Timothy Schroeder

Here is a rather mundane set of claims about the stapler on my desk: The function of my stapler is to staple sheets of paper together. If the stapler is loaded with staples, but for some reason will not staple papers, the stapler is malfunctioning. That is, it is not doing what it is supposed to do. It is defective, or misshapen, misaligned or inadequate to its task, or in some other way normatively defective: there is something wrong with it. The reason that my stapler has its function, and is capable of having something wrong with it, is that my stapler is designed to staple sheets of paper together. Some human being sat down at some point and formed intentions about the production of objects which would, if everything went as planned, staple sheets of paper together. As a result of this person’s intentions, my stapler was produced, and because of the particular content of these intentions, my stapler was bestowed with its particular function.

Here is an apparently straightforward philosophical story about concepts. In the style of Jerry Fodor, a concept is a mental “word” ; it means what it does because of its causal dependencies, and it contributes this meaning to the meanings of the mental “sentences” it helps to form. The mental word OWL means owls because owls have a special causal relationship to OWLs, and when the mental word OWL is combined with other mental words, such as THERE, IS, AN and NEARBY, the meaning of the resulting mental sentence, THERE IS AN OWL NEARBY, is a function of the meaning of the component words, plus the formal structure of the sentence. A cognitive system with these concepts is thereby able to represent the fact that an owl is nearby.

Ju¨rgen Habermas has a familiar style of compatibilism to offer, according to which a person has free will insofar as that person responds appropriately to her reasons. But because of the ways in which Habermas understands reasons and causes, he sees a special objection to his style of compatibilism: it is not clear that our reasons can suitably cause our responses. This objection, however, takes us out of the realm of free will and into the realm of mental causation. In this response to Habermas, I focus on the details of his style of compatibilism. I suggest that, while the basic picture is appealing, three key details of it are problematic

There is a doctrine in the theory of consciousness known as representationalism, or intentionalism. According to this doctrine, what it feels like to be in a particular state of consciousness — the qualitative character of that state — is identical to the content of some mental representation(s) For instance, the state of consciousness I am enjoying just now as I see a pattern of sunlight and shadow falling on my wall is, in part, a state of consciousness that presents to me a patch of light grey shadow just there, straight ahead of me and just above eye-level. According to representationalism, what it is like to be in this very specific state of consciousness is for it to seem to me that there is a patch of light grey shadow there, straight ahead of me and just above eye-level. And for it to seem so to me is just for that to be the content of one of my mental representations.2 Representationalism gives a central role to content when explaining consciousness. What content is, though, is contested. For every theory of content on offer, there can be generated a corresponding representationalist theory of consciousness. In a series of publications, Julius Moravcsik has defended a novel theory of meaning that a representationalist can take as a theory of the content of consciousness.3 In this paper, I investigate the possibility of the representationalist doing just this. Is this a hostile co-optation of Moravcsik’s theory of meaning? Is it a friendly extension of Moravcsik’s theory to a new domain? Or something more equivocal? This particular question I leave to one side. But there are a number of interesting consequences of investigating the intersection of representationalism and his theory of meaning in any case, as I hope to show in what follows.

Amanda works in a library, and a patron asks for her help in learning about duty-to- rescue laws in China. She throws herself into the task, spending hours on retrieving documents from governmental and non-governmental sources, getting electronic translations, looking for literature on Scandinavian duty-to-rescue laws that mention Chinese laws for comparison, and so on. Why? She likes to gain this sort of general knowledge of the world; perhaps the reason she works so hard is that she is learning fascinating facts in doing so. She is also a proud librarian; perhaps the reason she works so hard is that a patron needs her assistance. She is a library employee; perhaps her reason for working so hard is that this sort of effort is noted by her employer and gives her career a boost, or perhaps it is just that doing this sort of work is the condition of her continued employment. Perhaps the reason is that the patron is charming.

Imagine you are looking at a cat and make the following inference: That cat sneezed; That cat is missing an ear; thus There exists a sneezing cat missing an ear. Such an inference is valid only if there is no equivocation on the term “that cat.” If “that cat” in refers to Puss, but in refers to Midnight, then the inference is invalid. This much is elementary. Now imagine that Puss is the cat in front of you when you think, but that a nefarious semanticist quickly substitutes similar-looking Midnight for Puss, so that when you think, the cat in front of you is Midnight, though you believe it is Puss. If it is true that the switch changes the meaning of the term “that cat” from Puss to Midnight, then your inference is invalid although this fact is hidden from you. Two questions are then raised. Do we ever really know that our inferences are valid, given the uncertainty of apparent coreference? And, is it ever reasonable to think that our inferences are valid, given this uncertainty? Lawlor’s answers are “no” and “yes,” respectively.

This paper considers the hedonic aspect of emotions: the fact that part of an emotion is feeling good (pleasure) or feeling bad (displeasure), in various ways, to various degrees. It argues that some aspects of what might reasonably be called the modularity of emotions reduces to the modularity of the hedonic aspects of emotions. In this regard, the way in which pleasure and displeasure reflect what is expected at the visceral level (what one is jaded to, what one is hardened to, what one takes for granted...) receives particular discussion.

There is a familiar if disputed theory of mental representations which holds that to be a mental representation is to be a structure whose states are supposed to stand in correspondence to states of the world . The present work defends this so-called teleosemantic approach to mental representations against Stampian and Fodorian approaches, and develops a novel approach to the normativity underlying mental representation. It is argued that, while appealing to evolutionary functions in attributing normativity to neural structures results in unacceptable theoretical consequences, another source of "natural normativity" may be found in feedback-governed systems. The conclusion is that neural structures, driven by energetic feedback-governed systems into correspondences with distal states of affairs, are supposed to stand in such correspondences, and hence represent