There is Some Truth in That

I haven’t been updating my blog since moving to UBC last fall, partly because I’ve been busy preparing new courses and grant applications and settling into a new city. (My two biggest professional bits of news over the last while, for anyone interested who hasn’t already heard elsewhere, are that The Rules of Thought, my book with Ben Jarvis, is now under contract with OUP, and I’ll be beginning an Assistant Professorship at UBC this summer.)

I’m now starting to shift back into research mode, however, and blog activity may come back up accordingly.

One of the philosophy books that has been on my ‘to-read’ list for a long time is Jessica Brown’s Anti-Individualism and Knowledge; I’ve been interested in the relationship between mental content and epistemology for a while now. Of course if I’d been cleverer about it, I’d've read the book while I worked at St Andrews and spoke to Jessica regularly, but: better late than never.

Among the interesting things Jessica is up to in her book is an argument that Fregeanism about content is inconsistent with — or at least, fits poorly with — anti-individualism. This is the negation of one of the chapters of The Rules of Thought, so I wanted to attend especially to the argument. (Thanks to Sandy Goldberg for bringing this connection to my attention recently.)

One of Jessica’s arguments boils down to this. (I’m looking at pp. 200-201.)

1. Fregean sense depends for its motivation on the transparency of sameness of mental content.
2. Anti-individualism is inconsistent with the transparency of sameness of mental content.
3. Therefore, if anti-individualism is true, then Fregean sense is unmotivated.

In defense of (1), Jessica suggests that, were it possible for a subject to be wrong about whether two token concepts express the same content, the failure to make logically valid inferences would be consistent with full rationality. Celeste is in a Frege case.

Celeste fails to make the simple valid inference … since she does not realize that the relevant thought constituents have the same content and thus that the inference is valid. Further, she can come to the correct view only by using empirical information. On this view, her failure to make the simple valid inference does not impugn her rationality, for even a rational subject would fail to make a valid inference that she does not realize is valid.

Jessica suggests that Fregeanism is motivated by the possibility of rationally holding what would be according to non-Fregean views contradictory sets of beliefs, or rationally declining to infer according to what such views would say are logically valid inferences. I agree — a central motivation for Fregeanism is to explain why there’s nothing irrational about believing Hesperus to be F and believing Phosphorus not to be F. But why does this rely on the assumption of the transparency of sameness of content? Jessica says in the passage above that there is an alternate explanation available, if transparency is denied: one doesn’t make what is in fact a logically valid inference because one doesn’t realize that it is valid, and this is consistent with full rationality.

Jessica’s argument seems to rely on this claim:

(Reflection) If a subject doesn’t realize that an inference is valid, then she faces no rational pressure to make it.

But Reflection strikes me as a pretty dubious principle in generality. Suppose somebody is pretty dense, and fails to realize that modus tollens is a valid inference form, and so fails to realize that various instances of it are valid. She sits there and thinks if it has an even number, then it’s red and it’s not red, and finds herself with no inclination to infer it has no even number. Surely her ignorance doesn’t excuse her rational failure. So Reflection is false in generality; so arguments that rely on Reflection are unsound. It looks to me like Jessica is relying on Reflection, so I think her argument is unsound.

That said, there is admittedly an intuitive difference between my dense character and Jessica’s ignorant one — Jessica’s character’s failure to infer in accordance with valid inferences would be corrected by suitable empirical information; mine presumably wouldn’t. Could this motivate a weakening of Reflection to render Jessica’s verdict while avoiding the problematic one? Maybe, but it looks to me like it’d end up pretty ad hoc. (One upshot of Timothy Williamson’s work on apriority is that it’s very difficult precisely to state the kinds of connections to empirical investigation that underwrite certain intuitions.)

The Fregean can say this: failure to infer according to logically valid inferences is a rational failure, whether or not the subject recognizes the inference as a logically valid one. This, combined with the intuitive verdicts (no rational failure) about Frege puzzle cases, implies Fregeanism, but does not require any thesis about the transparency of content. This seems to be to be the natural thing to say.

Edit: Aidan McGlynn tells me that John Campbell and Mark Sainsbury are on the record against (1) in Campbell’s ‘Is Sense Transparent?’ and Sainsbury’s is ‘Fregean Sense’ in his collection Departing From Frege. I’ll be interested to read them.

Tags: anti-indivdualism, content, fregeanism, Jessica Brown

I’ve never been at all sure what to make of ‘evidentialism’ in epistemology. Following is a fairly naive response to Conee and Feldman; I suspect there’s some discussion of these or closely related issues; I’d be happy to be pointed to them.

Conee and Feldman think that the doxastic attitude I’m justified in having toward any given proposition is the one that fits my evidence. However, it’s just not at all clear what that’s supposed to mean. They offer examples, by way of illustration:

Here are three examples that illustrate the application of this notion of justification. First, when a physiologically normal person under ordinary circumstances looks at a plush green lawn that is directly in front of him in broad daylight, believing that there is something green before him is the attitude toward this proposition that fits his evidence. That is why the belief is epistemically justified. Second, suspension of judgment is the fitting attitude for each of us toward the proposition that an even number of ducks exists, since our evidence makes it equally likely that the number is odd. Neither belief nor disbelief is epistemically justified when our evidence is equally balanced. And third, when it comes to the proposition that sugar is sour, our gustatory experience makes disbelief the fitting attitude. Such experiential evidence epistemically justifies disbelief.

