Tim Crane

‘Poor Bertie’ Beatrice Webb wrote after receiving a visit from Bertrand Russell in 1931, ‘he has made a mess of his life and he knows it’. In the 1931 version of his Autobiography, Russell himself seemed to share Webb’s estimate of his achievements. Emotionally, intellectually and politically, he wrote, his life had been a failure. This sense of failure pervades the second volume of Ray Monk’s engrossing and insightful biography. At its heart is the failure of Russell’s marriages to Dora Black and Patricia (Peter) Spence, his poor relationships with his children John and Kate, and the decline in his reputation as a philosopher. Russell, who had changed the direction of philosophy irrevocably, was in later years unable to find permanent academic employment in Britain, ousted from his professorship at the City College of New York because of his views on sex and marriage, and was reduced to giving nonspecialist lectures at a foundation established by the Philadelphia philanthropist Albert C. Barnes. Eventually in 1944 he returned to Cambridge, but by then the philosophical world was in the grip of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s ideas, and Russell was largely ignored.

Over the past decade or so, David Papineau has given an account of the content and motivation of a physicalist conception of the world with more thoroughness and argumentative defence than many physicalists have thought necessary. In doing this, he has substantially advanced the debate on physicalism, and physicalists and non-physicalists alike should be grateful to him.1 At the heart of Papineau’s defence of physicalism in his recent book (2002) is his theory of phenomenal concepts. Like many physicalists, Papineau diagnoses the apparent threats to physicalism posed by the phenomena of consciousness by locating the source of anti-physicalist intuitions in features of our thinking rather than in non-physical features of reality. But what is new in Thinking About Consciousness is his detailed account of which features of our thinking it is that generate these supposedly confused anti-physicalist arguments. Hence the bulk of the book is an attempt to show that the most famous ‘consciousness-based’ anti-physicalist arguments—the knowledge argument, the zombie argument and the explanatory gap argument—rest on a mistaken understanding of certain kinds of concepts: phenomenal concepts. I agree with Papineau that physicalism (properly understood) should not be troubled by the knowledge argument and the explanatory gap argument, and that some other anti-physicalist arguments seem to move from assumptions about ways of thinking to conclusions about reality. But I doubt whether his theory of phenomenal concepts can help his defence of physicalism and his diagnosis of the errors of dualism. My reason for saying this is that I do not think there are any such concepts. In saying this I do not mean to deny that there is a useful distinction to be made between scientific concepts, the mastery of which requires knowledge of a certain amount of theory, and concepts which are acquired on the basis of experience, which can be called ‘phenomenal’ concepts.

Contemporary philosophy has had a difficult relationship with its own history. One extreme view conceives of the task of philosophy purely in terms of solving certain given problems, and considers the history of philosophy to have no more relevance to this project than the history of physics has to physics itself. Certainly the history of philosophy is an important intellectual discipline, they argue, but just as physicists do not need to read Newton’s Principia in order to make progress, philosophers do not need to read Aristotle or Kant. At the other extreme are the sceptics who believe that creative philosophy is, for some reason or another it is no longer possible, and that all that can be done is to provide ‘readings’ of the great thinkers of the past. As the late Burton Dreben is supposed to have remarked: ‘junk is junk, but the history of junk is scholarship’.

It is widely held that there is a problem of talking about or otherwise representing things that not exist. But what exactly is this problem? This paper presents a formulation of the problem in terms of the conflict between the fact that there are truths about non-existent things and the fact that truths must be answerable to reality, how things are. Given this, the problem of singular negative existential statements is no longer the central or most difficult aspect of the problem of non-existence, despite what some philosophers say.

