Derek Matravers

I am going to assume, in what follows, that when we engage with a fiction we are participating in a game of make-believe; that is, that we are engaging in an imaginative effort. In this paper I shall attempt to identify the kind of game we are playing. I begin with two words of caution. First, identifying the kind of game will be a matter of finding a game whose structure best reflects the facts about our engagement with fiction. The fit, however, will not be exact. In a game of mud pies, the fact that the cardboard box holds a maximum of six globs of mud may make it true in the game that the oven holds a maximum of six pies, but the fact that the box has "Fyffes bananas" written on the side of it will probably not make it true in the game that the oven has the same. Second the variety of works of fiction makes it unwise to assume that one kind of game will cover all cases. These two provisos might be thought to vitiate my project before it begins. In the face of an objection to my first proviso, namely, that the kind of make-believe I maintain we play with fiction does not mirror the facts of our relations with fiction, I can reply that the structure is not isomorphic in that particular respect. In reply to the claim that in some particular instance we do not play the game of make-believe that I suggest we do, I can simply agree and count it as one of the many exceptions to the rule

This explores the role of intention in interpreting designed artefacts. The relationship between how designers intend products to be interpreted and how they are subsequently interpreted has often been represented as a process of communication. However, such representations are attacked for allegedly implying that designers' intended meanings are somehow ‘contained’ in products and that those meanings are passively received by consumers. Instead, critics argue that consumers actively construct their own meanings as they engage with products, and therefore that designers' intentions are not relevant to this process. In contrast, this article asserts the validity and utility of relating intention to interpretation by exploring the nature of that relationship in design practice and consumer response. Communicative perspectives on design are thereby defended and new avenues of empirical enquiry are proposed

The paper examines certain aspects of institutionalist definitions of art, in particular whether they are committed to ‘indexing’, whereby calling something art makes it art. It is argued that there is no such commitment and that institutionalist definitions need not abandon the idea that works of art become art for specific, and substantial, reasons. The question is how reasons can be accommodated. A proposal from defenders of ‘cluster theories’ is considered and rejected. Another proposal is advanced according to which the reasons, which might change over time, are those acceptable within the artworld at any given time. The idea is explored and its merits identified.

It is hard not to sympathise with Professor Honderich's starting point. It is easy to feel pessimistic about philosophy's ability to throw light on the nature of consciousness. What, then, to do? One option is to persist with the various current approaches. It is clear that Honderich thinks this would be akin to putting more effort into trying to work out the temporal priority of the chicken and the egg. The thought of the orthodox is that an account of consciousness is going to be either fundamentally materialist or fundamentally dualist. The first of these is untenable as consciousness has other or more than neural properties. The second is untenable for various reasons, Honderich's favoured one being that it renders consciousness as out of space and of a mysterious nature. A second option would be to follow Colin McGinn's lead, and think that the problem is of such a nature that it is necessarily unsolvable (McGinn, 1989). Alternatively, we should be more radical and think creatively, not necessarily respecting our current conceptual boundaries between the mental and the physical, the inside and the outside. The solution, Honderich says, lies in the thought that `my consciousness now consists in the existence of a world' (Honderich, 2004, p. 130). I shall say a little about what I understand by this claim, by raising what I take to be three obvious questions, looking at Honderich's answers them, and inviting some further clarification. Throughout I will address only the question of perceptual consciousness.

In his book _The Corded Shell_, Peter Kivy attempts to solve the problem of the expression of emotions by music. the task he sets himself is to explain away the apparent contradiction between the following propositions, each of which seems independently plausible: Music can correctly be described in terms drawn form the human emotions and the connotations of such emotion terms preclude their application to music. Most of us would, I think, accept. Why should we accept? Kivy's argument is that in the central uses of emotion terms there is an equivalence between _being_ sand and _feeling _ sad. Music is insensate; it cannot feel anything and - therefore - cannot feel sad. But, according to the above equivalence, if it cannot feel sad it cannot be sad. And if it cannot be sad, music criticism which describes apiece in this way is, at best, confused