My problem here isn’t that anything strikes me as false — it’s just that I don’t see that justification has been illuminated by the connection to ‘fitting the evidence’. I don’t feel like I have a better antecedent grip on what the evidence is, and how to tell what fits it, than I do on what is justified. Conee and Feldman go on to observe that various views about justification are inconsistent with evidentialism, because, e.g., they have the implication that only a responsibly formed belief is justified, but some beliefs that are not responsibly formed fit the evidence. One needn’t think this, though; perhaps what fits the evidence is what one would do if responsible. Or, certain reliabilist views will have the implication that Bonjour’s clairvoyant character has justified beliefs; this too can be rendered consistent with the letter of evidentialism by allowing that external facts about reliability play a role in what evidence one has (or, less plausibly, which attitude fits a given body of evidence). A commitment to evidentialism per se doesn’t seem to tell you much.

A theory of justification, it seems, ought to be illuminating, in the sense that it should explain justification in terms of states and relations that are antecedently well-understood. (As indicated last post, however, I don’t think this constraint implies that the stuff on the right-hand-side need always be non-epistemic.)

Tags: connee and feldman, epistemology, evidentialism, internalism, justification

I’m starting work on a new project on epistemic justification. I’m trying to begin by laying out various perceived or actual desiderata for theories of epistemic justification. Here’s one, laid out in Alvin Goldman’s classic paper, “What is Justified Belief?”: a theory of justification should give necessary and sufficient conditions in non-epistemic terms. We could call this a “naturalistic reduction” constraint. Goldman writes:

The term ‘justified’, I presume, is an evaluative term, a term of appraisal. Any correct definition or synonym of it would also feature evaluative terms. I assume that such definitions or synonyms might be given, but I am not interested in them. I want a set of substantive conditions that specify when a belief is justified. Compare the moral term ‘right’. This might be defined in other ethical terms or phrases, a task appropriate to metaethics. The task of normative ethics, by contrast, is to state substantive conditions for the rightness of actions. Normative ethics tries to specify non-ethical conditions that determine when an action is right. A familiar example is act-utilitarianism, which says an action is right if and only if it produces, or would produce, at least as much net happiness as any alternative open to the agent. These necessary and sufficient conditions clearly involve no ethical notions. Analogously, I want a theory of justified belief to specify in non-epistemic terms when a belief is justified. This is not the only kind of theory of justifiedness one might seek, but it is one important kind of theory and the kind sought here.

I am not sure I feel the motivation for this constraint. I can certainly see why we might not be satisfied by a theory of justification that is circular (justification is justification) or otherwise uninformative (justified belief is belief that is epistemically good), but barring all epistemic notions from the right-hand-side seems like a pretty strong constraint. But perhaps I’ve misunderstood Goldman’s motivation here? Is the naturalistic reduction constraint motivated by something other than informativeness?

Tags: alvin goldman, justification, naturalism, reliabilism

Benjamin Jarvis and I have been working for some time now on a book manuscript on mental content, rationality, and the epistemology of philosophy. I posted a TOC of our first draft last summer. Since then, we’ve received some helpful comments from reviewers, and have revised extensively; we now have a full new draft, which we feel ready to share with the public. If you’re interested, you can download the large (2.3 MB, 331 page) pdf here. Comments and suggestions are extremely welcome.

I’m including a table of contents of the new draft in this post, to better give an idea of what we’re up to.

Continue Reading »

Tags: apriority, epistemology, intuition, modal epistemology, rationalism, rationality, the rules of thought, thought experiments

Suppose that Katie is sitting out in the sun. Here are two propositions:

(1) It is sunny.

(2) Jonathan is wearing glasses or Jonathan is not wearing glasses.

It’s pretty plausible to develop the case in such a way that each of (1) and (2) would be rational for Katie to believe, and irrational for her to disbelieve. Why is it rational for Katie to believe (1), and irrational for her to disbelieve it? Because of various experiences she is having, like the way the sky looks, and the way her skin feels. (Obviously.) Why is it rational for her to believe (2), and irrational for her to disbelieve it? Now that’s a more interesting question. (Under some circumstances, Katie might be rational in accepting (2) in part because of her perceptual experience — for instance, if she can see that I am wearing glasses. We stipulate that she doesn’t know, or have any reason to believe, that I am or am not.) One answer that seems to be reasonably widely held is that, in just the same way that the rationality of (1) is explained by Katie’s perceptual experience, the rationality of (2) is explained by her intuitive experience. I think that this is a very bad answer, and in this post, I’ll press an analogy that I hope will make you think this answer very bad too.

