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Non-Propositional Intentionality
Non-Propositional
Intentionality
EDITED BY
Alex Grzankowski
and Michelle Montague
1
3
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Contents
List of Contributors vii
1. Non-Propositional Intentionality: An Introduction 1

Alex Grzankowski and Michelle Montague
2. Why Maps are Not Propositional 19
Elisabeth Camp
3. Intensional Transitive Verbs and Abstract Clausal Complementation 46
Marcel den Dikken, Richard Larson, and Peter Ludlow
4. Know-How and Non-Propositional Intentionality 95
Katalin Farkas
5. Content and Theme in Attitude Ascriptions 114
Graeme Forbes
6. A Relational Theory of Non-Propositional Attitudes 134
Alex Grzankowski
7. Sensory Disclosure: Neither a Propositional, Nor a Factive, Attitude 152
Mark Johnston
8. Belief-That and Belief-In: Which Reductive Analysis? 192
Uriah Kriegel
9. Propositionalism without Propositions, Objectualism without Objects 214
Angela Mendelovici
10. Attitudes on Display 234
Mark Sainsbury
11. Are there Non-Propositional Intentional States? 259
John R. Searle
12. Is Attention a Non-Propositional Attitude? 272
Sebastian Watzl
Author Index 303

Term Index 306
List of Contributors
E LISABETH C AMP , Associate Professor of Philosophy at Rutgers University.

M ARCEL DEN D IKKEN , Professor of Linguistics at the City University of New York.
K ATALIN F ARKAS , Professor of Philosophy at the Central European University.
G RAEME F ORBES , Professor of Philosophy at the University of Colorado, Boulder.
A LEX G RZANKOWSKI , Lecturer in Philosophy at Birkbeck University of London.
M ARK J OHNSTON , Henry Putnam University Professor of Philosophy at Princeton
University.
U RIAH K RIEGEL , CNRS Research Director at the Institut Jean Nicod.
R ICHARD L ARSON , Professor of Linguistics at Stony Brook University.
P ETER L UDLOW
A NGELA M ENDELOVICI , Assistant Professor of Philosophy at Western University.
M ICHELLE M ONTAGUE , Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of Texas
at Austin.
M ARK S AINSBURY , Professor of Philosophy at the University of Texas at Austin.
J OHN R. S EARLE , Willis S. and Marion Slusser Professor Emeritus of Mind
and Language at the University of California, Berkeley.
S EBASTIAN W ATZL , Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of Oslo.
1
Non-Propositional Intentionality
An Introduction
Alex Grzankowski and Michelle Montague
Intentionality, the phenomenon of something’s being about or of something, and

phenomenology, the phenomenon of there being something it is like for a subject,
experientially, to be in a mental state, are central concepts in the philosophy of mind.
Much philosophical energy has focused on whether it is possible to give a ‘naturalistic
reduction’ of intentionality, and more recently, on how intentionality and phenom-
enology may be related in conscious perception, conscious thought, and conscious
emotion. An issue that has not received as much attention, but is beginning to attract
wider interest, is whether all intentionality is propositional. In recent discussion of
intentionality there has been an almost universal assumption—sometimes explicit,
but typically implicit—that all intentionality is propositional. This view is sometimes
called ‘propositionalism’. Propositionalism has been so pervasive that ‘intentional
attitude’ and ‘propositional attitude’ have come to be used interchangeably.
A few samples from the contemporary analytic literature demonstrate the ten-
dency to characterize the phenomenon of intentionality exclusively in terms of
propositions. According to John Perry (1994: 387–8),
the phenomenon of intentionality suggests that attitudes are essentially relational in nature:
they involve relations to the propositions at which they are directed . . . An attitude seems to be
individuated by the agent, the type of attitude (belief, desire, etc.), and the proposition at which
it is directed.
And Daniel Stoljar (1996: 191) says that,

in one formulation, the problem of intentionality is presented as concerning a particular class
of properties, intentional properties. Intentional properties are those properties expressed by
predicates formed from verbs of propositional attitudes.
It is important to note from the outset that the propositionalist approach to intention-
ality has prominent historical opponents. Franz Brentano (1874), who is credited with
bringing the topic of intentionality to the forefront of philosophical attention in the
 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE
twentieth and twenty-first centuries, was a thoroughgoing non-propositionalist about

intentionality.¹ According to Brentano, all intentional attitudes are non-propositional
(specifically, objectual),² including judgments or beliefs, which (in the analytic trad-
ition) are the paradigm examples of propositional attitudes.³ In his contribution
(Chapter 8), Kriegel offers a spirited defense of Brentano’s objectual account of inten-
tionality, focusing on the attitude of belief or judgment.⁴ On this view, all beliefs are
existential, they affirm or deny the existence of something, but this affirmation or
denial is not to be understood as a belief that there are Fs, for example, but rather
simply as a belief in Fs, where F is taken to be a thing or a concrete particular. Part of
Kriegel’s defense of this view depends on the claim that existence-commitment is not a
content-property, not a property which features in the specification of the content of a
belief, but an aspect of the belief-attitude itself.
Kriegel also offers a two-step dispensability argument in favor of objectualism. The
first step defends the claim that every indicative statement that expresses a belief can
be paraphrased into non-propositional affirmation or denial of an object’s existence.
The second step appeals to ontological parsimony and claims that a Brentanian
theory is in a better position since it does not acquire an additional ontological
commitment to propositions. In defending the paraphrase strategy, Kriegel considers
a wide range of statements including categorical, hypothetical, singular, molecular,
and modal statements.
In spite of Brentano’s influence in bringing the phenomenon of intentionality into
philosophical focus, his theory of non-propositional intentionality has been largely
ignored. This is unfortunate. Implicit acceptance of propositionalism has impeded
philosophical discussion about the nature of intentionality in at least three note-
worthy ways: (i) a precise statement of propositionalism has been left undeveloped;
(ii) the motivations for propositionalism are rarely articulated; and (iii) apparent
counterexamples and challenges to propositionalism, along with non-propositional
theories of intentionality, are underexplored. The contributors to this volume explore
and correct these impediments by discussing in detail what the commitment to
propositionalism amounts to; by shedding light on why one might find the thesis
attractive (or unattractive); and by exploring the ways in which one might depart
from propositionalism.
¹ Husserl (1900–1/2001) also accepted non-propositional intentionality. Those who deny proposition-
alism in the contemporary analytic tradition include R. Montague (1974), Dretske (1980), Heil (1992),
Ben-Yami (1997), Forbes (2000), Crane (2001), Szabó (2003, 2005), M. Montague (2007), and
Grzankowski (2012, 2016a).
² As a gloss, an objectual attitude, understood as being about an object, is a candidate way of being a
non-propositional attitude. In the context of this debate, philosophers sometimes use ‘non-propositional’
and ‘objectual’ interchangeably. This terminology seems harmless so long as one has a suitably wide
conception of ‘object’ in mind.
³ For our purposes we are treating belief and judgment as equivalent ignoring difficulties that may arise
if beliefs are essentially dispositional.
⁴ See also Textor (2017).
NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 
1 What is Propositionalism?
The basic tenet of propositionalism is that every mental intentional attitude, every
thought, pro-attitude, belief, desire, perception, adoration, resentment, contemplation,
etc. is a fundamentally proposition-involving attitude. What is central to proposition-
alism is the structure of the intentional content of a fundamentally proposition-
involving attitude. Most versions of propositionalism parse that structure in terms of
predicative structure, which is typically and perspicuously conveyed by a verb-
involving sentence. (We’ll go on to discuss how Camp’s contribution in Chapter 2
presses on this minimal starting point for propositionalism by considering the meta-
physical nature of propositions.)
This minimal statement of propositionalism is designed to remain neutral on the
issue of whether intentionality is relational, and thus whether it is correct to construe
intentional attitudes as relations to propositions or something proposition-like.
Although such a characterization has been standard among philosophers, it is not
universally accepted. In this volume, for example, Searle maintains that propositional-
ism is true for most intentional states (leaning on his now famous and familiar
discussion of directions of fit and conditions of satisfaction), but denies that intentional
attitudes are relations to propositions: “a belief is not an attitude to a proposition, rather
a belief consists entirely in a propositional content under the aspect of being believed”
(p. 263). An assessment of this alternative proposal requires careful discussion of what is
involved in “the aspect of being believed”, and Searle does not expand on this idea.⁵
Nevertheless he accepts the basic starting point that what is at issue is whether the
specification of the content of all intentional states requires an entire “that”-clause,
which in turn requires appealing to propositions or something proposition-like. In what
follows, we’ll sometimes speak of intentional attitudes as relations, but this is for ease of
exposition rather than signaling a metaphysical commitment.
Of the contributions in the volume, Mendelovici’s (Chapter 9) is most centrally
concerned with clarifying propositionalism. As a first step, she draws a distinction
between the deep nature of intentional states and their contents and the superficial
characters of intentional states and their contents. The question of the deep nature
of intentional states and their contents is a question about the metaphysical nature of
intentional states and the metaphysical nature of intentional content. The question
of the superficial character of intentional states and their contents is a question about
the features that characterize kinds of intentional states, for example, belief, desire,
hope, and what features characterize the particular contents intentional states have,
for example, God or that grass is green.
Given this distinction between deep nature and superficial character, and given
that our focus is on the contents of intentional states, Mendelovici argues that there
⁵ For other examples of non-relational accounts of intentionality, see e.g. Hare (1969), Sellars (1974),
Rapaport (1979), Goldstein (1982), Kriegel (2007, 2008, 2011), and Mendelovici (2018).
 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE
are two different ways of understanding the debate between what she calls
‘propositionalism’ and ‘objectualism’: (1) as a debate between ‘deep propositionalism’
and ‘deep objectualism’, which are views about the deep nature of the contents of
intentional states; (2) as a debate between ‘shallow propositionalism’ and ‘shallow
objectualism’, which are views about the superficial character of the contents of
intentional states. Mendelovici argues that not only are the pairs of deep and shallow
views conceptually distinct from one another, but also that neither deep and shallow
propositionalism entail each other nor do deep and shallow objectualism.
According to Mendelovici, what’s at stake in the contemporary debate over
propositionalism are the shallow views and, further, that this understanding of the
debate sheds new light on the soundness of certain arguments for propositionalism
and objectualism. For example, it suggests that arguments for propositionalism or
objectualism that are based on claims about the nature of intentional content (for
example, if content is best understood in terms of, say, possible worlds or in terms of,
say, sequences of objects, properties, and relations) are suspect. Finally, she argues
that when there is a conflict between our views about the deep nature and the
superficial character of intentional content, the views about superficial character
should (for the most part) win out.
In her contribution, Camp pursues the ‘metaphysical’ strand of Mendelovici’s
attempt to articulate the commitments of propositionalism by clarifying what it is
for a representation to be propositional. Determining the necessary features of
representations with propositional structure requires determining the necessary
features of propositions themselves.
Camp sets aside the possible worlds theory of propositions on the grounds that it
would threaten to trivialize otherwise interesting debates about propositionality if
adopted (for many representations such as sentences, pictures, maps, graphs, and so
on divide the space of possibilities). Her focus is on structured accounts of proposi-
tions and what exactly it takes for a representation to have such a proposition as its
content. By considering the now familiar structured theories of propositions often
attributed to Frege and Russell, Camp focuses on the idea of predication—a com-
binatorial operation that connects predicates to subjects. One important aspect of
Camp’s chapter is its detailed discussion of predicational structure and the reliance
on it by other theorists who have considered the logic and semantics of maps. Camp
offers reasons for thinking that maps don’t exhibit predicational structure, but she is
in fact out for a bolder conclusion. She argues that thinking about predication and
whether maps exhibit it is to enter into the debate concerning their propositionality
one step too late. There is an array of modes of combination besides predication that
theorists have thought might underwrite representing propositionally and a focus on
predication is overly narrow. What’s needed, according to Camp, is a characteriza-
tion of the genus of which predication is a canonical species.
Camp’s chapter is centered on a discussion about maps, but much of it goes
beyond this focus. Maps provide a backdrop against which she inquires into the
NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 
nature of propositionality. As well as offering reasons for thinking that the notion of
predication isn’t quite the right place to look if one wants to understand proposi-
tionality, Camp concludes that propositions have four essential features concerning
the combinatorial operations of their elements. First, the candidate combinatorial
operations are highly digital: they take a small number of discrete elements as inputs.
Second, they are universal: they can combine a wide range of elements. Third, they
are asymmetrical: either just one element must be of a type that enables it to serve as
input for the other or the operation itself creates such an asymmetry. Fourth, the
operation is recursive: the outputs of the operation can serve as inputs to the same
operation. Throughout her chapter maps serve to highlight how a system of repre-
sentation might meet or fail to meet these combinatorial demands but the upshots
are of broader interest. Much of the contemporary literature on the metaphysics of
propositions focuses on predication (see e.g. Hanks 2015), and as indicated at the
beginning of this section it is not uncommon to contrast propositional and non-
propositional representation in terms of predication (see Grzankowski’s Chapter 6).
Camp’s chapter offers a different way of thinking about what is required of propos-
itional representation, and therefore perhaps a different way of contrasting propos-
itional and non-propositional representation.
One lesson that we may draw from the different possible ways of clarifying
propositionalism is that not all versions of propositionalism will stand or fall
together. It seems plausible that different arguments will undermine or support
‘shallow propositionalism’ and ‘deep propositionalism’, and the force of one’s par-
ticular argument for or against propositionalism may depend on which conception of
a proposition is in play.
2 What are the Motivations for Propositionalism?