Aspects of Psychologism is a collection of essays unified around a philosophical approach to the mind that is non-reductive and yet compatible (or continuous) with scientific psychology. The essays in the book, published over a period of twenty years, investigate the phenomena of intentionality and consciousness, with a special emphasis on perceptual phenomena. The central theme which unites the essays is an approach to the mind which I call ‘psychologism about the psychological’. Psychologism about the psychological, as I understand it, is a vision of what is important in the study of the mind. It asserts the reality of the psychological and the need to investigate it through a variety of approaches, of which metaphysics, psychology, cognitive science and phenomenology are examples. These disciplines, according to psychologism, are concerned with fundamentally the same subject-matter: the mind. But since I have found it difficult sometimes to get this point across in abstract terms, perhaps it is easier to introduce what I mean by ‘psychologism’ by saying what it is not.

A complete and self-contained introduction to metaphysics, this anthology provides an extensive and varied collection of fifty-four of the best classical and contemporary readings on the subject. The readings are organized into ten sections: God, idealism and realism, being, universals and particulars, necessity and contingency, causation, space and time, identity, mind and body, and freewill and determinism. It features a substantial general introduction and detailed section introductions that set the selections in context and guide readers through them. Discussion questions and detailed guides to further reading are also included.

Što je distinktivno filozofski problem opažanja? Ovdje se tvrdi da je to konflikt između prirode opažajnog iskustva kakva nam se intuitivno čini, te stanovitih mogućnosti koje su implicitne upravo u ideji iskustva: mogućnosti iluzije i halucinacije. Opažajno iskustvo čini nam se kao odnos prema svojim objektima, vrsta »otvorenosti prema svijetu« koja uključuje izravnu svijest postojećih objekata i njihovih svojstava. Ali ako netko može imati iskustvo iste vrste a da objekt nije tamo – halucinaciju objekta – onda izgleda da opažajno iskustvo ne može esencijalno biti takav odnos. Ovo je fundamentalni filozofski problem opažanja; različite filozofijske teorije opažanja 20. i 21. stoljeća mogu se sagledati kao odgovori na to.What is the distinctively philosophical problem of perception? Here it is argued that it is the conflictbetween the nature of perceptual experience as it intuitively seems to us, and certain possibilitieswhich are implicit in the very idea of experience: possibilities of illusion and hallucination. Perceptualexperience seems to us to be a relation to its objects, a kind of “openness to the world” whichinvolves direct awareness of existing objects and their properties. But if one can have an experienceof the same kind without the object being there – a hallucination of an object – then it seems thatperceptual experience cannot essentially be such a relation. This is the fundamentally philosophicalproblem of perception; the various philosophical theories of perception in the 20th and 21st centuriescan be seen as responses to it.

Michael Dummett says in the preface to his book on Frege that he is always disappointed when a book lacks a preface. ‘it is like arriving at someone’s house for dinner’ Dummett says ‘and being conducted straight into the dining room’. I feel the same way about inaugural lectures. To give an inaugural lecture is in part an acknowledgement of a professional honour, and in part an opportunity to pay a personal tribute to the institution which has honoured you in this way. It is not difficult, and a pleasant task, to do this. My professorship has no predecessor, of course, but I hope that this does not disqualify me from saying something about what I owe to UCL and to its philosophy department. The intellectual character of the department as it is now was largely shaped by the influence of the late Richard Wollheim. I am sorry to say that I did not know Richard Wollheim well, and it is a cause of great sadness for the whole department that Richard was never able to return to the department as he had planned to do before he died last autumn. But I nonetheless feel the influence he left in the department, and I would like to pay a small tribute to it here.

