PHILOSOPHICAL PROBLEMS

An Introduction to Analytical Philosophy

BY ROBERT FRANCIS ALLEN

Analytic philosophy … leads to moral literacy because it encourages clar-
ity of thought. In that way, if only in that way, it has real practical value.
(Mary Lefkowitz)
 CONTENTS

Preface ..............................................................................................4
Chapter 1 Meta-philosophy and Logic ................................................5
Chapter 2 Knowledge ......................................................................10
Chapter 3 Meaning ..........................................................................18
Chapter 4 Existence .........................................................................26
Chapter 5 Identity ...........................................................................34
Chapter 6 Resemblance....................................................................38
Chapter 7 Substance ........................................................................39
Chapter 8 The Mind .........................................................................46
Chapter 9 Personal Identity ..............................................................51
Chapter 10 Causation .......................................................................55
Chapter 11 Free Will........................................................................59
Chapter 12 Moral Skepticism ...........................................................63
Chapter 13 Distributive Justice.........................................................71
Chapter 14 God ...............................................................................77
Glossary..........................................................................................85

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 PREFACE

When you are philosophizing, you must descend into primeval chaos and
feel at home there.
(Ludwig Wittgenstein)

Philosophy is a practice, as beautifully illustrated by the Platonic dia-

logues. To learn philosophy is to learn to philosophize. It is a great joy
to see philosophy being done. Moreover, as with other practices, skill
comes from imitation. Philosophical Problems was written with this
idea in mind. I wanted readers to get a sense of how philosophers
practice their craft, the most venerable academic discipline. To that
end, I have formulated fourteen problems, taken from three of phi-
losophy’s branches: epistemology, metaphysics, and axiology. (As
portrayed below, the other branch of philosophy – logic – does not so
much yield problems as aid in their solution.) I stress the idea that
such problems are valid arguments, stating them in four basic (deduc-
tive) argument forms. Thus, they are easily ‘seen’. Having understood
an issue in this way – as a matter of certain important beliefs forming
an inconsistent triad – the available responses can also be clearly ‘laid
out’: explaining away the inconsistency or giving up the conclusion’s
negation or one of the premises. Presenting the arguments for and
against each solution, then, illustrates the dialectic by which a phi-
losophical position is developed.
My overarching goal in what follows is to get the reader in the
habit of following this procedure, which came to be known, in the
early part of the 20th century, as the “analytic” method. Having mas-
tered it, one may begin to philosophize on one’s own.

Robert Francis Allen

Redford Michigan
May 1, 2004

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 CHAPTER 1
META-PHILOSOPHY AND LOGIC

1.1 Meta-philosophy
Philosophy is defining moral and aesthetic goodness, rationality,
knowledge, and reality. It leads to the logical study of ethical, aes-
thetic, epistemological, and metaphysical problems. Such problems
come in the form of valid arguments whose conclusions are either
contradictory or skeptical (indicated below by ‘??’) and whose prem-
ises are philosophical principles and factual claims. One philosophizes
by arguing for either an acceptance of the conclusion or a rejection of
one of the premises of a philosophical problem. Each branch or divi-
sion of philosophy is distinguished by a set of these problems, discus-
sions of which are carried out in the following terms of art.
A possible world is a way that things might be, that is, any logi-
cally consistent and logically complete set of facts. A necessary
truth, then, is a proposition that is true in each possible world: in
every world there obtains a fact to which it corresponds. Philosophical
theories, as opposed to scientific ones, are supposed to be necessarily
true. Compare: the Special Theory of Relativity is true because it
holds in all actual situations; Fermat’s theorem – xn = yn + zn is not
satisfied by exponents greater than 2 – is true because it is true of
all numbers; Mill’s Utilitarianism (a philosophical theory discussed
below) would be true iff it were true of all possible actions.
A philosophical definition provides necessary and sufficient con-
ditions for the application of a philosophically important
term/predicate. It will have the following form: Necessarily, x is C
(the definiendum) (right, known, real, true, etc.) if and only if (iff) x
is R (the definiens). R is, thus, taken to be the meaning of C, which is,
thus, taken to be analyzed. To say that R is a necessary condition for
C is to say that nothing satisfies C unless it also satisfies R. To say
that R is a sufficient condition for C is to say that anything that satis-
fies R also satisfies C. A philosopher will attempt to provide a coun-
5
terexample to a definition that she considers false: a description of a
possible world in which that definition comes out false: that is, a case
that might occur in which the definiens applies to something to which
the definiendum does not (or vice-versa).

1.2 Logic
All philosophers are logicians. Logic is the study of the principles of
correct reasoning, i.e., the rules for constructing an argument. Deduc-
tive logic addresses the question of what makes an argument valid, as
defined below. An argument is a series of statements in which one
statement (the conclusion) is supposed to be shown to be true or
“proven” by the others (the premises). A deductive argument is an
argument that is supposed to be valid. Philosophical arguments, like
proofs in geometry and mathematics, are deductive arguments. An
argument is valid iff it is not possible that its premises are true and its
conclusion false, i.e., its conclusion would have to be true if its prem-
ises were. If you were to believe the premises of a valid argument,
then you would be required by logic to believe its conclusion. To rea-
son validly is follow one of the rules of logic, guaranteeing the truth of
your conclusion (assuming that your premises are true). That is, if you
start from true premises and follow the rules of logic, then you must
arrive at a true conclusion. Finally, an argument is sound iff it is valid
and its premises are true. Thus, there are two goals in reasoning: a)
follow the rules of logic and b) employ true premises. If you reach
both of these goals, your conclusion must be true.
Here are some examples of valid, sound, and invalid arguments:

1. All Republicans are liberals.

2. Bush is a Republican.
3. Thus, Bush is a liberal.
(Valid but Unsound)

1. All US senators are US citizens.

2. Clinton is a US senator.
3. Thus, Clinton is a US citizen.
(Sound)

1. All Supreme Court justices are attorneys.

2. Bailey is an attorney.
3. Thus, Bailey is a Supreme Court justice.
(Invalid)

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 We shall now consider the basic Rules of Natural Deduction
(where p and q are sentence variables, akin to x, y, and z in algebra).
Most of the arguments in this text follow these rules, as do many other
philosophical (and non-philosophical) arguments. They will be the
framework, so to speak, of our discussions.

1. If p, then q
2. p
3. Thus, q (Modus Ponens or MP)

Examples:

1. If General Relativity (GR) is true, then black holes exist.

2. GR is true.
3. Thus, black holes exist.

1. If Bush is President, then Cheney is VP.

2. Bush is President.
3. Thus, Cheney is VP.

1. If p, then q
2. not-q
3. Thus, not-p (Modus Tollens or MT)

Examples:

1. If Quantum Mechanics (QM) is true, then the Principle of Ex-

cluded Middle is false.
2. The Principle of Excluded Middle is not false.
3. Thus, QM is not true.

1. If Gore is President, then Lieberman is vice-president.

2. Lieberman is not vice-president.
3. Thus, Gore is not President.

1. Either p or q
2. not-p
3. Thus, q (Disjunctive Syllogism or DS)

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Examples:

1. Either Quantum Mechanics is false or the Principle of Local

Causes (PLC) is false.
2. QM is not false.
3. Thus, PLC is false.

1. Either Gore won the election or Bush won the election.

2. Gore did not win.
3. Thus, Bush won.

1. If p, then q
2. If q, then r
3. Thus, if p, then r (Hypothetical Syllogism or HS)

Examples:

1. If Special Relativity is true, then the time of an event is relative

to one’s frame of reference.
2. If the time of an event is relative to one’s reference frame, then
time travel is possible
3. Thus, if Special Relativity is true, then time travel is possible.

1. If Bush is President, then Cheney is vice-president.

2. If Cheney is vice-president, then Powell is secretary of state.
3. Thus, if Bush is President, then Powell is secretary of state.

Philosophers often follow the rule of Indirect Proof (IP) when

they want to refute a view, i.e., show that it is false. This technique,
sometimes called ‘reductio ad absurdum’, should be familiar to stu-
dents of geometry. Here is how it works.

1. V (View to be disproved)
…
n. Thus, p (Implication of V)
…
n + 1. Thus, not-p (Implication of V)
C. Thus, p and not-p??
C. not-V

In effect, a philosopher will deduce an obviously false claim from

her opponent’s view and proceed to argue (by MT) that it must be
false, since if it were true, then so would something that is obviously
false. The view known as moral relativism is refutable in this way:
8
 1. If someone believes something is moral/immoral, then it is
moral/immoral.
2. Stephen Douglas believes that slavery is moral.
3. Thus, slavery is moral.
4. John Brown believes that slavery is immoral.
5. Thus, slavery is immoral.
6. Thus, slavery is moral and immoral??

To philosophize is to advance one’s understanding of knowledge,

reality, and goodness by applying these rules and the above metaphi-
losophy. Call this procedure “philosophical analysis.”

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 CHAPTER 2
KNOWLEDGE

2.1 The Problem of Epistemological Skepticism

Epistemology is the philosophical analysis of knowledge. The con-
clusion of our first problem is the skeptical claim that knowledge is
not possible. Rene Descartes (1596-1650), the father of modern phi-
losophy, formulated this problem in his essay The Meditations on
First Philosophy. His goal there was to clarify another great philoso-
pher’s definition of knowledge. Knowledge, according to Plato (427-
347 BC), is justified, true, belief. A person, on this view, (known as
the JTB theory) knows a proposition iff a) she believes it, b) it is true,
and c) her belief in it is justified (by reasons). Descartes explores the
possibility that condition c cannot be met, presenting philosophers
with the Problem of Epistemological Skepticism (PES):

1. If there are justified beliefs, then there are certain beliefs. (Des-
cartes’ Foundationalism, DF).
2. No beliefs are certain.
3. Thus, no beliefs are justified (1, 2).
4. If there is knowledge, then there are justified beliefs. (Plato).
5. Thus, there is no knowledge (3, 4).

Descartes’ standard of belief acceptance embodied in 1 is: reject all

beliefs except those of which you are certain – those that “admit no
doubt” – and those validly deducible from certainties. Descartes must,
therefore, reject all of his beliefs concerning objects in the “external
world” (EWBs), since he cannot be certain that they are the products
of the senses – a “reliable” mechanism (that is, one that generally pro-
duces true beliefs) rather than the output of the “dream producing”
mechanism, which generally generates falsehoods (and is, thus, unre-
liable). Here is his Dream Argument:

10
 1. Any EWB might be a dream.
2. Any belief that might be a dream might be false.
3. Thus, any EWB might be false (1, 2).
4. Any belief that might be false is uncertain.
5. Thus, any EWB is uncertain (3, 4).

or

1. If EWBs are certain, then it is possible to distinguish between

dreams and waking experiences.
2. It is not possible to distinguish between dreams and waking ex-
periences.
3. Thus, EWBs are uncertain.

It is as if there were only two television networks, each one of

which broadcasts news but only one of which is reliable. A viewer
would then be rationally obliged to determine the source of any report
she may be watching. Thus, if she became unable to distinguish their
broadcasts, she would be unable to learn the news: she could not trust
any report that she viewed. Such is the situation, according to Des-
cartes, of a person regarding her EWBs. (He later maintains that “clar-
ity” is the mark of an EWB produced by a reliable mechanism, the
senses, as if the reliable network had a clearer picture.)
DF also forces him to give up all of his “abstract world” beliefs
(AWBs), such as the belief that 7 + 5 = 12, since they too might be the
product of an unreliable mechanism, the Great Deceiver (GD), (or, as
movie buffs would say, the Matrix Programmer, (MP)) rather than a
reliable one, his own intellect. That is, Descartes hypothesizes that an
evil spirit exists who delights in deceiving him, which casts doubt
upon his AWBs. Here is the GD Argument:

1. Any AWB (or EWB, for that matter) might have been instilled
by the GD/MPs.
2. Any belief that might have been instilled by the GD/MPs might
be false.
3. Thus, any AWB (or EWB, for that matter) might be false (1,2).
4. Any belief that might be false is uncertain.
5. Thus, any AWB (or EWB, for that matter) is uncertain (3,4).

or

1. If AWBs are certain, then it is certain that the GD/MP is not

their source.
2. It is not certain that the GD/MP is not their source.
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 3. AWBs are uncertain.

Descartes, thus, gives up his EWBs because they would be false, if

he were dreaming, which he cannot rule out and he relinquishes his
AWBs because they would be false if there were a GD, which he can-
not rule out. He is, thus, left with his “mental world” beliefs (MWBs),
such as the belief that his mind contains an idea of a chair, all of
which turn out to be certain and entail his own existence. That is, the
source of an idea has nothing to do with whether or not it exists. Thus,
even if it were the dream mechanism or the GD that was generating an
idea, so that nothing corresponded to it in either the external or ab-
stract world, one could still be certain that it was amongst the “con-
tents” of one’s mind. Further, since something that does not exist can-
not have ideas, Descartes is certain of his own existence: “I think,
therefore I am.” Doubting this belief, for any reason, actually confirms
it, since something that doubts the belief that it exists, exists at least as
a “doubter”: a doubter cannot be nonexistent. Later we shall discuss
the metaphysical question this epistemological thesis begs: what am I,
a material or a spiritual being?
With this proposition, known as the “cogito,” as its basis, Des-
cartes goes on to give the following proof of the external world
(EW):

1. I think.
2. If I think, then I exist.
3. Thus, I exist.
4. If I exist, then God exists. (I could not have created myself nor
originated from nothing.)
5. Thus, God exists.
6. If God exists, then the EW exists. (God is no deceiver; He would
not instill in me the false belief that an EW exists.)
7. Thus, the EW exists.

The argument’s last step can be fleshed out as follows:

1. If God exists and there is no EW, then God is deceptive.

2. God is not deceptive.
3. Thus, either God does not exist or the EW exists.
4. God exists.
5. Thus, the EW exists.

Should we accept this argument? The first premise is indubi-

table: not even the GD hypothesis entails that it is false. The second
premise, however, is questionable. Philosophers, such as Nietzsche
12
(1844-1900), have maintained that thinking does not require a
thinker, that is, that there could be mental states without a subject. On
this view, our language, which contains locutions such as ‘I am think-
ing of Paris’, misleads us into positing a referent for the term ‘I’,
which is, in fact empty: ‘I am thinking of Paris’ is just a way of saying
that there are thoughts of Paris. These thoughts, however, belong to no
one – there are no selves that have thoughts. Descartes, though, as we
will see when this issue re-emerges in Chapter 7, is on very solid con-
ceptual ground here. he fourth premise would be rejected by atheists,
but then, they must account for the world’s coming into being in some
other way. (Remember that, at this stage of the discussion, Descartes
is taking the world to consist solely of he himself.) Is it possible that
the universe arose from nothingness, i.e., that the Big Bang had no
cause?
Aristotle (384-322) posited God as a first cause or “unmoved
mover.” Could the universe, however, have lacked a beginning, the
Big Bang being preceded by an infinite series of events? What of the
idea that the universe was not brought to be by something else but,
instead, created itself? It does not make sense if one holds the princi-
ple that a cause always precedes its effect. Thus, since the alternatives
to Descartes’ account of the how universe came to be are untenable,
premise 4 seems above reproach.
The premise that has come in for the heaviest criticism is the sixth.
Philosophers have contended that Descartes gave us no reason to sup-
pose that his creator was not deceptive. After all, he was the one who
put forth the Great Deceiver Hypothesis! Moreover, even if we grant
to him that God is not deceptive, there remains the possibility that the
Great Deceiver is being allowed to thwart God’s plans: but for his
interference, we would, were we to carefully exercise our intellects,
realize scientific and mathematical truth. Given this cogent objection
to Descartes’ solution, we must consider alternatives.

2.2 Idealism
Idealism, according to which only the mental world exists, is George
Berkeley’s (1685-1753) response to the Cartesian skeptic regarding
knowledge of the external, or (as Berkeley himself likes to put it)
“material” world. This view, as strange as it might seem, cannot be
dismissed ‘out of hand’, as Berkeley puts forth plausible arguments in
its defense. Let us begin by making explicit the view of perception
that leads to skepticism regarding the external world. For Berkeley’s
alternative is put forth so as to avoid this problem.

13
 According to Indirect Realism (IR) (also called Representational
Realism) the objects of perception – the things that we perceive – are
ideas, mental representations, not mind-independent objects
(MIOs). On this view, which was held by Descartes, the mind is like a
television screen, something on which images of other things appear.
These images are supposed to resemble the MIOs in one’s perceptual
field, of which they are effects. But this supposition, as we have seen,
is questionable: the Cartesian skeptic will challenge the indirect realist
to prove that a Great Deceiver isn’t at work in producing one’s ideas.
To push the television analogy a little further, this request is like ask-
ing someone to ascertain that the cause of the images on their televi-
sion screen of a football game is the effect of a football game currently
being played – without relying on something besides those images
themselves. If it is impossible to comply with this request, then the
existence of an external world matching one’s ideas is a matter of
speculation. Being unobservable, it is like the sub-atomic realm of
physics: being posited only so as to account for what is observed
and, thus, certain.
Direct Realism (DR), on the other hand, posits MIOs, not ideas,
as the objects of perceptual experiences. (Think of the difference be-
tween an ambassador being granted an audience with the king himself
rather being apprised of the king’s intentions by one of his diplomats,
or of seeing a sporting event live rather than watching it on televi-
sion.) It appears impossible, however, for the direct realist to account
for misperception: on her view, there is no intermediary to misrepre-
sent things. (With access to the king, the ambassador cannot blame a
third party for any misunderstandings that arise.) We shall presently
consider DR in greater detail.
Berkeley adopted Idealism because he rejected DR (for reasons we
won’t consider) and thought that IR led to the Problem of Perception
and the External World (PPEW):

1.If (a) tables, rivers, other persons, are MIOs and (b) the objects
of perception are one’s ideas, (mere representations of MIOs) then
it seems that (c) one cannot be sure that one’s ideas of tables, riv-
ers, other persons, and so on are true – accurately represent mind –
independent reality.
2.a and b.
3.Thus, c.