If the rationality of (2) depends on Katie’s intuitions, then, if she lacked the relevant intuitions, she would no longer suffer rational pressure to accept (2). But that’s crazy. Imagine Katie’s stupid counterpart, Dummy, who does not have any intuitions about (2). It’s rational for Dummy to accept (2), and irrational for her to reject it, just like it is for Katie. The difference between Katie and Dummy is, Katie’s intuitions help her to see what she has reason to accept. Dummy is blind to her rational obligations. Dummy doesn’t escape rational obligations just by lacking intuitions. We can take it a step further, and imagine yet another counterpart, Crazy, who has the intuition that (2) is false, or even necessarily false. Would it be rational for Crazy to deny (2)? Definitely not. The rational thing for Crazy to do would be to reject her crazy intuition and accept (2). So the fact that (2) is rational for Katie does not depend on her intuitions.

This point is very obvious in the moral domain.

Dick has promised his shy friend to speak on his behalf to the woman he loves, but breaks the promise, deciding instead to woo the woman in question for himself. Our confident judgment that Dick acts immorally does not depend in any way on our assessment of his moral sensibilities. Dick may be a moral imbecile, who lacks sensitivity, even at the intuitive level, to his moral requirements. His failure to intuit in accordance with his duties to his friend constitute a moral shortcoming, and they do not by any means exempt him from said duties. Dick may even have had the intuition that betraying his friend was the correct action; still, that don’t make it right!

Nobody thinks that Dick escapes his moral obligations by failing to have the relevant intuitions, or even by having contrary ones. So nobody should think that of Katie, either.

Tags: intuition, morality, rationality

According to David Lewis’s classic paper, “Scorekeeping in a Language Game,” conversations, like sporting matches, have scores, which characterize the current situation, and rules, which interact with scores to determine what is permissible. The score of a baseball game includes the number of runs scored, an indication of which team is batting, the number of outs, balls, strikes, etc. (Lewis characterizes baseball scores as ordered septuples; in fact, they’re more complicated. Lewis’s baseball scores leave out, e.g., the batting order, which pitchers have already appeared in the game, and perhaps most egregiously, who is on which bases.) An example of a baseball rule, in Lewis’s sense, is that if a the score includes three balls, if the pitcher throws a ball, the score is updated by resetting the count, putting the batter on first base, updating other runners and the run total as necessary, as making the next member of the lineup the batter. This is a rule that tells you what happens to the score when a particular event occurs; there are also rules that tell you what is permissible, given the score. You may not come up to bat if you’re in the lineup and it is not your turn.

In a language games, scores will include contextual parameters like who is speaking, what is presupposed, what is salient, etc. There are rules that tell you what is permissible, given the score, and there are rules that govern the updating of scores. These sometimes interact, as when the score is accommodated to permit a conversational move. For example, there’s a rule that say I’m only allowed to use the definite article “the cat” when there is a uniquely salient cat. But if there’s not one that was already salient — if the score didn’t already indicate a uniquely salient cat — my utterance can cause an updating of the score, to make it permissible. If I say “I’d better go home because the cat is hungry,” the score is updated to make my cat at home the uniquely salient one.

This feature of conversational games, Lewis says, marks a difference between conversations and sporting events.

There is one big difference between baseball score and conversational score. Suppose the batter walks to first base after only three balls. His behavior would be correct play if there were four balls rather than three. That’s just too bad – his behavior does not at all make it the case that there were four balls and his behavior is correct. Baseball has no rule of accommodation to the effect that if a fourth ball is required to make correct the play that occurs, then that very fact suffices to change the score so that straightway there are four balls.

I’m not sure Lewis is right about this. Of course he’s right that you don’t get a walk just by trotting along to first base, but I’m not sure that’s because there’s no accommodation in play. What, plausibly, would happen in a Major League game where a batter tossed his bat aside and jogged to first base after ball three? The umpire would call him back. That’s a baseball move too; that’s what the umpire is supposed to do, and it’s surely what he would do. And there’s plausibly a baseball rule that says that when the umpire says you’re still at bat and have three balls, the score is updated to make that the case. If the umpire stood idly by and let the batter take first base, I think that might well make it the case that he got a walk. That’s part of why bad calls suck so much; they make themselves true. After this play, there were only two outs in the inning, even though, had the umpire performed correctly, there would have been three. (To deny this would be to say that there were four outs in that inning — or that Melky Cabrera’s subsequent apparent plate appearance was illusory, and that his turn was skipped in the lineup.)

This happened pretty dramatically in an infamous college football game between Colorado and Missouri. The football score, in Lewis’s sense, will include what down it is. And failure to convert on fourth down means you lose possession. But in this game, the officials miscounted the downs, and nobody noticed until afterward, when Colorado scored a touchdown on ‘fifth down’, which had been described by the officials as fourth down. The officials got it wrong, obviously. But, I think, they didn’t get it wrong in the sense of saying something false; they got it wrong by making the wrong thing the case. It really was fourth down, and there really was a touchdown.

