The Oxford Companion to Philosophy Part 63 pptx

called the ‘school of experience and association’. He denied that there is knowledge independent of experience and held that attitudes and beliefs are the products of psychological laws of association. His view of human beings is *naturalistic and his ethics is utilitarian. But he redesigned the liberal edifice built on these foundations to the romantic patterns of the nineteenth century. For these he was himself one of the great spokesmen. He learned much of the historical sociology which was so important to his liberalism from Frenchmen; but it was to German romanticism, via his Coleridgean friends, that he owes his deepest ethical theme—that of human nature as the seat of individuality and autonomy, capable of being brought to fruition through the culture of the whole man. The controversy over Mill’s achievement has always centred on whether the synthesis he sought, of enlightenment and romantic-idealist themes, is a possible one. Kant had argued that the naturalism of the *Enlightenment subverted reason, and idealist philosophers of the nineteenth century followed him in that. Kant and Mill do in fact agree on a vital aspect of this question. They agree that if the mind is only a part of nature, no knowledge of the natural world can be *a priori. Either all knowledge is a posteriori, grounded in experience, or there is no knowledge. Any grounds for asserting a proposition that has real content must be empirical grounds. However, much more important is the difference between them: whereas Kant thought knowledge could not be grounded on such a basis, and thus rejected naturalism, Mill thought it could. This radically empiricist doctrine is the thesis of the System of Logic. There Mill draws a distinction between ‘verbal’ and ‘real’ propositions, and between ‘merely apparent’ and ‘real’ inferences. The distinction corresponds, as Mill himself notes, to that which Kant makes between analytic and synthetic judgements. But Mill applies it with greater strictness than anyone had done before, insisting with greater resolution that merely apparent inferences have no genuine cognitive content. He points out that pure mathematics, and logic itself, contain real propositions and inferences with genuine cognitive content. This clear assertion is central to the System of Logic, and the basis of its continuing importance in the empiricist tradition. For if Mill is also right in holding that naturalism entails that no real proposition is a priori, he has shown the implications of naturalism to be radical indeed. Not only mathematics but logic itself will be empirical. His strategy is a pincer movement. One pincer is an indirect argument. If logic did not contain real inferences, all deductive reasoning would be a petitio principii, a beg- ging of the question—it could produce no new knowledge. Yet clearly it does produce new knowledge. So logic must contain real inferences. The other pincer is a direct semantic analysis of basic logical laws. It shows them to be real and not merely verbal. The same strategy is applied to mathematics. If it was merely verbal, mathematical reasoning would be a petitio principii. But a detailed semantic analysis shows that it does contain real propositions. Why do we think these real propositions in logic and mathematics to be a priori? Because we find their neg- ations inconceivable, or derive them, by principles whose unsoundness we find inconceivable, from premisses whose negation we find inconceivable. Mill thought he could explain these facts about unthinkability, or imagin- ative unrepresentability, in associationist terms. His explanations are none too convincing, but his philosophical point still stands: the step from our inability to represent to ourselves the negation of a proposition to acceptance of its truth calls for justification. Moreover, the justification itself must be a priori if it is to show that the proposition is known a priori. (Thus Mill is prepared, for example, to concede the reliability of geometrical intuition: but he stresses that its reliability is an empirical fact, itself known inductively.) All reasoning is empirical. What then is the basis of reasoning? Epistemologically, historically, and psycho- logically, Mill holds, it is enumerative induction, simple generalization from experience. We spontaneously agree in reasoning that way, and in holding that way of reasoning to be sound. The proposition ‘Enumerative induction is a valid mode of reasoning’ is not a verbal proposition. But nor is it grounded in an a priori intuition. All that Mill will say for it is that people in general, and the reader in particular, in fact agree on reflection in accepting it. It is on that basis alone that he rests its claim. He does not take seriously Hume’s sceptical problem of *induction; his concern in the System of Logic is rather to find ways of improving the reliability of inductive reasoning: if induction by simple enumeration were an invalid process, no process grounded on it would be valid; just as no reliance could be placed on telescopes, if we could not trust our eyes. But though a valid process, it is a fallible one, and fallible in very different degrees: if therefore we can substitute for the more fallible forms of the process, an operation grounded on the same process in a less fallible form, we shall have effected a very material improvement. And this is what scientific induction does. So Mill’s question is not a sceptical but an internal one—why is it that some inductions are more trustworthy than others? He answers by means of a natural history of induction, which traces how enumerative induction is internally vindicated by its actual success in establishing regularities, and how it eventually gives rise to more searching methods of investigation. The origins are ‘spontaneous’ and ‘unscientific’ inductions about particular unconnected natural phenomena. They accumulate, interweave, and are not disconfirmed by further experience. As they accumulate and interweave, they justify the second-order inductive conclusion that all phenomena are subject to uniformity, and, more specifically, that all have discoverable sufficient conditions. In this less vague form, the principle of general uniformity becomes, given Mill’s analysis of causation, the law of universal causation. This conclusion in turn pro- vides (Mill believes) the grounding assumption for a new style of reasoning about nature—eliminative induction. 