Berkeley agrees with Descartes regarding b, but he rejects a: ac-

cording to him, “sensible” objects are collections of ideas, which are
caused to appear by God Himself. (Idealism, it must be said, is more
economical than IR. Why would God create MIOs to cause our ideas
14
when He could do so Himself?) Having rejected IR and DR, this move
is Berkeley’s only alternative to skepticism. Thus, his view is philoso-
phically motivated, despite its strange implications. E.g., if Berkeley is
right, then two persons cannot perceive the same thing nor one indi-
vidual perceive the same thing on separate occasions. But, if Idealism
is the only viable solution to the PPEW, then we shall have to abdicate
the concept of sameness in any event, as skepticism also renders it
inapplicable to things. (The Great Deceiver may be making make
think that the desk at which I am now sitting is the one at which I sat
before dinner.)
As for supporting Idealism, let us begin with Berkeley’s Variabil-
ity Argument (VA):

1. If sensible objects were MIOs, then they would have some “real,
intrinsic properties,” that is, properties that would not change
unless something was done to the sensible object to which they be-
longed. (Real, intrinsic properties would not change because of a
change in the relations of the sensible object to which they be-
longed.)
2. Sensible objects do not have real, intrinisic properties, all sensi-
ble properties are affected by changes in relations. For example,
the water in a basin may feel hot to one person (whose hand has
been in ice) and lukewarm to another (whose hand has been near a
fire).
3. Thus, sensible objects are not MIOs.

In response, some philosophers maintain that premise 2 is false:

that sensible objects do have real, intrinsic properties: “powers” whose
effects upon us (and other sentient creatures) are their appearances. A
sensible quality is such a power, which Berkeley conflates with its
effects – our perceptions. The building’s color is not the idea of gray-
ness or blueness, but the power to appear gray (to someone seeing it in
the dark) and appear blue (to someone seeing it in the light). That
power is mind – independent in Berkeley’s sense of being invariant: it
is the same no matter what it is causing someone to perceive. Its ap-
pearances are, on the other hand, mind-dependent in the sense that
they can vary from one observer to another.
Berkeley rejected the idea that imperceptibles, such as mind-
independent powers, exist. To posit them to account for perceptions is
to invite skeptical challenges of the sort Idealism was intended to
avoid: how could we know that mind-independent powers of material
substances are responsible for our perceptions rather than, say, a Great
Deceiver? After all, supposing DR to be false, the external world,
were it to exist, would be beyond our ken. It’s not as if one could step
15
outside one’s mind and take an unfiltered view of things, so to speak,
so as to make sure that one’s ideas are not coming from a Great De-
ceiver. Moreover, MIOs of any sort are superfluous. Things would
appear the same to us whether they existed or not. (Berkeley, as we
shall see in a later chapter, also rejected the idea that there must be an
imperceptible substratum in which a sensible object’s properties in-
here.) Berkeley realizes, however, that the VA is unlikely to be ac-
cepted by his opponents. Thus, to end the stalemate, he proposes his
Master Argument (MA):

1. If MIOs exist, then one should be able to think of one.

2. But, one cannot think of a MIO (since, in conceiving, it is ‘in
one’s mind’.)
3. Thus, MIOs do not exist.

Berkeley, however, is attacking a “straw man,” that is, a misrepre-

sentation of his opponent’s position. The anti-Idealist does not hold
that she can conceive of a sensible object that it is unperceived.
Rather, she believes that a certain proposition is true: that there could
be a sensible object that no one perceives. In other words, she is not
saying, in denying Idealism, that she has a particular sensible object
‘in mind’ that is ‘in no one’s mind’, which is contradictory. Instead,
she is saying that she believes it is possible that there be a sensible
object that no one perceives. For Idealism to be false, it is only neces-
sary that one be able to conceive that there is a sensible object that is
unperceived, which is a certain proposition, not a particular sensible
object.
Thus, Berkeley’s arguments fail to establish Idealism. It seems,
then, that we must defend Direct Realism in order to solve the PPEW.

2.3 Direct Realism

By now, it should be apparent that the skeptic exploits the assumption,
made by both Berkeley and Descartes, that we do not perceive MIOs,
but MDOs. If one further supposes that the objects of perception are
caused by MIOs, then it is incumbent upon one to refute the skeptic’s
claim that the former always misrepresent the latter. As we saw,
Berkeley denied this second supposition in order to avoid having to
meet this obligation; Descartes tried to meet it, but failed. But there is
another way to circumvent the skeptic’s challenge: show that in per-
ception we have direct access to MIOs. That is to say, if perceiving is
awareness of MIOs, rather than awareness of the effect of an MIO,

16
then there is no possibility of systematic deception, though one may
occasionally misperceive things. But, as noted above, it is mispercep-
tions that present a problem for the direct realist. How could one mis-
perceive something to which there is unmediated access? Her oppo-
nent charges that she cannot avail herself here of the indirect realist’s
explanation in terms of a lack of correspondence between what is be-
ing perceived – an MDO – and its cause, an MIO. There is nothing in
the direct realist’s account of perception to do the misrepresenting.
But why shouldn’t we treat misperception as an anomaly, when an
MDO does manage to interpose itself between a subject and an MIO?
That is to say, following a suggestion of William James, (1842-1910)
the fact that the object of a veridical experience is an MIO does not
entail that the object of a misperception cannot be a MDO. The direct
realist is simply not committed to the view that all perceptual experi-
ences are of MIOs. We have no reason, then, not to adopt DR as our
solution to the PPEW, leaving the Cartesian skeptic without some-
thing to point to as an ineluctable source of perceptual errors.

17
 CHAPTER 3
MEANING

3.1 The Going-on Problem

The going-on problem (GOP) is the central concern of Ludwig Witt-
genstein’s (1889-1951) later philosophy. It informs not only his epis-
temology and philosophy of mind, but also his views on mathematics,
universals, and religion. The GOP is posed in the following “remark”
from his Philosophical Investigations:

Now we get the pupil to continue a series (say +2) beyond 1000—and he
writes 1000, 1004, 1008, 1012.
We say to him: “Look what you’ve done!”—He doesn’t understand. We
say: “You were meant to add two: look how you began the series!”
—He answers: “Yes, isn’t it right? I thought that was how I was meant
to do it.”—Or suppose he pointed to the series and said: “But I went on in
the same way.” It would now be no use to say:
“But can’t you see…?”—and repeat the old examples and explanations.

In the next remark, Wittgenstein asks the question he has just im-
plicitly posed: “How is it decided what is the right step to take at any
particular stage? … Or, again, what at any stage are we to call ‘being
in accord’ with that sentence (‘add two’) (and with the mean-ing you
then put into the sentence– whatever that may have consisted in)?”
These remarks may be summarized as follows: A student is shown
how to add two. Her instruction involves a rule: “examples and expla-
nations.” She follows this rule in accordance with her teacher’s expec-
tations up to a certain point. But thereafter she fails to ‘measure up’.
But it has yet to be shown, according to Wittgenstein, what makes the
student’s answers violations of the rule. What determines, he asks,
what the intended answers are?
Wittgenstein also sees the GOP arising in connection with “osten-
sive definitions” of colors, length and, numbers. In one of his cases, a
teacher defines ‘two’ by pointing to a pair of nuts. But if her student
18
thought of ‘two ’ as “the name given to this group of nuts—” what
would justify the teacher’s belief, Wittgenstein asks, that she has been
misunderstood? After all, it is not as if her definition is completely
unambiguous, although generally it suffices.
It is further contended that the teacher will not necessarily make
her meaning clearer by pointing out to her student that it is a number
being defined. For the student may not understand what ‘number’
means either. She will then require an explanation of this concept if it
is to be of assistance. But to do so her teacher must employ “other
words,” thus risking new “misunderstandings.”
The GOP thus arises when one considers that a student might pro-
ceed in what is commonly thought to be an errant way from even the
most carefully worded set of instructions. But that she would have
misunderstood them – really deviated from what was intended – can
be maintained only if there is only one possible way of taking the rule
in question. But the ordinary explanations of our practices do not seem
to ‘rule out’ as incorrect so-called deviant ways of taking them, or so a
skeptic would contend. Saul Kripke gives the GOP a different twist.
He takes the above remarks to call into question the possibility of an
individual forming an intention or guiding herself. He writes:

This, then is the skeptical paradox. When I respond in one way rather than
another to such a problem as ‘68+57’, I can have no justification for one
response rather than another. Since the skeptic who supposes that I meant
quus (by ‘+’, so that I should respond ‘5’) cannot be answered, there is no
fact about me that distinguishes between my meaning plus (by ‘+’, so that
I should respond ‘125’) and my meaning quus. Indeed there is no fact
about me that distinguishes between my meaning a definite function by
‘plus’ (which determines my responses in new cases) and my meaning
nothing at all.

Kripke arrives at this interpretation by “kicking the ladder away”

from the teacher in Wittgenstein’s examples. As those cases were
presented above, it was assumed that the teacher knew what she
meant by ‘add 2’ or ‘blue’. The problem had to do with conveying
those meanings via rules to a student. Kripke’s skeptic challenges the
teacher to demonstrate that she herself knows just what she intended.
It turns out that she cannot, since the instructions she gave herself are
consistent with more than one extension of her practice, which is pre-
cisely why they did not determine that her student was incorrect.
Nothing about her rule shows that she intended her preferred way of
going-on rather than some other. Thus, as Kripke writes, “the entire
idea of meaning vanishes into thin air.”

19
3.2 Wittgenstein’s Conventionalism
Wittgenstein’s answer to the GOP may be culled from remark
#190:

It may now be said: “that the way the formula is meant determines which
steps are to be taken”. What is the criterion for the way the formula is
meant? It is, for example, the kind of way we always use it, the way we
are taught to use it.

Here Wittgenstein claims that we can recognize how a rule should be

taken, i.e., what it guides one to do, by seeing how our fellows nor-
mally ‘go on’ from it. Since there is a normal way to follow a rule – a
“convention” associated with it – he concludes that there is “a way the
formula is meant.” The fact that human beings generally smoothly
extend their practices yields Wittgenstein’s answer to the GOP.
Regarding yet to be considered cases, a rule’s extension is deter-
mined by way that we would treat them were they to arise. It is these
counterfactual applications of a rule with which an individual must
agree if he is to correctly handle new cases. Thus, a community’s ac-
tual and counterfactual way of applying a rule constitutes its meaning.
Rule-following rests on our inclination to form conventions.
Wittgenstein’s conventionalism, however, raises the following
question. What grounds the belief that the members of a community
are disposed to agree when it comes to applying their rules? Why do
we not expect instead “conceptual anarchy”? What is being requested
here is a fact the knowledge of which would play the same role that
salt’s chemical composition plays in the prediction that all salt will
dissolve – the physical basis of the community’s disposition.
In a word, Wittgenstein’s thesis presupposes that something is
causing the community to uniformly extend its practices. Otherwise,
there would be no reason to expect continual agreement. The problem
lies in accounting for the uniformity of a community’s practice in
terms of a feature shared by all of its members, which, generally, is
how we explain a group’s behavior patterns. Without introducing such
a deterministic element into his thesis, Wittgenstein would be unable
to include a community’s counterfactual applications of a rule in its
correct extension – for he would no reason to believe that any exist.
Perhaps realizing this lacuna, he says near the end of the Investiga-
tions that:

If the formation of concepts can be explained by facts of nature, should

we not be interested, not in grammar, but rather in that in nature which is
the basis of grammar?— Our interest certainly includes the correspon-

20
 dence between concepts and very general facts of nature. (Such facts as
mostly do not strike us because of their generality.)

That human beings are of the same species, Wittgenstein seems to

be arguing, is what accounts for their being disposed to develop con-
ventions. They uniformly extend their practices because they share
certain biologically important features. Given that we are of the same
natural kind, there is only one way that we would extend any practice
beyond the cases we have already considered – “the steps are already
determined.” This, one might suppose, is one of the “very general
facts of nature” upon which Wittgenstein based the possibility of rule-
following.
Wittgenstein’s claim that the biological sameness of human beings
provides the ground for their shared dispositions, however, begs the
question with which his inquiry began – ‘what is sameness?’. Same-
ness, on his view, was supposed to be a function of our collective
judgment. Thus, in arguing for the existence of a community’s dispo-
sition, it will not do for him to claim that they share certain biologi-
cally important features. Since, on his view, for persons to be of the
same kind it must be the case that they would take each other to be so.
But that all or even most persons are disposed to make such a judg-
ment— or agree on anything else— now has been called into question.
Moreover, it would be ad hoc to claim here that human beings are
biologically the same whether or not they would accept that proposi-
tion: having conceded as much, what reason is there to deny the exis-
tence of natural kinds besides Homo Sapiens?
The defender of “straight” conventionalism, as the above view is
sometimes called, might appeal at this point to a distinction between
“meaning” facts and “natural” facts, claiming that the former but not
the latter are conventional. Whether or not I intend to go on one way
rather than another from a given rule would be settled, following this
suggestion, by a public practice while my belonging to a particular
species would be determined by custom-independent facts. Is such a
distinction, however, tenable in Wittgenstein’s system? It raises the
question of why some facts are conventionally determined while oth-
ers are not. Further, what is it about ‘meaning the same thing’ that, in
contrast to ‘being of the same natural kind’, precludes a non-
conventional analysis thereof? It appears ad hoc to understand the
former in terms of a community’s practice while positing a non-
conventional analysis of the latter.
Thus, Wittgenstein seems unable to solve the GOP by appeal to our
disposition (such as it is) to form conventions. One could concede as
much and proceed to defend this account as what Kripke calls a “skep-
tical solution,” that is, a view according to which there is no fact to the
21
matter of following a rule the citing of which would justify correct-
ness claims. When pressed to defend such assertions, to which, after
all, we attach a great deal of importance, its proponents would have us
say, ala Hume and Wittgenstein himself at some points, ‘this is just
how we do things’. Remaining agnostic concerning Wittgenstein’s
own considered view, I propose, instead, to look elsewhere for a
straight solution.

3.3 Individual Dispositions

Let us consider the individual disposition theory (IDT), discussed and
rejected by Kripke. According to this view, one is following a rule if
and only if one is applying it as one would have had one been asked to
extend it to the case at hand. In other words, the explanation one ini-
tially gives of a practice and the additional instruction one provides in
those “possible worlds” in which it is requested are normatively
equivalent: both are what one intended to do in carrying it out and, as
such, make up its correct extension: to have meant to do x is to have
been disposed to do x.
To follow a rule, then, one must remember what one would have
said had one been asked to apply the rule to the case at hand. One’s
memory is the faculty one uses in order to accord with one’s inten-
tions. If one’s memory is reliable, then one’s belief that one would
have continued a practice as one is now inclined to do defeasibly justi-
fies one’s extension. That is to say, the fact that one remembers that
one was initially disposed to follow a rule in a certain way provides a
reason, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, to apply it in that
fashion: in thus going on, one does what one intended. One’s justifica-
tion here is provided by the fact that one uses a reliable faculty to de-
termine one’s intention. One need not “hypothesize” about one’s dis-
positions, as Kripke contends, rather one can attempt to recall how
one would have handled the case at hand.
Thus, the IDT gives the fact of the matter of intending as well as
the means of knowing this fact. Kripke, however, challenges it on the
grounds that it fails to provide the “normative” element essential to a
theory of rule-following. He asks, ‘why should the rule-following
skeptic accept the fact that one would have done x as justification for
one’s doing of x?’. That one meant to do x rather than y is not demon-
strated, according to Kripke, by citing one’s dispositions, even if one’s
recollection thereof is accurate. Carl Ginet makes essentially the
same point, appealing to an “objective, realist view of properties” in
order to distinguish “pseudo-rule-following from the real thing.” For

22
the latter it is not enough, according to him, to accord with how one
would have reacted to the case at hand. To follow a rule, the disposi-
tion with which one agrees must itself reflect mind-independent facts.
Kripke and Ginets’ intuition, however, is based upon a misunder-
standing of Wittgenstein’s problem. The skeptic challenged us to
specify something about a person that constituted her intending to do
x rather than y. Why could this not be her being disposed to do the
former? There is nothing normatively suspect about this fact if it is
taken as constitutive of her understanding of some rule (leaving aside
the Platonic question of whether or not her understanding reflects how
things are objectively). And this is the only standard Wittgenstein
sought.
In giving one’s explanation of a practice, one gave only a sample
of how one intended to engage in it. One could have elaborated upon
one’s rule had one been required to do so, but one didn’t. Still, one’s
samples in other possible worlds have normative significance. Why
wouldn’t they, since they could have just as easily been given? They
constitute a standard one may or may not later meet. What unites
them as the intended applications of a single rule, rather than several
unrelated meanings, is their relationship to one’s actual explanation:
each is a response to that sample, instead of other rules, and, as such,
a part of how one intended to go on from it. (Again, they make up
one’s rule, regardless of whether or not it has an “image” amongst the
Platonic forms of rules.) In citing (a segment of) one’s rule, one at-
tempts to impart understanding of a complete concept. To learn it is to
acquire one’s disposition and, thus, realize the rationale behind one’s
practice.
Thus, Kripke’s first charge proves to be unfounded. The IDT does
contain a normative element. Out of all the ways one could go on from
a rule, it singles out one’s intended practice, the development of
which is following the rule in question.
Kripke also contends that the IDT fails to allow for determinate
concepts, that is, concepts whose extensions are fixed. A concept, he
argues, is applicable beyond the cases we are able to adjudicate: the
finiteness of a disposition prevents it from determining how a concept
ought to be extended to each one of the infinite number of situations
in which it is applicable. E.g., there is no answer one would give,
Kripke claims, to an “arbitrarily large addition problem.” Yet, if ‘what
one would have done’ is to fix how one ought to proceed in using the
plus sign— by adding or performing another operation— one’s dispo-
sition should yield an answer to each problem involving this sign. But,
according to Kripke, one is not disposed to provide the answer to all
problems involving the plus sign: some are too long to grasp, let alone
solve in a normal human life. Peter van Inwagen makes the same
23
claim, likening a person’s dispositions to the finite set of answers of a
pocket calculator.
It is not true, however, that I’m not disposed, by my rule for addi-
tion, to give the answer to an arbitrarily large addition problem. To
think otherwise is to confuse my capacity or potential for doing addi-
tion with the number of ways in which it can actually manifest itself.
The things to which van Inwagen refers as “dispositions” are not
really dispositions at all. They are the responses a thing can actually
make. In the case of a pocket calculator, they exhaust its “disposition”
proper; not so with the adding capacity of a human being. Compare:
‘The salt will dissolve anytime it is placed in water’, ‘I can produce
the answer to any addition problem, given sufficient time’, and ‘The
calculator is able to sum any two numbers if it operates long enough’.
That the first two sentences are true while the third is false points up
the difference between having a disposition and being programmed to
achieve a limited number of results.
I believe that there is an answer I would give to an arbitrarily large
addition problem: it is the one I would arrive at by summing the col-
umns of digits right to left until there are no columns left (carrying
when necessary). I cannot actuallyprovide this sum, but that does not
tell against there being another possible world, albeit physically inac-
cessible to our own, in which it is produced. (Should a dying person
say that there is no possibility of her completing will even if she be-
lieves that had she a little more time...?)
To perform the above task my brain would not need, as Kripke
contends, to be “stuffed with extra matter.” As it is currently consti-
tuted, it enables me to do what is required: ‘run down’ every column
summing each pair of numbers in turn (carrying when necessary). My
actual lifespan would, however, need to be extended considerably in
order for me to achieve the desired result. Kripke says that we have no
way of knowing how I would respond to being (comparatively speak-
ing) immortal. But there is no reason to suppose that I would react in a
“bizarre” fashion, altering the technique I had been employing to
solve the problem.
We often make posthumous judgments, concerning how a person
would have completed a project, based on our understanding of her
established techniques. In the above case, we need only suppose that
each day the problem is left unsolved is followed by a day in which I
‘pick up where I left off’. If there is no reason to suppose this won’t be
the case in the days following someone’s death, then there is no rea-
son to think that any day following a day my task was left incomplete
will find me altering my technique. Thus, by mathematical induction,
it can be shown that in learning to add I become disposed to give the
answer to any problem involving the plus sign. How I meant to apply
24
‘+’ in each case is thus fixed by what I would have answered had I
been asked to sum the numbers in question, no matter how large they
are.