A cursory glance at our intentional attitudes may seem to provide clear counter-
examples to propositionalism. That is, many intentional attitudes simply do not seem
to be propositional attitudes. Mary loves Nancy. She seeks the fountain of youth. She
has you in mind. She contemplates the sky. And she wants Nancy’s car. These
examples are a serious challenge to propositionalism only if it cannot be shown
that they are somehow reducible to or derive from propositional attitudes. It is
therefore unsurprising that one motivation for propositionalism is its putative ability
to account for such cases in propositional terms.
The philosophy of language and the philosophy of mind have historically been
intimately connected, and this connection plays an important role in the debate
about propositionalism. One central issue is whether ascriptions of intentional
attitudes (very often ascribed using ‘intensional verbs’)⁶ can serve as a point of
⁶ See Chisholm (1957) for further discussion of the connection between intensional constructions in
language and intentional phenomena. It is widely recognized that intentional phenomena (aboutness or
 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE
entry into the nature of intentional attitudes, or whether it’s possible to completely
divorce the theory of attitude ascriptions from such metaphysical facts.
A natural and familiar view might proceed from the claim that a sentence such as
‘S believes that p’ is true just in case S believes that p and ‘S wants ice cream’ is true
just in case S wants ice cream. In turn, with only minor theorizing, one might hold
that the former requires a metaphysics of mind that deals in relations to propositions,
and the latter a metaphysics of mind that deals in relations to things such as ice
cream. More generally, one may hope that our attitude ascriptions will reveal, in a
relatively straightforward way, our metaphysics of mind. But matters may be more
complicated as a number of contributors make clear.
In Chapter 10, Sainsbury offers ways in which our attitude ascriptions and the
metaphysics of mind might come apart. Moreover, he provides a theory of attitude
ascriptions which aims to countenance both what he calls ‘sentential’ ascriptions (e.g.
‘She believes it will rain today’) and ‘nonsentential’ ascriptions (e.g. ‘She wants rain’)
without commitment to any views about whether there are in fact various kinds of
irreducible intentional attitudes, for example, propositional and objectual. His view
makes room for the possibility of non-propositional representational states but also
shows how the grammar of our ascriptions doesn’t make their existence inevitable.
Sainsbury argues that both kinds of attitude ascriptions are fundamentally the same
insofar as both involve putting a conceptual structure “on display” (which he differ-
entiates from quotation, assertion, and reference). Attitude ascriptions are correct just
in case the displayed structure is appropriately related to the structure of the inten-
tional state of the subject of the attribution, but appropriateness turns out to be a very
flexible notion. Whereas sentential ascriptions put on display a structure of concepts
with a sentence-like structure, nonsentential ascriptions put on display concepts with
a non-sentence-like structure, but a match between what’s on display and the state of
the subject is merely an ideal. As Sainsbury puts it:
Match is an ideal, but we can expect, and will find, acceptable attributions which do not match.
Putting a representation on display is like mimicking a person’s accent to show how they
spoke, or playing a few bars on the piano to show how they played. The presentation need not
exactly duplicate: it may simply be suggestive or may even be a caricature. Something similar
holds for attitude attributions. (pp. 240–1)
ofness) is very often (though not only) that which intensional constructions report. More will be found on
intensionality in Chapter 3 by Den Dikken, Larson, and Ludlow, but just briefly, intensional constructions
in language are those which allow for at least one of the following: (i) truth despite featuring empty object
terms (e.g. ‘John imagined Pegasus’); (ii) non-specific readings (e.g. ‘I want a new car’ read as not entailing
that there is a specific car one wants); and (iii) the failure of substitution of co-extensional terms (e.g.
‘renate’ and ‘chordate’). Interestingly, mental states that many agree are intentional such as belief, desire,
hoping, imagining, and so on look to exhibit mental analogs of these linguistic features. One might imagine
Pegasus, want a new car but not yet have a specific one in mind, or believe that renates are living things but
not believe that chordates are living things. Given these connections, many philosophers have found it at
least helpful to let intensionality in language guide our understanding of intentionality in the mind.
NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 
One way for an ascription such as ‘Galileo believes that the earth moves’ to be true is
for Galileo to be related to a mental representational structure comprising the very
concepts structured in the very same way as the corresponding phrase ‘the earth
moves’. An ascription such as ‘Galileo is thinking of the number seven’ can be made
true by Galileo having in mind a mental representation corresponding to the term
‘seven’. However in some contexts, ‘Galileo is thinking of the number seven’ may be
true because Galileo has a propositional thought corresponding to, say, ‘seven is prime’.
That’s just a sampling of the ways in which attitudes and ascriptions may align or
come apart according to Sainsbury. His chapter contains a rich discussion of many
ways in which our intentional state ascriptions can depart from what makes them
true, and he offers a novel notational system for tracking the diverse complications.
One broad upshot of Sainsbury’s view is that purported non-propositionalists must
go beyond linguistic considerations if they are to defend their view.
According to some theorists, the complications concerning intentional ascription
come even one step sooner. Although on the surface, ascriptions such as ‘Mary seeks
the fountain of youth’ and ‘Mary wants a sloop’ look to ascribe a two-place relation
between Mary and some non-propositional object such as a concept, or perhaps an
ordinary object, some have argued that there are reasons for thinking that looks are
deceiving and that the language itself is more complicated at the level of logical form.
For example, there is Quine’s influential suggestion (1956) that sentences such as
‘Mary wants a sloop’ and ‘Ernest is hunting a lion’ are (despite appearances) best
treated as the propositional attitude ascriptions ‘Mary wants that she have a sloop’
and ‘Ernest strives that he finds a lion’.
To see part of what motivates this suggestion, consider Quine’s distinction
between ‘notional’ and ‘relational’ readings of intentional attitude sentences. On a
relational reading of the sentence ‘Mary wants a sloop’, there is a particular sloop that
Mary wants. This can be captured in first-order logic as follows: 9x (x is a sloop and
Mary wants x). On this reading, the quantifier takes wide scope with respect to the
verb ‘wants’. In contrast, on a notional reading of the sentence, where Mary wants a
sloop but no sloop in particular, the quantifier must take narrow scope with respect
to the verb ‘wants’. Since Quine was explicitly in favor of Russell’s (1905) treatment of
quantified phrases such as ‘an F’ and ‘the F’, according to which quantifiers do not
contribute denotations to propositions, but rather are incomplete symbols that
combine with predicates to form meaningful sentences, when a quantifier takes
narrow scope with respect to a verb such as ‘wants’ as in the case of Mary non-
specifically wanting a sloop, a full sentential complement is needed. In short, given
Russell’s theory of quantifiers, without a sentential complement following the verb
‘wants’, we would not be able to adequately represent the notional reading of ‘Mary
wants a sloop’.⁷ Although on the surface it looks like we have an intentional state
⁷ See Grzankowski (2013) for further discussion.

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE
ascription which relates a subject to something structurally non-propositional, the

logical form (at least given Quine’s other commitments) reveals that the subject is
related to something with propositional structure.
A number of contemporary philosophers and linguists have been impressed with
the broad outlines of this Quinean idea and have argued that there are syntactic and
semantic reasons for generalizing it. In their contribution, Den Dikken, Larson, and
Ludlow argue for propositionalism by considering the strong correlation between
intensionality and syntax. Sentences create an intensional context when the following
two features are present: the substitution of co-referring terms does not preserve
truth; and the presence of a non-referring term need not induce falsity.⁸ Den Dikken
et al. first claim that intensionality is present in all clausal (sentential) complements
following an intensional verb. For example, intensionality effects are present in the
following sentences: ‘Max imagined that a unicorn was approaching’ and ‘Max
imagined that Bill Pratt was approaching’. But intensional contexts also arise in
what look to be simpler constructions. In what are commonly called ‘intensional
transitive verbs’ such as wants, imagines, looks for, etc., which appear to take (or at
least can take) noun phrase direct objects, we find substitution failures and the
admissibility of non-referring terms. Moreover, on their surface, such constructions
resist an analysis in terms of clausal complements. For example, it is at least not
obvious that ‘Max imagined a unicorn’ is easily translatable into a sentence of the form
‘Max imagined a unicorn is F’ (for some appropriate F). However, via the syntax of
non-finite complement constructions within the general framework of Chomsky
(1995), Den Dikken et al. argue that intensional transitive constructions are not
transitives at all, but rather clausal complement constructions containing concealed
syntactic material. For example, a sentence such as ‘Max wants a bicycle’ looks to have
the logical form of a simple two-place relation holding between Max and a bicycle, but
semantic and syntactic tests reveal a hidden subject-term, ‘PRO’ (roughly equivalent
in this case to ‘Max himself ’) as well as a hidden verb, ‘to have’. Upon closer inspection,
then, a proposition-expressing sentential complement is revealed and the logical form
is closer to that of ‘Max wants that he himself have a bicycle’.
Den Dikken et al. focus primarily on wants/needs verbs, and non-propositionalists
are quick to point out a host of other intentional verbs (e.g. Mary loves Nancy, Mary
likes chocolate), which “surely” aren’t propositional. The central question is: can Den
Dikken, Larson, and Ludlow’s project be extended to the whole range of cases under
consideration? If so, then a departure from propositionalism on linguistic grounds
looks far less motivated.⁹
Switching gears from linguistic considerations about intentional attitude ascrip-
tions, one might attempt to defend propositionalism with more logico/metaphysical
⁸ As mentioned in n. 6, nonspecificity is also often cited as a mark of intensionality, as is the case in the
Quinean sloop example.
⁹ See Montague (2007) for further discussion.
NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 
considerations. Two related arguments in this vein concern the role of propositional
attitudes in mental causation, and the role propositions play in the theory of logical
relations and of inference, and hence in the theory of human reasoning.
David Lewis (1979) is not himself committed to propositionalism, but he offers
support for it by demonstrating its possible role in explaining mental causation. As
he remarks, the phenomenon of mental causation implicates intentional attitudes in
several ways—they cause behavior, they are caused by the environment, and they
cause one another—and when one theorizes about their causal roles it is sometimes
necessary to refer to the logical relations between their objects.¹⁰ Since the logic of
propositions is well-established, it will be clear how to capture these entailments if the
objects of the attitudes are propositions. If, however, they form a miscellaneous class
(e.g. propositions as well as objects that don’t enter into logical relations such as cars,
bicycles, and unicorns), it will be far less clear how to proceed.
A similar point applies when considering what is required to capture human
reasoning. As reasoners, we make inferences from premises to conclusions, and
logic is plausibly characterized as the study and formalization of valid inferences.
Aristotelian logic captured valid inferences between four basic types of propositions
on the basis of the terms the propositions contained (this is why Aristotelian logic is
sometimes called ‘term logic’), but there is no obvious way of capturing certain
inferences between propositions simply by appealing to their constitutive terms,
and so Aristotelian logic proved inadequate as a general model of reasoning. The
schemas If P then Q, P, therefore Q and P or Q, ~Q, therefore P, for example, represent
inferences between propositions which are most naturally captured without any
reference to the internal parts of the propositions P and Q. So if logic is the study
of good reasoning, and humans are reasoners, it seems that we do a better job
capturing our reasoning if we can appeal to truth-functional relations between
propositions. However, if human reasoning in any way depends on logical relations
between the objects of the attitudes, and if those objects form a messy heterogeneous
class, as already noted, how to proceed will be unclear.
Another metaphysical consideration in favor of propositionalism can be found in
Searle’s (1983) book Intentionality. Searle argued that intentionality, by its nature, is
a matter of setting conditions, conditions that such and such is the case, and since
conditions that such and such is the case essentially involve states of affairs, it follows
that the specification of a state of affairs requires a proposition. For the Searle of 1983,
then, all intentionality is, most fundamentally, propositional.
Although Searle still believes that most intentional states are propositional, in his
contribution to this volume (Chapter 11), he gives up on propositionalism! He argues
that although desires, perceptions, and emotions are all propositional, intentional
states such as boredom are not.
¹⁰ See Sinhababu (2015) for related propositionalist considerations and see Grzankowski (2016b) for
a reply.
 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE
Since many non-propositionalists cite desires, emotions, and perceptions as

examples of non-propositional attitudes, showing that such attitudes are actually
propositional would be a significant result. Searle’s strategy for arguing that desires
and perceptions are propositional is twofold. He advances syntactic considerations
similar to those offered by Den Dikken et al., but he also offers a distinct argument
that appeals to phenomenology. According to Searle, whenever you want something,
it is made phenomenologically manifest that what you want is an entire state of
affairs, and whenever you see something, what you see is an entire state of affairs.
With the propositionality of belief, desire, and perception in hand, Searle offers a
propositionalist strategy for dealing with emotions such as loving a person, fearing a
scary object, being angry with someone, and so on. In the present volume, Searle
(p. 269) defends the view that the things we typically think of as emotions are all
“agitated forms of strong desire, typically containing a belief and typically where the
belief causes the desire.” So, for example, to be madly in love with someone is typically
to be prompted to have certain feelings because of one’s interactions with the other
person. One sees the beloved, talks to him, and forms various beliefs about him. Searle
argues that these cognitive states (all of which have propositional content) cause in a
person the feelings of desire and that by appreciating this we can see how it is that an
emotion such as being in love with someone is, at bottom, propositional.
As already mentioned, the falsity of propositionalism, according to Searle, is shown
by cases such as boredom. Although boredom has both intentional and non-
intentional forms, when it is intentional, as in being bored with someone you know
or a television program, it doesn’t appear to have a propositional content. It’s possible
to be bored by your friend’s constant complaints about the weather, but according to
Searle, it is also possible to be bored by your friend tout court. And since boredom is
not an emotion, there are no propositional desires to which one can appeal.
What implications does this admission have for Searle’s explication of intention-
ality in terms of conditions of satisfaction? Central to the notion of conditions of
satisfaction is the idea that they can be satisfied or not. Since boredom, construed as a
non-propositional intentional state, can neither be satisfied nor unsatisfied, its nature
as an intentional state cannot be explicated in terms of conditions of satisfaction.
3 What are the Ways of Departing

from Propositionalism?
So far we have been concerned with trying to articulate the main commitments
of propositionalism and some of the motivations for it. In the beginning of our
discussion we noted Kriegel’s Brentanian defense of non-propositionalism, and
we now turn to various other ways in which the contributors to this volume are
developing non-propositionalist views. They employ a number of different strategies.
We have already mentioned Camp, and her chapter is relevant again at this juncture
NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 
since maps turn out, on her view, to be non-propositional. Forbes (Chapter 4) enters
the debate at the level of mental state ascriptions, but through a puzzle about those
ascriptions he gives one reason for thinking our ontology of mind must be enriched
to include non-propositional attitudes about propositions. A number of contributors
focus on particular intentional states to show that they are not propositional, for
example, Watzl on attention (Chapter 12), Johnston on perception (Chapter 7), and
Farkas on practical knowledge (Chapter 4). Finally, Grzankowski (Chapter 6) offers a
general account of non-propositional attitudes. We’ll take each of these approaches
in turn.
Some philosophers have thought that the intentionality of mental representation can
be understood as analogous to the ways maps represent. For example, Camp (2007)
offers ways of thinking about how mental maps might do some of the work asked of
mental sentences in certain theories of mind. Braddon-Mitchell and Jackson (1996)
entertain a bolder conclusion, considering whether a mental-map conception of
mental representation should replace the more common sentential theories.¹¹ As we
have mentioned, in her contribution, Camp aims to clarify what it is for a represen-
tation to be propositional, but in so doing she also offers reasons for thinking that maps
are not propositional. She argues that at least some of the common distinguishing
features of propositional structures—that they are digital, universal, asymmetric, and
recursive—are absent in the case of maps. To bring out just one example of why one
might think this, consider the proposition-expressing sentence ‘Everyone who is
carrying a gun is standing next to someone who is wearing a red shirt, and owes
money to someone who was wearing a blue shirt yesterday.’ Unlike such a sentence,
maps do not appear to permit the construction of indefinitely complex hierarchical
structures by repeated iteration of the same operation. On the basis of examples like
this one (as well as others), Camp concludes that the mode of combination present in
maps is (amongst other things) holistic and symmetrical. Thus, if mental maps are
indeed employed by creatures like us, and if maps are non-propositional structures, at
least some intentionality would turn out to be non-propositional.
Forbes, in Chapter 5, begins with the commonplace idea that a subject is in an
intentional state just in case that subject bears an attitude relation to a proposition.
However, he challenges this position by considering and offering a solution to a
lesser-known substitution puzzle. Given a classical, relational analysis of attitude
verbs, it is puzzling how to block the following, intuitively bad, inference:
1. Holmes {fears/suspects} that Moriarty has returned.
2. That Moriarty has returned is the proposition that Moriarty has returned.
3. So, Holmes {fears/suspects} the proposition that Moriarty has returned.
As Forbes argues, propositions can serve as the content of a mental state or event
and when they do, they serve to set the conditions for satisfaction or accuracy had by
¹¹ See also Blumson (2012) for further discussion.

