Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. Departament de Filosofia Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. Departament de Filosofia
ENRA H ONAR 64 AN INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL REASON Núm. 64, 2020 ONAR ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) H https://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar ENRA H ONAR AN INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL ENRA G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason, reasoning and action OF THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL REASON García-Arnaldos, M. Dolores; Miguens, Sofia. Presentation. Reason, reasoning and action: puzzling out the mark of Anscombe.
Articles Teichmann, Roger. Meaning, Understanding and Action. 64 Sandis, Constantine. Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe. Cadilha, Susana. Anscombe reading Aristotle. G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason, reasoning and action Wee, Michael. Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance of Wittgenstein’s Anti-Scepticism. Richter, Duncan. “See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Witt- genstein on Animals and Intention. M. Dolores García-Arnaldos, Sofia Miguens (coords.) Melamed, Noam. Anscombe and the Unity of Intention. Narboux, Jean-Philippe. Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention. Grimi, Elisa. Anscombe and Wittgenstein. Özaltun, Eylem. What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I”. G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason, reasoning and action reasoning G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason,
Servei de Publicacions (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital), https://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar Núm. 64, 2020, ISSN 0211-402X Servei de Publicacions
COBERTA_enrahonar_64.indd 1 31/3/20 12:06 Equip de direcció Secretari David Casacuberta, director (UAB) David Hernández Abajo (UAB) Daniel Gamper (UAB) Jordi Riba (UAB) Thomas Sturm (ICREA, UAB) Redacció Yaiza Bocos, secretària (UAB) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Departament de Filosofia Consell de redacció 08193 Bellaterra (Barcelona). Spain Victòria Camps Cervera (UAB) Tel.: 93 581 16 18. Fax: 93 581 20 01 Manuel Cruz (Universitat de Barcelona) [email protected] Anna Estany Profitós (UAB) https://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar Víctor Gómez Pin (UAB) Carl Hoefer (ICREA, Universitat de Barcelona) Enraonar: «Discutir o examinar en una conversa» David Jou Mirabent (UAB) Subscripció i administració «Discutir o examinar en una conversación» Laura Llevadot (Universitat de Barcelona) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona “To discuss or examine in conversation” Joan-Carles Mèlich Sangrà (UAB) Servei de Publicacions Diccionari de la llengua catalana, IEC, 1995 Àngel Puyol (UAB) 08193 Bellaterra (Barcelona). Spain Daniel Quesada Casajuana (UAB) Tel.: 93 581 10 22 Enrahonar: «El manteniment arcaic de la h suggereix la riquesa semàntica i la càrrega històrica d’aquesta Marta Tafalla (UAB) [email protected] paraula... És un mitjà per donar lloc a nous enraonars, per desvetllar i incitar al diàleg… amb les exigències Josep M. Terricabras Noguera (Universitat de Girona) que comporta la pretensió de racionalitat i els límits d’una activitat que és un procés i encara no una pos- Joan Vergés (Universitat de Girona) Intercanvi sessió plena de l’espai racional.» Gerard Vilar (UAB) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Consell editorial Servei de Biblioteques «El mantenimiento arcaico de la h sugiere la riqueza semántica y la carga histórica de esta palabra... Es Francisco Bertelloni (Universidad de Buenos Aires) Secció d’Intercanvi de Publicacions un medio para dar lugar a nuevos enraonars, para despertar e incitar al diálogo... con las exigencias que Paula Casal (ICREA, Universitat Pompeu Fabra) 08193 Bellaterra (Barcelona). Spain comporta la pretensión de racionalidad y los límites de una actividad que es un proceso y todavía no una Jordi Cat (University of Indiana) Tel.: 93 581 11 93. Fax: 93 581 32 19 posesión plena del espacio racional.» Sabine Döring (Tübingen University) [email protected] Catarina Dutilh Novaes (Groningen University) “Maintaining the archaic ‘h’ in Enrahonar hints at the rich semantics and history of this word… It is a Alexander García-Düttmann (University of London) Composició: Mercè Roig way of providing a space for new ways of reasoning, for evoking and initiating dialogue… with the requi- María Herrera (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México) rements that the aim of rationality brings with it, and the limits of an activity that is a process, rather than Patricia Kitcher (Columbia University) the complete possession of rational responses.” Pauline Kleingeld (Groningen University) Edició i impressió Cristina Lafont (Northwestern University) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Josep Calsamiglia, «Presentació», Enrahonar 1 (1981), 3. Christoph Menke (Goethe-Universität Frankfurt) Servei de Publicacions Carlos Moya (Universidad de Valencia) 08193 Bellaterra (Barcelona). Spain Enrahonar, com el mot català «enra(h)onar», reivindica alhora el diàleg i la raó. Julián Pacho (Universidad del País Vasco) Tel.: 93 581 21 31 Enrahonar, como la palabra catalana enra(h)onar, reivindica a la vez el diálogo y la razón. Carlos Pereda (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México) [email protected] Enrahonar, like the Catalan word ‘enra(h)onar’, aims to propose both dialogue and reason. Francisca Pérez Carreño (Universidad de Murcia) http://publicacions.uab.cat/ Manuel Pérez Otero (Universidad de Barcelona) ISSN 0211-402X (paper) Yves Sintomer (Université Paris 8) ISSN 2014-881X (digital) Mauricio Suárez (Universidad Complutense de Madrid) Dipòsit legal: B. 13.550-1981 Carlos Thiebaut (Universidad Carlos III) Imprès a Espanya. Printed in Spain Lea Ypi (London School of Economics and Political Science) Imprès en paper ecològic Enrahonar és una revista acadèmica de filosofia fundada l’any 1981 i editada per la Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona (Departament de Filosofia). Enrahonar, com el mot català «enra(h)onar», reivindica alhora diàleg i raó, i posa un interès especial en les contribucions relacionades en certa manera amb la raó o la racionalitat teòrica i pràctica (enteses en aquest sentit genuí esmentat) en tots els seus aspectes i en totes les disciplines filosòfiques, com l’epistemologia, l’ètica, l’estètica, la metafísica, la filosofia de la ciència o la filosofia del llenguatge, de la ment, de l’acció, i també en els plantejaments històrics. Un tema preferent de recerca és la filosofia catalana. L’acceptació d’articles es regeix pel sistema de censors (double blind peer review), amb avaluadors externs. Enrahonar també publica notes bibliogràfiques i ressenyes i convida a presentar propostes de números monogràfics. Enrahonar té una periodicitat semestral (març i octubre). Tots els articles, notes i ressenyes es poden consultar i descarregar gratuïtament. Les normes del procés de revisió i les instruccions per als autors es poden consultar a: http://revistes. uab.cat/enrahonar/about Enrahonar es una revista académica internacional de filosofía fundada en 1981 y editada por la Univer- La revista Enrahonar ha estat successivament dirigida per Josep Calsamiglia, Josep Montserrat Torrents, Victòria sitat Autònoma de Barcelona (Departamento de Filosofía). Enrahonar pone un especial énfasis en las Camps, Gerard Vilar, Marta Tafalla i Jaume Mensa. contribuciones relativas a la razón o racionalidad teórica y práctica en todos sus aspectos y en las distintas Les opinions expressades en articles, notes, ressenyes o altres treballs publicats a Enrahonar són d’exclusiva disciplinas filosóficas, como la epistemología, la ética, la estética, la metafísica, la filosofía de la ciencia o responsabilitat dels seus autors. la filosofía del lenguaje, de la mente y de la acción, incluyendo también la perspectiva histórica. Un tema preferente de investigación es la filosofía catalana. La aceptación de artículos se rige por el sistema de censo- Bases de dades en què Enrahonar està referenciada res (double blind peer review), con evaluadores externos. Enrahonar también publica notas bibliográficas y reseñas e invita a presentar propuestas de números monográficos. Enrahonar tiene una periodicidad —CARHUS Plus+ —Directori of Open Access Journals (DOAJ) —The Philosopher’s Index semestral (marzo y octubre). Todos los artículos, notas y reseñas se pueden consultar y descargar gratui- —CiteFactor —ERIH Plus+ —Regesta Imperii tamente. Las normas del proceso de revisión y las instrucciones para los autores se pueden consultar en: —Clasificación Integrada de —ESCI (ISI-WoS) —Répertoire Bibliographique http://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar/about Revistas Científicas (CIRC) —FECYT de la Philosophie —COPAC —Índice Español de Ciencias Sociales —RESH Enrahonar is an international journal of philosophy founded in 1981 and published by the Universi- —Dialnet (Unirioja) y Humanidades (ISOC-CSIC) —Revistes Catalanes d’Accés Obert tat Autònoma de Barcelona (Department of Philosophy). The journal places emphasis on contributions —DICE-CINDOC —Latindex (RACO) concerning theoretical and practical reason or rationality in all of their aspects and across all philosophical —Dipòsit Digital de Documents —MIAR —Scopus disciplines, such as epistemology, ethics, aesthetics, metaphysics, philosophy of science, and philosophy of de la UAB (DDD) —Periodical Index Online —ULRICH’S language, mind, and action, as well as historical perspectives, with special attention given to Catalan phi- losophy. Contributions are accepted following a double-blind peer review process with external reviewers. Enrahonar es publica sota el sistema de llicències Creative Commons segons la modalitat: Enrahonar also publishes book reviews and bibliographical notes, and invites guest-edited special issues. Reconeixement (by): heu de reconèixer l’autoria de manera apropiada, proporcionar un enllaç a la llicència i indicar Enrahonar is published twice a year in March and October. All articles, notes, and reviews can be accessed si heu fet algun canvi. Podeu fer-ho de qualsevol manera raonable, però no d’una manera que suggereixi que el and downloaded for free. For author guidelines and details on the reviewing process, please visit: llicenciador us dóna suport o patrocina l’ús que en feu. http://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar/about
COBERTA_enrahonar_64.indd 2 27/3/20 15:54 Equip de direcció Secretari David Casacuberta, director (UAB) David Hernández Abajo (UAB) Daniel Gamper (UAB) Jordi Riba (UAB) Thomas Sturm (ICREA, UAB) Redacció Yaiza Bocos, secretària (UAB) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Departament de Filosofia Consell de redacció 08193 Bellaterra (Barcelona). Spain Victòria Camps Cervera (UAB) Tel.: 93 581 16 18. Fax: 93 581 20 01 Manuel Cruz (Universitat de Barcelona) [email protected] Anna Estany Profitós (UAB) https://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar Víctor Gómez Pin (UAB) Carl Hoefer (ICREA, Universitat de Barcelona) Enraonar: «Discutir o examinar en una conversa» David Jou Mirabent (UAB) Subscripció i administració «Discutir o examinar en una conversación» Laura Llevadot (Universitat de Barcelona) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona “To discuss or examine in conversation” Joan-Carles Mèlich Sangrà (UAB) Servei de Publicacions Diccionari de la llengua catalana, IEC, 1995 Àngel Puyol (UAB) 08193 Bellaterra (Barcelona). Spain Daniel Quesada Casajuana (UAB) Tel.: 93 581 10 22 Enrahonar: «El manteniment arcaic de la h suggereix la riquesa semàntica i la càrrega històrica d’aquesta Marta Tafalla (UAB) [email protected] paraula... És un mitjà per donar lloc a nous enraonars, per desvetllar i incitar al diàleg… amb les exigències Josep M. Terricabras Noguera (Universitat de Girona) que comporta la pretensió de racionalitat i els límits d’una activitat que és un procés i encara no una pos- Joan Vergés (Universitat de Girona) Intercanvi sessió plena de l’espai racional.» Gerard Vilar (UAB) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Consell editorial Servei de Biblioteques «El mantenimiento arcaico de la h sugiere la riqueza semántica y la carga histórica de esta palabra... Es Francisco Bertelloni (Universidad de Buenos Aires) Secció d’Intercanvi de Publicacions un medio para dar lugar a nuevos enraonars, para despertar e incitar al diálogo... con las exigencias que Paula Casal (ICREA, Universitat Pompeu Fabra) 08193 Bellaterra (Barcelona). Spain comporta la pretensión de racionalidad y los límites de una actividad que es un proceso y todavía no una Jordi Cat (University of Indiana) Tel.: 93 581 11 93. Fax: 93 581 32 19 posesión plena del espacio racional.» Sabine Döring (Tübingen University) [email protected] Catarina Dutilh Novaes (Groningen University) “Maintaining the archaic ‘h’ in Enrahonar hints at the rich semantics and history of this word… It is a Alexander García-Düttmann (University of London) Composició: Mercè Roig way of providing a space for new ways of reasoning, for evoking and initiating dialogue… with the requi- María Herrera (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México) rements that the aim of rationality brings with it, and the limits of an activity that is a process, rather than Patricia Kitcher (Columbia University) the complete possession of rational responses.” Pauline Kleingeld (Groningen University) Edició i impressió Cristina Lafont (Northwestern University) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Josep Calsamiglia, «Presentació», Enrahonar 1 (1981), 3. Christoph Menke (Goethe-Universität Frankfurt) Servei de Publicacions Carlos Moya (Universidad de Valencia) 08193 Bellaterra (Barcelona). Spain Enrahonar, com el mot català «enra(h)onar», reivindica alhora el diàleg i la raó. Julián Pacho (Universidad del País Vasco) Tel.: 93 581 21 31 Enrahonar, como la palabra catalana enra(h)onar, reivindica a la vez el diálogo y la razón. Carlos Pereda (Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México) [email protected] Enrahonar, like the Catalan word ‘enra(h)onar’, aims to propose both dialogue and reason. Francisca Pérez Carreño (Universidad de Murcia) http://publicacions.uab.cat/ Manuel Pérez Otero (Universidad de Barcelona) ISSN 0211-402X (paper) Yves Sintomer (Université Paris 8) ISSN 2014-881X (digital) Mauricio Suárez (Universidad Complutense de Madrid) Dipòsit legal: B. 13.550-1981 Carlos Thiebaut (Universidad Carlos III) Imprès a Espanya. Printed in Spain Lea Ypi (London School of Economics and Political Science) Imprès en paper ecològic Enrahonar és una revista acadèmica de filosofia fundada l’any 1981 i editada per la Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona (Departament de Filosofia). Enrahonar, com el mot català «enra(h)onar», reivindica alhora diàleg i raó, i posa un interès especial en les contribucions relacionades en certa manera amb la raó o la racionalitat teòrica i pràctica (enteses en aquest sentit genuí esmentat) en tots els seus aspectes i en totes les disciplines filosòfiques, com l’epistemologia, l’ètica, l’estètica, la metafísica, la filosofia de la ciència o la filosofia del llenguatge, de la ment, de l’acció, i també en els plantejaments històrics. Un tema preferent de recerca és la filosofia catalana. L’acceptació d’articles es regeix pel sistema de censors (double blind peer review), amb avaluadors externs. Enrahonar també publica notes bibliogràfiques i ressenyes i convida a presentar propostes de números monogràfics. Enrahonar té una periodicitat semestral (març i octubre). Tots els articles, notes i ressenyes es poden consultar i descarregar gratuïtament. Les normes del procés de revisió i les instruccions per als autors es poden consultar a: http://revistes. uab.cat/enrahonar/about Enrahonar es una revista académica internacional de filosofía fundada en 1981 y editada por la Univer- La revista Enrahonar ha estat successivament dirigida per Josep Calsamiglia, Josep Montserrat Torrents, Victòria sitat Autònoma de Barcelona (Departamento de Filosofía). Enrahonar pone un especial énfasis en las Camps, Gerard Vilar, Marta Tafalla i Jaume Mensa. contribuciones relativas a la razón o racionalidad teórica y práctica en todos sus aspectos y en las distintas Les opinions expressades en articles, notes, ressenyes o altres treballs publicats a Enrahonar són d’exclusiva disciplinas filosóficas, como la epistemología, la ética, la estética, la metafísica, la filosofía de la ciencia o responsabilitat dels seus autors. la filosofía del lenguaje, de la mente y de la acción, incluyendo también la perspectiva histórica. Un tema preferente de investigación es la filosofía catalana. La aceptación de artículos se rige por el sistema de censo- Bases de dades en què Enrahonar està referenciada res (double blind peer review), con evaluadores externos. Enrahonar también publica notas bibliográficas y reseñas e invita a presentar propuestas de números monográficos. Enrahonar tiene una periodicidad —CARHUS Plus+ —Directori of Open Access Journals (DOAJ) —The Philosopher’s Index semestral (marzo y octubre). Todos los artículos, notas y reseñas se pueden consultar y descargar gratui- —CiteFactor —ERIH Plus+ —Regesta Imperii tamente. Las normas del proceso de revisión y las instrucciones para los autores se pueden consultar en: —Clasificación Integrada de —ESCI (ISI-WoS) —Répertoire Bibliographique http://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar/about Revistas Científicas (CIRC) —FECYT de la Philosophie —COPAC —Índice Español de Ciencias Sociales —RESH Enrahonar is an international journal of philosophy founded in 1981 and published by the Universi- —Dialnet (Unirioja) y Humanidades (ISOC-CSIC) —Revistes Catalanes d’Accés Obert tat Autònoma de Barcelona (Department of Philosophy). The journal places emphasis on contributions —DICE-CINDOC —Latindex (RACO) concerning theoretical and practical reason or rationality in all of their aspects and across all philosophical —Dipòsit Digital de Documents —MIAR —Scopus disciplines, such as epistemology, ethics, aesthetics, metaphysics, philosophy of science, and philosophy of de la UAB (DDD) —Periodical Index Online —ULRICH’S language, mind, and action, as well as historical perspectives, with special attention given to Catalan phi- losophy. Contributions are accepted following a double-blind peer review process with external reviewers. Enrahonar es publica sota el sistema de llicències Creative Commons segons la modalitat: Enrahonar also publishes book reviews and bibliographical notes, and invites guest-edited special issues. Reconeixement (by): heu de reconèixer l’autoria de manera apropiada, proporcionar un enllaç a la llicència i indicar Enrahonar is published twice a year in March and October. All articles, notes, and reviews can be accessed si heu fet algun canvi. Podeu fer-ho de qualsevol manera raonable, però no d’una manera que suggereixi que el and downloaded for free. For author guidelines and details on the reviewing process, please visit: llicenciador us dóna suport o patrocina l’ús que en feu. http://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar/about
COBERTA_enrahonar_64.indd 2 27/3/20 15:54 Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 1-5
Sumari Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason Núm. 64, p. 1-218, 2020 ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) Les paraules clau són en llenguatge lliure https://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar
G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason, reasoning and action
7-17 García-Arnaldos, M. Dolores (Universidad CEU-San Pablo); Miguens, Sofia (Universidade do Porto) Presentation. Reason, reasoning and action: puzzling out the mark of Anscombe. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 7-17.
Articles
21-37 Teichmann, Roger (University of Oxford) Meaning, Understanding and Action. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 21-37. The criteria for a learner’s understanding the words of a language include acting appropriately. In the case of Anscombean modals (e.g., ‘You have to j’), these actions include whatever is specified in the modal statement (e.g., j-ing). Teaching language means instilling not just abilities, but inclinations, to do certain things. With non-learners there is a default presumption of linguistic competence, and this explains how an adult can be said to understand ‘You have to j’ while being generally disinclined to respond appropriately, i.e., by j-ing. (Dishonesty.) It’s possible for it to become normal for the members of some societal group to fail to respond appropriately to modal statements; such a situation may be one of con- ceptual and practical confusion, with the sort of corresponding bad faith alleged by Anscombe in connection with the ‘moral ought’. Since understanding modal statements is manifested in forms of voluntary action, the internalist view that one only has reason to obey a rule if doing so is conducive to the satisfaction of one’s desires turns out to be incoherent. Keywords: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; stopping modals; language; rules; internalism 2 Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 Sumari
39-62 Sandis, Constantine (University of Hertfordshire) Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 39-62. This paper argues that there was considerably more philosophy of action in moral theory before 1958 (when Anscombe complained of its lack under the banner ‘phi- losophy of psychology’) than there has been since. This is in part because Anscombe influenced the formation of ‘virtue theory’ as yet another position within normative ethics, and Anscombe’s work contributed to the fashioning of ‘moral psychology’ as an altogether distinct (and now increasingly empirical) branch of moral philosophy. Keywords: Anscombe; moral philosophy; virtue theory; normative ethics
63-79 Cadilha, Susana (Universidade Nova de Lisboa – IFILNOVA) Anscombe reading Aristotle. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 63-79. Under one particular reading of it, Anscombe’s ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ is con- sidered a seminal text in the revival of virtue ethics. Seen thus, Anscombe is imply- ing that it is possible to do ethics without using concepts such as ‘moral ought’ or ‘moral obligation’, the perfect example being Aristotelian ethics. On the other hand, Anscombe claims that it is not useful at present to engage in moral philosophy since she finds that ‘philosophically there is a huge gap… which needs to be filled by an account of human nature, human action, …and above all of human “flourishing”’ (Anscombe, 1958: 18). The gap Anscombe refers to appears where there should be a ‘proof that an unjust man is a bad man’. My aim in this paper is to discuss the various ways in which Anscombe’s theses can be interpreted, recalling two other philosophers for whom Aristotelian virtue ethics was also essential: P. Foot and J. McDowell. I will argue that Anscombe did not expect Aristotelian ethics to answer the problems modern ethics poses. Keywords: ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’; Aristotelian ethics; virtue ethics; moral naturalism; Philippa Foot; John McDowell
81-100 Wee, Michael (The Anscombe Bioethics Centre) Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance of Wittgenstein’s Anti-Scepticism. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 81-100. Elizabeth Anscombe is well-known for her insistence that there are absolutely pro- hibited actions, though she is somewhat obscure about why this is so. Nonetheless, I contend in this paper that Anscombe is more concerned with the epistemology of absolute prohibitions, and that her thought on connatural moral knowledge – which resembles moral intuition – is key to understanding her thought on moral prohibitions. I shall identify key features of Anscombe’s moral epistemology before turning to investigate its sources, examining the roots of connaturality in Aquinas and comparing it with rationalist ethical intuitionism, which Anscombe differs from in rejecting “good” as a simple, non-natural property. I then develop a two-stage argument about absolute prohibition: The first will be loosely Thomistic, while the second will suggest how Anscombe’s absolute prohibitions can be seen as a continua- tion of Wittgenstein’s anti-scepticism in On Certainty. I develop an account of abso- lute prohibitions as a form of Wittgensteinian hinge proposition – they are not the conclusions of deductive arguments, but the foundations for intelligibility in action. Keywords: connatural knowledge; virtue ethics; “Modern Moral Philosophy”; ethi- cal intuitionism; Aquinas; natural law; Tractatus; On Certainty; hinge propositions Sumari Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 3
101-112 Richter, Duncan (Virginia Military Institute) “See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Wittgenstein on Animals and Intention. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 101-112. Elizabeth Anscombe criticizes Ludwig Wittgenstein for talking about the “natural expression of an intention” in his Philosophical Investigations. I consider recent responses to this dispute, especially those by Richard Moran and Martin Stone (writing together) and by Martin Gustafsson. Moran and Stone explain why Ans- combe rejects talk of non-human animals expressing intention, but emphasize the importance of language so much that it becomes hard to see on what basis intentions can ever be non-arbitrarily attributed to animals. Gustafsson notices this problem, and offers a solution based on biology and, in particular, knowledge of what is and is not conducive to the flourishing of members of each species. However, this goes beyond what Anscombe says, and introduces other problems. I propose that we can sometimes simply see what an individual intends to do by observing its behavior, without reference to what is good or bad for members of its species. This is true to what Anscombe says and appears to avoid the problems faced by the other views considered. Keywords: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; animals; intention; expression; behavior
113-133 Melamed, Noam (Tel Aviv University) Anscombe and the Unity of Intention. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 113-133. The conviction that ‘intention’ is not semantically ambiguous but has a single and distinctive meaning frames the argument of Anscombe’s masterwork Intention. What this meaning is, however, is barely recognizable in her book. One reason for this difficulty is that Intention starts from a threefold division of the appearance of the concept in our natural language and proceeds to develop its various accounts piece- meal. Another is the obscurity of the notion of ‘practical knowledge’ it introduces, precisely for shedding the light that would make its topic perspicuous as a whole. The present article aims to amend this obscurity by providing both a schema of unity for the various parts of the division and an account of the fixed character of the concept. For the former task, the article recaptures Anscombe’s technical use of the term ‘a kind of statement’, uses it to clarify the nature of the division’s parts, and argues that they are co-constituted in a larger context of rational proceed- ings. Having done this, the article shows that the point of such proceedings is to dis- play the validity of practical reasoning in a given case. It analyses Anscombe’s account of this kind of validity, providing thereby the representation of the fixed character of ‘intention’ as a distinct form of thinking. Keywords: action; rationality; assertion and expression of intention; practical rea- soning; practical self-consciousness
135-163 Narboux, Jean-Philippe (Universität Leipzig & Université Bordeaux Montaigne) Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 135-163. It might seem that Anscombe’s book Intention dismisses the concept of the volun- tary as of secondary philosophical significance. However, this impression is mis- conceived and stems from a misunderstanding of Anscombe’s philosophy of action in general and the contribution of Intention in particular. The main contention 4 Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 Sumari
of this essay is that to understand the scope and nature of the contribution of Intention to an understanding of the voluntary we must come to terms with not only the positive account that the book advances on the basis of its methods but also the nature of the problems that it deliberately leaves out, based on these same methods, on the grounds that they involve considerations pertaining to ethics. This essay is divided into seven sections. The introductory section expounds the charge that Intention relegates the concept of the voluntary into the periphery of the philosophy of action. The next section places §49 within Intention as a whole. It seeks to explain why a systematic account of the voluntary is deferred until such a late stage in the inquiry. I then proceed to give a commentary of section §49 with the aim of unpacking and defending the various insights that are there systematically brought together against the background of the pivotal distinction between the intentional and the voluntary. Sections 3 to 6, which constitute the main bulk of this essay, are respectively devoted to the four headings under which Anscombe successively apprehends the distinction between the intentional and the voluntary in §49. Finally, in the last section, I try to bring out the underlying unity of the account of the voluntary given in §49 as well as the deliberate nature of the limitations in this account. Keywords: Anscombe; ethics; intentional action; voluntary action
165-179 Grimi, Elisa (European Society for Moral Philosophy) Anscombe and Wittgenstein. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 165- 179. In this study, I have focussed on the importance of Wittgenstein in the thought of Elizabeth Anscombe. Although Anscombe detached herself from her master’s approach, her encounter with him was extremely important in her own work. In particular, I will take into consideration common points and discrepancies between the two philosophers. I will also recall Anscombe’s An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus (first published in 1959) on its anniversary. Keywords: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; reason; cause; intention; action; mentalism; behaviourism
181-195 Özaltun, Eylem (Koç University) What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I”. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 181-195. That the study of the first-person reports of intentional actions, happenings, thoughts, and sensations as revealing the structure of self-consciousness was a cen- tral theme of Anscombe’s work in philosophy of mind has not been sufficiently registered in the literature. I aim to show that this theme animated many of her works throughout her writing career and her “The First Person” (1974) can be best understood as one of these works in the light of others. Keywords: Anscombe; first-person pronoun; self-consciousness; reference
Nota bibliogràfica
199-207 Grau i Arau, Andreu (Universitat de Barcelona) Muro Solans, Joan García del (2017). Soldats del no-res. Enrahonar, 2020, núm. 64, p. 199-207. Sumari Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 5
Ressenyes
209-212 Pogge, Thomas. Kant y Rawls: Filosofía práctica contemporánea (Jordi Jiménez Guirao). 213-214 Soto-Bruna, María Jesús (ed.). Causality and Resemblance: Medieval Approaches to the Explanation of Nature (Jaume Mensa i Valls). 214-216 Redondo, Pablo y Salgado, Sebastián. La isla de la verdad y otras metáforas en filosofía (Àlex Mumbrú Mora).
Necrològica
217-218 Obituari d’en Joan Rovira Sallés (Jesús Hernández-Reynés).
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 7-17
Presentation Reason, reasoning and action: puzzling out the mark of Anscombe
M. Dolores García-Arnaldos Universidad CEU-San Pablo [email protected] Sofia Miguens Universidade do Porto [email protected]
Reception date: 13-11-2019 Acceptance date: 8-1-2020
1. The topic and background Reasoning, as an exercise of the capacity of reason, is traditionally viewed as having two domains of application: theoretical and practical. The first domain, theoretical reasoning, raises intellectual questions about beliefs. These are ques- tions about what one should believe, questions about evidence and proof. Prac- tical reasoning is different in that it takes “praxis” itself as its subject. At stake is what the thing to do is in particular situations and contexts. Questions concern- ing the relationship of reasoning to motivation and intention then come to the fore, as does the specific relationship of reasoning to the nature of action. In this special issue our first interest is in exploring the mark Elizabeth Anscombe left on the way we approach questions of reason, reasoning and action. Anscombe may in fact be considered largely responsible for the current the shape of the philosophical theory of action, as R. Audi describes below: The concepts of reasons as supporting elements, of practical reason as a capac- ity, and of practical reasoning as a process are central in the theory of action. (Audi, 2004: 118)1 Yet such central issues in the theory of action are directly connected in Anscombe’s philosophy to wider issues such as the nature of practical knowl- edge and truth, the way moral philosophy works around a concept of virtue, or the relationships between the linguistic use of the first person and the status of self-knowledge. Also, if one wants to understand her philosophy as a whole, its relations to Wittgenstein’s thought are inescapable, as is her own interpre- tation of the work of a man she held as friend.
1. Of course, one could claim that Donald Davidson has such role but, precisely, we do not want to see things as such. We see the importance of the renewed interested in Anscombe’s work as countering such picture.
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1289 8 Enrahonar 64, 2020 M. Dolores García-Arnaldos; Sofia Miguens
Elizabeth Anscombe, the person, was a puzzling character. She was a bril- liant philosopher and she was an eccentric. She did not shy away from calling people ‘stupid’ (also in writing) when she did not agree with them. She was also, undoubtedly, an original thinker who was slow to gain recognition over the years given the difficulty of so much of her work2, which not only needs to be read patiently and attentively but also several times in order to achieve a non-simplistic understanding of her thought. Presenting the complexity of what appears to be simple was always one of Anscombe’s goals, as well as unmasking the banality of certain theories that, hidden behind labels and gestures, are presented as sophisticated (Wiseman, 2016: 2). This comes together in the fact that unlike most academic philosophers today, Anscombe did not view philosophy as a technical discipline but rather as the task of thinking about ultimate issues and addressing the most difficult questions (see Wiseman, 2016: 17). All things considered, the way Anscombe is received today is a complex matter. Her writings on the philosophy of mind and action are admired by many. As for some of her writings on morals, many modern-day readers polite- ly look away. Yet her positions in those fields are not unconnected. In what- ever case, not everything about Anscombe is applauded: there is also a lot of criticism and even reproach, and not only in relation to the contents of some of her writings on moral issues. For example, Simon Blackburn, who unhesi- tatingly describes Anscombe as one of the most influential moral philosophers of recent times, has no qualms about saying that this influence is largely unfor- tunate because of her particularly fierce and aggressive approach to morality and philosophy. Yet even though Blackburn rejects some of the applications of Anscombe’s ethics and in general dislikes her tone, he also recognizes that all moral theorists share with Anscombe the need to articulate the central ideas of the dignity and value of human life, and of the virtues necessary to live it well. What Blackburn cannot approve of with regard to Anscombe is the fact that she devoted much so more space in her work to justice than to “altruism, benevolence, charity, compassion, empathy, forgiveness, mercy, sympathy, or love” (Blackburn, 2005). All in all, he feels that such a difficult area as ethics requires a more delicate touch than Anscombe’s. We are well aware of the mixed reactions aroused by Anscombe’s work; we find them thought-provoking and bore them in mind while preparing this special issue of Enrahonar. It was conceived to mark the centenary of Ans- combe’s birth as well as the 50th anniversary of An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s
2. In order to have a realistic historical picture of Anscombe’s career and position in 20th century academic philosophy it is worth keeping in mind that by the time she began her studies at Oxford (1938), the University had admitted women for not so long (since the late 1870s) and degrees had started being awarded much more recently (in 1920). A cohort of well known (women) moral philosophers (Philippa Foot, Iris Murdoch, Mary Midgely and Mary Warnock) were Anscombe’s contemporaries at Oxford. These were all philoso- phers interested in understanding this intricate world – the ‘deeply puzzling world’ (Midge- ly, 2013) – rather than in dialectical academic disputes centred on discourse itself. Presentation Enrahonar 64, 2020 9
‘Tractatus’3 and our main goal was to promote the study of Anscombe’s work as starting point for highly diverse investigations in philosophy, and not just philosophy of mind and action or Wittgenstein’s interpretation thereof, but also general investigations into the nature of practical rationality as Anscombe, in her controversial way, saw it. Despite the possible controversy, both editors of this special issue find immense value in Anscombe’s work, although we discovered it through very different paths. For one of us (SM), Anscombe’s work has often been, in recent years when teaching philosophy of mind or philosophy of action, useful for spelling out what a Wittgensteinian position might be on such topics as consciousness or agency. Where Wittgenstein makes gnomic com- ments or asks seemingly mysterious questions (e.g. “An inner process stands in need of outward criteria” (Philosophical Investigations, §580) or “What is left over if I subtract the fact that my arm raises from the fact that I raise my arm?” (Philosophical Investigations, §621)), Anscombe provides us with fine, explicit analyses. The study of Anscombe has also been a way to go back to the topics of former publications on the philosophy of action whose funda- mental orientation was not completely satisfactory (see Mauro, Miguens and Cadilha, 20134). The other one of us (DGA) is particularly interested in epistemology and the nature of inference and justification. This led her to the study of theoret- ical and practical reasoning and to analyse diverse problems that each of them must overcome. Hence the interest in the idea of reasoning as a mental action: for Anscombe (Anscombe, 1981), inference is an action, like the action we perform when moving a chess piece. Anscombe believed in the need to broaden the class of actions that depend on practice to include following a rule and speaking a language. She discusses this in “The Question of Linguistic Idealism” (1981). If a special type of action is one in which the subject knows what he/she is doing, and this is what defines it as an action and not as a mere event or occurrence, then we would have to conclude that it is in the nature of action that the subject knows that he/she is the agent of that action, and so we fall back into circularity. The problem is how to get out of the explanatory circle. If we consider the notion of action, and which actions are relevant, as our object of study, we see that it can be claimed that intentional actions are the
3. The book was published in 1959 (2nd edition 1963) and it inaugurated a radical change in how the Tractatus was read. 4. This is a book of interviews with philosophers and theoreticians of action (Alfred Mele, Michael Bratman, Hugh McCann, Joshua Knobe, Daniel Hausman, George Ainslie). We used the same initial script for all interviews. The questions were the following: 1) In your view, what are the most central (or important) problems in the philosophy of action? 2) For some or all of the following problems – action, agency and agent – what do they contrast with most significantly? 3) Which of these are liable to be rational/irrational? 4) In what sense is the thing to do to be decided by what is rational? Are there limits to ration- ality? 5) What explains action, and how? What is the role of deliberation in rationality? 6) How is akrasia possible (if you think it is)? 10 Enrahonar 64, 2020 M. Dolores García-Arnaldos; Sofia Miguens relevant form of action. However, if intentional action is only one type of action, why is this form of action privileged? Such a question is usually addressed by saying that intentional action is important because it is explained with reference to rationality, since there is a close link between rationality and intention, to the extent that if an action is performed for a reason, then it is intentional. The problem then is that when we want to justify that the action is a special category of event for which we can give a reason, we fall into circularity. Anscombe describes this circularity in Intention: “Why is giving a start or gasp not an ‘action’, while sending for a taxi, or crossing the road, is one? The answer cannot be “Because the answer to the question ‘why?’ may give a reason in the latter cases”, for the answer may ‘give a reason’ in the former cases too; and we cannot say “Ah, but not a reason for acting”; we should be going round in circles” (Anscombe, 2000: §5). For Anscombe, the problem when defining an action as an event that is performed for a reason is that the reason why we perform the action is explained either as a reason-for-action or as a reason-for-something that occurs. How- ever, the latter is not useful. On the other hand, in the first case we count on the fact that ‘action’ is something we already understand whereas it is supposed to be that which requires explanation (see Ford, 2011: 99).
2. The contributions This special issue of Enrahonar gathers a wide variety of interesting materials on Anscombe’s work. The authors that responded to our challenge are also of quite diverse geographic provenance, coming the UK, France, Italy, Spain, Portugal and Turkey. We organized them around some of Anscombe’s biggest interests – modern moral philosophy, intention, interpretation of Wittgenstein and the first person. The articles concern, respectively, rationality, action, language and understanding (Roger Teichmann), modern moral philosophy before and after Anscombe (Constantine Sandis), Anscombe and Aristotelianism in moral phi- losophy (Susana Cadilha), the epistemology of moral prohibitions (Michael Wee), natural expression of intention according to Wittgenstein and Anscombe (Duncan Richter), the unity of ‘intention’ (Noam Melamed), voluntary action in Intention (Jean-Philippe Narboux), the relationships between Anscombe and Wittgenstein’s philosophies (Elisa Grimi) and finally the first person, by this meaning the relationship between first person reports and issues regarding consciousness and self-consciousness (Eylem Özaltun). We briefly describe the contents of the articles below. But first a few words about two of Anscombe’s major works, Intention and “Modern Moral Philosophy”. One of Anscombe’s biggest interests was ‘intention’. It is perhaps the topic her name is more intimately connected with, so it is well worth remembering the context in which Intention appeared. As Anscombe herself states in her introduction, Intention contains mostly the lectures she gave at Oxford University in 1957. A year earlier, the university had proposed the award of an honorary degree to the president of the United States, Harry S. Presentation Enrahonar 64, 2020 11
Truman5. Truman was appointed president after the death of Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1945 and it was he who gave the order to drop the atomic bombs on Japan that killed more than 80,000 civilians on impact and a similar num- ber over the next few months. In 1956, Anscombe published the pamphlet “Mr. Truman’s Degree” (1957b) in which she gave her reasons for opposing the proposition. She claimed Truman had done something that was clearly immoral in terms of traditional casuistry, i.e. had directly and deliberately used civilians as targets for a military attack. In the conclusion to her pamphlet, Anscombe wondered whether the ethics taught at Oxford were the cause or a symptom of the lack of moral sensitivity demonstrated by members of its academic body on this occasion. In a way, she was calling for open rational argumentation in ethics, beyond meta-ethics, and made it clear such argumen- tation applied very directly to practical real-world issues. Intention came to light as a development of certain pages of “Mr. Truman’s Degree”, as did an article published two years later, “Modern Moral Philoso- phy”, which expanded on the last two pages of the pamphlet. One of the debates raised by the case analysed in “Mr. Truman’s Degree” was the distinc- tion between murder and causing death, a distinction which is very often discussed from an ethical and legal standpoint. In “Modern Moral Philosophy” Anscombe claimed that moral philosophy cannot be productive without an adequate and prior philosophy of psychology. Three of the terms that required conceptual clarification before any ethical analysis were the three concepts that Anscombe introduces in Intention: “(…) ‘expression of intention for the future, intentional action, and intention in acting’ (contents, §1, p. i)” (Wise- man, 2016: 27). Some of the most relevant questions raised in Intention occur precisely in the light of this clarification and this special issue shows why they are still as relevant as ever. One of the ideas that Anscombe analyzes in “Modern Moral Philosophy” is the virtue of justice and what it is to be a “fair person”. As Teichmann (2018) underlines, this investigation covers a number of issues. In this context it is especially worth exploring and analyzing the relevance of ideas such as moral bedrock, moral ‘hinge propositions’ and connatural knowledge, among others. The first articles in this special issue are dedicated to this. In his article, Roger Teichmann assumes that the criterion for knowing whether someone understands the words of a language includes acting accord-
5. When Oxford University proposed to give an honorary degree to then ex- president Harry Truman, who had ordered the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Anscombe opposed it in a speech delivered to her colleagues in which she argued that one may as well honor Genghis Khan, Nero, or Hitler. In Truman’s defense, she heard it said that all he actually did was to sign his name on a piece of paper, that it wasn’t his aim to kill innocent civilians, and that his only intention was to end the war. This led her to think that it was worth a philosopher’s time to explain what it is to intend to do something, and so she decided to give a series of lectures on that topic, which grew into her Intention. (See “Mr. Truman’s Degree”, in Ethics, Religion, and Politics, and Mary Geach’s “Introduction”, in Human Life, Action and Ethics) (Stoutland, 2011: 4). 12 Enrahonar 64, 2020 M. Dolores García-Arnaldos; Sofia Miguens ingly. If we accept that understanding is manifested in the use of language, then by teaching a person the meanings of words, we are trying to instil in him or her an ability, and an inclination, to use those words correctly. He focuses on the use of modals as seen by Anscombe, for example, “you have to ϕ” (e.g. you have to collaborate). Actions include what is specified in the modal’s statements (ϕ -ing, solidarity). In the specific case of stopping and forcing modals, we also aim to instil the inclination to do (or not do) what is mentioned as what we “have to” or “cannot” do. According to Teichmann, we assume by default certain linguistic compe- tence in people who do not learn and this explains why there are people who say they understand “to have to collaborate” (you have to ϕ) while they are not willing to respond in an adequate way, that is, collaborating-solidarity (ϕ -ing) From here Teichmann argues that it becomes normal for members of some social group not to respond adequately to detention and/or forced modals of one kind or another. This situation gives rise to a certain conceptual and practical confusion that Anscombe already highlighted when she wrote about moral duty and ‘moral obligation’. Hence, Teichmann concludes that if we assume that the understanding of modal statements is manifested in forms of voluntary action, the internalist approach according to which one only has reason to obey a rule if doing so favours the satisfaction of one’s desires is inconsistent. For Teichmann, an inter- nalist on reasons for action adheres to the erroneous notion of logical independ- ence, that is, he/she considers thought, will and understanding to be logically independent of action because they are based on the idea that an action is performed in view of a reason for it and reason is found when one first seeks to satisfy one’s desires. Desires, for the internist, are independent of actions. In contrast, Teichmann holds that understanding, meaning, and action are close- ly intertwined and the desire that seeks the reason for action is subsequent to that action. Constantine Sandis’ article is a in-depth survey of the state of moral philos- ophy and philosophy of action before and after Anscombe’s 1958 “Modern Moral Philosophy”. A gallery of moral philosophers – “after 1958” and “before 1957” – are put into perspective in the light of Anscombe’s controversial claims in “Modern Moral Philosophy”. Many of this philosophers disagreed with Ans- combe. Sandis’ conclusions are not very optimistic – in fact he speaks of tragic irony. A great deal happened in moral philosophy and theory of action from 1958 that was neither predicted not intended by Anscombe and which actually went against her way of seeing how things should be. Her views gave rise to virtue ethics as simply one more option in normative ethics and to a strand of moral psychology with an eye on cognitive science. The general diagnosis of our times is that we have moral philosophy replete with consequentialist thinking obsessed with trolley-cases, a “philosophy of psychology” that has replaced con- ceptual explorations with cognitive science, an empirical moral psychology that is sceptical about character traits, the re-branding of psychology as cognitive science, and virtue ethics as a theory of ‘morally right action’. None of this was Presentation Enrahonar 64, 2020 13 intended by Anscombe. In fact, Sandis claims that, by comparison, things were better before her. Moral philosophy was in a much better shape between the beginning of the 20th century and the publication of “Modern Moral Philoso- phy” (two good examples being Ross and Prichard). The increased specialisation of academic philosophy led to an offshoot that went against both the spirit and the letter of “Modern Moral Philosophy”. Anyway, regardless of how one judg- es the accounts of action that Anscombe criticized, and the account she favoured in their place, Sandis last word is that “Modern Moral Philosophy” seems to have inadvertently created a wedge between ethics and action theory. In her article, Susana Cadilha looks at Anscombe’s “Modern Moral Theory” as a founding text in the revival of virtue ethics. Anscombe believed it is possi- ble to do ethics without using concepts such as ‘moral ought’ or ‘moral obliga- tion’ and the perfect example of this is Aristotelian ethics. On the other hand, Anscombe claims that moral philosophy is not useful at present, since she finds that philosophically there is a huge gap that needs to be filled by an account of human nature, human action and human ‘flourishing’. The gap Anscombe refers to appears where there should be “proof that an unjust man is a bad man”. Cadilha’s aim in her paper is to discuss the various ways in which Ans- combe’s theses can be interpreted. For that she brings in two other philosophers for whom Aristotelian virtue ethics was also essential – Philippa Foot and John McDowell. Cadilha finally argues that Anscombe did not expect Aristotelian ethics to answer the problems that modern ethics poses. Michael Wee’s article deals with an issue in ethics: absolute prohibition. Anscombe is well-known for her insistence that there are absolutely prohibit- ed actions, yet she is somewhat obscure about why this is so. Wee claims that Anscombe’s view of connatural moral knowledge (which resembles moral intuition) is key to understanding her thoughts on moral prohibitions. He identifies key features of Anscombe’s moral epistemology before going on to investigate its sources. He examines the roots of connaturality in Aquinas and compares it with rationalist ethical intuitionism (which Anscombe differs from by rejecting ‘good’ as a simple, non-natural property). Wee then produces a two-stage argument about absolute prohibition: the first stage is loosely Thom- istic, while the second suggests how Anscombe’s absolute prohibitions can be seen as a continuation of Wittgenstein’s anti-scepticism in On Certainty. He presents an account of absolute prohibitions as a form of Wittgensteinian hinge propositions – they are not the conclusions of deductive arguments, but rather the foundations for intelligibility in action. Noam Melamed’s article starts from the conviction that ‘intention’ does not change in meaning across various contexts but must represent a single and distinctive concept that frames the argument of Anscombe’s Intention. The problem is that there is barely any recognizable account of this concept or the schema of its overall unity in her book. One reason for this is that Intention starts from a threefold manifestation of the concept in our natural language and proceeds to develop their accounts piecemeal. Another is that the notion of practical knowledge it introduces is too obscure to shed the light that is 14 Enrahonar 64, 2020 M. Dolores García-Arnaldos; Sofia Miguens precisely required to make the topic perspicuous as a whole. His article tries to address such obscurity, first by recapturing the features of Anscombe’s phil- osophical logic and then by using them to account for the threefold division and its co-constitution in a wider context of rational conduct. Having done this, the investigation turns away from the epistemology of action and towards Anscombe’s view of its logic, where it becomes clearer that this broader context displays a distinct form of thinking. In his article, Duncan Richter takes up the fact that Anscombe criticizes Wittgenstein for discussing the “natural expression of an intention” in Philo- sophical Investigations. He considers recent responses to this dispute, especially those by Richard Moran and Martin Stone (writing together) and by Martin Gustafsson. Moran and Stone explain why Anscombe rejects talk of non-human animals expressing intention but emphasize the importance of language so much that it becomes hard to see on what basis intentions can ever be non-arbitrarily attributed to animals. Gustafsson notices this problem, and offers a solution based on biology and, in particular, knowledge of what is and is not conducive to the flourishing of members of each species. However, this goes beyond what Anscombe says and introduces new problems. Richter proposes that we can sometimes simply see what an individual intends to do by observing its behav- iour, without reference to what is good or bad for members of its species. He claims that this is true to what Anscombe says and appears to get around the problems with the other views considered. In his article, Jean-Philippe Narboux deals with an issue that is surprisingly often left unaddressed in discussions around Anscombe: voluntary action. He acknowledges that Intention might seem to dismiss the concept of the voluntary as being of philosophical significance. However, he believes that the impression is misconceived. It stems from a misunderstanding of Anscombe’s philosophy of action in general and of the contribution of Intention in particular. The main contention of his article is that to understand the scope and nature of Intention’s contribution to an understanding of the voluntary, we must come to terms not only with the positive account that the book presents on the basis of its methods, but also the nature of the problems that, on the basis of these same methods, it deliberately shuns, on the ground that they involve consider- ations pertaining to ethics. The article is divided into seven sections, starting by placing section §49 within Intention as a whole. It seeks to explain why a systematic account of the voluntary is deferred until such a late stage of the inquiry. The author then proceeds to offer a commentary on section §49, with the aim of unfolding and defending the various insights into the topic of the voluntary which he systematically brings together against the background of the pivotal distinction between the intentional and the voluntary. Sections 3 to 6 constitute the main bulk of the essay and are respectively devoted to the four headings under which Anscombe successively apprehends the distinction between the intentional and the voluntary in §49. Finally, in the last section, Narboux tries to bring out the underlying unity of the account of the voluntary given in §49 as well as the deliberateness of the limitations of this account. Presentation Enrahonar 64, 2020 15
Elisa Grimi enriches this volume with her article focusing on Anscombe and Wittgenstein. Her hommage to Anscombe extends to her teacher, for the philosophical closeness between Wittgenstein and Anscombe is indisputable and left a deep mark on her work. Yet Anscombe was able to develop her own philosophy and to distance herself from her master. In her study, Grimi shows both common points and discrepancies between the two philosophers. Most- ly by going back to Anscombe’s An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s “Tractatus”, first published in 1959, Grimi points out how Wittgenstein’s writings con- nected with the Tractatus are decisive for understanding the maturation of Ans- combe’s thought. In particular, she focuses on two topics: the critique of men- talism and the distinction between causes and reasons found in Intention. Grimi shows the complex way in which Wittgenstein’s work and the develop- ment of Anscombe’s thought are related, and dwells on some of the main points of Wittgenstein’s philosophy. This is needed to understand Anscombe’s thought, as well as the book she wrote on Wittgenstein which changed the way the Tractatus is interpreted. In her article, Eylem Özaltun starts from Anscombe’s The First Person to arrive at conclusions concerning subjectivity and consciousness. The study of first-person reports of intentional actions, happenings, thoughts, and sensations as revealing of the structure of self-consciousness was a central theme of Ans- combe’s work on philosophy of mind; Özaltun believes this has not been suf- ficiently registered in the literature. She aims to show that this theme animated many of Anscombe’s works throughout her career and that “The First Person” (1974) is best understood as one among these and in the light of others. In this essay, Anscombe discusses some of the peculiar features of the first-person pronoun. She defends, according to many commentators (e.g. McDowell, Campbell, Stainton), a notoriously false view that “I” does not refer. Even for Anscombe’s most sympathetic readers, the conclusion is this is at best a confusion or a special, narrow, use of the notion of reference. The commen- tators mostly draw this conclusion by focusing on two arguments they take Anscombe to give, and show that they are not good arguments. Özaltun calls them “Argument from Immunity to Error Through Misidentification” and “Anti-Cartesian Argument”. She claims that if we see “The First Person” as part of a project of understanding self-consciousness and its structural dis- tinctness from consciousness, and the role of “I” in expressing self-conscious- ness and its peculiarities as revealing the structure of the thoughts it is used to express, this change of focus will provide a much better reading of Ans- combe’s article, whereby the passages in which the commentators found those arguments take on a different meaning and turn out not to be intended as direct arguments for her claim that “I” does not refer. Once we understand what is at stake in Anscombe’s insistence that “I” does not refer in the light of her other works, the conclusion starts to look much more palatable. These are the articles in this special issue. We hope the collection will be of some value to anyone involved in philosophical research, and that they will find inspiration in Anscombe for future work. We would like to thank the 16 Enrahonar 64, 2020 M. Dolores García-Arnaldos; Sofia Miguens following people for their help in making this volume possible: the authors for their high-quality articles, the reviewers whose reports we independently solicited and finally the editorial staff of Enrahonar (especially David Casacu- berta) for their/his support during the work on this issue.
Bibliographical references Anscombe, G. Elizabeth M. (1957a). Intention. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. (2nd ed., 1963 Cambridge: Mass. 2000). — (1957b). “Mr Truman’s Degree”. Pamphlet published by author. Reprint- ed in Ethics, Religion and Politics. Collected Philosophical Papers Volume II. Blackwell (1981), 62-71. — (1959). An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus. London: Hutchinson. — (1981). “The Question of Linguistic Idealism”. In: The Collected Papers, vol. 1, From Parmenides to Wittgenstein. Oxford: Blackwell, 122-133. — (1989). “Practical Inference”. Reprinted in M. Geach and L. Gormally (eds.). Human Life, Action and Ethics. Exeter: Imprint Academic (2005), 109-147. — (2002). Three Philosophers: Aristotle, Aquinas, Frege, with Peter Geach. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. — (2005). “Modern moral philosophy”. In: M. Geach and L. Gormally (eds.). Human Life, Action and Ethics. Exeter: Imprint Academic. Audi, Robert (2004). “Reasons, Practical Reason, and Practical Reasoning”. Ratio, XVII (2), 118-149. Blackburn, Simon (2005). Review from TLS: G.E.M. Anscombe; Mary Geach (ed.); Luke Gormally (ed.). Human Life, Action and Ethics, St. Andrews: St Andrews Studies in Philosophy and Public Affairs. Retrieved from:
— (2011). “Anscombe on Bodily Self-Knowledge”. In: Ford. A.; Hornsby, J. and Stoutland, F. (eds.). Essays on Anscombe’s Intention. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 128-146. Midgley, Mary (2005). The Owl of Minerva: A Memoir. London: Routledge. — (2013). Letter published in Guardian (28 November), available at:
ARTICLES
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 21-37
Meaning, Understanding and Action
Roger Teichmann University of Oxford [email protected]
Reception date: 8-10-2019 Acceptance date: 9-12-2019
Abstract
The criteria for a learner’s understanding the words of a language include acting appro- priately. In the case of Anscombean modals (e.g., ‘You have to j’), these actions include whatever is specified in the modal statement (e.g., j-ing). Teaching language means instill- ing not just abilities, but inclinations, to do certain things. With non-learners there is a default presumption of linguistic competence, and this explains how an adult can be said to understand ‘You have to j’ while being generally disinclined to respond appropriately, i.e., by j-ing. (Dishonesty.) It’s possible for it to become normal for the members of some societal group to fail to respond appropriately to modal statements; such a situation may be one of conceptual and practical confusion, with the sort of corresponding bad faith alleged by Anscombe in connection with the ‘moral ought’. Since understanding modal statements is manifested in forms of voluntary action, the internalist view that one only has reason to obey a rule if doing so is conducive to the satisfaction of one’s desires turns out to be incoherent. Keywords: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; stopping modals; language; rules; internalism
Resum. Significat, comprensió i acció
Els criteris perquè un estudiant entengui les paraules d’un idioma inclouen actuar de manera apropiada. En el cas de la lògica modal d’Anscombe (p. ex. Haver de j), aques- tes accions inclouen el que s’especifica en la declaració modal (p. ex. gerundi-gerundi). Ensenyar un idioma significa inculcar no només habilitats sinó també inclinacions per fer certes coses. En el cas dels no estudiants, existeix una presumpció predeterminada de com- petència lingüística, i això explica que es pugui dir que un adult comprèn «Ha de» mentre que generalment no està disposat a respondre adequadament, és a dir, fent j-gerundi. (Deshonestedat.) És possible que es consideri normal que els membres d’algun grup social no responguin adequadament a les declaracions modals. Aquesta situació pot ser resultat d’una confusió conceptual i pràctica, amb el tipus de mala fe corresponent al·legada per Anscombe en relació amb el «deure moral». Atès que la comprensió de les declaracions modals es manifesta en formes d’acció voluntària, resulta incoherent la visió internalista que un només té raons per obeir una regla si fer-ho és propici per satisfer els desitjos. Paraules clau: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; modals d’interrupció; llenguatge; regles; inter- nalisme
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1271 22 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Roger Teichmann
Summary
1. Understanding stopping 4. Travails of internalism and forcing modals 5. Conclusion 2. Abilities and inclinations Bibliographical references 3. Illusion and confusion
1. Understanding stopping and forcing modals When does a child count as understanding the meaning of ‘plus’? Roughly speaking, when she has sufficiently mastered the skill of addition; in other words, when she often enough uses ‘plus’ (‘+’) in the right way, where that especially means: doing correct calculations employing the symbol. ‘Often enough’ is of course vague. We encounter the same vagueness when faced with the question, ‘When can a child play the piano?’ Answer: when she sufficient- ly often gets things sufficiently right on the piano (playing scales, pieces, etc.). There is a general point here about language-mastery. As Wittgenstein famously wrote: ‘For a large class of cases…in which we employ the word “meaning” it can be defined thus: the meaning of a word is its use in the lan- guage’ (PI 43).1 Using a word is a form of activity. To characterise the use of a word, one will often need to locate that use within a certain language-game, i.e., a rule-governed practice in which various words or expressions are used in interlocking ways. The term ‘rule-governed’ here points to the difference between correct and incorrect uses of words. Understanding a word means having the ability to use it correctly, often enough. Although all word use may be called ‘activity’, involving various kinds of actions (assertion, questioning, exclamation, apology…), there are certain uses of words which are bound up with action in a very direct way. I have in mind two kinds of language-game: that involving imperatives, and that involving what Anscombe calls stopping and forcing modals. When does a child count as understanding the meaning of such imperative forms as ‘Come here’, ‘Pass the butter’ or ‘Don’t do that’? The natural answer is: ‘When she responds appropriately often enough.’ And ‘responding appropriately’ presumably means obeying or complying with the command or request. (Perhaps we should additionally require that she develop the ability to use imperatives herself.) Stopping and forcing modals are linguistic cousins of imperatives. Ans- combe introduces them in the course of explicating, and then jumping free of, a certain circularity that we are liable to encounter when we try to say what a promise is (see, e.g., Anscombe, 1981a, 1981d). To say what a promise is, we need at least to say this: that if you promise to j, you bring it about that you
1. I will refer to Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations (Wittgenstein, 1958) as ‘PI’; unless otherwise specified, numbers refer to the numbered sections of Part I of that work. Meaning, Understanding and Action Enrahonar 64, 2020 23 have to j. But what does ‘have to’ mean? Is it this: that you have to j, or you’ll upset the other person? But you might not upset them; they might never even discover that you broke the promise. Moreover, perhaps I would upset some- one to whom I’d expressed an intention (to be at a meeting, say) if I changed my mind and didn’t do what I said I’d do; but that fact wouldn’t turn my expression of intention into a promise. How about this: you have to j, because if you don’t you’ll commit a wrong? But how shall we say what the ‘wrong’ is, except by calling it ‘breaking a promise’? (A circle.) So is it this: you have to j if you wish to obey the Rule of Promising? But what is the rule? Isn’t it: If you promise to j, you have to j? (Another circle.) We still haven’t explained this ‘have to’. Anscombe notes that we will be unable to solve this problem so long as we attempt to give non-circular analyses of such expressions as ‘promise’ and ‘have to’ (or of sentences employing them). She proposes that we instead look to how these words are used, and especially to how they are taught and learnt. This is what she does; and her investigation yields a number of findings, one of which concerns the difference between mere imperatives, such as ‘Move your king’, and statements like ‘You have to move your king’. The meaning and function of the latter, she points out, is bound up with another kind of statement, which she calls a logos; the logos might for example be ‘Your king is in check’. In the case of promising, ‘You promised to do X’ would be a logos for ‘You have to do X’, and the meanings of these two statements cannot be understood independently of one another. They must be learnt together as part of a package deal. ‘Stopping/forcing modal’ and ‘logos’ are technical terms, for which Ans- combe does not give explicit definitions, reasonably enough. Should we take the characteristic just mentioned, of there being a mutual conceptual dependence between logoi and their correlative modal statements, as definitive of logoi? It seems not. For you could, e.g., take some already-grasped concept and stipulate that this concept is to have the reason-giving force of a logos in the game you are inventing or explaining. ‘Everyone dances around and when the music stops, you have to sit on a chair if you can.’ This rule yields such statements as ‘You have to sit down – the music has stopped!’ Clearly, we understand the mean- ing of ‘The music has stopped’ independently of learning the rule. Neverthe- less, it can be said that one learns a new role for ‘The music has stopped’, and understanding this role is indeed tied up with understanding the meaning of ‘You have to sit down’. When does a child count as understanding the meaning of the modal, ‘You have to’ (‘You’re meant to’, etc.)? She needs to be able to ask or answer the question ‘Why?’; if asked it, she’ll need to be able to give a logos, for instance by saying ‘Your king is in check’. If ‘You have to’ is addressed to the child and an appropriate logos is given, then presumably she’ll need to respond appro- priately often enough if she is to count as having mastered this bit of language. As with imperatives, ‘responding appropriately’ means doing the thing which she ‘has to’ do. 24 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Roger Teichmann
Normal adults understand imperatives and understand stopping/forcing modals. They were taught the use of these expressions as children and have not forgotten how to use them. So if understanding is a matter of ‘responding appropriately’, can we infer that any normal adult will typically, or even quite often, obey authoritative commands, comply with requests, keep promises… and generally speaking not break the rules? Would that it were so! What, then, is the difference between my not understanding the rules of poker and my cheating at poker? What is the difference between my failing to grasp that I should keep a promise and my simply ignoring the obligation which I have put myself under? The significance of such questions is at once conceptual and ethical. (Phi- losophy and ethics are continuous.) The ethical aspect of the issue can be seen in the fact that someone’s not understanding a rule will typically excuse his breaking it; in many cases we might even decide that such inadvertent rule-breaking isn’t rule-breaking at all, strictly speaking. I say ‘typically excuse’ because a lack of understanding of this sort isn’t always taken to be exculpa- tory: see, for instance, the legal principle that ignorance of the law is no defence (ignorantia juris non excusat). Ignorance here includes not understand- ing. But when the rule or rules in question go to constitute a practice, as chess is constituted by its rules, the ‘wrong’ committed by one who breaks a rule cannot be understood independently of the existence of the rule;2 it was this fact which threatened circularity in our account of promises, a circularity Anscombe avoided by invoking the learning and use of modals and logoi. The law against murder, by contrast, forbids something which is independently wrong or wicked, and here at least the rationale for the above-mentioned legal principle is pretty clear. But the inadvertent breaking of constitutive rules is surely prima facie excusable. This is in part due to the conventionality (arbi- trariness, one might say) of the forms specified or assumed by the rules - e.g., the shape of a given chess piece, or the actions that embody the donation of something to someone. One who is unaware, or not fully aware, of the signif- icance of these conventional forms doesn’t thereby show a bad character. In everyday life there are straightforward criteria for determining if some- one knew he was meant to j, although he didn’t j. If he knew he was meant to j, he of course understood the relevant formula, ‘You’re meant to j’; so these criteria are also criteria for his understanding the formula. Here are some examples. If caught out, the person might admit he’d broken the rule; or if put on the spot and asked, ‘Now what were you meant to do?’ he might just tell us. Or again, we might have witnessed him readily following the rule in other circumstances; or – often noteworthy – he might have insisted on others’ following the rule, been aggrieved when they didn’t do so, and so on.