600 Mill, John Stuart Here the assumption that a type of phenomenon has uniform causes, together with a (revisable) assumption about what its possible causes are, initiates a comparative inquiry in which the actual cause is identified by elimin- ation. Mill formulates the logic of this eliminative reasoning in his ‘methods of empirical inquiry’. The improved scientific induction which results spills back on to the principle of universal causation on which it rests, and raises its certainty to a new level. That in turn raises our confidence in the totality of particular enumerative inductions from which the principle is derived. This analysis of the ‘inductive process’ is one of Mill’s most elegant achievements. Mill and Hume then are both naturalistic radicals, but in quite different ways—Hume by virtue of his scepticism, Mill by virtue of his empiricist analysis of deduction. The only cognitive dispositions which Mill recognizes as primi- tively legitimate are the disposition to rely on memory and the habit of enumerative induction. The whole of science, he thinks, is built from the materials of experience and memory by disciplined employment of this habit. This is Mill’s inductivism—the view that enumerative induction is the only ultimate method of inference which puts us in possession of new truths. Is he right in thinking it to be so? In his own time the question produced an important, if confused, controversy between him and William Whewell. Whewell argued that fundamental to scientific inquiry was the hypothetical method, in which one argues to the truth of a hypothesis from the fact that it would explain observed phenomena. Mill, on the other hand, could not accept that the mere fact that a hypothesis accounted for the data in itself provided a reason for thinking it true. The point he appealed to is a powerful one: it is always possible that a body of data may be explained equally well by more than one hypothesis. What he does not see, and this is one of the points of weakness in his philosophy, is how much must be torn from the fabric of our belief if inductivism is applied strictly. Thus, for example, while his case for empiricism about logic and mathematics is very strong, it is his methodology of science which then forces him to hold that we know basic logical and mathematical principles only by an enumerative induction. That is desperately implausible; accepting the hypothetical method would be one, though only one, possible remedy. Inductivism also plays a key role in Mill’s metaphysics. He sets this out in his Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy (1865)—a detailed criticism of the Scottish philosopher who had attempted to bring together the views of Reid and Kant. Here Mill endorses a doctrine which was then accepted, as he says, on all sides (though it would now be treated with greater mistrust). The doctrine is that our knowledge and conception of objects external to consciousness consists entirely in the conscious states they excite in us, or that we can imagine them exciting in us. This leaves open the question whether objects exist independently of consciousness. It may be held that there are such objects, although we can only know them by hypothesis from their effects on us. Mill rejects this view— as, given his inductivism, he must. Instead he argues that external objects amount to nothing more than ‘permanent possibilities of sensation’. The possibilities are ‘permanent’ in the sense that they obtain whether or not realized; they would occur if an antecedent condition obtained. (As well as ‘permanent’ Mill uses other terms, such as ‘certified’ or ‘guaranteed’.) Our knowledge of mind, like our knowledge of matter, Mill thinks to be ‘entirely relative’. But he baulks at resolv- ing it into a series of feelings and possibilities of feeling. For ‘the thread of consciousness’ contains memories and expectations as well as sensations. To remember or expect a feeling is not simply to believe that it has existed or will exist; it is to believe that I have experienced or will experience that feeling. Thus if the mind is to be a series of feelings, we would, he thinks, be forced to conclude that it is a series that can be aware of itself as a series. This drives him to recognize in mind, or self, a reality greater than the existence as a permanent possibility which is the only reality he concedes to matter. He fails to note that the doctrine that mind resolves into a series of feelings need not literally identify selves with series: it paraphrases talk of selves in terms of talk of series. Discounting this uncertainty about what to say of the self, all that ultimately exists in Mill’s view is experience in a temporal order. But he claims this to be consistent with *common-sense realism, and he continues to see minds as proper parts of a natural order. The difficulties of this begin to emerge when we ask whether the experiences referred to in Mill’s metaphysics are the very same as those referred to by common sense—and explained by physical antecedents. The same difficulties emerge for later *phe- nomenalists, but Mill never addresses them. To the succeeding generation of philosophers, who took Kant’s philosophy seriously, Mill’s naturalism seemed thoroughly incoherent. He fails to see the need for a synthetic a priori to render any knowledge possible, even though he gives an account of real propositions and inferences which agrees in essentials with Kant. On top of that, in accepting phenomenalism he accepts a doctrine which must lead to a transcendental view of consciousness, yet he remains determinedly naturalistic in his view of the mind. Perhaps present-day naturalism is finding ways of avoiding this second impasse, by being more rig- orously naturalistic about experience than Mill was. But it has yet to cope clearly with the first. In ethics and politics Mill’s premisses remain those of enlightenment *humanism. Value resides in the well- being achieved within individual lives; the interests of all make an equal claim on the consideration of all. Happi- ness is most effectively attained when society leaves people free to pursue their own ends subject to rules estab- lished for the general good. A science of man will ground rational policies for social improvement. His reason for thinking that *happiness is the only ultimate human end is just like his reason for thinking Mill, John Stuart 601 enumerative induction is the only ultimate principle of reasoning. He appeals to reflective agreement, in this case of desires rather than reasoning dispositions: ‘the sole evi- dence it is possible to produce that anything is desirable, is that people do actually desire it. If the end which the utilitarian doctrine proposes to itself were not, in theory and in practice, acknowledged to be an end, nothing could ever convince any person that it was so.’ But do we not, in theory and in practice, desire things under ends other than the end of happiness, for example under the idea of duty? Mill’s response to this question has strength and subtlety. He acknowledges that we can will against inclination: ‘instead of willing the thing because we desire it, we often desire it only because we will it’. There are, he agrees, conscientious actions, flowing not from any unmotivated desire but solely from acceptance of duty. But his point is that when we unmotivatedly desire a thing we desire it under the idea of it as pleasant. He further distinguishes between desiring a thing as ‘part’ of our happiness and desiring it as a means to our happiness. Virtuous ends can be a part of happiness: consider, for example, the difference between a spontaneously gen- erous man and a conscientious giver. The first wants to give because he takes pleasure in giving. The second gives from a ‘confirmed will to do right’. The benefit of another is for the first, but not the second, a ‘part’ of his own happiness. The *virtues can become a part of our happiness, and for Mill they ideally should be so. That ideal state is not an unrealistic one, for the virtues have a natural basis and a moral