The heights of the twentieth centuryP. M. S. HACKER

I was amazed to read that Professor Galen Strawson, who took up philoso-phy in 1972 at Cambridge, was then given to understand that the nine prop-ositions he lists in ‘The depth(s) of the twentieth century’ (2010: 607) weregenerally considered to be true. I took up philosophy in 1960 in Oxford, andI was not given to understand any such thing. It is not obvious that there wasa sea change with regard to these themes in the 12 years between 1960 and1972. By 1972 I had been teaching at Oxford for 6 years, and I observed nosuch change – only the lamentable rise of Davidsonian truth-conditionalsemantics and Dummett’s anti-realist theory of meaning, which progressivelyundermined and ultimately destroyed a flourishing milieu of first rate ana-lytic philosophy at Oxford. But, I admit, Cambridge is another place.

I should like to offer a reading list of familiar writings of the day that bearupon Professor Strawson’s nine ‘claims’, which, had he read in 1972, hemight not have ‘been given to understand’ the things he avers that he wasgiven to understand.

1. Desiring, wanting, liking, etc. I don’t try to get something because Iwant it, I want it because I try to get it. I have no idea whence GalenStrawson gathered any such thing. But to see the error, I would, in 1972,have referred my undergraduates to Kenny’s Action, Emotion and the Will(1963), Chapter V and Hampshire’s Freedom of the Individual (1965),Chapter 2. Kenny and Hampshire explained that one must not confusewhat it is to want something, with a logical criterion for someone’s wantingthat thing. It is true that trying to get something is a (defeasible) criterion forwanting it. But it is equally true that wanting something is one thing andtrying to get it another. Of course, I can want something without trying to getit (because the endeavour is too costly or the object of desire is bad for me). Imay try to get something without wanting it (because I have been ordered todo so). And I may get what I want without trying to get it, for not everythingthat we do involves trying to do it. These truths were not unknown in philo-sophical circles in 1972.

2. Belief. I don’t act on some information because I believe it to be true.I believe it to be true because I act on it, or am disposed to act on it. I can’tthink of any Oxford tutor who would have given an undergraduate to believethis in 1972. But had I then been asked to give a reference to a Cambridgeundergraduate to clarify the matter, I might have mentioned Hamlyn’s recentbook The Theory of Knowledge (1970), Chapter 4(b), in which he explicitlyrefuted Ryle’s (1949) proposed reduction of belief to behaviour or behav-ioural disposition. Of course, that I act in such and such a way, given that Iwant a certain goal, may be a criterion for my believing things to be

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thus-and-so. As Peter Strawson was explaining in his introductory lectures onphilosophy in Oxford at the time, ‘the three elements of belief, valuation (ordesire), and intentional action can be differentiated from each other; yet noone of these three elements can properly be understood, or even identified,except in relation to the others’ (Analysis and Metaphysics (1992: 80, Ch.6) –the first seven chapters being ‘the virtually unchanged content’ of the 1968–87 lectures).

3. Meaning and understanding. I don’t use a word correctly because Iknow what it means. I know what it means because I use it correctly. Isthis really what was being taught at Cambridge? If so, undergraduates shouldhave been referred to Waismann’s Principles of Linguistic Philosophy (1965),Chapter XVII. My using a word correctly, Waismann explained, manifestsmy knowing what it means. Knowing what a word means is an ability. Acriterion for the possession of the ability is the correct use of the word.Another criterion is giving a correct explanation of what the word meansin a given context on request. And a further criterion is responding intelli-gently to its use by another. To be sure, one might have referred a Cambridgeundergraduate to Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations (1953) for allthis. But that is a difficult text.