2.4 Conclusion
The IDT relies on the notion of a disposition. That a person has dispo-
sitions seems undeniable. Presently, one need only suppose that
someone learning a rule would apply it to cases not included in her
instruction, were she asked to do so. Her counterfactual responses, we
may further assume, would have been determined by the same sorts of
factors that produce her actual performance. There is no mystery here.
This approach seems preferable to defending Wittgenstein’s thesis as
a skeptical solution, thus abdicating excluded middle. Our options,
though, are exhausted by these two choices, as a “straight” conven-
tionalism has been shown to be untenable.
IDT, thus, refutes the key premise of Wittgenstein’s private lan-
guage argument. It does so by providing for the necessary distinction
between thinking one is following the rules for such a language and
following them. These things are not necessarily conflated therein
because the fact of the matter of following its rules is applying them
as one would have while they were being learned, something one
might erroneously take oneself to be doing.
To use Wittgenstein’s example, correctness is applying ‘S’ to a
sensation that would have been thought of as a continuation of the
defining experience. In other words, in applying ‘S’ one’s standard is
composed of what one would have said of any sensation had it been
appended to the defining experience: iff one would have then thought
of it as continuing S should it now be conceived of as of the same
kind. One can, of course, be mistaken concerning how one was for-
merly disposed, thus a correct application of ‘S’ is not necessarily
what is thought of as such.

25
 CHAPTER 4
EXISTENCE

4.1 The Problem of Existence

The following metaphysical problem arises when we attempt to spec-
ify the referring terms in our language. Suppose someone were to ask
us to separate what we might call the “fictional” terms of English,
such as ‘Santa Claus’ and ‘Caucasian’, from those that actually ‘stand
for’ things. (One of the findings of the Human Genome Project is that
there are no “race genes,” making all ascriptions of race false. Races,
according to biologists and geneticists, are categories that do not exist
in nature.) Could we formulate and defend a principle to distinguish
between terms of these types? Is it possible to provide a reason for
excluding from our vocabulary strange terms such as ‘grue’ – which
applies to anything that is either green today or blue any time after
today – or ‘incar’, which applies to an automobile that is parked in a
garage? Could we show that a language excluding such terms provides
a better representation of reality than one that does? In answering this
question, we will be developing an “ontology,” that is, a theory of
what sorts of things exist. (We have already discussed ontology in
connection with the PES, as it led us to question the existence of
MIOs.) Here is the problem that we face, call it the “Problem of Exis-
tence” (PE):

1. If any term that is satisfied refers to an existent, then there are

grue objects and incars.
2. Any term that is satisfied, refers to an existent.
3. Thus, there are grue objects and incars??

We shall approach the PE by first defining a “supervenient” entity

(SE) as one whose existence is dependent upon the matter of which it
constituted being arranged in a certain way: the way that is character-
istic of all entities of its sort. The existence of such an entity depends
26
upon its constituent matter being thus configured. (SEs are to be con-
trasted with “simples,” which are not made up of anything or consti-
tute themselves. In contemporary physics, such entities come in to two
types: quarks and electrons.) For each sort of SE, then, there are “cri-
teria of existence” (CE) that make up the “concept” an aggregate must
satisfy to belong to that sort. (To satisfy CE is to meet certain specifi-
cations.) In each case, these would specify the requisite stuff and form
for being one of its instances. Thus, to satisfy CE is to meet certain
specifications. A snowball, e.g., exists because of the roundness of the
snow of which it is composed; necessarily, something is a snowball if
and only if it is a rounded piece of snow.
Having stated what the CE for SEs are, we must ask: by which
principle should we determine which SEs, out of all those that satisfy
the CE for entities of some sort or other, really exist? One might think
that the following “absolutist principle” gives the true ontology of
SEs:

Necessarily, SEs of the sort S exist iff there are things satisfying
the CE of S (A)

A amounts to accepting the conclusion of PE. But, isn’t there more,

someone might respond, to existing as an SE than just satisfying a
concept? A, it seems, must be modified along the following lines,
giving us the view known as “conceptual relativism”:

Necessarily, an SE x of the sort S exists iff x satisfies the CE of S

and those CE are incorporated into the conceptual scheme of hu-
man beings (CR).

CR is a denial of premise 2 of PE. Its defenders maintain that SEs

of the sort S do not exist – despite there being xs that in-themselves
satisfy the CE of S – unless persons have decided that the constituent
form of S is the form of a sort of existents. It is only relative to the
conceptual scheme into which the CE of S have been incorporated that
instances of S exist. Here, we seem to be saying that relative to a con-
ceptual scheme whose framers have not acknowledged the CE of S, S
has no instances, even if there are things that satisfy its CE. No
SE exists absolutely, that is, simply by satisfying the CE of a sort of
supervenient entity, regardless of whether or not persons consider
instances of its sort existents.
One could also deny premise two of the PE by denying altogether
the existence of SEs, holding that only simples exist. This view –
27
known as Eliminativism – should be adopted, however, only if turns
out to be impossible to defend either A or CR. The belief in tables,
trees, etc. is so deeply entrenched in our world-view as to make
Eliminativism the least desirable solution to the PE. Thus, let us ex-
amine the pros and cons of A and CR.

4.2 Absolutism vs. Conceptual Relativism

One might be motivated to accept CR by reflecting upon “unacknow-
ledged” CE, e.g., the CE of what Brown University’s Ernest Sosa
calls “snowdiscalls.” An entity is a snowdiscall, according to Sosa,
just in case it is made of snow and (has as its) form any shape between
being rounded and being disc-shaped. If such things exist, as A dic-
tates, then one who holds a snowball also holds a snowdiscall. More-
over, given that there are infinitely many shapes S1, S2, ... between
being rounded and being flat that a piece of snow may assume, and
that with each shape Si there is associated the form of having a shape
between being flat and having shape Si, one would be holding an infi-
nite number of entities. Under A, reality, in Sosa’s words, “explodes.”
Its defenders must as least explain away the intuition that snowdis-
calls do not exist since they are not things to which we ordinarily
refer. Pointing out that they are like water in being reductively expli-
cable in terms of entities whose existence is acknowledged viz., H2O
molecules, will not suffice, since water is spoken of and is thus some-
thing for which a reductive explanation is commonly expected.
It is to avoid the need for such an explanation that Sosa himself
adopts CR: it rules out the existence of unconventional entities such as
snowdiscalls, since our conceptual scheme does not include their
form. This ruling out is done despite the fact that there are things that
satisfy the CE of snowdiscalls. The resulting ontological parsimoni-
ousness makes CR, Sosa reasons, preferable to A.
At this point, though, it could be asked if CR’s ontology is sparser
than A’s. It all depends on how we individuate conceptual schemes.
Do we lack the concept of a snowdiscall simply because, at least in the
vernacular, there is no term to which it corresponds? Or do we possess
it, despite this omission, given our employment of it constituents and
skillfulness at combining? As with the previous set of concerns, I shall
set this issue aside, assuming that CR’s defenders can provide satis-
factory reasons for answering the second question in the negative.
Presently, other considerations will emerge that reveal that CR is the
same ontology as A.

28
 Sosa defends CR against several objections. First, he asks, how is it
possible that persons, who are themselves SEs, exist only relative to
the conceptual scheme of which they are the developers?. If the exis-
tence of persons is dependent upon their accepting their own CE, then
how is it that their conceptual scheme is developed? One would think
that those who are responsible for the development of a conceptual
scheme must exist prior to, and, thus, independently of its develop-
ment. How could persons develop the conceptual scheme that includes
their form if they do not exist until the time at which they acknowl-
edge that that form is a form of existents?
Sosa’s response here is that, while persons do exist only relative to
their conceptual scheme, they do not exist “in virtue of it.” Persons
exist in virtue of their satisfaction of the CE of persons.
This move, Sosa believes, is an effective rebuttal to the charge that
CR’s account of how it is that persons exist is circular. It carries,
though, a heavy price. For Sosa seems to be conceding that in some
sense persons do exist prior to the time at which they incorporate
their form into their conceptual scheme, simply by satisfying a CE.
Persons, he seems to be saying, existed as unrecognized SEs, as things
that did not “stand out” amongst all of the things satisfying some CE
or other until the time at which this incorporation occurred. Our pre-
sent conceptual scheme itself forces us to concede as much to explain
its development.
This view of the matter, however, is compatible with the truth of
A; its defenders would agree that it is possible for the existence of a
SE to be unacknowledged. It is by taking seriously this possibility that
they arrive at the position that the existence of an SE is not dependent
upon our acceptance of its CE. Thus, unless there is a reading of the
locution ‘existing in virtue of’ that does not allow for the possibility of
an SE existing unacknowledged by anyone, it is not possible to square
Sosa’s response to this objection to CR with his rejection of A.
Even if such a reading were forthcoming, however, the defenders
of CR would still face difficulties. For those who adopt this doctrine
will find it hard, if not impossible, to explain our development of con-
cepts of SEs. They will be unable to avail themselves of the plausible,
empiricist doctrine that we form new concepts of SEs in order to cate-
gorize those SEs of whose existence we had failed to take notice, enti-
ties, which, according to CR, do not exist. If the only SEs that cur-
rently exist are those whose CE have been incorporated into our con-
ceptual scheme, then we would seem to have no reason to develop
additional concepts, since there would be no SEs whose existence we
would be failing to acknowledge if we did not.
This objection to CR is based upon the assumption that it would be
“pressure” from SEs of a sort whose CE had yet to be acknowledged
29
that would serve as the impetus for the development of a concept. But,
if CR were true, such motivation would be lacking: there would be no
unacknowledged SEs. Thus, if our forming of a concept is not initi-
ated by our realization that there exists SEs of a sort of which we had
failed to take notice, why would we ever make additions to our con-
ceptual scheme?
Sosa does not offer an answer to this question. Instead, he raises, to
those who would adopt the empiricist explanation of concept devel-
opment, the specter of exploding reality. To adopt this explanation,
one must concede that there is a “plethora” of entities existing unno-
ticed and in the same places as those with which we are familiar. What
Sosa says in response to the following objection, however, can be
extended so as to provide an alternative explanation for concept acqui-
sition (albeit at the price of conflating CR with A).
The objection is that CR rules out the existence of “artifacts and
particles” that have yet to be discovered. We believe that such things
currently exist, despite the fact that our conceptual scheme does not
yet include their CE. To accommodate this intuition, Sosa proposes
the following modification of CR:

Necessarily, supervenient entities of sort S exist just in case we

would under “appropriate circumstances” accept the CE of S and
there are things satisfying those CE (MCR).

According to MCR, undiscovered particles and artifacts do exist,

despite our current failure to acknowledge their CE, since we would
incorporate their CE into our conceptual scheme if we were situated in
a suitably different way.
What does ‘appropriate circumstances’ mean in MCR? The most
plausible explication would be: the circumstances appropriate to our
acceptance of as yet to be incorporated CE would be a situation in
which our beliefs and/or interests dictated that we add them to our
conceptual scheme. To say that under appropriate circumstances we
would come to recognize the existence of entities of a yet to be ac-
knowledged sort is to say that there is a doxastic/conative shift the
occurrence of which would require us to believe that these entities
existed. Thus, according to MCR, entities meeting the CE of a given
sort exist just in case we have been or could become compelled by our
beliefs or interests to accept their existence.
This modification of CR would allow its defenders to meet the
foregoing criticism concerning concept development. They could re-
spond that we develop new concepts so as to accommodate additional
beliefs or interests. The occurrence of a doxastic/conative shift, they
could say, would be the impetus behind the expansion of our concep-
30
tual scheme, an expansion that would involve the incorporation of the
CE of entities that had existed all along, albeit unrecognized by us.
Persons, Sosa could contend, fell into this category prior to the time at
which they accepted their own CE, thus also handling the first objec-
tion to CR he posed.
The problem with MCR, however, is that it yields a world of su-
pervenient objects that is indistinguishable from the one entailed by A.
For it is doubtful that there are any entities whose existence is entailed
by A whose CE we would not be motivated to acknowledge under any
circumstances. For the posits of MCR to be fewer than those of A,
there must be CE we could never become forced to acknowledge. But
it seems that for any unconventional entities, whose existence is en-
tailed by A, it would be possible to describe circumstances in which
additional beliefs or interests would compel us to acknowledge their
CE. If this is so, one gains nothing in terms of ontological parsimoni-
ousness by adopting MCR rather than A. (Although it must be con-
ceded that were MCR’s defenders able to solve the coherency and
circularity problems presented above, their doctrine would lack a fea-
ture had by A: ipso facto entailing the existence of scheme-
independent entities.)
For example, it turns out that MCR entails the existence of
snowdiscalls, since were the stacking of snowdiscalls to become the
object of a popular game (the required shape being that of a snowdis-
call so that the players need not be overly precise) we would be com-
pelled to acknowledge the CE of snowdiscalls. Thus, by adopting
MCR Sosa would deprive himself of his reason for rejecting A. My
argument is inductive. Let the defender of MCR describe the CE of
entities in whose existence she does not believe. I shall proceed to
detail circumstances under which those CE are accepted. Repeated
success at this would make it reasonable to believe that MCR has the
same ontological commitments as A.
One might then object that MCR is an uncharitable gloss of Sosa,
given that we would become compelled to believe in the Tooth Fairy
were conquering aliens to threaten genocide unless we did so. To
avoid this problem, the objection would continue, would require cir-
cumscribing the beliefs and interests referred to in MCR to those of
explanation and prediction. Such a revision must be resisted, however,
given the importance we place upon our extra-scientific concerns.
Surely we have reasons besides those having to do with our need to
explain and predict scientifically interesting phenomena to modify our
conceptual scheme. To believe otherwise is to countenance eliminativ-
ism regarding most of the entities of our current ontology, pace the
conceptual relativist’s original proposal. If we are going to expand our
conceptual scheme only to suit the needs of science, consistency de-
31
mands that we jettison all but quarks from our current ontology, since
presently they are the only posits essential to scientific descriptions of
reality. Moreover, the suggested circumscription has not been shown
to be necessary: we would only be compelled to act as if we be-
lieved in the Tooth Fairy were the above threat issued.
Thus, faced with the conflation of A and MCR, an ontologist who
is unwilling to adopt an eliminativist’s stance must find a way of de-
fending A.

4.3 Defending A
The first challenge Sosa presents is that of explaining why we recog-
nize only some of the “plethora” of supervenient entities that exist
according to A. The obvious response is: we recognize the entities it is
to our advantage to acknowledge. That is, we will acknowledge the
existence of entities of a sort S just in case we have an interest in do-
ing so. Most supervenient entities go unacknowledged, because of the
limited range of our concerns. When our beliefs and/or interests
change so does our worldview: we begin to acknowledge the CE of
entities of whose existence we had been unaware.
As for Sosa’s charge that under A “ordinary reality suffers a sort of
explosion,” there is the response that he has misidentified the site of
the detonation. If A is true, reality is much richer in supervenient enti-
ties than we unreflectively think it is. Which is to say that it is one’s
worldview that explodes upon acceptance of A, not reality.
Assuming that there are non-supervenient objects, the world is re-
plete with simples upon which supervenes a plethora of entities, some
of which we acknowledge, the vast majority of which go unnoticed.
That such is the case is no more puzzling than the possibility of a per-
son simultaneously filling the roles of husband, father, teacher, and
inhabiter of the only planet in our solar system whose name begins
with ‘E’.
Explaining how it is that a supervenient entity and its base, if they
are not identical, can simultaneously occupy the same space is diffi-
cult. But, it should be noted, one cannot avoid this problem by adopt-
ing MCR. For its defenders must still account for how it is that two
conventional objects, such as a statue and a lump of clay, can inhabit
the same spatiotemporal region. Moreover, as David Wiggins (con-
temporary philosopher) following Locke contended, it is not co-
location per se that violates common sense; rather is the simultaneous
sharing of a place by distinct entities of the same kind. On reflec-

32
tion, that co-location occurs seems unproblematic, given the possibil-
ity of an entity satisfying more than one set of CE.
Were A to entail that co-located entities are identical, as Sosa
maintains, its defenders would face a serious problem, since Saul
Kripke (contemporary philosopher) has convincingly argued that iden-
tities hold of necessity whereas a lump of clay, e.g., may exist without
being the statue it composes. But A does not carry this consequence.
To the contrary, its plentitudinarian ontology is generated only if one
assumes that the difference between the persistence conditions of a
constituting and a supervenient entity suffices to distinguish them by
Leibniz’s Law, which is what defenders of “contingent identity” deny.
To avoid having co-located entities, should we jettison CE from
our understanding of supervenient entities, reducing them to being
nothing over and above their bases? Appealing to the “common sense”
practice of disregarding the forms of things when counting them only
invites the charge that ontology is not ordinary inventorying. Counting
any “unified hunk of matter as one” may satisfy common sense at the
price of overlooking ontologically significant distinctions. Moreover,
if CE are not a part of our understanding of what it is for a superven-
ient entity to exist, we are left with the problem mentioned earlier of
explaining how a thing may fail to exist as a C while instantiating the
concept of C-ness. Ontological parsimoniousness is not worth either
one of these costs.
Having examined Sosa’s “menu of ontological possibilities,” we
have found no Ockhamistic justification for selecting MCR over A.
Further, we have seen that his objections to A can be met. Thus, we
are left with no reason to shrink from the view that reality is not a
function of our thinking. In only a limited sense is CR true: those as-
pects of reality we are capable of understanding are, of course, con-
ceptualizable by us. But God’s world, as one might put it, transcends
even our clearest view of it.