education can build on it by association. More gen- erally, people can come to a deeper understanding of happiness through education and experience. Mill holds that some forms of happiness are inherently preferred as finer by those able to experience them fully—but these valuations are still in his view made from within the perspective of happiness, not from outside it. So Mill deepened the Benthamite understanding of happiness; however, he never adequately examined the principle of utility itself. It was a philosopher of the generation after Mill’s, Henry Sidgwick, who probed its ground- ings most deeply. But when we turn to Mill’s conception of the relationship between the utility principle and the texture of norms by which day-to-day social life proceeds, we find him at his most impressive. His ability to combine abstract moral theory with the human understanding of a great political and social thinker here comes into its own. Benthamite radicalism lacks historical and sociological sense. The philosophes of the eighteenth century, ‘attempting to new-model society without the binding forces which hold society together, met with such success as might have been expected’. The utilitarian, he says, need not and cannot require that ‘the test of conduct should also be the exclusive motive of it’. This historical and concrete aspect of Mill’s *utilitarianism is the key to his view of the institutions of justice and liberty; though his analysis of rights follows Bentham. A person has a right to a thing, he holds, if there is an obligation on society to protect him in his possession of that thing. But the obligation itself must be grounded in general utility. The rights of *justice reflect a class of exceptionally stringent obligations on society. They are obligations to provide to each person ‘the essentials of human well- being’. The claim of justice is the ‘claim we have on our fellow-creatures to join in making safe for us the very groundwork of our existence’. Because justice-rights protect those utilities which touch that groundwork they take priority over the direct pursuit of general utility as well as over the private pursuit of personal ends. With *liberty we find again that Mill’s liberalism is grounded on a utilitarian base. He appeals to ‘utility in the largest sense, grounded on the permanent interests of man as a progressive being’. In that respect, his liberalism stands opposed to the classical natural-rights liberalism of Locke. The famous principle which Mill enunciates in his On Liberty is intended to safeguard the individual’s freedom to pursue his goals in his private domain: ‘the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilised community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not a sufficient warrant.’ Mill magnificently defends this principle of liberty on two grounds: it enables individuals to realize their individual potential in their own way, and, by liberating talents, creativity, and dynamism, it sets up the essential pre- condition for moral and intellectual progress. Yet the limitations of his Benthamite inheritance, despite the major enlargements he made to it, residually constrain him. His defence of the principle would have been still stronger if he had weakened (or liberalized) its foundation—by acknowledging the irreducible plurality of human ends and substituting for aggregate utility the generic concept of general good. j.m.s. Fred R. Berger, Happiness, Justice and Freedom: The Moral and Polit- ical Philosophy of John Stuart Mill (London, 1984). Wendy Donner, The Liberal Self: John Stuart Mill’s Moral and Polit- ical Philosophy (Ithaca, NY, 1991). Alan Ryan, J. S. Mill (London, 1974). Geoffrey Scarre, Logic and Reality in the Philosophy of John Stuart Mill (Dordrecht, 1989). John Skorupski, John Stuart Mill (London, 1989). —— (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Mill (Cambridge, 1998). C. L. Ten, Mill on Liberty (Oxford, 1980). Millikan, Ruth (1933– ). In her work Language, Thought and Other Biological Categories (Cambridge, Mass., 1984), and in subsequent articles, Ruth Millikan has presented arguably the most detailed application of evolutionary theory to certain philosophical problems. She develops a notion of a thing’s function in terms of things of that type, in the past, having being selected to play a particular causal role, so capturing the intuition that a thing can have a function that, in fact, it does not now carry out. She applies this notion to thought and language, claiming that, in each case, representation is the biological function of the 602 Mill, John Stuart medium of thought and of language. This impels her to espouse a type of realism, and deny what she calls ‘meaning rationalism’, the view that language-users and thinkers have privileged access to the meanings they have conveyed by their language use, or which constitute their thought. p.j.p.n. *evolution. Mill’s methods: see method of agreement; method of difference; method, joint; method of residues; method of concomitant variations. mimesis. Imitation, representation. Plato’s well-known attack on the poets begins with the assertion that poetry is a kind of ‘mimesis’. The word is evidently used in two senses. (1) Playing a dramatic role or reciting a speech from Homer is imitating (or impersonating) someone. Such mimesis can harm the actor if the character imitated is bad. (2) Narrative *poetry represents people’s behaviour. Mimesis in this sense is also exemplified by reflections in mirrors and representational painting. To produce such representations, Plato says, one does not need knowledge of the thing represented, but only of how it appears. His complaint is that poets achieve with their skills a dangerous reputation as authorities on matters, such as good conduct, of which they are ignorant. ‘Children and fools’ are similarly taken in by trompe-l’œil paintings. r.j.h. Plato, Republic x. Various translations available, e.g. that by G. M. A. Grube and C. D. C. Reeve (Indianapolis, 1992). mind. You have a mind if you think, perceive, or feel. Your mind is like your life or your weight, an abstract version of an unproblematic property. When minds are thought of as objects in their own right, with parts as if they were spa- tially extended and with continuity through time as if they were physical objects, then they become much more thought-provoking. They become like souls or selves. We don’t have to take minds as objects. They can be features of other objects, such as persons (persons typically have heights and weights and minds) or features of person’s lives. Still, we can study minds inasmuch as we can study thinking, perceiving, and feeling. This is psychology. The concepts of thinking, perceiving, and feeling are among a large family of concepts, including, for example, remembering, loving, and wishing, which every person picks up in childhood when they acquire their culture’s conception of mind. Developmental psychologists have differing opinions about whether this conception is a fairly arbitrary theory which could vary in essential respects from one culture to another, or whether there is a core way of thinking about mind to which humans inevitably gravitate. Such a core conception would correspond to what functionalist thinkers in the