So I think, contra Lewis, that football scores and baseball scores can accommodate, in more or less the same way that conversational scores can. (There’s no doubt it’s easier to do in the case of conversational scores.)

Tags: baseball, david lewis, football, scorekeeping

I spent the last week at the APA Pacific in San Diego. I have several topics inspired there that I’m hoping to write up quick blog posts about, including some philosophical and nonphilosophical ones. In general, I think I’m going to start using this blog for a bit more extraphilosophy content. I’ll start that not-right-now, though, because first I want to write up a reaction Brian Talbot’s talk, An Argument for Old-Fashioned Intuition Pumping (pdf link).

Brian was defending the traditional philosophical project of investigation into extra-mentalist subject matters, and arguing that the best way to do this involves heavy reliance on intuitions. His main focus was on the appropriate conditions for measuring such intuitions, but my main point of departure comes earlier, in the suggestion that traditional armchair philosophy must or should rely on intuitions in any interesting sense. Brian makes a stark contrast between intuitions and what he calls ‘reasoned-to judgments’. Anything reasoned to is, Brian says, no intuition. I disagree, but let’s allow the stipulation. The question is whether we have any special reason to care about intuitions in Brian’s sense. Brian says we do: his argument is roughly this: a reasoned-to judgment that p is not itself evidence for p; rather, it reflects the evidence upon which the reasoning is based. So we should, when investigating the evidence for p, look to the evidence on which any reasoning is based; in the relevant cases, this must be intuition.

From this methodological stance, Brian makes some fairly sweeping claims about philosophical methodology and experimental philosophy, emphasizing the need to study intuitions directly, isolating them from any influence by reasoning. This, to my mind, is a rather bizarre idea. Good reasoning, in my view, is at the center of good philosophy. So I’m pretty suspicious of any approach to methodology that wants to marginalize reasoning.

In the Q&A, I raised something like this point. I pointed out that, at least so far as Brian had said, it was open for the defender of traditional philosophical methods to deny that intuitions play the important starting-point role that Brian articulated; perhaps reasoning is ultimately where the action is. Brian’s response was effectively that reasoning must have starting points, and those starting points are intuitions. But reasoning, in general, need not have starting points; sometimes, good reasoning can proceed from the null set of premises. Another audience member raised the apt example of a reductio.

Brian’s response to this was effectively to allow that there might be some philosophical knowledge achievable in this way, but that the strategy would extend only to tautologies. Insofar, then, as philosophers are interested in establishing more than just tautologies, one will need intuitions as starting points. Someone following my strategy, Brian said, will not count as engaging in the traditional project he intends of substantive investigation into extramentalist subject matters.

Now I don’t know what exactly Brian means by ‘tautology’, but it seems to me that there are two ways one can go, either of which looks fine. If tautologies are limited to, e.g., obvious logical truths, then there is no reason to accept that good reasoning, without intuitions, can yield only tautologies. For good reasoning need not be limited to logical reasoning. I think that one can reason, for instance, from ‘S knows that p’ to ‘p’; this kind of reasoning can underwrite the knowledge, from no premises, that knowledge is factive. And I don’t see why this couldn’t extend to all of that philosophy which is plausibly a priori. If, on the other hand, Talbot wants to call claims like these tautologies, then it’ll just turn out that philosophers sometimes discover interesting tautologies.

Tags: experimental philosophy, intuition, Philosophy, rationalism

Suppose somebody has a false intuition about an a priori matter. Is she justified in believing its content? Many plausible answers, of course, will begin with “it depends…”. On what does it depend?

Ernie Sosa thinks that among the things upon which it depends is whether the false intuition derives from “some avoidably defective way”; such errors constitute “faults, individual flaws, or defects.” (I think Sosa means these two quoted bits to be approximately equivalent, or at any rate, to apply together in the relevant cases.) Sosa thinks this is what is going on when somebody follows her strong inclination to affirm the consequent, inferring from q and (if p, q) to p. By contrast, “the false intuitions involved in deep paradoxes are not so clearly faults, individual flaws, or defects. For example, it may be that they derive from our basic make-up, shared among humans generally, a make-up that serves us well in an environment such as ours on the surface of our planet.”

So Sosa’s line is that false intuitions do not justify when they derive from faults, flaws, and defects, but do justify when they derive from our basic make-up and are generally shared among humans. I’m suspicious that this distinction will hold up to scrutiny. I think there may be an equivocation on the relevant kinds of ‘faults,’ ‘flaws,’ and ‘defects’ going on. In one sense, of course, one is flawed by virtue of being incorrect; beliefs are supposed to be true, so if one goes wrong, that constitutes some sort of defect. This, of course, cannot be what Sosa has in mind. Instead, he seems to be imagining flaws as deviations from some sort of imperfect but generally effective strategy for getting around in the world. This is, perhaps, the more ordinary sense of a defect. My computer, even when it is working properly, will occasionally crash; a tendency to crash constitutes a defect only when it is not working properly. And maybe there is a good reason why humans ought to have tendencies to accept, for instance, naive set theory.

