debates
to a Logical Texbook; Timothy Knepper, Ineffability Performance:
Critique and Call.
A. Schumann explains in his editorial Preface some preliminary issues,
elaborating in particular on how religious logic could be understood. He
points out that since logic was (and still is) considered to be an eternal,
many logicians and mathematicians, like Cantor or Russell, noted its
connection with eternity. It is a pity that the following statement of Jan
ukasiewicz was not invoked by Schumann:

In concluding these remarks I should like to outline an image which is
connected with the most profound intuition which I always experience in the
face of logistic. That image will perhaps shed more light on the true background
of that discipline, at least in my case, than all discursive description could.
Now, whenever I work even on the least significant logistic problem, for
instance, when I search for the shortest axiom of implicational propositional
calculus I always have the impression that I am facing a powerful, most
coherent and most resistant structure. I sense that structure as if it were a
concrete, tangible object, made of the hardest metal, a hundred times stronger
than steel and concrete. I cannot change anything in it; I do not create anything
of my own will, but by strenuous work I discover in it ever new details and
arrive at unshakable and eternal truths. Where is and what is that ideal
structure? A believer would say that it is in God and is His thought.
(ukasiewicz, 1970, p. 249)

This quotation provides a very good example of combining logic with
religious feeling. ukasiewicz is, however, quite careful. He attributes
related feelings to believers only and also notes that a discursive description
of logic belongs to different world than an appeal to religious faith.
Although Schumann takes seriously such ukasiewicz-like explanations, he
looks for a secular account of the relations between logic and religion.
According to him, the following problems illustrate this connection: 1. The
construction of consistent logical systems formalizing religious reasoning
that at first sight seems inconsistent; 2. An illocutionary analysis of
religious discourse; 3. A formalization of the Ancient and Medieval logical
theories used in the theology of various religions. Schumann points out that
we should continue ukasiewiczs program of doing history of logic, that
is, we should investigate the listed problems by looking at them through our
contemporary prism. This means that we are obliged to employ in our
research all the available formal tools offered by contemporary logic in the
broad sense, i.e. semiotics, formal logic and the methodology of sciences.
In fact, all essays included in the collection Logic in Religious Discourse
follow this style of logical investigations.
Schumann makes also some more general comments. He writes:

[It] is possible to speak about the appearance of a new branch in modern logic
in which the logic of religious discourse is studied. This branch has most
accurately to be considered as a part of philosophical logic []. By analogy
with the name philosophical logic, it is possible to call the new branch
religious logic. (p. 15)

Yet I have reservations about the label religious logic. Particular parts of
philosophical logic are characterized by such adjectives as modal,
deontic, temporal, erotetic, etc., which refer to special concepts
studied within those systems. Thus, the analogy pointed out by Schumann
simply fails. There is also the danger that someone may understand
religious logic as colored by religion to some extent. Schumann refers to
Jzef Maria Bocheski as a classic thinker in religious logic and a follower
of ukasiewiczs historical program. However, Bocheski rather preferred
the term logic of religion and stressed that logical analysis of religion is
completely independent of religious faith. I am not suggesting that
Schumanns terminological proposal is completely inadmissible. This is
only a convention, but it might generate the wrong associations. In my
opinion the logic of religious discourse is, pace Bocheski, a branch of
applied logic. Incidentally, the three problems identified by Schumann as
belonging to religious logic (in his sense) rather confirm the view that it is a
kind of applied logic. Its connection with philosophical logic is this: the
logic of religious discourse employs the formal tools elaborated within
philosophical logic, such as modal, temporal, deontic, etc., concepts. There
remains the question of whether the application of logic to religion does not
also require some specific devices. This problem is taken up in some of the
essays in the reviewed collection.
The papers (without the Preface) collected in Logic of Religious
Discourse can be divided into two groups. The first group consists of the
essays by Kak, Bhattacharaya, Mohanta, Shang, Pogonowski and Bottin:
these have almost nothing to do with religious or theological issues. They
are interesting as normal historical studies about Indian, Chinese and
Ockhamic logic. Of course, European readers particularly welcome papers
on Eastern logic. The general moral from this part of the collection is that
logic emerged independently in various parts of the world. Thus,
comparative studies on specific versions of logical theories are a serious
task for the history of logic. Essays from the second group, those by Sion,
Dvok, Rojek, Uckelman, Prez-Ilzarbe and Knepper, are examples of the
kind of investigations postulated by the editor in his Preface. Except for
Sions paper devoted to Judaism, they all concern the logical environment
of Christian doctrines. Some, like Dvoks paper on analogy, pertain to
classical topics, others, like studies by Rojek, Uckelman and Prez-Ilzarbe,
discussing anti-logicism of negative theology or Trinitarian teology, can
even be said to be unexpected. Kneppers considerations try to apply the
theory of performatives to the ineffability problem. Logicians should
perhaps enjoy the fact that logical analysis finds a new field of application.
Perhaps Father Bocheski was right that outside logic there is only
nonsense. More seriously, Schumanns collection is very valuable both
from the historical as well as the philosophical point of view.