philosophy of mind, such as Putnam and Fodor, have postulated as the set of essential connections between beliefs, desires, memories, and other states, which characterize mind: a mind is anything, be it human, animal, or extraterrestrial, which has states connected in the way the core conception describes. Even if there were a core concept of mind, it could be wrong. That is, the underlying neurological facts about why we act in the ways that we describe as thinking, perceiving, and feeling may be so different from our charac- terizations of them in everyday or ‘folk psychological’ terms that to think of people as being or having minds is positively misleading. This is the position of eliminative materialism, associated with Feyerabend, Rorty, and Patricia and Paul Churchland. It is not at all obviously right. There is a lot of philosophical and scientific work to do before we can see where the answer lies. If minds are real features of people then there may be aspects of these features which are not easily described in terms of everyday concepts such as thinking, perceiving, and feeling. For example, there might be subconscious processes which are best described in the language of psychoanalysis. Psychology, psychoanalysis, and other disciplines might tell us things about what we call mind which are unavailable to common-sense or to introspection. Certainly one conclusion that seems to be emerging from cognitive psychology, for example in the work of Nisbett and Ross, is that the explanations people give of the reasons for their actions are much more often wrong than they imagine. Whatever our limitations in knowing what we are thinking or feeling, our limitations in knowing why we think or feel seem to be very much greater. In one way this might not be surprising, for the reasons why we think or feel surely include many physical causes of which a person is completely unaware. And in fact one of the sources of the impression of free will may be the blindness of consciousness to the causes of thought and feeling. a.m. *cognitive architecture; consciousness, its irreducibility; mind, syntax, and semantics; psyche; dualism; mind–body problem; eliminative materialism; freedom; functionalism; self. Paul Churchland, Matter and Consciousness (Cambridge, Mass., 1988). D. C. Dennett and R. Hofstadter, The Mind’s I (New York, 1981; Harmondsworth, 1982). Henry Wellman, The Child’s Theory of Mind (Cambridge, Mass., 1990). mind, history of the philosophy of. Philosophizing about the mind is as old as philosophy itself, whereas philosophy of mind, proper—a distinctive subfield of philosophy—is of relatively recent advent. Both Plato and Aristotle present mature theories of the nature, structure, and types of psyche, theories that clearly depended on prior theorizing. And every great philosopher of the mod- ern period, most notably Descartes, but also Hobbes, Locke, Berkeley, Hume, and Kant, propose theories of mind. In general, this theorizing takes place within metaphysics, epistemology, or moral theory and not in the service of developing a theory of mind for its own sake. Plato’s tripartite division of psyche into rational, mind, history of the philosophy of 603 appetitive, and temperamental parts occurs in the Republic as part of the rationale for structuring political life in a certain way. Aristotle’s distinction among the types of psyche in nature are part of his biological metaphysic; and his vision of the distinctive features of the human psyche as involving the capacity for reason and virtue serves his ethical theory. *Mind–body dualism emerges as a fundamental truth within Descartes’s epistemological project. Hobbes’s mechanistic psychology in the first part of Leviathan prepares the way for the famous claims about human nature in chapter 13. The laws of association of the Empiricists were attempts to answer distinctively philosophical questions about the nature and limits of human knowledge. And, of course, Kant’s Copernican turn in philosophy, the proposal that mind lays down certain a priori conditions for experience, was meant to answer the deep scepticism about causation, *self, and transcendental matters such as the existence of God generated by Hume’s epistemology. The philosophy of mind now exists as a distinctive subfield of philosophy. There are journals devoted to work in it; job applicants claim to specialize in it; and so on. But its emergence cannot be precisely dated. It is best to think of the philosophy of mind as emerging during the late nineteenth century and first half of the twentieth century. Pro- fessional recognition of it as a distinct and important subfield comes only after 1950, despite the fact that one finds ‘philosophical anthropology’ and ‘philosophy of mind’ on medieval lists under the entry ‘Metaphysics’, and works like that of the Scottish philosopher Thomas Brown’s Lectures on the Philosophy of the Mind appear as early as 1820. The following developments were seminal in the early stages. First, the founding of scientific psychology as an offshoot from philosophy is, in the lore, dated to Wilhelm Wundt’s founding of a psychological laboratory in Leipzig in 1879. Here master introspectors were trained and memory and reaction-time experiments were set up and carried out. All the founding documents of scientific psychology attest to acute self-concern on the part of the founders in making clear and defensible philosophical assumptions and in developing empirically secure methods that would be immune from the scorn the new science brought against a priori theorizing about mind. So psychology was born in the late 1800s as a philosophically self-conscious discipline. Second, in 1874 Franz Brentano published his Psych- ology from an Empirical Standpoint. It is here that Brentano resurrected Aristotle’s and Aquinas’s notion of *intentionality — from the Latin, intendo, meaning ‘to aim at or point toward’. The idea was that paradigm-case mental states, beliefs, desires, hopes, expectations, and the like, have intentional objects. Beliefs, desires, wishes, expectations, and so on, are of or about something: I believe that [Thatcher was Prime Minister]; I wish that [Reagan had not been President]. What a belief or wish is about— Thatcher or Reagan—is its ‘object’, whereas the propositional thought expressed—that Thatcher was Prime Minister or that Reagan had not been elected—is its ‘content’. Brentano’s thesis is that *intentionality is the inelimin- able mark of the mental. Psychology will need to be intentional, that is, the explanation of human thought and action will require us to make an inventory of all the types of mental state (beliefs, desires, and so on) that human minds are capable of going into, and it will also need to focus on the intentional objects and contents of these states (it remains a possibility that not all mental states are intentional; perhaps pains and moods have no objects or propositional contents and thus are not of or about anything at all). To explain why an individual reaches for that cool drink, we will need to posit not only belief and desire states, but belief and desire states with a particular intentional object, a cool drink, and content, that this is a cool drink. A lively contemporary debate concerns the issue of whether only conscious