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE
the mental state—when one fears that Moriarty has returned, one is in a fear-state
such that things are as one fears them to be only if Moriarty has returned. What the
puzzle shows is that a proposition can also be what an attitude is about or directed
upon without playing the role of content. If this is correct, propositional attitudes
can’t simply be those mental states that relate one to a proposition. The relation in
question must somehow be content-involving. The construction ‘the proposition that
Moriarty has returned’ designates the same entity as ‘that Moriarty has returned’, but
in a sentence such as 3 it is functioning as a noun phrase and tells us what the fear is
about rather than offering a specification of its content.
Forbes’s solution to the puzzle lies in differentiating non-propositional attitudes
that just so happen to be about propositions (reported by sentences like 3) from
attitudes that have propositions as their contents (reported with ‘that’-clause involv-
ing ascriptions as in 1). This distinction is in turn captured by Forbes in an enriched
Neo-Davidsonian event semantics. Forbes distinguishes between the theme of an
event (e.g. in a sentence such as ‘Tom chased Jerry’, Jerry is the theme of the chasing
event—a familiar idea in a Davidsonian framework) from the content of the event,
which is a novel category in event semantics offered by Forbes. On his event
semantics, an attitude ascription such as ‘Holmes fears Moriarty’ requires for its
truth that Holmes be the subject of a fearing-event that has Moriarty as its theme. An
attitude ascription such as ‘Holmes believes that Moriarty has returned’ requires for
its truth that Holmes is the subject of a believing-event that has a propositional
content, namely, that Moriarty has returned. In the puzzle, Forbes’s machinery treats
sentences like 3 along the lines of ‘Holmes fears Moriarty’ rather than along the lines
of ‘Holmes believes that Moriarty has returned’. In effect, Forbes offers a solution to the
substitution puzzle by distinguishing between propositional and non-propositional
attitudes, but he also provides the reader with a candidate (and indeed well worked
out) semantics for intensional transitive verb constructions. One important aspect of
Forbes’s contribution is how it connects to discussions by Sainsbury and Den Dikken
et al. Recall that those discussions allow one to cast doubt on moving from surface
grammar to metaphysical conclusions. Forbes’s chapter doesn’t directly put pressure
on this idea, but by bringing out truth-conditional differences between sentences such
as 1 and 3, Forbes shows that we may indeed need more categories of mental states
(something we think Sainsbury would agree with) in order to make sense of the
obvious differences between 1 and 3.
In his contribution, Watzl focuses on the phenomenon of attention, and divides his
chapter into two parts. In the first part, he argues that at least some forms of attention
are irreducible non-propositional intentional phenomena. According to Watzl, many
forms of attention such as paying attention to something (perhaps by watching it,
listening to it, or tactually feeling it, and so on) are profitably understood as non-
propositional intentional attitudes, specifically non-propositional attitudes which are
non-conceptual and which entail the existence of that upon which they are directed.
One central reason such forms of attention cannot be reduced to propositional
NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 
attitudes, according to Watzl, is that they lack accuracy conditions, where accuracy
conditions are construed as conditions of satisfaction or truth conditions. In line with
Searle’s case of boredom, then, we see again the explanation of the nature of inten-
tionality in terms of conditions of satisfaction under pressure.
Although in the first half of the chapter Watzl argues that attention can be
profitably understood as a non-propositional attitude, in the second half he rejects
this view. He argues that while it is true that attention is (almost always) non-
propositional and (almost always) intentionally directed, it is not an attitude. That
is, it is not a single intentional state that can be captured in terms of a simple attitude/
content structure. Rather, attention, according to Watzl, is a more complex matter—
it is constituted by an (almost always) non-propositional structure of (mostly)
intentional states.
Watzl argues for his structure view by arguing that it can solve two problems,
which stump the non-propositional attitude view. First, the Hallucination Problem:
one’s attention can be captured in cases of hallucination and yet there is nothing to
attend to. For example, a patient with tinnitus might have her attention captured
though there is no sound to attend to. If attention is a relational, non-propositional
intentional state, it is hard to see how to make sense of this. Second, the Dependency
Claim: if a subject S attends to o, then, necessarily, S bears some other intentional
attitude to o. For example, in order to attend to something, one must also perceive it,
have thoughts about it, or feel emotions directed at it. Watzl argues that the non-
propositional attitude view can’t adequately explain the nature of this dependence.
The hallucination problem and the dependence claim lead Watzl to question what
he calls mental structure monism, the thesis that there is exactly one correct parti-
tioning of a subject’s mental life into its most fundamental elements, which are
attitudes. Instead he argues for mental structure pluralism, the thesis that a subject’s
mental life can be partitioned along several equally appropriate dimensions. Mental
structure pluralism can then treat attention as a type of structure that ranges over
intentional attitudes. In particular, attention, on Watzl’s view, is constituted by some
parts of the mind being prioritized over other parts. Attention is thus not a single
intentional attitude, and since attention structures intentional attitudes, a fortiori it
depends on attitudes.
Interestingly, Watzl’s view provides a new tool in the kit for those interested in
defending the idea that all intentional attitudes are propositional. As Watzl suggests,
his non-attitudinal treatment of attention may allow one to make sense of, say,
desiring a cup of a coffee (which looks to be non-propositional) in terms of a
propositional desire and the right patterns of attention.
In Johnston’s contribution, he offers a novel theory of perception, a view he calls
“Disclosive Realism”, according to which outward-directed sensory experience pre-
sents external items (external mind-independent particulars) to the subject. But
Disclosive Realism is not Naïve Realism since Johnston’s view is not that things
invariably are as they appear, nor does he hold that external items are (as he puts it)
 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE
“barely” presented. Rather, according to Disclosive Realism, “sensory experience

presents external items under various modes of presentation, which they may either
satisfy or not satisfy. This is the basis for the veridical/illusory distinction as applied
to sensory experience” (p. 153).
In his defense of Disclosive Realism, Johnston argues against two prominent
propositionalist views of perception. One claims that perceptions are attitudes
towards propositions, and the other that perceptions are directed at facts, understood
as items in our perceived environment. (Since facts are essentially structured entities
that typically involve the instantiation of a property or properties, this kind of view
counts as a form of propositionalism by our lights.)
Johnston’s main argument against understanding perceptions as attitudes towards
propositions focuses on its failure to explain how sensory experience can confer a
distinctive epistemic virtue on our immediate perceptual judgments. The distinctive
epistemic virtue Johnston has in mind is the following. The things that we sense,
including individual characteristics, are by their very nature ‘truth-guarantors’; they
guarantee the truth of our immediate perceptual judgments. Johnston offers the
following example. A subject can rightly judge that the dirt was thick textured,
because he ran his fingers through it, and it felt thick textured. Referring to this
sensory experience as an ‘item-directed attitude’, according to Johnston, “the item-
directed attitude entails the existence of an item that guarantees the truth of the
relevant immediate perceptual judgment” (p. 158). If perception is a propositional
attitude, however, it cannot serve as a truth guarantor. Since the propositional state in
question is non-factive it always leaves open the possibility that it is non-veridical.
Johnston’s argument against a view according to which we perceive facts is multi-
pronged. Central to Johnston’s view is that tropes, for example, individual aspects of
objects, are among the items presented in experience. Although facts and tropes can
both serve as truth-guarantors, Johnston argues that tropes and not facts are pre-
sented in experience. One task is to show that the ‘fact version’ and the ‘trope version’
of Disclosive Realism are not mere terminological variants. Through a series of
examples, Johnston argues that there are relevant informational differences between
facts and tropes that undermine attempts to model perception on the taking in of facts.
Johnston further argues that there are experiences of expanses and volumes that do not
involve presenting something as instantiating the relevant quality. Given the existence
of such experiences, they couldn’t be perceptions of facts. Finally, according to
Johnston, facts are best understood as pleonastic entities, thus making them poor
candidates for being the objects of perception.
With Farkas’s chapter, the volume turns to varieties of knowledge with special
attention paid to knowledge-how and whether it involves non-propositional inten-
tionality. Farkas points out that the question of whether there are distinctive kinds of
knowledge (say between factual and practical) is usually approached through asking
whether “knowing-how” is distinct from “knowing-that”. According to one important,
“non-intellectualist” approach, for example, knowing-how is a matter of (roughly)
NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 
having certain abilities, which isn’t to be accounted for in terms of propositional

attitudes. In contrast, intellectualists argue that knowing-how is species of knowing-
that and is importantly connected to the tradition which sees knowledge-that either as
a propositional attitude or as entailing that one is in a propositional attitude state such
as belief. Such a dialectical dichotomy naturally leads opposing parties to try to
construct cases where we do, or do not, naturally attribute “know-how”. For example,
one might consider cases where certain abilities are present or lacking. But Farkas
argues that people’s basic intuitions on many cases diverge, and so she proposes that
instead of trying to account for every ordinary usage of ‘know-how’, we should
purposefully narrow our question and consider knowledge and its nature more
directly. In particular, Farkas recalls a certain tradition of talking about knowledge,
present in Plato and Aristotle (and which motivated Ryle’s anti-intellectualist consid-
erations), that sees knowledge as a uniquely human cognitive achievement with a
normative aspect. The central and paradigmatic case of this achievement has always
been a certain kind of relation to the truth. But Farkas thinks that ‘practical knowledge’
(a term she prefers to ‘know-how’) is a similarly valuable, normatively loaded, uniquely
human cognitive achievement that does not aim at the truth, but which is nonetheless
properly classified as a type of knowledge.
Farkas’s discussion provides a novel approach to the know-how/know-that dispute
that will no doubt be of interest to those engaged in that debate, but her chapter also
makes an obvious contribution to questions about propositionalism. In keeping with
a number of other authors in the volume, Farkas takes propositional attitudes to be
essentially evaluable for truth. In the case of knowledge, evaluability for truth may
seem misguided since propositional knowledge can’t have something false as its
object, but knowledge does aim at truth and on traditional accounts we can see
how a component of knowledge (i.e. belief ) can be assessed for truth. Propositional
knowledge is achieved when it connects one to the truth in the right way. Reliable
success in action, on the other hand, is not evaluable for truth nor does it aim at truth.
Rather, practical knowledge is achieved when one is reliably successful in action. So,
despite this important difference in achievement, in cases of both propositional
knowledge and practical knowledge, agents make a cognitive achievement worthy of
the label ‘knowledge’. In light of this, Farkas’s understanding of practical knowledge
combines elements of intellectualism and anti-intellectualism about knowledge-how
while motivating the idea that practical knowledge is not propositional.
A full departure from propositionalism requires a positive account of non-
propositional intentional states. In Chapter 6, Grzankowski argues that the ‘standard
theory’ of propositional attitudes, according to which propositional attitudes are two-
place relations holding between subjects and propositions, provides a framework for
thinking about non-propositional attitudes such as thinking of a number, loving
one’s brother, and so on. Grzankowski argues that many of the motivations and
advantages that have made the standard theory of propositional attitudes attractive
apply to non-propositional attitudes, but in the case of non-propositional attitudes,
 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE
objects other than propositions are called for. Grzankowski’s suggestion is that
non-propositional attitudes are two-place relations holding between subjects and
properties. When one loves, say, Sherlock Holmes, one is related to the property of
being Holmes and when one fears the mangy dog, one is related to the property of
being the mangy dog. This raises the immediate worry that when one, say, fears the
dog, one does not thereby fear a property (a worry not dissimilar to Forbes’s puzzle).
This concern is addressed by considering more carefully the following two things:
(i) the nature of the relations in which subjects stand to abstract objects such as
propositions (in cases of propositional attitudes) and properties (in cases of non-
propositional attitudes) and (ii) the point of making use of such abstracta in a theory
of mind in the first place. In short, Grzankowski advocates a view according to which
propositions and properties serve to categorize mental states in terms of what they
represent. Propositional attitudes represent things as being some way and so proposi-
tions (which themselves represent things as being some way) serve to categorize them
in terms of how they represent things as being. Non-propositional attitudes represent
things (without representing them as being some way) and so properties which are
instantiated by objects serve to categorize them in terms of which things they represent.
With this categorizing conception in hand, the idea that one must fear, like, love, and
so on properties when one fears, likes, or loves ordinary objects can be blocked.
It is evident from our short discussion that the debate about propositionalism is
far-reaching. It intersects with questions about the metaphysics of propositions,
about the nature of mental causation, and about the nature of knowledge—among
other things. Most importantly, however, it concerns the very nature of intentional-
ity. The propositionalist view dovetails very nicely with explaining intentionality in
terms of conditions of satisfaction, but if not all intentional states have conditions of
satisfaction, this explanation of intentionality will be inadequate.
Can the phenomenon of intentionality be adequately captured in terms of inten-
tional attitudes? If intentionality is more than intentional attitudes, should we think
of any possible extra ingredients in propositional or non-propositional terms, or is
the application of this distinction limited to intentional attitudes? One key question is
not discussed in detail in any of the contributions: how might we account for the
logical relations amongst the attitudes that lack a propositional content? We believe
that an answer to this question is essential for a satisfactory defense of non-
propositionalism. Recall that one of the central motivations for propositionalism is
that it provides a way to account for mental causation and logical reasoning. If non-
propositionalism is really to stand on solid ground, we need a logic that shows us how
to treat the logical relations between (propositional and) non-propositional objects in
a rigorous way. At the end of his contribution, Kriegel indicates how Brentano
attempted to meet this challenge.¹² We hope that this volume will bring to the fore
the need to address this question and others like it.
¹² On this issue, see Simons (1984, 1987). See also Tichy (1988) for an intensional logic that can capture
logical relations between non-propositional objects.
NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 
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2
Why Maps are Not Propositional
Elisabeth Camp
1 Introduction
Contemporary theorists of representation often assume a dichotomy between two
basic modes of representation: ‘imagistic’, pictorial, or depictive representations, and
‘discursive’, logical, or propositional ones (Fodor 2007).¹ Rational thought and
inference are assumed to require implementation with representations that are intern-
ally structured and systematically interconnected; but only one sort of structure is
assumed to suffice. In one version of the view, found in philosophers like Rey (1995),
Bermudez (2003), and Devitt (2006), genuinely logical thought is assumed to require a
specifically linguistic medium. A more ecumenical stance allows for the possibility of
non-linguistic logical thought, but only because any differences in representational
structure are assumed to be ultimately notational (Sober 1976, Szabo 2012).
Given this background picture, establishing that apparently non-linguistic repre-
sentational formats are logically respectable entails establishing that they are propos-
itional. And establishing this in turn requires specifying what ‘propositional’ (and
‘pictorial’) amounts to. But this can seem like a frustratingly fruitless and abstract
terminological matter (Johnson 2015). Given that predication is both relatively well-
understood and the canonical mechanism for constructing propositional representa-
tions, an alternative strategy is to establish that maps are specifically predicative. This
strategy has been pursued by Pratt (1993), Casati and Varzi (1999), and Blumson
(2012), among others. Against this, extending work by Sloman (1978), Camp (2007),
and Rescorla (2009a, 2009b), I argue that cartographic structure is neither predicative
nor propositional. Maps work in an importantly different way from sentences.
The existence of a multiplicity of representational formats has potentially signifi-
cant implications for the philosophy of mind, which I will not explore here. One
¹ Thanks to audiences at the Conference on Non-Propositional and Imagistic Content at the University
of Antwerp, the Southern Society for Philosophy and Psychology, the CUNY Graduate Center, the NYU/
Columbia Graduate Conference, the UCLA Department of Philosophy, and the Workshop on Pictures and
Propositions at the University of London. Specific thanks to Sara Aronowitz, Russell Epstein, Peter
Godfrey-Smith, Gabe Greenberg, Jeff King, John Kulvicki, Daniel Miller, Michael O’Leary, Michael
Rescorla, and Dmitri Tymoczko for helpful comments and discussion.
 ELISABETH CAMP
notable implication is that, by attending to the distinct profiles of expressive and