Jan Woleski,

References

ukasiewicz, J. (1970). Selected Works L. Borkowski (Ed.).
Warszawa/Amsterdam: PWN-Polish Scientific Publishers/North-
Holland Publishing Company (Polish original was published in 1937).

Vol. V, No. 1 (Spring 2011), 184-189.

Notes on Books

M. Merleau-Ponty, The World of Perception, translated by Oliver
Davis, London, New York: Routledge 2004, pp. 125, ISBN 0415
31271X.

The book entitled The World of Perception, translated by Olivier Davis,
with a foreword by Stphanie Mnas and an introduction by Thomas
Baldwin comprises of seven lectures, written and presented by Maurice
Merleau-Ponty at the end of 1948 in the French National Radios
programme The French Culture Hour.
The first lectureThe World of Perception and the World of
Sciencediscusses the illusion of complete and absolute knowledge.
Merleau-Ponty repeats his view, presented in his earlier work The
Phenomenology of Perception (1945), that perception is not only no less
important than the intellectual part of knowledge, but it is in fact the
essence of knowledge. Therefore, we cannot be certain about the absolutism
and objectivity of science. In this lecture Merleau-Ponty reminds us that
since the end of the nineteenth century, scientists have got used to the idea
that their laws and theories do not provide a perfect image of Nature but
must rather be considered ever simpler schematic representations of natural
events (p. 35). In these words he indicates that the progress initiated by
science has been continued by the philosophers, poets and painters who
started to investigate the nature of perception. The theme of the
impossibility of an ideal and finished world completes this series of
lectures. In the seventh and last lecture Merleau-Ponty compares the
classical world with the modern one and tries to rethink the distinction
between finality and infinity. He asks if the first one is not simply an
illusion produced by history and our prejudices.
The second, third and fourth lectures, entitled Exploring the World of
Perception: Space, Exploring the World of Perception: Sensory Object,
and Exploring the World of Perception: Animal Life, are closely related
to each other. All of them cover the topic of experiencing the world.
In the second lecture Merleau-Ponty indicates that the development of
science coincides with the development of modern painting. After
Impressionism, the classical conception of three dimensional space changed
definitely. The same happened in the science together with the publication
of the theory of relativity and other theories. Merleau-Ponty's most
important point here is that the human body creates space and is related to it
in every moment.
In the third lecture the author directs his attention to the unity of the
object, trying to answer the question of how this unity of things, which are
complex combinations of various qualities, is possible. We can taste a taste,
smell a smell, see objects, but why do we experience only one world of
perception, and not two or three? For Merleau-Ponty this experience is both
mysterious and invisible, hidden behind what is visible. Can the invisible
form the ground for the visible? In each case in the present we should be
open to the experience described in Chapter Four. We should reconsider the
concept of a normal person. We must learn to accept abnormalities,
patterns of the mysterious unity of the world. We must accept that the world
of the mentally ill, the world of animals, the world of children and every
other kind of world need to have the same value for us. Pure intellect cannot
be an absolute, the only truth. We should accept the importance of every
kind of world and the fact that each of these worlds is a world of perception
and it has a bodily nature. This train thought is continued in the fifth
lectureMan Seen from the Outsidein which Merleau-Ponty recalls
his idea of the body being (le corps propre). Based on the example of
anger, he repeats that the nature of feelings is not entirely clear and pure.
Anger and other feelings are not simply pure, or completely detached from
the pure intellect; feelings are also related to the intellect: we can say that
they are intellectual, because the nature of the intellect is at the same time
the nature of the body. We read: my reflection always brings me back to
myself (p. 65). These words can be related to the world of art, which is the
theme of the sixth chapter. The problem of art was already raised in the first
lecture, but in the sixth Merleau-Ponty analyses the quality of art. He does
not agree with the idea that art has a purely imitative function because,
similarly to the Impressionists, the French philosopher postulates that art
constitutes a new quality in the world. Art is a world in itself; it is a
different mode of being, the mode of body/flesh.