33
 CHAPTER 5
IDENTITY

5.1 The Ship of Theseus

We shall now discuss two problems involving the concept of identity.
John Locke (1632-1704) said that we often compare things existing at
different times and judge that, despite being temporally separated,
“they” are identical. E.g., I look at the used car lot and think to myself
that all of those cars were once brand new or I identify my friend as
the fellow with whom I went to school. What would make such a
judgment true? What is it for something to persist, that is, exist from
one time to another? It turns out, as we shall see, that metaphysical
problems arise when we try to define the idea of “diachronic” identity
or identity “across time.”
Consider the Ship of Theseus Problem (STP, from Thomas
Hobbes, 1588-1679): In a shipyard, there is a ship made of 100 planks
of wood. It is owned by a man named Theseus. Let us call the ship
“Original.” One day Theseus decides to replace one of Original’s
planks with a new plank. The next day and every day thereafter for 98
days he does the same thing, being careful to preserve Original’s
structure. Thus, Theseus now owns a ship, which we will call “Re-
placement,” none of whose parts overlaps with Original’s parts, and a
pile planks that used to make up Original. He then decides to make
another ship, which we will call “Reassembly,” out of the planks in
the pile, reassembling then in the same order as before, so that Reas-
sembly has the same type of structure as Original, albeit a different
instance of that type. The question is, which ship, if any, is now
Original? The problem may be formulated as follows:

1. If x and y exhibit the same instance of a (type of) structure, then

x = y.
2. Original and Replacement exhibit the same instance of a (type
of) structure.
34
 3. Thus, Original = Replacement (1, 2).
4. If x and y have the same parts, then x = y.
5. Original and Reassembly have the same parts.
6. Thus, Original = Reassembly (4, 5).
7. If x and y are in different places at any given time, then x ≠ y.
8. Reassembly and Replacement are in different places on day 100.
9. Thus, Reassembly ≠ Replacement (7, 8).
10. If x = y and y = z, then x = z (The Transitivity of Identity, TI).
11. Thus, Reassembly = Replacement (6, 4, 10).
12. Thus, Reassembly ≠ Replacement and Reassembly = Replace-
ment (11, 9)??

Here are the extant solutions to the STP:

1. Replacement = Original, they have the same structure. Denies 4:

sameness of parts is not sufficient for being the same thing. (The
replacement process left the Original’s structure intact: each re-
placement could function as a ship.)
2. Reassembly = Original, they have the same parts. Denies 1:
sameness of structure is not sufficient for being the same thing.
3. Each one is Original, one has the same structure the other has
the same parts. Denies 7.
4. Neither one is Original, Reassembly lacks Original’s structure,
Replacement lacks Original’s parts. Denies both 1 and 4.
5. Replacement is the same ship as Original, they meet the “iden-
tity criterion” (IC) for ships; Reassembly is the same set of planks
as Original’s planks, they meet the IC for sets of planks. Denies
both 1 and 4. There is no such thing as absolute identity; identity
judgments must be “relativized” to a sort or kind of thing. (John
Locke, David Wiggins)
6. Replacement = Original but Reassembly would have been
Original had Replacement not existed, structure “trumps” parts.
7. Reassembly = Original but Replacement would have been
Original had Reassembly not existed, parts trumps structure.
8. Each one is Original, as their “temporal parts” (tps) overlap.

Here are the flaws in these solutions:

1. How to explain the non-identity of Original and Reassembly?

Disassembling something and putting it back together does not
seem to destroy its identity.
2. How to explain the non-identity of Original and Replacement?
Does replacing a thing’s parts create a new object? Was Reassem-

35
 bly/Original a ship as it lay disassembled? If not, there is a gap in
its existence. (And when does the gap begin?) If so, a pile of
planks can be a ship. A ship cannot change its parts.
3. What was one has become two; one thing can be in two places at
once.
4. Requires too much for identity/persistence: something can be
destroyed either by disassembling it or by changing its parts. De-
nies both 1 and 4.
5. Allows co-location. Denies singularity of identity.
6. Whether or not a = b depends upon whether or not some third
thing exists (David Wiggins).
7. Same as 6.
8. How to define a tp without reference to continuants, things lack-
ing tps (which are supposed to be reducible to things having tps).

5.2 Tibs and Tibbles

Another identity puzzle is that of Tibbles and Tibs (TTP, from Peter
Geach, contemporary philosopher): A cat named Tibbles has his tail
amputated. Question: has he become identical to one of his parts: all
of his body minus his tail, which we shall call Tibs? It seems so, for:

1. If x and y are simultaneously located at the same place, then x =

y.
2. Tibbles and Tibs are now simultaneously located at the same
place.
3. Thus, Tibbles = Tibs.
4. If Tibbles = Tibs, then a non-cat (Tibs) has become a cat (Tib-
bles) (or, a proper part of something has become ‘the whole of it’).
5. A non-cat cannot become a cat.
6. Thus, Tibbles  Tibs.
7. Thus, Tibbles = Tibs and Tibbles  Tibs??

Here are the solutions to the TTP:

1. No, because Tibs did not exist (Peter van Inwagwen). Denies 2.
2. No, because Tibs ceased to exist as a result of the amputation;
Tibs exists just as long as it is a proper part of Tibbles (Michael
Burke). Denies 2.
3. No, because Tibs “constitutes” Tibbles, but Tibs  Tibbles
(David Wiggins). Denies 1.

36
 4. No, because Tibbles ceased to exist as a result of the operation,
losing one of his parts, all of which were essential (Roderick Chi-
solm). Denies 2.
5. Yes, in one sense of ‘identity’, Tibbles has become Tibs, al-
though prior to the amputation he was, in another sense of ‘iden-
tity’, something else (Robert Allen). Denies 5.

Here are the flaws in the solutions:

1.Why deny tib’s existence? Where do you draw the line between a
part and a non-part?
2. How can Tibs cease to exist as the result of a relational change:
going from being a part of Tibbles to the whole of Tibbles?
3.Implies co-location: 2 things in the same place at once.
4.A cat cannot change mereologically: gain or lose parts.
5. Denies singularity of identity: ‘identity’ does not seem to have
more than one sense. TI must also be modified.

37
 CHAPTER 6
RESEMBLANCE

The following argument makes up the problem of universals,

(PU) first attended to by Plato and discussed subsequently by such
noteworthy successors as Aristotle, Berkeley, and, in our own time,
David Lewis:

1. If two objects resemble each other, then they have something in

common – they are identical in a certain respect.
2.My coat and my pants resemble each other color wise.
3.Thus, my coat and my pants are identical in a certain respect.
4.My shirt and my pants are in two places at once.
5. Thus, the thing (constituent) that they share is in two places at
once??

38
 CHAPTER 7
SUBSTANCE

7.1 Lowe’s View

Must we choose between conceiving of material substances as collec-
tions of non-substances, ala Berkeley and Hume, or as unfathomable,
because essentially featureless, substrata, ala Locke? Or can a more
plausible metaphysical theory of such things be fashioned, one that
avoids the problems associated with the views bequeathed to us by the
above British empiricists? E.J. Lowe would answer here in the af-
firmative,3 as would Michael Loux. In this chapter, we evaluate the
alternatives that they propose in light of the standard objections raised
against the views of Berkeley, Hume and Locke. Our goal is to deter-
mine whether their proposals adequately address those issues without
entailing other insurmountable problems. Let us start by laying out
Lowe’s View, which is intended to accord with the Cartesian/Lockean
principle that an object’s properties are in need of ontological support;
that they must have a bearer. A collection of properties being unable
to exist ‘on its own’, there must be something in which they “inhere.”
But he goes on to ask “why couldn’t it be the thing itself – the thing
that has the properties” – that is the requisite substratum? This view
of the matter would allow us to avoid treating the substratum as a
“bare particular,” something indescribable, as Locke would have it.
The thing itself or “individual substance,” according to Lowe,
(here claiming to follow the Aristotle of the Categories) is a particular
“substantial form,” an instance (trope or “mode” as Lowe prefers to
call it) of a substantial universal such as being an electron or being a
horse (a sortal generally being involved in denoting such a universal).
Thus, Lassie was (identical to) an instance of the substantial universal
being a canine; it is that which supported her (other) features.
Let us discuss the advantages of such a view. Firstly, as just noted,
it yields a substratum that is not essentially propertyless, the essential
bareness of Locke’s being difficult, if not impossible, to account for.
39
The support of a substance’s (other) tropes, its “accidents,” is itself a
property – the one that makes it what it is, its form. A second virtue of
this position is that it obviates the need, felt by the bundle theorist, to
posit something holding together the tropes making up a substance.
This tie could only be another trope, if the view is to remain a bundle
theory. But the need then emerges for a second tie tying the first tie to
the tropes it bundles and a third tie tying the second tie to the tropes it
bundles, and so on.10 Lowe is not faced with this regress because his
substances are single tropes, not pluralities thereof.
His view also enjoys an advantage, shared by other trope theories,
over the account of Russell whereby substances are reduced to bun-
dles of universals. As is well known, the latter view in conjunction
with the standard criterion of identity for sets entails the impossibility
of distinct substances being qualitatively identical. If bundle/set a
contains the same universals as bundle/set b, then a = b (a universal,
unlike a trope, can belong to more than one bundle/substance). But
then the substance that is bundle a would have to be identical to the
substance that is bundle b, making it impossible for two substances to
be qualitatively identical. A similar problem with reducing a sub-
stance, which is a particular, to a bundle of universals is that the latter
is whereas the former is not capable of simultaneously occupying
disjoint spatial locations. Substances seem to lose their particularity on
the Russellian view.
A trope theorist, of course, avoids these problems by constructing
her substances out of non-repeatable entities (or a single particular in
the case of Lowe). No trope can be a constituent of more than one
bundle. Qualitatively identical substances would be distinct in virtue
of the numerical distinctness of their (qualitatively indistinguishable)
constituents (whatever number of pairs that happens to be). Moreover,
reducing a substance to a singleton or bundle of particulars leaves it
incapable, as it should be, of simultaneously occupying disjoint spatial
locations.
This gain, however, is offset by a loss in reduction. It is only a
half-measure when it comes to accounting for the existence of entities
of one type by reference to the existence of entities of a distinct cate-
gory. Substances do become less basic than their attributes, on both
Lowe’s view and that of the trope bundle theorist. But, whereas the
Hume/Russell view treats particulars as being fundamentally (sets of)
universals, trope analyses thereof leave them as belonging to a basic
ontological category.12 According to such treatments, substances shed
their role as bearers of properties (either one property doing the bear-
ing by itself or there simply being no bearer) without losing their par-
ticularity. The defenders of these treatments may respond, however,

40
that the incompleteness of their reduction is actually one its virtues:
we should not wish to analyze particulars in terms of non-particulars
given what was said above concerning the difference between the
ways in which their instances relate to space. Thus, it is not clear that
Lowe’s view should be criticized for its failure to be as reductive as
Hume and Russell’s.
Lowe can also account for change in a manner that is unavailable
to the bundle theorist. The latter is forced to abdicate either the dis-
tinction between qualitative and substantial change or the standard
criterion of identity for sets. For if a material substance is bundle/set
of tropes or universals, then a loss of any of its features entails its non-
existence, unless a set can change its members. Lowe’s material sub-
stance, however, reduces to a singleton that is by definition its es-
sence. Thus, its other non-essential features can change without its
existence being terminated: the singleton in question enduring an al-
teration in its accidental properties.
Similarly, Lowe is able to maintain the distinction between a mate-
rial substance’s accidental and essential properties, which is problem-
atic for the bundle theorist, since a set has no inessential members.
Presumably, for Lowe, a material substance’s substantial form and
any of the latter’s essential properties make up the substance’s es-
sence, the form’s remaining attributes being the substance’s accidents.
Thus, he also allows for informative predications involving material
substances as subjects. Unlike the bundle theorist, on whose view any
such predication is tautological (since, if a substance lacks accidental
features, nothing can be said of it that is not necessarily true) Lowe
may appeal to the just drawn distinction between a substance’s acci-
dental and essential properties to mark the difference between neces-
sarily and contingently true statements of which it is the subject.
So much for the advantages of Lowe’s view. Is there any reason to
prefer one of its rivals? It seems to me that there is. Lowe, as noted
above, shares with the substratum theorist the concern over what is
going to play the role of the bearer of a substance’s properties. Both
reject the bundle theory precisely because, in reducing a substance to
a collection of properties, it leaves nothing to take this part – to be
their subject. But a single trope needs a bearer no less than a bundle
thereof. How can a substance’s substantial form/mode, being a way
that it is (albeit essentially) go unsupported while its accidents can-
not? Sans a principle by which to distinguish between those modes
requiring a subject and those that can exist unsupported (being them-
selves the ground of a substance’s accidents), Lowe’s view fails ad-
dress the above concern. And saying that a substance’s substratum is
an instance of a substantial universal, whereas its accidents are tropes
of qualitative universals, will not do: a mode is a trope is a property,
41
whether it be substantial or qualitative, i.e., something that, by Lowe’s
own lights, is in need of ontological support, unlike a substance being
incapable of independent existence. Thus, although Lowe’s view
shares with Locke’s the virtue of reducing a singularity to a singular-
ity, giving it several advantages over the bundle theory; it is not at all
clear that his posit is a suitable replacement to Locke’s substratum.
We proceed to

7.2 Loux’s View

Michael Loux presents us with an anti-reductionist account of material
substances, whose precedent can also be found Aristotle. They are, he
tell, us, “part of the basic furniture of the world.” That is because sub-
stance kinds – denoted by sortals and having individuated particulars
as instances – are themselves fundamental categories of being, irre-
ducible to the “first-order properties (such as) colors and shapes” in
terms of which both bundle and substratum theorists analyze them.
For the latter, a material substance is a bare particular that belongs to
its substantial kind in virtue of its instantiation of the properties that
make up the essence of that kind. But such an account of a particular’s
“whatness” seems at odds with the contention that a substratum is
essentially propertyless: for the thing itself is supposed to essentially
bear the essence of its substantial kind. The bundle theorist, for her
part, maintains that amongst the set of properties that is a material
substance are those that make up the essence of its substantial kind,
the instantiation of which makes it what it is, its remaining features
being accidents. But, as we have seen, a set of properties has no
inessential members, making it impossible for the bundle theorist to
mark the required distinction here. The problem for both views, ac-
cording to Loux, is that they have the order of explanation backwards.
A particular does not belong to its substantial kind in virtue of pos-
sessing a certain set of properties; rather it bears its essence in virtue
of belonging to its substantial kind.
Thus, like Lowe, Loux treats particulars as ontologically basic enti-
ties: neither analyzes them in terms of universals. But, whereas the
former reduces a material substance to one of its attributes/tropes, the
latter maintains the distinction between them, seeing the fundamental
structure of reality as involving particulars of distinct ontological
categories. Thus, since the particulars of only one of these categories
is ontologically dependent, Loux is not vulnerable to the criticism
made above against Lowe: he can maintain that property tropes are
supported by substance themselves. Moreover, Loux’s view is prefer-