4. Feeling and emotion. I don’t show anger (for example) because I’mangry, and I’m not inclined to show anger because I’m angry. I’m angrybecause I show anger (or am inclined to). So for all other feelings and emo-tions. I find it surprising that the James-Lange theory of emotions was beingadvanced in 1972. It had, after all, been refuted long before. The roots of theconfusion lie in the 19th century, in James’s Principles of Psychology (1890)– not in the depths of the 20th century. But had any of my undergraduates in1972 been given to understand that such foolishness was the truth, I wouldsimply have referred them again to Kenny’s Action, Emotion and the Will,Chapter 2, where this antiquated idea was decisively refuted. It is interestingthat the James-Lange theory was revived by Antonio Damasio in themid-1990s, and enthusiastically received by the early 21st century. Suchare the depths of current philosophy and cognitive science.

5. Consciousness. I’m not rightly said to be conscious because there issomething it is like to be me, experientially speaking. I’m rightly said to beconscious because I behave (observably) in certain ways, or am disposed to.It is very interesting to hear that philosophers in Cambridge in 1972 werealready acquainted with Tom Nagel’s article ‘What is it like to be a bat?’ of1974. It has generally been thought that the misguided idea that a creature isa conscious being if and only if there is something it is like for that creature tobe the creature it is was due to Nagel. But I am sure that a Prioritatsstreit overegregious error is not worthwhile. (That it is egregious error I showed inHacker (2002).) To be sure, someone else is rightly said to be conscious (fullyawake) on the grounds of his observable behaviour. What other groundscould one have? One says of a creature that it is a conscious creature on

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the grounds of the patterns of its behaviour. Of course, one may, in certaincircumstances, say that one is conscious (has recovered consciousness) one-self – but one says so without any grounds. Again, one must point out to thebewildered undergraduate in 1972 that what ‘being conscious’ and ‘beinga conscious creature’ mean is one thing, and the grounds for saying of an-other being that it is conscious or is a conscious creature are another. Was allthis unknown in 1972? I think not. It is clear enough in the PhilosophicalInvestigations §§412ff. If that were too difficult, one would have to wait forNorman Malcolm’s monograph Consciousness and Causality (Armstrongand Malcom 1984). Still, if Professor Strawson really was given to under-stand that he was not rightly said to be a conscious creature because there issomething it is like for Galen Strawson to be Galen Strawson (experientiallyspeaking!), then that is at any rate one thing that he was rightly given tounderstand. This is a lesson that the 21st century and the self-styled ‘con-sciousness studies community’ still need to learn.

6. Objects. I don’t have tablish experiences because there’s a table in frontof me. There’s a table in front of me because I have certain tablish experi-ences. I am sure that in 1972 any respectable Cambridge tutor would havegiven his undergraduates some phenomenalist writings on which to sharpenhis teeth, e.g. Ayer’s Foundations of Empirical Knowledge (1940) orCarnap’s Der Logische Aufbau der Welt (1928). But he would surely haveoffered some dentistry for any broken teeth. Was Galen Strawsonnot referred to Austin’s Sense and Sensibilia (1962), Hampshire’s Thoughtand Action (1959: Ch. 1) or to Peter Strawson’s Individuals (1959: Ch. 1).And was Wittgenstein’s private language argument unknown in Cambridge,where Elizabeth Anscombe held Wittgenstein’s chair?

7. Dispositional properties (powers). A thing doesn’t break when droppedbecause it is fragile. It’s fragile because it would break if it were dropped. In1972, I would certainly have encouraged my undergraduates to reflect on‘if-s’ and ‘can-s’ (I had, after all, read Austin). I would have explained to themthe distinction between transcendentalism, scepticism and reductionism withrespect to powers – as nicely distinguished by the young Cambridge philoso-pher, recently arrived in Oxford, Michael Ayers, in his book The Refutationof Determinism (1968). And by 1975, I should have been able to refer themto Anthony Kenny’s Will, Freedom and Power, Chapter VII, where theywould have been introduced to the distinction between a power, its vehicle,and its actualization. This would have enabled them to understand somethingquite different from what Galen Strawson was evidently given to understand.‘Fragility’, I would have emphasized, is a susceptibility of certain materialobjects to shatter when hit or dropped. It is explained by the molecularbondings of their constitutive materials. It is actualized on some appropriateoccasion as a result of the occurrence of a precipitating event. One way offinding out whether something is fragile is to drop it on a hard surface. Butbreaking is not the same as being fragile. ‘What you are given to understand’,

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I might have added, ‘always seems to be a similar error – the error of con-fusing what a property is with the logical grounds for ascribing that propertyto a subject’.