Marta Szabat
Uniwersytet Jagielloski

Moritz Schlick, Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre (Kritische
Gesamtausgabe, Abteilung I, Band I), Herausgeben und eingeleitet
von Hans Jrgen Wendel und Fynn Ole Engler, Wien New York:
Springer 2009, pp. IX + 946, ISBN 978-3-211-32768-5.

Schlicks Allgemeine Erkenntnslehre is the most extensive work published
by this author. The book appeared for the first time in 1918 (Wien: Justus
Springer, pp. IX + 346; the series Naturwissenschaftliche Monographien
und Lehrbcher, Band 1). The second edition was published (also by
Justus Springer and in the same series; pp. X + 375) in 1925. In 1974,
Springer-Verlag in Vienna produced an English translation of the work
(General Theory of Knowledge, tr. by Albert E. Blumberg, pp. XXVI +
410), based on the 2
nd
German edition, as the eleventh volume of Library
of Exact Philosophy; Blumberg and Herbert Feigl (the latter helped
Schlick in preparing the 2
nd
edition) wrote an introduction. Thus, the
reviewed volume constitutes the fourth appearance of Schlicks
epistemological treatise on market, but it is a critical edition. Although it is
based on the 2
nd
edition, all the differences with the 1
st
one are carefully
noted. Schlicks text is preceded by a long (40 pp.) introduction and
explanations pertaining to the editorial policy written by the editors. Both
introductory texts describe the story of the book, its place in German
philosophical literature in the first quarter of the 20
th
century, as well as the
textual and substantial relations between both German editions of the book.
It is perhaps surprising that the English edition is not mentioned. But the
introduction by Blumberg and Feigl is particularly valuable and instructive.
Schlicks Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre is divided into three parts (I
employ the titles from the English edition): I. The Nature of Knowledge; II.
Problems of Truth; III. Problems of Reality. Thus, the book has the
structure of a typical epistemological treatise written about 1918. This
impression is strengthened when inspecting the content of particular parts.
Part I has 13 sections, including, among other things (the description of Part
II and III will be selective as well), sections about kinds of knowing (in
everyday life, in science, by images, by concepts), implicit definitions, the
nature of judgment, truth, and the value of knowledge. Topics of Part II
include the analytic character of rigorous inference, the unity of
consciousness, the relation of the psychological to the logical, self-
evidence, so-called inner perception, and verification. Part III (the longest
one) is divided into three sub-parts: A. The Positing of the Real (nave and
philosophical viewpoints on the question of reality, temporality of the real,
things-in-themselves, the problem of immanence); B. Knowledge of the
Real (essence and appearance, time, space, subjectivity of sense qualities,
the physical and the mental); C. The Validity of Knowledge of Reality
(thinking and being, knowing and being, pure intuition and thought,
categories, inductive knowledge). In fact, Schlicks book, although not
formally organized by separate chapter about the sources of knowledge, the
validity of knowledge and the limits of knowledge, addresses itself to these
three fundamental epistemological issues. It is also remarkable that Schlick
touched upon several ontological questions (mostly in Part III), such as
essence and appearance, time, space, or the psychophysical problem,
although he viewed them through epistemological eyeglasses.
A natural question about Schlicks Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre concerns
its place in the history of logical empiricism. Since the 2
nd
edition appeared
one year before the Vienna Circle was established by Schlick himself, the
following two questions seem legitimate: Are there some anticipations of
the basic philosophical views of logical empiricism?; What about the
differences between the 1
st
and the 2
nd
edition in the context of Schlicks
road toward logical positivism? As far as the matter concerns the second
question, not much can be said. Schlick explains in the preface to the latter
edition that he introduced small changes to the text published in 1918; in
fact, the 2
nd
edition has 30 pages more than the earlier version. Yet Schlick
explicitly states that the corrections consist in small additions and
deletions. Accordingly, we can conclude that the 2
nd
edition presents the
same views which were expressed in 1918. One can perhaps argue that
Schlick strengthened his criticism of apriorism, in particular, of the view
that synthetic propositions a priori exist. On the other hand, the anti-
Kantian and anti-Neo-Kantian flavor of Schlicks considerations is quite
evident in the 1
st
edition.
The answer to the question concerning the possible anticipations of
logical empiricism in Schlicks Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre is more
complex. In general, the position defended in this book is closer to the
second positivism (empiriocriticism), represented, for instance, by Mach,
Avenarius or Petzdold, than to the characteristic views shared by the
Vienna Circle. For example, Schlick developed a version of neutral monism
in his account of subjective qualities. One could even say that Schlick was
more liberal in tolerating metaphysics (although strictly related to
epistemology) than typical positivists of the 19
th
century. For example, he