Some philosophers have argued recently that introspective evidence provides direct support for an intentionalist theory of visual experience. An intentionalist theory of visual experience treats experience as an intentional state, a state with an intentional content. (I shall use the word ’state’ in a general way, for any kind of mental phenomenon, and here I shall not distinguish states proper from events, though the distinction is important.) Intentionalist theories characteristically say that the phenomenal character of an experience, what it is like to have the experience, is exhausted by its intentional content. Visual experience, and on some views sense-experience generally, does not involve the awareness of ’qualia’, intrinsic, non-intentional features of the experience. According to Gilbert Harman and Michael Tye, support for this view comes from introspecting on experience. Tye describes his ’argument from introspection’ as follows: Standing on the beach in Santa Barbara a couple of summers ago on a bright sunny day, I found myself transfixed by the intense blue of the Pacific Ocean. Was I not here delighting in the phenomenal aspects of my visual experience? And if I was, doesn’t this show that there are visual qualia? I am not convinced. It seems to me that what I found so pleasing in the above instance, what I was focusing on, as it were, were a certain shade and intensity of the colour blue. I experienced blue as a property of the ocean not as a property of my experience. My experience itself certainly wasn’t blue. Rather, it was an experience which represented the ocean as blue. What I was really delighting in, then, were specific aspects of the content of the experience. Tye goes on to suggest that this might have been the sort of thing Moore meant when he said that the sensation of blue is ’diaphanous’, and glosses this as follows: When one tries to focus on it in introspection one cannot help but see right through it so that what one actually ends up attending to is the real colour blue. 1An early version of this paper was presented at the conference, Mental Phenomena III in Dubrovnik, Croatia..

It can seem puzzling that there is such a thing as the philosophy of sense-perception. Psychology and the neurosciences study the mechanisms by which our senses receive information about the environment. So conceived, perception is a psychological and physiological process, whose underlying nature will be discovered empirically. Since few philosophers these days would presume to interfere with the empirical products of these sciences, the question arises as to the nature of philosophy’s distinctive role in the study of perception. There is not a philosophy of digestion as there is a philosophy of perception; so what is it, exactly, that the philosophy of perception is supposed to do?

The currently standard philosophical conception of existence makes a connection between three things: certain ways of talking about existence and being in natural language; certain natural language idioms of quantification; and the formal representation of these in logical languages. Thus a claim like ‘Prime numbers exist’ is treated as equivalent to ‘There is at least one prime number’ and this is in turn equivalent to ‘Some thing is a prime number’. The verb ‘exist’, the verb phrase ‘there is’ and the quantifier ‘some’ are treated as all playing similar roles, and these roles are made explicit in the standard common formalization of all three sentences by a single formula of first-order logic: ‘(∃ x )[P( x ) & N( x )]’, where ‘P( x )’ abbreviates ‘ x is prime’ and ‘N( x )’ abbreviates ‘ x is a number’. The logical quantifier ‘∃’ accordingly symbolizes in context the role played by the English words ‘exists’, ‘some’ and ‘there is’

Peter Unger has changed his views somewhat since he wrote three famous philosophical papers – “I do not exist”, “Why there are no people” and “Why there are no ordinary things” – in 1979. He now thinks not only that there are people, that he does exist and that there are ordinary things, but also that any adequate philosophy – what he calls any “humanly realistic philosophy” – must begin by acknowledging these facts. Believers in ordinary things will be relieved. However, Unger now thinks that these ordinary truths are put under pressure by what he calls the “scientiphical metaphysic” which dominates contemporary philosophy. He labels this metaphysical view “scientiphicalism”, because it is neither entirely scientific nor entirely philosophical, but some unholy blend of the two. The main burden of his long new book is to launch an attack on scientiphicalism.

A Commonplace of recent philosophy of mind is that intentional states are relations between thinkers and propositions. This thesis-call it the 'Relational Thesis'-does not depend on any specific theory of propositions. One can hold it whether one believes that propositions are Fregean Thoughts, ordered n-tuples of objects and properties or sets of possible worlds. An assumption that all these theories of propositions share is that propositions are abstract objects, without location in space or time...

The problem of consciousness – the problem of how the matter of our brains produces perception, sensation, emotion and thought – is often described as one of the outstanding remaining problems for science. Although a lot is known in detail about how the brain works it is widely believed that the explanation of consciousness is something which still eludes us. According to a recent survey in (of all places!) The Economist, ‘consciousness awaits its Einstein’.1 Consciousness researchers are looking for that missing piece of the jigsaw which will explain how the lived world of conscious experience arises out of the initially unpromising yoghurt-like matter of the brain.