2. A practice like promising is necessary for the attainment of important human goods, as Anscombe argues, so the wrong involved in breaking a promise is not merely that of breaking some rule or other. Meaning, Understanding and Action Enrahonar 64, 2020 25
Equally, there are everyday criteria for someone’s not understanding a rule, or not knowing about it, or not knowing that it applied in a given situation. If he is still a learner, that itself is a fact with criterial weight. If an adult, then sincere expressions of surprise when we berate him for not j-ing will indicate a lack of knowledge or understanding. Or he might have suffered a stroke with consequent amnesia. Et cetera. With language-mastery in general, the default position is that a person above a certain age and of normal intelligence will understand the words he is using, or which others use when talking to him.3 This default position is not something that we adopt for pragmatic or epistemic reasons; it is not, e.g., based on inductive assessments of the probability of someone’s understanding something. (The past ‘evidence’ for such an assessment would have to include a great deal of unquestioned linguistic intercourse – unquestioned because the default position is that people know what their words mean!) Rather, the nature of this default position is similar to that described by Anscombe in her article, ‘On Brute Facts’ (Anscombe, 1981b). In ‘On Brute Facts’, Anscombe discusses the move from certain premises to a conclusion like ‘X owes Y £10’. (The premises could include ‘X ordered potatoes from Y’, ‘Y delivered a sack of potatoes’, etc.) For this human practice to be possible (= practicable), moves or inferences of this sort must be allowed to stand in the absence of defeating circumstances; that is to say, if certain facts hold, the default position is that X owes money to Y. Defeating circumstances are circumstances such as: that half the potatoes were rotten; that the bag was left two miles from X’s house; that X and Y were both acting in a film. It is not possible in advance to state exhaustively what may count as defeating circumstances – again, not for ‘pragmatic reasons’, but rather because of the fluid and creative nature of human institutions, and because of the ‘imponderable evidence’ on which we so often rely in our dealings with our fellow human beings.4 For linguistic intercourse to be possible (= practicable), it is likewise nec- essary that a person is taken to be ‘playing the language-game’ in the absence of defeating circumstances. And this is obviously so for the sorts of lan- guage-games I’ve been alluding to, such as that of promising. Earlier, I men- tioned two sets of criteria, those for determining understanding and those for determining lack of understanding, and it is in fact the second of these which is going to be more pertinent to our question, ‘What is the difference between
3. We should perhaps add that the person ‘belongs to the linguistic community’, since no one will understand what’s said in an unfamiliar language. But to belong to a linguistic com- munity is simply to understand a whole lot of words and expressions (as speaker, reader, audience…); so the ‘default position’ I’m referring to is not adopted prior to talking and listening to someone, but itself crystallises in those moments during which one’s interacti- on with the person enables one, through a host of contextual and other ‘clues’, to proceed automatically in one’s dealings with them as with a speaker of English (French/Catalan/ Hindi…). 4. The phrase is Wittgenstein’s; see PI, II xi, p. 228. 26 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Roger Teichmann my failing to grasp that I should keep a promise and my simply ignoring the obligation which I have put myself under?’ If you are an adult of normal intelligence, and you say ‘I promise I’ll take you to the airport’, then your subsequent protestation that you didn’t know what promises were will not be allowed any weight unless you can plausibly cite some (rather extraordinary) circumstance, capable of defeating the default assumption of linguistic com- petence.5 It is not for us to invoke criteria of understanding, it is for you to invoke criteria of non-understanding. It is tempting to ‘look inwards’ here in the manner of Descartes and insist that whatever I did and said, and whatever the external circumstances, my understanding of my own words, or lack of it, is a purely internal – perhaps even private – matter. I will not here rehearse the critique of the Cartesian picture which we find in the later Wittgenstein, beyond saying this: insofar as the desire to ‘look inwards’ arises from the recognition that it can always turn out that someone didn’t after all understand what he was saying (e.g.), this latter fact is central to, and accounted for by, the picture adumbrated above, with its reference to default positions, criteria and defeasibility.
2. Abilities and inclinations Teaching language means teaching abilities – in other words, training. The bare notion of an ability or skill differs from that of an ethical virtue, in a way delineated by Aristotle (and later by Aquinas). An ethical virtue like honesty involves not just the ability to give a customer the correct change (say), but the desire or inclination to do so. By contrast, being good at spelling amounts, roughly, to being able to spell words correctly if you want to. For this reason, misspelling a word on purpose doesn’t impugn your skill as a speller in the way that misspelling it inadvertently does; whereas walking off with someone else’s wallet on purpose impugns your claim to be honest while walking off with it accidentally does not. When we teach a child the use and meaning of modals like ‘You have to’ and ‘You cannot’, we aim to bring it about that the child regularly forms the inclination to j when he has understood that he ‘has to’ j. Indeed, as was said above, it would seem to be a criterion of his understanding the modal that he responds appropriately, i.e., voluntarily js, often enough. Thus, in teaching this bit of language, we are not imparting a mere ability, if that means the ability to do X if one wants to (to do X being to j in response to ‘You have to j’). We are aiming to impart a readiness or inclination to do certain things. A child who never responds appropriately to ‘You have to j’ may be said not to have mas- tered the language game at all; one who responds appropriately but not often enough will either be deficient in understanding or deficient in will – which of these it is will depend on whether, and to what extent, we can appeal to the
5. As is hinted in footnote 3, the term ‘assumption’ is not a psychological one. Shared ‘assump- tions’ are manifest in human procedures. Meaning, Understanding and Action Enrahonar 64, 2020 27 sort of criteria of (non-)understanding discussed earlier. What I have called deficiency in will might, depending on the case, strike us as deficiency in virtue (naughtiness), or slowness to acquire virtue, or some such. We will be more likely to talk of imperfect virtue where the case is that of the modals governing the promising language game than where it is that of the modals governing the playing of chess. Deficiency in will as regards playing by the rules in chess would look like boredom, or contrariness, or whim. (Which is not to say that these phenomena lie outside ‘the ethical’.) In fact the teaching of language quite generally aims to instil more than just the ability to use words correctly. It is not enough that the learner can give the correct answer to ‘a + b = ?’ when he wants to; he also needs to be someone who generally does want to give the correct answer, in the sense that this is his default inclination: he is not someone who quite often feels like giving an incorrect answer, for instance. Indeed, as we have seen, a person will only count as understanding the meaning of ‘plus’ if he often enough gives the correct answer, so that it is rather hard to coherently depict a child who can give the correct answer when he wants to but can’t be relied on to want to. (It is somewhat easier if we are depicting an adult.) In the case of imperatives and stopping/forcing modals, however, the voluntary actions which we desire to see the language learner performing are not just linguistic actions, i.e., uses of the very words which it’s to be hoped the learner is learn- ing – the voluntary actions we desire to see the learner performing are those ordered or required, i.e., those mentioned in the imperative or modal state- ment. The idea of deficiency of will has a ready application to those who don’t do what they have to, or don’t do what they’re told: human motives for non-compliance or disobedience are often perfectly natural, flowing from our human nature.6 Motives for misusing words are not in this sense humanly natural; quite a lot of scene-setting and circumstantial detail are needed to depict a scenario in which the diagnosis ‘He wants to use that word wrong’ has any appeal. The person who has properly learnt the meaning and use of ‘You have to j’ will be disposed to j in response to that statement, ceteris paribus. That last phrase is intended to cover such defeaters as: recognition that the statement was a joke, recognition of pressing reasons not to j, recognition that no suit- able logos is forthcoming, and so on. In the extreme case, a reflective adult may find reason to reject the very practice constituted by the rules in question. Absent such rational rejection, the person, as I have said, will be inclined (dis- posed) to act in accordance with the statement: the actions they consequently perform will be voluntary and intentional. Anscombe foregrounded an agent’s actual or possible responses to ‘Why?’ as indicative of intention or the lack of
6. And of course we mustn’t forget the frequently imperfect behaviour of parents towards their children, including in the context of teaching or training; a child’s resistance or ‘naughtiness’ might be a form of self-protection, or expressive of a craving for love, or any number of things – rather than straightforward ‘deficiency’. 28 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Roger Teichmann it (see Anscombe, 1963); and here the question, ‘Why are you j-ing?’ gets its answer courtesy of the language-game itself. For the agent will be able to reply using the relevant logos – for example, ‘Because I promised to’. The adult who has fallen into the habit of lying, cheating or breaking promises does not (as I have argued) have the excuse of non-understanding ready to hand. In the absence of defeaters, the presumption of competence stands, and our diagnosis will be one of ‘deficiency of will’ – which does not mean weakness of will, but rather a defective orientation of the will (a wrong ordering of priorities, weighing of practical reasons, etc.). The ordinary word for such a person is ‘dishonest’. Such a person knows what ‘You cannot’ and ‘You have to’ mean; and indeed the bare ability to play the language-game may be alluded to by some such remark as, ‘He knows well enough how to keep an undertaking if he wishes to impress the boss’. He can do X if he wants to. It’s just that too often he doesn’t want to. But this last fact will indicate that such linguistic training as he received in childhood did not achieve its true aim. For the aim of teaching a child the modals ‘You have to’, etc. is precisely to instil a standing inclination to ‘respond appropriately’ to them. The language games in question, after all, have a human point, they play a real role in our lives. The aim of the teaching was not to instil a mere ability. So although we do say of the dishonest adult that he understands what it is to make a promise, answer a question truthful- ly, etc., we can in the same breath say that he has not learnt what society was, in a sense, trying to teach him.
3. Illusion and confusion This reference to what society is ‘up to’ should not be thought of as ruling out the possibility that society, or social groups, should themselves fall into habits of dishonesty. In a certain sense, it can become the norm – or at any rate become normal – for people to break the rules, or twist the rules, for ulterior motives, conscious or unconscious. The more this happens, however, the clos- er we get to a state of linguistic and practical confusion. The meanings of words become unfocused; people’s accounts of what they are doing become detached from their real, more or less unconscious aims. This kind of confu- sion is a species of conceptual corruption. What shows that a prevalent use of a term or set of terms involves, not merely false beliefs, but confusion? The answer is: the tangles, dead ends, contradictions, empty statements and even plain nonsense into which such use leads people. Where the use of the terms in question is bound up with action, people’s behaviour may show a corresponding incoherence: its signif- icance will often be obscure, including to the agents themselves. In ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’, Anscombe famously argued that ‘the con- cepts of obligation, and duty – moral obligation and moral duty, that is to say – and of what is morally right and wrong, and of the moral sense of “ought”, ought to be jettisoned if this is psychologically possible; because they are sur- Meaning, Understanding and Action Enrahonar 64, 2020 29 vivals, or derivatives from survivals, from an earlier conception of ethics which no longer generally survives, and are only harmful without it’ (Anscombe, 1981c: 26). If she was right, a way of using the word ‘moral’ had become prevalent, and this way of using it should be jettisoned. But if meaning is use, how can this be? If people are prevalently using a word a certain way, the word surely has a meaning; and the only available criticism of anyone who uses the word thus will surely be that they have said something false. The use of the word can’t itself be criticised. So it might be argued. It is a natural line of argument, and it might seem to follow from the idea expressed by Wittgenstein when he wrote: ‘If language is to be a means of communication there must be agreement not only in definitions but also (queer as this may sound) in judgments’ (PI 242). But of course Wittgenstein is here stating a necessary, not a sufficient, condition of language’s being a means of communication. There might be prevalent agreement that such-and- such is ‘morally obligatory’, although the expression ‘morally obligatory’ is in truth devoid of real sense, and no genuine communication is achieved by means of it. This is precisely the picture which Anscombe paints for us. The ‘prevalent use’ turns out to be prevalent nonsense. In virtue of what?7 One key aspect of the use of ‘moral obligation’, ‘morally ought’, etc., as depicted by Anscombe is that all sorts of reasons for doing something are rejected as inadequate. Reasons that cite what is needed (e.g., for a human being’s health), or that cite established rules or customs, or that cite commands – none of these, it is alleged, touch the important issue, which is: What action am I morally obliged to do? For can’t I always ask, ‘But ought I to aim for what is needed, or what is dictated by rules, or what is commanded?’. Now it is true that one often can ask some such further question, especially about commands, for instance. But a general dissatisfaction with all ‘factual’ reasons raises the question: What can ‘I ought to j’ amount to, if there can be no substantive reasons that fully support that judgement? The result of not accepting any substantive reasons as adequate answers to ‘Why ought I to do that?’ is to make that question futile and empty - and also that particular use of ‘ought’. I am not suggesting that every instance of the question ‘Why ought I to do that?’ will in fact have a substantive answer, for explanations run out somewhere and no answer can be given to one who asks, ‘Why ought I to treat matchsticks as less valuable (more dispensable) than human beings?’ The criteria determining what are good, bad, intelligible or unintelligible answers to the question ‘Why?’, in the context of a particular kind of enquiry, cannot themselves be interrogat- ed by that question; and the fact that enquiry is a sort of social practice involv- ing human beings gives a clue as to why the quoted question is a senseless attempt to interrogate such criteria. And it is worth noting that nothing would be achieved – or even said – by making out that there is simply a moral obliga- tion to treat matchsticks as less valuable than human beings.
7. What follows is both a condensation and an elaboration of what Anscombe says about this in ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’. (Not as paradoxical as it sounds.) 30 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Roger Teichmann
‘You have to give reasons why lemurs (or matchsticks) ought to be treated as less valuable than human beings: we need grounds for this alleged moral obligation’; ‘You tell me that it would be dishonest to do this, but is there a moral obligation to be honest?’ In such statements, as characteristically used, the phrase ‘moral obligation’ does no real work. We felt as if we were saying something important when in reality we were saying nothing. For we in a sense forgot the point of certain language games, e.g., those in which reasons for action are asked for or given. Anscombe connected her account of the prevalent use of ‘moral obliga- tion’, ‘morally ought’, etc. with a diagnosis: aspects of that use are explicable by reference to an earlier belief system, one involving divine commands. Without this belief system, she argued, an expression like ‘ought’ – used in the way she was depicting – had ‘become a word of mere mesmeric force’ (ibid., 32). But it should be noted that Anscombe’s genealogical diagnosis is optional. The important thing is the futility of what people are doing with language, a futility which they themselves do not recognise.8 To quote Witt- genstein again: ‘a wheel that can be turned though nothing else moves with it, is not part of the mechanism’ (PI 271). What is interesting is that there can be a widespread illusion that a wheel is part of the mechanism which in fact isn’t part of the mechanism. If all this is correct, Anscombe’s view does not stand or fall with the genealogical diagnosis (in terms of the earlier belief system): her description of use is what is crucial. And the use of these words is bound up with how people act. The problem is thus not a ‘merely’ theo- retical one – it is also a practical one. Indeed, Anscombe’s main motive for critiquing the confused use of ‘moral obligation’, etc. is that this use natural- ly leads to, or lends itself to, people’s abandoning considerations of (in)justice in favour of considerations of what is expedient, in the context of actual practical deliberations.9 Futility will evidently infect language games involving stopping and forcing modals if it becomes normal to respond with indifference to ‘You’re meant to’, ‘You can’t’, etc. The futility might not go unrecognised, in which case the language-game in question is liable to become a shell of its former self, or simply die out. This may well be true of various forms of etiquette, for exam- ple. But we should remember that etiquette blends with morality. If the prev- alent response to ‘You wronged X, so you should apologise to X’ (logos fol- lowed by modal statement10) comes to be one of indifference, i.e., if the
8. ‘Prevalent’ does not mean ‘universal’. Anscombe clearly did allow that someone who calls such-and-such ‘morally obligatory’ might mean something quite intelligible – as, that not doing such-and-such would be unjust, would wrong somebody. This would come out in what further things the person said (or did), e.g., by way of explanation. 9. See Anscombe (1981c: 38-42; from ‘I will end by describing…’ to the end of the article). 10. ‘You wronged X’ and ‘You should apologise to X’ are not learnt as part of a ‘package deal’, in the way in which ‘It’s mine’ and ‘You can’t take it’ are. While the concept of apology is dependent on that of wronging someone (viz. the person to whom apology is owed, typi- cally), the reverse doesn’t hold – particularly in view of the fact that ‘wronged X’ is an Meaning, Understanding and Action Enrahonar 64, 2020 31 act-type apologising becomes sufficiently rarely instantiated, then the status of ‘You should apologise’ will approach that of the wheel that can be turned though nothing else moves with it. In the beginning is the deed, in the end is nonchalance. Illusion that a wheel is part of the mechanism when in fact it isn’t attends the situation in which ‘You’re meant to’ comes to be used as if there were logoi to back it up, or (more specifically) comes to be backed up by ersatz logoi. The language of rights often seems to involve this species of illusion/confusion, as when ‘I’ve a right to such-and-such’ gets backed up by a more or less arbitrary logos – as it might be, ‘Other people who are no better than I am have such- and-such’. The purpose of the linguistic move is to seem to be playing a trump card when one has no trump card to play. This is most likely a subconscious or unconscious purpose, however, and the person proclaiming his right might feel genuinely aggrieved if it is not respected. The continuation of this state of affairs is made possible by (among other things) the attractiveness of certain roles: occupier of the moral high ground; person with a complaint; person deserving of our sympathy; person to whom airtime and limelight are owed. Whether this particular phenomenon is sufficiently widespread as to merit the soubriquet ‘conceptual corruption’ is an empirical matter, one that is beyond the scope of this essay. But it is hard to deny that public discourse offers many instances of the sort of thing I am talking about: language being used for ulterior motives, as we might put it.
4. Travails of internalism A person who has properly learnt the meanings of stopping/forcing modals, I have argued, is someone who is not merely able, but inclined, to ‘respond appropriately’ to their use, ceteris paribus. The picture of human agency which emerges from this is at odds with a popular philosophical position, viz. ‘inter- nalism’ about reasons for acting.11 For an internalist, a person can have reasons for j-ing only if j-ing is somehow conducive to the satisfaction of that person’s desires. (Obviously this formula can be tweaked in various ways, according to the version of internal- ism in question.) Let’s imagine that you and I are playing chess, and you threaten my king with your rook. Perhaps observing my hesitation, you say, ‘You have to move your king, it’s in check’ – forcing modal followed by logos. According to what I’ve been arguing, the following is true: if I have properly learnt12 the meaning of forcing modals, know the rules of chess, and see no
abstraction from such particular cases as ‘insulted X’, ‘maimed X’, etc. But this doesn’t prevent our calling ‘You wronged X’ a logos. The case is like the one earlier alluded to: ‘The music has stopped, so you have to sit down’. 11. See, e.g., Williams (1981), Smith (1987). 12. For the sense of this phrase, see the concluding paragraph of sect. 2: you won’t have pro- perly learnt the meaning and use of modals if you have failed to acquire, or have lost, a standing inclination to respond appropriately to them. 32 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Roger Teichmann defeating circumstances in view, then I will move my king, unless somehow prevented from doing so. My action will be intentional – I will be ready with a reason if asked, ‘Why did you do that?’, my reason being ‘My king was threatened’. At this point, an internalist may say either or both of two things: (a) neither the statement ‘You have to move your king’ nor the statement ‘Your king is in check’ nor the conjunction of the statements can, in itself, give me a reason for moving my king; (b) the circumstance that I don’t want to move my king (or: play by the rules) is in a trivial sense a possible defeater, since if I don’t want this, I have no reason to move my king. Taking (a) first, we might start by asking, ‘If that isn’t a reason for action, what is?’ But this sort of appeal to common sense is likely to be shrugged off. A more direct attack is to ask the internalist what sort of meaning and use can be ascribed to ‘You have to j’. The answer is liable to be that such a formula is either merely factual or merely imperatival: it is thought that each of these options leaves room for the rational agent to treat or not to treat the formula as supplying a reason, according to her own subjective preferences. ‘Factual’ indicates some claim along the following lines: ‘You have to move your king’ means ‘By the rules of chess, any move here other than moving your king is not a genuine chess move’. The claim fails for at least two reasons. First, the rules of chess do not simply state what actions shall be called ‘chess moves’, something that can be seen in the distinction between breaking a chess rule and doing something other than moving. By the rules of chess, scratching one’s head is not called a ‘chess move’, but if I scratch my head I haven’t thereby broken a rule of chess.13 Second, the rules of chess in fact include such rules as that you have to move or defend your king when it is threatened.14 So the proffered explanation of ‘You have to move your king’ is viciously circular by virtue of its mention of ‘the rules of chess’. As for the claim that ‘You have to j’ is a mere imperative, we have already seen that this is mistaken. Forcing modals differ from imperatives in being conceptually tied to logoi. And it is significant that it is a logos that I am likely to give as my reason when asked ‘Why did you do that?’
13. It might be said that the rules of chess are silent as to whether scratching one’s head is called a ‘chess move’. Independently existing rules of word use are what preclude calling scratching one’s head a ‘chess move’. - The phrase ‘independently existing’ is suspect, since the concept chess move only exists once the rules of chess exist. But in any case, the rules of chess are (pace the position under discussion) quite generally silent about word use. Calling a legal move of the white king a ‘chess move’ is not prescribed by the rules of chess. In teaching a human being the rules of chess, we do indeed introduce words, e.g., by saying, ‘This [pointing] is the white king’. But (a) we are not thereby stating a rule of chess, as the pre- sence of the demonstrative shows, and (b) we don’t, and couldn’t, introduce ‘chess move’ in such a way. You learn what ‘chess move’ means by learning how to play chess – or by learning the concept move in the context of other games and learning that there’s a game called ‘chess’ in connection with which that concept is used. 14. That is to say, if you can do so without breaking another rule; if you can’t, you’re check- mated. This mention, within a rule, of other rules of the game aptly illustrates how the rules of a practice must be learnt as a ‘package deal’. Meaning, Understanding and Action Enrahonar 64, 2020 33
What about (b), above? In response to your statement ‘You have to move your king; it’s in check’, I say, ‘Ah no; you see, I don’t want to move my king.’ Do I mention a defeating circumstance, in the sense in which the grocer’s leaving a bag of potatoes two miles from my house is a defeating circumstance relative to both ‘He delivered the potatoes’ and ‘I owe him £10’? Clearly not. What count as ‘defeating circumstances’ is determined by the practicalities of the given practice and (thus) of its attendant language-game; in general – though not always – an agent’s mere lack of inclination to abide by one of the rules constitutive of a practice cannot be taken as, and so is not, an adequate reason for their not abiding by it. It is often a truism to say that someone will only do something if she wants to. If I don’t want to move my king I won’t do so; ditto, if I want not to move it.15 But these truisms give no support to internalism about reasons for acting. What people do and what people want can after all be unreasonable, even irrational. And it is often the rules of a practice that determine what rational- ity and irrationality amount to. Consider language use itself. Language is governed by rules: you can’t call that a ‘fox’ (it’s a flamingo), you’re meant to say ‘Yes’ (if that’s the answer), you may call this shade ‘blue’ (or ‘green’). Here are Anscombe’s modals in play.16 A philosopher says, ‘I have no reason to j unless I want to’. Being sincere, she takes herself to be saying something true. Whether it’s true depends on what, e.g., the word ‘want’ means in her statement. Could she say: ‘I want to use this word in conformity with the rules governing its use – so I will’? But how is she using the word ‘want’ in that statement? That she uses words in con- formity with the rules is a presupposition of her saying anything at all; she cannot decide to use words correctly, since the content of any such decision will already have committed her to the ‘aim’ of using words correctly. And yet following rules is, for the internalist, something one only has reason to do if doing so fits in with one’s desires. Could the philosopher perhaps think, ‘I want to use the word “want” in conformity with the rules governing its use – so I will’? If she thinks the thought in English, the same argument will apply as above. If she thinks it in a private language – putting aside conceivable qualms about such a notion – she must still take it as moot whether she wants to abide by the rules of this private language, including the rule governing ‘I want’. (You are to take both occur-
15. The truism shouldn’t be taken as a universal truth; after all, ordinary usage certainly allows ‘I did what I had to, though I really didn’t want to.’ 16. A child first learns to use words correctly and only later learns the meaning of such a for- mula as ‘You can’t say that (use that word here, etc.)’. Language is rule-governed, though its speakers don’t need to have such concepts as ‘rule’, ‘have to’ or ‘cannot’ in order to count as linguistically competent. There must, however, exist practices of correcting and confir- ming within a linguistic community, and a community in which articulate reflection upon such practices is possible will be one in which Anscombean modals (or equivalents) get used. What of the logoi to be used in conjunction with these modals? These are very vari- ous in kind; some enjoy a conceptual interdependence with their correlative modal state- ments (‘You can’t call him Mark, his name is Max’), and some do not. 34 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Roger Teichmann rences of (inflexions of) ‘want’ in the previous sentence as standing proxy for putatively private symbols.) So the same argument goes through: for her to say that she does want to abide by that rule involves positing a certain decision as a rational prerequisite of itself – a nonsense. If pushed to its logical conclusion, internalism about reasons for acting thus appears to result in a commitment to the ineffability of a certain kind of ‘mental content’. An internalist must cite the desire to follow linguistic rules as that which gives the speaker reason to follow those rules, in the sense that if he lacks such a desire his breaking the rules cannot be deemed irrational (hence subject to criticism); and the content of this desire must be regarded as being determined independently of all rule-governed meaning. For the internalist conceives of a person as ‘equipped’ with some standing desires, in light of which he will have reason to do some things and not others – and these desires will have to include the desire to use ‘desire’ in conformity with linguistic rules, public or private. But he cannot express, to himself or to oth- ers, the content of this desire (the one with which he is already equipped). To do so, he would have to have already made the decision (to use ‘desire’…) which we are envisaging him as now rationally making. In fact, the identity of the standing desire must float free of all norms, public or private.17 In which case it is hard to see how it could be compatible or incompatible with anything at all. ‘So in the end when one is doing philosophy one gets to the point where one would like just to emit an inarticulate sound’ (PI 261). Moreover, in any actual context of philosophical debate real words must be utilised. Ineffable thoughts are not on the table. So how should we think about the matter? We imagined the philosopher saying, ‘I have no reason to j unless I want to’. The question we face – that which flummoxed the internalist – is: ‘Did she have a reason for using the word “want” in accordance with the linguistic rules that govern it?’ In other words: ‘Why did she use the word “want” in accordance with the linguistic rules that govern it?’ Now the question ‘Why?’, in its reason-demanding sense, is sus- ceptible of a large variety of kinds of answers. Such answers typically depend on what the person asking the question is after. Does he have in mind some reason why it would be a good idea to break the linguistic rules in this situa- tion? (Perhaps he takes it that the speaker is, in fact, attempting to illustrate certain common misuses of words.) In the absence of some such explanation for his enquiry, it is not clear what sort of answer can be given, unless it be ‘There’s no reason to break the rules here’. If that is allowed as a positive answer to ‘Why?’, then we may say that the speaker intentionally conformed to the linguistic rules when she spoke. But it is an odd saying. The facts are:
17. An internalist who is content with a third-personal, behaviouristic conception of desire might embrace the ideas of norm-free desire and of norm-free practical rationality. A per- son desiring to follow linguistic rules would on this account simply be, in effect, one who did in fact (often) conform to those rules, as a calculator might be said to conform to arithmetical rules. Apart from anything else, this view makes no room for that asymmetry between linguistic competence and incompetence which I go on to discuss. Meaning, Understanding and Action Enrahonar 64, 2020 35 she is a normal adult and she was speaking English. Hence, she was following certain rules. Could the internalist say some such thing? That is, could he make out that people use language, and hence follow linguistic rules, without having reasons for following these rules? The problem is that the internalist cannot do justice to the asymmetry between following rules and breaking rules. According to the internalist, if someone who does X has no reason for doing X, it is because he has no operative desire to do X. This might make room for ‘just following’ linguistic rules, but if it does, then it will at the same time make room for ‘just breaking’ linguistic rules: if I lack the desire not to break the rules, I cannot be deemed irrational when I break them. But misusing language for no reason at all is a paradigmatic manifestation of irrationality – while one who ‘systemati- cally’ misuses language lacks an intellectual and practical capacity (so perhaps no more misuses language than does a gurgling baby). Conversely, ordinary fluent language use, i.e., following the rules, is a paradigmatic manifestation of human rationality. ‘Ceteris paribus, one has reason to follow (not break) the rules governing the uses of words’ is true enough. But if there is a ‘Why?’ question correspond- ing to this truth, it is something like: ‘Why go in for linguistic communication at all?’ In response to this question, we can perhaps point to all the many benefits of having language, as we can point to the benefits of going in for promising. However, it is not as if it is an option for us to give up using lan- guage; so the form of the question is misleading. It would be better if it were rephrased along these lines: ‘What are (some of) the benefits of having lan- guage?’ – a question of about the same level of generality as ‘What are (some of) the benefits of being able to move around in space?’
5. Conclusion Let me summarise these investigations. Understanding language is manifested in using language, which is a kind of human activity. In teaching a person the meanings of words, we aim to instil in them an ability, but not, typically, a mere ability: we aim, in fact, to instil an ability and an inclination – namely, to use such-and-such words correctly. (To say this need not be to impute to the learner an intention to use those words correctly; that way of putting it is probably an over-intellectualisation.) In the specific case of stopping and forc- ing modals, we additionally aim to instil the inclination to do (or not do) whatever is mentioned as what you ‘have to’ or ‘cannot’ do. The criteria for a learner’s understanding the meanings of such modals include her often enough doing (or not doing) the relevant things. An adult may count as understand- ing what the modals mean despite having developed an erratic inclination, or even disinclination, to do what she is meant to do, etc., on account of (a) the default assumption that speakers know the meanings of the words in their language, and (b) the existence of criteria for knowing and (more significant- ly) for not knowing the meanings of words, or not knowing that they apply 36 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Roger Teichmann here. In the absence of any of these latter criteria, the ‘default assumption’ (defeasibly) stands. It is possible for it to become the norm, or at least normal, for people (e.g., in some societal group) to fail to respond appropriately to stopping and/or forcing modals of one kind or another. The more this is true, the less clear the meaning of what they say and do will be. Conceptual corruption and conse- quent widespread forms of nonsense are humanly possible; Anscombe pro- posed that this picture in fact held true, at the time when she wrote and at least as regards the philosophical community, of such terms as ‘moral obliga- tion’ and ‘the moral ought’. It seems hard to deny that public discourse offers various instances of this sort of linguistic and practical vacuity. It is natural and tempting to regard thought, will and understanding as logically independent of action. The foregoing reflections on the meaning of Anscombean modals help to undermine this notion. (They are not the only reflections to do so.) Understanding, meaning and action are here closely intertwined. An internalist about reasons for action can be seen to buy into the mistaken notion of logical independence insofar as he claims (a) that rational action can only occur when an agent has a ‘motivating reason’ to do something, and (b) that one only has reason to follow a rule or rules insofar as doing so is conducive to the satisfaction of one’s standing, or prior, desires. But desiring to follow the rule ‘In circumstances C you have to j’ presuppos- es knowing the meaning of ‘You have to’, ‘C’ and ‘j’. The criteria for under- standing the meaning of these terms, however, include doing what you ‘have to’. Thus desire to follow a rule is here logically posterior to action. In connection with the rules governing the use of words (symbols), the internalist claim founders in dramatic fashion; for it can be said to commit the internalist to the nonsensical idea that the relevant desires are independent of the agent’s doings even to the extent of those desires’ having ineffable con- tent – from which it would follow that no distinction could be made between what would, and what would not, be conducive to their satisfaction. In using language, or in having articulate thoughts, one thereby follows certain rules and in that sense can be thought of as ‘responding appropriately’ to the modal statements expressive of those rules. This is what constitutes the rationality of one’s talk or thought; it is not constituted by any conformity of rule-following with standing desires.18
Bibliographical references Anscombe, G.E.M. (1963). Intention, 2nd ed. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. — (1981a). “On Promising and its Justice”. In: Ethics, Religion and Politics: Collected Philosophical Papers Vol III. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 10-21. — (1981b). “On Brute Facts”. In: Ethics, Religion and Politics: Collected Phil- osophical Papers Vol III. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 22-25.
18. Thanks to Richard Gipps for helpful feedback on an earlier draft of this paper. Meaning, Understanding and Action Enrahonar 64, 2020 37
— (1981c). “Modern Moral Philosophy”. In: Ethics, Religion and Politics: Collected Philosophical Papers Vol III. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 26-42. — (1981d). “Rules, Rights and Promises”. In: Ethics, Religion and Politics: Collected Philosophical Papers Vol III. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 97-103. Smith, M. (1987). “The Humean Theory of Motivation”. Mind, 96, 36-61. Williams, B. (1981). “Internal and External Reasons”. In: Moral Luck. Cam- bridge: Cambridge University Press, 101-113. Wittgenstein, L. (1958). Philosophical Investigations (2nd ed.), trans. G.E.M. Anscombe. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Roger Teichmann is Lecturer in Philosophy at St Hilda’s College, Oxford. He is the author of a number of monographs, including The Philosophy of Elizabeth Anscombe (OUP 2008), Nature, Reason and the Good Life (OUP 2011) and Wittgenstein on Thought and Will (Routledge 2015). He edited the four-volume Elizabeth Anscombe: Critical Assessments of Leading Philosophers (Routledge 2016).
Roger Teichmann és professor de filosofia al St Hilda’s College, Oxford. És autor de diverses monografies, com ara The Philosophy of Elizabeth Anscombe (OUP 2008), Nature, Reason and the Good Life (OUP 2011) i Wittgenstein on Thought and Will (Routledge 2015). Ha editat els quatre volums d’Elizabeth Anscombe. Critical assessments of leading philosophers (Routledge 2016).
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 39-62
Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe
Constantine Sandis University of Hertfordshire [email protected]
Reception date: 13-11-2019 Acceptance date: 27-1-2020
Abstract
This paper argues that there was considerably more philosophy of action in moral theory before 1958 (when Anscombe complained of its lack under the banner ‘philosophy of psychology’) than there has been since. This is in part because Anscombe influenced the formation of ‘virtue theory’ as yet another position within normative ethics, and her work contributed to the fashioning of ‘moral psychology’ as an altogether distinct (and now increasingly empirical) branch of moral philosophy. Keywords: Anscombe; moral philosophy; virtue theory; normative ethics
Resum. Filosofia moral moderna abans i després d’Anscombe
Aquest article argumenta que hi havia considerablement més filosofia d’acció en teoria moral abans de 1958 (quan Anscombe es va queixar que en faltava sota el lema «filosofia de la psicologia») que la que hi ha hagut des de llavors. Això es deu en part al fet que Anscombe va influir en la formació de la «teoria de la virtut» com una posició més dins de l’ètica normativa, i el treball d’Anscombe va contribuir a la formació de la «psicologia moral» com una branca completament diferent (i ara cada vegada més empírica) de la filosofia moral. Paraules clau: Anscombe; filosofia moral; teoria de la virtut; ètica normativa
Summary
Prologue 3. Moral Philosophy Before 1957 1. ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ Epilogue 2. Moral Philosophy Since 1958 Bibliographical references
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1278 40 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis
Prologue This paper argues for the following three theses: i) There was considerably more philosophy of action in moral theory before 1958 (when Anscombe complained of its lack under the banner ‘philos- ophy of psychology’) than there has been since. This is in part because ii) Anscombe influenced the formation of ‘virtue theory’ as yet another posi- tion within normative ethics, and iii) Anscombe’s work contributed to the fashioning of ‘moral psychology’ as an altogether distinct (and now increasingly empirical) branch of moral philosophy. None of (i-iii) were foreseen – let alone intended – by Anscombe, who would have been displeased by this state of affairs, already evident at the time of her death in early 2001. The tragic irony of ‘Modern Moral Philos- ophy’ (henceforth MMP), then, is that in many ways the past century of ethical theory makes more sense read backwards. My somewhat program- matic investigation into this predicament begins somewhere in the middle, with MMP, then proceeds to present what happened before and after in its light.
1. ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ MMP remains as divisive today as it was when it was first published sixty years ago. Some hail it to be of huge philosophical and historical importance, not least by effectively giving birth to neo-Aristotelian Virtue Ethics as exem- plified by Philippa Foot, Rosalind Hursthouse, Alasdair McIntyre, and John McDowell (Richter, 2011; Solomon, 2008: 110-111). Others present it as a dated or otherwise irritating text containing baffling and unsubstantiated claims, the deciphering of which is not worth the candle (e.g. Blackburn, 2005). One recurring complaint has been that Anscombe is unfair in dismissing the ideas of dead white men with brief statements that contain more disrespect than they do argument. Bishop Butler is ‘ignorant’ (MMP: 27), Immanuel Kant ‘useless’ and ‘absurd’ (ibid.), David Hume ‘sophistical’ (MMP: 28), and J.S. Mill ‘stupid’ (MMP: 33). These are the philosophers she likes. The rest of them are something much worse: ‘consequentialists’. Anscombe coined the term in MMP as a pejorative, but it was quickly reclaimed as a badge of hon- our by all its major proponents. It is fashionable nowadays to remark that Anscombe meant something rather different by ‘consequentialism’ than we do today.1 Yet her own charac- terisation of it as the view that the “right” action is that which produces the
1. See, for example, Diamond (1997), Teichmann (2008: 86), and Wiseman (2017: 18). Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 41 best possible consequences (MMP: 33; quoted below) is one endorsed by most contemporary consequentialists.2 The exegetical difficulty arises because Ans- combe protects the utilitarian Mill from this particular charge yet includes ‘objectivists’ such as her near-contemporary W. D. Ross, best known for defending the view that actions can be wrong in virtue of their intrinsic value, regardless of their consequences: There is a startling change that seems to have taken place between Mill and Moore. Mill assumes […] that there is no question of calculating the par- ticular consequences of an action such as murder or theft […] In Moore and in subsequent academic moralists of England we find it taken to be pretty obvious that “the right action” is the action which produces the best possible consequences (reckoning among consequences the intrinsic values ascribed to certain kinds of act by some “Objectivists”. (MMP: 33)3 This double-move is key to understanding the last of the three related theses that MMP famously sets out to defend. These have proven to be as hard to interpret as they are easy to articulate: T1) It is not profitable for us at present [1958] to do moral philosophy; that should be laid aside at any rate until we have an adequate philosophy of psy- chology, in which we are conspicuously lacking.
T2) The concepts of obligation, and duty – moral obligation and moral duty, that is to say – and of what is morally right and wrong, and of the moral sense of “ought”, ought to be jettisoned if this is psychologically possible; because they are survivals, or derivatives from survivals, from an earlier conception of ethics which no longer survives, and are only harmful without it. T3) The differences between the well-known English writers on moral philos- ophy from Sidgwick to the present day are of little importance. (MMP: 26)4 What makes T3 true for Anscombe is that the philosophers in question are all ‘consequentialists’. Henry Sidgwick’s predecessor, Mill, is off the hook from this charge for two distinct reasons. First, he was careful (at least according to Anscombe) to distinguish intended from merely foreseen con- sequences of an action. To understand how this helps to avoid ‘consequen- tialism’, one needs the ‘adequate philosophy of psychology’ required to reveal the role played by intention in determining the nature of any given
2. Cf. M. Geach (2008: xvii). 3. Entire papers could be written about the degree to which this passage offers plausible interpretations of either Mill or Moore. There is room for disagreement, for example, on whether murder and theft could ever fall under Mill’s ‘knotty points’ (Mill, 1861: 25), the answer depending on whether he conceives of them as being unjust by definition (discussed further below). 4. Chappell (forthcoming) argues that Anscombe’s main complaint is T3 and that T1 and T2 are ‘little more than auxiliary theses’. 42 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis action.5 Second, Mill explicitly states that utilitarianism can never conflict with justice, going out of his way to explain why his philosophy is compatible with Christian morality in particular (Mill, 1861: 27). He thus allows that utilitarianism lead us to re-evaluate whether acts of stealing or kidnapping must always be unjust, while rejecting the consequentialist conviction that an unjust act could ever be permissible, let alone obligatory: Have mankind been under a delusion in thinking that justice is a more sacred thing than policy, and that the latter ought only to be listened to after the former has been satisfied? While I dispute the pretensions of any theory which sets up an imaginary standard of justice not grounded on utility, I account the justice which is grounded on utility to be the chief part, and incomparably the most sacred and binding part, of all morality. Justice is a name for certain classes of moral rules which concern the essentials of human well-being more nearly, and are therefore of more absolute obligation, than any other rules for the guidance of life […] to save a life, it may not only be allowable, but a duty, to steal or take by force the necessary food or medicine, or to kidnap and compel to officiate the only qualified medical practitioner. In such cases, as we do not call anything justice which is not a virtue, we usually say, not that justice must give way to some other moral principle, but that what is just in ordinary cases is, by reason of that other principle, not just in the particular case. By this useful accommodation of language, the character of indefeasi- bility attributed to justice is kept up, and we are saved from the necessity of maintaining that there can be laudable injustice. (Mill, 1861: 57-58 & 62) Is Mill paying mere lip service to justice here or does he take the thickness of the concept to entail that no plausible moral theory can be at odds with it? In not counting him as a ‘consequentialist’, Anscombe charitably opts for the latter understanding viz. that he would give no weight to unjust actions, no matter what their effects: Mill assumes, as we saw [27], that there is no question of calculating particular consequences of an action such as murder or theft. (MMP: 33) Yet Mill’s view ultimately seems to be that any action prescribed by utili- tarianism must be just by definition. If so, Anscombe would be wrong in her assessment that ‘it did not occur to him that acts of murder and theft could be otherwise described’ (MMP: 27). Indeed, we may plausibly attribute to Mill the view that some thefts are just precisely because they can be described as the taking of necessary food or medicine. On this point, the difference between Mill and someone like Aquinas is more semantic than it is moral. Unlike Mill, Aquinas maintains that all theft is unjust, but he also asserts that in cases of dire emergency it is not theft to take from another’s possessions:
5. This is partly because Anscombe primarily conceives of ‘consequentialism’ as a view regard- ing the sphere of personal responsibility (see Frey, 2019: 10-12). For more on Mill’s anti-consequentialist utilitarianism see Vogler (2001). Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 43
When a person is in extreme need of material things, and there is no way of emerging from his extremity but by taking what belongs to another, the sur- plus which another possesses becomes common property, and the taker is not guilty of theft. (ST, IIaIIae.66.7) 6 Anscombe’s evaluation of Mill contrasts starkly with that of Ross, accord- ing to whom any ‘intrinsic’ property of action, including her take on being unjust, may in principle be outweighed by sufficiently positive consequences: Oxford Objectivists of course distinguish between ‘consequences’ and ‘intrin- sic values’ and so produce a misleading appearance of not being consequen- tialists. But they do not hold – and Ross explicitly denies – that the gravity of, e.g., procuring the condemnation of the innocent is such that it cannot be outweighed by, e.g., national interest. Hence their distinction is of no importance. (MMP: 33, f.n. 4.) So understood, Ross allows that there are times when, all things considered, we are not only permitted but morally obliged to commit acts of murder, adul- tery, or whatever. Anscombe rejects his thesis that there is no value so sacred that it cannot in principle be trumped by the greater good as being ‘consequen- tialist’, despite the fact that Ross explicitly allows that this good may itself be outweighed by concerns of justice or honesty. As Christopher Coope has argued, she would have also rejected some of Hursthouse’s views on the same grounds.7 Despite her own definition, then, Anscombe cannot ultimately view ‘consequentialism’ as the simple equation of ‘rightness’ with producing the best consequences. As Mary Geach puts it, one might hold the ‘consequentialist’ view that ‘there is no act so bad [that] it might on occasion be justified by its consequences’ while rejecting the consequentialist view that ‘the right action is always that which produces the best consequences’ (M. Geach, 2008: xvii). In his 1956 article ‘Good and Evil’, Peter Geach denounces Ross’ moral outlook for very similar reasons. I quote at some length: I am deliberately ignoring the supposed distinction between the Right and the Good […] Aquinas […] finds it sufficient to talk of good and bad human acts. When Ross would say that there is a morally good action but not a right act, Aquinas would say that a good human intention had issued in what was, in fact, a bad action; and when Ross would say that there was a right act but not a morally good action, Aquinas would say that there was a bad human act performed in circumstances in which a similar act with a different intention would have been a good one (e.g. giving money to a beggar for the praise of men rather than for the relief of his misery) […] [P]eople who think that doing right is something other than doing good will regard virtuous behaviour as consisting, not just in doing good and eschewing evil, but in doing, on every occasion, the right act for the occasion. This speciously strict doctrine leads in
6. I owe this reference to Sophie-Grace Chappell. 7. Coope (2006: 46 ff.) Whilst I agree with Coope on this point, I don’t share the conception of justice he uses to frame it. 44 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis
fact to quite laxist consequences. A man […] if he knows that adultery is an evil act, will decide that (as Aristotle says) there can be no deliberating when or how or with whom to commit adultery. But a man who believes in discerning, on each occasion, the right act for the occasion, may well decide that on this occasion, all things considered, adultery is the right action. Sir David Ross explicitly tells us that on occasion the right act may be the judicial punishment of an innocent man “that the whole nation perish not” for in this case “the prima facie duty of consulting the general interest has proved more obligatory than the perfectly distinct prima facie duty of respecting the rights of those who have respected the rights of others.” (P. Geach, 1956: 41-42)8 Geach’s outing of Ross as a crypto-consequentialist is, directly linked to T3.9 His further rejection of Ross’ distinction between goodness and rightness is closely tied to Anscombe’s other two theses. In particular, Geach’s contention that we should make do without the concept of a ‘right action’ at all helps to explain why Anscombe keeps “the right action” within scare quotes. It also sheds light on her middle thesis (T2) that we must try to jettison the concept of a distinctly moral obligation. Terms like ‘moral obligation’ and ‘morally right action’ ought to be jettisoned because they are survivals of an earlier, quasi-legal conception of morality, and make no sense outside of the related contexts and practices that originally gave them meaning. This is not a rejec- tion of morality, nor even of a moral ought, but only of the distinctively secu- lar and mesmeric ‘moral ought’ that has been detached from the aforemen- tioned conceptions.10 James Doyle (2018) has recently offered a more radical reading of T2. According to Doyle, Anscombe’s claim is that the term ‘moral’ as ordinarily used is literally meaningless, standing for an empty pseudo-concept that pro- vokes a certain feeling in us but has no content whatsoever.11 Divine com-
8. To this he sneeringly adds: ‘We must charitably hope that for him the words of Caiaphas that he quotes just had the vaguely hallowed associations of a Bible text, and that he did not remember whose judicial murder was being counselled.’ 9. Geach and Anscombe would presumably be equally hostile to the moral particularist claim that there are no principles concerning right action (e.g. Dancy, 2004). But particularism at the level of things done may be combined with generalism at the level of character traits (Sandis, 2020, 2021; cf. Swanton, 2015). Were Anscombe open to a conceptual distinction between doings and things done (see § III) she could more easily allow for such a view, whose origins lie with Aristotle’s thought that the mean is grasped through perception and not by reasoning (EN 1109b; but see Price, 2005). 10. Cf. Solomon (2008: 114) and Gremaschi (2017), the latter finding Anscombe’s concerns more parochial than the former. 11. Cf. Richter (2019). Doyle has since revised his view, but still maintains that Anscombe thought – and was right to think – that nothing could count as understanding the word ‘moral’ (Doyle, 2019). This goes against the more natural reading of Anscombe’s qua- si-Nietzschean genealogy as having been at least partly motivated by Wittgenstein’s thought that the meaning of any given term or expression is dependent upon the practices that give it life (see Sandis, 2019a; cf. Frey, 2018). Wittgenstein’s influence on Anscombe’s under- standing of normativity is further made evident in her discussions of forcing and stopping modals (Anscombe, 1969, 1978a, 1978b). Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 45 mands, on this understanding, neither describe nor create distinctly moral obligations, but only religious ones. Whatever the merits of the view itself (Doyle finds it more plausible than I do), we should be wary of it as an inter- pretation of what is going on in MMP, not least because there are plenty of later writings in which Anscombe endorses law conceptions of morality with no sign of having had the slightest change of mind. In ‘Authority in Morals’ (1962), Anscombe speaks of ‘moral conclusions’, ‘revelation of moral belief’, of a ‘moral truth’ concerning ‘what kinds of thing ought to be done and ought not to be done’ as well as of ‘the moral law’ as a ‘range’ and of taking one’s morality from someone else, concluding that ‘the content of moral law, i.e., the actions which are good and just, is not essential- ly a matter of revelation’. Similarly, in ‘The Moral Environment of the Child’, she states that ‘Catholic Christianity teaches a strict moral code’ and speaks, without scepticism, of ‘truth in the moral code’ and ‘our morality’ (231). This Christian morality is contrasted with ‘a morality which consisted solely of absolute prohibitions on fairly definitely described actions’ (presumably Kant’s). The idea of two contrasting moralities forms the core of Anscombe’s short essay ‘Morality’ (1982), in which she explicitly rejects the thought that there is such a thing as morality, not because she is a sceptic about moral concepts – she writes that ‘human beings have always had morality’ and talks of ‘that part of morality which is associated with duties to God’ (113) – but because she finds Christian morality so distinct from the consequentialist one that they amount to two entirely different moralities: one that prohibits murder, and one that not only permits – but can even demand – it. As Mary Geach writes in a 2005 letter to the Times Literary Supplement,12 Anscombe herself, of course, had no intention of jettisoning the concepts of moral obligation and duty, which are needed to frame her other principal claim, which is that certain things are forbidden, whatever the consequences.’ While Christian morality does indeed require us to embody certain virtues, the question of which virtues we ought to have may also be addressed from the point of view of what is good for us, qua human. In pointing this out, Ans- combe is in no way abandoning deontic terminology in favour of the aretaic (see Coope, 2006: 22). The deontic and the aretaic are simply two different frameworks for talking about the very same goodness. By returning to Aris- totle’s talk of human excellence and virtue, MMP thus seeks to find a common language through which religious and secular thinkers alike (including Ans- combe and her friend Philippa Foot13) may converse about morality, and perhaps even reach agreement.14
12. M. Geach (2005a; see also 2005b). 13. Indeed, MMP is based on lectures Anscombe gave the previous year in Oxford, at Foot’s request (see M. Geach, 2008: vii). 14. Anscombe became increasingly pessimistic about the latter happening on any kind of wide scale (see essays in Anscombe, 2005). Jennifer Frey informs me that Aquinas was far more sanguine on this front. 46 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis
2. Moral Philosophy Since 1958 Anscombe’s first thesis in MMP is that ‘[i]t is not profitable for us at present [1958] to do moral philosophy; that should be laid aside at any rate until we have an adequate philosophy of psychology, in which we are conspicuously lacking’ (MMP: 26). By ‘philosophy of psychology’, she is not referring to the philosophy of cognitive science that currently goes under that name today,15 nor to the philosophy of mind that used to share it,16 but to an investigation into the concepts of action, character, intention, motive, desire, pleasure, and the relations between them:17 In present-day philosophy an explanation is required how an unjust man is a bad man, or an unjust action a bad one […] it cannot even be begun until we are equipped with a sound philosophy of psychology […] This part of the subject matter of ethics is, however, completely closed to us until we18 have an account of what type of characteristic a virtue is - a problem, not of ethics, but of conceptual analysis - and how it relates to the action in which it is instanced […] For this we certainly need an account at least of what a human action is at all, and how its description as “doing such-and-such” is affected by its motive and by the intention or intentions in it; and for this an account of such concepts is required. (MMP: 29)19 The blueprint for this philosophy of action had already been laid down by her the year before, in her masterpiece Intention. This book had already made good on MMP’s request for ‘an account at least of what a human action is at all, and how its description as “doing such-and-such” is affected by its motive and by the intention or intentions in it’ (MMP: 29).20 Whether Anscombe herself thought she has already provided an adequate philosophy of psychol- ogy, or merely a sketch of one, is a moot point. The term ‘philosophy of psychology’ has since been hijacked by philoso- phers of cognitive science to describe what they do, leaving ‘philosophical psychology’ as the term of choice for those still interested in asking philosoph-
15. See, for example, Botterill and Caruthers (1999), Bermúdez (2005), Thagard (2007), and Weiskopf and Adams (2015). 16. For example, Block (1980). 17. Such investigations may be found across the entire history of modern moral philosophy (see essays in Sandis, 2019c). The most important discussions of them since Aquinas’ Treatise on Human Acts (ST I–II,1–21) are to be found under the ‘Morality’ heading of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right (PR, §§ 105-141). For comparisons between Hegel and Ans- combe see Taylor (1979 & 1983), Quante (1993), and Sandis (2010). For Aquinas and Anscombe, see Jensen (2010); cf. Boulter (2009). 18. See Sandis (2019b). 19. Anscombe’s contention here remains unaffected by John Rawls’ famous argument for the independence of moral theory from the sorts of issues he associates with epistemology and the philosophy of mind and language (Rawls, 1975). But even if Rawls’ argument could be extended to show that many issues in moral theory are independent from philosophical psychology, we should not expect a theory of right action to remain silent on the relation of action to motive, intention, and consequence. 20. For an excellent account, see Wiseman (2016a: Ch. 2 & 2016b: § 3). Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 47 ical questions about human psychology, and ‘moral psychology’ and ‘philoso- phy of action’ for the areas covering the kinds of issues that Anscombe is referring to. Indeed, both these fields owe part of their existence as we know it to Anscombe. In the aftermath of Intention and MMP, the ‘philosophy of action’ developed into a subject in its own right, albeit more closely associated with the philosophy of mind than with ethics.21 Such branching-off comes at a heavy price, for ethics without philosophy of action is blind, and philosophy of action without ethics empty. The philosophy of mind and action during the past sixty years has thus developed alongside that of normative ethics, with very little interaction between them. This has enabled philosophers to defend theories of ‘right action’ while remaining conspicuously silent about what actions are, or how to best conceive of their relation to intentions (on the one hand) and conse- quences (on the other). As a result of all this, contemporary moral philosophy is now neatly divided into the following four branches, which had yet to properly separate in 1958: a) Meta-ethics b) Normative Ethics (‘moral theory’) c) Practical or ‘applied’ ethics d) Moral Psychology To be sure, theorists debate the extent to which views within (a-d) are interrelated, but they are generally content to teach them as separate ‘modules’ and have been known to profess expertise in any one of the above while claim- ing near-ignorance on the remaining three. People do, of course, defend phil- osophical positions according to which one cannot do (c) without (b) and/or (b) without (a), but even these are parasitic on the divisions in question. Most importantly, (d) is typically reserved for questions relating to agency, motiva- tion, moral responsibility, akrasia, etc. that are thought to be largely independ- ent of (a-c). In complete opposition to all this, MMP’s first thesis effectively tells us that one cannot do (a-c) at all without first doing (d). While Anscombe certainly cared for ‘practical’ issues relating to everyday life as well as to med- ical, military, and legal policies, she did not see these as separable from either moral philosophy or the philosophy of psychology.22 I shan’t concern myself much with (a) and (c), save to recall that the con- temporary obsession of engaging in (c) of comparing intuitions about increas- ingly absurd trolley-cases is an unintended consequence of an argument made by Foot in which she defends, against Hare’s consequentialism, an original combination of the doctrine of double effect and the doctrine of doing and
21. For a brief period, philosophy of mind was also called ‘philosophy of psychology’ (see, for example, Block, 1980). 22. This is evident across all her work in ethics, but particularly so in Anscombe (1957b; for which, see Wiseman 2016b). 48 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis allowing.23 Anscombe would have been much more horrified by much of what falls under either of these ‘branches’ today than by anything she was objecting to in 1958. Hardly any of it can be attributed as an effect of MMP though. As this is not the case with (2) and (4), I shall focus on these. I begin with some paradigmatic mainstream positions within normative ethics or ‘moral theory’:
Act consequentialism is the claim that an act is morally right if and only if that act maximizes the good. (Sinnott-Armstrong, 2015) An act is wrong if and only if it is forbidden by the code of rules whose internalization by the overwhelming majority of everyone everywhere in each new generation has maximum expected value in terms of well-being. (Hooker, 2002: 32) [A]n act is wrong if it would be disallowed by any principle that no one could reasonably respect. (Scanlon, 1998: 197) An action is right iff it is what a virtuous agent would characteristically do in the circumstances. (Hursthouse, 1999: 17, see also 28-29) An act is wrong just when such acts are disallowed by the principles that are optimific, uniquely universally willable, and not reasonably rejectable. (Parfit, 2011: 413)24 What makes an action morally right is that it originates in a person’s good will. (Sullivan, 1989: 117) [D]eontologists think that acts are wrong because of the sorts of acts they are. (Davis, 1991: 210)25 It’s hardly news that Anscombe would be particularly hostile to consequen- tialist theories, whose current division into several sub-species (act and rule focusing on actual, probable, expected, or intended consequences) has partly resulted as a response to some of Anscombe’s arguments in MMP and else- where. But what about deontology and virtue ethics? Surely, as a believer in Divine Command Theory and the view that some actions are absolutely pro-
23. Foot (1967: 23 ff.); for more context see Hacker-Wright (2013: 107-109) and Coope (2015). Anscombe anticipates and rejects a crucial component of trolley reasoning in MMP: 40. Sixty years later, philosophy’s most prominent appearance in popular culture is in the trolley-obsessed The Good Place, in which one of central characters (Chidi Anagonye) is a ‘Professor of Ethics and Moral Philosophy’. The droll conjunction reminds me of the first time I taught ‘Ethics’ for Florida Institute of Technology’s study abroad programme at Oxford. All of the other professors introduced themselves as teaching courses ‘X’ and ‘Y’ to great enthusiasm from the students. But when I introduced myself as the lecturer for ‘Moral Philosophy’, I was greeted with baffled silence, until one of the students hesitantly asked ‘Do you mean “Ethics”?’, to all-round relief. 24. The word ‘virtue’ cannot be found in any of the three volumes of Parfit’s On What Matters. 25. Andreas Lind has brought to my attention the fact that normative theories frequently conflate accounts of rightness conditions with accounts of right/wrong-making. Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 49 hibited, Anscombe could have no problem with deontology? And was MMP not striving towards a kind of virtue ethics? My answers to both these ques- tions are negative. To begin with, what all of the above theories are doing viz. attempting to provide accounts of ‘the right action’ is problematic, for two reasons. First, as we have already seen (§ I), Anscombe follows Geach in being troubled by the very notion of an action being morally right or wrong, as opposed to good or bad. This worry relates to the larger question of what is meant by ‘action’ in the first place. Robert M. Adams expresses a commonplace certainty when we writes that ‘[w]hat every competent user of “wrong” must know about wrong- ness is, first of all, that wrongness is a property of actions (perhaps also of intentions and various attitudes, but certainly of actions)’ (Adams, 1979: 74). Accordingly, normative theorists feel licensed to remain silent on the question of what an action is. In fact, it is shocking just how little they are prepared to say on this topic. The optimistic assumption is that one can simply ‘plug in’ one’s favourite account of action, without this affecting the plausibility of the theory in ques- tion, let alone what it would even mean for an action to be right.26 One explanation for this might be that there is nothing to puzzle over here. As H.A. Prichard notes: The question ‘What is acting or doing something?’ seems at first unreal, i.e. a question to which we already know the answer. For it looks as though everyone knows what doing something is and would be ready to offer instances. No one, for instance, would hesitate to say to another ‘You ought to go to bed’, on the ground that neither he nor the other knows the kind of thing meant by ‘going to bed’. Yet, when we consider instances that would be offered, we do not find it easy to state the common character which we think they had which led us to call them actions. (Prichard, 1945: 272) On occasion, a moral theorist may say something about whether they take actions to be events, or whether they are talking of act ‘types’ or ‘tokens’.27 By and large, however, one finds little conceptual exploration of the relation between motive, intention, action, and consequence, save perhaps on ques- tions of merely adjacent interest to the main event, such as the ‘doctrine of double effect’ or ‘the doctrine of doing and allowing’. In the second half of the 20th century, the prevailing view of actions was Davidson’s (Anscombe-inspired) contention that they are a sub-set of events.28 Yet hardly anyone seems to care about what it might mean for an event to be right or wrong (morally or otherwise) or, for that matter, morally good or
26. See Sandis (2017). Schapiro (2001 & 2021) and Hurley (2018) also argue that different conceptions of action render competing normative views plausible, but what they really have in mind are different theories of agency. 27. Cf. Wetzel (2006: § 2.2) and Hanser (2008). 28. Davidson (1963). 50 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis bad.29 Proponents of all sides share a related tendency to draw a hard distinc- tion between the deontic and the evaluative, focusing their interest in action on its rightness or wrongness, and reserving terms like ‘good’ and ‘bad’ for its motives and/or consequences. From this big leap, it is but a small step to the conclusion that that normative ethics is in the business of providing deontic accounts, leaving evaluative concerns to the ‘branch’ that is moral psycholo- gy.30 Anyone who insists otherwise is branded a virtue-ethicist. Should we not at least rejoice in the post-MMP ‘the revival of virtue eth- ics’?31 For some the writing was on the wall from the outset: [W]hen the phrase ‘virtue ethics’ first came on the scene a number of people, I suspect, must have had a certain sinking feeling – without perhaps quite realizing why. The thing, we supposed, was almost bound to go to the bad. This gloomy assessment has I think proved quite realistic. (Coope, 2006: 20) Anscombe argued that a philosophical concern with virtue should perme- ate moral philosophy. Instead, it has led to just one more theory, competing with deontology, consequentialism, and contractualism to provide the best account of right and wrong action.32 Julia Annas laments: Doing the right thing turns out not to be so central in an ethics in which virtue is central. A virtue ethical theory will be interested in virtuous action, but will not get much out of the notion of right action. (Annas, 2011: 47) No one has done more than Rosalind Hursthouse to put forward virtue ethics on the map as ‘a genuine rival to utilitarianism and deontology’ which can ‘give an account of right action in such a way as to provide action guid- ance’ (Hursthouse, 1999: 26 & 28; see also Hursthouse, 1996). While she does well to emphasise the guiding power of being concerned with virtue, the offering of a normative theory of right action could not be further removed from what Anscombe was hoping to achieve with MMP.33 This may serve to explain Hursthouse’s ambivalence towards this aspect of her own work. While she boasts that virtue ethics ‘is at least a possible rival to deontological and util- itarian theories’ – one that ‘can come up with an account of’ right action, – she tellingly adds that it only does this ‘under pressure, only in order to maintain a fruitful dialogue with the overwhelming majority of modern philosophers for whom “right action” is the natural phrase’ (Hursthouse, 1999: 223 & 69; cf. Swanton, 2003: 245).34 It’s as if the wimpy school nerd feels reassured to
29. By contrast, we know what it is for an event to be good or bad tout court viz. to have pos- itive or negative value. 30. Consequentialism and other mainstream normative theories involve the promotion of good- ness (see Korsgaard, 1993), while virtue ethics sees goodness as a (not necessarily causal) mark of right action, but neither approach offers accounts of good action. 31. See Baril and Hazlett (2019). 32. Cf. Solomon (1988 & 2003) and Coope (2015). 33. The point is put forth with a panoply of arguments by Coope (2006: 26-39). 34. Cf. Annas (2011: 47, f.n. 36). Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 51 have finally been accepted by those big nasty bullies, experiencing just a shade of residual resentment. Virtue ethics thus solidifies itself as simply one more position within moral theory, offering an account of right action in terms of what the virtuous agent would characteristically do in the circumstances. Such theories allow one to ask whether virtue ethics and consequentialism might be compatible. It is, after all, conceivable that the virtuous person is one disposed to perform whichever actions are expected to promote the greatest amount of good.35 If this is what constitutes moral philosophy then Anscombe is not making a move within it. Her morality is not in direct competition with other normative theories, because it isn’t in the business of producing a theory of right action at all. Needless to say, this does not imply that Anscombe’s account of action and intention is neutral with regard to all such theories. Far from it. So much for moral philosophy after Intention and MMP. Before these interventions, British moral theorists were, ironically, less inclined to separate their defence of any particular account of ‘right action’ from their views in moral and philosophical psychology.