computational strength and weakness generated by different representational for-
mats, we can begin to achieve a clearer understanding of key differences among
human and non-human cognitive abilities. Instead of an apparent chasm between
mere imagistic perception and full-fledged linguistic representation, we can identify
families of distinct, sometimes overlapping representational systems that exploit
various representational principles in different combinations (Camp 2009, 2015;
Camp and Shupe 2017).
My discussion here aims only to establish the need for a formal, non-propositional
semantics for an important but restricted class of maps. Actually providing such a
semantics is a topic for another day, as is extending the conclusions here, which will
focus on external, physical maps, to questions about cognitive architecture. Further,
in order to focus on establishing the core claim that maps are not propositional,
I will simply help myself to the assumption that maps do have some sort of formal
structure, and in particular that many familiar maps are compositional. This should
not be highly controversial for very simple maps like seating charts (Camp 2007), or
even for more sophisticated systems that employ a fixed base of markers and
coordinates—which are the sorts of maps that have been at issue in the debates
between advocates and skeptics of predicative and propositional analyses. These
cartographic systems permit the construction of indefinitely many maps, such
that the representational import of any one map is a rule-governed function of the
values of its constituent markers and the locations at which those markers are placed.
Thus, such systems are clearly systematic and productive—thereby satisfying the
classic motivations for compositionality.
Ultimately, I believe we can construct a formal, compositional semantics for a
much larger class of maps, including those that lack a fixed base of markers, like
familiar highway maps and atlases. Such map systems employ lines and areas of
potentially continuous variability to denote the shapes of objects like roads, forests,
and lakes. They often also employ multiple further dimensions of potentially con-
tinuous variation: for instance, a map might use variations in hue, saturation, and
texture to represent variations in the total quantity, duration, and intensity of rainfall
(MacEachren 2004). At the same time, however, they still permit a robust formal
analysis, insofar as marks can be typed in wholly formal (ultimately physical) terms
and assigned contents via a straightforward interpretation function on those types,
and the entire map’s content is fully determined by the way those marks are
combined. And like their simpler siblings, they can employ markers whose connec-
tion to their denotation is arbitrary rather than imagistic (Camp 2007, 2015).
I believe these maps are still fundamentally compositional, despite the absence
of a finite lexicon. If we reflect on the reasons for caring about compositionality
in a theory of meaning, we should accept a more abstract notion of ‘part’ on which
the representational import of an entire representational unit is an exhaustive,
bottom-up function of its parts and mode of composition, so long as these ‘parts’ are
WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 
formally individuated.² I bracket this more controversial claim about compositionality

here, however. Readers can either focus just on maps with a finite base and mode of
combination, or else grant that a formal semantics is possible for a wider range of
maps, whether or not it deserves to be classified as compositional.
Our question, then, is whether maps are propositional representations. In section 2,
I argue that if the question is to be a substantive one, we should interpret proposi-
tionality in terms of functional structure; and that propositional structure is charac-
terized by being digital, universal, asymmetrical, and recursive. In section 3, I present
the two most developed semantics for maps, by Pratt (1993) and Casati and Varzi
(1999), both of which argue that maps have a specifically predicative structure. In
section 4, I examine the elements and constructions that are posited by a specifically
predicative analysis and by a propositional analysis more generally: names and
predicates, and complex propositions and truth-conditions. In each case, I argue,
the application to maps is awkward at best. Standard maps exhibit expressive
limitations and advantages that are left unexplained on a propositional analysis. By
contrast, a non-hierarchical, holistic structure better explains the distinctive contours
of cartographic representation.
2 Propositionality and Non-Propositionality

If the question about whether maps are propositional representations is to be a
fruitful one, the term ‘propositional’ needs to be interpreted in a way that integrates
with other standard uses of the term, that is specific and robust enough to make
substantive claims, and that marks a useful distinction among representational
formats. In particular, it should not follow trivially, just from the operative notion
of propositionality, either that all representations are propositional, or that only
sentences are. But ‘propositional’ is used in many different, sometimes cross-cutting
ways in philosophy and related fields. In this section, I survey the leading philosoph-
ical understandings of propositionality, and articulate a notion of propositionality
that is grounded in, but more general than, the functional structure of language. My
aim in this section is just to establish a useful, non-question-begging framework for
conducting the debate about maps’ propositionality—a framework I think is impli-
citly shared by all current parties to the debate.
2.1 Propositions as Sets of Possible Worlds

Many philosophers hold that a representational state or entity has propositional
content just in case it can be the object of belief, can be shared by multiple cognitive
² Cf. Kulvicki (2015a). Even with this expansive notion of compositionality, the claim that natural
languages are compositional is best seen as a regulative ideal (Szabo 2012); the operative notion of
‘language’ in most discussions of cognitive architecture is that of formal predicate calculus rather than
e.g. English (Camp 2015).
 ELISABETH CAMP
agents, and can be evaluated for truth and falsity. A particularly elegant way to capture
these requirements treats propositions as partitions in a space of possibilities (Lewis
1968, Stalnaker 1976). This sense of propositionality clearly does not trivialize the
question whether a given intentional state or entity is propositional: for instance,
merely considering mental states, it counts both objectual and expressive attitudes as
non-propositional.³ Moreover, it links propositional content closely to information, in
a way that has clear theoretical utility, as evidenced by the ubiquity of possible-worlds
accounts in, for instance, philosophical and linguistic accounts of conditionals, epi-
stemic modals, and many other constructions (e.g. Stalnaker 2014).
Although the possible-worlds model has a lot going for it, more generally interpreting
the question whether maps are propositional in such coarse-grained terms runs a
significant risk of trivializing questions about representational format, by classifying
all truth-assessable representations as propositional. Like pictures, maps have infor-
mational contents: they represent situations, and make cuts in possibility space. As a
result, they are plausibly assessed as true or false—although that assessment is typically
relativized to certain purposes, and often also to just a subset of a given map’s overall
representational content.⁴ Further, again like pictures, the informational content of any
given map can plausibly be captured in an (extremely long) sentence, at least in the weak
sense that the map or picture itself can be recovered from that sentence by pixelating the
picture to an arbitrarily fine degree of resolution and specifying the values of colors
(perhaps using demonstratives) for each pixel (Anderson 1978, 253; Crane 2009, 460).
It is natural to respond that such a weak sense of informational equivalence ignores
crucial implicit assumptions about how users extract information about the world
from those representations. This response is correct, but of limited use in establishing
the utility of the coarse-grained analysis of propositions in this dialectical context.
Within a possible-worlds framework, many of the cognitive, semantic, and pragmatic
phenomena for which propositions are traditionally invoked must instead be
explained by appeal to the different ways or forms in which a common informational
state can be presented. And since maps, sentences, and pictures do take different
forms, and produce distinct cognitive, semantic, and pragmatic profiles, the questions
that other theorists attempt to explore by asking whether maps are propositional will
simply end up being recapitulated within the possible-worlds framework in terms of
those forms and functions.
³ Thanks to Alex Grzankowski for pressing this point.

⁴ Some theorists, such as Crane (2009), argue that pictures are non-propositional on the ground that
truth is an absolute property and accuracy a matter of degree, and that pictures can only be accurate, not
true. I do think the difference between truth as an on-off matter and accuracy as a graded, respect-relative
one points to a correlative difference between propositions as discrete, digital representations, and more
holistic, analog modes of representation. However, I also think that we do often assess maps for truth as
well as accuracy, and that such assessment is more natural for maps than for pictures. Further, intuitive
assessments of truth are themselves often interest- and context-relative, and it is often at least as natural to
assess complex collections of sentences, like books, for accuracy as for truth. Thanks to Peter Godfrey-
Smith for discussion.
WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 
In order for the question of representational format to be a substantive one, we

need to interpret it as concerning how maps and other representational systems
work, where this involves more than identifying either what information they
represent or the physical marks that constitute any one representational vehicle.
Instead, we need to determine how such marks function within a larger system,
including how users access and manipulate that representation, what other repre-
sentations the system generates, and how altering any one aspect of any given
representation affects its overall representational content. The identification and
assessment of representational form is thus inevitably directed at a complex package
of actual and potential representations and interpretive processes (Anderson 1978,
263). At the same time, given that the same functional pattern of representations and
operations can be instantiated in physically distinct ways, the identification of these
representations and processes is also not appropriately directed at the representa-
tional system’s ultimate underlying implementational mechanism.
In his classic (1978) discussion of the mental imagery debate, John Anderson
proposes a minimal addition to the purely informational, possible-worlds model
of propositions which shifts the analysis to the level of a representational system’s
functional profile. He takes propositions to possess three features (1978, 250).
First, propositions have truth-values. Second, propositions are abstract, in the sense of
not being essentially tied to a particular mode of expression; more specifically, Anderson
interprets this condition in terms of invariance across at least some range of paraphrases
(that is, ) substitution of semantically equivalent marks. Third, propositions have
explicit formation rules, which determine well-formedness and impose a “structural
aspect” that underwrites psychological laws and/or logical rules of inference.
By understanding propositions as truth-evaluable, abstract, and structured,
Anderson shifts the analysis from a purely semantic one, concerning only what is
represented, to a partially syntactic one, about form—what principles govern the
system’s formation, compilation, and manipulation of representational states or
entities? At the same time, by understanding this form abstractly, in terms of
permutations over multiple classes of distinct expression-types, he frees propositions
from any essential connection to particular vehicles.
I think this locates the question at the right level. Anderson’s own aim in proposing
this model is merely to distinguish propositional from imagistic representations. And
for this purpose, the combination of abstractness and structure is arguably sufficient,
since it is far from obvious that images do have formation rules that determine well-
formedness or underwrite systematic manipulation. However, Anderson’s criterion
simply assumes that all structured representations have fundamentally the same
structure—an assumption that, as we saw at the outset, is ubiquitous in discussions
of representational type. In the current context, though, it answers the question
whether maps are propositional by stipulation. Maps, graphs, diagrams, and sentences
all meet all of Anderson’s criteria. In particular, they are all abstract in his sense of not
being essentially tied to any particular implementation: many different types of marks
 ELISABETH CAMP
can represent trees on a map, or magnitudes in a graph. Further, any given carto-
graphic or diagrammatic system might employ multiple markers for what is in fact the
same entity: a map of the night sky might have functionally distinct markers for the
Morning and Evening Stars. At the same time, these representational systems also
differ from each other and from sentences in their modes of operation, patterns of
breakdown, and expressive power (Camp 2007). What we want to ask is whether these
differences are mere ad hoc contingencies or reflect a more fundamental difference.
And to even ask this question, we need to distinguish, at least in principle, among
types of structured representations. In particular, we need to identify a type of
combinatorial structure that is distinctive to propositions, without being stipulatively
identified with sentences, so that we can ask whether other structured representations
exhibit that same structure. Thus, I now turn from coarse-grained, possible-worlds
accounts of propositions to those that posit internal structure.
2.2 Structured Propositions