42
able to that of the bundle theorist for the same reason that Lowe’s is,
since it also avoids the problems attendant upon treating a singularity
as collection. Finally, Loux’s substances come fully “clothed” with
both accidents and essences, so he too is not confronted by the prob-
lem of explaining away the apparent impossibility of something being
essentially propertyless.
Loux himself notes that his view begs several “difficult questions.”
First, there is the matter of the relationship between a substance uni-
versal/sortal and its essence: the attributes shared by all of its in-
stances. If, as maintained above, the former is not reducible to the
latter, then what is the nature of their relationship? It seems that
Loux’s anti-reductionism is inconsistent with the fact that a particular
belongs to a substance S sort iff it possesses the cluster of properties
characteristic of S’s instances.
A precedent for understanding non-reductive relationships has
been set, of course, in the philosophy of mind and axiology. Theorists
working in those areas have appealed to the notion of (strong) “super-
venience” to explain the relationships between the mental and the
neurophysiological and the valuational and the natural respectively. In
each case, properties of the former type are said to be “dependent”
upon properties of the latter type in the sense that if something pos-
sesses a mental/valuational property S, then it possesses neurophysi-
ological/natural properties P1, P2, … Pn the bearing of which necessi-
tates the bearing of S. It is open to Lowe to claim that a substance sort
and its essence stand in the same dependence relation to each other,
the former being the “base” upon which the latter supervenes (the
necessity here being metaphysical rather than nomological, assuming
that one of the terms, the substance, could not itself enter into a causal
relation, these being between events, such as the firing of my C-fibers
and my experiencing of pain). However, he would then face the prob-
lem, posed by Jaegwon Kim for other non-reductive materialists, of
defining the supervenience relation so as to make it strong enough to
be one of dependence yet not so strong as to entail the reduction of the
supervenient to its base.
Kim argues convincingly that this dual requirement could not be
met by a theory attempting to reduce one property type to another:
the law-like connection between the instances of distinct property
types required to satisfy the dependency condition entails the reduc-
tion of one of the types to the other. But Loux, it seems to me, could
overcome this difficulty by appealing to an asymmetry his anti-
reductionism generates in the relationship between a substance kind
and its essence that does not exist in the case of types of properties. To
wit, while it is true that there is a lawlike connection between a sub-
stance kind and its essence, its instances do not require bearers (each
43
one is the support of all of its first-order properties) whereas, the in-
stances of its essence do need ontological support. Given the Carte-
sian/Lockean principle discussed above, the essence of a substance
kind is dependent upon the latter’s instances in a way that those in-
stances are not dependent upon it, making a substance kind irreducible
to its essence. (This view of their relationship is consistent with and
would indeed explain the fact that the loss of an essence entails sub-
stantial change.) In general, category S is not reducible to category E
unless the instances of S depend upon instances of E in every way in
which the latter depend upon the former. Here Loux’s view benefits
from being consonant with the idea that a substance must be capable
of ‘standing on its own’ – of being a bearer of properties that is itself
borne by nothing.
Loux can also appeal to the notion of supervenience to answer the
second question raised by his view, viz., what is the relationship be-
tween an individual substance and the “haecceity” or individual es-
sence that would distinguish it from an otherwise qualitatively identi-
cal particular? He seems inclined to posit such a feature, seeing his
account of substance as yielding only an answer to the question ‘what
makes for a substance?’ – answer: being an instance of an indi-
viduative universal – leaving open the question of what makes an in-
stance of such a universal the instance/substance that it is, “necessarily
just that thing.” (Alternatively, he believes that his view must be sup-
plemented by the notion of a haecceity if it is not to yield counterex-
amples Identity of Indiscernibles, given the possibility of two sub-
stances sharing all of their “pure” properties, those not defined in
terms of a relationship born to a substance itself.) Like its essence, a
substance’s haecceity should be treated as a supervenient property,
given thata substance’s thisness is not reducible to its whatness. That
would explain a fact asserted by Lowe but for which he provides no
explanation, viz., that “the (multiple) instantiation of a (substance
kind) results in numerically different particulars” (unlike the multiple
instantiation of an Aristotelian qualitative universal, one whose in-
stances are not tropes): the property of being identical to itself super-
vening upon what it is, e.g., being Lassie supervening upon Lassie
being a canine. Each instance of a sort would entail its haecceity, as a
matter of metaphysical, not nomological, necessity (for the same rea-
son that a substance and its essence are thus related). This view is
consistent with and would indeed explain the fact that a loss of iden-
tity entails substantial change: no substance could become another
substance of the same type as itself.
A third question that Loux must answer stems from the compound-
ing and hierarchical arrangement of substance sorts. Many ordinary
substances seem to be composites of “simpler” substances: a lake,
44
e.g., appears to be a combination of a large quantity of water and a
sizeable depression in the surface of the earth. Also, substances typi-
cally belong to an ordered series of sorts, as with Lassie who was a
canine, an animal and an organism. Both of these facts are at odds
with the view that all substances are ontologically basic in the sense of
being reducible neither to entities of another ontological category nor
to other substances. They do not, however, contradict the weaker anti-
reductionist thesis that substances cannot be constructed out of non-
substances, which is strong enough for Loux’s stated purpose of pro-
viding an alternative to bundles and bare particulars. Maintaining the
stronger view, Loux sees himself as obliged to supply a principle for
delimiting irreducible substance kinds, something along the lines of:

(BS) S is an ontologically basic sort iff a) there are not sorts R, R’,
R’’ etc. all of whose members are Ss (i.e., there are no “sub-kinds”
of S) and b) there is not some sort P such that Ss are composed of
Ps.

BS, by requiring both hierarchical and mereological irreducibility,

removes all but quarks and electrons (as presently understood, sans
string theory) from the ranks of basic substances. Rescinding condi-
tion b would fill out them out with the concrete particulars of every-
day experience: e.g., lions, tigers, and leopards, instances of the lowest
kinds in what Lowe calls “taxonomic structures.”
In conclusion, those devotees of bare particulars who despair of
providing an explanation of their essential propertylessness might
want to think about adopting Loux’s position: it has all the advantages
of their current view without requiring such an account. Bundle theo-
rists, on the other hand, would still be faced with the key objection to
their view were they to switch to Lowe’s position. Short of refuting
the Cartesian/Lockean principle, there seems to be no way of avoiding
having non-properties in one’s ontology.

45
 CHAPTER 8
THE MIND

8.1 Spiritualism
Here, we address the venerable Mind-Body Problem (MBP), which
was a by-product of Descartes’ treatment of epistemological skepti-
cism:

1. The mind is an immaterial substance, i.e., a spirit. (Dualism).

2. Immaterial substances (spirits) cannot interact with material sub-
stances (Elizabeth’s objection).
3. The body is a material substance.
4. Thus, the mind cannot interact with the body??

The second premise in this argument was stated in a letter to Des-

cartes by a Princess Elizabeth, who defended it as follows: If (a) the
mind is immaterial, then, (b) it cannot come into contact with material
objects. But, (c) for any two objects to causally interact, they must
come into contact. Thus, (d) the mind and body cannot causally inter-
act if the mind is an immaterial substance – a “Cartesian” mind could
not initiate voluntary behavior or be stimulated by material objects.
Descartes accepts a and its implication of b. That leaves him hav-
ing to deny c in order to avoid d (the thesis of “Epiphenomenalism,”
discussed below). A modern day Cartesian might appeal to how grav-
ity works in order to refute c, but still we are dealing with a power
possessed only by material objects. Moreover, the curvature of space-
time involves contact. That leaves her with the not very satisfying
“they just do” explanation of how a spirit and a material substance
causally interact. Thus, the dualist is faced with the MDP. Again, Du-
alism denies premise 2 of the MDP. A person, on this view, is com-
posed of physical and nonphysical substances that (somehow) interact.
That the mind and the body interact must be taken here as a primitive
fact, something that cannot be explained. What support did Descartes
46
provide for Dualism? The strongest case came in the form of his
Separability Argument (which he formulated after he became cer-
tain that he himself existed, the question becoming then, what am I?):

1. Identity entails inseparability and vice-versa, i.e., if a = b, then a

and b cannot be separated; and if a and b cannot be separated, then
a = b.
2. Thus, I am something iff it is inseparable from me.
3. I could be separated from my body; I could exist disembodied,
as a spirit. (Only contradictions are impossible; ‘I exist and my
body does not’, which represents the possibility that Descartes is
entertaining, given the Great Deceiver Hypothesis, is not contradic-
tory, as is ‘My table is 100 lbs. and my table is not 100 lbs’.)
4. Therefore, I ≠ my body (2, 3).
5. I could not be separated from my mind.
6. Thus, I = mind (2, 5).
7. If x ≠ z and y = z, then x ≠ y. (Euclid).
8. Thus, my mind ≠ (any part of) my body (4, 6, 7).

Critics of dualism have questioned Descartes’ appeal to essential

attributes. He seems to be reasoning that, since I am not essentially
extended but my body is essentially extended, I am not my body. But
consider the case of a statue and the lump of clay of which it is ‘made
up’: the statue is essentially a statue; the lump of clay isn’t. Therefore,
by LL, they are not identical. However, would an “otherworldly” dif-
ference between x and y suffice to render them actually distinct (and,
thus “co-located”: in the same place at once)? Does identity hold,
when it does, of necessity? Or is it possible for x to be actually identi-
cal to y, though distinct from it in another possible world? If Descartes
were right here, then we would have to reat the piece of plastic of
which a bottle was made as distinct from the bottle itself, since they
are separable. They would then be “co-located” – in the same place at
once – and that seems false.
To be comprehensive, before we take up the main positions in cur-
rent thinking on this subject, let us consider two classical solutions to
the MBP. An epiphenomenalist, such as Malenbranche (1638-
1715), would accept 4, holding that the mind and the body only
seem to interact; it is just a coincidence that, e.g., the release of certain
neurotransmitters is always followed by an experience of pleasure.
But, if a person’s intentions did not cause his behavior, then it
would not be something for which he would be morally responsible.
Berkeley, as we saw, denies 3: he maintains that there are no material
substances; everything is an idea. The objections to this view were
presented above.
47
8.2 Materialism
The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face.
(Bob Dylan, Visions of Johanna)

Contemporary materialists, such J.J.C. Smart’s (1920- ), deny prem-

ise 1 of the MBP. According to their identity theory, (IT) the mind
and brain are identical. The motivation behind acceptance of IT is to
be found in history of science, which is replete with cases of one phe-
nomenon being reduced to another. E.g., light was discovered to be
visible electromagnetic waves, heat was seen to be the kinetic energy
of molecules, and water was found to be H2O. Modern science allows
us to explain biological phenomena in terms of mechanistic laws gov-
erning the interactions between (complex arrangements of) atoms.
Why should psychological phenomena resist such a reductive analy-
sis? Why must non-physical entities figure in an explanation of human
behavior? What sorts of law-like connections could exist between
immaterial, “aspatial” entities and particles posited by modern phys-
ics? What sort of force could a spirit muster (force = mass times
velocity and a spirit lack mass)? If mental events involve non-physical
objects, it is hard to see how they could be effected by and, in turn,
effect changes in one’s body. These questions suggest that it would be
wise to identify the mind with the brain. Further, as in the other cases,
the identity between the mind and the brain is “contingent:” they are
in fact one and the same but could be distinct: there is a “possible
world” in which the mind exists without the body. This seemingly
accommodates within a materialistic framework the Cartesian “intui-
tion” that one could exist disembodied. However, philosophers soon
realized that this definition of the mind was too “narrow.”
Hilary Putnam’s (1926- ) argued that IT is in all likelihood a false
empirical hypothesis. Creatures that are anatomically different than
human beings probably feel pain and have other experiences. If IT
were true, a creature without a human brain would lack a mental life.
So, IT seems false. Is there another way of understanding materialism;
is there another way of defending the view that only material sub-
stances exist?
According to the functionalist, (who also denies 1, but disagrees
with the identity theorist as to the nature of the mind) only “probabil-
istic automata” (predictable systems, creatures whose behavior is rule-
governed) have experiences, i.e., thoughts, feelings, sensations, and
perceptions. That is, a creature with a mental life is such that its men-
tal states and its behavior are a “function” of those states and the fea-
tures of its environment: given a specification of the former, a descrip-

48
tion of the latter is entailed. A functional State of an organ-
ism/machine is definable in terms of its typical causes and effects,
e.g., the process of making change: the effect of inserting a dollar bill
in a machine, which, in turn, causes (a dollar’s worth of) coins to issue
forth. A biological organism’s functional states may be understood as
its ways of adapting to and controlling its environment: they are “pur-
poses” served in our case by states of the central nervous system, but
which could be served by other physical states (allowing for the pos-
sibility that creatures lacking human brains have mental lives). Pain,
e.g., alerts us to bodily injury and effects its treatment; that is its func-
tion. As such, it plays a critical role in the maintenance of one’s well
being. In general, a mind is a behavior producing function: a program
or set of rules for converting stimuli into advantageous responses.
Thus, we should not think of the mind as a thing, which means that,
when we identify the mind and the brain, we are not saying that one
thing is the same thing as another (as in ‘water is H2O). In identifying
the brain (or more precisely the central nervous system, CNS) with the
mind, the functionalist means that the former functions or serves as
the latter, which does not mean that other things could not function in
the same way, that is, as information processing systems guiding ac-
tion. (An analogy: GWB is president; the president is not a thing; it is
an office that GWB currently holds. We must distinguish between the
substantial and the functional ‘is’.) The identity theorist erred in defin-
ing the mind as a substance; i.e., in thinking that ‘mind’ meant (not
just referred/applied to) a substance.
There are, however, “qualia-based” objections to functionalism
(from Frank Jackson, contemporary philosopher). An experience es-
sentially features a “quale:” a way that it is like, known or appreciated
by its subject, e.g., the hurtfulness of pain, or the introspectible differ-
ence between seeing red and seeing blue. Qualia cannot be explained
or described in scientific terms, descriptions thereof essentially in-
volve reference to things besides the entities posited by physicists.
The case of Mary, the color-blind neurobiologist, illustrates the possi-
bility of someone understanding how the CNS works without knowing
all the facts concerning mental states – here, what seeing red is like.
Jackson, thus, puts forth the following argument against functional-
ism:

1. If functionalism is true, then it is possible to completely under-

stand a mental state by studying its function.
2. It is not possible to completely understand a mental state by
studying its function. (Mary’s lack of knowledge seems to establish
this point.)
3. Thus, functionalism is false.
49
 The Nemirov/Lewis’ Response to Jackson: Knowing how vs.
Knowing that: e.g., riding a bike vs. reporting the weather. The ability
equation: To appreciate a quale is to have a technique for classifying
an experience, it is to be able to do something in a certain way; it is
not to possess a piece of information about the world. So: is there or is
there not a fact of which Mary would become aware upon becoming
able to see colors? No, she would simply learn how to identify colors
in the “normal” way – by looking at them (rather than at shapes and
other contextual clues, the method she has been relying upon).

50
 CHAPTER 9
PERSONAL IDENTITY

Personal Identity (PI)

The final identity puzzle involves the concept of a person. The Prob-
lem of PI: let us imagine a rather ghoulish analog to the Ship of The-
seus. The “information” or “software” that makes up Barry’s mind is
copied and downloaded into a new body. Call the resulting person
‘Jerry’. The programs running Barry’s brain are then erased and it is
reprogrammed with new software. Call the resulting person ‘Larry’.
Question: who is Barry? The problem can be formulated ala the Ship
of Theseus puzzle:

1.If x and y are persons and have the same mind, then x =p y.
2.Barry and Jerry have the same mind.
3.Thus, Barry =p Jerry (1, 2).
4.If x and y are persons and have the same body, then x =p y.
5.Barry and Larry have the same body.
6.Thus, Barry =p Larry (4, 5).
7.If x and y are in different places at any given time, then x  y.
8.Jerry and Larry are in different places following the procedure.
9.Thus, Jerry p Larry (7, 8).
10. TI
11. Thus, Jerry =p Larry (10, 3, 6)
12. Jerry = Larry & Jerry  Larry (9, 11)??

To solve this problem, John Locke proposed a view known as Sor-

tal Relativism: a is “across time” identical to b iff a is the same S as b
(where ‘a’ designates an individual existing “at (a) determined time
and place” ‘b’ designates an individual existing at another time, and
‘S’ is a “sortal”: a term designating a type of thing the instances of
which can be counted and must retain certain features in order to exist,
viz., the essences of the sort. The proposition that a = b always means
51
that a is the same S as b: an identity judgment must be made with ref-
erence to a sort. This view leads to the Non-Absoluteness of Identity:
a may be the same S as b without being the same R as b (which con-
tradicts LL). E.g., the prince (in the fairy tale) is not the same person
as the pauper, though they are the same man (in virtue of having the
same body).
For Locke, a person is a being capable of thought and self-
consciousness, i.e., a being who can perceive, remember, calculate,
and will, and become aware of herself as doing so/having done so.
(11a) A person is his/her mind, not the body to which it is connected.
Thus, a is the same person as b iff one could remember being the
other, i.e. the information contained in the memory of the person who
existed at the earlier time is a part of the information contained in the
memory of the person existing at the later time. Assume that a exists
at t and b exists at a time later than t. What would make it the case that
a is identical “across time” to b? It must be true of b that he/she could
remember having had a’s thoughts or experiences. Thus, as noted
above, it is possible that a be the same person as b though a does not
have the same body as b, as in the case of the Prince and the Pauper.
Thomas Reid (1710-96) objected to Locke’s view for the follow-
ing reasons. To begin with, he claimed that identity cannot be ana-
lyzed, i.e., understood in “simpler” terms. It is just a basic relation that
holds between some temporally distinct things and not others. A per-
son, according to him, is an enduring self to which impermanent
thoughts, feelings, and actions belong. Its diachronic identity is “per-
fect” or absolute: not having parts, it cannot become ‘partly the same
partly different’ (by gaining or losing parts). That a is identical to b is
a primitive fact: it does not reduce to another fact (the way that some-
thing’s being water reduce to its being H2O). A person’s memory pro-
vides “irresistible evidence” of the permanence of her self – that one is
absolutely identical to the person one remembers being the subject of
those experiences one would call one’s own. The following argument
(another indirect proof) constitutes his second criticism of Locke:

1. The general remembers being the brave officer.

2. LIP
3. Thus, the general =p the brave officer (2, 1).
4. The brave officer remembers being the juvenile delinquent.
5. Thus, the brave officer =p the juvenile delinquent (2, 4).
6. TI.
7. Thus, the general =p the juvenile delinquent (6, 3, 5).
8. The general does not remember being the juvenile delinquent.
9. Thus, the general p the juvenile delinquent (2, 8).

52
 10. Thus, the general =p the juvenile delinquent the general p the
juvenile delinquent??
11. Thus, either LIP or TI is false (LNC).

The Lockean is, thus, forced to give up TI in order to salvage her

position; that is, deny that the identity relation is transitive (unless she
can show that ‘x remembers being y’ is transitive, contrary to what
Reid says about the general and the delinquent).
Reid goes on to point out that my remembrance of having been the
person who did such and such a thing is my evidence that I am the
person who committed that action; it is not what makes me the that
person. Locke has conflated the ascertaining of one’s personal identity
and that in which it consists. The question of how one determines one’
personal identity is epistemological. The issue at hand, however, is
metaphysical: what is the nature of the relationship that holds between
diachronically identical individuals?
Here is what some contemporary philosophers have to say about
Locke’s view. Bernard Williams offer the following case as a refu-
tation of the body changing thesis: Suppose it possible (as Locke
maintains) that a person could change bodies. Suppose further that
two persons, A and B, agree to undergo a process whereby they ex-
change bodies. (Fans of science fiction should have no problems
here.) Realizing what the future holds for himand being concerned
only for himself, it seems that A should prefer that the B-body person
should receive a million dollars while the A-body person is tortured,
if he is told that his decision will determine each person’s fate. (B, of
course, would have the opposite set of preferences.) Care for one’s
future self, then, appears separable from concern for one’s current
body, making one’s self and one’s body distinct. (If they weren’t why
should A have less concern for one than the other?) But is it? Can A
really remain unperturbed regarding the A-body’s prospects, anticipat-
ing that at least he himself will not suffer? That the A-body person’s
memories will not be of the past actions of A but of another person
should not be calm A’s fears, since he could merely equate his having
such memories with derangement. It now appears that concern for
one’s future self is not as easily divorceable from regard for one’s
body as LIP implies. William’s argument against LIP could be sum-
marized as follows:

1. If LIP is true, then a person could disassociate herself from her

body.
2.A person could not disassociate herself from her body.
3.Thus, LIP is false.