3. Moral Philosophy Before 1957 There was considerably more philosophy of action and psychology within 20th century moral theory before 1957, than there has been ever since. Curi- ously, much of it was conducted by a number of Anscombe’s explicit or implic- it targets (including Moore, 1903; Ross, 1930; Ewing, 1938; Macmurray, 1938; Prichard, 1945), though it is present across the entire history of modern moral philosophy.36 In this final section I highlight some of their insights, with a central focus on the much maligned W. D. Ross (see § I), who was among other things an Aristotle scholar and a translator of the Nicomachean Ethics. Ross defends the proto-Anscombean view that ‘any act may be correctly described in an indefinite, and in principle infinite, number of ways’ and that what I do could, for instance, be truthfully described as ‘fulfilling my promise’, ‘putting the book into our friend’s possession’, and ‘the packing and posting of a book’:
35. See M. Geach (2008: xvii-xviii). Roger Crisp has argued for a ‘Utilitarianism of the Virtues’ according to which the virtuous agent lives ‘in such a way that the total amount of utility in the history of the world is brought as close as possible to the maximum.’ (Crisp, 1992: 154; cf. Hursthouse, 1999: 5 & 7-8). More recently, Crisp has defended the additional view that if we understand virtue ethics as providing an account of right and wrong action (as Hursthouse does), then it collapses into a form of deontology. He suggests, further, that this can be avoided by focusing on the question of the value of virtue, as opposed to the notion of right action (Crisp, 2015 & 2019: 142-145; cf. Baron, 1997 and Singleton, 1999). Anscombe’s insight, by contrast, is that we cannot even begin to answer questions concerning right action without understanding what it is to act virtuously. It would be a mistake, however, to attempt to transform such an understanding into a normative theory. 36. See note 17. 52 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis
[A]ny of the acts we do has countless effects […] Every act therefore, viewed in some aspects, will be prima facie right, and viewed in others prima facie wrong. […] any act may be correctly described in an indefinite, and in prin- ciple infinite, number of ways. An act is the production of a change in the state of affairs […]I may have promised, for instance, to return a book to a friend […] to send it by a messenger or to hand it to his servant or to send it by post… in each of these cases what I do directly is worthless in itself […] this is not what we should describe, strictly, as our duty; our duty is to fulfil our promise, i.e. to put the book into our friend’s possession […] What I do is as truly describable in this way as by saying that it is the packing and posting of a book […] And if we ask ourselves whether it is right qua the packing or post- ing of a book, or qua the securing of my friend’s getting what I have promised to return to him, it is clear that it is in the second capacity that it is right […] by its own nature and not because of its consequences. (Ross, 1930: 41-4)37 Reading the above, I can’t help thinking that far from dismissing Ross’ moral philosophy Anscombe was heavily influenced by it. Indeed, she would later even apply the same preposition (‘qua’) to distinguish her view that actions may be intentional under a description from the nonsensical claim that actions-under-a-description are intentional (Anscombe, 1979). So why did Anscombe reject Ross’ work in such strong terms? His ‘objectivism’ may have lapsed into a form of ‘consequentialism’ so anathema to Christian moral- ity (see § I) that she didn’t want to debate its details under the guise of doing ‘moral philosophy’,38 but this is not in itself a reason to dismiss an entire method of doing moral philosophy that is uncannily similar to her own. A clue to the riddle may be found in an earlier passage of The Right and the Good. Ross writes: [G]reat confusion […] has been introduced into ethics by the phrase ‘a right action’ being used sometimes of the initiation of a certain change in the state of affairs irrespective of motive, and at other times of such initiation from some particular motive, such as sense of duty or benevolence. I would further suggest that additional clearness would be gained if we used ‘act’ of the thing done, the initiation of change, and ‘action’ of the doing of it, the initiating of change, from a certain motive. We should then talk of a right act but not of a right action, of a morally good action but not of a morally good act. And it may be added that the doing of a wrong act may be a morally good action; for ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ refer entirely to the thing done, ‘morally good’ and ‘morally bad’ entirely to the motive from which it is done. (Ross, 1930: 6-7; cf. Sidgwick, 1874: Book III, Ch. 12 and Macmurray, 1938)
37. Compare: ‘The only events to consider are intentional actions themselves, and to call an action intentional is to say it is intentional under some description that we give (or could give) of it […] there is no distinction between my doing and the thing’s happening’ (Ans- combe, 1957a: §§ 19 & 29). 38. Cf. Wiseman (2016b: 10-11). Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 53
From all this he concludes, in a deliberately provocative and paradoxical manner: [N]othing that ought to be done is ever morally good […] the only acts that are morally good are those that proceed from a good motive […] action from a good motive is never morally obligatory […] what is morally good is never right […] That action from a good motive is never obligatory follows from the Kantian principle […] that ‘I ought’ implies ‘I can’. […] however carelessly I pack or dispatch the book, if it comes to hand I have done my duty, and however carefully I acted, if the book does not come to hand I have not done my duty. Of course I should deserve more praise in the second case than in the first. (Ross, 1930: 132) Anscombe has little time for this sort of distinction between what is done and the doing of it from a certain motive. She is consequently disinclined to relate the former to the right and the latter to the good, a disposition strengthened by her independent suspicion of the very distinction between good and right action (see § I). It is worth recalling, at this juncture, that her objection was not that moral philosophers lack a philosophy of psychology or action per se, only that they are in desperate need of one that was ‘sound’, or at least ‘adequate’. So perhaps Anscombe simply found Ross’ argument to the conclusion that an action that is good can never be right (and vice versa) to be ‘unsound’ because it fails to capture the correct relation between motive, intention, action, and duty. Whatever the explanation, she seems to have thrown the baby out with the bathwater. For there is a sound and morally important difference to be made between the things we do and our doings of them, especially in relation to questions concerning intention, foresight, consequences, and intrinsic wrongness.39 Ross’s point about the rightness of an action being divorceable from the goodness or badness of one’s performing it is a sensible and important one, sharing affinities with Mill’s stance that ‘a right action does not necessarily indicate a virtuous character’ and that ‘actions which are blameable often proceed from qualities entitled to praise’. (Mill, 1863: 18-20).40 Yet Ans- combe’s view that the things we do are physical happenings or events (1957a, § 29, 1964: 4, 1969: 10-11, 1979: 208-210) with morally pertinent descrip- tions41 seems to leave no space for it. This is because it rules out the possibil- ity that two people can do the very same thing, even though only of them is acting from a good motive.42 In this she goes against her teacher, Wittgenstein,
39. See Hornsby (1993). 40. For contrast see Kant (1788: 5, 147-148). 41. See note 37. 42. Strictly speaking, one could defend an identity theory between action-event and thing done while allowing for the subtler distinction between one’s doing X from and event of one’s doing X from (see Sandis, 2012: 33), but the stance would be eccentric. 54 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis who cites this very possibility as an explanation for why self-understanding can be so difficult to achieve at times: It is hard to understand yourself properly since something that you might be doing out of generosity & goodness is the same as you may be doing out of cowardice or indifference. To be sure, one may act in such & such a way from true love, but also from deceitfulness & from a cold heart too (CV p. 54 [MS 131 38: 14.8.1946]; cf. PI, §§ 253-254). One may be tempted to object here that ‘A did the same thing as B’ simply amounts to there being some description of what A did which is also true of what B did (e.g. ‘give money to X’, or ‘show off to his friends’). But it would be a category mistake to think that such descriptions apply to things done, as opposed to our doings of them. If A murdered X then we can indeed describe this very thing that A did by saying (with some loss in specificity) that A killed X, for the latter is a sub-set of the former. But if A gave money to X, we cannot truthfully describe the thing done (give money) as showing off, since one can do this very same thing without even intending to showing off in the process. For sure, a particular instance of giving money may be truthfully describ- able as showing off, but the things we do, in the sense in which two people can do the same thing, are not instances of anything. If the case of the person whose donating a large sum of money is a case of showing off, then there is not one single thing done that is good under one description and bad under another but, rather, one event of someone acting badly in doing two distinct things (one right, the other wrong). Hursthouse writes: [A]ct honestly, charitably, generously; do not act dishonestly, etc. […] the adverbs connote not only doing what the virtuous agent would do, but also doing it ‘in the way’ she would do it, which includes ‘for the same sort(s) of reason(s)’43 […] What is misleading about this phrase is that it obscures the fact that, in one way, the agent is not ‘doing the right thing’. What she is doing is, say, trying to impress the onlookers, or hurting someone’s feelings, or avoiding punishment. (Hursthouse, 1999: 29, f.n. 7 & 125) But while one’s act of donating to charity may also be correctly described as one’s trying to impress the onlookers, this doesn’t give us a reason to deny that in so acting a person may do (at least) two things: donate to charity and impress the onlookers, one of which is right and the other wrong. Anscombe can, of course, allow that one can donate to charity with the (bad) intention of impressing the onlookers. On her view, however, this provides a true description of what was done, thereby leaving no space for the view that one can do the right thing with a bad intention. This forces her to say that what was done was right under one description and wrong under another.
43. One may also act in right or wrong ways that are independent of morality (there are two senses in which one might being a good thief). Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 55
Anscombe’s underlying account of action as a happening contrasts with that of Prichard, according to whom to do something is to bring about a change: It is, no doubt, not easy to say what we mean by ‘an action’ or by ‘doing something’. Yet we have in the end to allow that we mean by it originating, causing, or bringing about the existence of something viz. some new state of an existing thing or substance, or, more shortly, causing a change of state of some existing things […] by ‘moving our hand’ we mean causing a change of place in our hand; by ‘posting a letter’ we mean bringing about that a letter is in a pillar-box. (Prichard, 1932: 84-85) The view outlined above anticipates those of G. H. von Wright (1963) and, more recently, Maria Alvarez and John Hyman (1998). By the end of World War II, however, Prichard had come to embrace a volitionist account of action as a form of mental activity (1945: 272-274).44 Contra Macmurray and Ross, he would claim that the term ‘action’ was not ambiguous at all: it referred to our mental ‘doings’ and not to their effected changes, which con- stitute our ‘deeds’ (ibid.: 275; cf. von Wright 1963: 37 ff.). Anscombe would have undoubtedly rejected Prichard’s invalid inference from the thought that we might conceivably fail to achieve anything we set out to do, to the conclusion that all we ever have a duty to do is to set our- selves (viz. will) to bring something about. Indeed, no adequate philosophy of psychology could ever allow for such an inference. But if, in uttering ‘I do what happens’, Anscombe had been running a million miles from Prichard’s volitionism, then she ended up too far in the other direction.
Epilogue Sixty years after MMP, contemporary moral philosophy is replete with conse- quentialist thinking obsessed with trolley-cases, a re-branded ‘philosophy of psychology’ that replaces conceptual explorations with unrefined findings from cognitive science, an experimental form of ‘moral psychology’ that culminates in the situationist skepticism about character traits, and the espousal of virtue ethics as a theory of ‘morally right action’ that may even be compatible with utilitarianism. By Anscombe’s lights, moral philosophy would seem to have been in far better shape between Moore and MMP than it is now. Within the work of Ross and Prichard alone, we find a properly philosophical psychology (one that includes conceptual explorations of the relation of action to motive, intention, and the will) to be central to moral thought. Whatever one’s assessment of the views of action that Anscombe sought to combat and the account that she put forward in their place, MMP seems to have inadvertently created a wedge between ethics and action theory. This has
44. The general shape of Prichard’s account is retained in the early work of Jennifer Hornsby, who replaces willing with trying (1980: 46-48, 60-63; retracted in Hornsby, 2010). 56 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Constantine Sandis largely been the result of two consequences that Anscombe could not have easily foreseen, and most certainly didn’t intend. The first is the establishment of ‘virtue ethics’ as one more position within normative ethics, theorizing that an action is right if (and only if) it is what the virtuous agent would (advise us to) do. The second is the development of ‘moral psychology’ as an inde- pendent and increasingly empirical ‘branch’ of ethics whose interest in ques- tions of motivation, agency, and responsibility have been largely sawed off investigations into the good and the right. To end with a ray of hope: the 21st century has seen a resurgence of neo-Anscombians producing impressive work in moral philosophy (e.g. Coope, 2006; Solomon, 2003, 2008; Thompson, 2008; Vogler, 2009; Frey, 2019 and Hain, 2019). This welcome revival of interest in her work is an opportunity for moral philosophers to work well and finally put things right.45
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45. Versions of this paper were presented at the Centre for Ethics as Study of Human Value, University of Pardubice (21 Feb, 2018), the University of Zurich’s Theory of Action sum- mer school in Abbaye de Reigny, Vermenton (17-22 June, 2018), and the Anscombe at 100: On Action and Living Well conference, College Year Athens (15-16 June, 2019). Many thanks to all of the organisers and participants, including my Athens respondent Stelios Virvidakis. Special thanks to Louise Chapman, Sophie-Grace Chappell, Jennifer Frey, David Hunter, Andreas Lind, and Roger Teichmann, as well as two anonymous referees, for their thoughtful comments on earlier drafts. These have helped to improve the paper, though not as much as any of them would have liked. Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe Enrahonar 64, 2020 57
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Constantine Sandis is Professor of Philosophy at the University of Hertfordshire and Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts. He is the author of The Things We Do and Why We Do Them (2012) and Character and Causation: Hume’s Philosophy of Action (2019). Sandis is currently completing a book on How to Understand Others (for Yale University Press) and beginning another on Action in Ethics.
Constantine Sandis és professor de filosofia a la Universitat de Hertfordshire i membre de la Royal Society of Arts. És autor de The Things We Do and Why We Do Them (2012) i Character and Causation: Hume’s Philosophy of Action (2019). Actualment està escrivint un llibre sobre acció en ètica i un altre sobre comprendre els altres (per a Yale University Press). Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 63-79
Anscombe reading Aristotle*
Susana Cadilha Universidade Nova de Lisboa – IFILNOVA [email protected]
Reception date: 4-11-2019 Acceptance date: 2-12-2019
Abstract
Under one particular reading of it, Anscombe’s ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ is considered a seminal text in the revival of virtue ethics. Seen thus, Anscombe is implying that it is possible to do ethics without using concepts such as ‘moral ought’ or ‘moral obligation’, the perfect example being Aristotelian ethics. On the other hand, Anscombe claims that it is not useful at present to engage in moral philosophy since she finds that ‘philosophically there is a huge gap… which needs to be filled by an account of human nature, human action, …and above all of human “flourishing”’ (Anscombe, 1958: 18). The gap Anscombe refers to appears where there should be a ‘proof that an unjust man is a bad man’. My aim in this paper is to discuss the various ways in which Anscombe’s theses can be interpreted, recalling two other philosophers for whom Aristotelian virtue ethics was also essential: P. Foot and J. McDowell. I will argue that Anscombe did not expect Aristotelian ethics to answer the problems modern ethics poses. Keywords: ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’; Aristotelian ethics; virtue ethics; moral naturalism; Philippa Foot; John McDowell
Resum. Anscombe llegint a Aristòtil
Fent-ne una lectura particular, «Modern Moral Philosophy» (La filosofia moral moder- na) d’Anscombe es considera un text fundador en el renaixement de l’ètica de la virtut. Vist així, Anscombe insinua que és possible fer ètica sense emprar conceptes com «deure moral» o «obligació moral»; l’exemple perfecte n’és l’ètica aristotèlica. D’altra banda, Anscombe afirma que actualment no és útil fer filosofia moral, ja que troba que «filosòfi- cament hi ha una gran bretxa […] que s’ha d’omplir amb una explicació de la naturalesa humana, l’acció humana […] i, sobretot, del “floriment” humà» (Anscombe, 1958: 18). La bretxa a la qual es refereix apareix on hi hauria d’haver una «prova que un home injust és un home dolent». El meu objectiu en aquest article és discutir les diverses formes en què es poden interpretar les tesis d’Anscombe, recordant dos altres filòsofs per a qui l’ètica de la virtut aristotèlica també era essencial: P. Foot i J. McDowell. Argumentaré que Anscombe no esperava que l’ètica aristotèlica respongués als problemes que l’ètica moderna ens planteja. Paraules clau: «Modern Moral Philosophy»; ètica aristotèlica; ètica de la virtut; naturalisme moral; Philippa Foot; John McDowell
* This work is state-funded through the FCT – Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia, I.P., under the Norma Transitória contract – D.L. no. 57/2016.
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1276 64 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Susana Cadilha
Summary
1. Stating the problem 5. How to interpret Anscombe’s ‘Modern 2. Aristotelian ethics Moral Philosophy’? 3. Philippa Foot’s reading 6. Concluding remarks of Aristotelian ethics Bibliographical references 4. John McDowell’s reading of Aristotle
1. Stating the problem Elizabeth Anscombe’s ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’ was clearly seen as an attack on modern theories of morality, mostly those from Utilitarian and Kantian ethics, but also Social Contract theories. The problem with such traditional moral theories was that as secular approaches to morality, they wholly lacked a proper foundation or authority, in the sense that concepts such as ‘moral ought’ or ‘morally right’ ceased to be meaningful in a system in which the proper source of moral authority, God, is absent. But what should we make of this? Not all interpreters of Anscombe’s paper agree on this point. Under one particular reading of it – probably the most common one – Anscombe’s paper is considered a seminal text in the revival of virtue ethics. Seen thus, it implies that modern moral philosophy is deep- ly misguided and an alternative account should be developed, one not revolv- ing around the definition of what is the (morally) right thing to do and not focusing on concepts such as ‘moral ought’ or ‘moral obligation’. Indeed, Anscombe states that these concepts are no longer necessary for modern ethics, and she argues that they have even become harmful and should accord- ingly be abandoned: ‘the concepts of obligation, and duty – moral obligation and moral duty, that is to say – and of what is morally right and wrong, and of the moral sense of “ought”, ought to be jettisoned’ (Anscombe, 1958: 1). That is, when used in this special moral sense, the concepts of ‘obligation’ and ‘ought’ should be jettisoned since they are misleading – they invoke a normative force or authority that currently has no referent, no recognizable source. The problem with modern moral theories, according to Anscombe, is that they retain the figure of the legislator while losing sight of the only entity that could legis- late. In Anscombe’s own words, ‘It is as if the notion “criminal” were to remain when criminal law and criminal courts had been abolished and forgotten’ (Anscombe, 1958: 6). Used in this special moral sense, those concepts imply that we are forcefully obliged to act (or not to act) in certain ways, as if we were obliged or bound by law. ‘Morally wrong’ is equated with ‘illicit’. But this ‘law conception of ethics’, as Anscombe calls it, is outdated and no longer makes sense because we no longer acknowledge an authority from which moral rules could be derived. This legalist conception of ethics is completely shallow if there is no such thing as a recognisable legislator, precisely the case in mod- Anscombe reading Aristotle Enrahonar 64, 2020 65 ern ethics. If we wish to have a secular ethics, God can no longer do the trick, and moral dictates are not required by divine law. The other available option would be the Kantian solution, but according to Anscombe, his idea – reason legislating itself – is simply an incoherent, ‘absurd’ idea. She rejects it as absurd in the sense that ‘the concept of legislation requires superior power in the legislator’ (Anscombe, 1958: 7). Anscombe also claims that it is possible to do ethics without using such con- cepts, the perfect example being Aristotelian ethics. Aristotle was not concerned with defining the criteria by which an action is morally right. Instead, he was concerned with defining what constitutes excellence in a human being. He sought not to determine what good is, or what a right action is supposed to be, but simply to establish what a good life for us is – how we are to under- stand human flourishing. Virtue ethics aims to define what the just action is, not the right action, and in doing so, no rule of thumb will be helpful. One must rely on thick concepts like just, cruel and generous rather than thin ones like good/bad and right/wrong. Thus, Aristotelian ethics is not contaminated by the meaningless legislative use of ‘morally ought’. In virtue ethics, virtues take the place of (moral) law, and the requirements of virtue don’t have the force of law. Of course, virtue ethics also involves some conception of what should not be done, and Aris- totle certainly thought that there were actions that no good man would con- sider under any circumstance. Aristotle would not object to the idea that there are things we should not do, but he would object to the idea of a special cat- egory of such principles marked as specifically moral (meaning: having the force of law, mandatory). Aristotle does not provide an account of what a ‘moral’ obligation is, and even the notion of ‘norm’ has a completely different meaning in the context of a virtue-based ethics. If Aristotle willingly grants that a human being displaying the whole range of virtues is the norm, this is not to be understood in the modern sense of ‘norm’. A human being display- ing or manifesting the whole range of virtues is the norm in precisely the same sense as a human being with ‘a complete set of teeth is a norm’ (Anscombe, 1958: 14). There is no sense of ‘moral’ obligation attached to this idea of norm, in the sense of one being obliged or bound by law – just as we cannot consider there to be some notion of obligation involved when we say that having a complete set of teeth is the norm. Here is how Anscombe describes this distinct notion of norm: in this sense, ‘norm’ has ceased to be roughly equivalent to ‘law’. (…) if some- one looked in this direction to give ‘norm’ a sense, then he ought to recognize what has happened to the notion ‘norm’, which he wanted to mean ‘law – without bringing God in’ – it has ceased to mean ‘law’ at all. (Anscombe, 1958: 14-15) The problem is that even if Anscombe considered virtue ethics a reasoned alternative, a kind of way out for modern ethics in the sense that Aristotelian ethics is not contaminated by the meaningless legislative use of ‘morally ought’, 66 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Susana Cadilha she still finds somewhat of an issue with an account of virtue ethics. Virtue ethics is concerned with what makes a human being just (and courageous, and generous). But of course, we may ask why one should or ought to be just, or whether acting justly is the right thing to do, as she herself acknowledges: ‘can’t it reasonably be asked whether one might ever need to commit injustice, or whether it won’t be the best thing to do? Of course it can’ (Anscombe, 1958: 18). A divine law, or a moral law with truly authoritative force, would not permit unjust actions by forbidding injustice, and as she also recognizes, ‘it really does add something to the description “unjust” to say there is an obli- gation not to do it’ (Anscombe, 1958: 18). Now, can a virtue-based ethics tell us why we shouldn’t be unjust? (Or is this just a nonsensical, absurd question?) As stated above, a virtue-based ethics is concerned with human flourishing and with what a human being has to be and do to flourish. And the most important step in this line of reasoning is that a human being’s flourishing should be equated with the virtues, with acting accordingly with the virtues. Anscombe puts it this way: an act of injustice will tend to make a man bad; and essentially the flourishing of a man qua man consists in his being good (e.g., in virtues); but for any X to which such terms apply, X needs what makes it flourish, so a man needs, or ought to perform, only virtuous actions; and even if, as it must be admit- ted may happen, he flourishes less, or not at all, in inessentials, by avoiding injustice, his life is spoiled in essentials by not avoiding injustice – so he still needs to perform only just actions. That is roughly how Plato and Aristotle talk. (Anscombe, 1958: 18) But here is the problem: if that is ‘roughly how Plato and Aristotle talk’, it is not at all clear that it should be the way modern philosophers talk or that we should be thinking along the same lines.1 Why shouldn’t modern philos- ophers simply follow Aristotle on this? Because, Anscombe thinks, this con- nection between human flourishing and the exercise of virtues is not as straightforward and obvious as it might have seemed to him. In fact, she thinks that the concept of ‘human flourishing’ is a highly dubious one, and that there is a leap which we are still not able to make between this idea of human flour- ishing and the idea of virtuous action. Anscombe goes even further: she claims
1. And this is what gives rise to different interpretations of Anscombe’s ‘Modern Moral Phi- losophy’. Some people doubt whether she is really suggesting that virtue ethics could be a solid alternative to modern secular moral theories (see, for instance, Roger Crisp, 2004, and Blackburn, 2005). Not all interpreters of Anscombe’s paper agree that it should be considered a seminal text in the revival of virtue ethics; rather they believe she is trying to show that the force that divine law conveys to the moral ought is still necessary. According to this interpretation, modern moral philosophers who ‘suppose that the divine law notion can be dismissed as making no essential difference’ (Anscombe, 1958: 18) to morality are essentially wrong. And some argue that this view is much more in line with Anscombe’s well-acknowledged absolutist views on moral matters – she has written extensively on ethical issues rooted in traditional Catholic moral teaching on marriage, sexuality, war, etc. (see Solomon, 2008). Anscombe reading Aristotle Enrahonar 64, 2020 67 that the reason why it is currently not worthwhile to do moral philosophy at all has to do with this big gap that prevents us from having a general account of the concepts of virtue, human nature and human flourishing, a gap which cannot be filled before we have attained a ‘sound philosophy of psychology’. In her own words, ‘philosophically there is a huge gap, at present unfillable as far as we are concerned, which needs to be filled by an account of human nature, human action, the type of characteristic a virtue is and above all of human “flourishing”’ (Anscombe, 1958: 18). This idea is so important to Ans- combe that she claims it as the first thesis of her ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’. Right on the first page of the paper, she already states that this will be one of her three main theses: ‘it is not profitable for us at present to do moral philos- ophy; that should be laid aside at any rate until we have an adequate philosophy of psychology, which we are conspicuously lacking’ (Anscombe, 1958: 1). But how exactly should this idea be understood? What is Anscombe aiming at? Is she really claiming that an Aristotelian virtue ethics can be a reliable alternative to moral modern theories when there is this huge philosophical gap and we apparently cannot rely on Aristotle to overcome it? This will be my main concern in this paper.
2. Aristotelian ethics The philosophical gap that Anscombe refers to appears where there should be ‘proof that an unjust man is a bad man’ (Anscombe, 1958: 5). She develops the idea thus: ‘In present-day philosophy an explanation is required how an unjust man is a bad man, or an unjust action a bad one; to give such an expla- nation belongs to ethics, but it cannot even be begun until we are equipped with a sound philosophy of psychology’ (Anscombe, 1958: 4). But what exactly does this entail? What could count as a proof that an unjust man is a bad man? Is Anscombe implying that if we were equipped with an adequate philosophy of psychology and with an adequate account of human nature and human flourishing, we would be able to find this proof that an unjust man is a bad man? Even if such an ‘explanation belongs to ethics’, it seems like a task that must begin with some kind of descriptive work; does this mean that an adequate account of human psychology and human nature would somehow constitute a basis or a foundation for ethics? Could this natural basis or foundation be the bedrock that ethics is lacking since it lost the idea of an authoritative legislator? First of all, it is important to see how an Aristotelian virtue ethics can be interpreted – why Anscombe thinks that such a conception: i) doesn’t involve the modern notion of ‘moral’ obligation and ‘moral’ ought, and ii) cannot provide an adequate account of human nature and human flourishing. It seems that an alternative to a modern moral theory which has lost the idea of an authoritative legislator could be a theory in which this idea of authority has no use – an account of ethics based on moral psychology, on facts of human nature and on an account of the good for humans based on this 68 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Susana Cadilha approach. This is what Aristotle’s ethics provides. Because it is an eudaimonis- tic ethics, an Aristotelian account needs to neither invoke the figure of an authoritative legislator nor talk about moral obligations. In such an account, people are not bound by law; they are bound by virtue in the sense that it is conducive to the human good, or happiness. But ‘virtue’ [aretê], in the original sense, does not even carry a moralistic tone. Aristotle wrote that ‘human good turns out to be activity of soul exhibiting virtue’ (Aristotle, The Nichomachean Ethics: 1098a15), and that ‘Happiness is an activity of soul in accordance with perfect virtue’ (Aristotle, The Nichomachean Ethics: 1102a5), but ‘virtue’ [aretê] means ‘done in an excellent manner’. Aristotle believed that for every F, there is an excellent way for F to be, and happiness will consist in achieving it. Thus, to be virtuous (to reach excellence) is to be a perfect exemplar of a certain kind; to be virtuous means ‘being good at being what we are’. In other words, a virtu- ous person is simply someone who excels in what s/he does. Therefore, the question to be addressed in the context of a virtue ethics is not ‘why should one be virtuous’, for in this context, this question makes no sense at all. If being virtuous means being good at being what we are, then virtue benefits its possessor in an intrinsic, not an instrumental, way. That is why virtue is presented as linked with the virtuous person’s happiness or flour- ishing. And that is why the figure of the legislator is absent – there is no need for an external (or internal) authoritative entity, there is no (moral) law to which one is bound. The Greeks had no use for this notion of ‘obligation’ as something that makes no reference to our own interests. Rather, the question that needs to be addressed is what makes for a good human being (in the sense of being a perfect exemplar of a human being). What makes one good at being a human being? The main point is that the traditional ‘moral’ virtues – like justice, benevolence or generosity – may be but are not necessarily part of this description (in any case, they are not the whole of it). It is not a conceptual truth that a good human being is a just human being. Thus, it makes sense to ask, for instance, why one ought to be just. That is why Anscombe claims we need a proof that being just is necessary for being good (at being a human being). As we have seen, according to Anscombe, ‘In present-day philosophy an explanation is required how an unjust man is a bad man’ (Anscombe, 1958: 4). But why do we need such a proof ‘in present-day philosophy’, and why didn’t Aristotle need this proof? This is the point at which it would be fruitful, for our purposes, to bring to the discussion two different approaches to and interpretations of Aristotelian ethics put forth by two distinguished philoso- phers: Philippa Foot and John McDowell.
3. Philippa Foot’s reading of Aristotelian ethics P. Foot and J. McDowell are two other moral philosophers for whom Aristo- telian virtue ethics was crucially important. But their interpretations of it are quite distinct, and I think that bearing in mind those two perspectives and Anscombe reading Aristotle Enrahonar 64, 2020 69 grasping the differences between them will help us to better understand Ans- combe’s aims and concerns. Drawing on Aristotle and on Anscombe, P. Foot argued that a virtue-based ethics inspired by Aristotle could be the solution for all the blind spots in any ethical theory. Foot was deeply concerned with the rise of non-cognitivist approaches to ethics; she found those approaches highly harmful, undermin- ing any possibility of ethical thought altogether. If the essential element in any kind of moral assessment or moral evaluation is the agent’s attitudes, and not fundamentally something about the way the world is, this introduces an ele- ment of arbitrariness that she did not find acceptable. Foot thought it possible to give an objective account of ethics and find a grounding for it only if we take the Aristotelian project seriously. According to Aristotle, all living beings have needs, and thus all living beings have a good. What is good for a living being is that which promotes the activities or facul- ties that normal members of the species to which the living being belongs need in order to flourish. What a living being needs depends on what the optimal functioning of a normal member of the species is. For instance, in order to flourish – to do well in a specific life form – oak trees need water and thus need to have deep roots, owls need to have a powerful night vision and humans need a highly developed memory. Thus, the organs of any living being have a purpose or function, which is to contribute to the success of its life. So, it is possible to evaluate the functioning of our organs, for example, or the functioning of the organs of other living beings, as being good or bad based on certain facts about the life form in question. It is then possible to determine what having good eyesight is for an owl, or having good roots for an oak tree. The goodness of any organ lies in its per- forming its function properly (in a non-defective way), enabling the plant/ animal/human being to pursue the characteristic activities of a living being of that species. Foot’s main point is that these notions – the idea of a character- istic activity, of proper functioning, of having a good eyesight – are already normative notions in its complete and proper sense (they are determined once what a proper specimen of that kind is has been determined). We can deter- mine what is it for an owl to have good eyesight because we can determine how an owl should be (what a non-defective owl is). This is how Foot puts it: We start from the fact that it is the particular life form of a species of plant or animal that determines how an individual plant or animal should be. (…) And all the truths about what this or that characteristic does, what its purpose or point is, and in suitable cases its function, must be related to this life cycle. The way an individual should be is determined by what is needed for devel- opment, self-maintenance, and reproduction. (Foot, 2003: 32-33) Therefore, according to Foot, it is perfectly reasonable to consider there to be ‘patterns of natural normativity’ and ‘natural norms’. In fact, she refers to them as ‘Aristotelian necessities’ – an expression she takes from Anscombe. In her own words, an Aristotelian necessity or categorical is ‘that which is necessary 70 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Susana Cadilha because and in so far as good hangs on it’ (Foot, 2003: 15). An Aristotelian necessity is not, thus, a mere statistical proposition. Because those necessities are related to the teleology of the species, they do describe norms – normative assessments on how a particular individual of that species should be. Based on this piece of Aristotelian philosophy, all that Foot needs to prove is that the same conceptual framework applies to the evaluation of human action and human will. It is obvious and clear to her that the evalu- ation of human action and human will also depends on the essential facts that characterise human life, and therefore that morality depends on the life form that characterises our species. Her thesis is that ‘there is no change in the meaning of “good” between the word as it appears in “good roots” and as it appears in “good dispositions of the human will”’ (Foot, 2003: 39, italics in the original). Of course, human actions are much more complex than the actions of other sentient beings and can be evaluated in many different ways, but her point is that the conceptual structure of evaluation remains the same. It is true that human good is sui generis, in the sense that we cannot simply equate it with self-maintenance and reproduction, as in the case of animals and plants.2 Nevertheless, following Aristotle, in the case of human beings some necessities are also related to the teleology of the species (what is gen- erally needed for human good), and therefore it is possible to determine what character virtue or flaw are by determining what kind of a living thing a human being is. To sum up, Foot believed that: i) there is objectively something that can be called ‘natural goodness and defect in living things’ (there is some way each individual of a certain species should be), and ii) evaluations of human action (and, more restrictively, moral evaluations) are but evaluations that can be made against that backdrop, which means that they depend on essential fea- tures of a specific natural life form, human life. What she means by this is that virtues and character dispositions that we evaluate as good in a moral sense are also determined by general facts about human needs and human nature. The human good is associated with meeting not only basic needs but also socially minimal needs that are a prerequisite for the successful pursuit of a fulfilling life, and virtues play an indispensable part in this: Men and women need to be industrious and tenacious of purpose not only so as to be able to house, clothe and feed themselves, but also to pursue human ends having to do with love and friendship. They need the ability to form family ties, friendships, and special relations with neighbours. They also need codes of conduct. And how could they have all these things without virtues such as loyalty, fairness, kindness, and in certain circumstances obedience? (Foot, 2003: 44-45)
2. Foot acknowledges it: ‘The goods that hang on human cooperation, and hang too on such things as respect for truth, art and scholarship, are much more diverse and much harder to delineate than are animal goods’ (Foot, 2003: 16). Anscombe reading Aristotle Enrahonar 64, 2020 71
But Foot goes even further: she also states that this dependence and grounding of morality on the life of our species is an idea she gets from Anscombe (from her ‘On Promising and its Justice’). Here, Anscombe defends that what makes institutions like promises necessary for human beings are certain facts about human life.3 Human beings must bind each other to action in exactly the same sense that owls must have accurate vision, says Foot. Much human good and human coordinated activity depend on this possibility of one person binding another by means of a contract like a promise. This is why a just person aims to keep promises, and why we see breaking promises as something bad or wrong. And we can only prove this idea by identifying what human beings can and cannot do and what the elements of human good are (that is, what one needs in order to live a good life). Given our specific particularities and our particular way of life (name- ly our social nature), morality and the exercise of the so-called moral virtues are necessary for us. This is sufficient, Foot holds, to bring morality back to a steady place, to move away from non-cognitivist and subjectivist approaches and grant it some kind of objectivity. This is how she puts it: What, then, is to be said about the relation between ‘fact’ and ‘value’? The thesis of this chapter is that the grounding of a moral argument is ultimately in facts about human life. (…) In my view, therefore, a moral evaluation does not stand over against the statement of a matter of fact, but rather has to do with facts about a particular subject matter. (…) It is obvious that there are objective, factual evaluations of such things as human sight, hearing, memory, based on the life form of our own species. Why, then, does it seem so monstrous a suggestion that the evaluation of the human will should be determined by facts about the nature of human beings and the life of our own species? (Foot, 2003: 24) One question still remains: is Foot right in thinking that morality’s depend- ence on facts about human life is sufficient to prove all she needs to prove: a natural foundation for ethics – and is that what Anscombe is truly seeking? Would this constitute Anscombe’s sorely needed ‘proof that an unjust man is a bad man’? I think this question can be illuminated if we bring J. McDowell’s perspective on Aristotelian virtue ethics to the discussion.
3. Here is what Anscombe explicitly says about these type of institutions, like promises: ‘Getting one another to do things without the application of physical force is a necessity for human life, and that far beyond what could be secured by those other means. Thus such a procedure… is an instrument whose use is part and parcel of an enormous amount of human activity and hence of human good; of the supplying both of human needs and of human wants so far as the satisfactions of these are compossible. It is scarcely possible to live in a society without encountering it and even actually being involved in it’ (Anscombe, 1969: 74). 72 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Susana Cadilha
4. John McDowell’s reading of Aristotle In fact, there is yet another way to look at the need for virtues. For instance, J. McDowell claims that Foot misunderstood Aristotle in two fundamental ways. First, Aristotelian virtue ethics does not view virtues in an instrumental way – as a characteristic we need to possess in order to have a good life. It is a conceptu- al truth that a virtue benefits its possessor, but Foot and McDowell understand this very differently. According to McDowell, the just action is the thing a vir- tuous man aims at because that is what it means to be a virtuous man, that is what constitutes in itself the good life for the virtuous man; according to Foot, the good life is a kind of by-product of virtuous conduct, something a human being will attain if s/he acts properly. In other words, according to McDowell, Aristotle is not telling us how one should act (for instance: to act justly, or not to break promises) if one wishes to live a fulfilling life; instead, Aristotle is simply describing how a virtuous man acts because he is virtuous. Virtues are intrinsically good, not a means to achieve something else. To the virtuous person (and Aristotle is only addressing the virtuous) who has moulded his/her ethical character and outlook through train- ing and education, having a good life is simply equated with acting virtuously. The good to which virtue leads us is virtuous action itself. It is intriguing how both these contemporary moral philosophers seek a warrant or an Aristotelian underpinning to their disparate views on the need for morality. Foot was inspired by Aristotle to defend the idea that we can rational- ly and instrumentally justify the ethical appeal. McDowell, in turn, denies that Aristotle ever produced such an argument – when Aristotle argues that there is a certain good we cannot achieve without virtues, that good is precisely a virtu- ous life. A virtuous life is not good in a derivative way, but it is admittedly good in itself, even if only for those who can acknowledge it. Virtues have intrinsic value in the sense that they are needed for the good of man, but they are also partly constitutive of the good man. McDowell looks at this particular issue in his article ‘The Role of Eudaimo- nia in Aristotle’s Ethics’ (McDowell, 1980). Here, he argues that Aristotle never tries to convince his audience that moral excellence makes our lives better. What he shows is that by holding a certain conception of excellence, each individual has a particular understanding of what counts as advantageous and disadvanta- geous, desirable and undesirable, just and unjust. Whether a virtuous life served a set of interests that would be defined independently of the agents’ ethical view was a question Aristotle never wished to tackle. Furthermore, Aristotle also considered that a necessary condition to be a holder of a certain virtue is choos- ing virtuous actions only in so far as they are actions that accord with virtue for their own sake, not for the advantages that may accrue. (In this sense, there is an important difference between performing a just act and doing it in a just way: i.e., handing over the wallet to someone who dropped it is itself a just act that can be done because it is a just act or only for fear that someone will see me. Only the first action is truly virtuous, according to McDowell’s reading of Aristotle.) Anscombe reading Aristotle Enrahonar 64, 2020 73
Foot is mistaken, McDowell thinks, in another important sense: Aristotle had no concern with the foundations of ethics, natural or otherwise. It is anach- ronistic to ascribe any such conception to Aristotle, because looking for the grounds of an ethical conception is a modern project attached to the advent of modern science and the notion of (scientific) objectivity. The connection between virtue and eudaimonia is not supposed to account for an external val- idation of an Aristotelian ethics. As McDowell puts it, the concept of eudaimo- nia wouldn’t provide any human being with a kind of ‘blueprint for a life, capable of being recognized as determining what it is rational to do even from a standpoint outside the valuations that result from being brought up in a par- ticular ethical outlook’ (McDowell, 1998: 41). It is true that the demands of ethics are not alien to the contingencies of our lives as human beings, and both Foot and McDowell recognize that. But this doesn’t mean that one can point to some set of objective neutral facts about what it is for a human life to be fulfill- ing, for there are no such neutral objective facts about that; only if we already occupy a certain (ethical) standpoint can we discern the facts about what it is for a human life to be fulfilling. According to McDowell’s reading, ‘the notion of a fulfilling life figures in Aristotle in a way that is already ethical through and through’ (McDowell, 1994: 83). Furthermore, Aristotle had no concern with providing this type of external, rational validation that Foot is seeking. Aristotle was not aiming to prove that an unjust man is a bad man because he didn’t think that his ethical account, or any ethical account, should be grounded on a set of objective, foundation- al facts. In the cultural environment in which Aristotle lived, the question ‘why should I be just, or noble?’ would not even make sense. Someone brought up in that environment learned to delight in the nobility and fairness of actions, and thus s/he just knows that such actions must be performed simply because they are just and noble. Aristotle had no concern for ethical justification because it was sufficient to appeal to the beliefs, value judgements and habits that were inculcated in his audience through their upbringing. This becomes obvious if we consider that he addressed his ethical lessons only to those who had been properly trained — that is, those who already recognised the good- ness of a virtuous life. The project of grounding ethics is a modern one not shared by classical Greek thinkers. McDowell charges Foot not only with misinterpreting Aris- totle but also with ‘philosophical revisionism’ by attributing straightforwardly modern positions to Aristotle. In fact, this ‘anguish’ of looking for objective ground for ethics is a modern aspiration that Aristotle would not recognise. Foot is not alone in this project, though; according to McDowell, both Ber- nard Williams (1985) and Alasdair MacIntyre (1984) also follow a reading of this sort, which he considers a ‘historical monstrosity’: Modern readers often credit Aristotle with aiming to construct the require- ments of ethics out of independent facts about human nature. This is to attribute to Aristotle a scheme for a naturalistic foundation for ethics. (…) 74 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Susana Cadilha
But I think this kind of reading is a historical monstrosity. This reassuring role for nature can seem to make sense only as a response to a kind of anxiety about the status of reasons – ethical reasons in this case – that is foreign to Aristotle. (McDowell, 1994: 79)
5. How to interpret Anscombe’s ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’? Given these different readings of Aristotelian virtue ethics, how should one interpret the first thesis of Anscombe’s ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’? As we saw, Anscombe claims that ‘In present-day philosophy an explanation is required how an unjust man is a bad man’ (Anscombe, 1958: 4), but I think that despite Foot’s best efforts, Anscombe does not see Aristotelian virtue ethics as a way to find a (naturalistic, objective) grounding for ethics. Aris- totle could not provide us with the proof or explanation we want because Aristotle was not giving any proof; that was not what he was doing (as McDowell rightly showed us). Aristotle was not trying to come up with proof, nor did he need it, for various reasons. We require such proof because some Aristotelian philosoph- ical presuppositions are hard for us to accept, namely his teleological and essentialist assumptions. This idea that there is an excellent way for every living being to be, because all living things have a function or purpose (or ‘characteristic activity’, as Anthony Kenny, for instance, prefers), is controver- sial (although some important contemporary philosophers – for instance, P.M.S. Hacker (2007) – still see it as a valuable insight for a philosophical anthropology4). This teleological view of nature also applies to human beings, and that is why, according to Foot, it is possible to define what the good life is for the kind of living being that a human being is. This essentialist teleolo- gy is problematic, and it is hard to follow Aristotle on that, especially if we are willing to include human beings in it. That is, even if this ‘functionalist’ nat- uralism could explain the sense in which we can say an owl has ‘good’ eyesight, it seems far more controversial to extend the same approach to define what a ‘good’ specimen of human being is, or what a good human life would be like. From a contemporary point of view, it is much more difficult to argue that the human species has an essence or a function, or a certain ‘characteristic activity’; that is probably why Anscombe claims that ‘philosophically there is a huge gap… which needs to be filled by an account of human nature…, and above all of human “flourishing” (Anscombe, 1958: 18). From the standpoint of population genetics, there are reasons to think otherwise – that there is a considerable level of variation regarding what can
4. Hacker argues, for instance, that the concept of purpose and the notion of what is benefi- cial for an organism don’t need to be eliminated from a naturalistic biology. He claims that a causal explanation cannot replace a teleological explanation. Anscombe reading Aristotle Enrahonar 64, 2020 75 be considered human beings’ ‘normal’ or ‘proper’ functioning. Could it still be possible to somehow identify the kind of abilities or activities that a typical human being would acquire during his/her development under normal con- ditions? The neo-Aristotelians’ answer is usually that it is not necessary to define what a good life consists in from the point of view of the cosmos, as Aristotle did, for their theory to be sustained; instead, we must simply to be able to determine with some degree of precision what the humanly good life is, the kind of interests and desires that typical human beings seek and man- ifest. But is this last objective even attainable? There seems to be too much cross-cultural variation to admit that what counts as wellbeing for Western populations, for example (freedom, associated with a certain degree of self-satisfaction at personal, family and economic levels), matches what is characterised as a ‘good life’ for other populations (see, for instance, Tiberi- us, 2003). The teleological view of nature also means that from an Aristotelian point of view, purpose and value are part of the world; they are built into it. In antiquity, there was no fact-value distinction. But since the Scientific Revolu- tion, teleology was eliminated from nature and natural science. A natural explanation can no longer involve the concept of what is beneficial or good, or any other axiological concept; nature is no longer conceived as purposeful, and the only possible objective description of things is in mathematically quantifiable terms. This notion of scientific objectivity propagated by the development of modern science was responsible for the distinction between fact and value and correspondingly for the need for an objective, external validation for ethics, which is what Foot and other modern moral thinkers pursue. Aristotle did not need this proof or external validation because he viewed describing a person as ‘honourable’ or ‘just’ as nothing more than a straightfor- ward statement of fact. But in her ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’, Anscombe also shows how this is not the case for modern philosophers; how, for instance, Hume ‘defines “truth” in such a way as to exclude ethical judgments from it and professes that he has proved that they are so excluded’ (Anscombe, 1958: 2). Given the global Aristotelian conception of the world, and given that this approach cannot yield the proof modern philosophers seek, how can Foot contend that this dependence and grounding of morality on the life of our species is an idea she gets from Anscombe’s reading of Aristotle? She states: ‘The terms “should” or “ought” or “needs” relate to good and bad: e.g., machinery needs oil, or should or ought to be oiled, in that running without oil is bad for it, or it runs badly without oil’ (Anscombe, 1958: 5). But as Pigden puts it, these ‘oughts’ that can be derived from the fact that a machine needs oil are merely hypothetical. For instance: ‘My lawnmower needs oil - so if I want to use it (ceteris paribus), I ought to oil it. This is about the most adventurous conclusion the facts can be said to warrant’ (Pigden, 1988: 25). When it comes to living beings, it is also perfectly acceptable to consider the transition from ‘is’ to ‘needs’ in the case of an organism which 76 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Susana Cadilha needs an environment, and the transition between what an organism needs and what is good for it. Those are the so-called Aristotelian needs. But it doesn’t seem to me that Anscombe views those Aristotelian needs – when applied to human beings – as yielding the proof that we need, that is, as providing or describing objective norms on how a human being should act. An Aristotelian need, like the need not to break promises, does not prove, tout court, the need to act justly – ‘it only shows that a man will not act well – do what is good – if he does not do so’ (Anscombe, 1969: 75). But, in her ‘On Promising and its Justice’, she also states that ‘if someone does genuine- ly take proof that without doing X he cannot act well as proof that he must do X, then this shows not that he has an extra premise, but that he has a purpose that can be served only by acting well, as such’ (Anscombe, 1969: 76). This means that only someone who is able to see, from his own normative perspective, that he has a purpose that can be served by acting well will see the need to do so; this will not constitute a need for any rational human being. Promising is an act possible only for those who already think in eval- uative/normative terms; Anscombe does not come up with a demonstration that any human being qua human being should be interested in justice or honesty or in keeping promises. Thus, I don’t really think that Anscombe sees an Aristotelian account as providing a theory of the virtues based on facts of human nature by which one could come to see the objective facts or truths of morality; rather, I think she acknowledges (as McDowell does) that an Aristotelian account was already normative through and through, and so it cannot yield the proof required by a modern moral theory – one in which fact and value are com- pletely disentangled. In her ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’, Anscombe claims not to be ‘impressed’ by the charge that an argument incurs the ‘naturalistic fallacy’, because she does not ‘find accounts of it coherent’ (Anscombe, 1958: 2). But what she means by that is that it is perfectly acceptable to consider that an evaluative/normative statement can be true given certain facts and a certain context. It is perfectly acceptable, for instance, contra Hume, to go from ‘I ordered potatoes’, ‘you supplied them, and you sent me a bill’, to ‘I owe you such-and-such a sum’. As she claims, ‘it would be ludicrous to pretend that there can be no such thing as a transition from, e.g., “is” to “owes”’ (Anscombe, 1958: 4). None- theless, this does not mean that it is perfectly acceptable to go from ‘is’ to ‘morally ought’, given the sense that ‘moral ought’ has acquired as something bound by law. In fact, she admits that it remains impossible to infer ‘morally ought’ from ‘is’: following Hume, someone might say: Perhaps you have made out your point about a transition from ‘is’ to ‘owes’ and from ‘is’ to ‘needs’: but only at the cost of showing ‘owes’ and ‘needs’ sentences to express a kind of truths, a kind of facts. And it remains impossible to infer ‘morally ought’ from ‘is’ sentences. This comment, it seems to me, would be correct. (Anscombe, 1958: 7-8) Anscombe reading Aristotle Enrahonar 64, 2020 77
The reason why it remains impossible to infer ‘morally ought’ from ‘is’ is that this moral ought, which now has a ‘mesmeric force’, cannot be derived from anything. One can only move from ‘is’ to ‘ought’ provided that the ‘ought’ is not the peculiarly moral kind.
6. Concluding remarks Anscombe’s thesis is the following: in the current state of modern moral the- ory, we need proof that an unjust man is a bad man, but we could not have gotten this proof so far since a great deal more work is required in the philos- ophy of mind and the philosophy of psychology before anyone will be in a position to do it. Moreover, if we agree with McDowell’s reading of Aristotle, as I think Anscombe would, we will also agree that an Aristotelian ethics cannot provide that proof. I do not think Anscombe expected Greek ethics to answer the problems modern ethics poses. This enthusiasm for a new moral philosophy was not conceived in naturalistic terms for a theory of virtue, or even for a psychology of virtue, as Foot supposed. What Anscombe believes is needed is a conceptual exploration of the notions of ‘virtue’ and ‘human flour- ishing’ (as she herself did regarding the concept of ‘intention’), not an attempt to explain human virtue in purely naturalistic terms. If the value of the virtues is intrinsic and not instrumental, this means that virtue ethics forces us to aim at the good for reasons that cannot be assessed by means-driven rationality, that is, reasons that are not shared by every human being and not available to every rational being, regardless of his/her ethical outlook. But then why does Aristotelian virtue ethics matter? Why should we take it as an example, and why do we currently need to develop a new theory of virtues? An Aristotelian approach to ethics reminds us precisely that moral terms did not always have this ‘mesmeric force’ that Anscombe recognises in modern moral terms. An Aristotelian ethics not only helps us to see how ‘mor- ally ought’ does not necessarily involve the idea of an absolute verdict, some- thing bound by law; it also helps us to understand that an ethical point of view does not simply match the modern moral point of view: having an ethical point of view is not simply a matter of distinguishing good from bad, right from wrong, permissible from mandatory. In fact, perhaps one of the fundamental advantages of Aristotelian ethical thought is that it lacks the concept of ‘morality’ in the sense of a set of motivations or demands that are in some way essentially different from other types of motivations and demands; it lacks the idea that the moral is a distinct, sui generis, perfectly well-defined category. Having Aristotle in mind enables us to raise serious questions about the coherence of the modern notion of ‘morality’ as a distinct, autonomous sphere of human life and evaluation. Virtue ethics reminds us that doing the right thing is not all that matters, that there is more to ethical thought than morality and that to reduce an ethical appraisal to some kind of deontic appraisal is to have a very narrow conception of ethics. In this sense, virtue ethics is not even a true ‘rival’ to deontology or consequentialism because 78 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Susana Cadilha there is no way we can derive a decision procedure for correct action from it. Perhaps now it is difficult for us to think differently, but an Aristotelian approach shows us that morality is a modern invention. And the whole point is that, even if we cannot answer today in the same way Aristotle did, the ethical question par excellence is not ‘what duties do I have?’ but rather ‘how should I live my life?’
Bibliographical references Anscombe, G.E.M. (1958). “Modern Moral Philosophy”. Philosophy, 53, 1-19. Reprinted in Anscombe 1991 and in Anscombe 2005. — (1969). “On Promising and its Justice”. Critica, 3 (7/8), 61-83. Reprinted in Anscombe 1991. — (1991). Collected Philosophical Papers, vol III: Ethics, Religion and Politics. Minneapolis, MN: Wiley-Blackwell. — (2005). Human Life, Action and Ethics. Edited by M. Geach and L. Gor- mally. Charlottesville, VA: Imprint Academic. Aristotle (2009). The Nichomachean Ethics. Translated by David Ross. New York: Oxford University Press. Blackburn, Simon (2005). “Simply Wrong”. Times Literary Supplement, 5348, 11-12. Crisp, Roger (2004). “Does Modern Moral Philosophy Rest on a Mistake?”. In: Modern Moral Philosophy (Royal Institute of Philosophy, Supplement 54). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 75-94.
Vogler, Candace (2006). “Modern Moral Philosophy Again: Isolating the Promulgation Problem”. Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, 106, 347- 364.
Susana Cadilha (PhD, University of Porto, 2017) is a post-doctoral research fellow at IFILNO- VA. She is the current EpLab Coordinator and she is also a lecturer in ethics at FCSH - Uni- versidade Nova de Lisboa. Her area of expertise is metaethics, and she teaches and writes in the areas of ethics, metaethics and philosophy of action. Before coming to IFILNOVA, she was Guest Assistant Professor at FLUP - Faculty of Arts and Humanities of the University of Porto and at Católica Porto Business School (undergraduate courses on Economics and Management). She was also Guest Researcher at the National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences (North Carolina – USA), where she was trained in bioethics.
Susana Cadilha (doctora per la Universitat de Porto, 2017) és investigadora postdoctoral a Ifil- nova. Actualment és la coordinadora d’EpLab i també és professora d’ètica a la Facultat de Ciències Socials i Humanes (FCSH) de la Universitat Nova de Lisboa. La seva àrea d’especialit- zació és la metaètica i exerceix la docència i escriu en les àrees d’ètica, metaètica i filosofia de l’acció. Abans d’anar a Ifilnova va ser professora assistent convidada a la Facultat de Lletres de la Universitat de Porto (FLUP) i a la Católica Porto Business School (cursos de pregrau d’Econo- mia i Gestió). També ha estat investigadora convidada a l’Institut Nacional de les Ciències de la Salut Ambiental (NIEHS) (Carolina del Nord, EUA), on ha rebut capacitació en bioètica.
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 81-100
Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance of Wittgenstein’s Anti-Scepticism
Michael Wee The Anscombe Bioethics Centre [email protected]
Reception date: 13-11-2019 Acceptance date: 8-1-2020
Abstract
Elizabeth Anscombe is well-known for her insistence that there are absolutely prohibited actions, though she is somewhat obscure about why this is so. Nonetheless, I contend in this paper that Anscombe is more concerned with the epistemology of absolute prohi- bitions, and that her thought on connatural moral knowledge – which resembles moral intuition – is key to understanding her thought on moral prohibitions. I shall identify key features of Anscombe’s moral epistemology before turning to investigate its sources, examining the roots of connaturality in Aquinas and comparing it with rationalist ethical intuitionism, which Anscombe differs from in rejecting “good” as a simple, non-natural property. I then develop a two-stage argument about absolute prohibition: The first will be loosely Thomistic, while the second will suggest how Anscombe’s absolute prohibitions can be seen as a continuation of Wittgenstein’s anti-scepticism in On Certainty. I develop an account of absolute prohibitions as a form of Wittgensteinian hinge proposition – they are not the conclusions of deductive arguments, but the foundations for intelligibility in action. Keywords: connatural knowledge; virtue ethics; “Modern Moral Philosophy”; ethical intu- itionism; Aquinas; natural law; Tractatus; On Certainty; hinge propositions
Resum. L’epistemologia moral d’Anscombe i la rellevància de l’antiescepticisme de Wittgenstein
Elizabeth Anscombe és coneguda per la seva insistència que hi ha accions absolutament prohibides, tot i que no està molt segura de per què és així. No obstant això, sostinc en aquest article que Anscombe està més preocupada per l’epistemologia de les prohibicions absolutes, i que el seu pensament sobre el coneixement moral connatural, que s’assembla a la intuïció moral, és clau per comprendre el seu pensament sobre les prohibicions morals. Identificaré les característiques clau de l’epistemologia moral d’Anscombe abans de passar a investigar-ne les fonts, examinar les arrels de la connaturalitat en Tomàs d’Aquino i comparar-la amb l’intuïcionisme eticoracionalista, del qual Anscombe difereix en rebut- jar el «bé» com una propietat simple, no natural. Després desenvolupo un argument de dues etapes sobre la prohibició absoluta: el primer serà poc tomista, mentre que el segon suggerirà que les prohibicions absolutes d’Anscombe poden veure’s com una continuació de l’antiescepticisme de Wittgenstein a On Certainty. Desenvolupo una explicació de les prohibicions absolutes com una forma de la proposta de la frontissa de Wittgenstein: no són les conclusions dels arguments deductius, sinó els fonaments de la intel·ligibilitat en l’acció. Paraules clau: coneixement connatural; ètica de la virtut; “Modern Moral Philosophy”; intuïcionisme ètic; Tomàs d’Aquino; llei natural; Tractatus; On Certainty; proposta frontissa
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1277 82 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee
Summary
1. Introduction 5. A naturalistic account of absolute 2. “Modern Moral Philosophy” and prohibitions absolute prohibitions 6. Wittgensteinian anti-scepticism and 3. Connatural knowledge in Anscombe: the possibility of ethics “as common as humanity”? Bibliographical references 4. A brief note from the Thomistic tradition
1. Introduction Elizabeth Anscombe’s reputation in moral philosophy is associated with two qualities in particular: An insistence on the existence of absolutely prohibited actions and an encouragement – to put it mildly – of an ethic based on virtue rather than obligation. These two themes are given prominence in her paper “Modern Moral Philosophy”, but, somewhat frustratingly, are never really developed beyond their philosophically embryonic form. In the decades fol- lowing the publication of that paper in 1958, much more philosophical atten- tion has been paid to the subject of virtue, and there is no denying that of the two, Anscombe’s thought on absolute prohibitions is the more idiosyncratic in presentation, even in her subsequent writings. But it ought not to be neglected, not least because it drives so many of her concerns in moral philosophy. Indeed, no reading of “Modern Moral Philosophy” can be complete with- out a consideration of absolute prohibitions. Hence, it is there that I shall situate the underlying thesis of this paper, which is that Anscombe is more concerned with the epistemological side of the most basic moral prohibitions, and that this in turn lends itself to a Wittgensteinian reading. The purpose of this paper is hence partly exegetical: I will proceed by identifying the key features of Anscombe’s moral epistemology before turning to investigating its sources, in order to develop a two-stage argument about absolute prohibitions. The first stage is loosely Thomistic and naturalistic, and the second – which will be more speculative than exegetical – will attempt to suggest how Ans- combe’s thought on prohibited actions can be seen as a continuation of Witt- genstein’s anti-sceptical arguments, most notably in his posthumous work On Certainty. I shall suggest that we can think of some of the most deep-seated moral intuitions we have as Wittgensteinian hinge propositions, on which the rest of moral knowledge turns.