The two classic models of structured propositions, Fregean and Russellian, differ in their
constituents and criteria of individuation. The choice between Russellian and Fregean
propositions turns on theoretical matters outside our concern, which is just about
propositional structure; and in this respect the two are quite similar. Both count as
abstract by Anderson’s criterion, in allowing multiple distinct representations—most
obviously, translations into different languages—to express the same proposition.
On Frege’s model, functional application is a general combinatorial mechanism. In
the basic case, an object serves as input to a special kind of function, which Frege calls
a ‘concept’, that in turn delivers Truth or Falsity as its output; a Fregean proposition,
or Thought, is a sense (mode of presentation) of Truth or Falsity which combines the
senses of the represented object and concept. The different functional roles played by
objects and concepts—the former serving as input to the latter—establishes a cor-
responding asymmetry between types of senses, and in turn between the signs that
express them. As Frege (1892, 54) famously puts it, “For not all parts of a thought can
be complete; at least one must be ‘unsaturated’, or predicative; otherwise they would
not hold together.” More complex propositions are formed by recursive application
of the same functional machinery.
Where Fregean propositions are abstract thoughts, individuated by cognitive
significance, Russellian propositions are ordered n-tuples of objects and properties.
Thus, where Frege introduces the vague metaphor of ‘saturation’ as a gesture at how
the senses of concepts form whole thoughts when ‘completed’ by the senses of
objects, Russellians must confront the question of what unifies an ordered sequence
into a truth-evaluable whole more directly. The most common answer appeals to
the metaphysical structure of instantiation: atomic propositions are complexes of
object(s) instantiating properties, and complex propositions are property-object
complexes instantiating higher-order relational properties. An alternative answer,
WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 
picking up on an equivalence between predication and saturation suggested by Frege

above, appeals directly to predication (King 2007).
Given that both Frege and Russell were interested primarily in constructing
the predicate calculus as an ideal formal language for scientific inquiry and second-
arily in analyzing natural language, it is no accident that both analyze propositional
structure in a way that establishes a close connection to predication. However, for
our purposes, in the absence of an independent grip on what predicative struc-
ture itself is, we risk distorting the question of whether maps or other formats are
propositional by fixating on features of logical or linguistic structure that arise from
contingent implementational factors that are specific to language. Rescorla help-
fully characterizes predication as “a compositional mechanism whereby [denoting]
terms fill the argument-places of a predicate that carries their denotations into a
truth-value” (2009a, 177). Like Rescorla, I will argue that maps do not exhibit
predicative structure, albeit on somewhat different grounds. However, I am primarily
concerned with this question as an instance of the more general issue of propositional
structure, as a way of achieving a more systematic understanding of significant
dimensions of variation among representational structures. So for our purposes, we
still need a characterization of the propositional genus of which predication is a
canonical species.
Moreover, there are lively debates within linguistics about the combinatorial
structure of language, and the status of predication in particular. Some take predi-
cation to be a special case of a fully universal principle of functional application;
while many think that additional mechanisms, such as predicate modification, are
also required (Heim and Kratzer 1998). And many others posit a different, more
general mechanism, such as Merge—an operation of set formation targeting two
objects (Chomsky 1995, Collins 2011). Finally, we should not foreclose by stipulation
the possibility that maps lack predicative structure at the atomic level, but that entire
maps can still be analyzed using a propositional logic that combines non-predicative
atomic units into larger wholes.
We thus have several reasons to inquire into propositional structure without tying
it essentially to either language or predication. Stepping back, we can identify four
key features shared by all five of the candidates for propositional structure mentioned
so far (that is, by conceptual saturation, property instantiation, predication, func-
tional application, and Merge). First, the candidate combinatorial operations are
highly digital: they take a small number (typically, a singleton or pair) of discrete
elements as inputs. Second, they are universal, or at least highly general: they can
combine a wide range of elements. Thus, instantiation is a highly general metaphys-
ical relation binding many different kinds of properties and objects into situations or
facts; likewise, functional application is a highly general operational relation taking
many kinds of objects and functions and delivering truth-values. Third, the candidate
combinatorial operations are asymmetrical: either just one element must be of a type
 ELISABETH CAMP
that enables it to serve as input for the other; or the operation itself creates an
asymmetry among elements via the order of application.⁵ Fourth, the operation is
recursive, so that its outputs can serve as inputs to the same operation: thus,
quantifiers are functions that take functions as inputs and deliver truth-values as
outputs. The recursive application of an asymmetrical relation produces hierarchical
structure, containing nested iterations of the same type of representation. No one of
these features is distinctive to language; in particular, other representational formats,
like genealogical trees, employ combinatorial operations that exhibit some of these
features to at least some significant degree (Camp 2009, 2015). And some will deny
that even language exhibits all of these features. But together, they offer a cluster of
features that underwrite a substantive notion of ‘propositional’ that is both familiar
and relatively well-specified.
I will argue that maps exhibit a very different sort of structure: that they are non-
hierarchical, holistic modes of representation. In section 3, I briefly present the
leading formal analyses of maps, which treat them as having specifically predicative
structure. In section 4, I survey various features we would expect maps to display if
they did employ predicative or more generally propositional structure, and find the
application lacking.
3 Predicative Map Semantics

In this section, I present two leading proposals for a cartographic semantics, both
claiming that maps have propositional, specifically predicative structure. On the
account offered by Roberto Casati and Achille Varzi (1999), a map is a collection
of colored regions. First, map-regions are defined by their mereotopological relations,
and are assigned to regions in the world by a mereotopologically well-behaved
interpretation function f, so that map-regions are parts of or contiguous with one
another if and only if the world-regions to which they are assigned are related in the
same way (Casati and Varzi 1999, 194). Second, a color patch covering such a region
is “an unsaturated predicate, which gets saturated when it is juxtaposed to a map
region” (1999, 192). Third, an “atomic map-stage” is a mereological fusion of all
regions of a single color, F, on an entire map. Atomic map-stages are assigned a two-
part truth-condition: all of the world-regions denoted by F-colored map-regions
must have the F-associated property, and the complement of those regions must
lack that property. Casati and Varzi hold that the semantics is “compositional” and
“recursive” insofar as entire maps are constructed by layering atomic map-stages, and
the truth-condition for the entire map “results from the conjoined truth” of all of its
⁵ For example, the set formed by Merging the singleton set of Bob with the set of love and Mary is {Bob
{love, Mary}}, which differs from the set formed by Merging the singleton set of Mary with the set of love
and Bob:{Mary {love, Bob}}.
WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 
map-stages (1999, 195). The upshot is that maps “are propositionally structured
albeit in a peculiar way” (1999, 191).
In the interest of tractability, Casati and Varzi restrict their semantics to a narrow
class of formalized cases. They do not consider maps containing arbitrary labels; nor
do they address richer geometrical relations, such as distance, direction, and orien-
tation. By contrast, Pratt’s (1993) account hews more closely to a linguistic model, by
taking as its basic case the locating of word-like symbols. Following Schlichtmann
(1985), Pratt treats an individual “map-symbol” as having two aspects: a “substantive
component” X (e.g. ‘ ’) and a “locational component” (x, y). Each “component” has
a distinct interpretation function: the symbolic function I assigns symbols to a domain
of individuals in D (e.g. assigning ‘ ’ to the post office); while the spatial function μ
assigns locational components to places in a space S. An individual map-symbol is
true just in case I(X) is located at μ(x, y) (Pratt 1993, 80). Symbols covering extended
regions are treated as true (roughly)⁶ just in case the element assigned to that symbol-
type is present at all locations within the relevant region (1993, 86). Finally, an entire
map is true if and only if, first, all of its individual map-symbols are true, and second,
the overall extensions of the substantive components are minimal, so that there are no
elements in D of the type assigned to X by I that are not located on the map (1993, 82).
The semantic analyses proposed by Casati and Varzi and Pratt are very different,
in ways we will consider shortly. But they both arguably get the truth-conditions
largely right—at least, for the classes of maps they consider. They thereby demon-
strate that many maps are indeed formally structured in such a way that it is possible
to assign truth-conditions to entire maps by identifying stable, formally individuated
parts, and assigning a stable semantic interpretation to those parts and to their mode
of combination. By contrast, it is much less obvious that an analogously formal
semantics is constructable for pictures. Further, if it worked, a propositional model
would have important explanatory advantages. Although there will obviously be
some implementational differences, a common propositional code would streamline
informational integration across representations couched in apparently different
formats (Pylyshyn 2003). It might also enable us to draw on more sophisticated
aspects of predicate logics in extending the analysis to address more complex maps.
Despite these potential advantages, I will argue that neither a predicative nor a more
generally propositional analysis captures the way maps work. There is little positive
evidence that maps employ a structure that is digital, universal, asymmetrical, recur-
sive, and hierarchical. On the one hand, the expressive power of distinctively prop-
ositional structure is representationally inert if it is present at all; and on the other, the
constraints associated with propositional structure should impose restrictions on how
maps are constructed and manipulated that don’t appear to be borne out.
⁶ Pratt argues that issues involving figure-ground ambiguity undermine a straightforward interpretation along
these lines; but his various disambiguated analyses all share the common structure stated in the text, and the
worries about ambiguity are irrelevant for current dialectical purposes. I return to this issue below, in fn. 9.
 ELISABETH CAMP
4 Problems with Propositionality

4.1 Names
Casati and Varzi explicitly state that “map regions are to be considered symbols in
themselves, akin to individual constants such as linguistic proper names” (1999, 191).
While Pratt does not say that map-regions are names, he too analyzes map-locations
as object-level inputs to predicates; and like Casati and Varzi, he treats map coord-
inates as mere ‘tags’, where the assignment to map-locations of world-location-values
is determined directly by the interpretation function, without any mediation by
condition-satisfaction. So the first question we need to ask is whether map-locations
do behave like names.
The most literal, straightforward understanding of the predicative model would
seem to entail that it is essential to a map’s well-formedness that it be assigned
worldly coordinates. That is, if the simplest map markers (arbitrary symbols on
Pratt’s analysis; colored regions on Casati and Varzi’s) are predicates, and if a
map’s coordinates or regions are names to which those predicates are applied, then
a map which lacks an assignment from map-locations to world-locations should just
be a set of predicates denoting a set of properties, rather than a well-formed,
‘saturated’, truth-condition-determining whole.
At least two factors make it less than straightforward to assess this prediction.
First, where linguistic names are distinct identifiable marks (e.g. ‘Bill’), maps typically
lack marks that function just to denote locations; the closest common analogue might
be grid quadrants (e.g. ‘C4’), but these are often marked only at the map’s periphery.
So it’s not obvious, in purely syntactic terms, what a collection of mere unsaturated
map predicates would look like, and how it would differ in form a map with assigned
world-locations. Second, the interaction between syntactic structure, semantic con-
tent, and pragmatic supplementation is considerably less systematic in general in
maps than in language—where it is already far from straightforward. In particular,
just as utterances of isolated linguistic predicates (e.g. ‘gone’) can be elliptical for
complete sentences and used to make complete assertions (e.g. ‘Gone!’) and other
speech acts (e.g. ‘Gone?’), the proponent of a predicative analysis can hold that
unarticulated coordinates are implicitly present in maps.
Even with these caveats lodged, though, we still have reason to conclude that
having assigned world-locations is not essential to a map’s being either syntactically
well-formed or semantically interpreted, because maps without assigned locations
can still fix substantive satisfaction-conditions. For instance, I might construct a map
of the estate I hope to construct when I win the lottery, deciding where to place the
pond relative to the flower and vegetable gardens, the circular driveway, and the
grand house’s corner tower. Not knowing the extent of my future riches, I might
refrain from determining a scale for the whole estate; nor have I determined where
it will be built. Yet my map still rules in some ways the world could be and rules
WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 
out others. When I do win, I could present the map as a command to my realtor/
architect team: make the world be this way, leaving the site selection and scale up to
them. Likewise, if I were CEO of a drugstore chain obsessed with maximizing
efficiency and the uniformity of patron experience, I might construct a map indicat-
ing where each type of item (toothbrushes, cosmetics, soda) is to be placed in every
store, and present it as an order to my workers: arrange your stores that way. Once
they have carried out my instructions, I might distribute copies for patrons to use in
navigating any individual store.
The coherence of these cases undermines the prima facie prediction of the
predicative model that maps with uninterpreted coordinates should be at least
semantically, and possibly syntactically incomplete. It also suggests that map coord-
inates do not always function as names, because they are not necessarily rigid: my
architectural blueprint could be, and my drugstore map eventually is, satisfied by
many different locations. Finally, these cases point to another way in which our
actual use of maps fits poorly with assigning an essential role to map-locations as
names. Often, our only practical interest in, and epistemic access to, the world-
locations that are denoted by map-locations goes through the objects and properties
located at them. (Indeed, this is reflected in Casati and Varzi’s semantics, insofar as
map-regions are constituted as syntactic elements, with an object-level denoting
function, by being colored.) More generally, many maps—not just informal ones
drawn on napkins, but published tourist maps—provide no explicit coordinate
assignment, relying instead on notable landmarks to implicitly fix the interpretation
function from map-locations to worldly ones.
At a more fundamental level, it is notable that the metaphysical distinction
between objects and properties, which is closely mirrored in language by the syntactic
distinction between ‘saturated’ subjects and ‘unsaturated’ predicates, is not nearly as
important in maps. Insofar as the distinction between individuals and properties
shows up, it seems to be an ad hoc constraint (a ‘meaning postulate’) on whether the
marker can be multiply tokened on a single map. This might seem like an expressive
limitation of maps: that it fails to mirror a deep metaphysical feature of the world
(Fodor and Pylyshyn 1988). But it might also, instead, be construed as an expressive
advantage, given the long tradition of skepticism about the notion of subsisting
essences that the object/property distinction seems to entail. (Some theorists in this
skeptical tradition maintain that individuals and species just are homeostatic clusters
of properties (Boyd 1999); while others hold that no real reference to individuals is
possible without quantificational structure (Quine 1995, Davidson 1999)—or at least,
that there is a level of cognitive representation at which no genuine distinction
between individuals and kinds can yet be drawn (Millikan 1998).)
All of this suggests that rather than map-locations functioning as names, their closest
propositional analogues might instead be quantifiers. On this analysis, a particular map
coordinate or region on a map that employs a merely implicit, landmark-relative
interpretation function would have roughly the significance of ‘the place/region in
 ELISABETH CAMP
the world, whatever it might be, where the denotation(s) of this marker is located’;
the map as a whole would be true just in case all of the object/properties denoted
by the map’s markers were related to each other in a spatial configuration that was
appropriately isomorphic to the spatial relations among the markers.⁷ My architec-
tural blueprint would then impose the requirement that there exist some set of
appropriately spatially related world-locations which instantiate the object/properties
denoted by the markers at each of the corresponding map-locations. And my store
locator maps would be true of a particular store if it arranged its stock in the specified
pattern; while my master map would be true only if and only if all of my stores were
laid out that way.
Thus, in the face of the challenges canvassed earlier in the section for treating map
locations as names, the predicative theorist can hold on to the claim that map
markers (whether colored regions or symbols) do function as predicates by invoking
an analysis of map locations as quantifiers rather than names. In section 4.3, I canvass
the possibility of more direct evidence for quantificational structure in maps, and find
it largely lacking. First, though, in section 4.2, I examine the core assumption of the
predicative view: that map markers predicate properties of locations.
4.2 Predicates
In this section, I argue that there are at least two deep disanalogies between predicates
as they function in language and the way they should function in maps if a
predicative analysis were apt.
.. EXPRESSIVE LIMITATIONS ON PREDICATION
The first difference follows directly from the account developed in section 2.2 of
propositional structure. A distinctive feature of predication, as of propositional
operators more generally, is that a wide range of predicates can be predicated of a
wide range of objects. In its strongest form, any expression of predicative type can be
combined with any expression of subject type. Many theorists have wanted to impose
categorical restrictions on such combination, on the ground that sentences like ‘Julius
Caesar was a prime number’ are too absurd to express genuine thoughts. I reject such
semantic restrictions (Camp 2004). But actual natural languages impose many
syntactic restrictions within expression types, some but not all of which appear to
have at least some semantic basis (Johnson 2004). Even if we include both semantic
and syntactic restrictions on predication, however, it remains true that language
enables us to say of a very wide range of things that they are a very wide range of
⁷ In some cases, it might be essential to the denotation that it be located in a specific location: perhaps
the Grand Canyon could not be located elsewhere and still be the Grand Canyon, while London Bridge
could be relocated to Alaska. Cases of the former type would then be essentially anchored to a particular
location, but in virtue of the semantic interpretation assigned to the marker, rather than in virtue of the
interpretation function assigned to the map-location at which that marker is placed.
WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 
ways. And a key reason for this generality is that predication itself contributes very
little to the overall semantic import of the sentence, beyond simply applying the
denoted property to the denoted object. The point holds with even greater force for
other candidate propositional operations: saturation, functional application, and
Merge (Camp 2015).
By contrast, the ‘propositions’ that result from placing map-markers at locations
are much more expressively restricted: they always say ‘X is here’. This restriction
does not arise from any inherent constraint on the meanings of the markers
themselves, which can be just as arbitrary as in language (indeed, map-markers
often are words). Rather, they arise because the placement of a marker at a map-
location has a fixed significance: that the denoted object/property is located at the
denoted world-location (where, as we saw in section 4.1, those world-locations may
be specified in relational rather than absolute terms). The fact that it is impossible to
‘predicate’ object/properties of anything but locations in maps thus strongly suggests
that the combinatorial operation itself is something other than predication.
To see the contrast more clearly, consider a branching tree structure, interpreted as
instantiating either a genealogical or a propositional structure (Camp 2009). In both
cases, the combinatorial principle is digital, recursive, and asymmetrical, and thus
hierarchical. But in a genealogical tree, a common node means something very
specific: common ancestry. As a result, such trees can only represent entities as
being related by ancestry and descent. In principle, we could interpret genealogical
trees as having propositional structure, and claim that their users are only ever
interested in representing a single topic, or only ever interested in one kind of
hierarchical structure (Cheney and Seyfarth 2007); but the imposition of this expres-
sive limitation would be ad hoc. It makes more sense to treat the combinatorial
principle itself as semantically loaded, in a way that constrains the sorts of inputs for
which it can deliver true representations. Similarly for maps, we could posit an ad
hoc constraint blocking maps from exploiting the full generality of propositional
structure; or we could posit a distinct combinatorial principle—of using spatial
structure to represent spatial structure—from which this expressive limitation fol-
lows directly.
.. PREDICATES AND ABSENCE
The second point also concerns a respect in which the predicative view is committed
to treating predication as having an unexplained representational import in maps as
compared to language: the ‘Absence Intuition’. In section 4.1, I considered collections
of map-markers that lack assigned world-locations, and concluded that they still
comprise a well-formed map, which can sometimes also be assessed for truth,
depending on the pragmatic ‘force’ with which it is presented. What about the
converse case, of map-locations without markers? If map-markers are predicates,
then prima facie one would similarly expect unmarked map-locations to lack
 ELISABETH CAMP
truth-conditions: they should be ‘bare’ location-denoters. Likewise, one would expect