The theme of these is essays is what might be called, rather ambitiously, the nature of the human mind. Psychologists and philosophers both investigate the nature of the mind, but from rather different angles. Psychologists and neuroscientists investigate the actual mechanisms in the brain, the body and the world which underpin mental events and processes. Philosophers, by contrast, ask more abstract questions: for example, about what makes any process mental at all, or how mental reality fits into the rest of reality. Psychology and philosophy are not opposed disciplines, but complementary, and the boundary between them is not sharp. The essays collected here address some of the most abstract philosophical questions, and barely touch on actual psychological discoveries. Nonetheless, I think everything that is said in this book is consistent with what psychologists have discovered and will discover. Where psychologists will want to disagree with things said in this book, their disagreement will be based on a difference of some philosophical opinion. What, then, is a mind? What is it to have a mind? What is it for something to be mental? We can all list the various states and capacities we have which we call mental or psychological: thought, sensation, desire, emotion, perception and so on. But is there something all these states and capacities have in common, which justifies us in calling them ‘mental’? I think there is, and that the concept of intentionality provides us with the answer. Intentionality is the philosopher’s word for the ‘aboutness’ or ‘directedness’.

The history of wine-drinking is a history of excess. From Noah’s disastrous first experiments and the bacchanalia of the ancient Greeks to the spectacular overindulgence described in the diaries of Evelyn Waugh, the consumption of wine to excess has been a recurrent theme among those drink and those who write about it. Sometimes the quantities consumed by the drinkers of the past are staggering. According to Roy Porter’s English Society in the Eighteenth Century, ‘to gain a reputation as a blade one had to be at least a three-bottle man. Sheridan, Pitt the Younger, and the Greek scholar Porson were all said to be six-bottle men’. One cannot help wondering whether they meant the same by ‘bottle’ as we do...

Sense-perception—the awareness or apprehension of things by sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste—has long been a preoccupation of philosophers. One pervasive and traditional problem, sometimes called “the problem of perception”, is created by the phenomena of perceptual illusion and hallucination: if these kinds of error are possible, how can perception be what it intuitively seems to be, a direct and immediate access to reality? The present entry is about how these possibilities of error challenge the intelligibility of the phenomenon of perception, and how the major theories of perception in the last century are best understood as responses to this challenge.

Many philosophers want to say both that everything is determined by the physical and subject to physical laws and principles, and that certain mental entities cannot be identified with any physical entities. The problem of mental causation is to make these two assumptions compatible with the causal efficacy of the mental. The concern is that this physicalist picture of the world leaves no space for the causal efficacy of anything non-physical. The physical, as it is sometimes said, excludes anything non- physical from doing causal work.

This paper is about a puzzle which lies at the heart of contemporary physicalist theories of mind. On the one hand, the original motivation for physicalism was the need to explain the place of mental causation in the physical world. On the other hand, physicalists have recently come to see the explanation of mental causation as one of their major problems. But how can this be? How can it be that physicalist theories still have a problem explaining something which their physicalism was intended to explain in the first place? If physicalism is meant to be an explanation of mental causation, then why should it still face the problem of mental causation?

Why is humour so hard to understand? Rather like attempts to explain how music can move us, attempts to explain why things are funny seem doomed from the outset. Discussions of humour typically distinguish three kinds of theory: the incongruity theory (we are amused by the incongruous), the relief theory (humour is an expression of relief in difficult situations) and the superiority theory (we laugh to express our sense of superiority over others). In the face of genuine humour, theories like these can seem pedestrian and unconvincing. F.H. Buckley’s book is, unfortunately, no exception to this rule. Coming from the superiority camp, the book defends two theses about humour. (Professor Buckley’s own word is ‘laughter’, but it is clear that he is really interested in why we laugh rather than laughter itself.) The first is what he calls the ‘Positive’ thesis: that all humour is the expression of a sense of superiority over someone else, whom he names ‘the butt’. The second he calls the ‘Normative’ thesis: that those who laugh really are superior to the butt.