2. “Modern Moral Philosophy” and absolute prohibitions In “Modern Moral Philosophy” Anscombe contends that contemporary the- ories of ethics are so unprofitable that we should consider “banishing ethics totally from our minds” until we are able to investigate the concept of “virtue” Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 83 properly, which offers us a more promising path for understanding right and wrong. Yet at the same time Anscombe makes it clear that she is “not able to do the philosophy involved”, nor is anyone else, she claims, “in the present situation of English philosophy” (1958a: 15-16). If we are to take her quite literally, this clearly leaves us in an unsatisfactory position. As for absolute prohibitions, Anscombe seems to veer towards the level of ad hominem when she writes: But if someone really thinks, in advance, that it is open to question whether such an action as procuring the judicial execution of the innocent should be quite excluded from consideration – I do not want to argue with him; he shows a corrupt mind. (ibid.: 17) Perhaps it is due to this double-obscurity that some have been tempted to adopt a more sceptical reading of “Modern Moral Philosophy”. Such a reading would view Anscombe as being doubtful of the possibility of ever developing a fully-fledged account of virtue ethics, and would therefore take the paper to be suggesting, in effect, that the only hope for ethics to ground any sort of absolute prohibition is through some notion of a divine law and lawgiver (Driver, 2018; see also Blackburn, 2005). Anscombe’s own staunch Roman Catholic faith, which clearly animates her subsequent engagement with moral questions such as euthanasia and contraception, would seem on the face of it to confirm this thesis. All this, I fear, is somewhat misleading, for Anscombe is being nothing other than realistic about the philosophical difficulties involved in the direc- tions she sets out for future travel. These include the need to develop “an account of human nature, human action, the type of characteristic a virtue is, and above all of ‘human flourishing.’” (Anscombe, 1958a: 18). But chal- lenging as the task at hand may be, if one were to follow this route, then whatever one’s religious beliefs one might still come to some degree of knowl- edge about ethics. The point, though, is that one has to ask the right kind of question – and this is a central contention of “Modern Moral Philosophy”. If one did not believe in divine law, then it is more profitable to ask questions of virtue and vice, like “Is this just?” or “Is this gluttonous?”, rather than “Is this morally right?” (Geach, 2005). The latter sort of question aroused Ans- combe’s hostility because it seemed to treat the word “moral” as conferring some special force to its accompanying injunctions, or else as denoting a particular sub-class of actions that alone were the province of moral inquiry (Anscombe, 2005c: 204). Where do absolute prohibitions fit in? The considerations above are useful for situating our discussion because Anscombe does not treat the question of absolute prohibitions as wholly separate from the challenges enumerated above for understanding virtue. She would certainly be strenuously opposed to the popular misconception, very much alive even today, that virtue ethics represents a kind of “mushy middle” position between consequentialism and deontology, one that does not generally admit of absolute rules about certain actions. 84 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee
Virtue ethics is not infrequently presented as differing from consequential- ism and deontology in asking as its primary question, not whether an act is right or wrong, but what sort of character one ought to act or live by. If such an explanation is not wildly inaccurate, it is at best a partial truth. As John Haldane contends in this regard, the idea that “the good of actions and that of outcomes are nothing but a reflection of goodness of heart or intellect or will” sounds implausible or even incoherent (2011: 381). An excessively agent-centred view which really replaces “virtue”, properly understood, with “motive” could excuse just about anything. Such a desiccated form of virtue ethics hardly resembles what Anscombe means by asking questions such as “Is this just?”. In fact, one might think that what Anscombe says about justice or other virtues has very little to do with “character” as we understand the word in ordinary language. She says, for instance, that an act such as “bilking” is contrary to the virtue of justice “in a merely ‘factual’ way”; bilking is bad for humans just as it is bad for machinery to run without oil (1958a: 4-5). She accepts that the evaluation of some actions from the perspective of virtue will depend on circumstance and inten- tion, but there will be other actions that are intrinsically incompatible, for example, with the virtue of justice and hence are always excluded (ibid.: 15). Anscombe’s paradigm example in this respect, as we have already seen in her “corrupt mind” remark, is “procuring the judicial execution of the innocent”. But here we immediately run into a difficulty: Anscombe appears to simply assume the intrinsic unjustness of such an action, at least as far as “Modern Moral Philosophy” goes. Or else, for all her talk of jettisoning a divine law conception of ethics for the purposes of philosophy, she is really relying on Roman Catholic doctrine here to push her point. After all, she is not exactly averse, elsewhere, to speaking of ethics in terms of the natural law, properly understood as a form of divine legislation (2008: 179). The role of the natural law in Anscombe’s view on absolute prohibitions is one we will return to later, but for now what must be said is that the sug- gestion that a “covert divine law theory” is at work here overlooks an impor- tant feature of the natural law, which as an ethical theory makes two distinct claims – one concerning ontology, and the other epistemology. Regarding ontology, natural law in the tradition of Thomas Aquinas is undeniably the- istic. Aquinas himself could not be clearer about this. The natural law, he writes, is “nothing else than the rational creature’s participation of the eternal law” of God (ST, I-II, q. 91, a. 2, co.).1 But the epistemological claim of the natural law is that one does not, in principle, require religious belief to know its precepts. Hence Anscombe writes in “Contraception and Chastity”: “Natural law” is simply a way of speaking about the whole of morality, used by Catholic thinkers because they believe the general precepts of morality are laws promulgated by God our Creator in the enlightened human understanding
1. All references to Aquinas’s Summa Theologica are taken from Aquinas (1920) and will be cited as “ST” in the text. Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 85
when it is thinking in general terms about what are good and what are bad actions. That is to say, the discoveries of reflection and reasoning when we think straight about these things are God’s legislation to us (whether we realise this or not). (2008: 179) Anscombe is on the whole more concerned with the epistemology than the ontology of the natural law, and that is indeed why I will be focusing on the epistemology of absolute prohibitions in this paper. Seen from this perspective, any “covert” reliance on a divine legislator would not therefore conflict with Anscombe’s thesis in “Modern Moral Philosophy” about virtue being the most promising route for doing ethics. It helps to think of ethics as being, in a way, more like the natural sciences than theology. For example, one who believes in God as creator would hold that anyone examining and reasoning about the natural world, whether they know it or not, is studying God’s creation. God’s revelation may give an additional dimension to one’s study, or provide an independent reason for favouring a particular scientific hypothesis (say, the Big Bang as opposed to Steady State theory), but this does not mean that science cannot make progress by its own non-theological tools and standards. This, I think, is an apt analogy with ethics from a natural law standpoint. That is all well and good, but it does not explain Anscombe’s apparent question-begging in relation to the wrongness of killing the innocent. Fur- thermore, her “corrupt mind” remark might be taken as suggesting that moral knowledge of this sort is owed to the possession of a certain refined, or at least unadulterated, moral sensibility. Is that true? Why exactly is killing the inno- cent intrinsically wrong? Here again Anscombe’s advice about asking the right kind of question is important. It is easy to ask “Why?” of any statement of moral belief, or indeed of any belief – and the sceptical tradition in philosophy is long if not venera- ble – but the sceptic might himself be asked, “What kind of answer are you looking for? Are you looking for a rational requirement, for instance?” When a putative prohibition such as that against the intentional killing of the inno- cent is “so basic” that it is hard to explain why it is so (Anscombe, 2005d: 266), might it be rather that the question “Why?” has no application – or at any rate cannot be meaningfully posed? What I should like to suggest is that Anscombe shies away from “Why?” questions about absolute prohibitions because they are, without further qual- ification at least, the wrong kind of question to ask. But to get there, I shall first investigate Anscombe’s treatment of our knowledge of such prohibitions, which – “corrupt minds” notwithstanding – appears to have the character of commonly-shared intuitions. This, however, should not be confused with the rationalist ethical intuitionism associated with G.E. Moore. Anscombe instead uses the term “connatural knowledge”, a term which comes from Aquinas and which, while being at the centre of Anscombe’s epistemology of moral prohi- bitions, requires much clarification. 86 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee
3. Connatural knowledge in Anscombe: “as common as humanity”? Having situated our discussion of absolute prohibitions in Anscombe’s thought on virtue, we can see her account of the relationship between both concepts raises the following question: In relation to justice, do we come to know of the intrinsic unjustness of certain actions having reflected on the nature of justice, or is it through such paradigm cases as killing the innocent that we learn of the virtue of justice – and indeed what is at its core? Provisionally, I would suggest that Anscombe would side with the latter explanation, on account of her understanding of connatural knowledge. A major theme running through Anscombe’s moral philosophy is her con- tention that certain basic moral prohibitions or values are known to us almost instinctively. Such knowledge is called connatural knowledge, which, as its etymology might suggest, is that which is “readily known” on account of one’s nature (Anscombe, 2005a: 60). In some ways such a concept resembles ethical intuitionism, though its roots in Thomistic philosophy ultimately suggest cer- tain key differences – chiefly to do with the object of such moral knowledge. Anscombe addresses the subject of connatural knowledge most clearly and directly in a paper entitled “Knowledge and Reverence for Human Life”, where she makes three claims of particular relevance to our discussion. Firstly, con- natural knowledge is not concerned exclusively with ethics; it also includes forms of knowledge as basic as the knowledge of material substances. Such knowledge can be considered “connatural” because of an affinity in nature between ourselves, as material beings, and such substances. Secondly, where it concerns ethics, connatural knowledge is a “capacity to recognise what action will accord with and what ones will be contrary to” a certain virtue. With actions contrary to virtue in particular, connatural knowl- edge involves a kind of inclination against an action, a ready “perception” of its immorality, which Anscombe compares to the “revulsion which is some- times part of the perception of something as disgusting, as, for example, if someone were to spit into one’s glass” (ibid.: 60). However, there is no reason to suppose that Anscombe has only absolute prohibitions in mind here (if she even does at all); one who is well formed in a particular virtue might also recognise connaturally a wide variety of actions contrary to that virtue in particular circumstances. That being said, Anscombe stresses that connatural knowledge is insufficient for virtue. One needs “not only a connatural ‘pro’ or ‘anti’ reaction” but also knowledge of the specifics of one’s given situation and practical wisdom in order to act virtuously (ibid.: 63). Thirdly, Anscombe claims that the most important instance of connatural knowledge is the knowledge of the dignity of a human being, which is essen- tial to possessing the virtue of justice (ibid.: 61-63; see also Anscombe, 2005b). This, presumably, is what is involved in knowing the intrinsic unjustness of intentionally killing the innocent – Anscombe’s absolute prohibition par excel- lence – though it is also at the heart of the just person’s response to someone who is hungry or cold, a response which nonetheless is not governed by the Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 87 same sort of absolute rule. To restate the point made above, one requires prac- tical wisdom to work out what exactly is to be done in the particular situation (Anscombe, 2005a: 64-65). These claims alone do not suffice for establishing, at least on Anscombe’s view, that the absolute prohibition against intentionally killing the innocent is known connaturally and prior to acquiring the virtue of justice, and hence our question at the outset of this section remains unanswered as yet. Anscombe herself recognises a problem of circularity with regard to con- natural moral knowledge – that one needs the virtue of justice to have its relevant connatural inclinations, but that one also needs certain inclinations to possess such virtue in the first place. Her response to this problem of cir- cularity is a classic Aristotelian one: Moral education. Getting into the habit of performing just actions makes a person “inclined to do them qua just. This is already inchoate virtue and makes him have good inclinations, i.e. inclina- tions to the ends that a just man has” (ibid.: 63-64). This may well be a prac- tical solution to the problem of circularity, but it does not address the theo- retical question of whether the virtue of justice is discovered, so to speak, by intuitive knowledge of certain prohibitions. Does Anscombe provide us with other resources with which to address this problem? Here it is worth remarking that elsewhere Anscombe seems to refer to a similar phenomenon of intuitive moral knowledge, perhaps somewhat unhelpfully, as a “mystical perception” – a choice of term she immediately qualifies: I don’t mean, in calling it a mystical perception, that it’s out of the ordinary. It’s as ordinary as the feeling for the respect due to a man’s dead body: the knowledge that a dead body isn’t something to be put out for the collectors of refuse to pick up. This, too, is mystical; though it’s as common as humanity. (2008: 187) Nevertheless, the term “mystical” in context serves a rhetorical function of being contrasted with mere utilitarian value – indeed Anscombe wants to define “mystical” as “supra-utilitarian”, and she considers the absolute prohi- bition on murder as falling under this category as well (ibid.). Perhaps more curiously than any of the examples already given, Anscombe also speaks of the value of participation in democratic decision-making as being “mystical”, along with the perception of having been part of the “we” that made a decision even though one personally voted for the losing side (1976: 162-163).2 One might reasonably hypothesise, therefore, that “mystical” perceptions are a particular kind of connatural knowledge – the kind concerned with things which have value in and of themselves, and not merely instrumental value. This will, unsurprisingly, involve absolute prohibitions at times, though not always – I do not think that Anscombe meant to say that there was an
2. Mary Geach provides a helpful discussion on Anscombe’s use of “mystical” in her paper “Anscombe on Sexual Ethics” (2016: 231-232). 88 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee absolute prohibition involved in safeguarding democratic rights to vote, even if we can recognise its supra-utilitarian value. In any case, looking back again at “Modern Moral Philosophy”, where Ans- combe seems to take for granted that killing the innocent is always wrong – specifically in contrast with utilitarian or consequentialist moral philoso- phy – we are now in a better position to see this as a point involving connat- ural knowledge, indeed of the “mystical” kind. This would offer a far more satisfactory response to the question of circularity, if certain absolute prohibi- tions are known connaturally before the acquisition of virtue by habituation. The philosophical “cost” of that position would, I suppose, be to accept that everyone therefore already possesses the virtue of justice, for example, albeit in its most inchoate form possible. But I see no reason why this would be inconsistent with Anscombe’s moral philosophy. To be sure, that a certain piece of knowledge or perception is “as common as humanity” does not imply that every single person must possess it. One might make room for “corrupt minds” who do not.
4. A brief note from the Thomistic tradition All that being said, some loose ends regarding connatural knowledge need to be tied up to make progress with our investigation into absolute prohibitions. No doubt, interpretative difficulties regarding connatural knowledge are not unique to Anscombe – the subject is a controversial one even in Aquinas himself, who does not give a systematic account of connaturality (Suto, 2004: 65), and among scholars of Aquinas’s thought (Lisska, 1996: 28, 228). Among Thomists, the philosopher most associated with the concept of connatural knowledge is arguably Jacques Maritain,3 who describes it as “a kind of knowledge which is produced in the intellect but not by virtue of conceptual connections and by way of demonstration,” (2001: 13) but rather “through inclination, by looking at and consulting what we are and the inner bents or propensities of our own being”. The intellect, Maritain writes, “is at play not alone, but together with affective inclinations and the dispositions of the will, and is guided and directed by them” (ibid.: 15). These “dispositions of the will” surely refer to the virtues, and this therefore echoes Aquinas’s own use of “connatural”, which is to refer to someone who, possessing a particular virtue, “judges rightly of what concerns that virtue by his very inclination towards it” – inclination here being contrasted with intellectual knowledge (ST, I, q. 1, a. 6, ad. 3). However, as Taki Suto points out (2004: 68), Aquinas really has two dis- tinct uses of the term “connatural”. Its primary meaning, in fact, refers to natural inclinations prior to the inculcation of virtue; its secondary meaning concerns the inclinations to the good developed by the virtues subsequently
3. I am not aware, however, of any engagement that Anscombe may have had with Maritain’s thought. Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 89 acquired in life through habituation. Both are natural, so to speak, but Suto here points to a classic Thomistic distinction between “first nature” and “sec- ond nature” – the former being what we have at birth and the latter what we develop based on the former. In the light of this, we can restate our thesis about Anscombe’s view of abso- lute prohibitions with some more precision. Our intuitive grasp of at least some of these prohibitions – as well as the most fundamental “mystical” values – would be connatural knowledge in the primary sense, and reveals to us the core of the relevant virtues. But as one grows in virtue, one may also acquire a connatural grasp of how to act in accordance with those virtues even in matters which do not admit of absolute rules or prohibitions. Connaturality, after all, is the product of “affective inclinations and the dispositions of the will”, which are the subject of virtue and its acquisition. One learns to become disposed, particularly through the ordering of one’s emotions, towards certain actions or goods and one becomes more habituated to the practice of the virtues in a reasonable range of situations. That is Aristotelian virtue in a nutshell. While practical wisdom is still indispensable to the virtuous person, since the circumstances of life are so variable, the possession of the virtue of justice in its full-fledged form may mean that someone will already know connaturally what to do and what not to do in the usual circumstances that he encounters a cold or hungry person on the streets. Suto, helpfully, gives the example of saving a drowning child – deliberation may prove too slow to make a meaningful difference, but thanks to connatural knowledge the virtuous person can act according to the demands of the situa- tion and of virtue “without hesitation, immediately, reliably, and even with pleasure” (ibid.: 75). This almost certainly involves an interplay of both kinds of connatural knowledge – the visceral pull of a life hanging in the balance before one’s eyes is surely connatural in the primary sense, though the readiness to jump into cold water is connatural in the secondary sense, if one has been habituated to such action whether interiorly or exteriorly.4 In this way, virtue can be seen to be built on the most basic prohibitions and connatural percep- tions of value, while also requiring moral education.
5. A naturalistic account of absolute prohibitions It should be clear by now why, as I have been hinting, Anscombe’s conception of connatural moral knowledge differs fundamentally from standard accounts of rationalist ethical intuitionism. Given what Anscombe says about unjustness potentially being seen as a “factual” description of sorts, which is in turn con-
4. Pinckaers (1962: 72-75) writes that it is not always feasible to acquire virtue by exterior action – one does not gain fortitude necessarily by always placing oneself in situations of danger. Hence, “interior acts of mastery” over fear or other undesirable tendencies are essential for habituation. 90 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee nected to what it means to flourish as a human being, Anscombe would cer- tainly not have shared the metaphysical commitments of intuitionists like G. E. Moore who thought of “good” as a “simple, unanalyzable property” (MacIntyre, 2002: 242). Such non-natural properties are, famously, the object of J. L. Mackie’s scorn in his argument from queerness, which considers their existence too wildly implausible and “so utterly different from anything else in the universe” to be true (Mackie, 1977: 38). Consider also how an earlier intuitionist, Richard Price, writes that it is: palpably absurd… to ask, whether it is right to obey a command, or wrong to disobey it; and the propositions, obeying a command is right, or producing happiness is right, would be most trifling, as expressing no more than that obeying a command, is obeying a command, or producing happiness, is pro- ducing happiness. (Stratton-Lake, 2013: 349) For Anscombe, it would be a mistake to treat such statements as analytic truths – that would be a neglect of human flourishing – or as expressing some kind of non-natural property of “good”. “Good” is simply the evaluation of human action qua human action (Anscombe, 2005c). Furthermore, the con- cept of connaturality would seem to stipulate that connatural knowledge of what is good is possible only because it belongs to someone’s nature to be inclined in a particular way – this applies even to the secondary sense of con- naturality, since virtue is not an artificial disposition but one that coheres with a being’s first nature and brings it to fulfilment. Yet it is true that where epistemology is concerned, there are apparent similarities to be found between connatural knowledge and rationalist ethical intuitionism. This is especially so when contrasted with sentimentalists like David Hume, who thought of right and wrong as akin to secondary qualities – that is to say, not residing in actions or objects themselves but referring primarily to the feelings of approbation or disapprobation caused in us. Price saw right and wrong, rather, as properties of actions which are apprehended immediately and self-evidently, much as we apprehend other simple ideas such as substance, space or time (Stratton-Lake, 2013: 344-346). Mackie, in fact, saw this as a fairly significant challenge to the argument from queerness (Mackie, 1977: 39), and one might note its resemblance to Anscombe’s claim that connatural knowledge includes our knowledge of matter. I do not think Anscombe would want to speak of connatural knowledge as apprehending “properties” of actions, but does she share intuitionist epis- temological commitments to immediate and self-evident perception of right- ness or wrongness? Is that not what is happening with mystical perceptions and connatural knowledge in the primary sense? I will return to address this question more directly in the next section, for in order to answer it, the first step is to ask whether we can now attempt to articulate a naturalistic account of absolute prohibitions – on the basis of Anscombean connatural knowledge and taking into account the relationship between absolute prohibitions and virtue. Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 91
For this task, we must, I think, use the primary sense of connatural knowl- edge here, and in that respect the most significant passage in Aquinas is the following excerpt from his treatise on the natural law – an excerpt which, despite the absence of the word “connatural”, clearly accords with its meaning in its reference to natural inclinations: Since, however, good has the nature of an end, and evil, the nature of a contrary, hence it is that all those things to which man has a natural inclina- tion, are naturally apprehended by reason as being good, and consequently as objects of pursuit, and their contraries as evil, and objects of avoidance. Wherefore according to the order of natural inclinations, is the order of the precepts of the natural law. Because in man there is first of all an inclination to good in accordance with the nature which he has in common with all sub- stances: inasmuch as every substance seeks the preservation of its own being, according to its nature: and by reason of this inclination, whatever is a means of preserving human life, and of warding off its obstacles, belongs to the nat- ural law. (ST, I-II, q. 94, a. 2, co.) The inclination to preserve life is shared by all living things; the passage then moves on to the inclinations pertaining to sexual intercourse and the education of offspring – which we share with animals – and finally the inclinations to know the truth about God and to live in society, unique to us as rational animals. But for our present purposes it is the first inclination, regarding life, that will concern us the most. Understanding connatural knowledge in relation to these basic inclinations helps us better interpret a particular feature of Anscombe’s description of the absolute prohibition on killing the innocent. This is her insistence that when it comes to killing the innocent, “the victim is the primary one to be wronged, and this is enough objection to murder in most cases” (Anscombe, 2005d: 266). For Anscombe, this point is especially what separates her view from utilitarian philosophy. Again, asking the right kind of question is of central importance here. Anscombe suggests that it is “exceedingly comic” to think that the prohibition on murder is fundamentally about making life “more commodious” – that “life is pleasanter for all of us” were everyone to observe the prohibition: Because utility presupposes the life of those who are to be convenienced, and everybody perceives quite clearly that the wrong done in murder is done first and foremost to the victim, whose life is not inconvenienced, it just isn’t there any more. He isn’t there to complain: so the utilitarian argument has to be on behalf of the rest of us. Therefore, though true, it is highly comic and is not the foundation: the objection to murder is supra-utilitar- ian. (2008: 187) This is one of the most striking passages in Anscombe’s moral philosophy; it is one of the most earnest attempts to get to the bottom of a prohibition that is, by Anscombe’s own admission, difficult to explain. What exactly is the 92 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee basis of perceiving that “the wrong done in murder is done first and foremost to the victim” despite the victim no longer existing afterwards (beliefs in the afterlife notwithstanding)?5 Given Anscombe’s debt to Aquinas in her philosophy and in particular her account of connatural knowledge, it seems reasonable to suggest that one way of interpreting this passage is to say, first of all, that we do not fundamentally grasp the wrongness of murder by any kind of deductive or inferential reason- ing. We do not, for example, imagine what it would be like to sit behind a veil of ignorance and think up what rules would be necessary for society to func- tion well – without denying that if we did, we would most likely think of prohibiting murder. The almost immediate perception of the wrongness of killing another per- son, rather, is the result of that most basic natural inclination towards the preservation of life that we feel within ourselves and which makes the thought of one’s own suicide so psychologically intolerable at first glance for most people, in the absence of complicating factors. Our capacity for empathy, which can produce perceptions of a rather direct kind – and such knowledge of another’s perspective is arguably a kind of connatural knowledge as well – is perhaps what helps us make that leap towards seeing that murder extinguish- es another “me”, as it were. In knowing what one loses oneself by suicide, one knows what another thereby loses by being murdered. One perceives, in a mystical way, that there is something deeply wrong about this action. So the wrongness of murder is not the conclusion of an argument; it is a basic mode of seeing the world. And what is more basic than taking what one is attracted to as good and something to be sought? This, in essence, is also the founding claim of utilitarianism, though perhaps when Anscombe famous- ly laments the shallowness of utilitarianism in “Modern Moral Philosophy” (1958a: 12), part of what she has in mind is that it does not really go beyond the thought that pleasure and pain are constitutive of good and evil. The distinction between higher and lower pleasures, or the move from act-to rule-utilitarianism, does not disguise this fact. Connatural knowledge in Anscombe’s (and Aquinas’s) worldview, by con- trast, is about taking our most elementary attractions – and things contrary to them – as signs of good and evil, not good and evil itself. Beyond those basic inclinations, more work needs to be done, and that is where virtue comes in. Those inclinations point to what is good, and may reveal to us their oppo- sitions – actions that directly contradict them and which are absolutely exclud- ed. But in between these two poles is a whole range of actions whose alignment with virtue will depend on, as we said earlier, circumstance and intention. In between the inclination towards continued preservation of life and the prohi- bition of murder are questions, for example, of whether one is obliged to do everything at all cost to preserve life – one’s own and others – and answering these questions requires virtue.
5. One might say that this is an inverted non-identity problem. Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 93
Nevertheless, these thoughts do not necessarily suggest that the perception of the wrongness of murder is “justified” in the way epistemologists would generally use the term, even if they do go some way in explaining how one perceives such a thing. What their justification might depend on, where Ans- combe’s account of virtue is concerned, would be evidence of the alignment between our connatural inclinations to perceived goods and the goods of human flourishing. Precisely what kind of evidence might be admitted for such an inquiry is, indeed, a difficult question to answer. I shall call this the “justified belief objection”, though it may well be called the “verifiability objec- tion” if one were a logical positivist, for one is reminded here of A.J. Ayer’s criticism of ethical intuitionism – that there is “no relevant empirical test” in the appeal to moral intuitions (Ayer, 1952: 139). A further question one might pose, which I shall term the “differentiation objection”, is how we might differentiate the supposedly genuine basic incli- nations of our first nature from all other kinds of inclinations and attractions we experience, to which Anscombe would surely not give the same kind of weight. No doubt the inclination concerning the preservation of life has a particular existential gravity attached to it, but once we proceed to other incli- nations in the realm of, say, food and sexual intercourse it is less obvious by what criteria one is meant to distinguish between different kinds of inclina- tions – between the weightier or more “mystical” ones and those that only concern utilitarian value. These challenges present obvious difficulties for us, even as connatural knowledge may present a plausible psychology for certain basic prohibitions like that of murder. But it seems that to overcome these objections we may have to hold these thoughts where they are and approach the epistemology of absolute prohibitions in a different key – a Wittgensteinian one.
6. Wittgensteinian anti-scepticism and the possibility of ethics To respond adequately to the “justified belief objection” would require lengthy discussion of teleology, which is beyond the scope of this paper. But in what remains I shall try to suggest one way of averting (if not exactly refuting) the “differentiation objection” – and that is by adopting a more Wittgensteinian reading of connatural knowledge. Part of the problem with the account we have developed thus far is that we have taken connatural knowledge in overly mentalistic terms. Anscombe her- self, as mentioned, does seem to accord connatural knowledge the character of an intuition or perception, and this is, I think, true to an extent. But returning to the question of how similar it is to intuitionist epistemology, even if connatural knowledge is a kind of immediate intuition, whether it produc- es self-evident moral judgements is questionable. In relation to murder, just as Anscombe wants to say we clearly see it is wrong because the victim is wronged by being killed, she also recognises that there might be exceptions like killing enemy combatants in a just war (2005d: 266-267). So although we have thus 94 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee far been speaking of the connatural knowledge of the wrongness of killing the innocent, there is an unexplained gap between the ready perception that there is something wrong with killing someone in general and the conviction that it is killing the innocent that is precisely what is absolutely prohibited, but those who do not fall under that category – however defined – do not neces- sarily fall under that prohibition. This is where I think it is fruitful to see Anscombe’s account of absolute prohibitions in the light of Wittgenstein’s anti-scepticism. While there is room for preserving the intuitive aspect of connatural knowledge, the concept can also expanded to include knowledge that is gained from a kind of practical certainty.6 Mystical perceptions, as Anscombe seems to suggest, point us towards something of great, supra-utilitarian value; but to turn that intuition into knowledge of an absolute prohibition may involve more than just a kind of perceiving. Our connatural intuitions therefore need further refinement or specification by our knowledge of human activity – patterns of acting and forms of life – although by “knowledge” I do not mean the product of exten- sive reflection and deduction. I simply mean knowledge from our embedded- ness in human communities. From our forms of life, we already have, for example, some knowledge of what “innocence” might mean in relation to not killing the innocent. In this way, with both intuition and practical certainty we come to a clearer, but still truly connatural knowledge of particular prohi- bitions, and this is all still prior to the acquisition of virtue by habituation. This sense of practical certainty is one that comes from Wittgenstein’s anti-scepticism, to which we shall now turn. Recall once again the insight that when we reach something as basic as the wrongness of murder, so readily perceived by many people, the reason why the invidious “Why?” questions of the moral sceptic seem difficult to answer is because they do not perhaps ask a meaningful question. This thought is very much in line with Wittgenstein’s anti-scepticism, which is of great use to us precisely because, while the sceptic asks the realist for the grounds for his belief, Wittgenstein in turn asks the sceptic for his grounds for scepticism. A key idea in Wittgenstein’s early anti-scepticism is the following statement in the Tractatus: Scepticism is not irrefutable, but obviously nonsensical, when it tries to raise doubts where no questions can be asked. For doubt can exist only where a question exists, a question only where an answer exists, and an answer only where something can be said. (Wittgenstein, 2001: 6.51) This thought is taken up again in some ways during Wittgenstein’s subse- quent return to anti-sceptical arguments in On Certainty, in which he suggest- ed that doubt needs grounds and must “amount to something” (Kenny, 2006:
6. See Müller (1994) for a helpful discussion of the contrast between intuitionist ethics and practical certainty. Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 95
162). It is imaginable, Wittgenstein says, that “my skull should turn out empty when it was operated on” but grounds for doubt are lacking (1969: § 4). As to the latter point, Wittgenstein asks what difference the doubt makes “in practice” (Kenny, 2006: 162). If one doubted one’s bodily existence, preferring either Berkeley’s idealism or a brain-in-the-vat as an explanation for one’s sensations, does this make a difference to how one goes about acting? Perhaps not at all in the first case, and perhaps little discernible difference in the sec- ond, practically speaking. The effect of Wittgenstein’s anti-scepticism is, I think, to suggest that doubt is parasitic on belief. “Doubt comes after belief” (Wittgenstein, 1969: § 160). We have to begin by taking certain propositions for granted before we can even begin to doubt, let alone doubt intelligibly. Doubt, furthermore, “presupposes the mastery of a language-game. In order to express the doubt that p, one must understand what is meant by saying that p” (Kenny, 2006: 162). If one really wants to doubt everything, as did Descartes, one should try doubting even the meaning of one’s words (Wittgenstein, 1969: § 114), in which case one’s doubt starts to appear far more nonsensical than the propo- sitions it is doubting! Translating these insights into the sphere of ethics is not straightforward, nonetheless: How does one mean that the question “Why?” is not meaningful in response to a putative absolute prohibition? Is that not what all the thought experiments about utilitarianism – Jim and the Indians, or any other scenario contrived such that the intentional killing of one has disproportionately great- er positive consequences – are for? We need to take a few steps back from the preceding discussion of Ans- combe’s connatural knowledge and pose a yet more sceptical question than the “Why is murder wrong?”. Is it possible to not have ethics at all? More radical- ly than disagreeing over what counts as good and what counts as evil, can we meaningfully doubt the proposition that “good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided”, which for Aquinas is the first principle of the natural law and is self-evident to the practical intellect just as the principle of non-contra- diction is self-evident to the speculative intellect (ST, I-II, q. 94, a. 2, co.)? Do we even have any grounds to doubt this proposition? Such a doubt could only be parasitic on pre-existing belief in the proposition itself, I would suggest. Wittgenstein’s point about doubt presupposing language-games is not a simple matter of doubting words. Language-games, for Wittgenstein, arise from human practices (Wittgenstein, 2009: § 7-26); “the speaking of language is part of an activity, or of a form of life” (ibid.: § 23). How – not simply as a matter of logic but as a matter of a form of life – could we live in such a way that did not embody some sense of “good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided”? A global doubt of ethics is simply not possible, practically if not psychologically – or should we say, it would amount to nothing. It is impossible not to act, and impossible not to act according to the logic of right and wrong, because so long as one is acting intentionally then one is always acting according to an end. “There is no ethics,” someone says to me. “Well 96 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee then, how should I act?” Is there a possible language-game in which there is no ethics? It seems not. Learning a language is itself a “normative activity” (Proessel, 2005: 329-330); to learn a language and concepts is not merely to assign labels but to make evaluations. Before we get to absolute prohibitions, it is worth reflecting a little more on the matter of language-games. Let us return for a moment to Price’s intu- itionism and the “trifling” nature of statements such as “obeying a command is right” or “producing happiness is right”. To simply consider these things right by definition, no doubt, is a kind of analytic sleight-of-hand, but if one were to reconsider this statement without the Moorean metaphysical baggage of intuitionism, there is perhaps an insight to be gained. A reading more congenial to Anscombe’s moral epistemology – and to Wittgensteinian thought – would be to consider concepts such as commands or producing happiness from the perspective of the “natural history of man” – to look at our “institutions, culture and society” in order to find out which activities, practices, behaviours, physiological and environmental factors such concepts are “interwoven” with (Wiseman, 2016: 60). In isolation from human institutions, the question of obeying a command is almost meaning- less. But in context, one might say that the language-game of obeying com- mands7 is constituted by practices and concepts such as legitimate authority, hierarchy, law, enforcement and duty. It does not make obeying a command right by definition, but it might suggest that obeying commands is a charac- teristically human mode of living well. Anscombe’s point on bilking as contrary to justice in a “factual” way is also, I think, to be understood in this vein. It is not that “bilking is wrong” is an analytic truth. In the context of our institutions, we can transition from the merely factual “is” of someone carting potatoes to my house to the relatively less “brute” fact that so-and-so “supplied” me with potatoes (rather than just leaving them there) and the certainly normative fact (if that is not an oxymo- ron) that I owe him money – and that I may be bilking. (Anscombe, 1958a: 3-4, 1958b) If we can go from “is” to “owes” or “bilking”, as Anscombe sug- gests, then we already have in our institutions – in our language-game – some- thing that is contra justice or honesty. If doubt were to be introduced here as to the viciousness of bilking, we should like to ask whether this is permitted by the language-game. Whether, of course, owing someone money constitutes bilking is some- thing that will depend on circumstance and motive. The same goes with whether disobeying a command counts as insubordination – perhaps the com- mand was altogether unreasonable. So we are not quite at absolute prohibi- tions or intrinsically unjust actions yet, though we are close. Putative absolute prohibitions – and let us focus just on killing the innocent here – are not indubitable in the way that “do good and avoid evil” might be, psychological-
7. Coincidentally, “Giving orders, and acting on them” is the first in a list of language-games Wittgenstein provides early on in the Philosophical Investigations (2009: § 23). Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 97 ly or practically. But is there a case for considering them “hinge proposition” nonetheless? In On Certainty, Wittgenstein introduces the notion of hinge propositions, as they have come to be called, in the following passage: 341. That is to say, the questions that we raise and our doubts depend on the fact that some propositions are exempt from doubt, are as it were like hinges on which those turn. 342. That is to say, it belongs to the logic of our scientific investigations that certain things are in deed not doubted. 343. But it isn’t that the situation is like this: We just can’t investigate everything, and for that reason we are forced to rest content with assump- tion. If I want the door to turn, the hinges must stay put. (1969: § 341-343) Wittgenstein has in mind, not simply the most basic, absolutely indubita- ble propositions, but also beliefs like knowing my two hands are in front of me or that the world has not just come into existence. These too can be “exempt from doubt”. He also contends that there are some things about which one simply cannot be mistaken; if someone, for instance, doubts that all his calculations were uncertain and unreliable, Wittgenstein says that “per- haps we would say he was crazy” (1969: § 217). I cannot help but recall once again Anscombe’s infamous assertion, “I do not want to argue with him; he shows a corrupt mind”, of one who thinks that it is open to question wheth- er procuring the judicial execution of the innocent is always prohibited. Anscombe has a sense, I think, not simply that the wrongness of murder is connaturally grasped, but that it is also the kind of proposition – assump- tion, if you like – without which the door cannot turn, to use Wittgenstein’s potent metaphor. If we are to have ethics at all – and this, as we have seen, is a human necessity – then we need hinge propositions in the form of absolute prohibitions. And this is a kind of practical certainty. Part of Anscombe’s distaste therefore for thought experiments that contrive to prove consequen- tialism right is that they require one “to assume some sort of law or standard according to which there is a borderline case” (1958a: 13) for the experiment to even have intuitive force. The consequentialist’s doubt of absolute prohibi- tions is therefore parasitic on belief in it. Perhaps, then, it is the nature of moral discourse that we just need certain exceptionless norms, and these are to be chosen – nay, discovered – not arbi- trarily but by our “mystical” perceptions, as refined by practical certainties arising from our forms of life. These simply form part of our basic worldview, not as conclusions of any arguments but as foundations for intelligibility in action and moral discourse. Proessel writes that a mistake about hinge propositions is to think that they are empirical; propositions like the age of the earth certainly have an empirical element, but the role they play in providing the background picture against 98 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Michael Wee which we do our thinking and play our language-games and live our forms of life is a logical one: “certainty shows itself in what we do”, not on the basis of facts (2005: 337). So the whole consequentialist attempt to empirically test, or falsify absolute prohibitions is a wrong-footed one if we can accept that these prohibitions are candidates for Wittgensteinian hinge propositions. Sim- ilarly wrong-footed would be any notion that agreement, or consensus, is what proves the status of hinge propositions (ibid.: 331). One thinks here of the role Hume assigns to interpersonal agreement in moral sentiments. Ans- combean connatural knowledge, I contend, is not justified by this sort of consensus – that is not the meaning of “as common as humanity”. Rather, agreement takes place through our form of life (ibid.: 332), which is really to say, in our language-games. The form of life we share already presents to us potential candidates for absolute prohibitions – murder, rape, and theft imme- diately come to mind. That modern societies not infrequently introduce all kinds of exceptions to some of these prohibitions in law can, nonetheless, make it difficult to tell to what extent these prohibitions truly need further refinement, and whether any of these prohibitions are hinge propositions of the sort that are changeable depending on specific cultural or historical factors at a particular time.8 This account does not present a perfect response to the differentiation objection, but at the heart of the response is the thought that one need only to look at how we live to find work-in-progress answers, which in some ways are far more important than the answers of intellectual argumentation. Witt- genstein writes, almost pre-empting this line of response, “Giving grounds, however, justifying the evidence, comes to an end; – but the end is not certain propositions’ striking us immediately as true, i.e. it is not a kind of seeing on our part; it is our acting, which lies at the bottom of the language-game” (1969: § 204). This thought, as I have tried to argue, helps to refine our understanding of connatural knowledge, which anchors us psychologically in the normative practices of our lives and institutions not simply by intuition but also by practical certainty. But it also serves to emphasise the primacy of acting over intellectual argument in ethics, for ethics is most fundamentally a form of practice, a way of thinking embedded in human action qua human action. And in this sense, we can never truly banish ethics totally from our minds.9
8. Wittgenstein’s conception of hinge propositions does allow for those that are more change- able than others – perhaps as a result of intellectual conversion, or else because circum- stances have changed and new empirical evidence, for example, has come to light. 9. I am grateful to Luke Gormally, David Albert Jones, and Anselm Winfried Müller for their comments on an earlier draft of this paper. Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance Enrahonar 64, 2020 99
Bibliographical references Anscombe, G. E. M. (1958a). “Modern Moral Philosophy”. Philosophy, 33 (124), 1-19.
Lisska, Anthony J. (1996). Aquinas’s Theory of Natural Law: An Analytic Recon- struction. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Mackie, J. L. (1977). Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong. New York: Penguin Books. MacIntyre, Alasdair (2002). A Short History of Ethics (2nd ed.). Abingdon: Routledge Classics. Maritain, Jacques (2001). “On Knowledge through Connaturality”. In: Sweet, William (ed.). Natural Law: Reflections on Theory and Practice. South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press, 13-24. Müller, Anselm Winfried (1994). “Has Moral Education a Rational Basis?”. In: Gormally, Luke (ed.). Moral Truth and Moral Tradition: Essays in Honour of Peter Geach and Elizabeth Anscombe. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 203-225. Pinckaers, Servais (1962), “Virtue is Not a Habit” (Bernard Gilligan, trans.). CrossCurrents, 12 (1), 67-81. Proessel, Dean (2005). “Wittgenstein on Scepticism and Nonsense”. Philo- sophical Investigations, 28 (4), 324-345.
Michael Wee is Education and Research Officer at the Anscombe Bioethics Centre, an inde- pendent research institute based in Oxford. He is also an Associate Member of the Aquinas Institute of Blackfriars Hall, Oxford and an Associate Lecturer in bioethics at St Mary’s Colle- ge, Oscott.
Michael Wee és responsable d’educació i recerca a l’Anscombe Bioethics Centre, un institut de recerca independent amb seu a Oxford. També és membre associat de l’Aquinas Institute al Blackfriars Hall de la Universitat d’Oxford i professor associat de bioètica al St Mary’s College, Oscott. Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 101-112
“See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Wittgenstein on Animals and Intention
Duncan Richter Virginia Military Institute [email protected]
Reception date: 25-10-2019 Acceptance date: 28-1-2020
Abstract
Elizabeth Anscombe criticizes Ludwig Wittgenstein for talking about the “natural expres- sion of an intention” in his Philosophical Investigations. I consider recent responses to this dispute, especially those by Richard Moran and Martin Stone (writing together) and by Martin Gustafsson. Moran and Stone explain why Anscombe rejects talk of non-human animals expressing intention, but emphasize the importance of language so much that it becomes hard to see on what basis intentions can ever be non-arbitrarily attributed to animals. Gustafsson notices this problem, and offers a solution based on biology and, in particular, knowledge of what is and is not conducive to the flourishing of members of each species. However, this goes beyond what Anscombe says, and introduces other problems. I propose that we can sometimes simply see what an individual intends to do by observing its behavior, without reference to what is good or bad for members of its species. This is true to what Anscombe says and appears to avoid the problems faced by the other views considered. Keywords: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; animals; intention; expression; behavior
Resum. «Guaita, l’està mirant fixament»: Anscombe i Wittgenstein sobre animals i intenció
Elizabeth Anscombe critica Ludwig Wittgenstein perquè parla de l’«expressió natural d’una intenció» en les seves Investigacions filosòfiques. Considero unes respostes recents a aquesta disputa, especialment les de Richard Moran i Martin Stone (com a coautors) i de Martin Gustafsson. Moran i Stone expliquen per què Anscombe rebutja parlar de la intenció d’expressió dels animals no humans, però emfatitzen tant la importància del llenguatge que resulta difícil de veure sobre quina base les intencions poden atribuir-se no arbitràriament als animals. Gustafsson se n’adona i ofereix una solució basada en la biologia i, en particular, en el coneixement del que és i no és propici perquè prosperin els membres de cada espècie. Tanmateix, això va més enllà del que diu Anscombe i introdueix altres problemes. A vegades podem veure el que un individu pensa fer simplement obser- vant el seu comportament, sense fer referència al que és bo o dolent per als membres de la seva espècie. Això és fidel a les paraules d’Anscombe i sembla evitar els problemes que afronten els altres punts de vista considerats. Paraules clau: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; animals; intenció; expressió; comportament
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1274 102 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Duncan Richter
Elizabeth Anscombe famously criticizes her teacher Ludwig Wittgenstein for talking about the “natural expression of an intention” (Anscombe, 2000: 5) in Philosophical Investigations (Wittgenstein, 2009: §647). I will consider recent responses to this dispute by Mikel Burley, Richard Moran and Martin Stone, and Martin Gustafsson. Burley’s response, I will argue, is incomplete. A fuller understanding of the issue can be gained by learning from both Moran and Stone and from Gustafsson, who disagrees with them. The two papers by these three authors are very largely correct, but each contains a significant flaw. Anscombe is less concerned about defending Aristotelian or Thomist meta- physics than Gustafsson takes her to be, while Moran and Stone are wrong to argue that intentions must be verbalized in order to be judged correct or incorrect. More positively, I argue that Anscombe’s criticism of Wittgenstein is correct and, more importantly, that understanding both why this is and exactly what she is, and is not, saying helps us understand the concept of intention. Like Wittgenstein’s work, Anscombe’s can be rather compressed, and working through the details implicit in it, details which are brought out very carefully by Moran and Stone and by Gustafsson, gives a fuller and clear- er view of the concept of intention. In order to decide whether Anscombe’s criticism of Wittgenstein is correct we should first consider the evidence. Wittgenstein asks: “What is the natural expression [Ausdruck] of an intention? – Look at a cat when it stalks a bird; or a beast when it wants to escape” (Wittgenstein, 2009: §647). In his remarks before this passage, Wittgenstein was considering the idea of intention as an inner experience or sensation, and he does not appear to think much of this idea. Instead of looking narrowly in order to find the particular thing that an intention might be, Wittgenstein wants to look more widely at the context in which one acts with a certain intention. In §643 he writes that, “If I now become ashamed of [an] incident, I am ashamed of the whole thing: of the words, of the poisonous tone, and so on.” In the following section, in response to a claim that I might be ashamed not of what I did but of the intention with which I did it, he asks, “And didn’t the intention lie also in what I did? What justifies the shame? The whole background of the incident.” So he is drawing our attention, repeatedly, to “the whole thing” and the “whole background.” In §647 itself, after the remark that Anscombe criticizes, he adds, “(Connec- tion with propositions about sensations.)” Wittgenstein does not deny that sensations exist or that they are particular things (although he might regard that way of putting the point across as potentially misleading), but he does think that if we want to understand propositions about sensations then we ought to examine the role of such propositions in our lives, including the way we learn to use and respond to them. Famously, he points out that inner pro- cesses need to have outward criteria if we are to be able to talk about them (see Wittgenstein, 2009: §580). This might apply to intentions just as much as it does to sensations. So generally speaking, Wittgenstein diverts attention away from a narrow focus on intentions themselves, as if they were inner objects of some kind that we might understand better if we were to scrutinize them more “See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 103 closely, and instead encourages us to look more at the wider context in which we talk about intentions and the background against which we do so. Responding to the first, non-parenthetical part of §647, Anscombe writes:
Intention appears to be something that we can express, but which brutes (which, e.g. do not give orders) can have, though lacking any distinct expres- sion of intention. For a cat’s movements in stalking a bird are hardly to be called an expression of intention. One might as well call a car’s stalling the expression of its being about to stop. Intention is unlike emotion in this respect, that the expression of it is purely conventional; we might say ‘linguis- tic’, if we will allow certain bodily movements with a conventional meaning to be included in language. Wittgenstein seems to me to have gone wrong in speaking of the ‘natural expression of an intention’ (Philosophical Investigations §647). (Anscombe, 2000: 5)
Wittgenstein refers at different times to the natural expression of sensation and the natural expression of intention. This, like the parenthetical remark in §647, might suggest a similarity between sensation and intention that Anscombe wants to deny. Wittgenstein’s §647 is reminiscent of Investigations §256, where he asks: “But suppose I didn’t have any natural expression [Äußerungen] of sensation, but only had sensations?” The word for expres- sions here suggests linguistic expression, which is what Anscombe seems to have in mind, but the qualifying adjective ‘natural’ suggests that Wittgenstein is not talking about anything merely conventional. In §257 he talks about groans and grimaces as manifestations of pain. Presumably this is the kind of thing he has in mind in §256 when he refers to natural expressions of sensa- tion. He uses a different word for expression in §647, and indeed the move- ments of a stalking cat seem further from language proper than a groan of pain. But it still seems right to say that these movements show something about what the cat is up to, something that will help us to predict and under- stand its movements. Why not call this an expression of intention? Burley’s view is that the disagreement between Wittgenstein and Ans- combe is due to an ambiguity in the word ‘expression’ (Burley, 2012: 170). His point is that a cat cannot voluntarily reveal its intention. However, it might nevertheless, non-voluntarily, exhibit or display its intention. This seems right, but Anscombe does not deny it. Her claim is that unlike emotion (and, I would think, a sensation such as pain), intention has only conventional, not natural, expression. In order to see why Burley’s plausible suggestion does not solve the problem, we need to be clearer about exactly what Anscombe’s point is. Perhaps it might be best to clarify what Anscombe is and is not saying by attending to the exegesis offered by Moran and Stone and then to Gustafsson’s response to this. Each of these papers is mostly, but not completely, right, and the two together provide almost all the illumination that I think we need. The point of the present paper is to provide the rest. Moran and Stone start by asking why Anscombe brings up expression of intention at all in her initial account of three contexts in which we make use of the concept of intention. 104 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Duncan Richter
Their whole paper is an answer to this question, and I will not summarize all of it here, but a key part of their answer is this: with the verbal expression of intention a discontinuity with natural mani- festation arises, and it is this that Anscombe seeks to mark. Such expressions introduce something new: a characterization of what one is doing—what larger action one’s actions are part of or toward which they are aimed. Expres- sions of intention are thus “world-directed,” but not just in the way that expressions of states like belief or hope are: they make possible the applica- tion of the notion of “mistake” to performances, and they express practical commitments. (Moran and Stone, 2017: 271) Emotions such as fear or joy can be naturally manifested, and we can learn to say, for instance, “I am afraid” or “I am happy” to supplement or replace these manifestations. Expressions of intention, however, are different, because they involve a kind of commitment. If I said I was happy but am now sad then my mood has changed. I have not made a mistake. Whereas if I said that I intend to catch a certain train and then do not, unless my intention has changed, either I lied (as I might equally do about being happy) or, and this is the important difference, I failed to do what I intended to do. We can if we want call certain forms of behavior “expressions of intention”, but it is impor- tant not to lose sight of the difference between verbal expressions of emotion and verbal expressions of intention. Moran and Stone put the point this way: Rather than standing in for performances […], expressions of intention have a force that no bit of natural behavior could have. Specifically, they make contradictable claims, and they require that something else one does then be regarded as correct or mistaken. (Moran and Stone, 2017: 266) Verbal expressions of intention are especially important, they argue, because of the importance placed by Anscombe (see Anscombe, 2000, §5) on the question of why an agent is behaving as they are (the question seems to require a verbal response); because an intentional act can be performed cor- rectly or incorrectly, which seems to require an independent standard by which to judge it, and a verbal expression of intention provides such a standard; and because “only a verbal expression of intention can directly display the unity of ‘intention’ as it occurs in ‘intending to X’ and ‘an intentional action’” (Moran and Stone, 2017: 272). One might wonder, given the importance of verbal expressions of intention as just outlined, whether non-verbal beings can have intentions. Anscombe clearly believes that they can, or at least that there is nothing the matter with ascribing intentions to them as we often do. In her paper “‘Under a Descrip- tion’” she gives the example of a bird that lands on a twig that has been smeared with bird-lime in order to peck at bird-seed. Under the description “landing on the twig” the bird’s action was intentional, she says, but it was not so under the description “landing in bird-lime” (see Anscombe, 1981: 209- 210). Moran and Stone note that in such cases “we apply the descriptions “See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 105 under which the creature’s action is intentional” (Moran and Stone, 2017: 264). That is, the bird need not think of any such descriptions. Rather, lan- guage-users apply them to the bird’s behavior, partly on the basis of what we believe to be good for the animal in question. Unfortunately, they do not explain fully the basis on which we apply such descriptions, and what they say on the subject leads them into trouble, as Gustafsson points out. I will spell out his objection more fully below, but begin with an example of a problem in what they say: “Just as the engine’s behavior indicates that the car is going to stop only if the car is going to stop, so the movements of the cat indicate only what it actually goes on to do” (Moran and Stone, 2017: note 54). How- ever, if what the cat goes on to do is to walk into a trap, rather as the bird in Anscombe’s example lands in bird-lime, then its previous movements did not only indicate what it actually goes on to do. They indicate, if anything, some other intention. And this intention might be quite obvious, as when an animal takes the bait in a trap. Anscombe’s understanding of intention, as Gustafsson understands it, is significantly influenced by Aristotle and Aquinas (see Gustafsson, 2016: 208). He argues that she understands animal intention partly in terms of the ends proper to each species. It is doubtful, however, that Gustafsson’s Aristotelian reading of Anscombe is quite right. Certainly Anscombe’s work on intention was influenced by Aristotle as well as by Wittgenstein, as she makes clear in her book. But the nature of this influence does not appear to me to be as Gustafsson presents it. I will preface my criticism by saying that it is possible that Gustafsson would largely agree with my position. Much depends on exactly what he counts as knowledge of the ends of a species. His reference to Aristotle and Aquinas in this connection, however, suggests that he has in mind something more metaphysical or technical than the knowledge by sim- ple observation and common sense that I will focus on. Gustafsson rejects the account offered by Moran and Stone of what Ans- combe says about the bird that lands on a twig coated with bird-lime. Accord- ing to them, when we say that the bird landed on the twig in order to peck at seed we want a description of the bird’s behavior that makes it intelligible, given what we know the bird is seeking and what it regards as good for it. This seems quite right, but Gustafsson disagrees: All we get is unhelpful circularity: we are supposed to seek a description of what the bird did which is comprehensible within what we already know that the bird is seeking, whereas the problem is to give an account of how the latter knowledge is possible in the first place. (Gustafsson, 2016: 218. Emphasis in the original.) Gustafsson’s concern is that Moran and Stone allow us to project intentions onto animals that they do not actually have. If we rely on Aristotelian ideas about what is good for members of a specific species, however, then we can avoid arbitrariness and be true to Anscombe’s preferred metaphysical commit- ments. In Gustafsson’s version, then, we rely on ideas about what kind of 106 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Duncan Richter activity is good for birds of this sort whenever we attribute a certain intention to one of them, and: Conversely, in saying that the bird’s behavior is unintentional under the description “landing on a twig with bird-lime on it,” we are presuming that getting stuck in bird-lime is a hindrance rather than conducive to the ful- fillment of aims that the bird has qua a bird of its kind. (Gustafsson, 2016: 217-218. Emphasis in the original.) Gustafsson agrees with Moran and Stone about the normativity of intention. That is, “if I intend to do something, I might succeed or fail to do what I intend to do” (Gustafsson, 2016: 214). Where he disagrees with them is on their sug- gestion that this normativity must be linguistic. A bird that lands on a twig coated with bird-lime has done something that it did not intend to do, some- thing that may well result in its death. But it gives, and can give, no verbal expression to its intention according to which its behavior can be judged as correct or mistaken. As Gustafsson observes: There is no reason—and Anscombe sees no reason—to argue that nonlin- guistic, behavioral manifestations of intentions do not exhibit or convey the relevant standards of correctness. Her conclusion is the opposite one: since certain bits of natural behavior manifest intentions, those bits of behavior do exhibit the relevant standards of correctness. (Gustafsson, 2016: 216-217. Emphasis in the original.) Gustafsson notes that Moran and Stone might be aware of a difficulty in their position here, since they acknowledge that we sometimes see that someone is making a mistake. The example they give is of someone brushing a wall with a paintbrush that they have forgotten to dip in paint. They also use the expres- sion “barking up the wrong tree” to describe such actions, which suggests another case, namely that of a hunting dog barking as if its quarry were in a tree that is actually empty (Moran and Stone, 2017: 266, quoted in Gustafsson, 2016: 217). Moran and Stone go on to say, though, that, “here it is important that we grasp a particular description of what they are doing or intending to do, one which a human being could give in answer to the question ‘why?’” (Moran and Stone, 2017: 266). This is correct, but the description need not actually be verbalized, and certainly not by the agent. If the behavior alone, without a verbal expression, does not make the intention involved clear then it seems, Gustafsson notes, arbitrary what intention is attributed to the agent in such a case. When the agent is human they could correct false descriptions of what they are up to, but if the agent in question is a dog then there is no such possibility. In that case, Gustafsson says, “Strictly thought through, [Moran’s and Stone’s] sort of view entails that animal intentionality is just a piece of anthropomorphic fiction” (Gustafsson, 2016: 217). This, it seems to me, is an excellent diagnosis of the one point on which Moran and Stone go wrong. But in trying to correct their view, Gustafsson himself errs. He writes that: “See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 107
according to Anscombe, in saying that the bird is acting with the intention to peck at bird-seed, we are relying on the conception that pecking at bird-seed is a good thing to do for birds of this sort (so it is evident that the bird in the example cannot be a sea-eagle, for example). (Gustafsson, 2016: 217) Anscombe does not say this, however, and it is a problematic position to take. One problem with the view that Gustafsson attributes to Anscombe is that it seems to require us to know what kind of bird we are talking about, and know something about the needs and behavior of that species. But it might be perfectly obvious that a given bird is pecking at seed, or trying to do so, without one’s knowing whether it is a sea-eagle or not. It might, similarly, be clear that a dog is chasing a ball, even if doing so is not particularly good for it qua member of its species. It might even be clear that an animal is trying to do something that is very bad for members of its species, as when a dog tries to eat chocolate (which can be toxic for dogs) although it will not be trying to do so under a description of the act as one that is bad for the animal. A second problem is that in saying that a bird’s behavior is unintentional under the description “landing in bird-lime” one might mean either that the bird has no idea that any such thing as bird-lime exists, or that it is landing on that particular twig despite the fact that it is covered with some funny-look- ing substance. In the first case, the bird is simply oblivious; in the second it is knowingly engaging in risky behavior. It is true that, if we know what bird- lime is (i.e., an artificial product made to trap birds), we know that landing in bird-lime is a hindrance to the fulfillment of the aims of birds of that, or any other, species. But knowing is not presuming. (Gustafsson says, remember, that in saying that a bird’s action is unintentional under a particular descrip- tion we are presuming that the action so described is a hindrance to the fulfillment of its aims.) And not every act that is unintentional under a cer- tain description is a hindrance to the fulfillment of the agent’s aims. If I withdraw cash from an ATM that is both the nearest one to me and the second one ever installed in the city I am in, then I am probably withdrawing cash unintentionally under the latter description (I am oblivious) but inten- tionally under the first. It does me no harm to use a machine with this his- toric property, however. And something similar could go for birds and the twigs they land on. They intentionally land on twigs that have properties relevant to their goals, but under descriptions that make no reference to those goals, their landing there is unintentional. It need not therefore be detrimen- tal to them in any way. (Perhaps in Anscombe’s example the bird-lime does not actually work, and the bird gets away unharmed.) A third problem with what Gustafsson says about this is his insistence that “the problem” is to explain how we know what the bird is seeking. It is very tempting to say that we can see what it is seeking, in which case this problem would not exist. If a bird flies until it reaches a twig, then lands on it and moves along it until it reaches some seed, which it then pecks at, then its end, in the sense of both its stopping-point and its goal, was that seed or pecking 108 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Duncan Richter at that seed. But perhaps there are cases where it is not so simple. If the bird is a sea-eagle, say, and we know that they do not peck at seeds. So, this one might be unusually hungry, or brain-damaged, or trying to do something else entirely. To work out what is going on in a case such as this, or to know that it really is a sea-eagle, it might help to know some biology. Even then, we would still need to keep in mind that birds, like people, can be very stupid, and do not always behave in ways that are conducive to their well-being. If we want to know what a given animal is trying to do then we should, first and foremost, look and see. If it is chasing a ball or trying to eat chocolate, then catching the ball or eating the chocolate is what it intends to do, and those are the correct, non-arbitrary, non-projected descriptions of its behavior. We do not need metaphysical commitments to do this and Anscombe does not insist otherwise. Gustafsson raises the question of how we know what a bird, say, is seeking, and suggests that we might need to refer to knowledge of what is good and bad for members of its species in order to know and not simply project our own ideas onto its behavior. This is an understandable line of thought, but it does not appear to be Anscombe’s. She explains in Intention how it is that intentional action can be defined in terms of language and yet intention-de- pendent concepts can be applied to animals: The reason is precisely that we describe what they do in a manner perfectly characteristic of the use of intention concepts: we describe what further they are doing in doing something (the latter description being more immediate, nearer to the merely physical): the cat is stalking a bird in crouching and slinking along with its eye fixed on the bird and its whiskers twitching. (Ans- combe, 2000: 86) This is why Gustafsson rightly says that Anscombe rejects talk of the cat’s behavior expressing its intention. Its movements are its stalking the bird, and its stalking the bird involves or includes the intention to catch it. That it is stalking the bird, rather than, say, merely walking near it, means that the cat is trying to catch the bird. Describing the action as stalking tells us what the cat intends. How, though, do we know that this is the right description to use? Anscombe answers this with reference not to thinking about what is good and bad for cats but to looking: Just as we naturally say ‘The cat thinks there is a mouse coming’, so we also nat- urally ask: Why is the cat crouching and slinking like that? and give the answer: It’s stalking that bird; see, its eye is fixed on it. We do this, though the cat can utter no thoughts, and cannot give expression to any knowledge of its own action, or to any intentions either. (Anscombe, 2000: 86-87) We also do this without any reference to special knowledge of what is conducive or harmful to the flourishing of cats. Gustafsson argues that Anscombe equally regards intention in animals and in human beings as cases of intention but of different kinds of intention. “See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 109
Human intention is connected with language in a way that animal intention is not. Unlike human intention, “the cat’s intention to catch the bird exists only qua the cat’s stalking” (Gustafsson, 2016: 225). This is what makes it like the car that is about to stop. The car has no intention, so it is also important- ly different from the cat, but the symptoms of its being about to stop are not really separable from the fact that it is about to stop. Or at least, not as sepa- rable as a human being’s intention to do something is from the expression of that intention, which might, after all, be a lie. Unlike cats, human beings are also quite capable of acting against their biological interests. We sometimes do things because they are bad for us, when one wants to commit suicide, for instance, as Anscombe notes (see Anscombe, 2005: 116). According to Gustafsson: In the cat case, as conceived by Anscombe, the cat’s intention (to catch the bird) is constitutively bound up with the cat’s nonconventional behavior (its stalking the bird), and this constitutive nexus is intelligible in view of what sort of creature a cat is. The characterization of the behavior qua directed at an intended goal— “stalking the bird”—is applicable because cats are crea- tures for which it is good to catch birds and because they have the biological equipment (sense organs, etc.) needed to aim at particular things (like birds). If [I am] correct, the reason why Anscombe does not want to call the cat’s behavior an expression of the cat’s intention is that the constitutive interrela- tionship between intention and behavior is too tight to make the notion of “expression” applicable. (Gustafsson, 2016: 226) This is different from Moran and Stone’s view that expression of intention needs to be verbal because only a verbal expression can provide a criterion of correct execution. Behavior does not express intention, according to Ans- combe, because the connection between behavior and intention is too tight, to use Gustafsson’s word. What I do to achieve my intended goal embodies my intention in a way that cannot lie (see Gustafsson, 2016: 231). I might walk down a certain street in order to make you think I am going to a museum, say, but then this walking embodies my intention to deceive you. It is not merely a deceptive act regarding my unreal intention to go to the museum. It is also a real act that shows, unavoidably if unwittingly, my intention to deceive. Might we not, even so, choose to say that actions embodying a certain intention express that intention? Gustafsson’s view is that Anscombe means to stipulate that we ought not to speak this way when doing philosophy, because of the danger of our doing so leading us astray in a Cartesian or empiricist way that treats intentions as mental states that are not very different from sensations such as pain (see Gustafsson, 2016: 235). This is precisely the kind of danger that Wittgenstein was concerned about avoiding. Gustafsson also notes that in colloquial use we only call something an expression of X if it is distinct from X itself (see Gustafsson, 2016: 224). A cat’s stalking a bird, which consists of its walking towards it in a certain way, is not appropriately distinct from its inten- tion to catch the bird, however, since without this intention these movements 110 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Duncan Richter would not amount to stalking. I can form an intention but not act on it yet, and, if I change my mind, I might never act on it. But we cannot seriously attribute this kind of intention to an animal. It makes no sense to ascribe an intention to an animal whose behavior reveals nothing of the intention in question. Unlike human beings, animals cannot reveal their intentions through language, so apparently intentional behavior is the only criterion for the ascrip- tion of intentions to them. However, I am not certain that Gustafsson is quite right about Anscombe’s desire to distinguish non-linguistic animal intention from human intention. In her paper “Under a Description,” which Gustafsson discusses, she address- es the following question: Animals that have no language can have intentions too: how then, it is asked, can it be right to say that an intention is always ‘under a description’? (Ans- combe, 1981: 209) To answer this question she brings up the example of the bird that did want to land on a certain twig, but did not want to land in bird-lime. So in doing both it did what it wanted under one description, but not under another. Anscombe now asks another question, and answers it right away: If it landed on the twig in order to peck at the bird-seed, can’t we say it took landing on the twig to be a way of getting into a position to peck at the bird- seed? We can, if we say that a bird thinks it can escape into the open by flying towards the daylight that comes through a glass barrier. (Anscombe, 1981: 209) On the one hand, this way of talking seems perfectly normal. On the other, it might seem to require the bird to be thinking to itself, perhaps in its own lan- guage, something along the lines of, “Landing on this twig will be a way for me to get into position to peck at that bird-seed.” Anscombe denies this, however: This way of talking [i.e., the way exemplified in the passage quoted above] does not presuppose that the bird has any thoughts about descriptions. If there is a difficulty, it concerns ascribing those other thoughts to the bird; it is about passing from the bird’s intentions or aims, to the ascription of belief to it. But someone who says the bird’s action was intentional (or voluntary) under one description, not under the other, need not enter into that dispute at all. “It took landing on the twig to be a way of… but not a way of…” is merely a rather roundabout way of saying that, e.g., the bird meant (wanted) to land on the twig, but not to land on the bird-lime. Landing on the twig was landing on bird-lime – we aren’t considering two different landings. So, if we form definite descriptions, “the action (then) of landing on the twig”, “the action (then) of landing on a twig with bird-lime on it”, we must say they are definite descriptions satisfied by the same occurrence, which was something that the bird did, but under the one description it was intentional, under the other unintentional. That the bird is not a language-user has no bearing on this. (Anscombe, 1981: 209-210) “See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 111
Anscombe’s response to the objection, where she says both (1) that animals have intentions but lack language and (2) that intention is always under a description, says nothing about animal intention being different from human intention. Instead she says that the bird’s not being a language-user is irrele- vant. The objection, she says in a part of the passage above that I omitted, supposes that her claim about intentions being under a description implies that a description “is in some sense written into something inside the agent.” But the implication is that Anscombe denies any such thing. So human inten- tion and animal intention do not appear to be two different things. At least, this seems to be a misleading way of speaking. The difference is that humans, having language, can express their intentions while animals, whose intentions may well nevertheless be visible, cannot. Anscombe accuses Wittgenstein not so much of doing something bad but of choosing words that are likely to mislead. This might seem a somewhat minor criticism, especially given both that Wittgenstein refers to natural expression of intention only once and that there is no known case of anyone having been misled by this use of words. Nevertheless, her criticism of Witt- genstein is of interest beyond the question of whether Wittgenstein was right or wrong. Coming to understand her criticism, which we can perhaps best do with help from both Moran and Stone and from Gustafsson, helps us see what is, and is not, involved in expressions of intention, and why this matters. As Moran and Stone make clear, an agent can fail to do what they intend to do, which makes intention different from emotion and belief. A sincerely verbal- ized intention thus provides a criterion by which future action can be judged. As Gustafsson points out, however, ascriptions of intention to animals by humans will be arbitrary unless there is some basis in the animal’s behavior for such ascription. Moran and Stone assert, problematically, that, “Considered apart from their verbal expressability, intentions are sunk in facticity. […] [T]he movements of the cat indicate only what it actually goes on to do” (Moran and Stone, 2017: note 54). This fails to account for the kind of mistake we see when a dog barks up the wrong tree or a bird lands on a twig coated with lime. To avoid this mistake, Gustafsson posits that Anscombe relies on our knowledge of what is good or bad for members of various spe- cies. But this seems to complicate matters unnecessarily, and is not what Anscombe actually says. What she says, and what seems right, is that at least sometimes we can simply see what an animal is trying to do. In this way, Gustafsson, having perceived the flaw in Moran and Stone’s account, takes a wrong turn himself. Going back to what Anscombe says helps to reveal a simpler solution to the problem. For what it is worth, she also appears to be right to criticize Wittgenstein on this point. Talk of a natural expression of intention is potentially misleading, making it harder to see the subtleties brought out by Anscombe and the commentators on her work that I have discussed in this paper. 112 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Duncan Richter
Bibliographical references Anscombe, G. E. M. (1981). The Collected Philosophical Papers of G. E. M. Anscombe, Volume 2: Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Mind. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. — (2000). Intention. Cambridge (MA): Harvard University Press. — (2005). “Practical Inference”. In: Geach, Mary and Gormally, Luke (eds.). Human Life, Action and Ethics: Essays by G. E. M. Anscombe. Char- lottesville (VA): Imprint Academic. Burley, Mikel (2012). “Wittgenstein, Wonder and Attention to Animals”. In: Forsberg, Niklas; Burley, Mikel and Hämäläinen, Nora (eds.). Lan- guage, Ethics and Animal Life: Wittgenstein and Beyond. London: Blooms- bury. Gustafsson, Martin (2016). “Anscombe’s Bird, Wittgenstein’s Cat: Intention, Expression and Convention”. Philosophical Topics, 44, 207-237. Moran, Richard and Stone, Martin (2017). “Anscombe on the Expression of Intention: An Exegesis”. In: Moran, Richard. The Philosophical Imag- ination: Selected Essays. Oxford: University Press. Wittgenstein, Ludwig (2009). Philosophical Investigations. Translation by Anscombe, G. E. M.; Hacker, P. M. S. and Schulte, Joachim. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.