53
Here are two other contemporary arguments against LIP:

1. If LIP is true, then no infant is a person (since no one remembers

being an infant).
2.An infant is a person.
3.Thus, LIP is false.

1. If LIP is true, then no Alzheimer’s victim is a person (since an

Alzheimer’s victim does not remember being anyone).
2.An Alzheimer’s victim is a person.
3.Thus, LIP is false.

These arguments do not refute LIP. They do, however, require its
defenders to either ‘explain away’ the intuitions that a) a person can-
not disassociate herself from her body, b) an infant is a person, and c)
an Alzheimer’s victim is a person or modify their view in such a way
that its does not imply that a-c are false.

54
 CHAPTER 10
CAUSATION

10.1 Hume’s Skepticism

The reason why
Oh I can’t say But I’ll have to let you go baby And right away.
After what you did I can’t stay on And I’ll probably
Feel a whole lot better
When you’re gone.
(Gene Clarke/The Byrds, I’ll Feel A Whole Lot Better)

Another form of skepticism was developed by the Scottish philoso-

pher David Hume (1711-76). His skepticism was directed at scien-
tists’ attempt to discover the “laws of nature.” Hume doubts the uni-
versality of the principles they claimed to have discovered: e.g., hold-
ing the temperature and amount of a gas constant, its pressure and the
volume of its container vary inversely (Boyle’s gas law); a physical
object will not change its velocity unless acted upon by a force (New-
ton’s law of inertia).
He begins by dividing objects of knowledge into two types: rela-
tions of ideas and matters of fact. The former come to be known by
an examination of ideas by the “mere operation of thought” and hold
independently of “the real existence” of mind-independent objects the
things we perceive via the senses. Further, the opposite of the state-
ment of any relation between ideas is “impossible”: e.g., it is not pos-
sible that 15 not be related to 3 and 5 as their product. Matters of fact,
on the other hand, are known either via the senses or memory (that is,
by recalling that which has been perceived). Moreover, the statements
of their opposites are intelligible: that the sun will not rise tomorrow is
as possible as its rising then. Hume proceeds to ask ‘what is the foun-
dation of the belief in matters of fact that are neither perceived nor
remembered?’, e.g. that there is a fire in the vicinity of smoke that is
seen. The answer must be the proposition that certain types of facts
are “necessarily” or “causally” connected inseparable (so that it is
55
not possible that one obtain without the other), such as smoke and fire.
The skeptic then asks for our justification for this belief: why should
we think that the facts of certain types are necessarily connected?
Hume says that this could not be known merely by examining our
ideas, we must observe how something interacts with other objects in
various situations before we can tell the effects it can produce: even if
we know all of a thing’s “sensible qualities,” so that we could identify
it upon its being sensed, a determination of its causal powers could
not be made until we had seen how it behaves in contexts of different
types. If I describe water to someone as a “tasteless, colorless, odor-
less liquid” you do not yet know that it can suffocate creatures of cer-
tain kinds. A realization of that could only come from her being un-
derwater herself or perhaps her seeing someone else submerged. Thus,
the skeptic next questions our reliance on observations or experi-
ence: why should we think that the data we assemble concerning the
types of facts that always have gone together indicates the types of
facts that always will (in the future) go together (so that we can say
specify the types of facts that are necessarily connected will never
obtain apart)? We must be assuming here that the future will be like
the past, that what has happened so far is going to resemble what is
to come (so that having seen certain types of facts being together nu-
merous times, we know that their instances will continue to come
together). But, when the skeptic demands justification for this assump-
tion, our response, according to Hume, can only be that we believe in
necessarily connected types of events, thus reasoning in a circle. The
foundation of the belief that the future will resemble the past is that
there are laws of nature, i.e., that the instances of certain types of
facts must obtain together, only if we know that to be true do we have
reason for thinking that the future will not turn out differently, having
instances of types of facts that had always gone together now obtain-
ing apart, e.g., a smoke without there being a fire! Hume, thus, con-
cludes that we cannot justify our belief in necessarily connected types
of facts, “the cement of the universe”: it has no foundation in reason;
our support of it runs in a circle, which may be summarized as fol-
lows:

1. Knowledge of “absent facts” (those that are neither perceived

nor remembered) requires knowledge of the laws of nature, that
is, the inseparable or necessarily connected facts.
2. To learn the laws of nature we must rely on the past as a guide
to the future, that is, reason “inductively.”
3. To reason inductively we must believe that the future will be
like the past. (If you do not believe that the tables in the next room
are the same shape as the ones in your room, an examination of the
56
 tables in your room tells you nothing about the shape of the tables
in the next room.)
4. The belief that the future will be like the past is based upon the
belief in laws of nature: I have no reason to expect the future to
turn out like the past if I believe that nature does not obey laws.

Or we could formulate Hume’s circle as a series of HSs:

1. If a prediction is justified, then so is the belief in laws of nature.

2. If the belief in laws of nature is justified, then so is the belief in
induction.
3. Thus, if a prediction is justified, then so is the belief in induc-
tion.
4. If the belief in induction is justified, then so is the belief that the
future always resembles the past.
5. Thus, if a prediction is justified, then so is the belief that the fu-
ture always resembles the past.
6. If the belief that future always resembles the past is justified,
then so is the belief in laws of nature.
7. Thus, if a prediction is justified, then so is the belief in laws of
nature.

However you put Hume’s argument, the “bottom line” is that the
belief in laws of nature supports the beliefs that support the belief in
laws of nature.

Take me to the station And put me on a train I’ve got no expectations

To pass through here again Once I was a rich man and Now I am so poor
But never in my sweet short life
Have I felt like this before
(Rolling Stones, No Expectations)

So why should we continue to believe in such connections in the

face of this skeptical problem? The answer, according to Hume, is that
it is a custom or a habit of thought to do so. Having always experi-
enced instances of two types of facts obtaining together, one naturally
forms an idea of the one expects to have an experience of an instance
of it upon experiencing an instance of the other, e.g., expecting to see
a fire having seen clouds of smoke. One comes to associate the ideas
of two types of events when one has always experienced their in-
stances ‘one with the other’. One then projects upon reality the pat-
terns found in one’s thinking, that is, treats mind-independent phe-
nomena as if they were connected in the way that one’s ideas of them
are associated. Since such mental habits seem unbreakable, one comes

57
to believe that the phenomena themselves are inseparable. This habit
persists because of its usefulness: it has served us well to treat fire,
e.g., as something that can burn our flesh. Those who have thought
that it is not a law that fire burns flesh have gotten hurt; those who
have accepted that fire has the power to consume things have avoided
getting burnt. We, thus, cannot ‘deal with reality’ sans a belief in laws
of nature; for us it is indispensable.
Hume, like Berkeley, has benefited from the findings of modern
science. Physicists do not predict with certainty the outcome of ex-
periments with subatomic particles; they will only state the probabili-
ties of various outcomes. The laws of Quantum Mechanics are prob-
abilistic, that is, observations of the behavior of sub-atomic particles
has revealed that they are capable of acting more than one way in a
given situation.

58
 CHAPTER 11
FREE WILL

And I turned twenty one in prison, Doing life without parole,

No one could steer me right but mama tried, Mama tried.
Mama tried to raise me better, But her pleading I denied, That leaves only
me to blame,
‘Cause mama tried.
(Merle Haggard, Mama Tried)

11.1 The Problem of Free Will and Determinism

The Problem of Free Will and (PFWD) is entailed by the following
premises:
Causal Determinism (CD): The view that every event/action is
the necessary consequence of preceding events/actions and the Laws
of Nature, that is, could not have failed to occur given what occurred
before it and the way world works. Thus, there is no agent who could
have done other than what she did; every action is unavoidable.
Principle of Alternatives (PA): An action is being freely willed
only if it was avoidable: that is, its agent could have acted differently
under the circumstances. Thus, we have the PFW:

1. There are no avoidable actions (CD).

2. If free will exists, then there are avoidable actions (PA).
3. Thus, free will does not exist??

Here are three contemporary solutions to this problem.

Compatibilism: The view that free will is possible even if every
event has a cause, that is, is made necessary by preceding events.
Compatibilists accept (1); but reject 2. Harry Frankfurt (contempo-
rary philosopher) will be our example of a compatibilist. To be con-
trasted with Incompatibilism, according to which free will could not
exist in a causally determined world. There are two types of Incom-
59
patibilists. Hard Determinists, such as B.F. Skinner (1904-90), con-
tend that our world is causally determined and, thus, reject the exis-
tence of free will: they accept (1) and (2). Libertarians, such as
Robert Kane (contemporary philosopher), on the other hand, deny
(1), thus allowing for the possibility of free will.

11.2 Compatibilism
You and me are free, We do as we please, From morning,
Till the end of the day.
(The Kinks, Till the End of the Day)

Frankfurt cases, named after contemporary philosopher Harry

Frankfurt, seem to refute PA, that is, demonstrate possibility of will-
ing freely, in the sense of being responsible for a decision, without
having an alternative. For instance: Black, a partisan neurosurgeon,
wants Jones to vote Republican. Jones is known by Black to be lean-
ing toward the GOP candidate. Black, however, does not wish to take
any chances. Thus, he contrives a medical ruse that allows him to
implant a device in Jones’ brain the operating of which will cause him
to make the desired choice. The device will be activated if Jones de-
cides against the GOP candidate, rendering irresistible the desire to
vote Republican. It seems, then, that Jones is not able to avoid voting
Republican. If he decides in favor of the GOP candidate, that aspirant
will receive his vote; if he decides against her, the GOP candidate will
still get his vote. Yet, when Jones decides to vote Republican ‘on his
own’, i.e., without being caused to do so by the activation of Black’s
device, he appears to will freely – even though he has no alternative.
After all, it is Jones himself, not the device, who ‘rules out’ the possi-
bility of voting for the Democrat. Thus, if we are inclined to hold
Jones responsible here, even though he lacks an alternative, we should
no longer view CD, which entails that no agent could act differently,
as a threat to free will.
But, consider the members of a “Skinnerian” society, who would
have been scientifically conditioned to behave as they do. No one
would force them to act against their wills; they would always act ‘on
their own’. Things would be arranged so that they generally did what
they wanted. Moreover, so that no one would be dissatisfied with him-
self, each member would be scientifically taught to “identify” with his
desires. “The question of freedom (would, thus,) not arise for them,”
as Skinner says. Granted, they would not have controlled the devel-
opment of their characters, behavioral scientists (using non-coercive
means) would be responsible for their upbringing. But, since they
60
would be content, should we think of them as lacking free wills? Or,
are there non-coercive ways of developing a person’s character that
impair his will? If so, then which methods of character development
are inimical to having a free will?

11.3 The Problem of Free Will and Indeterminism

For an answer to these questions, we turn to the work of another con-
temporary philosopher, Robert Kane. According to his version of
libertarianism, the members of a Skinnerian society would lack free
wills. Frankfurt cases do falsify PA, that is, show that an agent can be
willing freely even if at the time at which she acts there is no
alternative to what she is then doing. They do not, however, refute the
following revision of PA:

(PA2) An agent is willing freely at t only if there is some al-

ternative at t to that which she is then doing or there was an
earlier time at which she performed an action that a) she could
have avoided performing (under the circumstances then pre-
vailing) and b) had she avoided performing it she would not
have become such that (the sort of person who) had no alter-
native to doing the act she is performing at t.

If PA2 is true, however, and agents do act freely (meeting the con-
dition it lays down) then CD is false, since to act freely according to
PA2 an agent must have an alternative to at least some action(s) that
he has performed, which is what CD says is never the case. Kane then
appeals to the findings of modern physics (the ones that would have
heartened Hume) and neurobiology both of which suggest that CD is
false. The problem with his view is that it is difficult, if not impossi-
ble, to understand how an agent could be acting rationally unless her
reasons ‘rule out’ all alternatives to what she is doing as irrational: a
sufficient will explain why one action is performed instead of an-
other. It is not enough here to simply have alternatives; they must also
be consistent with one’s actual reasons. Of course one would have
acted differently had one had different reasons. But what Kane must
show us is that one could have acted differently given the very same
reasons upon which one acted. But in that case one’s reasons would
not make what one is doing the best course of action, so that satisfac-
tion of Kane’s condition by an agent makes her not free but simply
irrational: given a set of reasons one will sometimes do A and some-
times not do A. Here is the “rationality argument” against Kane’s

61
view, which could be called instead the Problem of Free Will and
Indeterminism:

1. If an agent was able to act differently than she did without hav-
ing different reasons, then her action was irrational.
2. If an agent satisfies PA2, then she was able to act differently
than she did without having different reasons.
3. Thus, if an agent satisfies PA2, she is irrational (1, 2).
4. If PA2 were true, then free will would entail irrationality (3).
5. Free will does not entail irrationality.
6. Thus, PA2 is false (5, 4).

Thus, at the end of our discussion of free will, we arrive at the fol-
lowing dilemma:

1. If CD is true, then there is no free will (since a person would

lack the ability to shape his/her character).
2. If CD is false, then there is no free will (since undetermined ac-
tions are irrational).
3. Thus, there is no free will.

As Peter van Inwagen, has said, “free will is a mystery.” We be-

lieve that it is part of our nature; but we can’t seem to define it or ac-
count for its existence.

62
 CHAPTER 12
MORAL SKEPTICISM

12.1 The Problem of Moral Skepticism

We consider here the question of how an individual should live. Our
discussion begins with the statement of the Problem of Moral Skep-
ticism (PMS, from Socrates, 470-399 BC):

1. If moral terms (such as ‘obligatory’ and ‘permissible’) are inde-

finable, then our actions lack moral properties (such as being
obligatory or impermissible).
2. Moral terms are indefinable.
3. Thus, our actions lack moral properties (nothing we do is
obligatory/right or impermissible/wrong)??

Socrates is claiming that an indefinable term such as ‘right’ is

“empty”: there is nothing of which it can truly be predicated. E.g., if I
were to define ‘Ford’ as a car manufactured in Detroit and you were to
discover that cars of other types are built there or that Fords are manu-
factured elsewhere, then you should consider my definition inade-
quate. If all further attempts to define Ford were to turn out the same
way, then you should begin to suspect that there are no Fords. Socra-
tes’ experience with attempts to define ‘right’ led to “skepticism” of
the same sort. To facilitate our discussion of ethics, I now state some
principles of deontic logic (the logic of obligation):

1. If A is obligatory, then A is permissible.

2. If A is permissible, then A is not necessarily obligatory.
3. If A is impermissible, then not-A is obligatory.
4. If A is obligatory, then not-A is impermissible.
5. If A is obligatory, then A is physically possible.

63
 These principles, linking claims of what should be done with
claims of what may be done, imply that if we are able to define
‘obligatory’ we will have a definition of ‘permissible’ and vice-versa.
A definition of these terms would help one make a moral deci-
sion: decide amongst set of options only one of which is permissible
and, thus, obligatory. The purpose of a moral theory is to facilitate
moral decision-making: help one determine what is permissible in any
possible situation in which not all alternatives are permissible. (A
non-moral decision, in contrast, would involve a set of choices all of
which are permissible, prudence dictating the best option.)

12.2 Utilitarianism
The first definition of a moral term that we shall discuss is Utilitari-
anism, which is a form of Consequentialism: a view according to
which an action’s moral value is a function of the type of effects it is
likely to have. Here, whether or not an action is obligatory depends
upon its expected value.
According to J. S. Mill’s (1806-73), happiness is the only thing
that is “intrinsically” valuable. The value of anything else is instru-
mental, that is, is derived from its tendency to produce happiness.
Thus, Mills’ Utilitarianism (MU) has it that necessarily, an action is
right/obligatory iff it is likely to yield more happiness (or less unhap-
piness) than any other action its agent could perform (under the cir-
cumstances).

There’s no going back from a killing Bob. Right or wrong, the brand
sticks and there’s no going back.
(Jack Schaefer, Shane)

Bernard Williams, (192?-2003) poses the following counterexam-

ple to MU. Jim is a botanist studying the plants in a region of Latin
America. He happens upon a situation in which soldiers are about to
execute 20 peasants for peacefully protesting government policies.
Jim objects to the general in charge of the soldiers whereupon the
following offer is made to him: if you execute one of the prisoners, the
others will be spared. Should Jim accept this offer? Should he mini-
mize unhappiness by taking an innocent person’s life? In some situa-
tions, (such as the one just described by Williams) the option that is
likely to produce more happiness (or less unhappiness) than the alter-
natives would be a violation of a highly plausible moral principle
(such as ‘One should never kill an innocent person’). If MU is correct
such principles are not absolutely true, they only serve as ‘rules of
64
thumb’, enabling us in most circumstances to do the right thing pro-
duce as much happiness as possible. Thus, William’s argument
against MU is:

1. Whatever would maximize/minimize happiness/unhappiness is

right (premise for reductio).
2. Killing an innocent person (as in Williams’ case) could mini-
mize unhappiness.
3. Thus, killing an innocent person could be right??

If 1 and 2 are true then 3 must be true as well. But 3 seems false. Thus
either 1 or 2 must be false. 2 is true. Thus 1 must be false. Thus, either
the Millian must give up her view or defend 3.
How should the Millian respond? If Jim were to refuse the gen-
eral’s offer would he be partly to blame for the ensuing deaths? He
certainly would not intend for them to occur. But would that lessen his
guilt? Consider the case of Kitty G. She was murdered in NYC while
her neighbors watched from their windows. None of them thought to
call the police, although the assault lasted almost a half-hour. Each
one seems blameworthy despite not intending his/her inaction to lead
to KG’s death. Likewise, Jim would know that they were going to
occur and that he alone was in a position to prevent 19 of them from
occurring. Granted, he would have to perform an action that violated a
widely accepted moral principle: never take the life of an innocent
person. But complying with that principle seems less important than
saving nineteen human lives. But can the Millian prove this claim by
appealing to an independent principle? Is there a doctrine besides MU
that could be used to justify the decision to kill one of the peasants?
According to the Doctrine of Double Effect, (DE) an agent may
perform an act knowing that it will result in the occurrence of some-
thing bad iff the act is intended to secure something good that a) could
not otherwise be secured; b) is greater in value than the bad effect is in
disvalue; c) does not produce the bad effect, both being effects of the
act itself. This principle permits Jim (in William’s case) to kill one of
the prisoners in order to save the other nineteen, since a) there is no
other way to save nineteen lives, b) those lives being saved is more
valuable than one person dying (regrettable though it is) is disvaluable
and c) the saving of the nineteen lives does not cause the death of the
innocent peasant (both are caused by the shooting of that peasant).
Using DE, we can explain why Jim would be blameworthy, as the
Millian believes, for failing to kill one of the peasants. Consider the
following principle. Responsibility for the Bad Consequences of
Omissions (R): P is blameworthy for B (some bad consequence) iff a)
P knew that B was going to occur, b) P did nothing to prevent B, c)
65
there was some available course of action C that was either harmless
or whose harms would have been excusable by DE, and d) P knew
that B would likely have been prevented by doing C. This principle
allows the Millian to explain Jim’s blameworthiness were he to refuse
the general’s offer: he would meet all of the conditions in R. (As an
exercise, verify this claim yourself.)