Richard Wollheim was born in 1923 in London. His father was Eric Wollheim who was at the time the London manager for Diaghilev. His mother had been a Gaiety girl; she left the stage when she married. Wollheim was educated at Westminster School and then, after active service in the Second World War, he went to Oxford to complete degrees in history and PPE. Despite relatively little study of the subject he was recruited by A. J. Ayer for the Philosophy Department at University College London. He remained there for thirty-three years, becoming Grote Professor in 1963. In 1983 he moved to America where he taught at various universities before returning to England shortly before his death in 2003

Derek Matravers introduces students to the philosophy of art through a close examination of eight famous works of twentieth-century art. Each work has been selected in order to best illustrate and illuminate a particular problem in aesthetics. Each artwork forms a basis for a single chapter and readers are introduced to such issues as artistic value, intention, interpretation, and expression through a careful analysis of the artwork. Questions considered include what does art mean in contemporary art practice? Is the artistic value of a painting the same as how much you like it? If a painting isn't of anything, then how do we understand it? Can art be immoral? By grounding abstract and theoretical discussion in real examples the book provides an excellent way into the subject for readers new to the philosophical dimension of art appreciation

This article is a commentary on Alana Jelinek's book, This Is Not Art. It broadly agrees with Jelinek in her diagnosis of the current ills of the artworld, who is to blame for this, and the need for an endogenous value of art. Furthermore, it agrees with her that the value of art lies in its status as a ‘knowledge-forming discipline’. However, it takes issue with the very notion of an ‘avant-garde’ art, with Jelinek's claims concerning truth, and raises questions as to what it is for the discipline of art to be ‘knowledge-forming’. It ends with a sceptical doubt as to whether it is the nature of art to favour politically progressive messages

The standard discussion of the relation between aesthetics and ethics tends to avoid the fundamental question: how are those two values ranked against each other in terms of importance. This paper looks at two arguments, the ‘resource allocation argument’ and the ‘relative weight argument’. It puts forward the view that any theory of aesthetic value should characterise aesthetic value in a way that allows for the existence of these arguments. It argues that hedonism does that successfully, but the more recent approaches to aesthetic value—in particular Dominic McIver Lopes’s ‘Network Theory’ have more of a struggle.

About the book: One of the issues underlying current debates between practitioners of art history, visual culture and aesthetics is whether the visual is a unique, irreducible category, or whether it can be assimilated with the textual or verbal without any significant loss. Can paintings, buildings or installations be 'read' in the way texts are read or deciphered, or do works of visual art ask for their own kind of appreciation? This is not only a question of choosing the right method in dealing with visual works of art, but also an issue that touches on the roots of the disciplines involved: can a case be made for the visual as an irreducible category of art, and if so, how is it best studied and appreciated? In this anthology, this question is approached from the angles of three disciplines: aesthetics, visual culture and art history. Unlike many existing overviews of visual culture studies, it includes both painting and architecture, and investigates historical ways of defining and appreciating the visual in their own, contemporary terms. Dealing with the Visual will be of great use to advanced students because it offers an overview of current debates, and to graduate students and professionals in the field because the essays offer in-depth investigations of the methodological issues involved and various historical ways of defining visuality. The topics included range from early modern ways of viewing pictures and sixteenth-century views of Palladio's villas in their landscape settings to contemporary debate about whether there is life yet in painting

This paper examines the views of a philosophical aesthetician who was sympathetic to psychology: Richard Wollheim. It is divided into three parts. The first gives an account of Wollheim’s views on pictorial representation: on ‘seeing-in’, ‘expressive perception’ and ‘visual delight’. The second part discusses the relation between philosophy and psychology. If we regard the first as dealing with constitutive questions, and the second dealing with causal questions, it looks as if they are separate enquiries. However, there are circumstances where the latter looks as if it will inform the former. Wollheim’s view on this issue varied; sometimes he regarded the enquiries as separate, and sometimes not. The third part argues that it is unlikely that psychology will be able to illuminate Wollheim’s views on pictorial representation, and expresses scepticism about the extent to which research on visual preferences has a bearing on aesthetics.