Duncan Richter. Charles S. Luck III ’55. Institute Professor at Virginia Military Institute. Department of English, Rhetoric, and Humanistic Studies.
Duncan Richter. Charles S. Luck III ’55 Institute. Professor al Virginia Military Institute. Departament d’Anglès, Retòrica i Estudis Humanístics. Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 113-133
Anscombe and the Unity of Intention
Noam Melamed Tel Aviv University [email protected]
Reception date: 1-11-2019 Acceptance date: 30-12-2019
Abstract
The conviction that ‘intention’ is not semantically ambiguous but has a single and distinc- tive meaning frames the argument of Anscombe’s masterwork Intention. What this meaning is, however, is barely recognizable in her book. One reason for this difficulty is that Intention starts from a threefold division of the appearance of the concept in our natural language and proceeds to develop its various accounts piecemeal. Another is the obscurity of the notion of ‘practical knowledge’ it introduces, precisely for shedding the light that would make its topic perspicuous as a whole. The present article aims to amend this obscurity by providing both a schema of unity for the various parts of the division and an account of the fixed character of the concept. For the former task, the article recaptures Anscombe’s technical use of the term ‘a kind of statement’, uses it to clarify the nature of the division’s parts, and argues that they are co-constituted in a larger context of rational proceedings. Having done this, the article shows that the point of such proceedings is to display the validity of practical reasoning in a given case. It analyses Anscombe’s account of this kind of validity, providing thereby the representation of the fixed character of ‘intention’ as a distinct form of thinking. Keywords: action; rationality; assertion and expression of intention; practical reasoning; practical self-consciousness
Resum. Anscombe i la unitat d’ Intention
La convicció que la «intenció» no canvia de significat en diversos contextos, sinó que ha de representar un concepte únic i distintiu, emmarca l’argument de G.E.M. Anscombe a Intention; tanmateix, l’explicació d’aquest concepte i l’esquema de la seva unitat general gairebé no es reconeixen en el seu llibre. Una de les raons és que Intention parteix d’una triple presentació del concepte en el nostre llenguatge natural i desenvolupa aquests aspectes de forma fragmentària. Una altra és l’obscuritat de la noció de coneixement pràctic que introdueix, precisament per aclarir allò que faria que el tema fos perspicu en conjunt. Aquest article repara l’obscuritat tornant a capturar primer els trets de la lògica filosòfica d’Anscombe i utilitzant-los per explicar la triple divisió i la seva coconstitució en un context més ampli de conducta racional. Un cop fet això, la recerca de l’epistemologia de l’acció deriva cap a l’enfocament de la lògica d’Anscombe, on es fa més clar que aquest context més ampli mostra una forma diferent de pensar. Paraules clau: acció; racionalitat; afirmació i expressió de la intenció; raonament pràctic; autoconsciència pràctica
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1275 114 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed
Summary
Introduction 4. The single account 1. Anscombe’s conviction 5. Conclusion 2. Kinds of statement Bibliographical references 3. Co-constitution
One would like to say that these two kinds of use do not yield a single mean- ing; the union under one head, effected by the same word, is an inessential coincidence. Ludwig Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations § 561
Introduction This article unfolds what I will call Anscombe’s ‘conviction’ that the different kinds of use associated with the word ‘intention’ do yield a single meaning, and that their union under one head is not accidental, but rather, that it is essential. This conviction appears at the outset of Anscombe’s illustrious book Intention ([1957] 1963; henceforth I) by way of a puzzle about the nature of unity and division of the ‘language of intention’. The book pursues an account that would remove the puzzle, yet its piecemeal approach of conceptual anal- ysis seems to hinder the attempt, as it obscures precisely the structural char- acterization of the concept as a whole. The task of the present article is to work through the puzzle with a clearer notion of the pieces’ nature, to show how they are connected and to make the character of the concept perspicuous.
1. Anscombe’s conviction According to Anscombe, any elucidation of the concept of ‘intention’ must explain the following division: [1] Very often, when a man says, ‘I am going to do such-and-such’, we should say that this was an expression of intention. [2] We also sometimes speak of an action as intentional, and [3] we may also ask with what intention the thing was done. In each case we employ a concept of ‘intention’; now if we set out to describe this concept, and took only one of these three kinds of statement as containing our whole topic, we might very likely say things about what ‘intention’ means which it would be false to say in one of the other cases… But in fact it is implausible to say that the word is equivocal as it occurs in these different cases. (I, § 1) Evidently, the threefold division Anscombe describes here – under the headings [1] ‘expression of intention’, [2] ‘intentional action’, and [3] ‘inten- tion with which’ – is characterized by her as both a division into cases of Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 115 employing a concept of ‘intention’ and into three kinds of statement. The former characterization is ambiguous, since the phrase ‘In each case we employ a concept of ‘intention’’ may either mean that in each case we employ a differ- ent concept of ‘intention’, or, with Anscombe’s conviction held fast (here stated as a rejection of the word’s equivocality), it may mean that in employ- ing a concept of ‘intention’ in each case, we employ one and the same concept – the concept of ‘intention’. The latter interpretation would not be ungram- matical, for in saying, for instance, that in each style of drawing we use a pencil, we allow the possibility of meaning the single pencil that we have. Still this interpretation raises the question about the nature of the division, for if we have just one concept, what sense can we make of the difference in its so-called “employments”? This question leads back to the notion of ‘kinds of statement’, and to the question of how the two characterizations of the division relate to each other. There are two ways in which to construe their relation that accord with the aforementioned ambiguity. Assuming three different senses of ‘intention’, each can be said to correspond to a different kind of statement, so that to make a statement of one of these kinds just is to employ one of these different con- cepts. Here the word is equivocal and its senses homonymous (Homonymy Thesis). The alternative accords with excluding the possibility that there is more than one concept of ‘intention’. In this construal ‘to employ a concept of ‘intention’’ means to make a kind of statement in which a single meaning or semantic character is recognizable (Single Account Thesis). The thesis of homonymy is not innocuous. Its conflict with Anscombe’s conviction creates the philosophical anxiety that our understanding of the concept is incoherent, as Anscombe says, “where we are tempted to speak of ‘different senses’ of a word which is clearly not equivocal, we may infer that we are in fact pretty much in the dark about the character of the concept which it represents” (I, §1). Indeed, the thesis of a single account, which Ans- combe’s conviction postulates, is abstruse precisely because we lack an under- standing of the division in which the concept appears and its schema of unity. Consequentially, the ‘temptation’ to diversity raises Anscombe’s puzzle about the unity of intention, i.e., about there being one concept at all, its schema of unity and its single meaning; whereas the ‘conviction’ of unity creates the task of elucidating the role of ‘kinds of statement’ in such an account, and of fur- ther describing the three kinds of statement of the concept. In what follows, the single account is approached by establishing the three kinds of statement of the one concept of ‘intention’ and dissolving the impres- sion of homonymy. The schema of unity is then elucidated in two comple- menting parts. It is first shown how the three kinds of statement build and operate a linguistic practice embedded prominently in our practical lives. Here unity is presented through the primacy of the whole over its constituent parts. It is then argued that this practice is meant to display a form of reasoning and sets forth its characteristic features. Here the sort of unity implied is that of a distinctive form our thinking takes when it turns to actions. 116 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed
2. Kinds of statement On the present view, Anscombe proposes that to employ a concept of ‘inten- tion’ is to make one of three kinds of statement of the concept of ‘intention’. Her use of this technical term is obscure but it can be illuminated by means of Peter Geach’s “Kinds of Statement” (henceforth KS) and Anscombe’s post- humous “Belief and Thought” (henceforth BT).1 In KS, Geach treats ‘state- ment’ as a grammatical instrument that applies to sentences, akin to ‘question’, ‘command’, or ‘request’. Eschewing a unifying formal definition of ‘statement’, he draws distinctions between statement kinds according to their logical roles, which can be conceived of as the teleology of the instrument at hand (as what a bit of language is meant to do).2 Let us glean his examples to see how logical roles define statement kinds. Though not announced as such, Geach’s first example of a logical role is the ‘proposition’. What a proposition does is show how things stand, which may be either true or false, without it being said which – i.e., without its being asserted. Geach argues that, as opposed to propositions, there is no such thing as the logical role that all statements play. There is however a “typical” one “played by very many”, which he labels “normal”: that of an asserted proposition, i.e., an assertion. Thus, according to Geach, what a normal statement does is say how things stand. For example, insofar as the fiction ‘The pale-blue donkey made peace in the land’ is asserted, it does not merely convey a thought but reports something as a truth which is meant to be believed. Such is the role of the normal statement.3 Non-normal statements, on the other hand, do other things than assert. ‘I promise so-and-so’ is an example. An ‘I promise’ statement, Geach says, “is not an asserted proposition about the speaker, that he does promise so-and-so, but enacts the speaker’s promise of so-and-so” (KS: 223). Here the perfor- mance of the sentence is the creation of a promise, which marks out a standard logical role that such sentences can play.4 Another, at present pertinent, exam-
1. KS does not offer a systematic treatment of the notion in its title, but a defense of the claim that the concept of ‘truth’ is unique by criticizing the proliferation of statement-kind-specific notions of truth. The locus classicus of the statement-kind notion in Frege is Frege (1917-1918: 329). In Wittgenstein it is relevantly invoked in Wittgenstein (1937-1938); and, significantly, in Philosophical Investigations, first, upon introducing ‘language type’/‘language game’ (Witt- genstein, 2009, § 23), and a second time in an instruction on method (ibid.: § 90). 2. Anscombe offers a blanket, disjunctive definition: “Let us adopt the term ‘statement’ to cover both assertions and utterances in propositional form which do not express thought that …” (BT: 180). 3. The presentation here is sufficiently narrow to find agreement between Geach and Ans- combe. However, it ought to be recognized how Anscombe had broken with Geach’s conception of ‘the Frege Point’ (promulgated in Geach 1960, 1961, 1963, 1991: 14, 16 and KS), reverting her early verdict that “Assertion has only a psychological sense” (Ans- combe, [1959] 1971: 116). Her context-sensitive account of the logical character of asser- tion, which extends one by Julie M. Jack (née Rountree), takes shape in BT. 4. Both Geach and Anscombe accept J. L. Austin’s original account of performatives but criticize its subsequent attempted extensions (see KS: 226-228 and BT: 170-174). Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 117 ple of a non-normal statement Geach provides is ‘I intend so-and-so’. The logical role of an ‘I intend’ statement, he says, is not a performance that brings an intention into existence, for “to say ‘I intend’ never constitutes an intention” (KS: 227).5 Nor is it an assertion that merely imparts something future con- cerning the speaker, for that conflates it with what a prediction does (cp. I, §§ 2-3). Rather, following Anscombe, Geach calls the logical role of an ‘I intend’ statement an expressed intention. He is thus implicitly identifying what Ans- combe calls ‘expression of intention (for the future)’ (I, iii; § 1) as an inde- pendent, non-assertive and non-performative kind of statement on the basis of a difference in logical role. Geach thus opens a way to proceed with the clarification of Anscombe’s three kinds of statement. Significantly, his account marks the distinction between expressing something and asserting something, a distinction which Anscombe also clearly draws in BT. I argue that the same distinction applies to the difference between an expression of intention (the first kind of state- ment, enumerated in [1] above) and our speaking of something as intention- al (the second kind of statement, [2] above). To see this, let us start from Anscombe’s fundamental doctrine of acting ‘under a description’.6 With regard to the knowledge of the one who is act- ing, she writes, “to say that a man knows he is doing X is to give a description of what he is doing under which he knows it” (I, § 6: 12). With regard to logical roles, one sees that such an action description X has the role of a prop- osition that can occur asserted or unasserted (it is a presentation of a happen- ing) and to give it is to make an assertion. But here the description applies to something done knowingly without specifying what kind of knowledge is at stake. Anscombe qualifies this when she discusses our speaking of an action as intentional, “the intentional character of the action cannot be asserted with- out giving the description under which it is intentional, since the same action can be intentional under one description and unintentional under another” (I, § 19: 28; emphasis added). Here the intentional character of the action is a specific kind of knowledge ascribed to the agent under the given description. To assert it is to speak of what happens as intentional: it is to say what some- one is doing, to give a proposition which is meant to be believed. Hence, the logical role of Anscombe’s second kind of statement is assertion. The standard way in which a statement of the second kind is made assumes a describer that can tell the intentional character of what happens straight off the conduct, that is, by observation. It may be called ‘knowledge from obser-
5. Geach and Anscombe share this dictum. Anscombe views “anything which was deliberately performed as an ‘act of intending’” (I, § 27: 47), if not “obvious bosh” (I, § 25: 42), then as at least inconclusive for ascertaining the intention with which an action is done. Further yet, in a brief diagnosis of a modern cause for the corrupt use of the principle of double effect, she criticizes the theory by which one can “direct” one’s intention at will by a deliberate mental act as “a marvellous way… of making any action lawful” (Anscombe, 1961: 59). 6. Anscombe introduces the notion in Intention’s § 6 and stands by it as late as Anscombe (1979). 118 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed vation’ in order to align it with a fact Anscombe points to at the beginning of her discussion of intentional action: “We can simply say ‘Look at a man and say what he is doing’ – i.e. say what would immediately come to your mind as a report to give someone who could not see him and who wanted to know what was to be seen in that place” (I, § 4: 8). Here the instruction seeks, and the report provides what Anscombe calls “a straight-off description”, under which what is happening is called (un)intentional. “I am sitting in a chair writing, and anyone grown to the age of reason in the same world would know this as soon as he saw me, and in general it would be his first account of what I was doing” (ibid.). Thus, mediated or not, the second kind of statement is construed as the proper answer to a question whose general form is “What is X doing?” (the action-variant of the canonical question for assertion “What is the case?”). For example: “What is she doing?” – “[straight-off:] She’s sitting in a chair writ- ing”; “What is that cat up to?” – “[evaluates evidence:] It’s lying in wait for that pigeon”. The point of these answers is not to put forward for considera- tion the way things are as in an unasserted proposition, but to assert/say/report that something is so. Moreover, to speak of the intentional character of what is happening by reference to such a description – to say, for example, ‘NN is A-ing intentionally’ – is to use the second kind of statement diagnostically, usually because it has consequences that matter to us. This diagnostical form extends the standard statement of the second kind. Consider now how the contrast between assertion and expression constitutes the division between Anscombe’s first and second kinds of statement. To do so it is helpful to recall how the first kind of statement governs a sentence’s sense, as when, in Anscombe’s demonstration, “I am going to fail in this exam” (I, § 2: 2) is not an estimation of one’s chances nor a prediction but an expressed intention. What this draws attention to is the fact that an expressed intention voices how things stand with oneself, in particular, one’s own idea of one’s own action (whether present or proposed), whereas, by contrast, an assertion about an action reports it as another’s action. As said, such a report implicitly ascribes a certain intention to the one acting, and though the description seems to apply, the very claim that it is done intentionally or even knowingly might not. This implies that the ultimate test for whether the report is true cannot be another diagnosis but only one’s profession, i.e., an expression of intention. Moreover, one’s own diagnosis of what one oneself is doing would also be unhelpful, for such a report about oneself entails ascribing an intention to oneself and once again requires inquiring whether it holds (conversely, neither can another express one’s own intention, even if they share it, but only reproduce, quote, surmise or presume it).7 Most radically, a phrase
7. In BT, Anscombe gives two marks that distinguish the grammar of an expression of belief from that of assertion (BT: 174-181). They can be transferred to the present discussion as follows: (1.) ‘I intend’, ‘I’ll A’, ‘I’m A-ing’, etc. cannot go into an if-clause as expressions of intention; (2.) the expressed intention ‘I’m A-ing, but (perhaps) I’m not A-ing’ is unobjectionable only when the first occurrence is an expressed intention and the second a report from observation (e.g., the case of writing without looking, as in I, § 29: 53; §§ 45-46). Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 119 of the form ‘I’m A-ing’ can either express an intention or, in an assertive use, report what is up with oneself self-alienatedly. Thus, into a report there is built in alienation from the logos of the acting cause, and, strictly speaking, when that cause is oneself, a self-diagnosis is a form of self-alienated knowledge.8 This marks the difference separating the first and second kinds of statement. It points to the insight that an assertion is meant to provide theoretical knowl- edge derived from the action as it is known as another’s action (from observa- tion broadly conceived), whereas an expressed intention is meant to voice one’s self-understanding as the acting cause – a practical bit of knowledge (invoking I, § 48: 87).
Anscombe had introduced the third kind of statement as follows, “We may ask with what intention an action was done” (I, § 1). We may, that is, put forward the question ‘Why?’ in her special sense: ‘Why are you A-ing?’. What might mislead at first is to view the logical role of the third kind of statement as this question taken in isolation. However, embedded in that very question is the assertion ‘You are A-ing’, a statement of the second kind, which creates room for rejecting the description or providing another. Now, although abso- lutely anything could be said or done in response to the question, an answer is adequate only if it is an expression of intention, a statement of the first kind. But again, this requirement might mislead one into viewing the answer in isolation as the locus of the third kind of statement and would effectively collapse the third kind of statement into the first kind and miss Anscombe’s distinction. What should be done to avoid this is to take the pair of statements – the assertion embedded in the question and the expressed intention in the reply – as co-constitutive of one and the same context of a petition: a question and answer exchange which is an appeal for a reason for acting, or a further description of the action. It is in this context that the question asks for and the answer provides the intention with which an action is done.9 This dyadic context of petition is essential for making explicit a proper state- ment of the third kind. It emerges most naturally when we compose a statement from the description in the ‘Why?’ question and the expressed intention given as its answer. For example, the sentence ‘I must inform NN about X’ in the context of being the answer to the question ‘Why are you writing?’, forms the basis for composing the statement ‘I am writing to inform NN about X’; likewise, the noun phrase ‘The Piero della Francesca frescoes’ given in answer
8. Self-alienated knowledge of one’s own action includes what one may observe oneself doing without intending or wanting to, like unintentionally “sliding on ice” (I, § 47: 85), or like segments of the infinitely scrutinizable manifold of gestures that make up any intentional action. It may also be a report from observation of what one is doing when the acting is not spontaneous but follows another ‘voice’, e.g., in drawing a shape in the mirror relying only on the visual image (Wittgenstein, 1961: 87). Consider in this connection, too, that the action descriptions populating Wittgenstein’s imagined book The World as I Found It (1963, § 5.631) can be of either sort. 9. I’ve picked up and modified this elegant turn of phrase from Moran and Stone (2011: 34). 120 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed to ‘Why are you travelling to Arezzo?’ is an ellipsis which assumes the role of an expressed intention, and forms the basis for composing the statement ‘I’m trav- elling to Arezzo for [to marvel at] the Piero della Francesca’s frescoes’. We thus have the schema ‘
Does each kind of statement convey a separate content of its own that is not necessarily shared in a given case with the other two? Showing that they do would confirm the Homonymy Thesis and reject Anscombe’s conviction. In I § 1, Anscombe elicits these so-called senses of ‘intention’, only to refute their independent standing in the transitional §§ 19-20 (discussed in the next sec- tion). The alleged differentiating sense of ‘intention’ in expressions of intention is identified as concern with the future; in speaking of something as intention- Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 121 al it is a feature that pertains to what is going on here and now, i.e., to the intention to do, or of doing, what one is ostensibly doing; and in speaking of the intention with which an action is done, it is a further something that someone aims at in his actions. Before sharpening the contrast, it can already be ascertained that the so-called senses of ‘intention’ in ‘an expressed intention’ and in ‘intention with which’ are co-extensive: (i.) Expressing intention for the future without having that intention would ipso facto make it a statement of a different kind, i.e., a lie (cp. I, § 2: 4-5); conversely, although one’s intention needn’t be expressed to exist, it cannot altogether escape the capacity to so be (say, upon being petitioned); (ii.) Although Anscombe begins with the constraint that “the further intention with which a man does what he does” is an “intention for the future” (I, § 20: 31), and the parallel one that an expression of intention is always prospective, she breaks this mold to allow further intention in the present: “we must presumably allow the further intention with which he is doing X, say Y, so long as it is reasonable to say that he is doing Y in, and at the same time as, doing X” (ibid.). With this Anscombe captures how we advert to the wider context of one and the same present activity (I, § 22: 34-35). She generalizes the point later on, writing: The mark [of further intention] is [that it is] at a distance from the immediate action… it may be at a distance in various ways… ‘resting’ is merely a wider description of what I am perhaps doing in lying on my bed… whereas getting in the good government is remote in time from the act of pumping, and the replenishment of the house water supply… is at some spatial distance from the act of pumping. (I, § 41: 79). From this we can conclude that the expression of the intention with which someone is doing something is not restricted to being future, because ‘being future’ is among the modes of that intention’s ‘being further’, and further intentions in the present get expressed just as well (e.g., ‘I’m resting’). Ultimately, then, the contrast between the so-called senses rests on the idea that it is possible to conceive of an action A either as done in view of an aim or as one for which such a thing is not forthcoming. Put differently, a question as to A’s purpose (‘Why are you A-ing?’) might provide that pur- pose or turn out empty (‘For no reason at all’; ‘I don’t know why, I just am’); but either way what is common is quite simply A; and so it seems that A has the character of being intentional whether or not a reason for it is provid- ed.10 Can this mark out an independent concept of ‘intention’, one conveyed in speaking of something as ‘intentional’ apart from what ‘intention’ conveys in the other two cases?
10. This is what the expression ‘a man’s intention simpliciter’ (I, § 1) signifies. Anscombe had probably adopted ‘simpliciter’ from Geach (1956: 34, 40). 122 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed
3. Co-constitution How can it be shown that the intentional character of an action (its “inten- tionalness” [Anscombe, 1982: 216-218, 223]) cannot exist apart from what ‘intention’ conveys in the two other cases? I §§ 19-20 take up this task by arguing for two theses: (1) No Material Independence: its existence does not depend on any actu- ality other than that of the action itself – i.e., on anything that coin- cides with an action (I, § 19). (2) No Formal Independence: its existence cannot be conceived without what ‘intention’ conveys in expressions of intention and the further intention in acting (I, § 20). These amount to the negative claim that intentionalness is not inde- pendently constituted, and lead to a positive claim:
(3) Co-Constitution: the three kinds of statement of ‘intention’ are co-con- stituted.
What follows is a brief presentation of these theses, the last of which leads to the single account of ‘intention’. Is the so-called sense of ‘intention’ in speaking of an action as intentional materially independent of its sense in the two other cases? It is the task of I § 19 to disable an empiricistic picture of the mind that might grant as much. According to that picture what we do by describing an action as intentional is assume an additional mark of intention ‘Int’ “which exists when [the action] is performed” (§ 19: 28). Int is an experienceable mental episode: either some- thing perceived (a mental event, § 11: 17), or an “interior performance” (§ 27: 47) like making “a little speech to oneself” to ‘constitute’ an intention (§ 25: 42), or perhaps an underlying Hobbesian ‘endeavour’ (Hobbes, 1651: 34). It is plain that Int and the action itself differ in kind, and so in kind of description. Yet, in thus viewing Int one also views that which it allegedly makes intentional as intentionless. This “preintentional” (§ 19: 28) aspect of the action conveys “bodily movements in a purely physical description” (§ 7: 13). So, the empiricistic picture of § 19 suggests that a movement represented preintentionally may also be called an intentional action only if it is accom- panied by an experienceable mark of intention. Designating the former ‘Pre’ produces the arithmetic: Pre + Int = A. Now in this dualistic constitution of action, the description under which we call an action ‘intentional’ (A) turns into a mere label for the co-incidence (+) of two other descriptions (Pre, Int). Anscombe argues that on this summa- tion of mental and physical incidents, as it were, the picture falls.11 The error,
11. For further discussion of this arithmetic see Ford (2011). Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 123 she claims, lies not so much in the reification of intentions into experienceable episodes, as in granting them constitutive power. The power is granted by taking the phenomenal mark-of-intending as somehow bearing the right sense on its face. Yet as soon as Int is provided, the question of whether it is meant and how, viciously returns. In light of this, “it is a mere happy accident that an [Int] relevant to the wider context and further consequences ever accom- panies the preintentional movements in which a man performs a given inten- tional action” (§ 19: 29). Moreover, to reject the coincidental constitution of intentional actions, is also to reject the claim that the preintentinal describes their truly fundamental reality. This is so because, divorced of such reified Ints, the accompanied preintentional movements can no longer be intelligible as actions at all. As Anscombe concludes, “the only events to consider are inten- tional actions themselves, and to call an action intentional is to say it is intentional under some description that we give (or could give) of it” (§ 19: 29). This corollary and No Material Independence are two sides of the same coin, which in fact reinforces the Single Account Thesis. For if the intention- al character of an action (e.g., lifting) does not depend on any observable description (a purely physical ‘muscles contracting’ or a mental “lift!” or
Is the so-called sense of ‘intention’ in speaking of something as intentional formally independent of its sense in the other two cases (Formal Independ- ence)? In § 20, Anscombe shows how thinking so would implicate us in one of several false pictures of the ‘intentionalness’ of intentional actions. As she has it, an action’s intentional character is distinguishable by the applicability of the question ‘Why?’ with answers that give reasons for acting. I § 20 demonstrates the incongruities that arise between her account of this applica- bility and various other senses that the question has by how it applies to makeshift ranges that the supposition of independence engenders. The argu- ments in § 20 rely on Anscombe’s account in all its subtlety, and mostly lay outside the present focus. It should be sufficient here to present their general scheme and a way in which the crucial distinction between value and calcula- tion emerges in it. The general scheme is as follows. To test Formal Independence, Anscombe makes two suppositions, the absolute one: “(a) Suppose that ‘intention’ only occurred as it occurs in ‘intentional action’”, and the reasons-excluding one “(b) suppose that the only answer to the question ‘Why are you X-ing?’, grant- ed that the question is not refused application, were ‘I just am, that’s all’” (§ 20: 30). Supposition (a) is then given two major interpretations: one con- strues intentionalness as a style-characteristic or ‘look’ of an action (a.1.), which can be further interpreted in a naïve (a.1.1.) or a sophisticated manner (a.1.2.); the other construes it as a characteristic of the action’s motive (a.2.), which can be further interpreted as either sentimental (a.2.1.) or as desidera- 124 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed tive (a.2.2.). Supposition (b) presents a rather stunted version of ‘intentional- ness’ and is assessed vis-à-vis the detailed scale of kinds of description in Ans- combe’s account – from involuntary movements to a variety of voluntary action kinds and on to the intentional ones. One by one these supposed conceptions of ‘intentionalness’ are shown to be false, and the two supposi- tions are rejected. Let us now briefly expand on just (a.2.2.). This version concedes the neces- sity of ‘agential knowledge’ as a mark of intentionalness – i.e., the necessity that the agent herself can say without observation what she is doing – but excludes the intentional action’s concern with the future. In this Future-Free picture, the question ‘Why?’ applies to positive answers only if they give a backward-looking motive or a sentimental one. Anscombe now emphatically asks, “Is motive enough to constitute intentional actions as a special kind?” (§ 20: 31). Her ‘No’ invokes a tacit fact about our concept of ‘motives’, namely the rational practice of questioning them, and adds quite obscurely that this practice would lose its point if intentions for the future were out of the picture (§ 20: 31-32). To clarify Anscombe’s remark, recall a general point she makes about questioning a proposed action that has a backward-looking motive. She writes, “it is a mistake to think one cannot choose whether to act from a motive. Plato saying to a slave ‘I should beat you if I were not angry’ would be a case” (§ 14: 22). According to the anecdote, as recounted by Seneca, Plato takes himself not to be at fault for deciding to beat his slave; on the contrary, he has a right to do so as an act of administering law. The wrong in his eye is his motive, motive qua-sentiment and qua-desire, his beating in angry revenge (contrast with a cold bureaucratic desire for revenge). Perceiving this, Seneca’s Plato gives up his right and instead resolves to inflict punishment upon himself for it, explaining, in Seneca’s words: “I’m punishing an angry man” (Seneca, 2010: 73). This figure concerns the future in two ways. First, as a measure of action, it is made sense of by a duty to avoid a predicted wrong: “‘I’m angry,’ he said, ‘and I’ll do more than I should, and more glad- ly; that slave shouldn’t be in the control of one who can’t control himself’” (ibid.). Second, as a measure of character, it is quite explicitly forward-look- ing: “[the judge who is free of anger] will always, whenever he imposes punishment, keep this principle in mind: one penalty is inflicted to correct the wicked, another to destroy them. In either case he will keep his eye on the future, not the past (for as Plato [Laws XI 934a6-b2] says a sensible man punishes, not because a wrong has been done, but lest one be done; what’s done is beyond recall, what’s to come can be prevented)” (Seneca, 2010: 31-32). So, as vengeance only looks back, one could add to the admonition “I’m punishing a vengeful man”. This explains how the capacity to attend critically to motives – both sentimental and desiderative – is internal to the cultivation of attunement to ethical failure, and so is governed by an inten- tion for the future. Thus, quite apart from the motive given, the practice of critically assessing it conveys a forward-looking one (=an intention) of a non-sentimental nature and higher architectonic standing. This latter ‘archi- Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 125 tectonic end’ (for Seneca’s Plato: justice) governs part of what elsewhere Ans- combe, following Aristotle, calls ‘acting well’. The remark in § 20 thus means that to give a motive that essentially cannot “keep its eye on the future” as answer to the question ‘Why?’ leaves it unclear why it should, and how it could, be distinguished from an expression of emo- tion (cp. ‘doing out of hatred’, § 12: 18-19) or an hedonic appetition (cp. ‘making a mere return’, § 35: 65-66). The gist of it is that this, along with all the other supposed ‘conceptions’ of intentionalness, though they might clar- ify an action’s worth or meaning, cannot ascribe to it rational calculation, which is the point of asking ‘Why?’ in the special sense (recall the teleological account of the third kind of statement above). It so transpires that ‘intention- alness’ does not signify a self-standing concept. It is now possible to look at the whole account of the question ‘Why?’ and the answer-types that specify its point as onto a linguistic practice and see that it is a practice for establishing the validity of an action (a kind of rationality). This would give a more determinate sense to the thesis of Co-Constitution, since the three kinds of statement are co-constituted in this linguistic practice. The ability to participate in this practice, to give and ask for its type of answers, is very general and so quite useful for giving a distinct sense in which an action is up to us: a sense in which it is stamped rational, rightly or wrongly.
What grounds the three kinds of statement of intention is a form of thinking in the presentation of which they partake. The three emerge, in other words, as co-constituent parts of a single, logically prior whole: the practice for estab- lishing an action’s validity by giving and asking for reasons for acting. Inten- tion’s § 21 makes explicit this practice’s constitutive role, we can see why some chain [linking action and end] must at any rate begin. As we have seen, this does not mean that an action cannot be called voluntary or intentional unless the agent has an end in view [e.g., it may have a sentimental motive]; it means that the concept [qua kind of statement] of voluntary or intentional action would not exist, if the question ‘Why?’ with answers that give reasons for acting, did not. (I, § 21: 34) The linguistic practice is presented here as a means for the representation of an action’s rational order (‘the order of intention’). This order is schematized as a chain (a teleological one) that the practice unfolds. Before clarifying how it does so, consider briefly what it is for a practice to condition the existence of a concept, here a kind of statement; what kind of conditioning is it? The prac- tice in question, as said, is conceived of as a means for representing the order of intention, and ‘a means of representation’ is the ground of the unity of its constituent parts. The concept of the practice is thus one of internal teleology analogous, for example, to that of a clock. A clock is meant to represent a value by means of, e.g., its hands and their position. The primacy of the whole over the parts means that the point of the whole governs the roles of its parts, and in that constitutes their ‘concepts’ (‘a hand’, ‘a position’), and their mode of 126 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed joint intelligibility (‘the time’). This is the kind of ground that Anscombe’s concept of “the question ‘Why?’ with answers that give reasons for acting” provides. In the same way, I argue, this linguistic practice is the condition of existence of the three kinds of statement of intention. Granted that some chains must begin, consider how they are made accord- ing to Anscombe’s account of ‘intention with which’ in I, §§ 22, 23 and 26. A further intention in acting may be a thing of the future or a wider description of the action in the present tense. But what is it that makes a description ‘a fur- ther intention’ in each case? For the former case Anscombe gives her “vague and general formula” that the further description q is a later stage of a totality of proceedings in which the description p is an earlier stage (I, § 22: 36). The case of wider description, on the other hand, is explained by a recursive procedure. The base of the procedure is an action description, ‘A-ing’, and it proceeds by applying the question ‘Why?’ to it, ‘Why are you A-ing?’, and getting an answer X which is required to be a reason for acting. To this answer the following con- dition is applied: if X provides an adequate further description of the action, then call this procedure on it; otherwise stop and assess the case. The procedure’s protocol consists in a chain of descriptions (Anscombe represents it A–B–C–D at § 26: 45), where at any point in the series, the last perhaps tentative descrip- tion is called the intention with which the action is done (so after one round B, after two C, and after three D is the intention with which A is done; for illustration see the well-known example of the house-aid pumping water in I, §§ 23-26). This already outlines the required sense of the practice as a ground of unity. For the generated chain is an extended statement of the third kind. Hence, the third kind of statement is embedded in this linguistic practice, just like the first and second kinds of statement are embedded in it. The three act together as constituent parts of that which governs their roles. What this is – the point of the practice – requires clarification. In the recursion, A can be called intentional only if X provides an adequate further description of A-ing. According to Anscombe, X is an adequate further description of A only if it satisfies two conditions:
X is accepted: it is an expression of intention (e.g., ‘I’m A-ing’) whose cor- relative assertion (e.g., ‘S is A-ing’) holds;
X is valid: it is intelligible as a reason for A-ing, e.g., it is an Anscombean motive.
These conditions illuminate two aspects in the recognition of action: one concerns the applicability of the description to what is happening, the other reflects the assessment of the underlying reasoning that joins it and its predeces- sors in a practical nexus. The point of the linguistic practice is therefore to find out how what one is up to stands the test of reason. Its constituent means, as I’ve argued, are the three kinds of statement of the one concept of ‘intention’. Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 127
4. The single account So far ‘intention’ has emerged as signifying the rational order of a practical proposition or its execution in an action. The practice of revealing intentions assumed the form of an extended rationalization, whose point is to test that proposition’s validity, that is: to examine the reasoning’s form. What, then, is Anscombe’s account of the form of practical reasoning? The answer requires a small detour. Anscombe’s procedural concept of rationalization is not the only way to display the order of intention, the same is achieved by Aristotelian deliberation (bouleusis). Of course, Anscombe is anything but ignorant of this (see I, § 42: 80), and, in fact, it can be shown that Aristotelian deliberation and Anscombean rationalization are formally identi- cal.12 Furthermore, Anscombe views Aristotelian deliberation as “a particular unit of practical reasoning, to which the expression ‘practical syllogism’ [a pre-formalized inference] is usually restricted” (I, § 42: 79), and in a later essay adds that “to set out the form of practical reasoning is to set out the form of deliberation” (Anscombe, 1965: 72; cp. Aristotle’s NE VI.1, 1139a13-14). But ‘to set out the form of practical reasoning’ means to provide a formal representa- tion of the reasoning in which the arrangement of the signs alone shows its validity – and this is, strictly speaking, a practical inference. It so follows that the form of Anscombean rationalization (the teleological chain) is set out in a practical inference, and the concept of the ‘validity’ of an action (‘practical validity’) is that of the validity of the conclusion of a practical inference. Anscombe’s concept of ‘practical validity’ can be best explored in her later essay “Practical Inference” (henceforth PI). There, Anscombe develops her logical prototype of practical inference, the ‘if-then form’, vis-à-vis her recon- struction of the Aristotelian one (consequent on I, §§ 33-42). She produces several examples to demonstrate their affinity (PI: 117-18), from which it suffices to consider just one (taken from Metaphysics Z.7, 1032b7-10):
Objective: Restore the patient’s health Reasoning: Aristotelian Form If-Then Form Being healthy is being X. Only if this patient is X will he be healthy. t ← s (s is necessary for t) Only the homogeneous is X. Only if he is homogeneous will he be X. s ← r (r is necessary for s) Only by heating does the inhomoge- Only if he is heated will he become neous become homogeneous. homogeneous. r ← q (q is necessary for r) Rubbing is heating. If he is rubbed, he will be heated. p → q (p is sufficient for q) Conclusion: Rub the patient’s body
12. With the minor qualification that their directions are reversed and that they differ in the actualization of the conclusion. 128 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed
Anscombe emphasizes that the Aristotelian premises justify her form’s hypothetical considerations, making them true ones (PI: 118, 120) – e.g., if his body is rubbed, he’ll be heated because rubbing is heating – but in effect claims that the two are interconvertible (see PI: 128). Second, like Aristotle, Anscombe does not restrict the means employed in her syllogism to just the necessary ones. As she writes, “in Aristotle’s example, the ‘homogeneity’ is said to be necessary for restoration of health, and heating for homogeneity. Fric- tion, however, is merely a way of producing heat. What is important is surely that the end will be attained by the means arrived at, not whether it is the only means” (PI: 118). Indeed, both thinkers allow means that are necessary or sufficient for attaining the objective. Anscombe’s ‘if-then form’ is therefore a set of interconnected propositions q, r, s – a “unit of reasoning” (I, § 42: 79) – that mediates between an objective to have it that t and a conclusion p which is doable in action and is meant to be done (it is a fiat or “quasi-imperative”; PI: 133). The ‘if-then form’ is therefore a proof-pattern, a nexus of propositions in which the conclusion follows merely from the way in which the propositions are arranged. It is such a pattern because for it, as Anscombe says, “the logical facts are merely the same as for theoretical [patterns]: e.g., the truth-connex- ions of p, if p then q, and q; and of not-p, only if p then q, and not-q” (PI: 139). From this follow two marks of ‘practical validity’. In a theoretical respect ‘validity’ implies that the conclusion preserves the truth of the premises. Yet, as Anscombe writes, “truth is the object of belief, and truth-preservingness an essential associate of validity in theoretical reasoning. The parallel [goodness of the end] will hold for practical reasoning” (PI: 146). So, in a practical respect, ‘validity’ also implies that the conclusion preserves the value of the end: i.e., the pattern also assures that what is being done is given the value of what it is being done for. A further, ‘teleological’ feature of practical validity can be gathered from Anscombe’s proposal of two orthogonal measures of ends: generality and per- spicuity (PI: 140-147). The generality of an end pertains to the question of who should attain it, quantificationally speaking, whereas its perspicuity per- tains to the quality of the conception of what is to be attained. Assessed with the latter, an end may appear to be diffused or clear-cut depending on the degree of genericity/specifity of the set of propositions given of it. Anscombe speaks of this as a matter of form: “what form of wealth, for example, is a man who wants to be wealthy aiming at in his calculations, when he has worked out something to do in order to be wealthy? The possession of lands, or of a regular income, or of a large sum of money? His heart may just be set on being wealthy, but if he is to achieve this it must take a more specific form, perhaps determined for him by his opportunities” (PI: 141). To look closer at this measure, consider Anscombe’s other heating example (taken from von Wright 1963 and 1972): Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 129
Generality General Particular Generic Huts should be inhabitable. This hut should be inhabitable; … should be well-heated; … by a stove; Specific … by a coke stove; Perspicuity Concrete This hut should use this coke stove.
Clearly, the descending specification of the end represents a teleological order, wherein the relation between each adjacent pair of propositions is the relation between a measure and a measured: the more generic (e.g., make inhabitable) acting as a standard for the appraisal of the more specific descrip- tion of the action (e.g., make well-heated), failing which implies the latter’s exclusion. But note that each positive appraisal requires justification by anoth- er proposition that in itself acts as a constituent part of a correlated Aristote- lian/Anscombean inference (e.g., ‘This hut should be well-heated’ makes more specific ‘This should be inhabitable’ because ‘only well-heated huts are inhab- itable’/‘Only if it is well-heated will it be inhabitable’). This means that a specification/generization is inferential in nature, and that its concrete imper- ative is a conclusion whose validity can be assessed in a teleological respect. Thus, ‘validity’ appears to imply not only proof of truth and value but also correctness of calculation. These three features characterize Anscombe’s concept of ‘practical validity’. Practical validity is what a practical inference is meant to display solely in virtue of its structure. And when a round of deliberation/rationalization is played out, that normally is its point. However, it is significant which of the two procedures it is, for in each case what the calculation itself is for differs. First, the reasoning in a deliberation can be a purely theoretical affair, discon- nected from willing the objective, when it is propounded as “a classroom example” (I, § 33: 60) to show how “we may be able to assert p [the conclu- sion] and go on to assert r [the objective]” (PI: 128) or vice versa (cp. the exercise in Euclidean geometry at PI: 117). However, the reasoning in a delib- eration may also reflect a will for an objective by having its propositions “made the topic of a fiat” (PI: 129), and so show that “we may want to achieve r [the objective] and decide to make p [the conclusion] true” (PI: 128; emphasis added). But, as Anscombe says, only in rationalization is the reasoning prop- erly practical, for only then “the conclusion [p] is an action whose point is shewn by the premises [a mediating q], which are now, so to speak, on active service” (I, § 33: 60) – i.e., they serve to rationalize the action (the point is reiterated in PI: 129). Thus, beyond establishing validity, the question ‘Why?’ inquires whether and how a bit of reasoning has been put into properly practical use. The ulti- mate question for formulating the Single Account thus becomes: what is the ground of the possibility of doing so? Anscombe’s short answer to this question 130 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed is that the reasoning can assume a practical use only when the considerations in it “concern ‘what can be otherwise’… [that] our actions can affect” (PI: 129; cp. I, § 22: 35-36).13 This dictum encapsulates two aspects of what might be called ‘authorship’: one’s recognition of a reasoning’s practical worth, and one’s representation of oneself as its acting cause. For clarifying how a bit of reasoning comes to have practical worth, con- sider one from Intention: “John will drive from Chartres to Paris at an average of sixty m.p.h., he starts around five, Paris is sixty miles from Chartres, there- fore he will arrive at about six” (I, § 33, 59-60). This is a reasoning for the truth of a proposition, that could take the form of a calculation what to do. It could, for instance, determine what John should do, and so perhaps what John is doing, given that he wants to meet Yoko that evening. The ‘demon- stration’ is not of what will happen but of what should be done, and so of what one should take as instructive, if one so wills. To so embed a segment of rea- soning in the context of willing something shifts the mode of its propositions from theoretical to practical (the ‘assertibles’ are made ‘the topic of fiats’ doa- ble in action), and also shifts their relation to the topic of the objective from ampliative (adding further theoretical determinations to the object of willing) to explicative (not adding any further objects of willing but only articulating the logical predications of willing the given object). In other words, as practi- cal, the very same theoretically-ampliative propositions are in fact explicative of the larger intention with which the action is to be done, they are so to speak ‘practically-explicative’ or ‘instructive’ as we have called it. But what makes possible the thoroughgoing unity of willing the end and willing the means, i.e., what must be in place for the unity of the context of doing anything? This must be, as said, one’s ability to take the description of a way of acting as one’s instruction, so that what grounds this possibility is the representation of oneself as an efficient cause acting with a concept as its rule. Ultimately, the first-personal thought of oneself as ‘a cause with a rule’ – the I think in the practical sense, the I do – is the ground of one’s acting intentionally. Thus, within the acting there formally resides the rule (practical reasoning proper), and within the rule there formally resides the I do.
5. Conclusion Let us bring together the elements that make up the single account of ‘inten- tion’. The word ‘intention’ signifies a context of rational authorship of action. ‘Rational’ signifies practical validity, which implies the preservation of truth, value and correct calculation; ‘authorship’ signifies practical self-consciousness, which implies recognition of the practical significance of a reasoning and one’s self-understanding as one who may or must make it true. The linguistic prac- tice of the question ‘Why?’ with answers that give reasons for acting assumes
13. Anscombe is invoking Aristotle’s distinction between two kinds of rational capacity accord- ing to the difference in the form of their objects, see NE VI.1 1139a5-11, 1139b15 ff. Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 131 this concept and constitutes its three kinds of statement. It does not assume any added thing which coincides with the action, but rather, in assuming it, a certain mode of signification through which action can be understood.14 Thus, Anscombe’s conviction is brought into relief. ‘Intention’, she teaches, does not signify a proper concept but a formal one.
Bibliographical references Anscombe, G. E. M. ([1957] 1963). Intention (2nd ed.). Cambridge, MA; London, England: Harvard University Press, 2000. — ([1959] 1971). An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus (4th ed.). South Bend, Indiana: St. Augustine’s Press, 2001. — (1961). “War and Murder’” In: The Collected Philosophical Papers of G. E. M. Anscombe Volume III: Ethics, Religion and Politics. Oxford: Basil Black- well, 1981, 51-61. — (1965). “Thought and Action in Aristotle: What is ‘Practical Truth?’”. In: The Collected Philosophical Papers of G. E. M. Anscombe Volume I: From Parmenides to Wittgenstein. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1981, 66-77. — (1970?). “Belief and Thought”. In: Geach, Mary and Gormally, Luke (eds.). Logic, Truth and Meaning: Writings by G. E. M. Anscombe. Exeter, UK: Imprint Academic, 2015, 149-181. — (1974). “Practical Inference”. In: Geach, Mary and Gormally, Luke (eds.). Human Life, Action and Ethics: Essays by G. E. M. Anscombe. Exeter: Imprint Academic, 2005, 102-140. — (1979). “Under a Description”. In: The Collected Philosophical Papers of G. E. M. Anscombe Volume II: Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Mind. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1981, 208-219. — (1982). “Action, Intention, and ‘Double Effect’”. In: Geach, Mary and Gormally, Luke (eds.). Human Life, Action and Ethics: Essays by G. E. M. Anscombe. Exeter, UK: Imprint Academic, 2005, 207-226. Aristotle (2014). Nicomachean Ethics (C. D. C. Reeve, trans.). Indianapolis, Indiana: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc. — (2016). Metaphysics (C. D. C. Reeve, trans.). Indianapolis, Indiana: Hack- ett Publishing Company Inc. Ford, Anton (2011). “Action and Generality”. In: Ford, Anton; Hornsby, Jennifer and Stoutland, Federick (eds.). Essays on Anscombe’s Intention. Cambridge, Mass.; London, UK: Harvard University Press, 76-104. Frege, Gottlob (1917-1918). “Thought”. In: Beaney, Michael (ed.). The Frege Reader. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers Ltd., 1997, 325-345. Geach, Peter T. (1956). “Good and Evil”. Analysis, 17 (2), 33-42. — (1960). “Ascriptivism”. In: Logic Matters. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1972, 250-254.
14. As per the account of practical knowledge, ‘intention’ signifies the formal concept through which the object of practical knowledge is represented. 132 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Noam Melamed
— (1961). “Frege”. In: Three Philosophers. Ithaca, New York: Cornell Univer- sity Press, 127-162. — (1963). “Assertion”. In: Logic Matters. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1972, 254- 267. — (1979). “Kinds of Statement”. In: Diamond, Cora and Teichman, Jenny (eds.). Intention and Intentionality: Essays in Honour of G. E. M. Anscombe. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 221-235. — (1991). “A Philosophical Autobiography”. In: Lewis, Harry (ed.). Peter Geach: Philosophical Encounters. Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer Academ- ic Publishers, 1-25. Hobbes, Thomas (1651). Leviathan. New York: Oxford University Press, 1998. Moran, Richard and Stone, Martin J. (2011). “Anscombe on Expression of Intention: An Exegesis”. In: Ford, Anton; Hornsby, Jennifer and Stout- land, Frederick (eds.). Essays on Anscombe’s Intention. Cambridge, MA; London, England: Harvard University Press, 33-75. Müller, Anselm (1979). “How Theoretical is Practical Reason?”. In: Dia- mond, Cora and Teichman, Jenny (eds.). Intention and Intentionality: Essays in Honour of G. E. M. Anscombe. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 91-108. Plato (1997). Laws. In: Cooper, J. M. and Hutchinson, D. S. (eds.). Com- plete Works. Indianapolis, Indiana: Hackett Publishing Company, 1318- 1616. Seneca, L. A. (2010). On Anger. In: Anger, Mercy, Revenge (Robert A. Kaster and Martha C. Nussbaum, trans.). Chicago, Illinois: The University of Chicago Press, 3-129. Von Wright, Georg Henrik (1963). “Practical Inference”. In: Practical Rea- son: Philosophical Papers of Georg Henrik von Wright, Vol. I. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1983, 1-17. — (1972). “On So-Called Practical Inference”. In: Practical Reason: Philosoph- ical Papers of Georg Henrik von Wright, Volume I. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1983, 18-34. Wittgenstein, L. (c. 1937-1938). “Appendix III”. In: Remarks on the Foun- dations of Mathematics (rev. ed.). Cambridge, Mass.; London, England: MIT Press, 1978, 116-117. — (1963). Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (2nd ed) (D. F. Pears and B. F. McGuinness, trans.). London, England: Routledge & Kegan Paul Ltd. — (1961). Notebooks 1914-1916. von Wright, Georg Henrik and Anscombe, G. E. M. (eds.) (G. E. M. Anscombe, trans.). Oxford: Basil Blackwell. — (2009). Philosophical Investigations (rev. 4th ed.). Hacker, P. M. S. and Joachim Schulte, Joachim (eds.) (G. E. M. Anscombe, P. M. S. Hacker and Joachim Schulte, trans.). Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. Anscombe and the Unity of Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 133
Noam Melamed is a graduate student at the School of Philosophy, Linguistics and Science Studies at Tel Aviv University. His research focuses on intention, the concept of moral relations and the constitution of moral rationality.
Noam Melamed s’ha graduat i estudia a l’Escola de Filosofia, Lingüística i Ciències de la Uni- versitat de Tel Aviv. La seva recerca se centra en la intenció, el concepte de relacions morals i la constitució de la racionalitat moral.
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 135-163
Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention
Jean-Philippe Narboux Universität Leipzig & Université Bordeaux Montaigne [email protected]
Reception date: 24-1-2020 Acceptance date: 30-1-2020
Abstract
It might seem that Anscombe’s book Intention dismisses the concept of the voluntary as of secondary philosophical significance. However, this impression is misconceived and stems from a misunderstanding of Anscombe’s philosophy of action in general and the contri- bution of Intention in particular. The main contention of this essay is that to understand the scope and nature of the contribution of Intention to an understanding of the voluntary we must come to terms with not only the positive account that the book advances on the basis of its methods but also the nature of the problems that it deliberately leaves out, based on these same methods, on the grounds that they involve considerations pertaining to ethics. This essay is divided into seven sections. The introductory section expounds the charge that Intention relegates the concept of the voluntary into the periphery of the philosophy of action. The next section places §49 within Intention as a whole. It seeks to explain why a systematic account of the voluntary is deferred until such a late stage in the inquiry. I then proceed to give a commentary of section §49 with the aim of unpacking and defending the various insights that are there systematically brought together against the background of the pivotal distinction between the intentional and the voluntary. Sections 3 to 6, which constitute the main bulk of this essay, are respectively devoted to the four headings under which Anscombe successively apprehends the distinction between the intentional and the voluntary in §49. Finally, in the last section, I try to bring out the underlying unity of the account of the voluntary given in §49 as well as the deliberate nature of the limitations in this account. Keywords: Anscombe; ethics; intentional action; voluntary action
Resum. La concepció d’Anscombe de l’acció voluntària a Intention
Podria semblar que el llibre d’Anscombe Intention considera que el concepte d’allò volun- tari té una importància filosòfica secundària. No obstant això, aquesta impressió és errònia. Deriva d’un malentès de la filosofia de l’acció d’Anscombe en general i d’Intention en particular. L’argument principal d’aquest article és que, per entendre l’abast i la naturalesa de la contribució d’Intention a la comprensió d’allò voluntari, hem d’arribar a un enteni- ment no només de l’exposició positiva que avança el llibre partint del seus mètodes, sinó també de la naturalesa dels problemes que, sobre la base d’aquests mateixos mètodes, defuig deliberadament perquè impliquen consideracions relatives a l’ètica. Aquest article està dividit en set seccions. La secció introductòria exposa el fet que a Intention es relega el concepte de ‘voluntari’ a la perifèria de la filosofia de l’acció. La segona secció situa el §49 considerant Intention en conjunt i mostra per què una explicació sistemàtica d’allò voluntari es posterga fins a una etapa tan tardana de la recerca. A continuació, es procedeix
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1285 136 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux a comentar la secció §49 amb l’objectiu de desplegar i defensar les diverses idees sobre el tema d’allò voluntari que s’hi apleguen sistemàticament en el context de la distinció fonamental entre allò intencional i allò voluntari. Les seccions 3-6, que constitueixen la major part de l’article, estan dedicades respectivament als quatre epígrafs sota els quals Anscombe aprehèn successivament la distinció entre allò intencional i allò voluntari en el §49. Finalment, a la darrera secció s’intenta posar en relleu la unitat subjacent de la teoria d’allò voluntari que figura en el §49, així com el caràcter deliberat de les limitacions que acompanyen aquesta explicació. Paraules clau: Anscombe; acció intencional; acció voluntària; ètica
Summary
1. Introduction 6. Intentional voluntary actions: §49 (4) 2. The place of §49 in Intention 7. The contribution of Intention to an 3. Non-intentional voluntary account of the voluntary: The unity and motions: §49 (1) limitations of §49 4. Non-intentional voluntary Bibliographical references actions: §49 (2) 5. Non-intentional voluntary passive motions: §49 (3)
1. Introduction It might seem that Anscombe’s book Intention dismisses the concept of the voluntary as of secondary philosophical significance. John Hyman holds it responsible for this concept’s neglect within recent analytic philosophy: Anscombe’s book Intention persuaded philosophers that voluntariness plays a relatively minor role in our thought about human action, compared to the concept of acting intentionally or acting for a reason, and does not raise any interesting problems of its own, once the nature of intentional action has been explained. (Hyman, 2015: 75) It is not hard to see why it might produce this impression. As John Hyman notes: Anscombe says at the beginning of Intention that ‘the object of the whole enquiry is really to delineate such concepts as the voluntary and the inten- tional’, but she gives voluntariness short shrift. In fact, she devotes exactly two pages to it. (Hyman, 2015: 75) However, this impression is misconceived and stems from a misunderstand- ing of Anscombe’s philosophy of action in general and the contribution of Intention in particular. Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 137
Anscombe did think that a whole tradition, starting with Aristotle, had failed to avail itself of the concept of intention, which deserved to figure prominently in any inquiry into action. In her mind, however, no inquiry better brought out the need for the concept of intention than the inquiry into the voluntary initiated by Aristotle. In fact, the concept of intention can be regarded as the unwitting legacy of this inquiry: We have to say that the uncontrolled man carries out a deliberation how to execute what would have been a ‘choice’ if he had been an akolastos; this, however, is something for which Aristotle has no regular name – for he has no general use of a psychological verb or abstract noun corresponding to ‘ekou- sion’ (usually translated ‘voluntary’) as ‘prohairesthai’ (‘choose’), ‘prohairesis’ (‘choice’), correspond to ‘prohaireton’ (‘chosen’). Of course, he regards the uncontrolled man as acting voluntarily. When he describes this man as calcu- lating cleverly, he says he will get what he ‘proposes’ (protithetai), and this verb expresses a volition, or perhaps rather an intention. Aristotle ought, we may say, to have seen that he was here employing a key concept in the theory of action, but he did not do so; the innocent unnoticeable verb he uses receives no attention from him. (TAA: 69) In Anscombe’s philosophy of action, what is meant to supplant Aristotle’s concept of the voluntary is not the concept of intention so much as the con- ceptual distinction between the voluntary and the intentional, which Aristot- le’s concept of the voluntary obfuscates (see Broady, 1991: 137). What is more, Anscombe gives precedence to the concept of voluntary action over the concept of intentional action when her aim is to provide an account of human agency in general (see AIDE). She equates the concept of voluntary action with the Thomistic concept of actus humanus (human action): We might say that human action = voluntary action. (AIDE: 208) The concept of ‘human action’ (actus humanus) is a restricted concept of action. Aquinas contrasts it with the unrestricted concept of an ‘action of a human being’ (actus hominis), which encompasses all that happens to be ‘done’ by a human being. The concept of intentional action is also restricted, of course, but it is too restricted to provide the concept of human agency that Anscombe seeks. By contrast, the concept of voluntary action constitutes the broadest restricted concept of action. As a matter of fact, the concept of the voluntary lies at the very centre of Anscombe’s ethical thought precisely on account of its irreducibility to the concept of the intentional. For she understands the core of the distinction between intent and foresight – a distinction which she holds to be central to ethics – in terms of the contrast between the intentional and the merely vol- untary. This contrast provides the foundation for, and the kernel of truth in, the traditional ‘doctrine of double effect’. Still, it might be replied, if both the concept of the voluntary and the relation that it bears to the concept of intention are in fact of paramount 138 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux importance in Anscombe’s eyes, then why do they seem to occupy the periph- ery of Intention? Could it not be that Anscombe’s views evolved between Intention and her later writings? It can help at this point to recall the opening of ‘Modern Moral Philoso- phy’, published within a year after Intention: I will begin by stating three theses which I present in this paper. The first is that it is not profitable for us at present to do moral philosophy; that should be laid aside at any rate until we have an adequate philosophy of psychology, in which we are conspicuously lacking. The second is that the concepts of obligation, and duty – moral obligation and moral duty, that is to say – and of what is morally right and wrong, and of the moral sense of ‘ought’, ought to be jettisoned if this is psychologically possible; because they are survivals from an earlier conception of ethics which no longer generally survives, and are only harmful without it. My third thesis is that the difference between the well-known English writers on moral philosophy from Sidgwick to the present day are of little importance. (MMM: 169) Later in the same article, Anscombe indicates which fundamental error, shared by every English writer on moral philosophy since Sidgwick, justifies the sweeping claim that she states as her third thesis: The denial of any distinction between foreseen and intended consequences, as far as responsibility is concerned, (…) on the part of Sidgwick explains the difference between old-fashioned utilitarianism and that consequentialism, as I name it, which marks him and every English academic philosopher since him. (MMM: 184) Sidgwick’s account of intention represents a turning point in the history of ethics because he defines intention ‘in such a way that one must be said to intend any foreseen consequences of one’s voluntary action’ (MME: 183) and he employs this definition to advocate the ethical thesis that whether or not one intends a consequence that one foresees can make no difference to one’s responsibility for it (MME: 183). This obliterates the difference between the intentional and the voluntary, and more generally the difference between the intended and the foreseen but unintended consequences of an action. In accordance with the theses of ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’, Intention sets itself the task of countering Sidgwick’s catastrophic move by impugning the poor conception of the mind that underpins it. It seeks an understanding of intention and practical knowledge, on which to ground such distinctions as between an action’s intended versus merely foreseen consequences (which includes merely voluntary ones), without yet engaging in ethics (see Wiseman, 2016a: 27). It refrains from going into ethics to make ethics possible again (see Wiseman, 2016b). If this is so, we should expect Intention to lay the groundwork for an account of the voluntary on the basis of an account of the intentional, leaving out any feature of the concept of the voluntary that would require a venture Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 139 into ethics. Should the concept of the voluntary prove to have one foot in ethics, the inquiry will confine itself to the area of this concept that can be elucidated without actually stepping into ethics. I shall argue that this is indeed exactly how Intention proceeds. According- ly, the main contention of this essay is that to understand the scope and nature of Intention’s contribution to an understanding of the voluntary, we must come to terms with not only the positive account that the book advances on the basis of its methods but also the nature of the problems that, based on these same methods, it deliberately leaves out on the grounds that they involve consider- ations pertaining to ethics. This essay is divided into seven sections. The next section places section §49 within Intention as a whole. It seeks to explain why a systematic account of the voluntary is deferred until so late a stage in the inquiry. I then proceed to give a commentary of §49 with the aim of unpacking and defending the various insights that are there systematically assembled against the background of the pivotal distinction between the intentional and the voluntary. Sections 3 to 6, which constitute the main bulk of the essay, are respectively devoted to the four headings under which Anscombe successively apprehends the dis- tinction between the intentional and the voluntary in §49. Finally, in the last section, I try to bring out the underlying unity of the account of the voluntary given in §49 as well as the deliberate nature of the limitations in this account.