mental states can be intentional, and whether other states involved in belief or desire for- mation are purely computational, not ‘mental’ at all in any interesting sense. It is noteworthy that Sigmund Freud took three and a half years of elective courses with Franz Brentano while he was in medical school. Indeed, one fruitful way of thinking of psychoanalysis is as involving an extension of Brentano’s basic insight. Not only are conscious intentional states causally efficacious, but so too are unconscious intentional states. So just as my desire for a cool drink and my belief that this is a water-fountain in front of me explains my taking a drink, so too my unconscious desire to kill the boss explains my hostile verbal edge towards him. Third, in 1890 William James published his monumen- tal Principles of Psychology. Not only was this great work a compendium of all known psychological knowledge, culled mostly from the new scientific psychologists but also from more traditional philosophical sources, it was also a troubled testimony to James’s own recognition that a scientific theory of mind was in deep tension with traditional philosophical ways of thinking about mind. This comes out clearly in the book when James discusses the deterministic assumption made by psychologists and the assumptions about human freedom made in ethics. James indicates that for purposes of living, but not for doing psychology, the assumption of *free will is the stronger. This same ambivalence carried over to James’s ambivalence about what field he himself worked in. Over a brief period in the late 1880s and 1990s, James switched his Harvard appointment several times between medicine, psychology, and philosophy, before finally settling into philosophy for the remainder of his career. James’s Psychology treats all the great metaphysical and epistemological problems in the philosophy of mind. In addition to the problem of *free will and free action, he discusses the status of introspection, the problem of other minds, the nature of the emotions, the mind–body problem. And he takes not only Cartesian dualism, but Male- branche’s occasionalism, Leibniz’s parallelism, and Huxley’s epiphenomenalism, as live options. 604 mind, history of the philosophy of Wundt, Brentano, and James together represent some of the most important foundational work in the science of the mind. But it is, at the same time, important work in the philosophy of mind, work filled with philosophical assumptions about the nature of mind, analyses of com- peting models, and recommendations about the proper methods for studying mind and conceiving its nature. In their hands, mind becomes an important topic in its own right, worthy of attention in a science of its own, the fledg- ling psychology, and in need of a general philosophical analysis of such questions as: What is this thing called ‘mind’? What is its place in nature? How is mind to be known? The next phase in the development of the philosophy of mind, a phase which leads to its finding a distinctive niche, and to its professional recognition as a subfield, occurs between 1900 and 1950. Roughly, what happens is this: scientific psychology emerges not as a unified theory but as a bundle of theories with radically different methodological approaches. There were introspectionists, and anti-introspectionists, behaviourists, and functionalists, depth psychologists, and their opponents. In 1933 Edna Heidbreder wrote her important Seven Psychologies, still an excellent survey of the theory diffusion affecting psychology at its birth. This theoretical diffusion forced debate about the proper methods and assumptions of psychology, both among leading psychologists like Wundt, Titch- ener, John B. Watson (whose manifesto ‘Psychology as a Behaviorist Views It’ was published in 1913), and eventually B. F. Skinner—who left a poet’s life in Greenwich Vil- lage for the halls of psychology (in what is today William James Hall, the philosophy department at Harvard being housed in Emerson Hall) after reading a popular magazine article by Bertrand Russell about *Logical Positivism— and also among philosophers as diverse as James and Rus- sell, and John Dewey and Rudolf Carnap. Indeed, so close were the relations between *psychology and philosophy even after the new science had declared its independence that three philosophers, William James, Mary Calkins, James’s student and a professor of philosophy and psychology at Wellesley College, and John Dewey, held the presidencies of both the American Philosophical Associ- ation and the American Psychological Association during the early years of psychology’s development. And it was only in 1974 that Mind dropped the fifth and sixth words from its subtitle, ‘A Quarterly Review of Psychology and Philosophy’. Dewey and Carnap can be thought of as representatives of what were to become the two sides of the philosophy of mind, one side concerned primarily with the metaphysics of mind, the other with the methodological foundations of psychology and the epistemic status of first- and third- person psychological reports. In a series of papers published at the turn of the century, Dewey began to defend a picture of mind that was naturalistic without being mechanistic. He rejected the picture of mental action as con- sisting of simple reflexes or complexes of reflexes, as well as the Cartesian picture of the mind as an incorporeal substance. Dewey proposed instead a picture of mind inspired by Darwin and James. The human mind is the result of selective forces building the most powerful and adaptive organism ever known. If Dewey was concerned primarily with developing a naturalistic metaphysic of mind con- sonant with evolutionary theory, Carnap was concerned primarily with the epistemological status of first- and third-person psychological reports. In part this concern was motivated by the appeal the positivists made to observation reports as the rock-bottom foundation for all science. Statements such as ‘Water is H 2 O’ or ‘The atomic number of gold is 79’ depend on grounding theory in observation, often observations mediated by instrumen- tation. Perceptual reports ground all science—even chem- istry and physics. How trustworthy are such reports? The positivists were quick to defend intersubjective observation reports, reports made by several independent observers, as reliable enough for the physical sciences. But what about the status of intrasubjective, first-person psychological sentences, such as ‘I’m in a good mood’ or ‘I’m visualizing my mother’s face’? What about the whole idea that expertise in introspection could be developed? How could such expertise be measured or verified? In his 1931 paper ‘Psychology in a Physical Language’, Carnap asserted that first-person psychological reports were ‘intertranslatable with some sentence of physical language, namely, with a sentence about the physical state of the person in question’. Such reports refer (inadvertently, we might say) ‘to physical processes in the body of the person in question. On any other interpretation’ such reports ‘become untestable in principle, and thus meaningless’. The two strands, concern with the metaphysics of mind and with the logical status of sentences about mind, come together in Gilbert Ryle’s The