deleting a single marker from a map to produce a syntactically incomplete
expression—or at least, to delete just one proposition. However, both Pratt and
Casati and Varzi construct their semantics quite differently, with the aim of respect-
ing the widespread intuition that the absence of a marker-type at a map-location
represents the absence of the denoted object/property from the denoted location.
As noted in section 3, Casati and Varzi implement this intuition with a ‘comple-
mentation’ clause on the truth-conditions of atomic maps: a map stage for color F is
true just in case all of the F-colored regions on the map possess the associated
property, and the complement of those regions does not possess that property
(1999, 194). The second clause entails both that maps never do contain bare,
‘unsaturated’ locations, and also that deleting a marker introduces the absence of
the denoted property rather than simply erasing the associated positive proposition.
We might already worry that the first clause makes the atomic propositions in
maps inappropriately ‘large’: insofar as we can in fact intuitively assess individual
sub-regions within an atomic map-stage for truth, an entire atomic map stage does
not constitute the most basic unit of cartographic information and assessment. Their
second clause amplifies this worry at a more fundamental level, because it makes the
basic unit of assessment dependent, not just on how things are at all of the world-
regions where the denoted object/property is represented as being located, but also
on how they are at world-regions where the denoted object/property is not repre-
sented as being located. But, as Michael Rescorla (2009a) argues, predication just is a
function from the denotation of the predicate’s input to a truth-value. Moreover, as
I argued in section 2.2, propositional structure more generally employs a recursive,
asymmetrical operation which delivers a unique output given the values of its inputs,
where the number of inputs is very small, typically a singleton. Casati and Varzi’s
semantics either makes the value of the whole proposition depend on something
other than the values of its parts, or else individuates atomic propositions in a way
that doesn’t fit with the way that they themselves define the individual parts.
Pratt’s treatment of Absence avoids both of these problems. His basic unit of
assessment is a marker at a single point. A region is assessed as true iff only all points
within that region instantiate the object/property denoted by the symbol. More
importantly, he treats Absence as arising from a general, format-neutral feature of
default reasoning: an inference from the failure to explicitly say that something is
abnormal to the conclusion that it must be normal. This general inference can be
captured within a predicate logic by stipulating that an entire set of formulae counts
as true in a model just in case the individual formulae are true and the predicate
abnormal(x) has no unmentioned members. Analogously, Pratt holds that an entire
map is true iff each of its individual symbol-pairs is true, and the overall extensions of
the symbols’ substantive components are all minimal (or circumspect), so that there
are no unmentioned elements of those extensions within the entire represented
domain (1993, 82). Thus, unlike Casati and Varzi’s analysis, this model does assign
WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 
truth-conditions that depend only on the values of a given symbol-location pair;

Absence is enforced as a condition on the truth of an entire map.
Although Pratt’s analysis avoids the letter of Rescorla’s criticism and rehabilitates
the intuition that particular placed markers can be assessed for truth, it still intro-
duces a fundamentally holistic element to the determination of truth-conditions.
Rescorla claims that this holistic element has no place in a predicative analysis, and
that the Absence Intuition “reflects [a] fundamental representational disparit[y]
between attaching a marker to a coordinate and attaching a predicate to a singular
term” (2009a, 197). I am not convinced that the difference between maps and
languages is quite so stark in this particular respect. Although the Absence Intuition
is very strong when it comes to published maps designed for general navigation, many
other maps are more informal, more restricted in their representational purposes, and/
or weaker in their epistemic authority; and for them the intuition is much weaker
(Camp 2007, Blumson 2012). For instance, if I draw a map showing you the route from
the hotel to the party, then my placing a gas-station-denoting marker next to a
McDonald’s-denoting-marker just before a crucial left turn would not normally be
taken to represent the absence of other gas stations along the route. The assumption in
such cases is only that the map will contain markers for all known relevant objects
and properties, where what counts as relevant may be quite temporally and function-
ally restricted.⁸ Further, as Pratt makes clear, parallel forms of default reasoning
involving circumspection are pervasive in linguistic communication, perhaps most
notably in the calculation of scalar implicatures. Linguists generally take such infer-
ences to be merely pragmatic, although some such inferences arguably produce
genuinely semantic effects (Chierchia 2004). Thus, we should at least entertain the
possibility that a parallel pragmatic analysis is appropriate for at least many maps.
Like Casati and Varzi and Rescorla, John Kulvicki (2015b) takes the Absence
Intuition to be sufficiently pervasive and robust to warrant semantic treatment.
Further, like Casati and Varzi and Pratt, he claims that maps predicate properties
of locations. However, he argues that they “organize” those predicates in a funda-
mentally different way than sentences. This is partly because they exploit spatial
structure (as we’ll discuss in section 4.3); but because they introduce families of
incompatible predicates “en banc” (2015, 158). So, for instance, if blue denotes water
and green denotes land, then the incompatibility between being simultaneously
blue and green mirrors a corresponding incompatibility between being simul-
taneously sea and land. (Incompatibilities among markers may be defined purely
conventionally.) In the simplest case, the incompatibility is just between the presence
or absence of a single isolated marker; but many “incompatibility classes” contain
indefinitely many marker-types, of arbitrarily fine-grained difference. The number of
contrasting marker-types in the class defines a “degree of freedom” for how things could
⁸ Similarly, Kulvicki (2015, 152) cites official governmental navigational maps, which mark only those
structures visible from the sea that are relevant for navigation.
 ELISABETH CAMP
be at that location: for instance, an incompatibility class containing blue, green, and
beige, representing land, water, and beach respectively, has three degrees of freedom.
Markers from distinct incompatibility classes are mutually compatible: for instance, if
the same map uses distinct textures to represent variation in elevation—say, smooth,
rugged, and mountainous—then a single map-location could be marked as both green
and notched.
In effect, Kulvicki saves the claim that maps predicate features of specific locations
from the threat of holism posed by the Absence Intuition by proposing a systematic
meta-semantic constraint on relations among predicates. The presence of a marker at
a location simply predicates the denoted property of that location. But the absence of
any marker from within a given incompatibility class counts as a predicate in its own
right—it denotes the “zero value” for that class, the property of having none of the
features in the class.
The proposal that maps employ families of markers linked by relations of incom-
patibility is highly attractive, for a number of reasons. It explains Absence by citing a
deep and ubiquitous feature of maps. It also naturally generalizes from absolute
incompatibilities—for example, that green-land entails not blue-water—to explain
the fact that maps frequently use families of marker-types to express positive
relational information: for instance, the use of greater color saturation to represent
higher density of rainfall.⁹ Nevertheless, because Kulvicki’s analysis retains the
imputation of a fundamentally predicative structure, it does nothing to explain why
maps exhibit this systematic interpretive constraint, and in particular why the
contrast between maps and language is as robust and pervasive as Kulvicki, following
Casati and Varzi and Rescorla, takes it to be. In this respect, Pratt’s pragmatic
analysis of Absence in terms of format-neutral principles of default reasoning offers
a deeper explanation, one that fits more smoothly with the predicative model.
Kulvicki’s discussion of how map systems “organize” their constituent expressions
into families points to a distinct dimension, beyond spatial organization, on which
maps are holistic, in contrast to the highly digital structure that is characteristic of
propositional representations. As I argued in section 2.2, predication and other
candidate propositional combinatorial principles generate individual propositions
by recursive application of an operation which takes a small input and delivers a
small (typically single) output. Any non-pragmatic treatment of Absence fits uncom-
fortably with the propositional model, simply because it introduces a significant
degree of holism into the analysis.¹⁰ I will argue in section 4.4 that even putting
⁹ Further, it plausibly helps to address the worries that Pratt (1993, 84 ff.) raises about figure-ground
ambiguities in connection with Absence, which Pratt takes to ultimately undermine the possibility of a fully
formal semantics that could explain map use.
¹⁰ Again, the contrast with actual natural languages (as opposed to formal models of predicate logic)
should not be overstated. In particular, it is a deep, productive insight in linguistics and the philosophy of
language that sentences occur not in isolation but within extended discourses, with systematic semantic
effects (e.g. Roberts 1996/2012, Kehler 2002, and Asher and Lascarides 2003).
WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 
Absence aside, maps’ holistic organization is not well modeled by a propositional