The problem for this line is that there is also plausibly sound reason for humans to have tendencies to commit more obvious errors, like affirming the consequent. Given the environments we face, having a tendency to affirm the consequent will help us to recognize patterns and confirm hypotheses; inductive reasoning generally looks a bit like affirming the consequent. Similarly with other standard errors; they derive from heuristics that are generally helpful.

So we face a dilemma for upholding Sosa’s distinction. Do we say that these errors — these false judgments arising from generally good heuristics — constitute defects or not? If not, then they are relevantly like Sosa thinks the intuitive premises involved in deep paradoxes are. If so, what makes them so, and why should they not apply also to the cases of the paradoxes?

Consider three people. First, the possible über-rational being who looks at me the way the fallacious gambler now looks to me. She describes us both as defective; as failing to live up to the standards of rationality. She can see that I am not tempted by one particular error (the gambler’s fallacy) — but also that I regularly commit another (fallacy X), and have some attraction to a third (naive set theory). Second, myself: I think of the fallacious gambler as defective, but of myself and my peers, I think our attraction to naive set theory as nondefective; my more ignorant peers who have not studied philosophy, I even consider justified. (We will suppose I have Ernie’s views.) Third, the gambler himself, who accepts his characteristic fallacy and naive set theory alike, and sees no defect in any of us. He considers himself justified in both cases.

All parties agree that the gambler is wrong; he proceeds in a defective way inconsistent with intuitive justification. But Ernie thinks I’m importantly different from him. Ernie thinks that I am not defective, but merely have some tendencies to affirm falsehoods that derive from my general human nature. Our rational superior, presumably, thinks of me as defective in just the same way as the gambler, but to a lesser degree. Does Ernie give any reason we should think her wrong about this?

Tags: ernest sosa, intuition, rationality

I’m thinking about a point that Ernie Sosa has made in response to survey-based experimental philosophy challenges. As we all know, some critics have argued that certain experimental results challenge traditional armchair philosophy. In particular, for example, Weinberg, Nichols, and Stich found that there seemed to be a systematic divergence of epistemic intuitions depending upon the ethnic background of the subjects studied: students of East Asian descent were more likely than students of European descent to, for instance, describe Gettier cases as cases of knowledge.

Here’s a line that Ernie has pressed a few times now:

And the disagreement may now perhaps be explained in a way that casts no doubt on intuition as a source of epistemic justification or even knowledge. Why not explain the disagreement as merely verbal? Why not say that across the divide we find somewhat different concepts picked out by terminology that is either ambiguous or at least contextually divergent? On the EA side, the more valuable status that a belief might attain is one that necessarily involves communitarian factors of one or another sort, factors that are absent or minimized in the status picked out by Ws as necessary for “knowledge.” If there is such divergence in meaning as we cross the relevant divides, then once again we fail to have disagreement on the very same propositions. In saying that the subject does not know, the EAs are saying something about lack of some relevant communitarian status. In saying that the subject does know, the Ws are not denying that; they are simply focusing on a different status, one that they regard as desirable even if it does not meet the high communitarian requirements important to the EAs. So again we avoid any real disagreement on the very same propositions. The proposition affirmed by the EAs as intuitively true is not the very same as the proposition denied by the Ws as intuitively false.

(That’s quoted from his contribution to the recent Stich and His Critics volume.)

As I’d understand it, the core suggestion here is this: maybe there’s no real disagreement here; some group of subjects say that such and such ‘is a case of knowledge,’ while philosophers and other subjects say that such and such is not a case of knowledge, and there’s no genuine disagreement, because the former subjects don’t mean knowledge by ‘knowledge’.

So here’s my question. (One question, anyway. I have a few more.) What does any of this have to do with concepts? As I understand it, it’s a question about meaning and reference: what does the word ‘knowledge’ refer to in a given subject’s mouth? One can run a little detour through concepts if one wants: word meanings are concepts; the concepts are different; so the word is ambiguous. But what, if anything, does this ‘conceptual ascent’ contribute? I rather suspect that it does more to distract than to help. Steve Stich’s response to Sosa emphasizes concepts in a way that looks to me largely irrelevant:

There is a vast literature on concepts in philosophy and in psychology (Margolis and Laurence 1999; Murphy 2002; Machery forthcoming), and the question of how to individuate concepts is one of the most hotly debated issues in that literature. While it is widely agreed that for two concept tokens to be of the same type they must have the same content, there is a wide diversity of views on what is required for this condition to be met. On some theories, the sort of covert ambiguity that Sosa is betting on can be expected to be fairly common, while on others covert ambiguity is much harder to generate. For Fodor, for example, the fact that an East Asian pays more attention to communitarian factors while a Westerner emphasizes individualistic factors in applying the term ‘knowledge’ would be no reason at all to think that the concepts linked to their use of the term ‘knowledge’ have different contents (Fodor 1998).