Concept of Mind (1949). If there is a founding document in the contemporary philosophy of mind proper, Ryle’s book is it. First, there is a spirited attack on the Cartesian picture of mind as a *‘ghost in the machine’. Second, there is a relentless attack on the doctrine of *privileged access, the view that the mind is transparent to its owner, and that we each have unmediated and incorrigible access to our own mental states. Third, there is the proposal that *‘mind’, the Cartesian conception of mind, at any rate, is simply a mystifying way of speaking about certain behavioural dispositions of the organism. According to Ryle’s logical behaviourism, just as ‘solubility’ is nothing mysterious, referring simply to the disposition of a substance to dissolve in liquid, likewise talk of mental states, talk of ‘belief ’ and ‘desire’, is, in so far as it is meaningful, talk of dispositions of the organism to behave in certain ways. It is ironic that the locus classicus of contemporary philosophy of mind argued in a sense that there really was no such thing as ‘mind’ as traditionally understood. The work after Ryle constitutes the recent history of the philosophy of mind, a period characterized by two somewhat distinct sorts of work. First, there was work of analysis—work devoted to the analysis of *sensation and *perception (Chisholm, Armstrong, Sellars), intentionality, mind, history of the philosophy of 605 free action, the *emotions (Kenny), the debate about *reasons and causes, the possibility of *private language, and of knowledge of one’s own and *other minds. Ryle while claiming to be no behaviourist emphasized the centrality, indeed the indispensability, of behaviour in the ascription of mental terms. Wittgenstein did much the same thing in his Philosophical Investigations (Eng. tr. 1953). Wittgenstein’s specific argument against the development of a private language was developed, clarified, and defended by Norman Malcolm in his review of the Philo- sophical Investigations in the Philosophical Review in 1954. Malcolm pointed out the relevance of the private language argument for the problem of other minds in his ‘Knowledge of Other Minds’ (1958). Other important work on other minds includes A. J. Ayer’s, The Concept of a Person (1956) and The Problem of Knowledge (1963). Important works on free action and the question whether reasons can be causes include: G. E. M. Anscombe’s Intention (2nd edn. 1963), Hart and Honoré’s Causation in the Law (1959), A. I. Melden’s Free Action (1961), J. L. Austin’s ‘Ifs and Cans’ (1961), and Donald Davidson’s ‘Actions, Reasons, and Causes’ (1963). It was P. F. Strawson’s Individuals (1959), an essay in ‘descriptive metaphysics’, that made the radical but extremely helpful proposal that the traditional mind–body problem be reconceived along the following lines: the concept of a person is primitive and both mental and physical predicates are ascribable to persons, that is, to one and the same thing. In addition to the latter work of philosophical analysis of mental concepts and attempts to state more clearly and helpfully traditional philosophical problems, there was a spate of work specifically devoted to developing distinctive materialistic alternatives to Cartesian *dualism and to each other, and by debates among the proponents of these different theories about the nature of psychological explanation. The three main materialistic theories are *identity theory, *eliminative materialism, and *functionalism. Type-identity theory (reductive materialism).J. J. C. Smart, U. T. Place, and David Armstrong proposed this simple and compelling solution to the mind–body problem: each type of mental state is identical to some type of yet-to-be- discovered neural state. Just as water is H 2 O and common salt is NaCl and the temperature of a gas is mean molecu- lar kinetic energy, mental terms like ‘believing’, ‘desiring’, and ‘loving’ will be shown to be synonymous with terms that refer to types of neural events, so that some day we shall be able to say ‘Love is such-and-such activity in sector 1704’. Eliminativism. Paul Feyerabend and Richard Rorty issued this objection to identity theory: identity theory assumes that our ordinary mentalistic ways of taxonomiz- ing psychological events, in terms of beliefs, desires, and the like, are not only good ways to taxonomize things for ordinary purposes, but in fact map perfectly on to (yet-to- be-discovered) underlying neural kinds. But why think that the case of belief and its kin is more like the case of water, where the mapping to H 2 O in fact works out, than like the case of our ordinary concept of fish, or, even worse, like the concepts of witch or phlogiston? In the case of fish, whales and dolphins were picked out by the concept for millennia, but are now known not to be fish at all, but mammals. The concepts witch and phlogiston both had great importance in their day, but both are now known to refer to nothing at all. Type identity theory assumes precise mappings from the mental to the neural which warrant a reduction or replacement of the mentalistic vocabulary with the neural vocabulary, and at the same time legitimizes the mentalistic vocabulary by showing that it always (inadvertently) referred to the underlying types of neural events. But Feyerabend and Rorty contend that mental talk was not intended to refer to neural events, nor did it inadvertently succeed in so doing. *‘Folk psychology’, with its strong Cartesian roots, was intended as, and succeeded in being, a theory that rivals scientific ways of conceiving of mind. The eliminativist position has been developed further and cham- pioned in recent years by Patricia S. Churchland and Paul M. Churchland and is a challenge to ‘mental realism’, our ordinary way(s) of conceiving of the mental. Functionalism challenges both type-identity theory and eliminativism. An important but iconoclastic paper in this genre is Donald Davidson’s ‘Mental Events’ (1970), in which he proposed the view he called *anomalous monism. According to this doctrine mental events are physical events but they are not reducible by definition or natural law, nor are they in any other straightforward way intertranslatable with physical terms. Against type- identity theory, the functionalist thinks it implausible that every person’s belief that ‘snow is white’ is or must be realized in the same type of neural state. Functionalists think that all beliefs in the whiteness of snow are physical but allow for multiple physical *realizations of the belief. Just as ‘capital’ comes in many different forms, any form of cash or property will do, so too my belief that snow is white, and yours, and a Martian’s, could be realized in different ways. The idea of multiple realizations has made functionalism a favourite doctrine among believers in strong artificial intelligence, the view that there is no reason in principle why computers shouldn’t have bona fide mental states—indeed even be conscious. Different real- ization would be consistent with physicalism (token- physicalism), but would dash hopes for smooth type–type reductions since there would be no bridge law translating predicates such as ‘believes snow is white’, ‘is in love’, ‘wants a drink’ into single predicates in physical language (to be fair to