(8) Causation. Bs don’t always follow As because As cause Bs. As cause Bsbecause Bs always follow As. What a shame Galen Strawson didn’t attendElizabeth Anscombe’s Inaugural Lecture Causation and Determination inCambridge in 1971 – after all, he was in Cambridge at the time, but notyet reading philosophy. That lecture might have made him wary of beinggiven to understand that a constant conjunction account of causation iscorrect. Nevertheless, even if he did not attend Anscombe’s lecture, wereCambridge undergraduates not directed to read Rom Harre’s ThePrinciples of Scientific Thinking (1970: Ch. 4)? Of course, by 1975 Harre,together with E. H. Madden, had dedicated a whole book to the matter:Causal Powers – which would surely have disabused anyone of the illusionthat constant conjunction is constitutive of causation. Were they not told toread Hart and Honore’s Causation in the Law (1959)? After reading this, noone would think that As cause Bs because Bs always follow As. But neitherwould they think that if As cause Bs, then Bs always follow As.

(9) Existence. I don’t have effects on other things because I exist. I existbecause I have effects on other things. If an excitable undergraduate in 1972had told me that although he gathered from his tutors that he existed becausehe had effects on other things, it seemed to him that he had effects on otherthings because he existed, I should have been alarmed. I should have ex-plained to him that his effect on me was to alarm me. But I should haveassured him that it was not his existence that alarmed me, but rather how hecould have gathered such nonsense. And I should also have asked him howhe could possibly have been given to believe that he existed because he hadeffects on other things? Did he not know what explains his existence? Had henever been told about birds and bees?

Professor Strawson avers that it seemed to him in his undergraduate daysthat all the above nine claims ‘were the wrong way round’. With the notableexception of the fifth claim – his feelings of unease were warranted, eventhough ‘turning the propositions around’ is not uniformly an improvement.What is wholly mystifying is how he could ever have been ‘given to under-stand’ any of these confused claims at the time. Far from being receivedwisdom in philosophical circles, such claims were subjected to witheringcriticism in the depths of the 20th century.

Of course, there were some 20th century philosophers (especially in thefirst half of the century) who defended phenomenalism (as there were ideal-ists in the 19th century), there were reductionists with regard to powers(as there were in the 18th century), there were logical behaviourist reductionsof belief, and there were neo-Humeans who defended a constant conjunctionaccount of causation. Since it is one of the tasks of philosophy to crawl alongthe boundary between sense and nonsense with a magnifying glass, it is small

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wonder that philosophers often find themselves on the wrong side of theboundary. Today, in the 21st century, when, according to ProfessorStrawson, ‘things are looking up’, there are philosophers who believe in aLanguage of Thought; others claim that a conscious being is a being forwhom there is something which it is like to be it. Some believe that themind is the brain, referring to this ‘entity’ as the ‘mind/brain’ (just like the‘sight/eye’!). Some, nurtured on science fiction, believe that there could bezombies – just like us, only with ‘darkness inside the head’. And there areothers, like Professor Strawson himself, who believe that each of us is (or has)a self, is a SESMET – which is a process-stuff in the brain. In comparisonwith this, the Red Queen’s ability to believe six impossible things beforebreakfast pales to feebleness. But this is not the point.