12.3 Kantianism
I want to live, I want to give I’ve been a miner for a heart of gold It’s
these expressions I never hear
That keep me searching for a heart of gold
And I’m getting old Keeps me searching for a heart of gold And I’m get-
ting old.
(Neil Young, Heart of Gold)

Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) takes a different approach to defining

rightness. According to his value theory, a good will (motive) is the
only thing with intrinsic value. An agent’s will is given by an infini-
tive clause (one beginning with ‘to’) the content of which is a
“maxim” or rule coming in the form of an ‘if…then’ or “conditional”
sentence. E.g, someone going to the grocery store is willing to pur-
chase groceries if he is hungry and the store sells the food he needs at
an affordable price. The value of an agent’s will entails the moral
status of her action.
This principle leads to his anti-consequentialism: as long as one’s
will (motivation) is good (that is, consists in reasons of the right sort)
one acts rightly even if one does not expect to maximize some good,
such as, happiness.
Kant’s own view is that necessarily, an act is right iff its “maxim”
(the rule one is following) is such that a rational agent could will that
it become a “law of nature” (a rule that everyone must follow). In
making a moral decision, one should not ask, according to Kant, ‘will
my action maximize happiness’ but ‘could I will that everyone follow
my rule’, that is, ‘could I will that everyone will as I do’. So, if I am
willing to φ, then I must ask myself whether or not I could will that
everyone φ. This definition entails the “categorical imperative” or
highest duty: an agent must examine her maxim prior to acting, de-
termining whether or not she is willing to have it as a “law of nature.”
If she cannot will that everyone follow her rule, (either because it
would be impossible for everyone to follow it or because she already
wills that not everyone follow it), then she should not follow it her-
self.
66
 Here are four cases that Kant formulates so as to illustrate how
to apply his definition:

Case 1: Maxim/Rule: If you love yourself and life promises nothing

but suffering and misery, then you should kill yourself. This rule
could not even be a law of nature because self-love is to function in
any system of nature as, in Kant’s words, a “feeling … to impel the
improvement of life” in effect, as what is supposed to prevent a person
from killing herself. Thus, it cannot be something that facilitates sui-
cides, any more than hunger could cause a person not to eat. Since I
cannot will that the laws of nature be different, I cannot will that this
rule be a law of nature. Thus, it should not be followed.

Case 2: Maxim/Rule: If it serves your purposes, make a false prom-

ise. This could not be a law of nature because it would undermine
make unworkable the very practice it is supposed to facilitate. A rule
that would make impossible what it is supposed to make possible is no
rule at all. Thus, I could not will that it be a law of nature, making it a
rule that should not be followed.

Case 3: Rule/Maxim: If a life of constant pleasure seeking becomes

appealing to you, allow your talents to rust in the pursuit of pleasure.
This rule could become a law of nature a race of unrestrained hedon-
ists could exist but, as rational creatures, we could not will that it
overn us: it is already a part of one’s nature to will the development of
his/her talents, i.e., to desire the ability to work hard at something
should it become important. Since this rule conflicts with what I al-
ready will, I could not will it to be a law of nature, making following
it impermissible.

Case 4: Rule/Maxim: If you are in a position to help someone in need,

then deny them assistance. Again this rule could become a law of na-
ture. A race of “Scrooges” could exist (at least for a time). But no one
us could will that this rule be a law of nature: everyone already wills
that he or she receive assistance should it be needed. Since I cannot
will that everyone be a Scrooge, I myself should not be a Scrooge.

According to Kant, then, it is the content of an agent’s will that de-

termines the moral status of her action. External factors, such as the
results of what she does, are supposed to be morally irrelevant, only
what is within her control the content of her will matters here. He
would, thus, argue that:

67
 1. If agents a and b have followed the same rule, then their actions
are morally equal (premise for reductio).
2. The agents of morally equal actions should receive the same re-
ward/punishment; “treat like cases alike” (axiom).
3. A drunk driver who killed someone followed the same rule as a
drunk driver who (luckily) avoided harming others ‘drive drunk if
you feel like it’.
4. Thus, two such drunk drivers are morally equal (1, 3).
5. Thus, they should receive the same punishment (2, 4).

But our common sense judgments of moral responsibility do not

accord with this view: we punish more harshly the drunk driver whose
negligence results in a fatality than one who happens to avoid hurting
someone. Thus, some agents seem to be morally lucky: their moral
standing depends upon the existence of circumstances beyond their
control, things for which they can take no credit (or blame). But how
can that be? To the extent to which such factors determine how things
‘turn out’ an agent’s blame (or praise) seems mitigated: our common
sense judgments of moral responsibility appear false. But, then, since
there is very little, if anything, over which a person has control, the
concept of moral responsibility becomes difficult, if not impossible, to
apply. Here is a summary of the argument for this conclusion, upon
which Kant’s anti-consequentialism is based:

1. If A does not have control over all of the causes of the results of
her action, then A is “lucky” that those results occur.
2. If A is lucky that the results of her action occur, then A is not
morally responsible for the results of her action.
3. The results of every action are due to factors beyond its agent’s
control.
4. Thus, every agent is lucky that the results of her actions occur
(1, 3).
5. Thus, no agent is morally responsible for the results of her ac-
tions (2,4).

12.4 Intuitionism
Here is the last solution to the PMS that I shall consider. W.D. Ross
(1877-1970) agrees with Kant that an action’s moral status does not
depend upon its expected results. One is doing the right thing iff one is
performing one’s duty. But whereas Kant posits just one duty CI
Ross lists six different types of obligations or duties, all of which he

68
believes are “self-evident”: entailed by facts that “no one would seri-
ously doubt are morally significant.” In effect, Ross denies premise 1
in the Socratic argument. The term ‘right’ is meaningful despite its
being indefinable. Each duty is given by a rule or principle: a condi-
tional statement whose antecedent posits a situation and whose conse-
quent specifies what should be done under those circumstances, e.g.,
‘if one has made a promise, then one should keep it’ or ‘if one can
improve one’s intellect or character then one should do so’. These
rules are our ethical intuitions. One is to resolve conflicts between
these principles by exercising the same set of capacities/faculty that is
used in making practical decisions: one’s senses, reason, and imagina-
tion. One will thereby arrive at a reasonable, albeit uncertain, judg-
ment as to which rule takes precedence, one will be able to rationally
defend one’s choice if not give conclusive reasons in its favor.

12.5 Applied Ethics

When I was hungry you gave me to eat; When I was thirsty you gave me
to drink.
(St. Matthew’s Gospel, 26: 35)

Let us see what happens when a philosophical principle is applied to a

“real life” problem. Peter Singer (late 20th century) redraws the line
between obligation and charity by defending and elaborating the im-
plications of the principle that one is obliged to prevent or at least
mitigate those bad things one is capable of preventing or mitigating
without creating conditions that are worse or doing something that is
evil. According to this principle it is one’s moral obligation to help
persons who are suffering – even if they live in far off places, not
merely something that is charitable. (If one is obliged to do A, then it
is wrong to not do A; if A is simply charitable, ‘beyond the call of
duty’, then it is not wrong to not do A.) Here is the argument for that
claim:

1. If one can do something (short of causing greater evils or violat-

ing moral principles) to prevent bad things from occurring, then
one has an obligation to do whatever one can to prevent those bad
things from occurring.
2. The suffering of persons in far off places (from hunger and dis-
ease) is a bad thing that someone with disposable income can miti-
gate (without causing greater evils or violating moral principles) by
making contributions to relief organizations.

69
 3. Thus, someone with disposable income should contribute it to
relief organizations.

Singer holds that it is wrong for someone to enjoy luxuries such as

fancy clothes when others are going without necessities. A person
who is well off must give to those in need until she would become
needy herself were she to give any more. Singer defends premise 1
here (premise 2 he takes as obvious) by drawing an analogy: we
would think it wrong of someone to walk away from a child drowning
in a pond because of his unwillingness to soil his clothes, that is, in-
convenience himself in some small way. Thus, one should also feel
obliged to help the needy, even if that means foregoing certain pleas-
ures, such as a new coat when one could ‘make do’ with an old one.
The fact that the drowning child is nearby and the starving stranger is
far away is morally irrelevant. Thus, Singer’s argument runs as fol-
lows:

1. If one can save a drowning child, then one ought to save a

drowning child.
2. Like cases should be treated alike.
3. The case of starving child living in a distant land is no different
(in all morally important respects) than the case of a drowning
child.
4. Thus, if one can feed a starving child living in a distant land,
then one ought to feed a starving child living in a distant land (13).
5. Someone with “disposable income” can feed a starving child
living in a distant land.
6. Someone with disposable income ought to feed a starving child
living in a distant land (4, 5)

70
 CHAPTER 13
DISTRIBUTIVE JUSTICE

So tell me are you going to stay now? Will you stand by me girl, All the
way now?
With you by my side, They can’t keep us down, Together we can make,
From the poor side of town.
(Johnny Rivers, The Poor Side of Town)

13.1 Rawlsianism
We now take up the Problem of Distributive Justice (PDJ):

1. Unless ‘distributive justice’ is definable no political, social, or

economic institutions are just.
2. ‘Distributive justice’ is indefinable.
3. Thus, no political, social, or economic institutions are just.

In A Theory of Justice, John Rawls (1921-2002) presents a

method of determining how a just society would allocate its “primary
goods”: those things any rational person would desire, such as, oppor-
tunities, liberties, rights, wealth, and the bases of self-respect. Rawls’
method of adopting the “original position” is supposed to yield a
“fair” way of distributing these items. His view of “distributive” jus-
tice is Kantian rather than Utilitarian. Thus, the question that he be-
lieves should be asked here is (roughly) would I be willing to live in a
society following a certain principle rather than would following that
principle maximize happiness.
To be unfairly disadvantaged, which no is supposed to be in a
Rawlsian society, is to have less than one’s fair share of the primary
goods. This measure, according to Rawls, ought to be determined by
the two principles that would be selected in the original position. The
“first principle,” which is “lexically prior” to (takes precedence over)

71
the second, dictates that each member of a society be granted an equal
share of rights and liberties. The “second or difference principle”
states that the other primary goods are also to be distributed in an
egalitarian fashion unless an unequal distribution would leave eve-
ryone with more of these goods than they would otherwise have. In
addition, it mandates that every advantage is to be the reward of hold-
ing a position for which all members of society have the opportunity
to compete. This principle would allow physicians and nurses, e.g., to
earn higher salaries than other workers, since this practice would
benefit every member of a society, all of whom are in need of good
health care, assuming that it is the only way of attracting the ‘best and
the brightest’ to the medical field. Professional athletes in a Rawlsian
society, on the other hand, would not earn higher salaries than other
workers, since (unlike with health care professionals) not everyone
would suffer if professional athletes were incompetent or even if there
were no professional sports. (Believe it or not, there are people who
don’t like sports.)
Turning to Rawls’ method of selecting these principles, to adopt
the original position is to place oneself behind a “veil of ignorance”: it
is to discount one’s particular needs, interests, abilities, gender, race,
religion, and socio-economic status— in short, personal characteristics
that are not shared by all others. One may regard oneself only as an
arbitrary member of the society whose distributive principles are to be
determined. Thus, in selecting distributive principles from the original
position, one is not allowed to employ considerations the recognition
of which would tend to make one partial towards those who share
some or all of one’s personal characteristics. The veil of ignorance
prevents bias from influencing one’s decision making. That is not to
say that self-interest will not play a role. It will be limited, however, as
follows.
Adopting the original position, Rawls argues, guarantees the selec-
tion of “fair” distributive principles. It does so by compelling one to
opt for principles whose application would provide each member of
one’s society with enough of the primary goods to realize her “plan or
life.” Being “ignorant” to which groups one belongs, one would not,
as the rational agent Rawls presumes one to be, select principles
whose application would leave some members of one’s society disad-
vantaged. For to do so would be to put oneself at risk of being unable
to realize one’s goals, a risk to which a rational agent would be averse:
for all one knows behind the veil, one may be a member of any disad-
vantaged group one could form. Self-interest would thus dictate that
one not form such a group, mandating instead that one secure for each
member of society enough of the primary goods to realize her plan of
life. A just distributive principle, according to Rawls, is such that a
72
rational agent would choose it if the operation of his self-interest were
limited in this manner, i.e., if she were being fair. Rawls’ argument
may be summarized as follows:

1. A just society would be a fair society.

2. A fair society would allocate its primary goods according to un-
biased principles.
3. Unbiased principles are those that would be chosen by rational
individuals who were behind a “veil of ignorance”: did not know
their personal characteristics such as race, gender, creed, socioeco-
nomic status, talents, or interests.
4. Thus, a just society would allocate its primary goods according
to the principles that would be chosen behind the veil of ignorance
by rational individuals.
5. Behind the veil of ignorance, rational individuals would choose
the 1st and 2nd principles of justice.
6. Thus, a just society would allocate its primary goods according
to the 1st and 2nd principles of justice.

We are left, then, with the following definition of distributive jus-

tice: necessarily, a distribution of the primary goods is just iff it con-
forms to the first and second principles of justice.

13.2 Capitalism
Here is a radically different solution to the PDJ. Robert Nozick
(1938-2002) in Anarchy, State, and Utopia, rejects Rawls’ second
distribution principle and any other system according to which a soci-
ety’s wealth must be distributed so as to conform to a particular “pat-
tern.” He argues out that:

1. In order to maintain a patterned distribution scheme, the liberty

of persons would have to be unnecessarily restricted; wealth would
have to be constantly redistributed.
2. It is unjust to unnecessarily limit a person’s economic liberty
(what he or she can do with his or her wealth, talents, and time) or
constantly redistribute wealth.
3. Patterned distribution schemes are unjust.

His “entitlement” theory or “libertarianism” does not entail con-

stant wealth redistribution. It states that a society is just to the extent
to which its members own the economic goods to which they are “en-

73
titled” (he does not disagree with Rawls’ first principle). That is, nec-
essarily, a society’s economic goods are justly distributed iff its mem-
bers have followed the principle of justice in acquisition and the prin-
ciple of justice in transfer. A particular good, then, is something to
which its possessor is entitled iff it was justly acquired and justly
transferred every time it ‘changed hands’. Borrowing from John
Locke, Nozick asserts that to justly acquire an un-owned good one
must both work on it so as to increase its value and refrain from using
it to deprive others’ of their livelihoods: one worsens the situation of
others in such a way as to forfeit one’s entitlement to a certain good if
one employs it so as to prevent others from acquiring what they need
to survive. A good is justly transferred iff its exchange does not in-
volve threats, coercion, force, or deception, i.e. freedom undermining
conditions. That is, a good is justly transferred iff the person making
the transfer is doing it ‘of her own free will’.

13.3 Marxism
It’s a five o’ clock world when the whistle blows, No one owns a piece of
my time.
And there’s a five o’ clock me inside my clothes, Thinking that the world
looks fine.
(The Vogues, Five O’Clock World)

Nozick’s view, however, has received following criticism.

The followers of Karl Marx (1818-83) deny that capitalism is a
just economic system. A capitalist society, they say, will be divided
into two classes: workers/proletariat and capitalists/bourgeois. The
members of the latter own all “the means of production,” (MOPs)
those belonging to the former selling their labor to them in order to
earn a living: in a capitalist society, the means of production are pri-
vate property. Injustice is a feature of their relationship in so far as
workers are paid less than the value of their labor so that the capital-
ists can realize a “profit.” In effect, the worker is forced to create
wealth that she will not enjoy (equivalently, she is made to labor
without compensation): “exploitation” being to take from a worker
some of the wealth she creates over and above what is needed to
main tain the enterprise in which she is involved. Thus, she is made to
spend her time doing something that she would not do if it could be
avoided time is taken from her against her will (equivalently, some of
the wealth that she creates is confiscated). As the right to liberty en-
tails the obligation to refrain from treating persons in this way, it is

74
violated by exploitation. Here is a summary of Marx’s demonstration
that exploitation is unjust:

1. It is unjust to violate someone’s right to liberty (unless they

have been convicted of a crime): to take away her freedom to
spend her time as she see fit.
2. Exploitation entails forcing a worker to spend her time creating
wealth for strangers, doing something she does not want to do,
which violates her right to liberty.
3. Thus, exploitation is unjust.

Now the company of those who believed was of one heart and soul, and
no one said that any of the things which he possessed was his own, but
they had everything in common. … There was not a needy person among
them, for as many as were possessors of lands or houses sold them, and
brought the proceeds of what was sold and laid it at the apostles’ feet; and
distribution was made to each as any had need.
Thus Joseph … sold a field which belonged to him, and brought the
money and laid it at the apostles’ feet. (St. Luke, The Acts of the Apos-
tles, 4:32 – 37)

So what would a Marxist society be like? It should first be pointed

out that a true Marxist society has yet to be established. The MOPs in
the so-called Communist societies that existed in the Soviet Union and
China were owned by the state, not the workers. In a Marxist society,
the workers would control the MOPs, deciding for themselves what to
produce and how long each person must work. There would be no
exploitation. Beyond that, one can only speculate. It would likely turn
out that incomes earned for services rendered to the community would
be (roughly) the same (allowing for incentive programs that would be
beneficial to the entire community). Let us consider, then, Michael
Walzer’s (contemporary philosopher) argument for wage “egali-
tarianism”:

1. Each type of material good has its own distributive principle:

e.g., food ought to be distributed so that everyone receives just as
much as he/she needs.
2. These principles cannot be followed – material goods cannot be
justly distributed – unless wages are equalized.
3. Thus, wages should be equalized.