But Fodor’s theory of concepts is not a theory of word meanings. What bearing does it have on whether there might be an Asian-American idiolect in which ‘knowledge’ means something other than knowledge? (I do mean this as a serious question; I’m less fluent in Fodor than I’d like.)

To my mind, the sort of view that Ernie needs to be worrying about is not Fodor’s but Burge’s. More on that in a future post, I think. For now, just this question: is anything usefully gained by thinking about Sosa’s suggestion here in terms of concepts?

Tags: ernest sosa, experimental philosophy, intuition, Stephen Stich, thought experiments

A conversation last night with Yuri and Andy helped me to get clearer on the argument I was trying to press in my last post. Here’s the much more succinct way to make the point. It’s an argument against forms of contextualism that put relevant alternatives into the proposition expressed by knowledge attributions.

Suppose I’m in a nonskeptical conversation, talking about Henry, who is standing in front of a barn. I have no reason to suspect any funny business, so I say, sensibly enough:

(K) Henry knows that he is standing in front of a barn.

Here are are three pretty plausible claims:

(1) If there isn’t any funny business going on, my utterance of K is true.

(2) If it turns out that (unbeknownst to me) Henry is in fake barn country, (looking at the only real barn) my utterance of K is false.

(3) My sentence (K) expresses the same proposition, whether or not it turns out that Henry is in fake barn country.

If you think all of these things, then you can’t think that the proposition I express builds in the relevant alternatives. Either the possibility that <the thing Henry is standing in front of is a fake barn> is relevant, or it’s not, but it’s his environment, not my context, that makes it relevant.

So if you want a Schaffer-style extra-argument-place approach to knowledge, this provides a reason not to let that argument place be one for a set of relevant alternatives. You might instead be a function from subject’s situations to sets of relevant alternatives.

Yesterday I also included a parallel argument relying on pragmatic encroachment sorts of cases. I think it’s a good argument too, but this one proceeds on less contentious premises.

Tags: contextualism, contrastivism, gettier cases, Jonathan Schaffer, knowledge, relevant alternatives

Suppose you agree with Jonathan Schaffer that ‘knows’ takes an extra argument place, and that variation in what fills this slot explains the context-sensitivity of ‘S-knows-that-p’ attributions. Knowledge relates, say, a subject, a proposition, and, let’s call it, the ‘epistemic standard’. Nothing yet is assumed about what sort of thing that is. Schaffer thinks the epistemic standard is a contrast class, or, equivalently, a question. So “George knows he has hands” can express either of these three-place knowledge relations, depending on the context:

(1) K (George, <George has hands>, {<George has hands>, <George is not the sort of creature who has hands>, <George has lost his hands>})

(2) K (George, <George has hands>, {<George has hands>, <George is deceived by an evil demon into thinking he has hands>})

We could disambiguate in English, saying, “George knows he has hands rather than stumps”, to get something like (1), or “George knows he has hands rather than being deceived by an evil demon into thinking he has hands” to get (2).

Identifying the epistemic standard with contrast classes does much of the work that a contextualist might legitimately seek — for instance, it disambiguates the sentence above into a modest one and one inconsistent with skeptical intuitions — but I think there might be a few reasons to prefer something different. Here are two related challenges to contrastivism that are not, I think, general challenges to the shifty variable approach.

Gettier cases. Suppose Henry’s in fake barn country, but you and I don’t have any reason to think that’s so. (Neither does he.) I say to you, “Henry knows that he’s looking at a barn.” My sentence is ambiguous; what’s the shifty epistemic standard? We can get an anti-skeptical reading with a contrast class of, e.g., barns and silos. But the antiskeptical reading in this case is very counterintuitive. To get the skeptical reading, which is the standard one, we need the contrast class to include fake barns. But given our situation, it’s quite mysterious how the fake barn possibility got to be part of the semantic content of my sentence. (Compare the possible world in which everything seems exactly the same to all three of us, but Henry is in real barn country.)

Low-Attributor, High-Subject Bank Cases. Hannah and Sarah are desperate to get to the bank before Monday, and they have good but not great reason to think they can go tomorrow. You and I don’t know and don’t care how important it is to them; I say to you: “Hannah knows the bank will be open tomorrow.” Here are two representative possible contrast classes: {<bank open tomorrow>, <bank not open Saturdays>}; {<bank open tomorrow>, <bank recently changed its policy and will be closed tomorrow>}. The latter is needed for the skeptical reading, which is the intuitive one; but what about me and my context could make it the case that this skeptical possibility is relevant? Again, compare the corresponding low-subject stakes version, which seems just the same to me.

Now I’m a good semantic externalist. So don’t take me to be arguing that in each case, the intrinsic similarity entails sameness of semantic content. The argument can’t go that directly. Nevertheless, in the relevant cases, it does look to me pretty strange that fake barns should appear in my content only if Henry happens to be in fake barn country, or that the policy-changing case is part of my content only if Hannah and Sarah’s stakes are high. Intuitively, these features to which I’m blind are relevant to the truth of the knowledge attributions, but they are not relevant to their truth conditions.