2. The place of §49 in Intention The conceptual pair of the voluntary and the involuntary is first mentioned in §5 while delineating a difficulty that stands in the way of a direct charac- terisation of intentional action in terms of the concept of a reason for acting. This difficulty induces Anscombe to proceed in an apparently more round- about way: she will characterise ‘intentional actions as ones to which a certain sense of the question “why?” has application’ (INT: §6, 11), circumscribing the range of application of this question without presupposing the concept of a reason for acting. The difficulty, in a nutshell, is that the distinction between reasons for acting and reasons for thinking that something is true (i.e., evidence) is not an exhaustive one. It leaves out a third sort of reasons: the reason mentioned in ‘I knocked the cup off the table because I thought I saw a face at the window and it made me jump’ is neither a reason for thinking that something is the case nor a reason for acting. Anscombe calls it a ‘mental cause’. The difficulty is aggravated by the fact that an action resulting from a mental cause need not be involuntary. It may be either involuntary or volun- tary (INT: §5d, 10-11; §16, 24). Thus, walking up and down because one is excited by the music played by a military band is both a movement resulting from a mental cause (such being the import of this occurrence of ‘because’) and a voluntary and intentional action (INT: §5d, 11). This does not mean that its mental cause provides the relevant answer to the question ‘Why?’ that 140 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux asks for a reason for acting, which would imply that the mental cause is at the same time a reason for acting in such a case. It is not at all an answer to this last question. What this means is that involuntariness cannot be regard- ed as a criterion for distinguishing a mental cause from a reason for acting (INT: §5d, 10). The general distinction between the voluntary and the involuntary is brief- ly considered in §7, only for its study to be declared premature and postponed until after the concept of intentional action has been clarified, which in turn requires clarification of the concept of practical knowledge. Anscombe remarks that just as an action is not intentional under a given description if the agent is not aware of doing it under that description, or if she is aware of doing it only on the basis of observation, so an action is not intentional under a given description if it is involuntary under that description: the answer ‘It was invol- untary…’ constitutes a rejection of the question ‘Why?’ in the special sense of asking for reasons for acting (INT: §7a, 12).1 An additional reason for postponing the study of the distinction between the voluntary and the involuntary is that it is far less straightforward than the dis- tinction between the intentional and the unintentional. This suggests that the concept of voluntary action is, if anything, far more complex than that of intentional action and that consequently the latter takes methodological pri- ority over the former. We can also easily get confused by the fact that ‘involuntary’ neither means simply non-voluntary nor has an unproblematic sense of its own. In fact, this pair of concepts is altogether very confusing. (INT: §7d, 11-12) To substantiate this diagnosis, Anscombe introduces four heterogeneous sub-classes of applications of the term ‘involuntary’: Consider the four following examples of the involuntary: (a) The peristaltic movement of the gut. (b) The odd sort of jerk or twitch that one’s body sometimes makes when falling asleep. (c) ‘He withdrew his hand in a movement of involuntary recoil.’ (d) ‘The involuntary benefit I did him by a stroke I meant to harm him.’ (INT: §7d, 13) The senses of ‘involuntary’ illustrated by (c) and (d) cannot be invoked to negatively circumscribe the range of application of the question ‘Why?’ with- out begging the question. The examples of involuntary actions resulting from a mental cause previously adduced by Anscombe fall under (c). As for the first example (a), it is irrelevant at this point, since it characterises movements that
1. In §7, Anscombe rejects the claim, familiar from the writings of ordinary language philos- ophers (John L. Austin, Gilbert Ryle), that modifiers like ‘voluntary’ and ‘involuntary’ apply to an action only if it is fishy. This all-important topic falls outside the compass of the present essay. Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 141 cannot be known except by observation (INT: §8c, 14). Matters stand other- wise with example (b) (which is also illustrated by tics and the knee’s reflex kicks), which can be explained without resorting to any of the concepts at hand. It characterises the subclass of involuntary actions that comprises all and solely the movements of the body, in a purely physical description, which are known without observation but have no room whatsoever for a cause known without observation (INT: §8e, 15; §17a, 25). Unlike actions that result from a mental cause (say, jumping at the leap and bellow of a crocodile), these actions are involuntary in a purely physical sense. Both the jump at the leap and bellow of a crocodile and the odd jump or twitch of one’s body while dropping off to sleep are involuntary physical movements. But only the latter is a mere physical movement. To characterise a physical movement as ‘invol- untary’ in this sense is in effect to reject the question ‘Why?’ and to exclude it from the class of intentional actions. The upshot of §§7-8 is twofold: first, if the cause of an action of which one has non-observational knowledge is such that it can be known only by observation, then that action is involuntary (in a purely physical sense) and therefore not intentional (INT: §8e, 25); secondly and conversely, to the extent that it is subject to causality at all, an action of which one has non-ob- servational knowledge must have room for mental causality if it is to count as intentional (INT: §16, 24; §17a, 25). This last point has eluded the vast majority of Intention’s readers because it seems to contradict its claim that the distinction between a reason for acting and a mental cause is absolute.2 However, a movement being subject to mental causality is only a necessary condition for that movement to be intentional. For a movement to count as intentional under a given description, it is not sufficient for it to be subject to mental causality under that description since many movements subject to this causality are involuntary actions and therefore not intentional actions. That is why ‘intentional actions are not marked off just by being subject to mental causality’ (INT: §16, 24). The elucidation of the distinction between the voluntary and the inten- tional is postponed until section §49. It must await completion of the analy- sis of the concept of intentional action. The heart of this analysis lies in an account of practical knowledge in terms of practical reasoning. The indefinite number of descriptions under which an action counts as intentional are shown to fall into definite series, whose order and internal unity are dictated by the transitive, anti-symmetric relation that any two members of the series bear with each other, namely, the teleological relation < doing X in order to do Y >. These series can be generated by iterations of the question ‘Why?’ in the spe-
2. For example, Rachael Wiseman mistakenly equates the class of ‘descriptions which are justified by mental causes’ with the class of descriptions of ‘involuntary actions’ (Wiseman, 2016: 79) and suggests that the only reason why involuntariness is not invoked as a crite- rion to tell reasons for acting from ‘reasons’ that are mere mental causes is that this would be begging the question (Wiseman, 2016: 82). 142 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux cial sense: ‘Why are you moving your arm up and down?’ (D) – ‘I’m pump- ing’ (C). ‘Why are you pumping?’ (C) – ‘I’m replenishing the water supply for the house’ (B). ‘Why are you replenishing the water supply?’ (B) – ‘To poison the inhabitants of the house’ (A). Insofar as one can speak of the description of an intentional action, it lies in the last term mentioned thus far that still qualifies as a wider description of what the agent is doing (rather than a description of a future state of affairs) (see INT: §23, §26). This term ‘gives the intention with which the act in each of its other descriptions was done, and this intention so to speak swallows up all the preceding intentions with which earlier members of the series were done’ (INT: §26, 46). The mark of this swallowing is that A constitutes an adequate answer to the question ‘Why?’ as raised about D. Now an intentional action bearing this teleological order takes place through the agent’s consciousness of this order. For the agent to take the means to this end and to apprehend these means as ways of achieving that end are one and the same thing (see Rödl, 2011: 216). But this manner of apprehend- ing is a form of reasoning: it consists in calculating means to an end. The same series that can be generated in one direction by iterations of the question ‘Why?’ can also be generated in the opposite direction by iterations of the question ‘How?’ (INT: §§42-43). The account of the distinction between the voluntary and the intentional given in §49 is structured along a four-way division. The four headings into which Anscombe divides her topic, numbered (1) to (4), are the subjects of the next four sections.
3. Non-intentional voluntary motions: §49 (1) At the outset, we should dispose of three serious misunderstandings of the subject of section §49 – distinguishing the voluntary and the intentional – that threaten to bar access to it. Thus, it has been thought that the main contention of this section was ‘that there are two kinds of unintentional voluntary action’ (Hyman, 2015: 75). But, first, Anscombe is concerned with elucidating the distinction between the two categories or ‘forms of description’ (see INT: §46) of the voluntary and the intentional, not with marking out subsets of the class of unintentional actions. The movements and actions falling under headings (1) and (2) cannot be so much as called ‘intentional’ (i.e., described through this form) in the first place: that is to say, they are neither ‘intentional’ nor ‘unin- tentional’. Secondly, there is no indication that Anscombe is in the business of providing necessary and sufficient conditions for counting something as voluntary. All she seems concerned with is providing sufficient conditions for counting something as voluntary rather than intentional. A third and even cruder mistake would be to think that the aim of §49 is to circumscribe the class of voluntary events. Such an undertaking makes no sense, as the same event may count as voluntary under one description but not under another (see AIDE: 209). Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 143
The mere physical movements that an agent performs automatically, ‘with- out thinking’ (as we ordinarily say), are grouped under the first heading. Although these mere physical movements are subject to the question ‘Why?’ in the relevant sense, they are not performed as the result of reasoning about what to do here and now. To this extent, they count as voluntary rather than as intentional. The class of these mere physical movements is further divided into two sub-classes: The distinction between the voluntary and the intentional seems to be as fol- lows: (1) Mere physical movements, to whose description our question ‘Why?’ is applicable, are called voluntary rather than intentional when (a) the answer is, e.g., ‘I was fiddling’, ‘it was a casual movement’, or even ‘I don’t know why’; (b) the movements are not considered by the agent, though he can say what they are if he does consider them. (INT: §49, 89) This passage refers back to §17: Now of course a possible answer to the question ‘Why?’ is one like ‘I just thought I would’ or ‘It was an impulse’ or ‘For no particular reason’ or ‘It was an idle action – I was just doodling’. I do not call an answer of this sort a rejection of the question. The question is not refused application because the answer to it says that there is no reason, any more than the question how much money I have in my pocket is refused application by the answer ‘None’. (INT: §17b, 25) To put things the other way around, not every answer falling within the range of application of the question ‘Why?’ in the special sense mentions a reason for acting, let alone a further intention: The answers to the question ‘Why?’ which grant it application are (…) more extensive in range than the answers which give reasons for acting. (INT: §18f, 28) At this point, however, we begin to run into difficulties. On the face of things, what Anscombe says about the first sort of cases grouped under (1) (a) fails to square with what she says elsewhere in the book, as well as with what she says in other writings. First, from the main contention of §17, namely that ‘The question “Why?” is not refused application where the answer is, e.g., “For no particular reason” or “I don’t know why I did it”’ (INT: v), it would seem to follow that the corresponding actions, in particular idle actions, do count as intentional. Second, in later writings, Anscombe maintains that idle actions are not human actions at all and therefore not voluntary actions. To resolve the first difficulty, it is natural to advocate either one of two diametrically opposed interpretations. According to one line of interpretation, adopted by Roger Teichmann, for example, for an action to count as intentional under a certain description, it is not sufficient that the question ‘Why?’ in the special sense should admit an answer falling within its range of application. Absent a substantial answer, i.e., 144 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux one providing a reason for acting, the action counts not as intentional but merely as voluntary under the description in question. In other words, although every action description under which an action counts as intention- al is subject to the special sense of the question ‘Why?’, the converse is not true: among the action descriptions that are subject to the question ‘Why?’, only those that elicit a substantive answer are descriptions under which the action counts as intentional (see Teichmann, 2014: 467). However, this interpretation runs afoul of Anscombe’s repeated affirmation that the applicability of the special sense of the question ‘Why?’ to an action description constitutes not only a necessary but also a sufficient condition for the action to count as intentional under that description: Our enquiries into the question ‘Why?’ enable us to narrow down our consid- eration of descriptions of what he is doing to a range covering all and only his intentional actions. ‘He is X-ing’ is a description of an intentional action if (a) it is true and (b) there is such a thing as an answer in the range I have defined to the question ‘Why are you X-ing?’ (INT: §23d, 38) (emphasis added) If the answer to the question ‘Why did you replenish the house supply with poisoned water?’ is ‘To polish them off’, or any answer within the range, like ‘I just thought I would’, then by my criterion the action under that description is characterised as intentional. (INT: §25, 43) In sections §§17-21, Anscombe argues that we must take a middle course between the conception, familiar from the works of ancient and medieval philosophers, that every human action is done with a view to achieving some end, even some unique end, and the modern conception that no human action needs to be done with a view to achieving some end, let alone one final end, the same for all human actions (INT: §21a, 33-45). According to the former, the range of application of the question ‘Why?’ in the relevant sense simply does not include the answer ‘I just did, for no particular reason’, while according to the latter, it could in theory be exhausted by this answer. In §17, as we saw, Anscombe criticises the former on the grounds that the answer ‘I just did, for no particular reason’ does not fall outside the range of application of the question ‘Why?’ any more than the answer ‘None’ falls outside the range of application of the question ‘How much money do you have in your pocket?’. In §21, she charges that the claim that all human actions are done for the same final end rests on the illicit transition from ‘all chains must stop somewhere’ to ‘there is somewhere where all chains must stop’ (INT: §21a, 34). On the other hand, §22 contains an argument to the effect that there would be no such things as the question ‘Why?’ in the special sense and our concepts of intentional action and voluntary action if the only answer that ever occurred was ‘I just did, for no particular reason’ (INT: §22, 33). She sums up her discussion in §21: As we have seen, this does not mean that an action cannot be called voluntary or intentional unless the agent has an end in view; it means that the concept of voluntary or intentional action would not exist if the question ‘Why?’, Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 145
with answers that give reasons for acting, did not. Given that it does exist, the cases where the answer is ‘For no particular reason’, etc. can occur, but their interest is slight, and it must not be supposed that because they can occur that answer would be intelligible everywhere, or that it could be the only answer ever given. (INT: §21b, 34) There is no mention of any asymmetry between the concepts of voluntary and intentional with respect to their compatibility with cases of the form ‘For no particular reason’. Moreover, when Anscombe mentions the action of walking up and down because of some external stimulus as an example of an action that results from a mental cause but is nevertheless voluntary, she specifies that this action is not only voluntary but also intentional (INT: §5d, 11) (see Section 2). Yet it may be that the only answer to the question ‘Why?’ in the special sense, in this case, is ‘For no particular reason’. Considerations of this sort have led other commentators to embrace the opposite interpretation. Thus, according to John Schwenkler, despite appear- ances to the contrary, in §49 Anscombe does not maintain that some purely physical movements to which the question ‘Why?’ applies are nevertheless not intentional, but only that as a matter of fact we are not prone to call them inten- tional. From this perspective, the ‘low stakes’ of the merely terminological issue addressed by (1) should be contrasted with the philosophical import of the other divisions in §49 (see Schwenkler, 2019: 201). However, the latter interpretation seems to conflict with the unqualified assertion in the last paragraph of section §17 that when the answer to the question ‘Why?’ is ‘I don’t know why I did it’, the action description on which the question bears is the description of a voluntary action, rather than that of an intentional action. Moreover, inasmuch as this reading drives a wedge between (1) and the rest of §49, it can hardly be reconciled with the claim that the intermediary case of §17 presents an affinity with the case considered in §25, which case (as we shall see) falls under (2): I shall later be discussing the difference between the intentional and the vol- untary; and once that distinction is made we shall be able to say: an action of this sort is voluntary, rather than intentional. And we shall see (§25) that there are other more ordinary cases where the question ‘Why?’ is not made out to be inapplicable, and yet is not granted application. (INT: §17e, 26) It is tempting at this point to reply that it is no coincidence that the dif- ference between the intentional and the voluntary is introduced in connection with the second sort of answer considered in §17 (of the form ‘I don’t know why I did it’) rather than with the first (of the form ‘I just did, for no particu- lar reason’). For when it comes to the second sort of answer, it is true in a sense that the question ‘Why?’ does not have application; and that is something it shares with the sort of answer considered in (2). After all, section §17 is sup- posed to complete the account of when the question ‘Why?’ is shown not to 146 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux have application (see INT: §6a, 11; §17a, 25). Indeed, Anscombe says the following about the words ‘I don’t know why I did it’, understood in the rel- evant way: They are a curious intermediary case: the question ‘Why?’ has and yet has not application; it has application in the sense that it is admitted as an appropriate question; it lacks it in the sense that the answer is that there is no answer. (INT: §17d, 26) But the main thesis of §17, on Anscombe’s own account, is that ‘the ques- tion “Why?” is not refused application when the answer is e.g. “For no par- ticular reason” or “I don’t know why I did it”’ (INT: v), and the two answers are brought together in §49 (1) (a) qua answers attesting to the applicability of the question ‘Why?’. The two interpretations above rightly concur in the idea that the crucial point for the overall purpose of Anscombe’s inquiry is that the applicability of the question ‘Why?’ is a necessary and sufficient condition that an action in the unrestricted sense (i.e., anything someone can be said to ‘do’) must meet in order to count as an action in a restricted sense. Whether that restrict- ed sense is equated with the intentional or with the voluntary is to some extent immaterial. Without pretending to solve these difficulties, we can make some progress on two fronts. First, the range of application of the distinction drawn in (1) (a) is restricted to ‘mere physical movements’. The class (1) (a) is not meant to cover all cases in which the question ‘Why?’ only admits a non-substantial answer. It is not even clear that it covers impulsive actions. In fact, it’s not clear that the movements grouped under (1) (a) are ‘voluntary’ in any but the pure- ly physical sense. They do not seem to be ‘voluntary’ in the sense in which all intentional action is ‘voluntary’ (see Section 6). Be that as it may, the fact that the cases grouped under (1) (a) do not count as intentional seems to have at least as much to do with the fact that they are ‘mere physical movements’ as with the fact that they are not performed for a reason. Second, the end of §17 contains a precious clue. It suggests that in general the concept of voluntary action applies to an action inasmuch as the special sense of the question ‘Why?’ is not simply and overtly irrelevant to it, whereas the concept of inten- tional action only applies provided the question ‘Why?’ has full-blown appli- cation, so that the latter fails to apply when the question ‘Why?’ either is not granted full-blown application or is not granted application at all. That only ‘mere physical movements’ fall under (1) (a) is the key to solving our second difficulty. In later writings, Anscombe maintains that idle actions like those mentioned in (1) (a) do not belong to the class of human actions. She insists that the thesis that human actions are ‘under the command of reason’ cannot be reduced to the claim that reason can intervene to forbid them since the latter ‘holds of idle actions, too’ (AIDE: 208). Idle actions belong with mere acts of a human being (actus hominis): Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 147
Idly stroking one’s beard, or idly scratching one’s head, may be an ‘act of a human being’ without being a ‘human act’. (AIDE: 208) Here, Anscombe is echoing Aquinas: Such actions [as moving one’s foot or hand, or scratching one’s beard while intent on something else] are not properly human actions, since they do not proceed from deliberation of reason, which is the proper principle of human actions. (Aquinas: ST 1a, 2ae, Q1, A1) However, this is compatible with idle actions counting as ‘voluntary’ in another sense, namely the merely physiological sense: We are speaking of voluntary action not in a merely physiological sense; not in the sense in which idly stroking your beard is a voluntary action. (AIDE: 208-209) Once it is understood to relate to the merely physiological sense of the voluntary, the subsumption of ‘idle actions’ under the concept of the voluntary in §49 (1), (a) no longer appears incompatible with their exclusion from the class of voluntary actions in other writings. Since idle physical movements are voluntary in a merely physiological sense, they are of course not involuntary in that sense – the sense in which reflex movements or the sort of sudden jerk that one’s body sometimes makes while one is falling asleep, not to mention movements such as the peristaltic movement of the gut, are involuntary (INT: §§7-8, §17). But neither are they involuntary in the sense in which knocking a cup off a table when jumping because of something one thought one saw (or suddenly jumping backwards at the leap and bellow of a crocodile) is involuntary (INT: §§7-8, §9, §15). In fact, while there is a sense in which idle actions are not volun- tary, there is no sense in which they are involuntary, contrary to what is sometimes suggested.3 Classifying idle actions like stroking one’s beard as voluntary actions seems problematic on yet another score. It seems to stand in stark contradiction with Anscombe’s later claim that ‘all human action in concreto is either good or bad simpliciter’ (AIDE: 214). Like ‘picking a dandelion flower’, ‘walking from point A to point B’ or ‘chucking a pebble into the sea’ (see GBHA: 204; AIDE: 2010), ‘stroking one’s beard’ is a morally indifferent, or neutral, action description. That is to say, the action of stroking one’s beard, like picking a flower or walking, is indiffer- ent in its species (Aquinas: ST 1a, 2ae, Q18, A8). But whereas the particular action of picking a flower or walking is not itself morally indifferent or neutral, insofar as it can be brought under some moral action description, a particular action of stroking one’s beard is not only morally indifferent in its species but also morally indifferent as an individual action, insofar as it does not admit
3. See, e.g., Wiseman (2016a: 83). 148 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux any action description that is not indifferent. The solution to this difficulty is the same as before: the description ‘stroking one’s beard’ is not in fact a human action description, unlike ‘picking a dandelion flower’ or ‘walking from point A to B’. Although they are equally neutral, the latter descriptions are neutral human action descriptions, inasmuch as the particular actions falling under them are moral actions. After arguing that every human action, insofar as it is under the command of reason, is good or bad individually, Aquinas adds: If, however, it does not proceed from deliberate reason but from some act of the imagination, as when a man strokes his beard, or moves his hand or foot, such an action, properly speaking, is not moral or human since this depends on reason. Hence it will be indifferent, as standing apart from the genus of moral actions. (Aquinas: ST, Q18, A9) We can now turn to the second class of mere physical movements subject to the question ‘Why?’ that count as voluntary rather than intentional, name- ly (b), that is, movements that ‘are not considered by the agent, though he can say what they are if he does consider them’. Here, we are meant to recall the end of §30: In general, as Aristotle says, one does not deliberate about an acquired skill; the description of what one is doing, which one completely understands, is at a distance from the details of one’s movements, which one does not consider at all. (INT: §30, 54) On the view of intentional action that Anscombe criticizes in §30, an intentional action is to be equated with the intention with which one performs certain basic bodily movements, which the action is calculated to result from, and which exhaust the content of one’s practical knowledge. In this view, my practical knowledge of what I am doing when I am tying my shoelaces does not reach beyond what is described by ‘I am tying’. I am only of the opinion that my shoelaces are getting tied (INT: §30, 54). I only move my limbs; all the rest is up to nature. This view lends credence to the claim that one’s non-observational knowl- edge of one’s intentional actions is restricted to one’s intentions, or at best encompasses only one’s bodily movements (INT: §29, 51). It naturally arises in the course of trying ‘to push what is known by being the content of inten- tion back and back; first to the bodily movement, then perhaps to the con- traction of the muscles, then to the attempt to do the thing’ (INT: §30, 53). It is but one step short of the conclusion that the content of intention is reduced to a special interior movement only known to the mind in which it occurs. If nothing guarantees that my shoelaces are getting tied when I am tying my shoelaces, then nothing guarantees that my fingers are moving when I am moving my fingers (see INT: §29, 52). In proposing that, rigorously speaking, I can only account for the move- ments of my limbs, the above view gets things almost exactly wrong. For it may well be the case that the only account I can give of the motions I am Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 149 making is ‘moving my arms and fingers as tying one’s shoelaces requires’ and that I can give a much more exact account of what I am doing at a distance than of what my limbs are doing (see INT: §30). If I am asked what I am doing, I am able to answer spontaneously, ‘perhaps even without reflection, certainly without adverting to observation’ (INT: §4, 8), that ‘I am tying my shoelaces’, or even that ‘I am getting ready for a walk’, whereas I find myself unable to say what movements I am making without pausing to reflect. The difference is not explained by the fact that my knowledge of what I am doing at a distance is non-observational, for that is equally true of my knowledge of my limb movements, which I can retrieve through reflection. In effect, if I am asked to say what exact movements I am making with my arms and fingers, I can find out simply by going through the motions in my imagination, that is to say, by imagining myself doing the action (INT: §49, 89). Rather, the dif- ference has everything to do with the fact that I do not perform the motions of tying my shoelaces on the basis of reasoning about what I should do here and now. I perform these motions automatically, as a result of habit (hence the superficial resemblance with idle actions). In general, I need not calculate here and now how to do an action at which I excel. A skill constitutes gener- al knowledge of how to perform a certain type of action that can be actualised through instantiation without any further calculation (see Rödl, 2011: 226). This is not to deny that the sequence of motions comprising the action of tying one’s shoelaces is ordered in a way that can be formally represented by means of such artificial devices as the question ‘Why?’ or Aristotle’s practical syllogism. On the contrary, the reason why it is superfluous to calculate how to perform the sequence of motions here and now is that it is sufficient to apply a certain general calculation that has been consolidated into habit. Yet nor does this reduce to the general point that such a teleological order need not come before one’s mind at all (let alone come before the action) to be representable in this way (see INT: §§42-43). For this equally applies to actions that are performed on the basis of calculating what to do on the spot and are bona fide intentional actions.4 There is no such thing as a ‘phe- nomenology’ of practical reasoning anyway (see Rödl, 2011: 227). The sug-
4. The general point applies for example to some intentional actions that are essentially unplanned and unreflective, yet are evidently the result of calculating what to do on the spot, like a tennis player’s intentional action of ‘trying a drop shot’ at a specific juncture in a game (see McDowell, 2011a: §1). However unreflective, the latter action is evidently the conclusion of thinking what to do in the circumstances at hand and only qualifies as a means to the end (winning a point) relative to these circumstances. The motions whose sequence is integral to any exercise of the skill to make a drop shot in tennis are not derived from the end (hitting a drop shot) in that way. The descriptions of these motions occupy a middle position between, on the one hand, descriptions of intentional actions like trying a drop shot and, on the other hand, descriptions of the utter specifics of intentional actions (say, the specifics of what one is doing here and now with one’s hips and knees as one is trying a drop shot), whose ‘determination is not a task for the practical thinking that intention belongs to’ (see McDowell, 2011b). 150 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux gestion is rather that the teleological order of certain actions gets incorporated into one’s being, becomes second nature. Where there is practical reasoning but no calculation on the spot, however unreflective, the action is best regarded as merely voluntary.
4. Non-intentional voluntary actions: §49 (2) The second heading of §49 goes to the heart of the distinction between the intentional and the voluntary: (2) Something is voluntary though not intentional if it is the previously known concomitant result of one’s intentional action, so that one could have pre- vented it if one would have foregone the action; but it is not intentional: one rejects the question ‘Why?’ in its connexion. (INT: §49, 89) The second heading of §49 harks back to §25. Considering a further dif- ficulty attending the question of the description of what a man is driving at (see Section 2 above), there Anscombe considers the difference between two variants on the scenario introduced in §23a, in which a man is pumping water from a spring in order to replenish the cistern that supplies the house’s drink- ing water, after it was disclosed to him that the spring had been contaminated with a deadly poison in order to kill the inhabitants of the house and to put an end to the abhorrent scheme in which they are engaged (see INT: §23a, 37). Pumping water into the cistern is this man’s normal job in both cases. But in the first scenario he is pleased at the idea that the inhabitants of the house will be poisoned if he co-operates by continuing to do his usual job, whereas in the second scenario he doesn’t care whether the people are actually poisoned or not and is only concerned with getting paid as usual. In the former, his reply to the question ‘Why did you replenish the house water supply with poisoned water?’ is ‘I was glad to help to polish them off’, whereas in the latter his reply is ‘I didn’t care about that, I wanted my pay and just did my usual job’ (INT: §25a, 42; §25e, 43-44). The contrast between the two cases raises a difficulty insofar as it ‘is not one that necessarily entails any difference in what the man overtly does or how he looks’ (INT: §25d, 44). That is to say, there may be no overt difference apart from the difference between the words that the man would utter if he were asked the question ‘Why did you replenish the house water supply with poisoned water?’ and replied truthfully. By Anscombe’s own criteria, the action of poisoning the inhabitants of the house counts as intentional in the first scenario but not in the second one, even though in the latter scenario it also counts as a case of knowingly poisoning the inhabitants (see INT: §25a, 42). For the answer ‘I couldn’t care tuppence’ is one that falls altogether outside the range of application of the question ‘Why?’ and so does not grant application to this question. Ans- combe writes: Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 151
In that case, although he knows that an intentional act of his – for replenishing the house water supply is intentional by our criteria – is also an act of replen- ishing the house water supply with poisoned water, it would be incorrect, by our criteria, to say that his act of replenishing the house supply with poisoned water was intentional. And I do not doubt the correctness of the conclusion; it seems to show that our criteria are rather good. (INT: §25a, 42) These considerations: (i) suggest that there may be a point at which there is no sign that a man has a certain intention except what he says; (ii) evident- ly belie the unqualified claim that ‘what a man intends is what he does’ (INT: §25g, 45) (even restricting it to what he knowingly does); and (iii) fuel the temptation to say that ‘In the end, only you can know whether that is your intention or not’, an intention being ‘a special internal movement’ accessible only to the one who has it (INT: §27a, 48; INT: §25a, 44); so that (iv) at the very least they afford a genealogical insight into one source of this view and show what kernel of truth it contains. Anscombe continues: On the other hand, we really do seem to be in a bit of a bind to find the intentional act of poisoning those people, supposing that this is what his inten- tional act is. It is really not at all to be wondered that so very many people have thought of intention as a special interior movement; then the thing that marked this man’s proceedings as intentional poisoning of those people would just be that this interior movement occurred in him. (INT: §25a, 42) This difficulty will have to await §27 for a solution (see above Section 2). It seriously aggravates the difficulty raised in §23 as to which description of an intentional action is to be regarded as its description, i.e. as the description of this action (see Section 2). For it may seem that only the agent himself can authoritatively settle the question of the identity of this privileged description (INT: §25a, 42). In this context, Anscombe expounds and attacks the view, familiar from Christian writings, that an agent can ‘direct his intention’ by making a little speech to himself, of the form ‘What I mean to be doing is…’ and thereby determine that he does not intend, but only foresees, a certain consequence of his action (INT: §25a; see also WM: 59; AIDE: 223).5 On what grounds do we assert that the man’s answer does not grant appli- cation to the question ‘Why?’ in the special sense? By replying ‘I didn’t care about that, I wanted my pay and just did my usual job’, the man declines to provide an answer to the question ‘Why?’ on the grounds that he did not act with any end in view other than earning his pay by doing his usual job. If genuine, these grounds are adequate. Given that replenishing the cistern with poisoned water is not part of his usual job, he cannot be said to have replen- ished the cistern with poisoned water to earn his pay (i.e., with the intention to earn his pay). That is to say, it would be wrong to say that he replenished
5. Anscombe maintains that this doctrine of the ‘direction of intention’ abuses the Christian doctrine of ‘double-effect’ (on which more in Section 7 below) (see WM: 54) or at any rate its kernel of truth (see AIDE: 222-225). 152 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux the cistern with poisoned water in order to earn his pay. Since he did not act with any end in view other than earning his pay, he cannot be said to have replenished the cistern with poisoned water with any end in view, including any further intention (i.e., finite end). This, in turn, implies that the action that resulted in the cistern being replenished with poisoned water is not inten- tional under the description ‘replenishing the house water supply with poi- soned water’. For replenishing a cistern with poisoned water is not the sort of intentional action that can intelligibly be conceived to be done without any reason, let alone with no further intention. In terms of the distinction that is the topic of §49, the man’s act of poi- soning the inhabitants of the house by replenishing the cistern with water that he knows to be poisoned counts as voluntary rather than intentional. As we saw earlier, this move is explicitly anticipated at the end of §17: I shall later be discussing the difference between the intentional and the vol- untary; and once this distinction is made we shall be able to say: an action of this sort is voluntary, rather than intentional. And we shall see (§25) that there are other more ordinary cases where the question ‘Why?’ is not made out to be inapplicable, and yet is not granted application. (INT: §17e, 26) Unlike the case considered in the second part of §17 (the ‘I don’t know why I did it’ case), the case in §25 is neither curious nor intermediate. For the man’s answer employs words in a most ordinary way and clearly does not grant application to the question ‘Why?’ in the special sense. However, the two cases are similar in that the question ‘Why?’ is not rejected as inappropriate in its demand (to provide a reason for acting), yet is also not answered with an answer appropriate to its demand. The question ‘Why?’ is not refused appli- cation as it is refused application when the answer is of the form ‘I was not aware I was doing that’ or carries the implication that ‘I observed that I was doing that’; it is not simply and recognisably inapplicable (‘made out to be inapplicable’), but it is not given any appropriate answer either. By contrast, not only is the question ‘Why?’ not refused application when the answer is ‘For no particular reason’, but it is also given a straightforward (if degenerate)6 answer, one that lies in the same space of possible answers as those providing a reason for acting. The difference between the ‘I don’t know why I did it’ case and the ‘I didn’t care about that’ case is that in the latter the question ‘Why?’ is not granted application at all, as the elicited answer falls altogether outside its range, from which it directly follows that the action does not count as intentional under the description under consideration. But even though the action does not count as intentional under that description inasmuch as the answer elicited by the question ‘Why?’ does not fall within its range, it counts as voluntary inasmuch as the question ‘Why?’ is not simply discarded in the way it is discarded when the answer is of the form ‘I was not aware I
6. In the sense, familiar from mathematics, in which the apex of a cone is a ‘degenerate’ conic section. Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 153 was doing that’. To that extent, the ‘I didn’t care about that’ case can be said to be ‘intermediate’ between the case where the question ‘Why?’ is provided with an appropriate answer, such as a positive one (‘Why are you beating out that curious rhythm?’ – ‘Oh, I found out how to do it, as the pump clicks anyway, and I’m doing it just for fun’) and the case where that question is straightforwardly denied application (‘Why are you beating out that curious rhythm?’ – ‘Oh I didn’t know I was doing that; I was not aware that the click- ing came from the pump’) (see INT: §6, §23). Even though the man’s response, if truthful, precludes ascribing him the intention of replenishing the cistern with poisoned water, it is not exculpating. It does not exonerate him from the charge of having committed murder (INT: §25f, 45). He is responsible for the action of replenishing the cistern with poisoned water, not only in the sense that he is accountable for it (the action is imputable to him unless it is excused), but also in the sense that he is guilty of it (the action is in fact imputable to him). He is guilty of poisoning the people in the house. If they die, he will have committed murder. Although the concept of murder applies paradigmatically to the intention- al killing of innocent people, it is by no means restricted to it. It would be a mistake to think that Anscombe implies otherwise in admitting that the man’s action is not intentional under the description ‘poisoning the people in the house’.7 She writes: Murder is not committed only where there was an intention to kill. The arsonist who burns down a house, not caring that there are people in it, is as much a murderer if they are burned to death by his action as if he had aimed to kill them. (AIDE: 219)8 Some readers of Intention have expressed bewilderment over the fact that the pair of contrasting examples through which Anscombe illustrates the dis- tinction between intent and foresight in §25 is precisely one in which the difference between intent and foresight makes no difference at all not just to causal but also to moral responsibility. But that is precisely how things should be in the context at hand. To say this is not to deny that the distinction between the intentional and the mere- ly voluntary adumbrated in (2) can carry implications regarding the agent’s moral responsibility for the concomitant result under consideration (i.e., this distinction bears on the question of whether that result can be imputed to him, ‘laid at his doorstep’). It is only to deny that it must have such moral
7. We must reject Rachael Wiseman’s claim that ‘if we are concerned with the question of whether this man is a murderer, we must say that he is not’ (Wiseman, 2016a: 130). 8. Another pair of contrasting examples, also involving the killing of innocent people, is adduced by Philippa Foot: ‘To be sure it often makes no difference to the injustice of an action whether an injury which it causes is something the agent aims at or is something he foresees but has not made the object of his will. A merchant who sold food he knew to be poisonous in order to make money would be morally no better than an unemployed grave- digger who deliberately killed to get business’ (Foot, 1985: 69). See also Foot (1979: 146). 154 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux import, or that such moral import is built into it. In certain cases, the distinc- tion is indeed clear from its moral import. That is to say, the distinction having a clear moral import speaks for its indispensability: We all make such a distinction: for example, a man who goes to prison rather than do something disgraceful may thereby knowingly deprive his family of support but is not therefore held to be guilty of this as if he had sought it or chosen it as a means to some end of his. (GW: 247) Even though withdrawing support from his family is a concomitant result of this man’s intentional action (the action of going to prison) that was previ- ously known to him, so that he cannot be said to do it unwittingly, and even though he is no less accountable for it than if he had sought it, he is not responsible for it except in the sense of having caused it. But the existence of this sort of case should not mislead us into thinking that the distinction drawn in the second heading of §49 is of a piece with, let alone grounded upon, the notion that one bears less moral responsibility for what one brings about merely voluntarily than for what one brings about intentionally. There exists another concurrent point of view, however, in which some of the things falling under the second heading may be called ‘involuntary’ rath- er than ‘voluntary, albeit not intentional’: From another point of view, however, such things can be called involuntary if one regrets them very much but feels ‘compelled’ to persist in the intentional actions in spite of that. (INT: §49, 89) In this usage, the term ‘involuntary’ is no longer incompatible with the term ‘intentional’ (as we shall see when we turn to the last heading of §49). Be that as it may, the term ‘involuntary’ can certainly be used in such a way that it applies to a foreseen but not intended result of an intentional action done ‘unwillingly’ in the sense of reluctantly. One example is the example above of a man who loses his job as a result of going to prison rather than doing a wicked deed, who knew prior to performing the action of going to prison that he would inevitably lose his job as a result of it (see WM: 54). This infelicitous yet inevitable consequence of his action can hardly be regarded as ‘intentional’ simply because he knew beforehand that he would bring it about. Not only that, this consequence can even be regarded as ‘involuntary’ (though not ‘unintentional’) inasmuch as it is embraced reluctantly, far from being desired for itself (in the abstract, losing one’s job is undesirable).9
9. It is worth noting that this alternative way of using the term ‘involuntary’ is tailor-made for the notion that wrong-doing must be voluntary: ‘What excludes voluntariness excludes guilt. However, note that “voluntary” is being used in an especially broad way when we say that. If someone does something under threat from another man, say of pain or death or eviction, we would say it was forced on him. “I did it quite voluntarily” implies that I acted without such compulsion. But when we are using “voluntary” to speak of human acts as having to be voluntary – this being part of what we mean by a “human act” or “human Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 155
5. Non-intentional voluntary passive motions: §49 (3) The summary that the book provides of section §49 – namely, ‘Account of “voluntary” action’ (INT: ix) – should not mislead us into thinking that the notion of the voluntary elucidated in this section applies exclusively to actions. Only the items falling under headings (2) and (4) can properly be called ‘actions’. We already saw that the voluntary ‘actions’ falling under (1) are more aptly called voluntary ‘movements’, as they are purely physical. As we shall see, there is a restriction at work in §49, but it is methodological in nature and it is a restriction, not to the actions performed by an agent, but to the proceed- ings that an agent knows without observation, yet does not know because of reasoning about what to do. The subject of (3) is voluntary passivity. It is illustrated by voluntary pas- sive movements (at this point, we may want to rename instances of (1), by contrast, ‘voluntary active movements’): (3) Things may be voluntary which are not one’s own doing at all, but which happen to one’s delight, so that one consents and does not protest or take steps against them: as when someone on the bank pushes out a punt into the river so that one is carried out, and one is pleased. – ‘Why’ it might be asked, ‘did you go sliding down the hill into that party of people?’ to which the answer might be ‘I was pushed so that I went sliding down the bank’. But a rejoinder might be ‘You didn’t mind; you didn’t shout, or try to roll aside, did you?’ (INT: §49, 89-90) We could also think of the case of the ship’s captain who finds himself and his ship irresistibly carried away by the winds towards a destination other than the one he was heading to, yet who positively rejoices in it, far from being grieved by it. Sliding down the hill into the party of people is obviously not a voluntary movement in the physiological sense. In this respect, it is like being dragged. However, someone who saw me dragged would see that my motion is not a physiologically voluntary movement on my part (see S: 129), whereas sliding can be intentional (see INT: §47, 85). Nor for that matter is sliding down the hill into a party of people a physiologically involuntary movement of which one has non-observational knowledge, like a gasp, a start, ‘the odd sort of jerk or twitch that one’s whole body sometimes makes when one is falling asleep’ (INT: §7) or a knee-jerk, and so on (cf. INT: §7, §20) (needless to say, it is not ‘involuntary’ in the way digestive movements are, but that is irrelevant here). Yet the fact that the motion is not a voluntary action in the physiological sense and is the object of (what Anscombe calls) an “unmediated patient-con- ception” does not suffice to establish that it is not voluntary, let alone invol-
action” – we do not say that acts under threat are not voluntary. An act is voluntary in the way we are speaking of here if it is in the power of the agent to do it or not – he can resist the threat, that is: he can refuse to do what he is being “made” to do, if possible, by threat.’ (S: 127) 156 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux untary.10 At most, it suffices to establish that the motion fails to be a voluntary action even in the not merely physiological sense (which again does not imply that the motion is an involuntary action in that sense, for here the motion is not an action at all, not even someone else’s, as when one is being dragged by someone else). Based on the fact that violence cannot be directly exerted on the will – that is to say, that it does not make sense to think of physical force as being applied to someone’s intentions – it should not be inferred that the application of physical force on someone’s body suffices in itself to make his motion or posi- tion involuntary. Thus, when Aquinas maintains that ‘a man can be dragged violently, but for this to be from his will is contrary to the concept of violence’ (see S: 129), it is quite clear that in this context the concept of the voluntary is restricted to what is voluntary in the physiological sense: A movement’s being ‘from his will’ here means the same as its being physio- logically voluntary; for him to have arranged with some people in advance that they should drag him is of course not excluded by ‘not from his will’. (S: 129) If the motion was arranged in advance, then it can hardly be deemed involuntary (S: 130). If we say that something is involuntary through violence, ‘when for example winds or strong men carry you where you do not want to go’, our characterisation needs to be supplemented with a further condition: ‘you contributing nothing to your passage’ (see S: 130). On the other hand, if the person undergoing the motion were aggrieved by it or its consequences, that would speak for the motion being involuntary. To clarify the nature of this case, it may help to contrast it with two other cases. In the first case, the person is sliding down the hill into a party of people as a result of being pushed but she does not rejoice in it. Sliding down the hill and hitting the party of people, perhaps killing some of them, is then simply involuntary on her part, on account of its being due to violence, namely, the violence exerted by the person who intentionally pushes the punter with her on it. She may be held accountable for what happens (a defence on her part is in order), but she cannot be held responsible for it except in the causal sense (the defence exonerates her, i.e., exculpates her completely). The fact that she must answer for the killing, if only to be completely exonerated, goes with the fact that ‘killing’ is not a neutral action description but a moral (or human) action description (see AIDE: 215). But even though ‘killing’ is a human action description, it does not apply to the human action here. Sliding down the hill, hitting the party of people and killing some of them are not her human actions; they are only acts of the human being that she is, acts of a body that happens to be a human being. This would remain true both if hers were the only body to hit the people (say, she was made into a parcel and set rolling down a hill in
10. Anscombe circumscribes and characterizes the generic concept of ‘unmediated agent-or- patient conceptions of actions, happenings, and states’ in the last tract of her essay, ‘The First Person’ (Anscombe FP: 36). Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 157 such circumstances that she kills someone by knocking him into the path of a rapid vehicle) and if there were no voluntary action of pushing her (say, she got set rolling down the hill by sheer accident) (see AIDE: 210). In the second case, the person who is sliding down the hill into a party of people, perhaps killing some of them, does rejoice in it for the simple reason that she herself arranged it: the man who intentionally pushed the punter with her on it acted on her instruction; she instructed him to do so to polish off the party of people in such a way that it looked as if she bore no responsibility whatsoever (except in a merely causal sense). This second case is not very dif- ferent from one in which a person intentionally makes herself fall off a tree branch onto someone’s neck to kill him. The falling is then voluntary, even though it is not physiologically voluntary. Likewise, if it was arranged, being dragged is voluntary, even though it is not physiologically voluntary (see S: 129). But falling is not a voluntary action (nor therefore a human action), even though bringing it about is a voluntary action (and so a human action). Although falling is not a voluntary action, we shall hardly be content to say that it is ‘not her own doing at all’, if only because it resulted from a voluntary action of hers (see AIDE: 204). The same holds of sliding down the hill or being dragged if it was arranged. The case brought under consideration in (3) differs from the second case in that the things happening are not one’s own doing at all, any more than they are one’s own doing in the first case. Yet it differs from the first case in that the things happening are as voluntary as in the second case. The concept of voluntary passivity articulated in (3) can be seen as the solution to an old puzzle. The claim that something done through violence or ignorance is thereby rendered involuntary seems to give rise to an inconsist- ency when it is coupled with the claim that what is involuntary causes grief. Aquinas formulates the puzzle thus: Sometimes a man suffers compulsion without being grieved thereby. There- fore, violence does not cause involuntariness. (Aquinas: ST 1a, 2ae, Q6, A5) In a later article, Anscombe reformulates the puzzle in terms of the very example that illustrates the third heading of §49: Now suppose you are lying in a punt – a flat-bottomed boat – and you meant to stay there for a while, you do not want to be carried into the middle of the river. But someone jestingly pushes your punt out with a pole. Is this not counter-voluntary [= involuntary] for you? You did not want to be pushed out. But suppose when it happens you are pleased? No distress or grief here – yet you were carried by being pushed where you did not want to go. Anscombe then goes on to credit Aquinas with having resolved this puzzle: St. Thomas perceived the problem, and in his commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics, he says that being pleased is a contribution on your part. This saves the case from being one of counter-voluntary [= involuntary] motion. (S: 130) 158 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux
The argument to which Anscombe redirects us here is also to be found in the Summa theologica in the Question about the voluntary and the involuntary: When action is brought to bear on something by an extrinsic agent, as long as the will to suffer that action remains in the passive subject, that is not violence simply: for although the patient does nothing by way of action, he does something by being willing to suffer. Consequently, this cannot be called involuntary. (Aquinas ST, 1a, 2ae, Q6, A5)
6. Intentional voluntary actions: §49 (4) Last, but certainly not least, counting as an intentional action under a certain description is a sufficient condition for counting as a voluntary action under that description. In a nutshell, all intentional action is voluntary: (4) Every intentional action is also voluntary, though again, as at (2), inten- tional actions can also be described as involuntary from another point of view, as when one regrets ‘having’ to do them. But ‘reluctant’ would be the more commonly used word. (INT: §49, 90) As we saw in Section 2, as early as in §7 Anscombe maintains that not being involuntary is a necessary condition for an action to be intentional (INT: §7a, 12). The present claim – that being voluntary is a necessary condition for an action to be intentional – is in fact stronger because ‘involuntary’ does not mean simply ‘non-voluntary’ (being involuntary is a sufficient but not a nec- essary condition for being non-voluntary) (INT: §5d, 12-13). Combined with the claim established in (1) and (2), that not every voluntary action is inten- tional, the claim that every intentional action is voluntary implies that the concept of voluntary action can be more widely applied than that of inten- tional action. In light of (3), the concept of voluntary can be even more widely applied since it is not confined to actions. By contrast, the concept of intentional is restricted to actions, whether underway or proposed. The two concepts of voluntary and intentional thus overlap to a large extent, the former being more inclusive than the latter. This means that the topic of the voluntary has been the subject of Anscombe’s inquiry all along.
7. The contribution of Intention to an account of the voluntary: The unity and limitations of §49 The account given of the voluntary in §49 shows a great deal of unity with respect to both what it says and what it refrains from saying about the voluntary. What the merely physical active movements (1), actions (2) and passive movements (3) displaying the difference between the voluntary and the inten- tional have in common is that they are known by the person performing or undergoing them without observation, like intentional actions, but do not occur as the result of calculating what to do, unlike actions done with a further Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 159 intention, and yet the question ‘Why?’ is not simply and overtly irrelevant to them, even or rather especially when it is not granted application to them. They neither arise from the sort of practical calculation that is the hallmark of intentional actions nor emanate from knowledge that is ‘the cause of what it understands’ after the manner of intentional actions (INT: §48, 83), and yet they somehow partake of practical knowledge in one way or another. The account in §49 is obviously restricted in several ways. It hardly touch- es on the involuntary. Moreover, it says nothing about voluntary omissions and how they differ from intentional ones. Voluntary omissions are particu- larly tricky, as they do not require so much as an act of the will, unlike the voluntary passive motions grouped under §49 (3).11 Finally, §49 confines itself to the practical sphere in the narrow sense, without considering the possibil- ity of applying the concept of the voluntary to such things as habits, feelings or – last but not least – knowledge. Indeed, the single most conspicuous absence from §49 is the lack of any attempt to elucidate the relation between voluntariness and knowledge. Must an agent know without observation that he is doing an action for that action to be voluntary? Section §49 might seem to suggest as much, given that all four classes of voluntary movements (1) to (4) meet this requirement. If it were so, however, then to make sure that one did not commit adultery (in any but the material sense), it would suffice to abstain from inquiring into the marital status of one’s partner; and the reckless driver to whom it simply did not occur that he was endangering the lives of others would be entitled to plead that this was not voluntary on his part. As Anscombe puts it: We may not believe someone who says ‘it never occurred to me that driving at 90 m.p.h. through a town might well result in someone’s death’, but even if we do, we would be right to think ‘it ought to have occurred to him’. (S: 136) Actions resulting from rashness, carelessness or negligence do not count as intentional (at least in the default case) since the agent acts without knowing or without fully knowing what he is doing. But such actions can hardly be regarded as not voluntary: to characterise an action as an act of rashness, care- lessness or negligence is, if anything, to imply that it is voluntary, even though it is not intentional (see AIDE: 213; BGF: 105-106). As Anscombe writes: Something may be a human action under a description under which it is not an intentional action. Acts of carelessness, negligence and omission may be of this nature. For though they can be intentional, they may not be so, but
11. Anscombe credits Aquinas with the insight that ‘voluntariness can occur without any act at all, interior or exterior’ (S: 136, 130-131). She takes this thesis to be ‘proved by the fact that one has it in one’s power not to do some things which one also has in one’s power to do. Sometimes on may make a definite (datable) decision not to do something, and that is an action. But one may merely not do something without any such decision.’ (S: 136) That is to say, there can be voluntary omission without so much as an interior act of the will. 160 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux
not being intentional does not strip them of their nature as human action. (AIDE: 213) By Anscombe’s own lights, the asymmetry between intentional action and voluntary action with respect to the knowledge requirement constitutes the most significant difference between the two concepts: The difference between voluntariness and intentionality that I refer to here is this: one cannot intentionally, but one can voluntarily, do something without knowing what one is doing: e.g., some voluntary cases are like those of bigamy and adultery when the agent made no inquiry. (TKEA: 7, note 2) Therefore, even if we confine ourselves to the sphere of actions and pas- sions, the voluntary extends even further than section §19 acknowledges, since it extends beyond the limits of what the agent knows: It is clear that, for any deed X, you cannot have intentionally done X unless you know you are doing X, except in a psychoanalytical sense in which there can be unconscious intentions (…) This, then, is the truth in the condition of ‘full knowledge’ for mortal sin: where the mortal sin is a specific act in a kind of case which requires intention on the part of the accused, then the act of mortal sin was not committed by an agent who did not have full knowledge. We can often say that an action was either intentional or involuntary. I do not think that the condition ought to be more generously stated than that. For the limits of the voluntary are far wider than the limits of the intentional: but sin essentially requires not intention but voluntariness. (M: 114-115) Of course, ignorance often renders an action involuntary, thereby excul- pating its agent. The problem is to find a criterion for when ignorance fails to render an action involuntary. Following Aquinas, Anscombe contends that ignorance can itself be voluntary and thereby blameworthy, somewhat in the manner in which an omission can also be voluntary and thereby blameworthy. Another issue conspicuously left unaddressed by Intention, arising in con- nection with the sort of case that is considered in §25 and §49 (2), is the following: The fact that there is murder where death foreseeably results from one’s action, without the actual intention to kill, naturally leads to a problem. One cannot say that no action may be done which foreseeably leads to some death, or that all such actions are murderous. (AIDE: 219) This is of course the problem that the ‘doctrine of double effect’ seeks to address through the distinction between intention and foresight. Its core consists in what Anscombe calls the ‘principle of side effects’. This is the principle that ‘the prohibition on murder does not cover all unintended deaths’ (AIDE: 220).12
12. See also MME, 274: ‘The principle of side-effects states a possibility: where you may not aim at someone’s death, causing it does not necessarily incur guilt’. Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 161
The problem is to find a criterion for when an agent is exculpated by the fact that he does not intend a death that he knowingly brings about (i.e., that his action of causing a death, however voluntary, is not intentional on his part). Addressing these issues on the basis of Anscombe’s writings lies beyond the scope of this paper. But it should be obvious by now that they cannot be addressed without dipping into ethics. They concern an area within the con- cept of the voluntary that cannot be investigated solely with the tools of the philosophy of psychology. This explains why Intention stops at the threshold of this further stage in the elucidation of the voluntary, having cleared the way for it.
Bibliographical references Works by Elizabeth Anscombe INT Intention. Oxford: Basil Blackwell (1957). New edition, Cambridge (Mass.): Harvard University Press (2001). CPP1 From Parmenides to Wittgenstein, Collected Philosophical Papers Volume 1. London: Blackwell (1981). CPP2 Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Mind, Collected Philosophical Papers Volume 2. London: Blackwell (1981). CPP3 Ethics, Religion and Politics, Collected Philosophical Papers Volume 3. London: Blackwell (1981). HLAE Human Life, Action, and Ethics. St Andrews: Imprint Academic (2005). HFG Faith in a Hard Ground. St Andrews: Imprint Academic (2008). MMM ‘Modern Moral Philosophy’. Philosophy, 53 (1958), 1-19. Reprinted in HLAE, 169-194. WM ‘War and Murder’. In W. Stein (ed.). Nuclear Weapons: A Catholic Response (1961). Reprinted in CPP3, 51-61. TKEA ‘The Two Kinds of Error in Action’. Journal of Philosophy, 60 (1963). Reprinted in CPP 3, 3-9. TAA ‘Thought and Action in Aristotle: What is “Practical Truth”?’. In J. R. Bambrough (ed.). New Essays on Plato and Aristotle. London (1965). Reprinted in CPP1, 66-77. FP ‘The First Person’. In S. Guttenplan (ed.). Mind and Language, Wolf- son College Lectures 1974. Oxford (1975). Reprinted in CCP2, 21-36. GBHA ‘Good and Bad Human Action’ (1982). In HLAE, 195-206. AIDE ‘Action, Intention, and Double Effect’. Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association, 56 (1982), 12-25. Reprinted in HLAE, 207-226. GW ‘Glanville Williams’ The Sanctity of Life and the Criminal Law: A Review’. In HLAE, 243-248. MME ‘Murder and the Morality of Euthanasia’. In Euthanasia and Clinical Practice: Trends, Principles and Alternatives (1982). Reprinted in HLAE, 261-277. 162 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Jean-Philippe Narboux
BGF ‘On Being in Good Faith’. In FHG, 101-112. M ‘Morality’. In C. Marneau (ed.). Pro Ecclesia et Pontifice (1982). Reprinted in FHG, 113-116. S ‘Sin: the McGivney Lectures’ (1989). In FHG, 117-156.
Other works Aucouturier, Valérie (2012). Elizabeth Anscombe: l’esprit en pratique. Paris: CNRS. Austin, John (1961a). ‘A Plea for Excuses’. In: Philosophical Papers. Oxford: Clarendon. — (1961b). ‘Three Ways of Spilling Ink’. In: Philosophical Papers. Oxford: Clarendon. Broadie, Sarah (1991). Ethics with Aristotle. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Cavell, Stanley (1969). ‘Must We Mean What We Say?’. In: Must We Mean What We Say? Oxford: Oxford University Press. Foot, Philippa (1967). ‘The Problem of Abortion and the Doctrine of Dou- ble Effect’. Oxford Review, 5, 5-15. Reprinted in Philippa Foot, 1978, Virtues and Vices and Other Essays in Moral Philosophy, Berkeley, Universi- ty of California Press, 19-32. — (1985). ‘Morality, Action, and Outcome’. In: T. Honderich (ed). Moral- ity and Objectivity: A Tribute to J. L. Mackie. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 23-38. Reprinted in Philippa Foot, 2002, Moral Dilemmas and other Topics in Moral Philosophy, Oxford, Oxford University Press. Hyman, John (2015). Action, Knowledge, and Will. Oxford: Oxford Universi- ty Press. McDowell, John (2011a). ‘Pragmatism and Intention-in-Action’. In: R. M. Calcaterra. New Perspectives on Pragmatism and Analytic Philoso- phy. Brill, 119-128. — (2011b). ‘Some Remarks on Intention-in-Action’. The Amherst Lecture in Philosophy. Michon, Cyrille (2016). ‘Anscombe et la doctrine du double effet’. Klesis, 35, 143-163. Rödl, Sebastian (2011). ‘Two Forms of Practical Knowledge and their Unity’. In: A. Ford, J. Hornsby and F. Stoutland (eds.). Essays on Anscombe’s Intention. Cambridge (Mass.): Harvard University Press, 211-241. Ryle, Gilbert (1949). The Concept of Mind. London: Hutchinson. Schwenkler, John (2019). Anscombe’s Intention: A Guide. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Teichmann, Roger (2014). ‘The Voluntary and the Involuntary: Themes from Anscombe’. American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, 88 (3), 465-486. Thompson, Michael (2008). Life and Action: Elementary Structures of Practice and Practical Thought. Cambridge (Mass.): Harvard University Press. Vogler, Candace (2002). Reasonably Vicious. Cambridge (Mass.): Harvard University Press. Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention Enrahonar 64, 2020 163
— (2016). ‘Nothing Added: Intention §19 and §20’. American Catholic Phil- osophical Quarterly, 90 (2), 229-247. Wiseman, Rachael (2016a). Routledge Philosophy Guidebook to Anscombe’s Intention. London: Routledge. — (2016b). ‘The Intended and the Unintended Consequences of Intention’, American Catholic Philosophical Quarterly, 90 (2), 207-227.
Jean-Philippe Narboux is currently the Humboldt Distinguished Visiting Researcher at the Forschungskolleg für Analytischen Deutschen Idealismus (Universität Leipzig). He is Associate Professor in Philosophy at the University Bordeaux Montaigne. He was a junior fellow at the Institut Universitaire de France (2009-2014) and a fellow at the Berlin Institute for Advanced Study (Wissenschaftskolleg zu Berlin) (2017-2018). He is the co-editor of The Legacy of Thomp- son Clarke (Brill, 2014), Finding One’s Way Through Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations: New Essays on §§1-88 (Springer, 2017) and New Perspectives on Frege’s Logical Investigations (Mundaréu, forthcoming). His recent articles include ‘Is Self-Consciousness Consciousness of One’s Self?’ in Wittgenstein and Phenomenology (Routledge, 2018) and ‘Pensées en première personne et cogitationes cartésiennes’ in Les formes historiques du cogito (Garnier, 2019). He has recently completed a book on the topic of negation (Essai sur le problème de la négation, forth- coming from Vrin).
Jean-Philippe Narboux és actualment investigador visitant distingit Humboldt al Forschungsko- lleg für Analytischen Deutschen Idealismus (Universitat de Leipzig). És professor associat de filosofia a la Universitat Montaigne de Bordeus. Va ser membre júnior de l’Institut Universita- ri de França (2009-2014) i membre de l’Institut d’Estudis Avançats de Berlín (Wissenschaftsko- lleg zu Berlin) (2017-2018). És coeditor de The Legacy of Thompson Clarke (Brill, 2014), Finding One’s Way Through Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations: New Essays on §§1-88 (Springer, 2017) i New Perspectives on Frege’s Logical Investigations (Mundaréu, de pròxima publicació). Entre els seus articles recents es troben: ‘Is Self-Consciousness Consciousness of One’s Self’, a Wittgenstein and phenomenology (Routledge, 2018) i ‘Pensées en première personne et cogitati- ones cartésiennes’, a Les formes historiques du cogito (Garnier, 2019). Recentment ha completat un llibre sobre el tema de la negació (Essai sur le problème de la négation, de pròxima publicació a Vrin).
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 165-179
Anscombe and Wittgenstein
Elisa Grimi European Society for Moral Philosophy [email protected]
Reception date: 22-1-2020 Acceptance date: 4-2-2020
Abstract
In this study, I have focussed on the importance of Wittgenstein in the thought of Eliz- abeth Anscombe. Although Anscombe detached herself from her master’s approach, her encounter with him was extremely important in her own work. In particular, I will take into consideration common points and discrepancies between the two philosophers. I will also recall Anscombe’s An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus (first published in 1959) on its anniversary. Keywords: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; reason; cause; intention; action; mentalism; behav- iourism
Resum. Anscombe i Wittgenstein
En aquest estudi m’he centrat en la importància de Wittgenstein en el pensament d’Eli- zabeth Anscombe. Tot i que Anscombe es va separar de l’enfocament del seu mestre, la seva trobada amb ell va ser de gran importància per al seu propi treball. En particular, prendré en consideració punts comuns i discrepàncies entre ambdós filòsofs. També em referiré a An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s “Tractatus”, llibre publicat per primera vegada el 1959 i el seixantè aniversari del qual es va celebrar l’any passat. Paraules clau: Anscombe; Wittgenstein; raó; causa; intenció; acció; mentalisme; conduc- tisme
Summary
1. Introduction 4. Conclusion 2. Criticism of mentalism and rejection Bibliographical references of behaviourism 3. The distinction between causes and reasons
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1283 166 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Elisa Grimi
‘No philosopher’s work has assimilated Wittgenstein’s insights in a more inti- mate and profound way than that of Anscombe’,1 says Anselm Müller, a pupil of Elizabeth Anscombe. However, while the philosophical closeness between Wittgenstein and Anscombe is indisputable, it should be noted that Anscombe distanced herself from her master’s philosophy by developing her own. Müller goes on: […] Anscombe was Wittgenstein’s pupil, not his disciple or follower: his teach- ing was her inspiration, not a belief to be accepted by the authority of her mentor, before his understanding and examination. On the contrary, given the kind of charisma and irresistible influence Wittgenstein evidently had on his students, and given the fact that what he had to say was after all original in an astonishing and remarkably well-articulated and argued way, Anscombe is to be admired for the independence of her thinking.2 In this brief study,3 I will first show the relationship between Wittgenstein and Anscombe, highlighting how much the encounter with her teacher left a mark upon Anscombe’s own work. Then I will discuss common points and discrepancies between the two philosophers.