identity theory, it can accommodate this idea up to a point by allowing for species-specific type-identities, so that cat-thoughts that ‘there is water’ and human ones are realized in different ways). Against the eliminativist, the functionalist holds out hope for folk psychology or, better, sees it as a starting-place, subject to refinement and rigour, for the development of an autonomous science of the mind. We start with a conception of mind as roughed out by folk psychology but with a commitment 606 mind, history of the philosophy of to physicalism. We then do experiments, draw inferences about how different cognitive subsystems work to produce the phenomenon being studied, e.g. language com- prehension, memory, etc., and in so doing arrive at an abstract conception of how the mind works—without ever mentioning how these workings are realized physically. As identity theory, functionalism, and eliminativism bumped up against each other throughout the 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, they also began to bump up against the emerging amalgam of disciplines known today as *cognitive science. Cognitive science was rooted in work of logi- cians, psychologists, computer scientists, and neuro-scientists, great thinkers such as Alan Turing, Ken- neth Craik, Claude Shannon, Norbert Wiener, Warren McCulloch, Walter Pitts, Karl Lashley, and John von Neu- mann (Howard Gardner dates the birth of cognitive science from the Hixon Conference at Caltech in 1948), who were thrilled by the prospect of blending insights from their different disciplines in order to understand the mind. The interdisciplinary attitude and the wait-and-see-we- are-early-in-the-game attitude that pervade cognitive science made philosophers of mind aware that we could not know a priori how the relations among folk psychology, more refined cognitive models, and neuroscience would work out. It could be that identity theory is true in certain domains and in species-specific ways, e.g. chimpanzee vision might map neatly in chimps’ brains and human vision in human brains. And it might be that neuroscience will spell doom for certain ways of thinking about mind, while certain abstract functional modes of explanation retain their value. The view favoured by most contemporary philosophers of mind is the co-evolutionary idea. P. S. Churchland, cooling recently towards eliminativism, expresses the basic idea in terms of constraining and developing each type of explanation by what is known at other levels of explanation, especially at adjacent levels. The co-evolutionary strategy has important implications for the very idea of philosophy of mind as traditionally conceived, for it suggests that there is no subfield of philosophy proper that can deepen our understanding of mind. Mind will be understood, if it is understood, by our best science. Philosophers who study work in the relevant sciences will be welcomed in the interdisciplinary quest to understand mind. Quine proposed that philosophy was continuous with science; philosophy of mind as practised today has taken Quine to heart. At the same time it has become somewhat less clear what if anything the distinctively philosophical, as opposed to the scientific, issues are. In what sense, one might ask, is the question of the nature of mind a philosophical question rather than a foundational question within the science of the mind? o.f. *consciousness; consciousness, its irreducibility; mental events; mental states; identity theory; eliminativism; functionalism. Patricia Smith Churchland, Neurophilosophy (Cambridge, Mass., 1986). Owen Flanagan, The Science of the Mind, 2nd edn. (Cambridge, Mass., 1991). Jerry Fodor, ‘Special Sciences’, in Representations: Philosophical Essays on the Foundations of Cognitive Science (Cambridge, Mass., 1981). Howard Gardner, The Mind’s New Science: A History of the Cognitive Revolution (New York, 1985). John Heil and Alfred Mele (eds.), Mental Causation (Oxford, 1993). A. J. P. Kenny, Ancient Philosophy (Oxford, 2004), ch.7. —— Medieval Philosophy (Oxford, 2005), ch.7. David Rosenthal (ed.), Materialism and the Mind–Body Problem (Indianapolis, 1987). Gilbert Ryle, The Concept of Mind (first pub. 1949; Chicago, 1984). mind, problems of the philosophy of. Philosophical problems about the mind are among the enduring problems of philosophy; arguably, they are among the most deeply puzzling and challenging issues that philosophy has had to face. 1. Characterizing the mental. We come face to face with one of these issues when we try to give an initial delin- eation of the sphere of the mental. Mental events or states seem to fall under two broad kinds. One is comprised of those involving sensory qualities, or *‘qualia’, such as pains and itches, seeing colours and hearing sounds, experi- encing pangs of hunger, and having after-images, and the like. As it is often put, there is ‘something it is like’ to be in one of these states—it is like something to see a yellow field of sunflowers, and that is different from what it is like to see the blue sky above it. These may be called ‘qualitative mental states’ or, more simply, ‘experiences’. The second class of mental states, called ‘propositional attitudes’ or ‘intentional states’, includes states that have content, such as believing that Mt. Everest is the tallest mountain, being pleased that the home team has won the football match, and remembering one’s telephone number. (Some mental states, such as emotions and perceptions, appear to possess both content and sensory aspects; e.g. feeling annoyed that your flight has been cancelled, noticing that the traffic-lights have just turned red.) But it has not been easy to answer the following question: What common property, or properties, do phenomena of these two kinds share in virtue of which they are all mental? What do itches and beliefs have in common that makes both mental? One might say, following Descartes, that your knowledge that you are in one of these states is in some sense ‘immediate’ or ‘direct’ and carries a special sort of first- person authority. However, people often have beliefs and desires of which they are not aware, much less ‘immedi- ately aware’; and research in cognitive psychology has shown that much of our perceptual information- processing is not at all accessible to the subject. Moreover, it has been argued that there can be sensations, such as pains, of which the subjects, in the heat of combat or intense absorption in another activity, are unaware. Can we say then, following *Brentano, that the *mentality of mental phenomena consists in their *‘intentionality’— their ‘aboutness’ or ‘being directed upon’ an object? Thus, mind, problems of the philosophy of 607 your belief that Mt. Everest is the tallest mountain is about Mt. Everest, and is directed upon it. Or, as we may say, your thought has Mt. Everest as its ‘intentional object’. However, it is difficult, if not incoherent, to conceive of a pain, or a tickle, to be ‘about’, or ‘directed upon’, anything. There are perhaps other possible approaches to this issue, but the problem of formulating an adequate ‘criterion of the mental’ has resisted solution. It may be that all mental states are characterized by a certain kind of subjectivity, a ‘point of view’ or ‘perspectivalness’; however, precisely what this subjectivity amounts to is still an open question. 