The point is that 20th-century philosophers criticized with great power andclarity such venerable confusions as Galen Strawson was apparently given tobelieve. The philosophers I have mentioned were not minor figures of theday. They were among the leading philosophers of their times. There is muchthat can be, and should be, learnt from their writings. Professor Strawsonmocks a Strawman of his own making. This is liable to mislead the youngergeneration, who are ignorant of the history of 20th century philosophy. Itwill encourage them not to read the fine, and sometimes great, writings ofthose times.1

St John’s CollegeOxford OX1 3JP, UK

hacker@fyfield.sjc.ox.ac.uk

References

Anscombe, G.E.M. 1971. Causation and Determination. London: Cambridge University

Press.

Armstrong, D.M. and N. Malcolm. 1984. Consciousness and Causality. Oxford:Blackwell.

Austin, J.L. 1962. Sense and Sensibilia. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Ayer, A.J. 1940. The Foundations of Empirical Knowledge. London: Macmillan.

Carnap, R. 1928. Der Logische Aufbau der Welt. Hamburg: F. Meiner.

Hacker, P.M.S. 2002. Is there anything it is like to be a bat? Philosophy 77: 157–74.

Hamlyn, D. 1970. Theory of Knowledge. London: Macmillan.

Hampshire, S. 1959. Thought and Action. London: Chatto and Windus.

Hampshire, S. 1965. Freedom of the Individual. London: Chatto and Windus.

Harre, R. 1970. The Principles of Scientific Thinking. London: Macmillan.

Harre, R. and E.H. Madden. 1975. Causal Powers. Oxford: Blackwell.

1 I am grateful to Professor Hanoch Ben-Yami and to Professor Hans Oberdiek for theircomments on an earlier draft of this article.

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Hart, H.L.A. and A.M. Honore. 1959. Causation in the Law. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

James, W. 1890. Principles of Psychology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Kenny, A. 1963. Action, Emotion and Will. Oxford: Blackwell.

Kenny, A. 1975. Will, Freedom and Power. Oxford: Blackwell.

Ryle, G. 1949. The Concept of Mind. London: Hutchinson.

Strawson, G. 2010. The depth(s) of the twentieth century. Analysis 70: 607.

Strawson, P.F. 1959. Individuals. London: Methuen.

Strawson, P.F. 1992. Analysis and Metaphysics. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Waismann, F. 1965. Principles of Linguistic Philosophy. London: Macmillan.

Wittgenstein, L. 1953. Philosophical Investigations. Oxford: Blackwell.

Meta-laws of nature and the Best System AccountMARC LANGE

The merits of David Lewis’s Best System Account (BSA) of natural law (Lewis1973: 72–77, 1983, 1986a, 1994) are frequently debated. But to my know-ledge, the prospects for extending the BSA to cover meta-laws have neverbeen examined. I shall identify two obstacles facing the most natural way ofextending the BSA to cover meta-laws. The BSA’s fans should consider howthese obstacles are to be overcome.

Meta-laws are laws about (first-order) laws. For example, Einstein’s spe-cial theory of relativity incorporates a meta-law:

The content of the [special] relativity theory can . . . be summarized inone sentence: all natural laws must be so conditioned that they arecovariant with respect to Lorentz transformations. (Einstein 1954: 329)

[The special theory of relativity] is not a theory in the usual sense but isbetter regarded as a second-level theory, or a theory of theories thatconstrains first-level theories. (Earman 1989: 155)

The principle of relativity is an example of a symmetry principle: a principlerequiring that the first-order laws be unchanged (covariant) under a giventransformation. Long before Einstein proposed the principle of relativity,other spacetime symmetries were widely believed to be meta-laws: that the

first-order laws are covariant under arbitrary spatial displacements, temporaldisplacements and spatial rotations. (Symmetry under mirror reflection wasonce believed to be a meta-law, but in the 1950’s it was discovered not to be.)

These spacetime symmetries require the laws to treat all spatial locationsand directions alike and all moments alike. For instance, symmetry under

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