argued for realism. Although Schlick rejected nave realism, he accepted a
view similar to contemporary scientific realism. Schlick considered
philosophy (of course, not of every kind) as compatible with natural science
and identified the task of the former as searching for the most general and
ultimate principles of knowledge. This account was consistent with
traditional positivism, but not necessarily with the Vienna Circle. Schlick
was very critical of German speculative philosophy (including
phenomenology, although he shared Husserls criticism of psychologism),
but we do not find the verifiability theory of meaning in Allgemeine
Erkenntnislehre. Section II.21 analyzes the concept of verification. There
Schlick stresses that there is no other criterion of truth than verification
procedures, but they concern truth, not meaning.
On the other hand, it would be erroneous to maintain that there are no
anticipations of logical empiricism in Schlicks opus magnum (I think that
this qualification is justified). One anticipation has already been noted,
namely, the rejection of synthetic a priori propositions. For Schlick, any
genuine piece of knowledge is either synthetic a posteriori or analytic.
Moreover, he argued that empirical science is synthetic a posteriori, while
logic and mathematics consist of analytic propositions. In particular,
Schlick rejected Wesenschau or pure intuition; this point illustrates his
negative attitude toward phenomenology. Another anticipation concerns the
unity of knowledge. Schlick focused on the epistemology of natural science
not only because Allgemeine Erkentnislehre appeared in the series
Naturwissenschaftliche Monographien und Lehrbcher. For Schlick,
natural-scientific cognition was the pattern of knowledge. However, he
strongly stressed that knowledge in the humanities must satisfy the same
conditions which are characteristic of knowledge within physics and other
natural sciences; perhaps it is important to recall that Schlick obtained his
PhD degree in physics. Still another point to be noted in this context is that
in the book under review Schlick used the method of analysis, even logical
analysis in some fragments. And although the logical tools employed by
him in Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre are admittedly rather poor and remain
within traditional (Aristotelian) logic, they can easily be converted into
more advanced devices. To some extent, large portions of this book can be
understood as a logical analysis of the language of science, which later
became, according to logical empiricism, the main task of philosophy.
Schlicks book is also interesting independently of its relation to the
Vienna Circle. The distinction between Erkennen and Erleben clearly
anticipates Wittgensteins famous contrast between saying and showing.
This problem was discussed by Schlick in his later writings, although he
never referred to his own earlier views, but rather credited Wittgenstein
with this important distinction. The solution of the psycho-physical problem
offered by Schlick is a version of the identity theory which is very popular
nowadays. Neutral monism has obvious affinities with Russells views
about the nature of subjectivity. The last section of Allgemeine
Erkenntnislehre contains a very penetrating account of the problem of
induction. Although Schlick considered induction as indispensable in
natural science, he was perfectly conscious that the inductive method
requires vindication and he clearly perceived difficulties in this respect. In
particular, he pointed out serious problems in attributing the degree of
probability to empirical statements. Personally, I think that the idea of
Zuordnung is perhaps the most compelling in Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre.
Schlick looked for a general principle governing our epistemic activities
and responsible for the fact that subjective (inner) processes inform us
about objective data. His solution consists in the view that elements
belonging to different domains are connected by coordination. For instance,
mental phenomena are coordinated with physical ones and this relation
justifies the identity theory. Words are coordinated with objects. This
relation determines the designate of names and generates truths. Schlick
pointed out that the traditional correspondence theory of truth simply fails
because it conceives the correspondence relation as similarity or identity.
Both explanations are absurd. The correct analysis of the correspondence
between propositions and reality should be based on the idea of
coordination. Clearly, Schlicks views about truth anticipate its semantic
account. The principle of coordination leads to a structuralist approach to
knowledge.
Schlicks Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre is interesting as a historical
document as well as a work with many ideas that are noteworthy from our
contemporary point of view. It presents the state of art in epistemology at
the beginning of the 20
th
century. Although it would be difficult to predict
the rise of the Vienna Circle on the basis of the content of Schlicks book
alone, this work can be regarded as a stop on the way toward logical
empiricism. As I noted earlier, the value of Schlicks epistemological
investigations exceeds the importance of Allgemeine Erkenntnislehre as a
historical document. In fact, this book should be of interest to everybody
working in epistemology.

Jan Woleski

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