analysis. Thus, although I believe we should adopt something like Kulvicki’s proposal
about families of marker-types, I think we should do so without grafting it onto a
predicative or propositional foundation.
4.3 Complex Propositions
So far, I’ve been assessing the propositional model at the basic level: of predicates that
take object-level inputs and form atomic propositions. When we turn to the ways in
which maps compile information about particular locations into larger wholes, the
disparities with propositionally structured formats become more stark. On the one
hand, propositions are constructed by a digital, asymmetrical, recursive mechanism
which creates hierarchical structure of indefinitely nested depth; and this structure is
not obviously manifested in maps. On the other hand, maps encode information in a
holistic, relational way; and this structure is not directly captured by a propositional
mechanism.
I mentioned in section 4.1 that the predicative theorist could plausibly accommo-
date cases of ‘unanchored’ maps that do not represent specific locations, such as
blueprints, by appealing to quantification. However, such cases aside, there is notably
little role for quantification in maps. In particular, because maps work by placing
markers for object/properties at locations, maps cannot represent purely quantifica-
tional information. For instance, on a map, one can only represent that someone with
a red shirt is carrying a gun by representing a particular individual or type of person
as being at some more or less specific location (where again, that location may be
relational) (Camp 2007, 165). Likewise, one cannot explicitly represent that everyone
wearing a red shirt is carrying a gun: at best, one can co-locate all the markers for red-
shirt-wearers and gun-carriers, and rely on Absence to communicate that no one else
is; but this still requires co-locating the red-shirt-wearers and gun-carriers some-
where, and thus includes location-specific rather than purely quantificational
information.
This limitation suggests that maps are primarily first-order modes of representa-
tion: they just place objects and properties at locations. One might be tempted to hold
that this is all maps can do. In support of this, one might point to the implausibility of
modifying a predicative map-marker which denotes gun-carrying by an adjectival
map-marker which denotes red-shirt-wearing, or of applying a predicative marker
which denotes red-shirt-wearing to an individual-marker which denotes Steve.
Instead, it seems that all one can do is to co-locate the markers for Steve, red-shirt-
wearing, and gun-carrying. This suggests that map markers all have the same basic
syntactic status, and that the semantic import of co-locating markers is always just
the conjunction of their denoted object/properties.
Although I think something like this is on the right track, I don’t think the
restriction to a flat, first-order mode of representation can be quite so absolute. For
one thing, there are arguably cases of genuinely nested maps—say, a computer map
 ELISABETH CAMP
of a city, where icons for individual buildings expand to become maps of the
buildings’ interiors. More importantly, maps often deploy multiple “incompatibility
classes,” some of which have second- or higher-order significance (MacEachren
2004). For instance, a cartographer might deploy hue to denote the most common
disease in the denoted region; saturation to represent the frequency of that disease
there; and textural density to represent the reliability or evidentiary status of the
representation of disease as having that frequency in that area. The information
thereby conveyed is hierarchically structured: not just that disease x plus frequency y
plus reliability z are all present at this location, but that there is reliability z of disease
x occurring with frequency y here.
At the same time, I don’t think the presence of such layered information warrants
an ascription of hierarchical syntactic structure to maps. When maps do support a
layered semantics, I claim, this is because the markers themselves have been assigned
values that mandate this interpretation, not because their syntax is hierarchical.
Thus, an interpretation function that assigns evidentiary status to a certain family
of textures entails, merely in virtue of what evidentiary status is, that the presence
of that texture on the map can only coherently be interpreted as modifying the
significance of some other marker with more basic significance, rather than the other
way around. By contrast, in propositional systems, the fact that the combinatorial
operation itself is asymmetrical entails that same set of expressions—say, ‘Bob’,
‘loves’, and ‘Mary’—can be combined in a different order to produce semantically
distinct results. It may be for lack of imagination, but I have been unable to construct
analogous syntactically generated truth-conditional differences in maps. Nor do
maps appear to permit the construction of indefinitely complex hierarchical struc-
tures by repeated iteration of the same operation, as in “Everyone who is carrying a
gun is standing next to someone who is wearing a red shirt, and owes money to
someone who was wearing a blue shirt yesterday.” Indefinitely deep hierarchical
recursion is highly characteristic—some would say definitive (Hauser, Chomsky, and
Fitch 2002)—of propositional structure. By contrast, cartographic structure appears
to be largely, if not absolutely, flat.
4.4 Conjunction and Holism
The semantics proposed by both Pratt and Casati and Varzi comport with this
basically flat structure, insofar as they analyze entire maps as mere conjunctions of
atomic representations, and conjunction itself imposes no hierarchical relationship
between the conjuncts. An exclusive focus on conjunction as the mechanism for
compiling entire maps from atomic parts also makes sense, given that it is not
obvious that maps usually represent other sorts of connections between, or modifi-
cations of, basic states of affairs, such as disjunction, conditionalization, temporaliza-
tion, and modalization.
Pratt’s and Casati and Varzi’s circumspection about such connectives might thus
be seen as a tacit endorsement of the common assumption that maps lack the
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Zooecia uniserial; with marginal spines. Branches arising
from the top of a zooecium
Brettia
6. Zooecia uniserial; branches arising just below the large

aperture. An ovicell may be developed above the orifice of a
modified zooecium
Eucratea chelata
Zooecia somewhat pear-shaped; orifice small, semicircular
Huxleya fragilis
7. Colony erect 8
Zooecia in several layers forming confused masses 30
Colony entirely adherent,[602] the zooecia usually in a single
layer
31
Erect Cheilostomata.
8. Branches cylindrical, calcareous, divided by chitinous joints.

Orifices arranged all round the branch
Cellaria (Fig. 239, A)
Branches flexible, jointed or unjointed. Orifices not arranged
all round the branch.
9
Calcareous, unjointed, rigid 21
9. Branches leaf-like, flattened 10

Branches not leaf-like 11
10. Avicularia resembling birds' heads, movable

Bugula (Fig. 233)
Avicularia not resembling birds' heads, unstalked; or absent.
Colony broadly leaf-shaped, composed of a single layer or
of two layers of zooecia
Flustra (Fig. 232)
11. Zooecia in pairs, at the same level 12
Zooecia not obviously paired 13
12. Branches numerous, straight. Zooecia back to back, with an

oblique aperture. No avicularia
Gemellaria loricata
Branches delicate, curved. A pair of stalked avicularia
between each two pairs of zooecia
Notamia (= Epistomia) bursaria
13. Avicularia or vibracula conspicuous 14

Avicularia or vibracula inconspicuous or absent 17
14. Avicularia resembling birds' heads, movable. Vibracula

absent
15
Avicularia large, unstalked. Vibracula present or absent
16
Avicularia inconspicuous. Setae of the vibracula large, very
conspicuous, on oblique vibracular zooecia, which almost
cover the backs of the branches
Caberea (Fig. 242)
15. Zooecia in two series, alternate, with one or several

conspicuously long marginal spines
Bicellaria
Zooecia in two or more series. Aperture occupying most of
the front of the zooecium. Colony often spiral. Avicularia
usually large
Bugula (Fig. 233)
16. Zooecia long, narrow below, commonly in triplets, with two

lateral avicularia to each triplet. Fornix present.
Menipea ternata
Zooecia biserial, a considerable number forming an
internode separated by a joint (often inconspicuous) from
the next internode. Lateral avicularia usually large.
Vibracular zooecia on the back or sides of the branches
Scrupocellaria (Fig. 254)
17. Characters as in Scrupocellaria (No. 16), but with

inconspicuous avicularia. A branched fornix
Scrupocellaria reptans
Vibracula absent 18
18. A single, short, marginal spine; or none 19

Marginal spines present 20
19. Characters as in No. 6 Eucratea chelata, Huxleya fragilis

Zooecia biserial. Aperture large, the semicircular orifice at its
upper end, where there is commonly a short spine
Cellularia peachii
Zooecia in one or two series. Branches originating from the
backs of the zooecia, and facing in the opposite direction to
the parent branch. Aperture small
Scruparia clavata
20. One or more conspicuously long marginal spines. Avicularia

present or absent
Bicellaria
Zooecia uniserial (see No. 5) Brettia
Zooecia biserial, in short internodes. An inconspicuous
avicularium below the aperture. Fornix present
Menipea jeffreysii
21. Colony consisting of a network of narrow branches, the

zooecia opening only on one of their surfaces
Retepora
Colony large, brittle, composed of contorted plates, uniting
irregularly, usually composed of two layers of zooecia.
Orifice large, indented laterally
Lepralia foliacea
Branches delicate, cylindrical 22
Branches or lobes coarser, not necessarily cylindrical 24
22. Branches composed of four rows of zooecia 23

Zooecia in more than four regular, longitudinal rows.
Peristome raised, and, with the ovicell, forming a swelling
on the surface of the branch
Escharoides quincuncialis
23. Orifice circular. A row of pores round the margin of the

zooecium. A median pore resembling a small orifice below
the true orifice. Small lateral avicularia
Porina borealis
Orifice surrounded by a peristome, produced into a mucro
beneath the orifice. No pores
Palmicellaria elegans
24. Zooecia arranged in regular series 25

Zooecia irregularly heaped, their long axes often
perpendicular to the surface of the colony. Mucro largely
developed, concealing the form of the orifice, and bearing
an avicularium
Cellepora
25. Orifice with a sinus; or peristome interrupted or extended

below into a sinus-like outgrowth, which usually includes a
small avicularium
26
Neither median sinus nor interrupted or extended peristome
28
26. Orifice with a sinus Schizoporella (Fig. 239, B)

Peristome interrupted or extended below 27
27. Branches of various forms. Surface of the older parts very

even. Secondary orifice rather long, usually wider above,
enclosing a small avicularium below, and appearing as a
hole in the even surface of the branch
Porella (Fig. 255, B, C)
A prominent tooth projects into the orifice from its lower side.
Zooecia with thin walls
Smittia landsborovii (Fig. 239, C)
No tooth in the orifice, at the side of which is a small
avicularium. Old zooecia with thick walls. Colony
composed of a short stem and flattened branches
Escharoides rosacea
28. A tooth projects from the lower side into the large,
subcircular orifice, on each side of which is a small oval
avicularium (colony erect or encrusting)
Mucronella pavonella
No tooth: mucro sometimes present 29
29. Branches cylindrical. Old zooecia with thick walls. Orifice in

young zooecia longer than broad; beneath it a median
pore, and in some cases a lateral avicularium with
vibraculoid mandible
Diporula verrucosa
A distinct mucro, which may bear an avicularium above
Palmicellaria
Encrusting Cheilostomata.
30. Usually growing on a small univalve shell. Orifice longer

than broad, indented laterally. Mucro present
Lepralia edax
One or two conspicuous processes, each bearing an
avicularium, near the orifice, which is often concealed.
Avicularia in many cases found on other parts of the colony
Cellepora
31. Zooecia distant; or in single rows 32

Zooecia forming continuous expansions 36
32. An oval aperture, larger than the orifice 33
No aperture 34
33. A tubular process below the aperture, in some cases:

zooecia very narrow below
Eucratea chelata, var. repens
No tubular process below the aperture Membranipora
34. Peristome much raised below, collar-like Phylactella

Peristome not much raised below 35
35. Zooecia minute, much narrowed below. Orifice small,

usually with a sinus
Hippothoa
Zooecia not narrowed below. Orifice with a sinus
Schizoporella
36. Zooecia partly separated by a thin calcareous crust.

Colonies small
37
Zooecia contiguous 38
37. Zooecia pear-shaped. Orifice with a sinus

Hippothoa expansa
Zooecia ovoid. Orifice subcircular, with a tubular peristome
Lagenipora socialis
38. Orifice close to the upper end of the zooecium (unless

crowned by an ovicell). Front of the zooecium marked by
transverse or radiating furrows or lines. The very young
zooecium may possess a membranous area, which
becomes roofed in by the union of two lateral series of
converging bars (Fig. 257)
39
Characters not as above 40
39. Furrows with uniserial rows of pores (often minute), which

are rarely irregular
Cribrilina (Fig. 257, A)
No rows of pores. Distinct transverse lines or spaces and a
median longitudinal suture between the bars
Membraniporella (Fig. 257, B)
40. Zooecia arranged in regular series 41

Zooecia irregularly[603] heaped together (cf. No. 30)
Cellepora
41. Primary orifice conspicuous; with a sinus, or with a

peristome extended or interrupted below, and sometimes
simulating a sinus
42
Neither sinus[604]nor interrupted peristome 44
Surface of the old zooecia much thickened, so that the
secondary orifice does not project beyond the most
prominent parts of the zooecium. Secondary orifice
concealing the primary orifice, wider above, enclosing a
small avicularium below
Porella (Fig. 255, B, C)
42. Primary orifice with a sinus, but no tooth 43

A prominent tooth projects into the orifice from its lower side.
Peristome interrupted or with a sinus. Surface of the old
zooecia not much thickened
Smittia
43. Orifice with a sinus and long spines. Peristome interrupted.

Ovicell with a wedge-shaped or linear longitudinal fissure.
Avicularia generally present, the avicularian zooecium
conspicuous.
Schizotheca
Orifice semicircular. Vibracula present, near the orifice.
Mastigophora (Fig. 241, B)
Orifice semicircular or subcircular. No vibracula; avicularia
with vibraculoid mandibles may occur
Schizoporella (Fig. 239, B)
44. Zooecium with a median pore; or completely tubular above

45
Zooecium with no median pore. The orifice may be partially
surrounded by a collar-like development of the peristome,
but it is not completely tubular
49
45. Orifice not tubular. A median pore

Microporella (Fig. 241, A)
Orifice tubular 46
46. Zooecia narrow or small 47

Zooecia ovoid 48
47. Orifice markedly tubular. Median pore conspicuous

Porina tubulosa
Colony very small. Zooecia irregularly arranged, with no
median pore
Celleporella
48. Zooecia very convex, with a granular surface; ovicells set far
back. Orifice wider than long
Mucronella microstoma
Young zooecia with stellate pores. A minute avicularium, or
merely a pore, on the upper and lower sides of the orifice in
some zooecia.
Anarthropora monodon
49. Front of zooecium with an elevated margin, enclosing an

area
50
Area not present 55
50. Front wall wholly calcareous 51

Front wall wholly or partly membranous 54
51. Avicularian or vibracular zooecia replacing an ordinary
zooecium, or at least situated between the zooecia
52
Avicularia and vibracula absent, or if present not replacing a
zooecium
53
52. Vibracula present. Colonies small. A pair of longitudinal slits

within the area
Setosella vulnerata
Very large avicularia present. Ovicell closed by a movable
lid. Orifice subcircular, with a minute lateral tooth on each
side.
Thalamoporella[605] (Steganoporella) smittii
53. Orifice semicircular, quite at the upper end of the zooecium;

usually with a knob on each side
Micropora coriacea[606] (Fig. 256, C)
A transverse chitinous plate lies immediately below the
operculum. A vibraculoid spine may occur
Megapora ringens
54. Area entirely membranous, usually bordered by spines.