Contrary to contrastivism, the subject is not irrelevant; the subject’s practical and environmental features do play some role in determining what alternatives are relevant. This, to me, suggests that we might not want to put the relevant alternatives themselves into the semantics of my sentence. Don’t make epistemic standards contrast classes; we can let the shifty epistemic standard be something else. Here’s a modest suggestion: epistemic standards are functions from situations to contrast classes. A given standard tells you, for any situation the subject might be in, which possibilities are relevant. The speaker’s context fixes the standard; the standard and the subject’s situation fix the relevant alternatives. So speaker and subject are both ‘relevant’.

Notice, by the way, that you don’t have to go along with the encroachment stuff  to prefer this treatment to Schaffer’s. The Gettier case provides, I think, a less contentious way of motivating just the same point. If you’re one of those contextualists who is motivated in part by denying pragmatic encroachment, then you should think that no standard will deliver different alternatives for situations that differ only in stakes. (So you’ll explain away intuitions about bank cases.) But unless you’re also willing to explain away intuitions about Gettier cases, you should still have the standards be sensitive to the subject’s environmental situation.

Tags: contextualism, contrastivism, Jonathan Schaffer, knowledge, relevant alternatives

One of the questions I’ve been thinking about lately (unrelated to most of my recent blog posts) concerns the best linguistic implementation of contextualism about ‘knows’. I’ve committed myself to contextualism in a couple of papers, but so far I have tried to avoid a commitment to any particular semantic treatment of ‘knows’.

I take it the minimal commitment of contextualism starts with something like this: statements of the form ‘S knows that p’ can express different propositions in different conversational contexts. And to this, presumably, we add that the context-sensitivity of these sentences derives from the ‘knows’ — it’s not enough that various singular terms (the ‘S’s') or statements of propositions (the ‘p’s') are sometimes context-sensitive. But this leaves open some choices for what to do with ‘knows’.

One choice is to treat ‘knows’ as an indexical, which refers to different relations in different conversational contexts. Call this “indexicalism.” The other choice is not to treat ‘knows’ as an indexical, suggesting that something about it generates context-sensitivity in some other way. (It is unfortunate that ‘non-indexical contextualism’ has been used as a name for a different view, which is not a contextualist one by the standard of the previous paragraph.) Jonathan Schaffer has argued for a version of contextualism of this latter type. Schaffer’s view, ‘contrastivism,’ is that ‘knows’ univocally picks out a three-place relation, relating a subject, a proposition, and a contrast class. The contrast class is often left implicit in sentences of the form ‘S knows that p’, and so it is filled in tacitly; since different contexts will suggest different ways of filling it in, ‘S knows that p’ ends up expressing different propositions in different contexts. (Schaffer uses his terms differently, too; he calls my indexicalism ‘contextualism’.)

Schaffer’s isn’t the only way of being a contextualist who doesn’t treat ‘knows’ as an indexical. Contrastivism is only one example of a view of this kind — this kind of view needs a name! I really want to use ‘non-indexical contextualist’… do y’all think I could reclaim that label? I think the view I’m describing is extremely well deserving of that name… Anyway, whatever you want to call it, there are lots of things besides contrast classes that might be arguments for ‘knows’. I rather suspect that a view of this sort is correct, and one of my projects at the moment is to articulate such a view and explain why it might be preferable to any other form of contextualism.

So we have at least three different forms of contextualism on the table:

1. Indexicalism. ‘Knows’ is an indexical; which epistemic relation it expresses depends on the conversational context. As far as I can tell, no one has actually seriously defended this view, even though it’s often taken to be the standard claim of contextualism.
2. Contrastivism. Jonathan Schaffer’s view. ‘Knows’ univocally expresses a ternary relation Kspq, relating a speaker, a proposition, and a contrast class. This last is often filled in by the conversational context.
3. Non-contrastivist extra-argument-place views. (I guess we need a name for this one too.) ‘Knows’ univocally expresses a ternary relation Kspx, where x is something other than a contrast class, and is often filled in by the conversational context. Until we get more specific, we might think of x as standing generically for an ‘epistemic standard’.

I’m curious as to whether these exhaust the options for the contextualist. They do if the only ways that ‘S knows p’ can be relevantly context-sensitive are for ‘knows’ to be an indexical, or to take an extra argument place supplied by context. Anybody see any more choices here?

Tags: contextualism, contrastivism, indexicalism, Jonathan Schaffer, knowledge

For reasons exactly like the ones outlined in the previous post, these two claims are importantly distinct:

(1) If S knows p, then S can appropriately rely on p in practical reasoning.

(2) If S knows p, then p is warranted enough to justify S in phi-ing, for any phi.

I argued a couple of weeks ago that (1) is not strong enough to establish pragmatic encroachment. I suggested then that this was a problem for Fantl and McGrath; the discussion with Jeremy in the comments thread is part of what helped me to see the distinction between (1) and (2) more clearly. If their argument proceeded from (2), rather than (1), my argument doesn’t apply. However, in light of the important distinction between these two claims linking knowledge and action — I won’t speak for anybody else, but this is a distinction I certainly hadn’t been thinking clearly about before recently — we should, if relying on claims like (2), proceed carefully, distinguishing arguments for (2) from arguments for (1).