1. Introduction Anscombe devoted much attention to Wittgenstein’s work throughout her research. While surpassing and detaching herself considerably from her mas- ter’s thought, there are nevertheless essays and commentaries right up to the last years of his work. The only ‘systematic’ work about Wittgenstein is An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus.4 However, the second phase of Witt- genstein’s thought is decisive in Anscombe’s own work. Anscombe’s philosophy, as Roger Teichmann recalls,5 particularly in the more strictly moral sphere, is based mainly on three philosophers: Aristotle, Wittgenstein and Hume. Aristotle for the direction of thought, Wittgenstein for the philosophical method and Hume for his ability to raise important questions not easily discerned with the naked eye. It is widely noted6 that in his writings following Tractatus and after the 1930s, Wittgenstein’s thinking changed. Consider only The Blue Book, The Brown Book, Philosophische Bemerkungen, Philosophische Grammatik and Phi- losophische Untersuchungen, etc.
1. Grimi (2014: 437). 2. Ibidem. 3. For this study I refer to ch. 2 ‘L’insegnamento di Wittgenstein’, and ch. 4 ‘Intenzione’, in Grimi (2014). Some parts of the text are taken from there and then reworked. 4. Anscombe (1965). For a detailed analysis of Anscombe’s interpretation of Wittgenstein’s Tractatus please read ch. 2 ‘L’insegnamento di Wittgenstein’, cit., where I analyze the enti- re work in detail. 5. Teichmann (2008: 53). 6. Literature on this subject is constantly growing; the chapter Transizione by Marconi is interesting (1977: 59-101). Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 167
If many philosophers followed this two-phase approach to understanding Wittgenstein’s thought, Anscombe, though certainly aware of the progress in his thought, chose to make a different interpretation of Tractatus that showed Wittgenstein’s subsequent work as a continuous of the past. The shift from Tractatus to Untersuchungen, according to Anscombe’s proposed interpretation, was not a passage from the ideal logic to ordinary language but a shift in the conception of the logic of language. Marconi notes in this regard: Even the image of Wittgenstein that emerges from the literature specifically dedicated to his thought has changed several times, and profoundly, from the Thirties to today… Usually 1959 (An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Trac- tatus by Elizabeth Anscombe) is the beginning of a different reading of the book from ‘22, in which it is less closely associated with neo-positivism and instead is related to the work of Frege and Russell, to which it explicitly refers. Anscombe, benefiting from a long personal custom with Wittgenstein and his explanations of Tractatus, could speak of the book as an episode in his philosophical path, without referring it to other theoretical experiences and emphasizing the influences explicitly recognised by Wittgenstein: in addition to Frege and Russell, and Schopenhauer as well.7 Wittgenstein’s works following Tractatus are decisive in understanding the maturation of Anscombe’s thought. In particular, there are two invaluable reflections in the famous masterpiece Intention that I shall briefly present here: the criticism of mentalism (and therefore the relative rejection of behaviour- ism), and the distinction between causes and reasons.
2. Criticism of mentalism and rejection of behaviourism Wittgenstein observes that the confusion that reigns in empirical psychology is because concepts are uprooted from language. What is needed is a grammar of psychological terms, as we read at the end of The Blue Book: […] one may say that what we were concerned with in these investigations was the grammar of those words which describe what we are calling ‘mental activities’: seeing, hearing, feeling, etc. And this amounts to the same as saying that we are concerned with the grammar of ‘phrases describing sense data’.8 In The Blue Book, Wittgenstein claimed that ‘the use of the word in prac- tice is its meaning.’9 Here, he introduces the notion that the concept for which a word acquires its meaning is closely connected with its use. So, in analysing the grammar of an expression such as ‘This description is derived from my sensory data’, one might wonder if there is continuity between the way sever- al individuals use the expression and its meaning. Wittgenstein proposes the following example, a question that one could easily ask oneself on a critical
7. Marconi (1977: 6). 8. Wittgenstein (1958: 69). 9. Ibid. 168 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Elisa Grimi level when faced with the phenomenon of colour blindness: ‘I never know what the other person really means by “brown”, or what he really sees by “brown”, or what he really sees when he (truthfully) says he sees a brown object’. One of Wittgenstein’s hypotheses would be to use two different words instead of the single word ‘brown’: one word for ‘his particular expression’ and another with the meaning that others, not only the subject in question, could also understand. However, Wittgenstein immediately observes that this solu- tion is fallacious: there is, in fact, something wrong in the subject’s conception of the meaning of the word ‘brown’. Read this passage: Saying: ‘I derive a description of visual reality’ cannot mean something anal- ogous to ‘I derive a description from what I see here’. I can, for example, see a table in which a coloured square is related to the word ‘brown’, and also a spot of the same colour elsewhere; and I could say: ‘This table shows me that I must use the word “brown” to describe this stain.’ This is how I can derive the word I need in my description. But it would be meaningless to say that I derive the word ‘brown’ from the particular chromatic impression I had.10 To Wittgenstein, therefore, the meaning of an expression depends on its use: mind, action and language seem to be predisposed to act in unison. Therefore, there is no need to resort to private language, to internal process- es. Wittgenstein therefore criticises mentalism; Saul Kripke’s text, Wittgen- stein on Rules and Private Language, is significant in this regard. Kripke retraces Wittgenstein’s paradox from the Philosophische Untersuchungen, pointing out the problem left open, namely how to prove that psychological terms do not refer to mental entities. Wittgenstein wrote in Philosophische Untersuchungen (§201): ‘This was our paradox: no course of action could be determined by a rule, because every course of action can be made out to accord with the rule’.11 Kripke dedicates the second chapter of the afore- mentioned text, ‘The Wittgensteinian Paradox’, to this problem of Wittgen- stein’s sceptical paradox and formulates an arithmetic example. Suffice it to recall this passage here: It simply is in the nature of a sense to determine a referent. But ultimately the sceptical problem cannot be evaded, and it arises precisely in the question of how the existence of any mental entity or idea in my mind can constitute ‘grasping’ one particular sense rather than another. The idea in my mind is a finite object: can it not be interpreted as determining a quus function, rather than a plus function? Of course, there may be another idea in my mind which is supposed to constitute its act of assigning a particular interpretation to the first idea; but then the problem obviously arises again at this new level. (A rule for interpreting a rule again.) And so on. For Wittgenstein, Platonism is largely an unhelpful evasion of the problem of how finite minds can give rules that are supposed to apply to an infinity of cases. Platonic objects may
10. Ivi, 74. 11. Wittgenstein (1953: §201, 81). Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 169
be self-interpreting, or rather, they may need no interpretation; but ultimately there must be some mental entity involved that raises the sceptical problem.12 Kripke is not in full agreement with Wittgenstein; in fact, he comments: ‘[…] my own linguistics do not entirely agree with Wittgenstein’s remark’, and continues, ‘coming to understand, or learning, seems to me to be a “mental process” if anything is’.13 Wittgenstein’s direct students, such as Anscombe14 and von Wright, revisited the impasse that Kripke highlights in this passage; that is, they revisited that investigation of the mind left open by Wittgenstein. Significant in this regard is Intention, in which Anscombe conducts a detailed analysis of intentional action and related problems. It is also good to remember that Wittgenstein’s philosophy also contains a criticism of behaviourism; that is, to Wittgenstein, it is not possible to access mental states by reducing them to behaviour. Wittgenstein writes: ‘to see “this” does not mean: to have this reaction, because it is possible for me to see with- out having any reaction’.15 As Eddy Carli also observes, with Wittgenstein it is correct to ask not whether thought, understanding or intention are mental processes, but under what circumstances you say ‘I think’, ‘I know’, ‘I mean’, etc. Here, not only is the relevance that Wittgenstein gives to the context evident, but we also begin to glimpse the basis of that first-person ethics that will later characterise the authors who will revisit the theme of virtues, includ- ing Anscombe (cfr. The First Person). Anscombe will also take up the antimen- talism that characterises Wittgensteinian argumentation, as well as making the need for an ‘adequate philosophy of psychology’ one of her theses in Modern Moral Philosophy
3. The distinction between causes and reasons 3.1. It is useful to highlight the close correlation between intention and action. In fact, in contemporary action theory, many theories have been put forward that can be traced mainly to two types of orientation: 1. the anti-causalist position, or 2. the causalist position, which then leads to naturalism. In both perspectives, intention is recognised as an important element of human action. Eddy Carli16 identifies the two major conceptual cores present in contem- porary philosophy with an analytical orientation. The first current refers to Wittgenstein’s Philosophische Untersuchungen and considers action connected to intentionality and subjectivity. In this perspective, to get an explanation of action, it is necessary to go back to logical and interpretative models unlike those used by the sciences: the reasons for action are not comparable to the
12. Kripke (1982: 54). 13. Ivi, 49-50. 14. Mary Geach notes that Anscombe did not accept Wittgenstein’s interpretation of Kripke; see Anscombe (2011: XVII). 15. Wittgenstein (1980: §83). 16. Carli (2003: 33 and following). 170 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Elisa Grimi causes that determine the movement of the natural world. We find some of Wittgenstein’s students in this camp, among them Anscombe and von Wright. Compared to Wittgenstein’s work, however, there is an additional element in their analyses, namely a systematic analysis of the mental state of intention and of those elements that consider action intentional, which is why it differs from simple body movements. Anscombe dealt with action based on a prac- tical interest, without pursuing an interest in speculative knowledge or an ethical and normative investigation. It was precisely Anscombe who promot- ed the revival of the Aristotelian practical syllogism as a model of explanation of human action. In spite of the other syllogisms that have a causal foundation, practical syllogism captures the teleological element of the action, the direction towards an end deliberately chosen by the agent. The logic of action promot- ed by von Wright also takes this perspective, in that it is capable of directing human beings’ intentional action by taking the normative aspects related to human action into account. According to von Wright, the teleological explanation of action must be ‘logically conclusive:17 1. the agent intends to obtain p; 2. the agent realises that s/he cannot obtain p except by doing the action a; so 3. the agent is willing to do a. Anscombe and von Wright are also staunch proponents of that ‘Wittgen- steinian antimentalism’ according to which the intention or the will behind the external manifestations of action is not taken into account metaphorical- ly, because in doing so they would be considered the causes of behaviour or action. The teleological explanation in such a perspective would thus dismiss a causal explanation and action equated with any natural phenomenon. Therefore, according to an anti-causalist position, it is possible to provide different descriptions of the same action, and they are precisely what charac- terise an action as intentional or not. To Anscombe, and to von Wright, an action is intentional under a particular description that characterises it. Therefore, from Anscombe’s point of view, an action cannot be explained by the nomological-inferential model of scientific laws, since in doing so it is impossible to grasp its teleological aspect. With regard to Anscombe’s pro- posal, Carli writes: The logical character of practical reasoning, which characterises man’s action, can only be grasped by Aristotle’s practical syllogism. And it is for this reason that the method of practical inference becomes a true and proper explicative paradigm of human action and occupies a crucial position in the explanation of intentional action.18 There is also a second perspective that supports the possibility of providing a causal explanation of action, similar to an explanation of natural phenome- na. The causes of an action here match the reasons, a distinction that will be very important to Anscombian action. We find W. V. O. Quine, D. Davidson
17. Von Wright (1971: §§ 8-10). 18. Carli (2003: 35). Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 171 and J. Hornsby in favour of a ruthless rationalisation of action. Davidson in particular has made or promoted a sort of naturalisation of intentional action. A common note in these different orientations is the reference to inten- tional action, which is always postulated at the beginning of the argument, albeit on different grounds.
3.2. The main characteristic of Anscombe’s philosophy is revisiting the dis- tinction between causes and reasons19 of the action placed in a teleological horizon. The relationship between causes and reasons in significant action is discussed in the numerous paragraphs in Intention (§§10-19) that Anscombe dedicates to wondering if reasons are also causes of actions or if they are dif- ferent from causes, supporting an anti-causalistic position with respect to the explanation of intentional action and revisiting the teleological aspect inherent in intention. This perspective was strongly criticised by Donald Davidson in a 1963 essay entitled ‘Action, Reason and Causes’.20 In §16, Anscombe proposes summary definitions of the core elements of the usual theory of action. In particular:
— Intentional actions: a sub-class of events in a person’s history which are known to that person not just because s/he observes them. — Mental causality: characterised by being known without observation and excluded from the above category. — The question ‘Why?’: it applies to intentional actions. The question ‘Why?’ is not an ‘intentional criterion’ if the answer is evidence to expresses a cause, including mental cause. — Answer to the question ‘Why?’ (the question is given the correct meaning and the question ‘Why?’ applies; there is an intentional criterion when one of the following three conditions applies):
a) simply mention past history the answer is already characterised as a reason for acting, i.e., as an answer to the question ‘Why?’ in the requisite sense b) give an interpretation of the action the answer is already characterised as a reason for acting, i.e., as an answer to the question ‘Why?’ in the requisite sense c) mention something future it is an answer to that question if the ideas of good or harm are involved in its meaning as an answer, or if further enquiry elicits that it is connected with ‘interpre- tative’ motive, or intention with which
From this summary, the role played by intentional action is central. Ans- combe says: ‘We do not mention any extra feature attaching to an action at the time it is done by calling it intentional. Proof of this is supposing there is
19. See Carli (2002). 20. Davidson (1980). 172 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Elisa Grimi such a feature’.21 Anscombe then wonders: what makes an intentional action? Calling an action intentional means assigning it to the class of intentional actions. However, it is necessary to give a description under which an action is intentional in order to be able to assert the intentional nature of the action; the same action may be intentional under one description but not under another. Candace Vogler, commenting on this paragraph22, highlights the Anscombian question of whether a description can show what should accom- pany or be added to an action in order to make it an intentional action, i.e., whether such a description can provide the basis for distinguishing between actions and mere behaviour. Anscombe says no. Vogler continues by observing a critical point in the narrative which she leaves partially open: on the one hand is the mind, on the other is the action. What we want to know is the relationship between them, or rather how the mind forms action. Vogler writes: ‘In order to give shape to the action, the mind must choose those descriptions according to which the action will be intentional’.23 Also inter- esting in this respect is P. Geach’s comments on this passage: It seems absurd that an intention should steal upon one unawares, like a fit of anger or fear. On the other hand, how can there be a voluntary act of intending? […] People have sometimes identified as acts of intending what are perfectly genuine acts of the mind, namely acts of ‘saying in one’s heart’ something like, ‘What I am about (to do) is so-and-so’. But such performances will not fulfil the role of intention. For one thing, in ever so many cases of intentional action, nothing like this is ‘said in the heart’ at the time. Theories of acts of intention cover up such awkward cases by such phrases as ‘virtual intention’ or ‘habitual intention’. […] Again, as regards what I say in my heart, just as much as what I say aloud, the question may be raised whether I really meant it. […] But something as to which we can again ask what was meant and how it was meant cannot fulfil the role of determining the way an outward act is meant.24 Anscombe continues her argument by stating that intentional action must be considered in its unity, for intention is not something that sticks to an act ad hoc; she writes: And in describing intentional actions as such, it will be a mistake to look for the fundamental description of what occurs such as the movements of muscles or molecules – and then think of intention as something, perhaps very compli- cated, which qualifies this. The only events to consider are intentional actions themselves, and to call an action intentional is to say it is intentional under some description that we give (or could give) of it.25
21. Anscombe (2000: §19). 22. Vogler, (2010: 203-215). 23. Ivi, 207. 24. Geach (2000: 73-74). 25. Anscombe (2000: § 19). Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 173
It is interesting here to recall Eddy Carli’s exposition of the anticausalistic thesis of Anscombe’s intentional action on the following three topics: 1. the topic of the question ‘Why?’, 2. the topic of logical connection, 3. the ‘gener- al’ topic of intention. Anscombe criticizes the thesis that intentional actions are actions (or movements) caused by mental states and events, the occurrence of which explains the occurrence of the action. The first argument that we summarise here refers to the question ‘Why?’, as Anscombe understands it, i.e., as a question followed by an answer that provides the reason for acting. There are cases in which this question cannot be applied, and therefore what we have is a simple indication of the cause of the action and not the reason for the action; think of the case of involuntary actions. One can also give the case in which the question ‘Why?’ is answered by giving the mental cause of the action and not the reason, for example if one is suddenly frightened by a scary face and the jolt causes the glass in one’s hand to break after dropping to the ground. Obviously, the glass does not fall and break due to an intentional action. In this case, Anscombe denies that the mental causes can be linked to the intentional action. She does not deny, however, and it is good to take note here, that there are mental causes of par- ticular events, or that such events can cause actions. The second argument in support of the anticausalist thesis is ‘logical con- nection’. Carli always reminds us that a causal relationship can be discovered only inductively, and never through a conceptual analysis; therefore, since the relationship between reason and action is logical-conceptual, there is no caus- al connection between reasons and actions. In short: ‘Since there is a logical relationship between the intention I of an agent X to do A and his/her doing A, A cannot be an effect of I’.26 Carli gives the following example: let’s suppose that a person is running towards a departing train with the intention of getting on that 9:00 a.m. train bound for Venice, and with the belief that that is a train. The action is recognised as an intentional action of which an intention- al description is given of the reasons it was carried out. In conclusion, there- fore, it can be said that ‘between the propositional content of the intentional states explaining the action and the description by which that action is described there is therefore a conceptual and not causal connection’.27 The third and final argument is a general argument against any causalistic version of the mind and intentional action. It criticises causalism and mental- ism; it denies that ‘intentional action can depend on introspection, that is to say on any distinct or psychological action that exists prior to intentional action and that it is therefore the cause of it’.28 Carli observes that Anscombe’s criticism of introspection is greatly influenced by Wittgenstein’s investigations elaborated in the Philosophische Untersuchungen.
26. Carli (2003: 98). 27. Ibid. 28. Ibid. 174 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Elisa Grimi
In conclusion, it is good to recall Davidson’s position29 that causes and rea- sons are identical in support of a causal analysis of intentional action and there- fore in opposition to Anscombe’s perspective.30
4. Conclusion As Mary Geach observes in the introduction to one of the last posthumous collections of Anscombe’s essays, if we compare the two philosophies of Witt- genstein, Anscombe was more linked to the second one. It was precisely his love for truth that led Wittgenstein, notes Geach, to recognise that the theories contained in Tractatus did not adequately describe language. Anscombe found a great deal in this famous writing, so much that she wrote a book about it, agreeing, for example, with the criticism that there is such a thing as causal connection.31 However, such a study must not obscure her main focal point, which, as Geach observes, came to converge in the works in the second part of his thought, although she then distanced herself from it. In this sense, in order to understand the Anscombian oeuvre as a whole, it is necessary to have Wittgenstein’s thought in mind, in addition to the debate around the author then in vogue in England, which was influenced by the major philosophical trends (think of the developments since the Vienna Circle, for example), as well as the situation that was raging in Europe. Therefore, while the professional, affective and historical context in which Anscombe worked cannot be overlooked, the originality factor that character- ises her work should also be noted, as she was as attentive to the real as the innovative in her research; as attentive to training students as lively yet critical debate in the dialogue between colleagues. The way Wittgenstein’s work and Anscombe’s thought are related is so complex that it would require an entire study. Here, we wanted to present only the main points of Wittgenstein’s philosophy, which are necessary to under- stand Anscombe’s thought, thus giving more space to the work that she ded- icated to it, which changed the interpretation with which we discuss and read Tractatus. Below is a list of the essays that Anscombe dedicated to Wittgenstein. Obviously, her relationship with this brilliant thinker cannot be reduced to a collection of articles, let alone a summary; in this sense, I trust that the list below can serve as a good springboard for further research aimed at new developments.
29. See J. Hornsby (2011: 105-127), which compares Anscombe and Davidson’s two different positions with respect to the cause-reason relationship. 30. For a detailed analysis, please see Davidson (1980); E. Carli (2003, ch. VI). 31. Cfr. Ivi, XVI. As Geach points out, the theme of causality was one of the main issues dear to the author. See also notes Anscombe’s interest in Hume and his essay from the same collection, ‘Hume on Causality: Introductory’, in Anscombe (2011: 95-123). Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 175
1952 — ‘Wittgenstein’ [Letter to the Editor], in World Review, London, New Series 35 (Jan. 1952), p. 3.
1953 — ‘Note on the English Version of Wittgenstein’s Philosophische Untersuch- ungen’, in Mind, vol. 62 (1953), pp. 521-522. — Translation: L. Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations, Blackwell, Oxford, 1953.
1954 — ‘Misinformation: What Wittgenstein Really Said’, in The Tablet, 17 Apr. 1954, p. 373. — ‘The Tractatus of Wittgenstein’ [Letter to the Editor], in The Tablet, 15 May 1954, pp. 478-479.
1956 — Translation: L. Wittgenstein, Remarks on the Foundation of Mathematics, Blackwell, Oxford, 1956.
1959 — An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus, Hutchinson, London, 1959; [Spanish translation: Introduccion al Tractatus de Wittgenstein, transl. M. Perez, El Ateneo, Buenos Aires, 1977; [Italian transl.: Introduzione al Trac- tatus di Wittgenstein, transl. E. Mistretta, Ubaldini, Rome, 1966] — ‘Mr. Copi on Objects, Properties and Relations in the Tractatus’, in Mind, vol. 68 (1959), p. 404; [Copi, I. – Beard, R.W. (eds.), Essays on Wittgen- stein’s Tractatus, Thoemmes, Bristol, 1966, pp. 187-188. — ‘Wittgenstein the Elusive’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Literary Supple- ment, 29 May 1959, p. 321.
1961 — Translation: L. Wittgenstein, Notebooks 1914-1916, Blackwell, Oxford, 1961.
1962 — ‘Wittgenstein in Red’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Literary Supplement, 25 May 1962, p. 373. — ‘Wittgenstein in Red’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Literary Supplement, 8 June 1962, p. 429.
1965 — [With G.H. von Wright and R. Rhees] ‘Wittgenstein’s Tractatus’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Literary Supplement, 18 Feb. 1965, p. 132. 176 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Elisa Grimi
1967 — Translation: L. Wittgenstein, Zettel, Blackwell, Oxford, 1967.
1969 — [With Denis Paul] Translation: L. Wittgenstein, On Certainty, Blackwell, Oxford, 1969. — ‘On the Form of Wittgenstein’s Writing’, in R. Klibansky (ed.), Contem- porary Philosophy: A Survey, vol. 3, La Nuova Italia, Florence, 1969, pp. 373-378; From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe, pp. 187- 192. — Bibliography of Works by G.E.M. Anscombe [= J.V. (ed.) Canfield, The Philosophy of Wittgenstein, vol. V, Garland Publishing Co., London – New York 1986, pp. 1-6] [=F.A. Flowers (ed.), Portraits of Wittgenstein, vol. IV, Thoemmes Press, Bristol – Sterling, 1999, pp. 177-181].
1970 — [With G.H. von Wright and R. Rhees] ‘Wittgenstein’s Tractatus’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Literary Supplement, 9 Oct. 1970, p. 1165.
1973 — ‘Wittgenstein’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Literary Supplement, 16 Nov. 1973, p. 1401.
1974 — ‘Wittgenstein’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Literary Supplement, 4 Jan. 1974, p. 12. — ’Wittgenstein’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Literary Supplement, 18 Jan. 1974, p. 55.
1977 — ‘The Question of Linguistic Idealism’, in Acta Philosophica Fennica, vol. 28, n. 1-3 (1976), pp. 188-215. [= J. Hintikka (ed.), Essays on Wittgenstein in Honour of G.H. von Wright].
1978 — ‘Interview about Wittgenstein’, in Dutch [6], in F. Boenders (ed.), Over Wittgenstein gesproken, Het Wereldvenster, Baarn, 1978.
1981 — ‘A Theory of Language’, in I. Block, (ed.), Perspectives on the Philosophy of Wittgenstein, MIT Press, Cambridge, MA 1981, pp. 148-158; A Theory of Language? in From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe, pp. 193-203. Anscombe and Wittgenstein Enrahonar 64, 2020 177
1982 — ‘Opening Address’ in W. Leinfellner, E. Kraemer and J. Schenk (eds), Language and Ontology. Proceedings of the 6th International Wittgenstein Symposium, Hiolder-Pichler-Tempsky, Vienna, 1982, pp. 26-28; then ‘Wittgenstein’s “Two Cuts” in the History of Philosophy’, in From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe, pp. 181-186.
1984 — ‘Some Reminiscences of Wittgenstein from Littlewood’s Papers per Dame Mary Cartwright’, in The Cambridge Review, July 1984, p. 129.
1985 — ‘Review of S.A. Kripke: Wittgenstein on Rules and Private Language’, in Canadian Journal of Philosophy, vol. 5 (1985), pp. 103-109. — ‘Review of Saul Kripke, Wittgenstein: On Rules and Private Language’, Har- vard University Press, Cambridge, MA 1982; in Ethics, vol. 95 (1985), pp. 342-352 [10]; in From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Ans- combe, pp. 231-246.
1989 — ‘The Simplicity of the Tractatus’, in Critica, v. 21, n. 63 (1989), pp. 3-16; [Spanish translation: ‘La simplicidad en el Tractatus’, in Dianoia, vol. 35 (1989), pp. 1-10]; From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe, pp. 171-180.
1991 — ‘Wittgenstein, Whose Philosopher?’ in A.P. Griffiths (ed.), Wittgenstein. Centenary Essays, (Royal Institute of Philosophy, Philosophy Supplement: 28), Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1991, pp. 1-10; [French translation: ‘Wittgenstein: un philosophe pour qui?’, Philosophie, vol. 76 (2002), pp. 3-14]; From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe, pp. 205-215.
1993 — ‘Knowledge and Essence’, in J.-M. Terricabras (ed.), Wittgenstein Sympo- sium, Girona 1989, (Studien zur osterreichischen Philosophie, Band XVIII), Rodopi, Amsterdam, 1993, pp. 29-35.
1995 — ‘Ludwig Wittgenstein (Cambridge Philosophers II)’, in Philosophy, vol. 70 (1995), pp. 395-407; From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Ans- combe, pp. 157-169. 178 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Elisa Grimi
1996 — [Radio programme with Anscombe, Britten, Rhees und Russell] ‘Fruhe Ton-Dokumente zur Wittgenstein-Rezeption “Ludwig Wittgenstein und die Nachwelt”’, in Wittgenstein Studien, n. 2 (1996).
1997 — ‘How Wittgenstein Was Translated’ [Letter to the Editor], in Times Liter- ary Supplement, 21 February 1997, p. 17.
2004 — ‘Lettre a Pierre Hadot’ [in French and English], in P. Hadot, Wittgenstein et les limites du langage, Librairie Philosophique Vrin, Paris, 2004, pp. 106-109.
2008 — ‘From the Minutes of the Moral Science Club, Cambridge (25.10.1945, 15.11.1945, 6.12.1945)’, in B. McGuinness (ed.), Wittgenstein in Cam- bridge. Letters and Documents 1911-1951, Blackwell, Oxford, 2008, pp. 387, 389, 391. no date — ‘Frege, Wittgenstein and Platonism’, in From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe, pp. 127-135. — ‘Was Wittgenstein a conventionalist?’, in From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe, pp. 217-230.
Bibliographical references Anscombe, G.E.M. (1963). Intention, 2nd ed. Oxford: Basil Blackwell; (2000). Cambridge (Mass.): Harvard University Press. — (1965). An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus. New York: Harper & Row. — (2011). From Plato to Wittgenstein. Essays by G.E.M. Anscombe. Exeter: St Andrews Studies in Philosophy and Public Affairs, Imprint Academic. Carli, E. (2002). “Cause, ragioni, intenzioni: spiegazione causale e compren- sione di senso”. Isonimia.
Grimi, E. (2014). G.E.M. Anscombe. The Dragon Lady. Siena: Cantagalli. Kripke, S. (1982). Wittgenstein on Rules and Private Language. An Elementary Exposition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Marconi, D. (ed.) (1977). Guida a Wittgenstein. Rome-Bari: Laterza. Teichmann, R. (2008). The Philosophy of Elizabeth Anscombe. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Vogler, C., (2010). ‘Leggendo Intenzione 19 & 20’. In: J.A. Mercado (ed.). Elizabeth Anscombe e il rinnovamento della psicologia morale, It. transl. by E. Monteleone. Rome: Armando Editore. Von Wright, G.H. (1971). Explanation and Understanding. New York: Cor- nell University Press. Wittgenstein, L. (1953). Philosophische Untersuchungen, Oxford: Basil Black- well. — (1980). Remarks on the Philosophy of Psychology. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. — (1958). The Blue and the Brown Books. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Elisa Grimi is Executive Director of the European Society for Moral Philosophy, the Editor- in-Chief of the international journal Philosophical News and Project Manager of philojotter. com and of my-classics.com. On 30 May 2014, she received the Paolo Michele Erede Founda- tion First Prize with a work on ‘Politics and Network’. She has studied and worked at various universities throughout the world, in countries including Italy, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, England, France and the United States. She is the author of numerous publications, including her first Italian monograph G.E.M. Anscombe: The Dragon Lady (Cantagalli, 2014) with direct testimonials; G.E.M. Anscombe. Guida alla lettura di Intention (Carocci 2018); and Contro il cristianismo e l’umanismo. Il perdono dell’Occidente with Rémi Brague (Cantagalli, 2016). She is the editor of the collection Tradition as the Future for Innovation (Cambridge Scholars Publis- hing, 2016); the Dossier La philosophie de l’humility (Recherches Philosophiques, ICT, 2017); Metaphysics of Human Rights. 1948-2018. On the Occasion of the 70th Anniversary of the UDHR (Vernon Press 2019); and Virtue Ethics. Retrospect and Prospect (Springer, 2019).
Elisa Grimi és directora executiva de la Societat Europea de Filosofia Moral, editora en cap de la revista internacional Philosophical News i directora de projecte de philojotter.com i de my-clas- sics.com. El 30 de maig de 2014 va rebre el primer premi de la Fundació Prof. Paolo Michele Erede per un treball sobre «Política i xarxa». Ha estudiat i treballat en diverses universitats de tot el món, en països com Itàlia, Suïssa, Àustria, Alemanya, Anglaterra, França i els Estats Units. És autora de nombroses publicacions, inclosa la seva primera monografia italiana, G. E. M. Anscombe. The Dragon Lady. Con testimonianze inedite (Cantagalli, 2014), G. E. M. Anscombe: guida alla lettura di Intention (Carocci, 2018), coautora amb Rémi Brague de Contro il cristian- ismo e l’umanismo. Il perdono dell’Occidente (Cantagalli, 2016), editora de la col·lecció Tradition as the Future for Innovation (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2016), del dossier La philosophie de l’humilité (Recherches Philosophiques, ICT, 2017), de Metaphysics of Human Rights. 1948- 2018. On the Occasion of the 70th Anniversary of the UDHR (Vernon Press 2019) i de Virtue Ethics: Retrospect and Prospect (Springer, 2019).
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 181-195
What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I”
Eylem Özaltun Koç University [email protected]
Reception date: 22-1-2020 Acceptance date: 6-2-2020
Abstract
That the study of the first-person reports of intentional actions, happenings, thoughts, and sensations as revealing the structure of self-consciousness was a central theme of Ans- combe’s work in philosophy of mind has not been sufficiently registered in the literature. I aim to show that this theme animated many of her works throughout her writing career and her “The First Person” (1974) can be best understood as one of these works and in the light of others. Keywords: Anscombe; first-person pronoun; self-consciousness; reference
Resum. Quin problema hi ha amb “Baldy”? Un enfocament no referencial radical de “jo”
Que l’estudi dels informes de primera persona d’accions intencionals, esdeveniments, pen- saments i sensacions com a reveladors de l’estructura de l’autoconsciència va ser un tema central del treball d’Anscombe en filosofia de la ment és quelcom que no ha estat prou considerat en la literatura sobre el tema. El meu objectiu és mostrar que aquest tema va animar moltes de les seves obres al llarg de la seva carrera com a filòsofa i que el seu «The first person» (1974) pot entendre’s millor com una d’aquestes obres i tenint-ne en compte d’altres. Paraules clau: Anscombe; pronom de primera persona; autoconsciència; referència
Summary
Introduction Conclusion Part I: Baldy Bibliographical references Part II: The Subject of Sensations
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1284 182 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Eylem Özaltun
The thinking, presenting subject; there is no such thing. Tractatus 5.631
Introduction In “The First Person” (from now on “TFP”), as the title makes no secret, Anscombe discusses some of the peculiar features of the first-person pronoun. She defends a, notoriously false according to many commentators,1 view that “I” does not refer. Even for the most sympathetic readers of Anscombe who find many insights in TFP,2 the conclusion is at best a confusion or a reflection of her special, narrow use of the notion of reference. The commentators most- ly focus on two arguments they take Anscombe to give to establish this con- clusion and show that they are not good arguments. I will call them “Argu- ment from Immunity to Error Through Misidentification” and “Anti-Cartesian Argument”. If we see TFP as part of a project of understanding self-conscious- ness and its structural distinctness from consciousness, and “I”’s role in expressing self-consciousness and its peculiarities as revealing the structure of the thoughts it is used to express as the main subject of TFP, this change of focus will provide a much better reading of TFP. According to this read- ing, the passages on which the commentators based their arguments will gain a different significance and turn out not to be intended as direct argu- ments for her claim that “I” does not refer. And once we understand what is at stake in her insistence that “I” does not refer in the light of her other works, the conclusion will start to look much more palatable, too. In what follows I will motivate such a reading. But first let me briefly mention these two arguments that are attributed to Anscombe and how they are dismissed in the literature. For some thoughts of the form A is B, my way of knowing that something is B leaves no room for a mistake in identifying what is B. Hence if I know through this way that something is B then I am entitled to the thought that A is B. Hence my thought A is B is immune to error through misidentification3 of whatever is this thing which is B. Anscombe observes in TFP that the judgments of the form “I am B” have such immunity. In first-person judgments one does not iden- tify the object she is among other objects, and since there is no identification, there is no room for misidentification. As she puts the point: “Getting hold of the wrong object is excluded…”4 The commentators take Anscombe to conclude from this that “I” cannot be a referring expression as she holds that
1. Inwagen (2001), Evans (1982), Peacocke (2008). 2. McDowell (1998), Campbell (2012), Stainton (2019). 3. This is a term coined by Shoemaker (1968). Neither Anscombe nor Wittgenstein used this term to make their respective points. The term “The immunity to error through misiden- tification” (from now on IETM) became the common currency in the discussions of both Wittgenstein’s and Anscombe’s views on this issue. For brevity’s sake I will use it as well. 4. Anscombe (1975: 32). What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I” Enrahonar 64, 2020 183 there can be no reference without identification. This is what I call Argument from IETM. The standard objection to this argument is to mention indexicals and thereby show the possibility of a form of reference which is identifica- tion-free. So the objection reveals Anscombe’s mistake: She fails to notice the forms of reference which are identification-free. The Anti-Cartesian Argument is a modus tollens. Anscombe’s intricate expo- sition has been summarized as an argument with two premises: 1. If “I” refers, then it must refer to Cartesian Ego. 2. Cartesian Ego is not suitable as the ref- erent of “I”.5 Therefore, “I” does not refer. As Anscombe herself notes,6 the rejection of the idea of a Cartesian Ego is extremely common among analytic philosophers. So the objections mainly target Premise 1. The way to reject Prem- ise 1 is to find ways in which “I” can refer to a living human being, or a person in the forensic sense. John McDowell’s version which uses an idea from P.F. Strawson is the most insightful one of this type of objection that I came across. He takes Anscombe to assume that when there is an I-thought, the object to which “I” refers must be identifiable within the way in which the subject enter- tains this thought. Hence Premise 1 would be true only on “the assumption that a referring role for “I” would need to be fully accountable for within [the think- er’s] stream of consciousness.”7 But the thinker’s grasp of the use of “I” requires her to appreciate that she is also an object among others, available in the public realm – which is a fact to which I will also appeal below to account for the communicative uses of “I”. As long as the link between the stream of conscious- ness and the thinker’s thoughts about the object she is not severed, we can exploit the tools for identifying that object to settle the referent of the identification-free thoughts. Hence the question “who am I?” need not be settled within the stream of consciousness. But if that is so, “I” can refer to an ordinary object, and not necessarily to Cartesian Ego. That is, we can reject Premise 1. I will not tackle these objections head-on, but rather try to show that Anscombe did not take the premises of the above-mentioned arguments as conclusive reasons for her claim that “I” does not refer. These remarks should not be taken as conclusive arguments to that end. What makes the use of “I” the subject of inquiry for Anscombe is its unique role: expression of self-con- sciousness. In so far as “I” expresses self-consciousness, it cannot be expressing a thought about an object. This is the claim I take her to be defending in TFP. Self-conscious thought is not object-directed thought, that is self-conscious- ness is not a species of consciousness-of. She argues for this claim in two steps.
5. Why is Cartesian Ego not a suitable referent for “I”? Some commentators, Descombes for example, took Anscombe to maintain that Cartesian Ego does not exist. The text shows that this cannot be Anscombe’s reason: “If the principle of human rational life in E.A. is a soul (which perhaps can survive E.A., perhaps again animate E.A.) that is not the reference of “I”.” (Anscombe, 1975: 35) Since the commentators that take Anscombe to give an anti-cartesian argument here do not focus on this premise, I will not say more on this here. We will come back to this below when we discuss Anscombe’s metaphysician. 6. Anscombe (1979: 3). 7. McDowell (1998: 192). 184 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Eylem Özaltun
When we take “I” as nothing but a name that everyone uses for herself, we cannot make sense of its role as expression of self-consciousness. That is, a special form of referring is not what makes “I” an expression of self-conscious- ness. This is the first step and the point of the A-users example. Moreover, even if we use a characteristically referring expression to express self-conscious- ness, in so far as it is an expression of self-consciousness it must be expressing a thought which is subjectless. This is the second step and the point of the Baldy example. Hence for Anscombe an expression cannot play the roles of referring and expressing self-consciousness at the same time. If we do not see this, we end up in a false view of what self-consciousness is. If I am right that this is the main axis of her paper, then we should not take any of her remarks as giving argu- ments for her claim “I” does not refer independent of “I”’s role as an expres- sion of self-consciousness. Whether an expression of self-consciousness can play this role while referring is the question she answers negatively. My reading takes A-users and Baldy examples as central. Just as in Inten- tion,8 Anscombe relies at least as heavily on examples to make her points as on the explicitly argumentative parts of her text. Although some pay attention to these parts of the text, these two examples and especially Baldy have not received much scrutiny, to say the least. In Part I, I will focus on the Baldy example and try to get clear on an essential expression Anscombe uses to characterize self-conscious thought: “unmediated agent-or-patient conceptions of actions, happenings, and states”. In Part II, I will draw on her other writ- ings, namely “The Subjectivity of Sensation” (1976) and An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus (1959) to make good on my claims and provide the larger philosophical context in which the discussion of “I” as the expression of self-consciousness should be taken.
Part I: Baldy
There is a mistake that it is very easy to make here. It is that of supposing that the difference of self-consciousness, the difference that I have tried to bring before your minds as that between “I”-users and “A”-users, is a private expe- rience. That there is this asymmetry about “I”: for the hearer or reader it is in principle no different from “A”; for the speaker or thinker, the “I”-saying subject, it is different. Now this is not so: the difference between “I”-users and “A”-users would be perceptible to observers. To bring this out, consider the following story from William James. James, who insisted (rightly, if I am right) that conscious- ness is quite distinct from self-consciousness, reproduces an instructive letter from a friend: “We were driving…in a wagonette; the door flew open and X, alias ‘Baldy’, fell out on the road. We pulled up at once, then he said ‘Did any- one fall out?’ or ‘Who fell out?’ – I do not exactly remember the words. When told that Baldy fell out he said ‘Did Baldy fall out? Poor Baldy!”
8. See Özaltun (2016) on how Anscombe uses examples in stating her views via the Builders example from Intention. What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I” Enrahonar 64, 2020 185
If we met people who were A-users and had no other way of speaking of themselves, we would notice it quite quickly, just as his companions noticed what was wrong with Baldy. It was not that he used his own name. That came afterwards. What instigated someone to give information to him in the form “Baldy fell out” was, I suppose, his behavior already showed the lapse of self-consciousness, as James called it. He had just fallen out the carriage, he was conscious, and had the idea that someone had fallen out of the carriage – or he knew that someone had, but wondered who! That was the indication how things were with him. Even if they had spoken a language without the word “I”, even if they had had one without any first-person inflexion, but everybody used his own name in his expressions of self-consciousness, even so, Baldy’s conduct would have had just the same significance. It wasn’t that he used “Baldy” and not “I” in what he said. It was that his thought of the happening, falling out of the carriage, was one for which he looked for a subject, his grasp of it one which required a subject. And that could be explained even if we did not have “I” or distinct first-person inflexions. He did not have what I call ‘unmediated agent-or- patient conceptions of actions, happenings, and states’. These conceptions are subjectless. That is, they do not involve what is understood by a predicate with a distinctly conceived subject. The (deeply rooted) grammatical illusion of a subject is what generates all the errors which we have been considering. (Anscombe, 1975: 36; emphases are mine) This is the very last section of TFP. As we see in the very last paragraph, Anscombe diagnoses what is wrong with Baldy as follows: He does not have unmediated patient conception of his own fall. If he had such conception it would be subjectless. What does “subjectless” mean here? As she defines it, his subjectless conception of the fall would not involve what is understood by the predicate “fall” with a distinctly conceived subject. Now everything hinges on what we take the import of the phrase “distinctly conceived subject” to be. If we go with the pervasive analysis of first-person thought via IETM, this could mean that in using the predicate the thinker does not need to conceive sepa- rately the subject of predication to which this predicate is now applied. So, in addition to the predicate use, there is no distinct act of identifying the subject of predication. In conceiving the fall, the subject that falls is already conceived. Nonetheless, there is a subject conceived. This is the take on unmediated conceptions we find in McDowell, for example: We must indeed insist that the conceptions exclude looking for a subject, if we are to keep our hold on what is special about the first-person. But even so, we can suppose that the conceptions require to be predicated of a subject: particular person each of us refers to by “I”. (McDowell, 1998: 193) But, as McDowell also rightly observes, Anscombe’s text calls for a dif- ferent reading and this reading leads to a bolder claim: In unmediated con- ceptions there is no subject being conceived, that is, there is no subject of predication at all. These predications are not conceptions of a subject as being so and so; what is understood by the predicate is not that a distinct 186 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Eylem Özaltun subject is so and so. So it is not that a subject is being predicated albeit with- out an act of identification. It is not, as it were, that there was no need of identification because the subject was already identified in the predicate use. Rather, in these conceptions no subject has been identified. There is no con- nection to the distinctively conceived subject being made, because there is no subject conceived in these conceptions. In unmediated conceiving of actions, happenings, and states, one does not attribute them to a subject. Hence this is not an attributive use of predicates. Here there is no conception of a subject to whom these actions, happenings and states are attributed. In this non-attributive use of predicates we represent actions, happenings, and states differently, and in these representations there is no room for subject. It is because these actions, happenings and states are not represented as actions of/happenings to/states of an object. These representa- tions are not object-directed: they are not representations of an object who acts, to whom something happens, or who has certain states. (Here I use object as a very general term for anything that has an enduring unity over time: it can be human beings, tables, chairs, selves, souls, egos, babies, animals, etc.) Since it is not an object-directed representation, the one who has such a conception would not ask “who?”. But this is not because, as the IETM inter- pretation would have it, one must already know who, and since one knows who without identification, there is already an error-proof/guaranteed refer- ence to someone. Anscombe’s point is not that this question is redundant. One would not ask “who?” because the question has no application at all. She writes, as I quoted above, that Baldy’s conduct shows a lapse of self-conscious- ness because “…his thought of the happening, falling out of the carriage was one for which he looked for a subject, his grasp of it one which required a subject.” As I read it the problem here is not that Baldy should not have looked for a subject because he should already know who, but that he has a conception of the event, the falling out, which has room for such a question in the first place. That is, I take it, even if he knew he is the one who fell via a conception of this fall that requires a subject, such a conception of the fall would not be an unmediated conception of this happening. The difference between mediated and unmediated conceptions of the fall is not the way in which the subject knows who fell. A self-conscious fall is not a fall in which the subject comes to know who fell in a special way. The problem with Baldy is not that he did not know who fell in that special way, but that he could ask “who?” at all. Anscombe’s unmediated conceptions, then, are not just unme- diated by identification of subject, but unmediated by any representation of subject.9
9. As I said above, McDowell also observes that it is in the latter sense Anscombe takes these conceptions to be unmediated. But he thinks that she comes to the latter by mistakenly equating the former with the latter. He rightly points out that one does not single out a subject in unmediated conceptions establishes that there is no identification, but not that there is no subject of predication. However, I do not think Anscombe fails to distinguish these two conceptions of “unmediated”. What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I” Enrahonar 64, 2020 187
But suppose, unlike Baldy, I have unmediated conception of my fall. In what sense is the who-question not applicable here? Surely you could ask “Who fell out?” and, having unmediated conception of this fall, I would reply “I”. Am I, on behalf of Anscombe, denying this in saying that for the unme- diated conceptions the who-question has no application at all?10 I am not. Having unmediated conceptions of actions, happenings and states I can answer who-questions regarding these actions, happenings, and states with “I” if I want to answer them truthfully. So I can understand who-questions raised by others regarding these actions, happenings, and states because as an adult user of English I also understand that your mediated conception of these actions, happenings, and states admits this question: your consciousness of them is in the form of consciousness of actions, happenings, and states of an object and you might wonder who that object is. I can settle your questions with “I”. Only my unmediated conceptions do not admit the question. My understanding that I am an object to others and I can be an object to myself, does not require my unmediated conceptions of actions, happenings, and states to be conceptions of an object within these unmediated conceptions. From self-consciousness I can settle some questions that arise in someone else’s consciousness of my actions and states. This does not mean that the same questions would be applicable within self-consciousness. Anscombe says that she is using the Baldy example from William James to make a point James also makes: self-consciousness is distinct from consciousness. Baldy is conscious of the fall while he is not self-conscious. James’ point seems to be that these two states can come apart: self-consciousness is not required for consciousness.11 But in Anscombe the distinction is not just that we can have one without the other (though both the Baldy and A-users examples make this point as well). According to Anscombe self-consciousness and consciousness provide structurally distinct representations. In insisting that unmediated concep- tions are subjectless she is rejecting the accounts which try to capture the dis- tinctness of self-consciousness from consciousness while keeping the structure of these representations the same. For these views all consciousness would be consciousness of an object (used in a broad sense). Self-consciousness would
10. I am grateful to Lucy Campbell for pressing this question and the discussion. 11. See James (1890 V.I p. 273). In the passages surrounding the Baldy example James talks about a special sense of objectivity we find where there is lapse of subjectivity. By citing examples of various representations of objects where the representing subject is not repre- sented in the representations, he is rejecting a view he attributes to many, but originally Kant: “…that the reflective consciousness of the self is essential to the cognitive function of the thought…a thought, in order to know a thing at all, must expressly distinguish between the thing and its own self.” Here the criticism is quite general and not confined to first-person thought. He is talking about apperception and rejects it as the condition of consciousness of objects in general. The interesting thing here is that James takes apper- ception to imply that I exist and to be a thought about the thinker herself. He cites the Baldy case to show that when there is consciousness without self-consciousness we can see that “I exist” is not implied but additional to what is given in the content of consciousness. There is nothing about the structure of first-person thought in particular in these passages. 188 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Eylem Özaltun be a species of consciousness of. It would still be a consciousness of something being so and so but the way in which the object of consciousness – the subject of predication – is conceived would be special. She considers such a view just before she introduces the Baldy parable. She says that it is tempting to think that the difference is a private experience. She might have Frege in mind here, but anyone who speaks of “knowledge from inside” these days would also be in this camp. According to this tempting view, in self-conscious thought one is presented to oneself in a special way. We cannot share this special way, but we can communicate what is given by that special way, since what is given is still a consciousness of the object the subject is. Since the representations provided by this special experience and the rep- resentations of the same person by herself or others via observation are struc- turally the same, one might think that from the hearer’s perspective there would be no difference as to whether the speaker is expressing conscious or self-conscious thought. Both A-users and Baldy parables are meant to show that this is not so: the difference is noticeable by the hearer. If we met people who were A-users and had no other way of speaking of themselves, we would notice it quite quickly, just as his companions noticed what was wrong with Baldy. It was not that he used his own name… Even if they had spoken a language without the word “I”, even if they had had one without any first-person inflexion, but everybody used his own name in his expression of self-consciousness, even so Baldy’s conduct would have had just the same significance. (Anscombe, 1975: 36) But of course that there is a noticeable difference is not enough to show that the difference is in the structure of the respective representations. Only in the Baldy parable do we have a clear statement of the structural difference: conscious representations have a subject of predication and self-conscious rep- resentations do not. This structural difference in thought is not apparent since the sentences we use to express both forms of representation have the same subject-predicate structure. The grammatical structure of the sentences in which we express self-consciousness covers up this important structural differ- ence between conscious and self-conscious representations. And with this thought Anscombe ends TFP: “The (deeply rooted) grammatical illusion of a subject is what generates all the errors which we have been considering.”
Part II: The Subject of Sensations This mistaken view of the structure of self-consciousness is of a piece with the mistaken view of our subjectivity in action, sensation, and thought. TFP ends with her diagnosis of the structural distinctiveness of self-conscious thought. The significance of this point for the objectivity of observation statements is exposed in another paper Anscombe wrote a year later. In “The Subjectivity of Sensation” Anscombe claims that if there is a subject in the first-person reports of what is known by observation, then we What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I” Enrahonar 64, 2020 189 cannot detach what is observed from a particular observer and we cannot have objective representation of how things are. If “I” in first-person reports refers to a particular observer, then the content of the observation statement would be contaminated with this particularity. Hence the price we will pay for holding on to the wrong conception of the structure of I-sentences is the loss of objectivity of observation statements. In light of Anscombe’s worry about the objectivity of sensation reports, it becomes clear that her infamous claim that “I” does not refer cannot be dismissed as a peculiar narrow mind- edness about the notion of reference12 or a confusion of epistemology with semantics.13 Whether the observer represents herself with or without identi- fication is irrelevant here, and so is what notion of reference one adopts. If the observer’s representation of herself is essentially involved in her sensory reports, however this representation might be achieved, it would have the same detrimental consequence for the objectivity of the report. Hence we cannot domesticate Anscombe’s infamous claim that “I” does not refer by some deflated notion of reference.14 Now let us look at how Anscombe argues in “The Subjectivity of Sensation”: There remains a certain conception of ‘subjectivity’ to which I have made a passing reference. I spoke of the way ‘the subject’ is thought to enter essen- tially into the sensory. The doctor, we said, may say “The reds match”, but the explicit statement of the case is “I see these reds to match”. If so, then a Platonic argument may force it on us that the ‘objective’, in the sense of what is the case regardless of an observer, is never sensed, but is always inference or construction from the sensorily given cues. What is given is always a product of the encounter of subject and object and so properly belongs to the encoun- ter and the moment at which it occurs. This would be destructive of the idea of observation. If something is correct observation, we ought to be able to detach what is observed from the statement of the observer’s perception of it, and simply say it was so. Now it is perfectly true to say that the explicit statement of the case is “I see these reds to match”, and if “I” is a name of something involved in this, it is difficult to see how the detachment could ever be justified. (Anscombe, 1976: 54) Anscombe’s thought here is that that we can move from “I see these reds to match” to “These reds match” shows that “I” cannot be the name of a par- ticular subject. Or in the language of TFP, here “I see” must be expressing the
12. Evans (1982), McDowell (1998). 13. O’Brien (1994). 14. See Botterel and Stainton (2018), and Stainton (2019). They are right of course in that for Anscombe “I” is not an expletive like ‘it’ in ‘It is raining’. However, this is not the only way in which one can conclude that, as they put it, ‘I’ must be radically non-referring. They give a reading of TFP that attributes to Anscombe the view that “I” has a deflated reference. However, nothing less than a radical non-referring “I” view would serve Anscombe’s pur- pose. In fact, Stainton himself mentions that the Baldy passages poses a challenge to his reading. 190 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Eylem Özaltun doctor’s unmediated conception of her sensory state of seeing that reds match. The doctor is in a self-conscious sensory state of seeing which is her conscious- ness of matching reds. For her consciousness of matching reds to be an objec- tive representation that the reds match, her representation of the sensory state that provides this content should not be a representation of herself-as-repre- senting-that-the-reds-match. A representation of a certain subject, oneself or another, as seeing that something is the case, cannot be a direct representation of something being the case. When someone, I or otherwise, is attributed a sensory experience, nothing about what the reality is like has been said yet. If “I see these red match” is an expression of a conception of sensory state as mediated by representation of oneself as seeing these reds match, then one can only infer that the reds match by something like the inference to the best explanation of one’s own sensory states. Hence, if “I see these reds to match” will be the expression of a direct objective judgment that these reds match, then this sensory judgment cannot be a judgment about the sensory experience of a particular subject. This is not to deny that whenever there is a sensory experience there is a subject of this experience. However, in order for the thought to be objective, what is thought through this experience should not be contaminated with the representation of that subject. In “I see these reds to match” no reference to a particular subject has been made. Here “I see” specifies that “these reds match” is a perceptual judgment; that it is a seeing-that. But perceptual judg- ments are not statements about the sensory experiences of a particular subject, not even one’s own. Otherwise they cannot be objective judgments about how things are. Here we can see the full force of the claim that the who-question is not applicable to the first-person reports of sensory judgments. When the ques- tion is applicable, these reports cannot express objective content. Although not explicitly mentioned in TFP, this point about the possibility of the objec- tive content is the source and main motivation of the infamous claim that “I” does not refer, and reading TFP in this light will demystify her insistence on the radically non-referring view. This would also explain why Anscombe in “The Subjectivity of Sensation”, right after the above cited passages, gives a two-page recapitulation of TFP. Here she recalls the position of the insen- sitive logician character we find in TFP: “‘I’ is a proper name, albeit of a rather special sort”. Then, just as she does in TFP, she contrasts this position with the more sensitive metaphysician’s philosophical idea of “the subject”, and ends the paper by rejecting both views as inadequate in capturing the essentially first-person character of sensation reports: While we must reject the ‘insensitive logician’s view of “I”, nevertheless this opposite one is no better. The essentially first-person character of the sensory report must be granted, but it does not introduce any such thing as ‘the sub- ject’ is conceived to be. It does not introduce any thing at all, precisely because “I” is not any kind of name. (Anscombe, 1976: 56; emphasis is original) What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I” Enrahonar 64, 2020 191
When we appreciate that the main motivation for the non-referring view is the problem of objectivity of thought, we can also see why only the logician is deemed insensitive, although the metaphysician’s view is also rejected. To what exactly is the logician insensitive? The logician is missing what is special about the “I” of the Cogito. One such logician is Saul Kripke. Anscombe criticizes him in TFP (p. 21) for not seeing the essentially first-personal nature of the Cogito argument. The logician is taken to be Arthur Prior in the literature,15 but I think it is meant to be the name of a type: someone who does not see the truth behind the philosophical idea of subject and misses what is puzzling about the “I” of the Cogito. In dismissing the logician she is also emphasizing what is true in the philosophical idea of ‘the subject’: We may put it like this: there is no path from “I” to the person whereby he connects it with an object (the person that he is) which it names. This is the principal root of the philosophic idea of ‘the subject’ – that “I” does not stand for any object, not for anything presented. Or, as Berkeley put it, there is no ‘idea’ of the self.” (Anscombe, 1976: 55) So the debate is as follows: the logician thinks that “I” is the representation of an ordinary object but this representation is not a presentation. The meta- physician on the other hand insists that “I” does not represent anything that can be presented. So “I” cannot be a name of some ordinary object. In that, Anscombe agrees with the metaphysician. But does “I” represent something else – something that in principle cannot be presented but to which all pres- entations are made – as Anscombe puts it, not an ordinary sort of object but an extraordinary one? Anscombe mentions the move of metaphysician from the thought that “I” stands for no ordinary object to the thought that “I” stands for an extra-ordinary object disapprovingly but nevertheless with sym- pathy. She uses the phrase “it is difficult to avoid the idea…” to introduce this move in order to emphasize its natural appeal. The logician, on the other hand, gets no sympathy and is called “insensitive”. He gets no sympathy because he does not appreciate the genuine difficulty in accounting for the “I” of the Cogito, that is, for objective representation in general to be possible, “I” can- not be the name of something presented. It seems to me most of the literature on TFP is also insensitive to this diffi- culty with which Anscombe was occupied long before and after she wrote TFP. The radically non-referring view of TFP must be seen as part of her ongoing investigation of subjective and objective aspects of experience which comes up in her writings predating TFP and postdating “The Subjectivity of Sensation.” In An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus (1959, p. 166) she writes: It is fairly natural thought that ‘where there is consciousness, there is an I’; but this raises immediate questions about ‘consciousness’, and about the legitimacy of speaking of ‘an I’.
15. See, for example, Descombes (2010). 192 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Eylem Özaltun
Notice how similar this is to what we have seen above in “The Subjectivi- ty of Sensation” – to wit: “where there is sensory experience there is a subject of experience, and it raises issues about the content of those experiences” – and she had written this seventeen years earlier! Already in 1959, then, Anscombe concludes that it is illegitimate to talk of an I, because for consciousness to represent the world as it is, this I which must be there whenever there is consciousness cannot have any particular attributes, hence it cannot be an I among many. In speaking of the contents of conscious- ness, with the use of “I” we add nothing to the contents of consciousness. Rather “I” is used to say something about how the contents of consciousness are considered: one does not come to know these contents by mediation of verbal and non-verbal behavior of oneself or others. One knows “from inside”. But we need to be careful with this spatial metaphor: from inside is not a particular point of view I can take towards the contents of my consciousness. To warn us against interpreting “from inside” this way Anscombe writes: “But there is no other point of view.”16 So in considering these contents from inside I do not represent the contents of consciousness from a particular point of view as opposed to some other point of view. The use of “I” is not meant to represent a particular, perhaps privileged or somehow special, point of view, but the direct availability of these contents and consequently the direct availability of the world. Particular points of view would be represented by mediation of the rep- resentations of the particularities (location, perspective, position, etc.) of repre- senting subjects. By contrast, “from inside” is used to specify a representation such that in its content there is no room for the particularities of the subject: from inside one does not see the subject, but just what the subject sees. From inside, the subject has unmediated conception of her sensory states, that is, these conceptions are not contaminated with the representation of the subject. It is in this sense these conceptions of those states are subjectless and that is why these states provide objective representations of the world. But the ‘I’ of this way of talking is not something that can be found as a mind or soul, a subject of consciousness, one among others; there is no such thing to be ‘found’ as the subject of consciousness in this sense. All that can be found is what consciousness is of, the contents of consciousness…the world described by this language is just the real world… (Anscombe, 1959: 168) But then it is also not legitimate to talk about the I. As all that can be found is the content of consciousness. Hence, we can see that the condition of my representations to be directly of the world as it is, is what makes the talk of an I illegitimate: from inside is not from a particular point of view. If “I” is some- thing, whatever kind of thing that is, it would be one among, at least possibly, many. A representation of someone among many would not have a direct claim to reality.
16. Anscombe (1959: 166; emphasis is original). What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I” Enrahonar 64, 2020 193
Conclusion We do not have linguistic structures to specifically express consciously being in a state or consciously being a patient or agent of an event, rather than being conscious of someone (oneself or another) being in a state or being an agent or patient of an event. We use “I” to express the former in the linguistic forms that reflect the structure of the latter. When we do not see that and take the linguistic form to reflect the form of self-consciousness, we mistake self-consciousness to be a form of consciousness-of-an-object (ordinary or extraordinary). In characterizing self-consciousness as “having unmediated agent-patient conceptions of states and events” Anscombe points to the struc- ture of self-consciousness as distinct from the consciousness of an object. “Unmediatedness” is not to be understood as criterionless identification of the object of self-consciousness. Self-consciousness is not an object-directed rep- resentation, it is not a consciousness-of, so it is not mediated by a representa- tion of an object, and it is in this sense unmediated. In having a representation of his own fall that requires a subject, that is, a representation that admits the question “who?”, Baldy’s awareness of this fall is a consciousness-of; his con- ception of his fall is a mediated one. Even if he expresses this conception with “I” instead of “Baldy” or “someone”, it would not be an expression of self-con- sciousness. His use of “I” would still stand for an object that fell, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The use of “I” is the mark of self-consciousness when we use it to express unmediated conceptions, and such a conception of this fall is exactly what Baldy is lacking. What Baldy lacks is essential to our subjectivity. It is the kind of subjectiv- ity whose vehicles are subjectless; the kind of subjectivity that makes objective representation possible. The subject of action, thought and sensation is not an ordinary object, such as a human being, but not a special object either, such as self, soul, ego, etc.; it is not an object. The difficulty of having a conception of our subjectivity which is not falling under one of these two horns is the diffi- culty of having a non-reductive account of self-consciousness without giving up what is true in naïve realism. Since “Self-consciousness is not…nonsense. It is something real, though as yet unexplained, which “I”-users have…”,17 Anscombe is facing this difficulty by inquiring into the peculiarities of “I” as the expression of self-consciousness, over the course of several works, one of which is TFP. We can do justice to TFP only if we keep this context in view.18
17. Anscombe (1975: 26). 18. I conducted most of the research that informed this paper during my research leaves when I visited Warwick Mind and Action Research Center. I presented earlier versions of these ideas there in two different talks, first in 2017 and later in 2019. I would like to thank everyone in the audience for their invaluable input. I especially benefitted from the discus- sions with Johannes Roessler, Hemdat Lerman, Lucy Campbell and Naomi Eilan. I also would like express my gratitude to Hemdat Lerman and Sofia Miguens for unceasing support and encouragement. 194 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Eylem Özaltun
Bibliographical references Anscombe, G. E. M. (1959). An Introduction to Wittgenstein’s Tractatus. South Bend, IN: St. Augustine’s Press. — (1975). “The first person”. In: Anscombe, G. E. M. Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Mind. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 21-36. — (1976). “The subjectivity of sensation”. In: Anscombe, G. E. M. Meta- physics and the Philosophy of Mind. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press, 44-57. — (1979). “Analytic Philosophy and Spirituality of Man”. In: Geach, Mary and Gormally, Luke (eds.). Human life, action and ethics: essays by GEM Anscombe. Luton: Andrews UK, 3-16. — (1981). Metaphysics and the Philosophy of Mind. Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press. Botterel, A. and Stainton, Robert J. (2018). “An Anscombian Reference for ‘I’?”. Coratian Journal of Philosophy, XVIII (54). Campbell, John (2012). “On the thesis that “I” is not a referring term”. In: Recanati, Francois and Prosser, Simon (ed.). Immunity to Error Through Misidentification: New Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1-21. Descombes, Vincent (2010). “Le marteau, le maillet et le clou”. Revue de métaphysique et de morale, 68 (4), 495-519.