Membranipora (including Electra[607]) (Fig. 256, A)
Membranous portion reduced to a small portion, which may
be variously lobed, enclosing the orifice.
Membranipora (other species) (Fig. 256, B)
55. Peristome present. No mucro 56

Peristome absent; or if present, with a mucro 57
See also Mucronella pavonella, No. 28).
56. Peristome collar-like, much raised below and at the sides of

the orifice, deficient above. No avicularia
Phylactella
Orifice large, longer than broad. Peristome not deficient
above the orifice
Lepralia
57. Wall of zooecium thin, shiny, and without pores 58

Not agreeing with the characters given under No. 58 59
58. A minute avicularium above the orifice, or where an ovicell is

present, situated at the summit of that structure. Zooecia
not quite contiguous. Mucro sometimes present.
Chorizopora brongniartii
No avicularia. Ovicells on rudimentary zooecia, lying in a
plane superficial to that of the rest of the colony. Zooecia
long.
Schizoporella hyalina
59. A more or less distinct mucro or prominence beneath

the orifice. 60
Mucro rarely present. Orifice nearly always longer than
broad, or nearly circular, usually large, and slightly indented
laterally.
Lepralia
60. A tooth projects into the orifice from its lower side 61
No tooth 62
61. Colony glistening. Orifice much obscured by the mucro and

by stout spines developed from the peristome. Tooth
(concealed in old zooecia) large, strongly curved to one
side.
Rhynchopora (Rhynchozoon[608]) bispinosa
Tooth of the lower margin of the orifice symmetrical,
sometimes bifid. Avicularia may be present laterally, but
are not developed on the mucro
Mucronella (Fig. 255, A)
62. Orifice at least half the width of the zooecium, bordered

below by a well-developed prominence or "umbo." Surface
of the zooecium strongly areolated round the margin
Umbonula[609]
Orifice considerably less than half the width of the
zooecium.
Schizoporella (Fig. 239, B)
Encrusting Cyclostomata.
63. Colony erect. Branches of two or one series of zooecia,

divided at intervals by chitinous joints. Ovicells pear-
shaped.
Crisia (Fig. 237)
Colony erect, unjointed 69
Colony in the main adherent; or circular; or lobed 64
64. Colony more or less circular, discoidal or cup-shaped,

sometimes forming secondary colonies by marginal
budding
65
Colonies not circular 68
65. Zooecia separated by calcified interspaces, which may

contain large pores, often difficult to distinguish from the
orifices
66
No large pores as above. Orifices not spiny. Zooecia nearly
always contiguous, except where an ovicell is developed
67
66. Colony composed of one or more convex discs, bearing

radial ridges, each composed of many zooecia
Domopora
Colony encircled by a thin calcareous lamina, which gives
rise to new zooecia, its centre usually devoid of zooecia
when adult, and often bearing the orifice(s) of the ovicell.
Zooecial orifices often spiny.
Lichenopora
67. Zooecia with a long, tubular, free portion, in some cases

curved in a horizontal plane. Colony fan-shaped until a late
stage.
Tubulipora flabellaris
Tubular portion absent, or for the most part curved in a
vertical plane. Some of the orifices may be closed by a
calcareous plate. Colony circular or bluntly lobed
Diastopora
68. Zooecia in one or few series, forming a linear or branched

colony, which is closely adherent, but may give rise to short
erect portions. Branches narrow, but often broadening at
their ends. Zooecia usually with a free upper end
Stomatopora
Colony broadly lobed, some of the zooecia in transverse or
oblique ridges composed of contiguous zooecia, arranged
like a row of organ-pipes
Idmonea serpens
Colony broadly lobed, or fan-shaped; zooecia in many
series, which are not arranged like organ-pipes
Tubulipora
69. Well branched. Orifices confined to one surface of the

colony
70
Not much branched 71
70. Zooecia in transverse rows, their upper ends united in the

manner of a row of organ-pipes. Ovicell (when present) an
inflation of the front of the branch
Idmonea atlantica
Zooecia not in regular transverse rows. Ovicell (when
present) large, mostly on the back of the branch
Hornera
71. Branches cylindrical, their ends massive and raised into
radial ridges, which carry the orifices
Domopora stellata
Ends of zooecia tubular, arranged all round the branch.
Entalophora
Encrusting Ctenostomata.
72. Colony entirely adherent, or forming thick, soft, erect lobes

73
Colony erect, well-branched, dark and opaque, resembling
seaweed. Zooecia with a long tubular free portion
Anguinella palmata
73. Orifice large, with two distinct lips. A variable number of

stout, brown spines. Encrusting
Flustrella hispida
Orifice small, rounded, borne by a more or less distinct
papilla. Encrusting or erect. Zooecia crowded, rarely in
single lines.
Alcyonidium
Orifice small, rounded. Zooecia widely separated, connected
by narrow tubes
Arachnidium
74. Axis of colony erect, usually branched 75

Axis creeping 79
75. Zooecia in elongated clusters, which occur at intervals 76

Zooecia not grouped; or in irregular groups; or in whorls 78
76. Zooecia regularly biserial 77

Zooecia long, less regularly arranged. Polypide with a
gizzard.
Bowerbankia (Fig. 238)
77. Clusters of zooecia very regular, occurring immediately
below a bifurcation of the axis. Zooecium with a broad
base, not movable.
Amathia lendigera
Zooecia arranged like the pinnules of a leaf, with a
constricted base, and movable on the branch
Mimosella gracilis
78. Main stem zigzag. Branchlets delicate, many ending in

sharp points. Zooecia small, ovoid
Vesicularia spinosa
Axis jointed. Zooecia small, in small clusters. Polypide
without a gizzard
Valkeria uva, var. cuscuta
Zooecia in whorls, attached to the axis by thread-like stalks,
much longer than themselves
Hippuraria egertoni
79. Zooecia pear-shaped, produced at the lower end into a

distinct stalk. Gizzard absent
80
Zooecia not distinctly stalked, although sometimes
constricted at the base
81
80. Stalk long. Zooecium movable on its stalk, compressed, with

a membranous area on one side. Twelve or more
tentacles. Usually found on Crustacea
Triticella
Stalk variable. Zooecium very transparent; orifice bilabiate.
Ten to sixteen tentacles
Farrella repens
Zooecium very small, much elongated and narrow. Eight
tentacles.
Valkeria tremula
(See also Arachnidium, No. 73).
81. Zooecia short, minute, with a few short spines on each side
of its broadened base. Upper end tubular
Buskia nitens
Zooecia elongated 82
82. Zooecia transparent 84

Zooecia brown, often quite opaque 83
83. Zooecia large (about 1⁄16 inch long), distant, constricted at

the base, bearing scattered bristles. Usually found on
Crabs or Hydroids.
Avenella fusca
Zooecia tall, cylindrical, not constricted at the base.
Cylindroecium
84. Zooecia minute. Axis dilating at intervals into swellings, from

which new zooecia originate. These may give rise to new
stolons, or directly to new zooecia. No gizzard. Found in
brackish or fresh water
Victorella pavida
Axis not dilated, as above 85
85. Zooecia small, in small groups. No gizzard Valkeria uva

Zooecia long, scattered or in groups. Gizzard present.
Bowerbankia (creeping forms)
It is highly probable that the Ctenostome genus Hypophorella[610]

will before long be added to the British Fauna. The animal consists
of delicate stolons, which give off small zooecia at intervals; and it is
known to excavate passages in the substance of the tubes of certain
Polychaet worms (Chaetopterus and Lanice).
ADDENDUM TO CHAETOGNATHA
Since the Chapter on the Chaetognatha was printed the following

list[611] of "The Known Chaetognaths of American Waters" has
appeared:—
1. Sagitta elegans Verr. This species resembles S. bipunctata

(vide pp. 191 and 193), but differs in size, in the relative
proportions of caudal and body segments, and in the presence
of diverticula from the intestine.
2. Sagitta flaccida Con. This species resembles S. hexaptera

(vide p. 193); it is, however, smaller (length, 1.3-1.8 cm.) and
has more spines (anterior, 7-8, posterior, 10-12), and its tail
segment is relatively smaller.
3. Sagitta tenuis Con. Length, 5.25 mm.; hooks, 7-8; anterior

spines, 4-5; posterior spines, 7-10.
4. Sagitta hispida[612] Con. Length, 7-11 mm.; hooks, 8-9;

anterior spines, 4-5; posterior spines, 8-15; tail segment one-
third body length; intestine with two diverticula; sensory hairs
very numerous.
5. Sagitta hexaptera (vide p. 193).
6. Krohnia hamata (vide p. 194).
7. Spadella maxima Con. Length, 5.2 cm.; hooks, 6; anterior

spines, 3-5; posterior spines, 5-7; epidermal thickenings round
the neck.
8. Spadella draco (vide p. 194).

9. Spadella schizoptera[612] Con. An opaque, yellowish-brown
species living among algae. Length, 4 mm.; hooks, 8; anterior
spines, 4-6; posterior spines wanting. Caudal segment occupies
one-half the body length.
Professor Verrill states that the name S. gracilis (vide p. 191) was
due to a clerical error, the species really referred to being S. elegans.
A. E. S.
CHAPTER INDEX
Every reference is to the page: words in italics are names of

genera or species; figures in italics indicate that the reference
relates to systematic position; figures in thick type refer to an
illustration; f. = and in following page or pages; n. = note.
Acanella, as host, 298
Acanthobdella, 395
Acanthocephala, 123, 124, 174 f.;
embryology, 179;
classification, 181
Acanthocotyle, 73
Acanthodrilidae, 357, 362, 381, 383, 384
Acanthodrilus, 356, 363, 366, 372, 382, 384;
chaetae, 350
Acanthozoon, 20
Accessory gut, of Polychaeta, 305
Aceros, 19
Achaeta, 445
Acholoe, 297
Aciculum, 247; fossil, 302
Acmostoma, 50
Acoela, 42;
occurrence and habits, 43;
reproduction, 47;
classification, 49
Acotylea, 16 f., 17, 18
Acrorhynchus, 49;
occurrence, 44
Actinotrocha larva, 458
Actinurus, 201, 222
Acyclus, 221
Adaptation, of Trematodes, 52, 62;
of Cestodes, 74;
of Nematodes, 161
Adherent, 523
Adineta, 204, 222, 227
Adventitious avicularia, 482
Aeolosoma, 349, 353, 354, 360, 370, 374, 375
Aetea, 518, 525
Agassiz, on Syllidae, 280
Alaurina claparedii, 49
Albertia, 204, 210, 213, 224, 227
Alciope, 315
Alciopids (Alciopina), 314;
head, 263;
parapodium, 265;
habit, 291;
light-organs, 294
Alciopina parasitica, 298
Alcyonella, 494, 505, 518
Alcyonellea, 518
Alcyonidium, 477, 480, 492, 518, 532;
structure of zooecium, 469;
reproduction, 507, 508;
larva, 510, 511
Alimentary canal—see Digestive System
Alitta, 317
Allantonema, 131, 150, 151, 161
Allman, on Polyzoa, 474, 475
Alloeocoela, 43; habits, 46;
reproduction, 47;
classification, 50
Alloiogenesis, 66 n.
Allolobophora, 351, 367, 369, 371, 386, 389, 390 f.;
cocoons, 365
Allostoma pallidum, 50
Alluroides, 379
Allurus, 351, 366, 370, 389;
cocoons, 365
Alma, 352 f., 387
Alternation of generations, 66, 81, 281
Amathia, 481, 518, 532
Ammocharidae, 258, 325
Ammotrypane, 273, 331;
intestine, 271
Ampharete, 330
Ampharetidae, 258, 330
Amphibia, Trematodes of, 55, 62, 71, 72;
Nematodes of, 163
Amphichaeta, 377
Amphicoerus, 49
Amphicora, 339
Amphicorine, gill, 261
Amphicorinidae, 258, 339
Amphicteis, 330
Amphictenidae, 258, 330
Amphiglena, 273, 339
Amphileptus, 235
Amphilina, 91
Amphinome, eye of, 255;
A. smaragdina, colour, 293
Amphinomidae, 258, 318;
shape, 259;
caruncle, 260, 273 n.;
head, 262, 263;
parapodium, 264;
cirri, 265;
chaetae, 267, 267;
in Lepas, 297
Amphiporus, 102, 114;
British species, 110
Amphiptyches, 77
Amphistomatidae, 73
Amphistomum, 71, 73;
A. hominis, 63
Amphitrite, 327, 328;
gill, 329
Ampullaria, Temnocephala with, 53
Anachaeta, 350, 376, 395
Anal, cirri, 259;
funnel, 259, 332, 333;
vesicles, 358, 436
Anangian worms, 253
Anarthropora, 529
Ancylostomum, 143, 163
Andrews, on Sipunculus, 417, 426

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Non-Propositional Intentionality First

Edition. Edition Alex Grzankowski

List of Contributors vii

1. Non-Propositional Intentionality: An Introduction 1

Author Index 303

E LISABETH C AMP , Associate Professor of Philosophy at Rutgers University.

Alex Grzankowski and Michelle Montague

Intentionality, the phenomenon of something’s being about or of something, and

And Daniel Stoljar (1996: 191) says that,

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

twentieth and twenty-ﬁrst centuries, was a thoroughgoing non-propositionalist about

NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 

2 What are the Motivations for Propositionalism?

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 

⁷ See Grzankowski (2013) for further discussion.

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

ascription which relates a subject to something structurally non-propositional, the

NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

Since many non-propositionalists cite desires, emotions, and perceptions as

3 What are the Ways of Departing

NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 

¹¹ See also Blumson (2012) for further discussion.

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

“barely” presented. Rather, according to Disclosive Realism, “sensory experience

NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 

having certain abilities, which isn’t to be accounted for in terms of propositional

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

NON - PROPOSITIONAL INTENTIONALITY 

 ALEX GRZANKOWSKI AND MICHELLE MONTAGUE

notable implication is that, by attending to the distinct proﬁles of expressive and

WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 

formally individuated.² I bracket this more controversial claim about compositionality

2 Propositionality and Non-Propositionality

2.1 Propositions as Sets of Possible Worlds

³ Thanks to Alex Grzankowski for pressing this point.

WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 

In order for the question of representational format to be a substantive one, we

2.2 Structured Propositions

WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 

picking up on an equivalence between predication and saturation suggested by Frege

3 Predicative Map Semantics

WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 

4 Problems with Propositionality

WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 

.. EXPRESSIVE LIMITATIONS ON PREDICATION

WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 

.. PREDICATES AND ABSENCE

truth-conditions: they should be ‘bare’ location-denoters. Likewise, one would expect

WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 

truth-conditions that depend only on the values of a given symbol-location pair;

WHY MAPS ARE NOT PROPOSITIONAL 

Absence aside, maps’ holistic organization is not well modeled by a propositional

6. Zooecia uniserial; branches arising just below the large

8. Branches cylindrical, calcareous, divided by chitinous joints.

9. Branches leaf-like, flattened 10

10. Avicularia resembling birds' heads, movable

12. Branches numerous, straight. Zooecia back to back, with an