Walzer does not maintain that wealth should be equalized; under

his system, a person would be allowed to accumulate more wealth
than her peers, but only by spending more of her time at productive
activities, exploiting her talents instead of others. As Marx said, it is
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not private property per se that leads to exploitation, rather, private
ownership of the MOPs.

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 CHAPTER 14
GOD

14.1 The Problem of Evil

The problem of evil (PE) is an obstacle to justified belief in an om-
nipotent, omniscient, and omnibenevolent God (O3G). The atheist
maintains that an O3G would not allow moral evils such as murder,
rape, and torture to occur:

1.If there were an O3G, evil things would not happen.

2.Evil things do occur.
3.Thus, there is not an O3G.

A “free will theodicy” is supposed to provide the reason why an O3G

would create a world in which these things must be endured. In other
words, it shows that premise 1 of the PE is false. According to Saint
Augustine’s free will theodicy (AFWT), moral evil attends free will.
The harms that befall one as a result of the actions of others are the
result of the sinful willing of which all of us are capable, given God’s
decision to create us in “his own image and likeness” – as having free
wills. We ourselves have a compelling reason, this account continues,
to prefer this choice over the alternative: better suffering persons than
care free automatons.
What of “natural evil”? Might something like AFWT be used to
account for things like famines, epidemics, and earthquakes? After all,
these too, it could be maintained, are the effects of the sinful willing
of certain persons, viz., “fallen angels.” Behind the natural disasters
that cause human beings misery are the efforts of “Satan and his co-
horts,” who were given control of the earth after the Fall, to subvert
God’s will. Thus, once we recognize that God was respecting what
would be our highest value in creating all persons, humans and angels
alike, with free wills, then the existence of natural evil no longer justi-
fies atheism: we can no longer rationally doubt God’s benevolence.
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 Before we pursue an explanation of natural evil, however, we must
develop what was said above regarding why an O3G must allow moral
evil.

14.2 Why An O3G Must Allow Moral Evil

AFWT is based on the following assumptions about human nature. A
world devoid of the possibility of moral evil would be one in which
we did not exist (assuming that free will is of the essence of person-
hood). To realize such a world, God would have had to create, if He
intended to create agents at all, automatons capable only of doing His
will. It would have been sufficient here to “program” agents so that
they could not develop evil inclinations. As things stand, a human
agent is subject to temptations, some of her potential motives being
evil desires. It is the “will,” the set of capacities that enables a person
to take decisions and carry them out, that determines whether or not
she will she seek the objects of such desires. (That is not to say that an
autonomous agent would necessarily be tempted to do evil things
throughout her life; she may have become and found it desirable to be
the sort of person who is incapable of deliberately harming others.
But, to have a free will, she must have become this way ‘on her own’:
her lack of evil inclinations cannot be solely due to the activity of
another person. She must have been capable of rejecting the values of
those who influenced her development.) This faculty would obviously
be superflous were we programmed to do God’s will and, thus, not a
part of a perfect being’s creation. Thus, if the existence of the power
to freely will to do evil was entailed by the decision to create persons,
then the risk of being a victim of its exercise is an ineliminable aspect
of the human condition. Given the value that we place upon our free
wills, we should not, then, ‘hold it against’ God that we must endure
moral evil. That is, our interest in preserving our personhood makes it
irrational to question our Creator’s benevolence by citing “man’s in-
humanity to man.”
Our values, thus, play a critical role in AFWT. Did we not prize
having free wills more than anything else – as being essential to our
identity, we would not be irrational in doubting God’s benevolence.
For we would not then have a compelling reason to prefer a world in
which moral evils are very likely to occur. The alternative appears
unacceptable only in light of the harm it entails to our highest value. It
is not simply that a world devoid of the possibility of moral evil would
lack agents with free wills. Were free will not of the greatest value to
us, we could legitimately doubt that God had acted benevolently in

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having us endure moral evil, since we would not be ‘out anything’
significant were it not to exist. In sum, that God is omnibenevolent is
questionable only if He could have prevented the harms that befall us
without depriving us of that which we find most valuable. It is hoped
that the reader is now wondering in what way, if any, our wills would
have impaired by the forestalling of natural evil.

14.3 The Forestalling Of Natural Evil

As noted above, natural evil can be seen as the effect of the sinful
willing of Satan and his cohorts. Famines, plagues, and other disasters
would not occur but for their schadenfreude and their desire to destroy
our faith in an O3G. Prevent this subversion, then, and you eliminate
such calamities. Why, then, atheist asks, does God allow it to occur?
The answer that parallels AFWT would be that preventing natural evil
entails eliminating the free will of Satan and his cohorts. It is only by
destroying their capacity for doing evil that we could be spared natural
disasters. But, then, these beings would be as unfree as persons
stripped of their potential for harming each other. God should not be
thought of as not being omnibenevolent for being unwilling to restrict
the actions of Satan and his cohorts, given that doing so would have
been to act against our best interest, entailing the loss of their free
wills.
But the last sentence of this answer seems false. It is obvious why a
constraint placed upon our own wills would be undesirable. But what
reason might there be for regretting that Satan and his cohorts are not
automatons? We can easily see the loss entailed by an elimination of
moral evil. It does not appear that we would be ‘out anything’ were
the assumed cause of natural evil not to exist. If preventing its exis-
tence means circumscribing the wills of non-human creatures, well, no
big deal. The question is, would a world devoid of Satan and his co-
horts’ power to effect evil involve lessening what is most valuable to
us? In a sense it would, since free will is of the greatest value to per-
sons and there would fewer persons with free wills in such a world
than there would be in the one entailed by AFWT. But surely we can
value free will without desiring that all persons be at liberty to effect
evil. (Witness prisons.) Our interest in preserving our free will does
not include a concern for the liberty of non-human persons. We would
expect an O3G to maximize our share of that which we value the
most, allotting others’ measure so as to serve our interests.
But this response begs the question, why shouldn’t those adversely
affected by moral evil doubt the benignancy of the author of their

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malefactor’s free will? What difference should it make whether the
evildoer is ‘one of us’ or not? (Our assessment of a parole board’s
competence should not depend upon whether recidivists victimize
strangers or their friends and family.) In demonstrating the unsound-
ness of the above explanation of natural evil, we seem to have also
refuted AWFT as well. Just as there is reason to question the benevo-
lence of God for allowing for the existence of natural disasters, from
the perspective of those thereby harmed, there is cause for the victims
of moral evil to dispute there being benevolence behind the decision
to grant free will to those who were to become their malefactors. Why
should the AIDS epidemic count against the existence of an O3G if
Buchenwald doesn’t: simply because preventing the latter, but not the
former, entails constraining the wills of certain members of our own
species? Why, instead, shouldn’t we view this prospect as we assessed
the proposed loss of autonomy on the part of Satan and his cohorts,
saying ‘so much the worse for Hitler and his minions’?
We seem, then, to be on a slippery slope. Preferring a world sans
natural evil appears to entail doubts regarding an O3G given the exis-
tence of moral evil, and thus abdicating altogether hopes of construct-
ing a FWT. It might be thought that this result is the inevitable conse-
quence of evaluating the non-existence of evil from the perspective of
its victims. At this point, the theist could attempt to show that we
benefit from the existence of evil in ways that are independent of the
value we place upon our free wills. If there are other highly important
human purposes served by evil, we could not rationally prefer its non-
existence. That may be the best account a theist can offer of natural
evil. But I shall now demonstrate that applying AWFT to natural evil
does not put one on a slippery slope, thus preserving it as an explana-
tion of moral evil.

14.4 An Explanation Of Moral Evil

A victim of evil, whether it be natural or moral, seemed to have no
reason to prefer a possible world in which her malefactor is capable of
harming her to one in which he is not. She appears rational in regret-
ting that which has brought her to grief. AFWT purports to show that
the cost of eliminating the source of her suffering is too high: a loss of
free will on her part. But we have just seen that this price need only
be paid by the evildoer. Circumscribing him alone would suffice to
deliver her from his evil. So why shouldn’t she prefer having been
thus delivered?

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 The answer, I believe, lies in the Gospel’s denunciation of capital
punishment: “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” Rational-
ity would seem to preclude a victim of evil from finding regrettable
the free will of those who trespass against her while realizing that she
herself is guilty of harming others. While she would not be harmed by
the elimination of her would-be malefactor’s free will, her liberty
would be circumscribed were God to take the steps required to keep
her from committing her misdeeds. The same claims can be made
against her that she can make against others. Thus, unless it is rational
for her to wish that she be allowed to commit the misdeeds others are
incapable of performing, she should not decry the free will of those
who trespass against her and thus should not let their sins stand in the
way of the acceptance of an O3G. Only a morally perfect person, it
appears, could justifiably question God’s decision to allow one’s fel-
lows to commit evil. What loss would such a person have suffered had
this decision not been taken? None it seems. Not having been abused,
God could have left her free will intact without being unfair. The rest
of us must suffer in silence the trespasses of others or change our sin-
ful ways so as to become entitled to complain of such transgressions.
Perhaps there are morally perfect persons, although our hopelessly
flawed world seems very unlikely to have produced persons of this
stature. If so, then it appears that there are individuals who could ra-
tionally reject AFWT. That is to say, there may be persons in a posi-
tion to reject the notion that they themselves are better off living
in a morally imperfect world and thus to doubt the existence of an
O3G. Thus, to show that AFWT has universal appeal, I must either
demonstrate the non-existence of morally perfect persons or show
why even they benefit from living amongst sinners. The latter is obvi-
ously the best way to proceed.
So we must take back the claim that no benefit could accrue from
the existence of free will to those for whom its abuse remains an un-
exercised option. But what might this advantage be? Simply, the op-
portunity to live amongst and interact with persons – creatures pos-
sessing a free will – rather than automatons. Lacking a free will, the
latter would not only be incapable of moral trangressions, but benefi-
cence as well. Perhaps there would be no way of telling the difference,
but with such creatures there could only be sham kindness, love, grati-
tude etc.. Moreover, for this reason, their existence would involve God
in the sort of deception of which Descartes et al. thought him incapa-
ble. All in all a most undesirable state of affairs even from, nay, espe-
cially from, the perspective of a would be saint. Better to be exposed
to sinfulness so as to be in a position to relate to others as fellow per-
sons, encouraging the transcendence of their self-imposed limitations,
while worshipping a truthful Divinity. This imperative could not be
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met simply by living in a community of saints, for the community
itself would desire to interract, if only as a model of worshipfulness,
with an outside world populated with persons. Thus, neither would be
saint nor sinner has a reason to reject AFWT.
Does the foregoing also suggest a way of applying it to the case of
natural evil? I believe that it does. According to it, we should say that
natural evil is a function of the willing of Satan and his minions. The
atheist, it will be recalled, points out that God’s thwarting of their
plans would have been benevolent. Thus, our FWT does not seem to
satisfy our demand for an explanation of why an O3G would allow
natural evil to exist: it seems to fail to show why it is in our
best interest that such calamity may obtain. But the prevention of the
fall of Satan and his legions would have required the destruction of
their free wills, making any intermediaries between God and ourselves
automatons. The question then becomes, would we have been de-
meaned by such an arrangement?
It appears so. For we would have taken God’s intermediaries to be
something that they are not, viz., persons who had chosen to reveal
God’s will. Moreover, such an arrangement would entail a flawed
understanding of God himself, making him party to a deception we
would reject as foreign to his nature. Indeed, one might argue that it
was not even open to an O3G to realize this possibility, involving as it
does the sending forth of impostures. (It should be noted that God’s
free will, unlike our own, does not entail the ability to do evil, since
He is uncreated there is no need form Him to be able to transcend
anyone’s values in order to be autonomous.) If it is not in our best
interest to be subject to deception, then the existence of natural evil
should not shake our faith in an O3G, since its elimination would have
required God to mislead us. Thus, in the end, it appears that AFWT
can be used to explain an O3G’s actualization of a world containing
natural evil. On the assumption that the angels were to be God’s mes-
sengers, its existence is a function of God’s creation of beings worthy
of fulfilling this role.
One might argue that the price of avoiding communications with
angelic imposters is too high: that we’d be better off being deceived
by such creatures if that meant the non-existence of the calamities for
which the fallen angels are assumed to be responsible. Their creation,
then, belies the existence of an O3G. But could ‘our own good’ in-
volve being deceived? Does it make sense to regret that was God un-
willing to mislead us? Should we do so, our virtue appears dimin-
ished: we admit to valuing Truth less than safety and comfort. We
would be asking for a particular falsehood to be an essential part of
the world view of anyone to whom God must send an angelic inter-
mediary. Such a request would seem to lower ourselves in our own
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eyes, making us appear to be like children, to whom it is sometimes
best to withhold the Truth. Is that what we would have for ourselves:
being fated to take at least one aspect of God’s creation, should a di-
vine messenger be encountered, for that which it is not? Or is the pos-
sibility of attaining a complete understanding of all of one’s experi-
ences preferably left open? Our framing of these questions indicates
that we think it unworthy of beings capable of knowing the Truth to
desire anything less. Thus, the decision to create angels capable of
doing evil is consistent with the existence of an omnibenevolent God,
as it respected what would be one of our highest values. That some in
their number exercised this capacity, causing us great suffering and
misery, then, is consistent with the existence of an O3G.
Given the foreseeable harms some of them were going to inflict
upon us, why were the angels created at all? Why didn’t God choose
instead to communicate with us sans intermediaries? Or having cre-
ated them as robots, why couldn’t God have avoided deception by
revealing to us their true nature? The second alternative really isn’t an
option over and above the first, since God might just as well have
saved himself the trouble of making such a revelation by communicat-
ing directly with us all the time having had to do it once. Nor could
angelic automatons provide this information to us ‘on their own’,
since it would undercut their credibility as messengers of God: we
would not take seriously the claims of those who identified themselves
as automatons. As regards the first, it shall be assumed, ala Kierke-
gaard, that the import of God’s words would have escaped our under-
standing had they not been conveyed to us through angelic channels,
as it was also necessary for him to speak to us through the prophets
and himself become man – indeed taking the form of a servant to de-
liver the Gospel of salvation.

14.5 Conclusion
We began by detailing the role our highest value, free will, plays in
AFWT. Any possible world in which one’s free will is non-existent is
not to be preferred to one in which it exists – no matter what other
benefits it offers. From a single person’s perspective, however, it ap-
peared that this value would not be threatened were she placed in
world in which a significant amount of evil had been eliminated, viz.,
all that for which she was not responsible. Why, it was asked, should a
person prefer the actual world, in which she may suffer from the ef-
fects of both moral and natural evil, to a world in which she would not
be subjected to the wickedness of others? Only a morally perfect per-

83
son, though, could legitimately expect an O3G to situate her in a world
of the latter type. The rest of us need look no further than our own
hearts to realize the necessity of being a potential victim of moral evil:
it is a consequence of God’s evenhandedness. For her part, a would be
saint must accept the risk of being a victim of moral evil as an entail-
ment of dwelling amongst persons rather than automatons, which she
must be in order to fully realize her humanity. Finally, the handiwork
of Satan and his cohorts is the ‘price we pay’ for being capable of
fully comprehending all of our interpersonal experiences. AFWT,
supplemented with an understanding of the consequences of eliminat-
ing the free will of any person, reconciles humanity’s suffering with
the existence of an O3G. That is not to say that it would provide a
victim of evil with even a small measure of comfort; it is “only”
meant to sustain her faith in an O3G.

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 GLOSSARY

Philosophy: The defining of moral and aesthetic goodness, rational-

ity, knowledge, and reality. It leads to the logical study of ethical,
aesthetic, epistemological, and metaphysical problems. Such problems
come in the form of valid arguments whose conclusions are either
contradictory or skeptical and whose premises are philosophical theo-
ries/definitions/principles and factual claims. One philosophizes by
arguing for either an acceptance of the conclusion or a rejection of one
of the premises of a philosophical problem. Each branch or division of
philosophy is distinguished by a set of these problems.

Metaphysics: The philosophical study of the basic structure of real-

ity. Metaphysical questions are generally “ontological,” (about what
exists) and are entailed by concepts such as identity, change, and es-
sence. They are the questions about reality left open by science.

Epistemology: The study of knowledge. Epistemological issues

involve the nature of belief, justification, and truth.

Ethics: The study of moral goodness. Ethical inquiry is the search

for principles by which to determine which actions are right and
which social arrangements are just.

Logic: The study of the principles of correct reasoning. Logic ad-

dresses the question of what makes an argument acceptable, in the
sense of having its conclusion proven by its premises.

Philosophy of Mind: The metaphysical study of the mind. Onto-

logically, the issue is whether or not one’s mind is identical to (a part
of) one’s body. Other questions in this area include ‘What is free will
and does it exist?’ and ‘What is personal identity?’

85
 Possible world: A way that things might be; it is any logically con-
sistent and logically complete set of facts (Lewis).

Truth: A proposition p is true iff there obtains a fact at the time p

indicates to which p corresponds.

Substance: An entity whose existence is independent of the exis-

tence of any other thing, i.e., an entity that could exist though nothing
else did (Descartes).

Fact: A substance (that which may be designated by a noun or noun

phrase) bearing a property.

Necessary Truth: A proposition is necessarily true iff in each pos-

sible world there obtains a fact at the time p indicates to which p cor-
responds. (Philosophical theories, as opposed to scientific ones, are
supposed to be necessarily true.)

Essence: Property P is an essence of individual x iff x bears P in

each possible world in which it exists, i.e., there is no possible in
which x exists and does not possess P.

Law of Excluded Middle (LEM): Every statement, theory, princi-

ple, and definition must be either true or false.

Law of Non-Contradiction (LNC): No statement, theory, etc.

could be both true and false.

Leibniz’s Law (LL): Necessarily, x = y only if every property of x

is a property of y and vice-versa.

Necessity of Identity (NI): Necessarily, if x = y, then it is not pos-

sible that x  y (they could not be distinct).

Transitivity of Identity (TI): Necessarily, if x = y and y = z, then x

= z.

86