Eylem Özaltun is an assistant professor of philosophy at Koç University in Istanbul. She works on philosophy of mind with a focus on action because (as O’Schaughnessy puts it) the pheno- menon of bodily action set in a public and physical environment is a particularly appropriate place to study the mind in this materialistic age. The paper that appears in this issue is part of her current research project that investigates self-consciousness both in action and perception and the use of the first-person pronoun in expressing such consciousness. In this investigation she focuses on Kant, Frege, Wittgenstein and Anscombe. She critiques how we study self- consciousness in contemporary analytic philosophy under the influence of the Evans/Strawson approach: by studying the special way in which the subject knows about the object she is. She aims to reject this widespread approach to self-consciousness. Instead, she proposes to study self-consciousness as the nature of a thinker who can make objective judgments in general. Hence, she focuses not exclusively on self-knowledge but on the possibility of objective judg- ment in general.
Eylem Özaltun és professora assistent de filosofia a la Universitat de Koç a Istanbul. Treballa en filosofia de la ment amb un enfocament en l’acció perquè (com ho expressa O’Schaughnessy) el fenomen de l’acció corporal en un entorn públic i físic és particularment el lloc apropiat per estudiar la ment en aquesta era materialista. L’article que apareix en aquest número és part del seu actual projecte de recerca, que estudia l’autoconsciència tant en l’acció com en la percepció i l’ús del pronom de primera persona per expressar tal consciència. Aquesta recerca se centra en Kant, Frege, Wittgenstein i Anscombe. Critica com estudiem l’autoconsciència en la filosofia analítica contemporània sota la influència d’Evans i Strawson: estudiant la forma especial en què el subjecte sap sobre l’objecte que és. El seu objectiu és rebutjar aquest enfocament general- itzat de l’autoconsciència. En canvi, proposa estudiar l’autoconsciència com la naturalesa d’un pensador que pot emetre judicis objectius en general. Per tant, se centra no exclusivament en l’autoconeixement sinó també en la possibilitat d’un judici objectiu en general.
NOTA BIBLIOGRÀFICA
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 199-207
Muro Solans, Joan García del (2017) Soldats del no-res València: Tres i Quatre, 194 p. Premi Octubre d’Assaig «Joan Fuster» 2016 ISBN 978-84-16789-72-6
«Tot just acabant aquest llibre —escriu l’autor en la pàgina 191—, em sacseja la notícia d’una altra tragèdia, aquest cop a Niça. Mohamed Bouhlel ha assas- sinat prop d’un centenar de persones que gaudien dels focs d’artifici del 14 de juliol, al passeig dels Anglesos.» L’assassí no era gens religiós: mai no anava a la mesquita, no feia l’oració, menjava carn de porc, bevia alcohol i no respectava el ramadà; a més, tenia antecedents penals per robatori, violència i amenaces, i consumia drogues. Amb aquesta obra premiada, García del Muro ens vol apropar a un feno- men inquietant: uns joves, nascuts a Europa o residents en aquest continent de molt petits, deixen enrere la seva vida passada i marxen a Síria per incorpo- rar-se a les files de l’exercit de l’Estat Islàmic o per acabar en el que ells anome- nen el gihad. No tots són descendents de musulmans ni procedents de famílies de barris marginals, sinó també fills i filles de professionals liberals o d’artesans. El seu únic objectiu és cometre barbaritats en nom d’una ideologia que, apa- rentment, els quedava molt lluny, ja que no havien estat educats en el fona- mentalisme islàmic ni havien freqüentat la mesquita i, a més, n’hi havia molts que havien passat per universitats europees de prestigi. Les barbaritats que arribaran a fer són comparables a les dels grups de narcotraficants mexicans i seran filmades i penjades a la xarxa, i acabaran constituint una de les seccions de vídeos més terrorífiques d’internet, on les víctimes, totalment humiliades, esperen el moment de ser degollades (p. 13-15 i 184). El nostre autor proposa de relacionar aquest exhibicionisme criminal amb el narcisisme de la nostra contemporaneïtat nihilista. La nostra mentalitat nar- cisista ens «torna absolutament impermeables al patiment dels altres». El narci sisme, afavorit, sense cap mena d’intenció, per algunes de les grans teories filosòfiques occidentals, és una malaltia ben nostra que ens porta a deformar la realitat d’acord amb els nostres interessos. «Un dels problemes de l’ésser humà, en la societat contemporània —escriu García del Muro—, és que, fent invisible l’existència de l’altre, les agressions que sofreix ja no provenen, com abans, d’una instància exterior que el reprimia i el violentava. Ara és ell qui s’agredeix perseguint l’èxit social però lliurant-se, en realitat, a una cursa nar- cisista cap al no-res». L’exhibicionisme i el narcisisme són els trets psicològics que podem trobar en aquests joves i la combinació de tots dos, segons el nostre autor, pot arribar a ser mortífera. Tot apunta a una situació terrorífica, en la qual el sentit del crim és que el subjecte que el causa l’estigui contemplant. Aquest exhibicionisme no és tant una mostra de l’islam com de la cultura occidental actual, la qual cosa ens ha de dur a pensar que, potser, la barbàrie no és tan lluny de la civilització com ens sembla (p. 29, 42-45, 59, 62 i 66). 200 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Andreu Grau i Arau
Les perversions sempre s’havien intentat ocultar, però ara ens trobem en una situació en què ja no hi ha el que vulgarment s’ha anomenat secrets de família, de manera que es dona una absència total de pudor: les escenes que observem són d’una brutalitat extrema i d’una perversitat inimaginable. Això, abans, era una cosa vergonyosa que la prudència més elemental aconsellava amagar. Però aquest desvergonyiment és tan gran que sembla que sigui indici d’una consciència moral totalment atrofiada: les fotografies són fetes per ini- ciativa pròpia, i els protagonistes de l’acció viuen unes experiències tan inten- ses que creuen convenient compartir-les amb familiars i amics. Ara bé, segons García del Muro, més que ostentacions de crueltat, semblen exhibicions d’idi- otisme moral, mostres d’una incapacitat esfereïdora per percebre i entendre l’alteritat, la qual cosa no deixa de ser el resultat d’una mentalitat narcisista que impedeix entendre res fora del que surt de la pròpia persona. Dit d’una altra manera: quan l’altre ja no és vist com l’altre, és a dir, quan es veu reduït a l’estat de «cosa», es pot afirmar que ha perdut la seva condició humana; però aquest professor de la Universitat Ramon Llull advertirà que aquesta mostra de narcisisme exhibicionista no és una de les noves habilitats que aquests nois i noies adquireixen en el transcurs del seu ensinistrament gihadista, sinó una condició prèvia que possibilita aquest mateix aprenentatge criminal. I remarca: és una cosa que ja portaven d’aquí (p. 47-49). Ens hem de plantejar les actituds d’aquests joves com l’expressió del títol enganyós de «xoc de civilitzacions», tal com l’entén Samuel Huntington? El nostre autor és radicalment crític amb les tesis d’aquest politòleg, les quals van ésser acceptades pels sectors polítics conservadors després dels atemptats de les Torres Bessones, i que s’han convertit en la doctrina oficial nord-americana en la seva «guerra contra el terror». D’on parteixen aquestes tesis? Doncs del fet que les diverses cultures no poden de cap manera conviure pacíficament i estan destinades a enfrontar-se. Si el xoc esdevé inevitable és perquè les cultures són expansionistes. Segons García del Muro, el gihad no sorgeix com a fruit del xoc de cultures, sinó de la crisi de cultures o d’una certa crisi cultural que experi- menten les generacions més joves de nouvinguts; i s’ha de dir que, més que amb l’enfrontament de cultures, aquest fenomen nou es relaciona amb allò que podem anomenar desculturació de certs joves immigrants, i resta lligat amb allò que en diem buit cultural (p. 20-22). Aquests nois i noies que sembla ésser que havien trencat amb la cultura d’origen i que, segons els testimonis penjats a les xarxes socials, es diu que, mentre esperen a la frontera turca el moment de poder passar a Síria i se’ls ensinistra militarment, assisteixen també a classes d’iniciació a l’Alcorà, llibre sagrat que confessaven que desconeixien totalment, assumeixen plenament l’esquema conceptual dels seguidors més maniqueus de Huntington i els empren per a la seva pròpia identificació: Occident = nosaltres = els bons; per tant, tots els no occidentals = no nosaltres = no bons = dolents. Curiosament, intenten definir-se des del marc conceptual de l’adversari, autoafirmant-se com a no bons, com a no nosaltres, com a no occidentals. La seva autoafirmació consisteix a identificar-se amb tot allò que Occident rebutja. La seva conversió Nota bibliogràfica Enrahonar 64, 2020 201
és a un islam imaginari, construït des d’aquí com a contraimatge negativa de tots els valors occidentals. En expressió del nostre autor: «defineix la seva iden- titat tot admetent que és com el mirall invertit de la nostra». El que de debò cerca aquest jove no és viure segons els cànons de la religió, sinó viure en una comunitat contrària a la cultura occidental. I matisa García del Muro que el fet que aquest noi accepti i assumeixi, sense més ni més, la nostra imatge de l’islam vol dir, probablement, que, d’alguna manera, ella també és creació nostra; i més que pensar el problema com si ens fos totalment aliè, com si fos un musulmà radical, l’hem de pensar com un problema, parcial o total, nostre (p. 35-36 i 130). Les anàlisis del nostre autor el duen a qualificar Huntington de manca d’entitat intel·lectual. Així, els conceptes d’Occident i d’islam que aquest pen- sador conservador utilitza no acaben de ser reals, sinó que són deliberadament simples i ensarronadorament clars i fruit clar d’un prejudici. García del Muro concreta la visió de Huntington, simple i barroera, amb un sil·logisme: […] els terroristes islamistes ens amenacen. Aquests terroristes islamistes representen l’islam. Ergo l’islam ens amenaça. Una simplicitat, però, fal·laç: per poder-lo instrumentalitzar, calia dotar el sil·logisme d’un terme mitjà que permetés d’arribar a la conclusió indicada. L’honestedat intel·lectual d’aquest procediment és més que discutible. Era un pas difícilment justificable, però el van fer sense gaires vacil·lacions. En realitat, Huntington defensava allò que l’Administració Bush necessita- va per justificar una determinada política exterior. No es tractava de conèixer la veritat, sinó de cercar alguna coartada. El que pretén Huntington és dir-nos qui som nosaltres i qui són els altres, és a dir, els enemics, i creu que el fet d’apel·lar el xoc de civilitzacions contribueix a crear un emocionari col·lectiu marcat per passions tan primitives com la por o l’instint de supervivència, i culpar dels teus mals algun agent exterior tot fent referència al mecanisme del boc expiatori. En paraules de García del Muro: «Com més lluny siguis capaç de situar la causa, millor, perquè més net restaràs tu mateix». Però parteix d’un parany intel·lectual que el nostre autor no deixa d’assenyalar: la identificació d’islam i terrorisme és interessada, ja que no es té present el fet de la presència islàmica a Occident. Són tractades com si fossin entitats autàrquiques absolutament independents i tancades en si mateixes —explica el nostre premiat—, tot menystenint delibe- radament tant la pluralitat inherent a cadascuna de les cultures com la interre- lació i la implicació mútua de totes dues. El fet d’eludir aquests dos fets sembla fruit de la ignorància o de la mala fe. O potser de totes dues. Sense anar més lluny: els autors de l’atemptat de Charlie Hedbo eren islamistes francesos, i una de les víctimes —un dels policies morts— era musulmana. Què es genera? Doncs l’islam imaginari, que és l’enemic perfecte. I ens recorda García del Muro que, si ens atenguéssim a la freda objectivitat de les xifres, més que parlar de xoc de civilitzacions, potser hauríem de parlar de guerra 202 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Andreu Grau i Arau civil en el món musulmà. Però, és clar, amb vista al control social, aquesta interpretació seria força menys efectiva. Per això, en les nostres societats occi- dentals s’aprecia una suau però persistent tendència a presentar la versió més simplificadora del conflicte: l’islam és aquell enemic que, després de segles a l’aguait, ara amenaça directament la nostra existència (p. 121-122, 125-126 i 131-133). Una de les grans preguntes del llibre és: com es pot passar de la civilització a la barbàrie? Queda clar que no acabem de copsar les causes del fenomen d’aquests nous cadells de botxí. És tan difícil que, de fet, les grans teories que els especialistes fan servir per explicar el fenomen del gihadisme en general sembla que no són efectives per justificar la manera d’actuar d’aquests joves que decideixen voluntàriament endinsar-se en la barbàrie. No són suficients per comprendre les motivacions d’uns joves que, en un viatge d’avió de poc més de dues hores, sembla que voler mostrar-nos que aquell camí de segles de la barbàrie a la civilització, que ens pensàvem que era irreversible, és, en realitat, una vida de doble sentit. També considera el nostre autor que analitzar aquests casos des del paradigma de Hitchens, és a dir, com si fos una qüestió exclusi- vament religiosa, més que ajudar-nos a pensar el problema, ens pot dur a interpretar-lo malament. Ara bé, el que sí que sembla és que no ha estat pas la profunditat de les seves conviccions religioses ni la sinceritat de la seva fe el que els ha dut a cometre aquestes atrocitats i que, per tant, el tema és més compli- cat del que pensem. Exposa també García del Muro l’explicació de Vattimo sobre les identitats fortes, potencialment violentes. El fet d’absolutitzar les identitats duu a la violència. Pensa el nostre autor que l’explicació de Vattimo pot ser d’una certa utilitat per copsar de manera global el problema polític del gihadisme, però insuficient per explicar per què aquests nois en situació de crisi identitària s’hi han allistat (p. 18-20; 22-23; 110-112). On arribem? Doncs a un islamisme sense islam: els nous terroristes no són persones especialment religioses, sinó gihadistes més aficionats a la cervesa, la cansalada i el cànnabis que no pas a la pregària i el dejuni; són professionals de l’hampa, condemnats unes quantes vegades per tràfic de drogues, robatoris i violència. Ens trobem davant d’un fenomen mafiós que pren la religió com a subterfugi. En tot això, quin paper hi ha tingut la nostra societat? La nostra societat és oberta i integradora; ara bé, les noves generacions de nouvinguts musulmans no ho han percebut així. El missatge que els arriba és: «integra’t i t’acceptarem». Integrar-se significa ‘deixar de ser un estrany i passar a formar part del nosaltres’. Ara bé, per integrar-se en el nosaltres cal ser com nosaltres, cal posar fi a totes aquelles diferències que et fan distint de nosaltres, que t’estigmatitzen i que et col·loquen en el grup dels altres. Però això no es percep com un exemple de tolerància i acaben entenent-ho així: «si t’assimiles, si t’integres totalment, t’ac- ceptarem». Aquests nois i aquestes noies han descobert el buit, han anat perdent els lligams amb els seus orígens, cada vegada més estranys, per substituir-los pels de la cultura d’acollida, molt superiors en prestigi social. Tanmateix, això sembla que hagi acabat bé. S’han quedat en una mena de terra de ningú. Els valors Nota bibliogràfica Enrahonar 64, 2020 203 tradicionals ja no els serveixen, però els nous valors tampoc no acaben de ser els seus; i aquí ve el problema: són estrangers en totes dues cultures: «A l’Hospitalet em sentia del Marroc i al Marroc sentia que ja tampoc no era d’allí» (p. 26-28). L’amenaça del gihadisme és real i negar-ho seria una irresponsabilitat molt greu; ara bé, el tema és l’ús d’aquesta amenaça amb intencionalitats ben vari- ades. I és important destacar l’important paper que ha tingut internet en aquest afer. Per raons diverses els nois i les noies van entrar en contacte amb els seus captadors a través de la xarxa. Fixem-nos en el detall que assenyala García del Muro: aquests autèntics professionals de la propaganda han arribat a persona- litzar l’oferta d’acord amb les característiques de la «víctima». Hi ha, per tant, també, un sentit laboral del gihadisme i una estratègia ben plantejada. Així, lluny de presentar el gihad com una obligació inherent a la religió musulmana, el disfressen amb diversos rostres més fàcilment assumibles pels nois occiden- tals, molts dels quals porten una vida, com ja hem apuntat, aliena a la religió musulmana i, encara molt més, als seus preceptes. El gihad és presentat com una oportunitat per assolir un nou sentit a la vida no fonamentat ni en la religió ni en la violència, però amb vistes a una solució laboral. Entre altres coses, l’Estat Islàmic és una empresa que proporciona feina i paga. El nostre autor ens ofereix una dada important: els gihadistes catalans solters que viuen als campaments del nord de Síria cobren uns 800 dòlars, i els casats, 1.200 (p. 164-165 i 184). Afiliar-se als grups gihadistes és interpretat com un autèntic canvi de vida. Per això, per als joves que s’uneixen a les files d’Estat Islàmic, el canvi de nom és un acte simbòlic del fet de renéixer. Ens diu García del Muro que, així, molts convertits fa poc a l’islam tenen l’oportunitat de compensar tot el que odiaven de la seva existència passada: marginació, depressió, superficialitat, inadaptació, drogues, solitud, absurditat, desamor, consumisme, delinqüència, avorriment, fracàs… En la nova vida el sentit es trobarà per l’acció directa, per la destrucció de tot allò que representa l’abans i que acaba essent una autèntica destrucció, tant des del punt de vista espiritual com material. Els nois passaran a les pràc- tiques criminals, la qual cosa provocarà que la pròpia cultura islàmica es trobi amb un greu problema. No podem negar que grups terroristes com Al-Qaida o Estat Islàmic, tot i que no es poden identificar amb la fe islàmica, sí que són creació seva, és a dir, que han nascut dins seu, i que l’islam no ha fet prou per aturar-los. Les atrocitats són incalculables, fins al punt d’arribar a l’ús pornogràfic que es fa de la violència. García del Muro recorre a l’estudi de la filòsofa italiana Michela Marzano sobre La mort com a espectacle, on es deixa constància d’aquest fet: Alguns llocs pornogràfics integren escenes de mutilació, violació i tortura. Alguns fins i tot arriben a presentar, al costat de pel·lícules de violació i de sadomasoquis- me, vídeos islamistes de degollacions. Naturalment, són una petita minoria. Però ha estat justament en un lloc de porno anglòfon on he pogut veure la decapitació de Shosei Koda, un motxiller japonès de vint-i-quatre anys (el jove havia estat segrestat i executat l’octubre de 2004, després d’haver expirat l’ultimàtum del 204 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Andreu Grau i Arau
grup d’Abu Musab al-Zarkaui al govern japonès perquè retirés les seves tropes de l’Iraq). És com si ja no existís diferència entre la ficció i la realitat. El nostre autor dirà que el narcisisme com a afecció ens incapacita absolu- tament per sentir la més mínima empatia. L’agressió per part dels joves no sembla que es basi en una ideologia, i se’ns ofereixen unes dades importants: En un 28,4% de les experiències analitzades, els responsables de l’agressió o de la humiliació van ser nois joves que havien sortit a fer gresca, mentre que els grups nazis van estar implicats, només, en un 7,3% dels accidents. Més d’un 28% de les agressions que, al nostre país, sofreixen els sensesostre no són fetes per bandes de neonazis, sinó per colles de joves que tornen de festa! Els agressors, segons el psiquiatre Joan Romeu, no tenen cap trastorn, sinó «una relaxació moral de l’escala de valors». Aquesta relaxació, sens dubte, és fruit de la seva incapacitat d’admetre l’al- teritat, ja que alguns adolescents creuen que els indigents es troben en l’escala més baixa de la societat i que, en no ser productius, representen la inutilitat, per aquest motiu se’n veu justificada la inexistència (p. 55 i 61-62). Abans d’oferir el que considerem les tesis d’aquesta magnífica obra de Joan García del Muro, volem assenyalar que, per desenvolupar-les, ha tingut present diverses teories filosòfiques actuals que l’han ajudat a dirigir la seva reflexió sobre la trista situació d’aquests soldats del no-res, de les quals destaquem, especialment: a) El canvi del paradigma de veritat. b) L’explicació de la realitat per les teories de la borrositat. c) Els efectes de la idea de la mort de Déu. d) Les tendències antireligioses. La veritat resta desvinculada completament d’una hipotètica adequació a la realitat. Així, la pretensió infantil de l’existència d’un ordre extern més enllà de les ordenacions de la nostra ment és qualificada irònicament per Putnam d’inflacionisme ontològic. El criteri de veritat ja no és l’adequació als fets, sinó la utilitat pràctica, és a dir, l’interès. Arribem també a la veritat com a èxit: si la cosa funciona, és vertadera. Al cap i a la fi, la veritat arriba a entendre’s com a sinònim de poder. La veritat no és més que allò que s’adapta millor als meus interessos i que em fa més feliç (p. 66-70). Ens diu García del Muro que ha arribat a esdevenir un dels trets caracterís- tics de la cultura contemporània el fet que els nostres filòsofs ja no es dediquin a empaitar estructures amagades, causes darreres o principis fonamentals, sinó que, convençuts del caràcter intrínsecament pervers d’aquestes tasques, s’in- clinen per no resistir-se a la seducció de nocions tan suggeridores com les del Chaos, buit, Fuzzy logic o Pensiero debole (p. 70 i 137). Déu ja no ens pot ajudar a resoldre els nostres problemes, ja que és mort, com és mort també qualsevol vestigi d’ordre. Només cal recórrer a l’obra de Nietzsche. Lligat amb el que s’ha dit als dos paràgrafs anteriors, una vegada Nota bibliogràfica Enrahonar 64, 2020 205 hem superat la vella creença infantil que allà fora hi ha un ordre —sigui diví o purament natural—, ens quedarem amb la veritat que més ens interessi. Som lliures i punt. La mort de Déu havia de ser també la mort de les pors; ara bé, tot i romandre encara ben vigent, aquest clixé comença a conviure amb una colla de teories que caracteritzen la cultura actual justament d’atemorida, obses- sionada amb les amenaces externes. La por ens fa fàcilment manipulables. Escriu García del Muro: La por s’encomana. Tothom ho sap, és altament contagiosa. És per això que esdevé una eina de gran efectivitat per al control social. A més a més, la por és paralitzant. El terror et deixa sense recursos, alenteix la teva resposta fins al punt de fer-la ineficaç. No trobaràs mai un adversari més fàcil de vèncer que aquell que estigui atemorit. La creació de pors és, també, un mecanisme domesticador. Molt abans que els primers psicòlegs conductistes descrivissin nocions com el condicionament o els reforços positiu i negatiu, els ensinis- tradors utilitzaven el recurs a l’amenaça i la por del càstig. La por ens fa més vulnerables a la dominació intel·lectual. En aquest sentit, la política de la por és, també, dissolvent de llibertats i de drets. (p. 68-69, 152, 170 i 179) Per alguns intel·lectuals, la religió és vista com a responsable d’una bona part de les catàstrofes, la qual cosa s’allunya de l’ideal de tolerància universal, que, com molt bé sosté el nostre autor, semblava que es convertiria en una de les premisses fonamentals dels intel·lectuals de principi de mil·lenni. Així ho expressa García del Muro: «En un món on tot s’hi val, on totes les opinions són respectables, n’hi ha una que no es pot admetre de cap manera, que no s’ha de respectar perquè amenaça la pervivència de les altres. És el sentiment reli- giós»; i acaba puntualitzant: «La tesi és simple i radical: la religió ha estat res- ponsable de bona part de les catàstrofes que els homes hem ocasionat en el curs de la història. És per això que és extremament perillosa». I això és perquè la fe es lliga al dogmatisme i aquest duu a la intolerància i a la violència. Si es vol deixar fora la barbàrie, s’ha de superar definitivament la creença religiosa i assolir com a solució l’ateisme. No d’acord amb aquestes conviccions, el pro- fessor català sostindrà el següent: […] la combativitat antireligiosa i la urgència amb què aquests apòstols de la descreença reclamen la cancel·lació definitiva del fet religiós sembla basada en una premissa essencialment anacrònica i, per això mateix, falsa. Potser sí que, en uns altres temps, el superàvit de creença religiosa va ser l’única amenaça. Però a hores d’ara la barbàrie té molts rostres. I alguns no poden ser pensats des del paradigma d’aquests autors. (p. 94-96, 98-99, 100-101) Al nostre parer, quines són les tesis principals que es defensen en l’obra del lleidatà premiat amb el «Joan Fuster» de 2016?
— El gihadisme dels joves és una creació moderna que defuig els paradigmes expli- catius que han esdevingut clàssics. Es tracta d’un fenomen que, probable- ment, més que amb el xoc de civilitzacions, amb la pròpia essència de la 206 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Andreu Grau i Arau
religió o amb les identitats fortes, està relacionat amb el nihilisme sorgit a Occident. El component religiós, certament, hi és present, però no amb la centralitat que hem volgut veure. És un factor, potser, no purament cir- cumstancial, però, si més no, parcial. — El narcisisme hi és present i esdevé una actitud intel·lectual que dilueix l’alteritat, que la perverteix de tal manera que la converteix en no res. Perduda la noció d’alteritat, s’esvaeix, automàticament, qualsevol resta de dignitat i de respecte pels altres, ja que aquests no són més que objectes del meu món. El narcisisme de les nostres societats no sembla ésser el responsable directe dels crims que cometen els occidentals que són al gihad, però sí que ha contribuït a convertir aquests nois i noies en carn de canó, en individus sense un sistema immunitari mínimament consolidat per advertir-los de la irrupció de la inhumanitat més ferotge. — Ens trobem en la cultura del buit. Hi ha una mena d’apatia autocomplaent que s’estén suaument per les societats contemporànies i que ens duu a acceptar acríticament els simulacres de realitat construïts per aquells que disposen de mitjans més efectius per colonitzar consciències. — En aquesta cultura, hi regna la manca de l’esforç. Observem models diame- tralment oposats a la cultura de l’esforç. En paraules del nostre assagista, els ídols prefabricats per bona part de grans corporacions audiovisuals esta- tals són, en gran mesura, personatges sense ofici ni benefici, que són allà perquè són famosos i són famosos perquè són allà. — La barbàrie pot sorgir en el si de la civilització. La història recent d’Europa n’és una mostra. L’opció per la barbàrie dels gihadistes no neix d’un excés de consciència identitària, sinó d’un dèficit d’aquesta: la tradició dels seus avantpassats ja no és la seva. Com ja hem preludiat, n’hi ha molts que ni tan sols poden comunicar-se amb els seus parents més ancians perquè ja no parlen àrab. Certament, anàvem equivocats i la nostra civilització no ens ha immunitzat contra la barbàrie tant com pensàvem. «L’opció per la bar- bàrie —escriu García del Muro— probablement no ens és tan aliena com si fos cosa, només d’inflaccionismes religiosos o identitaris. Com si fos, únicament, la conseqüència d’un fervor islàmic professat amb massa radi- calitat» (p. 182). Si aquests nois prenen aquestes decisions radicals és perquè hi ha un dèficit, una crisi identitària, cultural i religiosa. A causa d’un buit identitari, es queden sense armes intel·lectuals prou fermes per oposar-se a la barbàrie. — Davant del que els joves no poden aconseguir en el seu país d’origen, s’obren a l’aventura. García del Muro es fixa en el testimoni de Hogan: «Alguns hi van per la religió, altres hi van a la recerca d’aventura, altres hi van perquè són apassionats de les armes, altres hi van perquè busquen formar part d’un grup de camarades». — La falta de certesa per part dels joves en facilita la captació. No és que les seves certeses els portessin al dogmatisme i al fanatisme, sinó que poden ser captats fàcilment per l’absoluta falta de certeses, o el que és el mateix: no arriben al gihad per un aprofundiment en la religió musulmana. Nota bibliogràfica Enrahonar 64, 2020 207
— El radicalisme islàmic, des de la seva dimensió religiosa, ofereix la possibilitat d’una redempció. Els gihadistes tenen com a satisfacció saber-se purificats. — Anul·lació total del pensament crític. Tampoc no cal que s’aprofundeixi en l’islam, ja que el principal és atreure el jove a l’islamisme. — El fenomen no és tant una radicalització de l’islam com una islamització del radicalisme. La conversió a l’islam és només una darrera etapa que els per- met «exercir» una barbàrie, la qual, probablement, havien anat construint en el seu interior abans d’islamitzar-la. Escriu García del Muro: Potser la crueltat extrema —indiferent, narcisista i exhibicionista—, tan carac- terística d’aquest gihad retransmès en directe a tot el món via xarxes socials, no és una de les noves habilitats que aquests nois i noies adquireixen en el transcurs del seu ensinistrament gihadista, sinó que constitueix, més aviat, una condició prèvia que possibilita aquest mateix aprenentatge criminal. És quelcom que ja portaven d’aquí. El nihilisme propi de la nostra societat postmoderna no és, ni de lluny, el responsable directe de les monstruositats que cometen els occidentals que són al gihad. Però sí que ha contribuït a diluir les seves defenses, a convertir aquests nois i noies en carn de canó: en extremament vulnerables a la dominació intel·lectual, en individus mancats d’un sistema immunitari mínimament consolidat que els permeti advertir la irrupció de la inhumanitat més ferotge, quan els surt al pas, i que els prepari per saber posar-hi fre. El llibre és una anàlisi acurada sobre un tema candent. L’autor no deixa d’analitzar totes les possibilitats i veure si es poden justificar en el marc d’un complex divers de teories sociològiques. En els finals capitulars s’hi pot obser- var la tesi que vol defensar García del Muro. Tota la narrativa de les primeres pàgines desemboca en els escrits finals no tant com les conclusions a les quals estem acostumats, sinó com la conseqüència d’un sil·logisme. El nostre autor empra un llenguatge molt nostre: aquell amb el qual emetem els judicis a diari, però reflectint la profunditat del tema. Demostra haver sabut molt bé combi- nar la teoria amb els casos particulars: les idees amb els fets. Fets que ja són històrics i que és el que realment commou. Heus ací la grandesa d’aquesta obra premiada.
Andreu Grau i Arau Universitat de Barcelona
Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 209-216
RESSENYES
Pogge, Thomas (2018) Kant y Rawls: Filosofía práctica contemporánea Medellín: Editorial Universidad Pontificia Bolivariana, 270 p. ISBN 978-958-764-605-4
Pocs pensadors en la història de les idees coherència arquitectònica cap a una teoria han estat tan influents com Immanuel unificada, un abast ambiciós, la fertilitat Kant i John Rawls. Les seves contribu pràctica de les seves aproximacions, la re- cions a la filosofia pràctica han canviat la llevància factible dels seus postulats i la nostra concepció d’aquesta disciplina. Si plausibilitat de les seves teories. des del segle xix no hem parat de «retor- Aquest llibre conté tres articles sobre nar a Kant», la filosofia política contem- Kant i dos sobre Rawls, precedits per una porània consisteix, com va dir Nozick, introducció del professor de la Universi- a «treballar des de la teoria de Rawls o a dad Pontificia Bolivariana Johnny Anto- explicar per què no ho fem». nio Dávila, qui s’ha encarregat d’editar i Rawls i Kant no són dos autors que de traduir alguns dels textos. L’objectiu de parlin el mateix «llenguatge», ja que les l’obra és donar a conèixer al públic caste- seves respectives obres estan separades per llanoparlant els estudis crítics i exhaus- dos segles. Les seves teories s’inscriuen en tius de Pogge sobre aquests dos filòsofs, diferents debats i cosmovisions, com ara un camp d’especialització molt menys la Il·lustració o la Guerra Freda. No obs- conegut que no pas les seves cèlebres tant això, és possible establir un diàleg obres sobre justícia global, però que pa- fructífer entre tots dos pensadors. Aques- radoxalment constitueix la clau herme- ta és la tesi principal de Thomas Pogge, nèutica per comprendre-les. un alumne avantatjat d’aquests dos ge- Els textos són els següents: El impe- gants del pensament. rativo categórico, Sobre los fines y el signi- Kant y Rawls: Filosofía práctica con- ficado de la vida en Kant, La teoría de la temporánea és una compilació d’articles justicia de Kant, Contratos sociales hipo- seleccionats del professor de Yale sobre téticos: Tres dificultades i Rawls y la justicia Kant i Rawls, «los dos académicos que global. he estudiado con más profundidad» El primer text està dedicat a l’ètica de (p. 11). Com ell mateix explica al prefa- Kant. Centrant-se en la formulació kan- ci, els dos pensadors es poden relacionar tiana de l’imperatiu categòric, l’autor pels cinc factors que tenen en comú: una busca una «interpretación unificada»
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) 210 Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 Ressenyes
(p. 29) basada en la quíntuple formulació facultat de jutjar que el porten a distingir de Patton que satisfaci la prescripció kan- la teleologia natural de la moral. La dar- tiana d’equivalència entre totes les formu- rera conté el «fi últim de la natura», del lacions. Problematitzant la relació entre qual Pogge deriva les seves implicacions màximes amb fins materials i els reclams pràctiques. Qüestionant la concepció re- d’universalització de la primera formula- ligiosa del bé suprem, proposa un «fin ció de l’imperatiu categòric, Pogge exposa ultimo que pueda ser construido desde la la seva objecció: cal desfer-se del «somni ley moral» (p. 107), ço és, una aproxima- dogmàtic» d’una aproximació a priori de ció mundial que Kant mai va arribar a l’imperatiu categòric. Només així s’assoli- completar i que connecta moralitat amb rà la compatibilitat entre aquest i les política: la creació d’institucions socials màximes de fins materials, fet que evita- globals que permetin la completa realit- rà moltes antinòmies i que serà més pro- zació de les capacitats humanes en un per a les intuïcions morals comunes. Car- inacabable progrés històric. regat d’exemples demostratius, Pogge El tercer text constitueix una aproxi- defensa que la seva aproximació s’adequa mació a la concepció de la justícia en a l’antropologia kantiana, i així «la filo- Kant. La primera part és una reconstruc- sofía moral —aunque se basa completa- ció crítica de la teoria de la justícia kanti- mente en su parte pura— no es comple- ana, ja que aquesta mai va ser sistematit- tamente pura» (p. 42). zada pel filòsof de Königsberg. Després de Pogge també aprofundeix en la sego- problematitzar el rol de l’imperatiu cate- na i en la tercera formulacions de l’impe- gòric, relacionat amb els deures de la vir- ratiu categòric amb l’objectiu de clarifi- tut, Pogge se centra en els deures de la car els deures imperfectes i de mostrar la justícia, que són «límites a las acciones de completesa de la seva aproximació. Amb una persona que son necesarios para aquest exercici l’autor acompleix l’ideal asegurar la libertad externa de los otros» kantià d’equivalència i de reforç mutu (p. 128). La seva visió de la justícia va entre les diferents formulacions de l’im- acompanyada de dos elements més: una peratiu categòric. Aquest camí el porta a orientació institucional i una connexió concloure que «El imperativo categórico amb el concepte de dret. Pogge esquema- […] es una metodología para construir titza la doctrina kantiana de la justícia una moralidad completa para los seres (Rechtslehre) en tres principis amb prioritat humanos» (p. 60), una contribució im- lexicogràfica: consistència (PF-1), univer- portant que aporta llum al «problema del salitat (PF-2) i il·lustració (PM). Després contingut» de l’ètica formal kantiana. d’explorar els problemes i les injustícies El segon text s’endinsa en la conne- generades per la primacia de PF-1 —espe- xió entre l’ètica i la política en Kant, es- cialment al nivell internacional cap a on pecialment pel que fa al significat de la tendeix inevitablement la teoria kantia- vida i al paper que hi tenen els éssers hu- na—, Pogge exposa la seva proposta: una mans. Partint d’una sòlida anàlisi del aproximació cosmopolita realista i actua- concepte vague de «fi» (Zweck), Pogge litzada que no depengui tant de la sobira- emfasitza la noció de «fi en si mateix», nia absoluta de l’estat jurídic, ja que que enclou el respecte i l’obligació moral «Abandonar el dogma de la soberanía ab- dels éssers humans. Després d’una acura- soluta no solo hace posible una genuina da aproximació als parells subjectiu/ob- separación de poderes, sino también un jectiu i mitjans/fins a la Fonamentació de federalismo (global) genuino» (p. 177). la metafísica dels costums, segueixen les El quart text qüestiona els avantatges reflexions sobre la intencionalitat —ob- i els inconvenients de l’aproximació con- jectiva/subjectiva— de la Crítica de la tractualista a la justícia de Rawls. Pogge Ressenyes Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 211 comença afirmant que es tracta d’un con- Com podem veure, aquest llibre co- tractualisme institucional que pren el breix un ampli ventall de temes al voltant punt de vista de l’estructura bàsica. Des- de la filosofia pràctica de Kant i Rawls prés d’introduir alguns problemes sobre impossibles de resumir aquí. No obstant la responsabilitat individual, l’autor sen- això, és important assenyalar que, tot i tencia que l’ordre bàsic, en Rawls, «ha de que Pogge tendeix a explicar el que és ser valorado exclusivamente con base en fonamental de les seves teories, el seu el destinatario» (p. 187). Des d’aquesta punt de vista és sempre crític i, per tant, constatació parteix la triple crítica de personal. D’una banda, això té la virtut Pogge a Rawls, a qui acusa de ser conse- de fer que aquests filòsofs esdevinguin qüencialista en qüestions de justícia. contemporanis mitjançant aquesta recep- L’autor mira de proposar alternatives a ció que empra esquemes actuals, esque- l’oblit de Rawls sobre les desigualtats na- mes que sovint no associem a aquests turals, el seu individualisme que no té en autors. D’altra banda, i com a contrapar- compte els grups moralment significants tida, aquesta aproximació va en detri- i la insuficiència en l’assegurament de les ment d’una lectura més «canònica», i al- llibertats bàsiques. Pogge acaba amb una guns lectors que no estan excessivament reflexió al voltant del codi penal per ar- familiaritzats amb els filòsofs en poden rodonir la seva crítica al conseqüencialis- tenir una recepció esbiaixada. me rawlsià i proposa un tetralema que Potser el millor exemple d’aquesta vol servir d’orientació per a futurs estudis visió crítica és l’últim text: Rawls y la jus- en filosofia política. ticia global. Dedicat al tema cabdal de En el cinquè i darrer text, Pogge es- l’obra de Pogge, la seva aproximació crí- tudia la justícia global de Rawls des tica és encara més forta, i més tenint en d’una perspectiva crítica. Concretament, compte que ell mateix va ser deixeble vol derivar les implicacions de la teoria directe de Rawls. No obstant això, aques- de la justícia rawlsiana, que s’aplica a so- ta aproximació és sempre constructiva, cietats tancades, i expandir-les a la justí- perquè actualitza la teoria amb noves ca- cia internacional, una operació que racterístiques però conservant-ne el nucli Rawls no va dur mai a terme de manera bàsic. Fins i tot ens atreviríem a dir que, sistemàtica. Després d’una aproximació en alguns moments, l’autor vol ser més inicial a la concepció general de la justí- «rawlsià» que Rawls, en el sentit que vol cia de Rawls, Pogge defensa la necessitat desenvolupar les seves intuïcions fins a moral d’«abandonar el énfasis primario les últimes conseqüències. de Rawls en las instituciones domésticas, En aquest text hi trobem el debat pel a favor de globalizar su concepción ente- qual creiem que paga la pena editar el ra de justicia» (p. 227) en un món on llibre que ressenyem. Avançant cap a la totes les nacions són interdependents i, construcció d’un sistema de justícia glo- doncs, tots som responsables de les injus- bal, Pogge agafa allò que creu més vàlid tícies institucionals d’arreu. de Kant i Rawls, en critica els errors i les La proposta particular de l’autor es obsolescències i construeix la seva pro- basa en el mateix experiment mental que posta a partir d’aquest substrat. En par- empra Rawls: el vel de la ignorància, però ticular podem veure com comença amb el pren des d’una «posición original una explicació general sobre Rawls (p. 217- única, global» (p. 236). Amb aquesta 229), seguida d’una aproximació crítica aproximació, més respectuosa amb la di- (p. 229-249) i una reafirmació de la seva versitat cultural, és possible plantejar la pròpia proposta sobre el tema (p. 249- molt necessària reforma institucional que 269), que és clarament coherent amb les necessitem en l’actualitat. seves teories del dividend dels recursos 212 Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 Ressenyes globals o el fons per l’impacte sobre la litat excel·lent, amb erudites i precises salut, exposades en altres obres de Pogge. notes al peu que no han estat extirpades El moment clau que catalitza aquesta —quelcom que denota el rigor acadèmic transició és l’argument kantià que reforça necessari per emprendre aquest projec- el cosmopolitanisme de Pogge contra te—, es pot argumentar que els textos Rawls (p. 245). És a dir: la «kantianitza- publicats als anys 80 i 90 —com els dos ció» de Rawls —no hem d’oblidar que la primers— són molt lluny de les opinions Teoria de la justícia té influències del actuals que té l’autor sobre el tema i, da- constructivisme kantià— és el pas que munt, la bibliografia està obsoleta. Si el necessita l’autor per desenvolupar les —legítim— criteri és escollir les millors seves teories sobre justícia global que ins- obres de l’autor des d’una perspectiva piren la seva coneguda visió del govern històrica, en alguns casos s’hi haurien multinivell. Si Rawls va mitigar el cos- d’afegir notes que expliquessin, per mopolitanisme kantià per la seva inviabi- exemple, la incongruència de teoritzar litat, Pogge pren les millors eines de sobre la justícia global de Rawls abans Rawls per revifar, des d’un major refina- que aquest publiqués The Law of Peoples ment i actualitat, l’ideal cosmopolita (1999). kantià. Pel que fa a les traduccions, són sol- Malgrat això, no tots els textos són vents i ben fetes per acadèmics especialit- tan fructífers. Per exemple, sense desme- zats. Les poques problemàtiques que rèixer-ne el rigor, els primers dos escrits presenten —Pogge ja exposa gran part de dedicats a Kant formen part d’un debat les clarificacions terminològiques— són acadèmic amb poca rellevància pràctica. resoltes en notes concises (p. ex.: p. 35, Seguint aquest fil, tot i que l’objectiu 166). La idea de traduir textos publicats principal d’aquest llibre no és donar l’úl- en alemany i d’altres en anglès i d’unir- tima paraula sobre la lectura que fa Pogge los en un sol llibre facilita la recerca en d’aquests dos autors, s’hi troba a faltar un l’àmbit d’aquesta literatura i en promou estudi que els compari sistemàticament la divulgació. des de la seva perspectiva. Totes les com- Així doncs, podem afirmar que paracions, potser exceptuant-ne les del aquest llibre fa una important contribu- darrer text, han de ser fetes indirectament ció als estudis kantians, rawlsians i pog- i entre els diferents escrits, com una geans, especialment en l’àmbit hispà. mena de reconstrucció arqueològica. No Ofereix una selecció de textos que, si bé obstant això, el fet que els textos estiguin és parcial, també és raonada tant per ben relacionats entre ells i tractin temàti- mostrar part de la biografia intel·lectual ques similars (p. ex.: l’imperatiu categòric de Pogge com per, alhora, suggerir inno- apareix en tots) facilita aquesta tasca, te- vadores aproximacions als dos grans clàs- nint en compte que l’obra no disposa de sics de la filosofia pràctica. Tractant-se, cap índex temàtic o onomàstic. aquest darrer, d’un tema que va clara- Una altra crítica que se li pot fer és ment a l’alça, només ens resta desitjar que no tots els escrits estan prou actualit- que aquest tipus d’iniciatives s’incremen- zats. Malgrat que tots presenten una qua- tin en un futur pròxim.
Jordi Jiménez Guirao University of Warwick https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1252 Ressenyes Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 213
Soto-Bruna, María Jesús (ed.) (2018) Causality and Resemblance: Medieval Approaches to the Explanation of Nature (Europaea Memoria. Studien und Texte zur Geschichte der europäischen Ideen. Reihe I: Studien, 127) Hildesheim, Zuric, Nova York: Georg Olms Verlag, 182 p. ISBN 978-3-487-15686-6
El llibre que recensionem és una obra de tical experience in Augustine’s “Confes diversos autors liderats per la professora sions”», p. 27-41); el Liber de causis primis María Jesús Soto-Bruna, de la Universitat et secundis (Francisco O’Reilly, «Causality, de Navarra. Els lectors d’Enrahonar ja flux and procession, an unexpected en- coneixen un treball de temàtica afí counter among Proclus, Eriugena, and d’aquesta professora («Relacion como Avicenna», p. 43-55); Escot Eriúgena condicion de diversidad: El orden de la (María Jesús Soto-Bruna, «Harmony in “processio” en Eriugena y en Gundisal- the conception of the universe: Unity and vo»), publicat en el número 61 (p. 23- plurality in Eriugena», p. 57-73); Gundis- 40) de la nostra revista. Els autors inves- salinus (Nicola Polloni, «Nature, souls, tigadors pertanyen a universitats de and numbers: Remarks on a medieval diversos països (Espanya, Polònia, Argen- gloss on Gundissalinus’s “De Processione tina, Regne Unit, Estats Units) i els estu- Mundi”», p. 75-87); Hermann de Carín- dis que integren el llibre, tal com dona a tia (Elisabeth Reinhardt, «Hermann de entendre el títol, han estat redactats ma- Carintia (siglo xii): Una encrucijada en la joritàriament en anglès. L’editorial que explicación de la causalidad», p. 89-102); l’ha publicat és la prestigiosa Georg Olms Philippe le Chancelier (Laura Corso de Verlag, de Hildesheim, Alemanya, amb Estrada, «The Ciceronian tradition of seu també a Suïssa i als Estats Units. “ius naturae” in the diffusion of the L’objectiu del llibre és, en paraules de “bonum”: The lecture of Philip the Chan- l’editora (p. 7): cellor», p. 103-115); Bonaventura (Isabel María León Sanz, «La mediación creado- Through a historical, philosophical and ra del Verbo, origen de la belleza expresi- theological reconstruction, this book va de las criaturas en S. Buenaventura», addresses the «unity» and «multiplicity» of the Logos within the cosmos. Since p. 117-129), i Tomàs d’Aquino (Juan José there is no single homogeneous interpre- Herrera, «The exemplarity of God, tation —henology versus ontology— between nature and intellect», p. 131- within medieval studies concerning the 144, i Alice Ramos, «The human person meaning of natura (ratio naturae) on as “Imago Dei” and the perfection of the the basis of manifestative causality (explica- universe», p. 145-158). El darrer article, tio), this volum sets out to study the main de Mirela Oliva («Beauty and meaning: routes that have been used to justify From Aquinas to Gadamer and Nancy», what belongs to nature in terms of one p. 159-171), obre la problemàtica tracta- causal creator. da en el llibre a plantejaments actuals. A Efectivament, aquests camins passen més d’aquests capítols anteriors, comple- per Gregori de Nissa (Miguel Brugarolas, ten la publicació la taula de continguts «Teología del Logos: Unidad y distinción (p. 6-7), una introducció de l’editora, en la exégesis de Gregorio de Nisa sobre María Jesús Soto-Bruna (p. 7-10), l’índex Jn 10,30», p. 11-25); Agustí d’Hipona de noms (p. 173-177) i unes notes bio- (Agnieszska Kijewska, «The path of mys- gràfiques dels autors (p. 179-182). 214 Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 Ressenyes
El llibre té com a objecte d’estudi i processió. En aquest sentit, els concep un tema central de la filosofia de tots tes triats per intitular el llibre (causality els temps, un tema que pot ser enun i resemblance —o similarity) són clars i ciat de nombroses maneres (U-multi donen raó del que hi podem trobar. En plicitat; Creador-creació; Logos-cos el decurs dels diversos capítols queden mos, Déu-natura, etc.) i que a l’edat ben perfilats el plantejament «henolò mitjana, sobre la base de l’herència gic» i el, diguem-ne, «metafisicoonto platònica i neoplatònica i amb l’impuls lògic», amb les seves semblances i les de certs continguts de la fe cristiana, es seves diferències. va desenvolupar notablement en diverses Atesa la complexitat del tema, de direccions. Un dels mèrits del llibre con l’obra que presentem en valorem espe sisteix a analitzar les implicacions meta cialment la perspectiva interdisciplinària físiques d’aquest debat que pivota sobre (històrica, filosòfica i teològica alhora), a conceptes com ara causalitat, semblança, més de la voluntat d’internacionalització explicatio, explanatio, creació, emanació que mostra.
Jaume Mensa i Valls Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1257
Redondo, Pablo y Salgado, Sebastián (2017) La isla de la verdad y otras metáforas en filosofía Cantabria: El Desvelo Ediciones, 184 p. ISBN 978-84-946138-4-5
La reflexión sobre la naturaleza del dis por analogía: quizá no exista narración curso metafórico, aquel que de manera metafórica de mayor calado filosófico y genérica podríamos caracterizar como el repercusión histórica que el mito de la establecimiento de una relación de seme caverna. janza entre dos pares de elementos apa Ahora bien, a pesar de esta estrecha rentemente heterogéneos, ha estado pre relación entre la aparición de la filosofía sente desde los albores del pensamiento y su interés por el funcionamiento de la filosófico. Ya en Platón hallamos la plena metáfora, la consideración que ha mere conciencia de que para hablar del ámbito cido esta peculiar manera de proceder ha de lo inteligible no podemos sino recurrir sido cambiante a lo largo de la historia. a elementos del mundo sensible. Sirven En sus inicios, la metáfora fue reservada de antesala al mito del carro alado las si al ámbito de la estética y la retórica; su guientes palabras: «Cómo es el alma re función se veía reducida al embelleci queriría toda una larga y divina explica miento y la persuasión, por lo que su ción; pero decir a qué se parece, es ya valor de verdad quedaba en entredicho, asunto humano y, por supuesto, más barruntándose el peligro de utilizarla en breve»1. El padre de la Academia es sin ámbitos inadecuados. Es especialmente lugar a dudas uno de los pensadores más en el seno de las investigaciones estéticas avezados a la utilización de este discurso del Romanticismo que se subraya el po
1. Platón (1986), Fedro, 246a, traducido por Emilio Lledó Iñigo, Madrid, Gredos, 344. Ressenyes Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 215 tencial cognoscitivo del discurso por ana capaz de mantener la imperturbabilidad logía (sea bajo la denominación de alego- de su ánimo en la conciencia del carácter ría o símbolo). Este interés llega a su conflictivo y voluble, tanto de la natura máxima eclosión a propósito de la re leza como de los acontecimientos huma flexión sobre los diversos rendimientos nos (p. 32). Más recientemente, autores del lenguaje que es característica del giro como Nietzsche se han servido del nau lingüístico en la filosofía del siglo pasado. fragio «para entender la vida como un El libro que presentamos, La isla de continuo estar embarcado surcando la la verdad y otras metáforas en filosofía, se mar» (p. 35). inscribe en esta tradición contemporánea En ocasiones se nos hace difícil dife de interés por las metáforas y su rendi renciar el uso literal del metafórico. Esto miento filosófico. Pablo Redondo y Se es especialmente cierto en la mayoría de bastián Salgado realizan un recorrido nuestros conceptos filosóficos: «Todos selectivo por las principales metáforas los términos filosóficos son metáforas: utilizadas en la historia del pensamiento por así decir, analogías cristalizadas, cuyo occidental, ya sea con la función de sin verdadero significado se revela cuando tetizar de manera atractiva las abstrusas disolvemos el término en el contexto ori reflexiones de los filósofos, para ilustrar ginario, que tan claramente debió de las de manera pedagógica o para hablar estar en el espíritu del primer filósofo de aquello que escapa a los límites de que lo utilizase»2. Para expresarlo en las nuestra razón. ya clásicas palabras de Nietzsche, la ma El mar y el naufragio, el viaje (que no yoría de nuestros conceptos filosóficos turismo), el camino, la luz, la máquina y son metáforas que hemos olvidado que el organismo, el edificio, el libro, el tea lo son. Kant coincide asimismo en este tro o la red son algunas de las metáforas punto: tratadas en el texto. Así, por ejemplo, el Nuestro lenguaje está lleno de tales exhi mar fue entendido en la tradición judía biciones indirectas según una analogía, y en la Antigüedad greco-latina como por medio de las cuales la expresión no representación del carácter indigente y contiene el auténtico esquema para el precario de la existencia humana, forzada concepto, sino meramente un símbolo constantemente a buscarse la vida, nave para la reflexión. De este modo, las pala gando más allá de los confines conocidos bras fundamento (apoyo, base), depender gracias a sus habilidades técnicas, pero con (verse sostenido desde arriba), fluir a par la inseguridad que supone el abrirse a la tir de (en lugar de seguirse de), substancia inmensidad de lo desconocido (p. 23). (como Locke la entiende; la portadora de los accidentes) e innumerables otras3. Con la Modernidad se añade el matiz del descubrimiento y la posibilidad de am Otra de las figuras estrella es la metá pliar las capacidades humanas, la concien fora del camino como representación de cia de nuestra constante perfectibilidad y la vida y la tarea del pensar (p. 43), una la idea de progreso (p. 25). A la par con el imagen que es crucial en el pensamiento mar tenemos la imagen del naufragio. Los de autores tan diversos como Heráclito, estoicos la emplearon asimilando al espec Parménides, Descartes o Heidegger (re tador con la figura del sabio, aquel que es cuérdese su «Wege, nicht Werke», «Ca
2. H. Arendt (1984), La vida del espíritu, traducción de R. Montoro y F. Vallespín, Madrid, Centro de Estudios Constitucionales, 125, citado en P. Redondo y S. Salgado, La isla de la verdad, op. cit., 18. 3. KU §59, AA 05: 352.22-27. I. Kant (2003), Crítica del discernimiento, traducción de R. R. Aramayo y S. Mas, Madrid, Antonio Machado Libros, 326-327. 216 Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 Ressenyes minos, no obras»). El camino sería un sión y en cuanto a las posibilidades que ejemplo de «metáfora absoluta» en el se abren al seguir sus cambios —que a su sentido de H. Blumenberg, esto es, «ele vez ayudan a entender las transformacio mentos básicos del lenguaje filosófico, nes en la comprensión del mundo y del transferencias que no se pueden recondu hombre a lo largo del tiempo—, la me cir a lo propio, a la logicidad»4. También táfora de la luz no tiene comparación con la analogía con el libro ha desempeñado otras» (p. 83). un papel relevante en la estructuración A pesar de la voluntad de rehuir del pensamiento religioso, científico y todo corsé academicista (p. 7), el texto filosófico (p. 53). La Biblia es el libro sa que presentamos no renuncia a utilizar grado, y el mundo, el lugar donde leer los un extenso y selecto aparato bibliográ rastros de la acción creadora de Dios, si fico. El estilo con que P. Redondo y bien cabe discutir en qué caracteres ha S. Salgado exponen sus reflexiones es sido escrito y cuál sea la manera más ade elegante y bello, sin menoscabo alguno cuada de leerlo. La imagen de la luz del necesario rigor en la exposición de como representación de la verdadera rea los conceptos filosóficos. Por todo esto, lidad y el conocimiento verdadero ha La isla de la verdad constituye una atrac desempeñado también un papel funda tiva carta de navegación para todo aquel mental a lo largo de toda la tradición fi que desee aventurarse, sin temor a nau losófica occidental. Como afirman los fragar, en el vasto universo de las metá autores del libro, «en capacidad de expre foras filosóficas.
Àlex Mumbrú Mora Universitat Internacional de Catalunya https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1266
4. H. Blumenberg (2003), Paradigmas para una metaforología, traducción de J. Pérez de Tudela, Madrid, Trotta, 44; citado en P. Redondo y S. Salgado, La isla de la verdad, op. cit., 44. Enrahonar. An International Journal of Theoretical and Practical Reason 64, 2020 217-218
Obituari d’en Joan Rovira Sallés
Fecha de recepción: 2-3-2018 Fecha de aceptación: 13-12-2018
El juny de 1999 vaig viure l’experiència de viat- jar amb en Joan Rovira, la meva dona i la meva filla gran (que aleshores era petita) cap a les ter- res de Sòria en un cotxe de no gaires generoses dimensions. Evocat pels meus cunyats, que ens van acollir amablement aquells dies en el seu pis de Covaleda, el recorden com un gran senyor. A tots ens ha colpit la notícia de la seva mort el proppassat 4 de gener a l’edat de 79 anys. Un gran senyor ens ha deixat. En aquelles dates del viatge a Sòria, en Joan Rovira era coordinador d’Humanitats de la Facultat de Filosofia i Lletres de la UAB, càrrec que va ocupar entre 1997 i 2001. Les humani- tats van ser el seu projecte. En Joan havia estat ©1999. Jesús Hernández Reynés professor meu a finals de la dècada de 1970 en el Departament de Filosofia de la Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, del qual va ser membre des de 1976 fins que es va jubilar, l’any 2011. Amb ell vaig descobrir, com molts i moltes altres alumnes, la història de la ciència d’una manera a la vegada humana i erudita. La seva extraordinària memòria, unida a una capacitat de lectura de què jo no he conegut parangó, el feien imbatible en la seva exposició d’idees, dades, dates i anècdotes. Moltes persones podem recordar amb satisfacció aquelles classes plenes d’entusiasme. En Joan Rovira rebutjava clarament l’especulació. Era molt sarcàstic repe- tint allò d’«el ser y el ente» (ho deia en castellà). En una de les seves classes va tenir l’ocurrència de sortir per la finestra i caminar per l’ampit amb la intenció de demostrar ara no recordo què. Imagino que, davant el sofisma d’Eubúlides de Milet (que diu que tens tot allò que no has perdut i no has perdut les banyes, per tant en tens), en Joan hauria fet com el cínic: tocar-se el front, sense cap impediment, amb la seva preciosa mà de llargs dits, per demostrar que no tenia banyes tot i que no les havia perdut. El que sí que recordo bé és la visita, apro-
ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) https://doi.org/10.5565/rev/enrahonar.1282 218 Enrahonar 64, 2020 Necrològica fitant l’estada en terres de Sòria, a la veïna Rioja, al celler Marqués de Riscal, a la localitat d’Eltziego. En Joan va voler comprovar l’afirmació del guia, que assegurava que els vins de Marques de Riscal aguanten tal qual uns quants dies un cop oberts. La demostració la va fer sense especular gens ni mica, servint-se d’un munt d’ampolles destapades la setmana anterior. Això sí, vam haver de córrer després a esmorzar per equilibrar els humors del cos. Quan en la defen- sa de la seva tesi doctoral, de títol L’epistemologia i la història de les ciències en l’obra de Gaston Bachelard (l’acte de la qual va ser el 15 d’abril de 1983), un membre del tribunal li va preguntar per les últimes obres de Bachelard, dedi- cades a la poètica de l’espai i el somni i que es podien entendre de manera més especulativa, en Joan, estirant-se els seus llargs i abundosos cabells, va dir que no l’interessaven gens. En aquest cas, però, dubto si va ser completament sincer o si va optar per una resposta tàctica, atesa la situació. I és que en Joan Rovira servia molt per a les operacions tàctiques. Va ser durant pràcticament sis anys, entre 1992 i 1997, director del Departament de Filosofia de la Universitat Autònoma. Va allargar tant el seu mandat que a tothom li semblava que es tractava d’un càrrec vitalici. Tan plàcidament el va exercir! Potser sense voler-ho va demostrar que la gestió té més de procurar una coexistència pacífica que no pas d’aconseguir grans metes. Els creients en la virtut de l’asèpsia per emetre judicis sobre les persones no hauran tingut l’ocasió d’encertar gens ni mica en la valoració d’en Joan Rovi- ra. En una emotiva nota, Daniel Gamper, actual director del Departament, ens va comunicar el decés del company Joan. Deia d’ell que «feia de la filoso- fia una forma d’amistat». En Gamper l’encerta, sempre, però, que no s’enten- gui que la filosofia fa amics (cosa que és molt difícil de creure i per a la qual em manca completament la fe), sinó que només en una relació d’amistat la filosofia pot donar els seus fruits. L’amistat amb en Joan era la condició sense la qual la seva saviesa filosòfica quedava oculta. Els que no es van aproximar amigablement a ell van fer com els que, en l’exploració d’un edifici, deixen al marge unes estances perquè pressuposen que no contenen res, renunciant d’aquesta manera fins i tot a la possibilitat de descobrir-hi un tresor. Miro una foto de l’època i el recordo ara, amb la seva peculiar manera de portar el cos, en un miraculós equilibri entre Yves Montand i el monsieur Hulot de Jacques Tati (copio l’encertada descripció d’en Joan deguda a Jaume Casals), passejant amb la meva dona pel camí d’accés al monestir de Veruela. No sé quina devia ser la conversa que mantenien, però estic segur que si es tractava de descriure les bondats de l’abadia cistercenca on entraven, ho feia amb excel·lència, i si es tractava de recitar Bécquer, el seu parlar era absoluta- ment impecable.
Jesús Hernández-Reynés Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. Departament de Filosofia Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. Departament de Filosofia
ENRA H ONAR 64 AN INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL REASON Núm. 64, 2020 ISSN 0211-402X (paper), ISSN 2014-881X (digital) ONAR https://revistes.uab.cat/enrahonar H ENRA H ONAR AN INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL ENRA G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason, reasoning and action OF THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL REASON García-Arnaldos, M. Dolores; Miguens, Sofia. Presentation. Reason, reasoning and action: puzzling out the mark of Anscombe.
Articles Teichmann, Roger. Meaning, Understanding and Action. 64 Sandis, Constantine. Modern Moral Philosophy Before and After Anscombe. Cadilha, Susana. Anscombe reading Aristotle. G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason, reasoning and action Wee, Michael. Anscombe’s Moral Epistemology and the Relevance of Wittgenstein’s Anti-Scepticism. Richter, Duncan. “See, Its Eye is Fixed on It”: Anscombe and Witt- genstein on Animals and Intention. Melamed, Noam. Anscombe and the Unity of Intention. Narboux, Jean-Philippe. Anscombe’s Account of Voluntary Action in Intention. Grimi, Elisa. Anscombe and Wittgenstein. Özaltun, Eylem. What is wrong with Baldy? Radical non-referring view of “I”. G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason, reasoning and action reasoning G.E.M. Anscombe: Reason,
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