2. The mind–body problem. In a broad sense, the problem of accounting for the place of mind in a world that is fun- damentally physical is coextensive with philosophy of mind. In a narrower sense, the problem is that of explain- ing the relationship between mentality and the physical nature of our being. Substance dualism, which posits immaterial souls or minds as bearers of mental states, has largely disappeared from contemporary discussion, and the focus of discussion in the mind–body debate has shifted to the status of mental states, processes, and properties vis-à-vis physical states, processes, and properties. We know, from familiar daily experience as well as scientific and clinical observations, that mental phenomena are correlated in lawlike ways with various specific physical processes going on in the body, and neurophysiological research has amassed huge amounts of information on the details of how specific mental capacities, functions, and processes depend on the structure and functioning of our central nervous system. But is it possible that the mental depends on and yet remains distinct from the physical? If so, what is the nature of this dependency? Or is the mental in fact a subspecies of the physical? The mind–body identity theory, also known as central- state materialism, brain-state theory, and type *physicalism, holds that mental properties, or kinds, are reducible to, or can be reductively identified with, physical (pre- sumably, neurobiological) properties and kinds. Just as scientific research has shown that light is a form of electromagnetic radiation and that genes are DNA mol- ecules, argues the reductionist, neurophysiological research will show (perhaps, it has already shown) that pain is just the excitation of a certain group of neurons in the hypothalamus, that consciousness is 40 Herz synchron- ized neuronal oscillation, and, in general, that mental states are just neural processes in the brain. Physical reductionism of this form, however, has not been popular, since the 1970s. *Functionalism, which has been influen- tial since the late 1960s, maintains that mental kinds are not physical kinds, but rather ‘functional kinds’, defined by their causal role in relation to sensory inputs, behaviour outputs, and other mental states. On this approach, pain, for example, would be an internal state of an organism that is typically caused by tissue damage and that in turn causes such effects as winces, groans, and a sense of distress. However, the ontological status of functional properties, in particular their status as causal powers, has remained elusive; and serious doubts have been raised as to whether the sensory or qualitative character of mentality can be captured on the functionalist approach. More- over, it is not clear exactly how functionalism differs from the identity theory, and it remains an open question whether functionalism is a form of reductionism. Others maintain that the mind–body relation is adequately characterized as one of *‘supervenience’—that is, in the claim that there could not be two entities, or worlds, that are exactly alike in all physical respects but differ in some mental respect. But it is arguable that supervenience in this sense lacks sufficient content to qualify as a full theory of the mind–body relation; this is perhaps evident in the apparent fact that the reductionist, the functionalist, and even the epiphenomenalist are all committed to mind– body supervenience. There is also the *eliminativist alter- native: mentality, like the posits of discarded scientific theories such as phlogiston and magnetic effluvia, will be expunged from our ontology as the neuroscientific understanding of human nature makes its inexorable advance. 3. How can my mind move my limbs? Impingements on our sensory surfaces cause sensations and perceptions, which in turn cause us to form beliefs about our surroundings. Our desires and wants, in concert with the beliefs we hold about the world, cause us to act, by moving our limbs or making our vocal cords vibrate in appropriate ways. Men- tal causation—that is, causality involving mental events as causes or effects—seems an undeniable fact of daily experience. Evidently, moreover, it is essential to our conception of ourselves as cognizers and agents: the acquisition of knowledge about our surroundings requires our perceptions and beliefs to be appropriately caused by ambient events, and genuine agency requires that the agent’s intentions and decisions have the power to cause his limbs to move and thereby alter the arrangements of objects around him. A fundamental difficulty with Descartes’s interactionist dualism of mental and material substances was its per- ceived inability to explain how mental causation was possible. How could some wholly immaterial substance, entirely outside physical space, affect the motion of even a single molecule? By what mechanism is this miraculous transmission of causal influence accomplished? More- over, there is reason to believe that the physical domain is causally closed; that is, tracing back a causal chain starting with a physical event should not take us out of the physical domain. To deny this would be tantamount to denying the completability of a physical theory of the physical world; it would be to assert that only by importing non- physical causal agents or forces could physics hope to be a complete explanatory theory of physical phenomena. For these reasons, some have found *epiphenomenalism attractive: mental phenomena are caused by physical (pre- sumably, neural) phenomena, but they are themselves mere ‘epiphenomena’ with no causal powers of their own. They are like shadows or afterglows cast by neural processes. 608 mind, problems of the philosophy of donald davidson addressed in seminal articles a variety of the most prominent questions in late twentieth-century philosophy of mind and language; their prominence is largely attributable to his treatment of them. hilary putnam has deployed mathematical and scientific expertise to establish a clearer view of the status of scientific and philosophical knowledge and truth. john searle first came to prominence in the 1960s with his work on the philosophy of language; now he is a leading crit- ic of cognitive science, specifically of the aim of giving a mate- rialist account of the mind. thomas nagel has not shrunk from the big questions: What does it all mean? What is it like to be a bat? (The second is about the nature of consciousness.) Photographs by Steve Pyke recent american philosophy (1) . he redesigned the liberal edifice built on these foundations to the romantic patterns of the nineteenth century. For these he was himself one of the great spokesmen. He learned much of the historical. fundamental to scientific inquiry was the hypothetical method, in which one argues to the truth of a hypothesis from the fact that it would explain observed phenomena. Mill, on the other hand,. options. 604 mind, history of the philosophy of Wundt, Brentano, and James together represent some of the most important foundational work in the science of the mind. But it is, at the same time, important

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