I gave in my most recent post, linked at the top, an argument against a strictly weaker principle than (2). If that argument was right, then (2) is false. Let phi be an action that, for accidental reasons concerning the background environment, is only justified if S has some super-knowledge access to p. The example from that post was, let phi be the assertion that p, and let the background be such that S has promised, in a morally weighty way, not to assert p unless S knows that she knows that she is absolutely certain that p; let p be known, but the higher condition not be met. Then S is not justified in phi-ing, under the circumstances, even though she knows p, and even though, were p better warranted, she would be.

But maybe that argument went a little too quick. For maybe it’s question-begging to assume, as I did, that one can know p without being in the super-epistemic position, under the circumstances described. Maybe the act of promising collapses that distinction. If so, then my argument against (2) can be resisted. Indeed, it’s sort of the point of (2) that the ‘standards’ for knowledge raise to as high a level as one might need in any given circumstance.

But — and here’s the main point of this post — one can retain (1) without collapsing that distinction. That’s another respect in which (1) is interestingly different from (2).

Tags: Fantl and McGrath, knowledge, knowledge norms, practical reasoning, pragmatic encroachment

Here’s a crazy thesis that nobody holds:

(1) If S knows that p, then S is permitted to assert that p.

There are boring counterexamples to (1). For instance, there are cases in which I am morally forbidden from asserting things that I know. This, of course, shows nothing interesting about the relationship between knowledge and assertion. So to capture the content of the interesting claim in the neighborhood, we move from (1) to something subtler and less crazy; maybe something like one of these:

(2) If S knows that p, then no epistemic shortcoming in S can explain why asserting that p would be inappropriate.

(3) If S knows that p, then S is in a strong enough epistemic position to assert that p.

(4) If S knows that p, then improving S’s epistemic position won’t put S in a position to assert p.

Maybe (2)-(4) are equivalent to one another; I’m not sure. They do a better job than (1) does at rendering certain kinds of cases of knowledge without assertability irrelevant. But they, too, are subject to conclusive refutation in a way orthogonal to the knowledge norm of assertion. My argument against (1) concerned cases in which I’m morally prohibited from asserting something, even though I know it — maybe telling the Nazis where the Jews are hiding or something like that. But there are also cases in which I’m morally prohibited from asserting something, even though I know it, where a failure in my epistemic position plays a role in explaining the prohibition. There are boring cases like this. For instance, suppose that I’ve made a promise to assert that p only if I know that q. (Maybe promising by itself is insufficient for the relevant duties; stipulate that we’re talking about a promise that carries serious moral weight.) Now suppose I know p, but don’t know q. It’s impermissible to assert that p, even though I know p — and even though a deficiency in my epistemic position plays a role in explaining why p is unassertable. These cases, too, show that (2)-(4) don’t get to the heart of the matter.

And it won’t help to relativize the claims about strength of position to p, either. That is, these attempts at the knowledge norm face the same problem:

(5) If S knows that p, then S is in a strong enough epistemic position with respect to p to assert that p.

(6) If S knows that p, then improving S’s epistemic position with respect to p won’t put S in a position to assert p.

(7) If S knows that p, then p is, for S, warranted enough to justify S in asserting that p.

For take the special case of the sort of example given above where q is a proposition about S’s epistemic position with respect to p. For instance, suppose I’ve promised not to assert p unless this condition is met: I know that I know that I’m absolutely certain that p. Suppose also that I know p, but don’t know that I know that I’m absolutely certain that p. Under the circumstances, p is unassertable, because my epistemic position with respect to p isn’t strong enough. But that doesn’t show us anything interesting about the knowledge norm of assertion, if the latter is meant to be understood as showing something interesting distinctively about assertion.

What the knowledge norm of assertion suggests is that there’s a special way that assertions can fail qua assertions. It says that if S knows p, then an assertion that p doesn’t fail in this particular way. It doesn’t provide any sufficient conditions for not failing in some other way, even when you build in all of these conditions about S’s epistemic position.

Therefore, none of (1)-(7) are closely related to:

(Norm) Knowledge is the constitutive norm of assertion.

This post has gone on long enough for now, but I’ll close by just asserting that many attempts to argue against the knowledge norm of assertion really look like arguments against some or all of (1)-(7); this is a mistake. I’ve argued that (1)-(7) are definitely false, for boring reasons that don’t have anything to do with assertion in particular. If all you have is a case along with intuitions about what is known and what is unassertable, and why it’s unassertable or under what circumstances that unassertability would be rectified, then you don’t have anything strong enough to speak directly to (Norm). To evaluate (Norm) via the method of cases, you’d need to have intuitions about whether the assertion suffers from a particular kind of failure qua assertion. These, I think, we rarely have at any kind of pretheoretic level.

Tags: assertion, knowledge, knowledge norms